Southward of their position, Icrick drew their attention to a resplendent stair which ran gradually down until it touched the sandy streets below.
Those stairs were monstrous; employing massive sandstone steps which would have had them clambering downwards as opposed to walking.
Readying his Distometer, Icrick exclaimed, “Look! Forget about Sidell, and forget whatever she’s capable of! Now, there’s the way down into the city about half a league away. So let’s just get down there, take the route we’ve been shown, and Sidell will soon be nothing more than a distant, atrociously scary, pee-in-your-pants, memory.”
“Ya have some shtones on ya, Grogoch lad; wantin’ ta get down there so fast!” smiled the leprechaun, scuttling onto Icrick’s shoulder. “That’s the spirit! We’ll do exactly what the shnake says ‘n’ we’ll be grand-ee-o so! Onwards, thou hairy-eth dwarf-eth!”
By Khrum’s somewhat humorous and buoyant directive, they primed their wits and set due course for the great stairway.
Up till now, the impending vista was of mountains, hills, or sometimes forests. Yet the obscurities of beyond remained a question to William as they strolled across that black-bannered parapet towards the deepening stairway. What may once have been the crowns of a swaying woodland, or the glint of a delta perhaps, was now contoured with outlandish shapes. Rock formations; glistening with calcite deposits and eroded in such peculiar means that they almost appeared swelling and sentient. They rested before the joyless moon, as a dreamscape of abominable proportions would amble through the idle horrors of Beelzebub’s fetid mind. Such eerie and strange formations. Unfamiliar. Dreary. Like evil counterparts of nature’s more common displays of beauty. Grimacing as they appeared, these creations were little more than geographical features of the black counties through where they were set to roam.
The night turned overcast. Foreboding clouds flooded the skies like foaming waves in a squall. Sometimes a curious ripple of electricity would undulate across their grey, groaning guts, making the mystery of the east appear all the more unwelcoming.
When they reached the giant stair, they climbed down into the dust of the stark city.
Buildings which had once been of fine craftsmanship, erected by the rough hands who were skilled in the art of design, had long been overrun by an errant will, and were nothing more than tattered corpses of those who had at one time existed. Bare shells, jilted after the dawning of du Pòrveth, with no indications of life throughout, other than the rising smoke which spiralled through the draught of those cold, city streets. Those ever smouldering fires were like perpetual reminders, taunting any survivors of Lythiann’s ruin.
A lone tumbleweed bowled into darkness. It could only be, uninhabited or not, that these buildings were the tombs of all who’d been murdered by that sinful witch. Filled with the remains of so many innocents, that even the dust that skimmed over those bare roads must have been tainted by the grit from their wilted bones.
Rubbing her arms with a shudder, Wren said, “Oh, I can feel this place running up my spine, so I can. It’s almost like I’m being watched.”
“Ara, now! Don’t be at that!” Crosco argued whiningly.
Defensively, she replied, “At what?”
“Going on about us being watched and that…trying to scare us. Just cut it out, will you?!” he stated.
“My intentions weren’t to scare you, Crosco!” Wren tutted. “All I’m saying is that this place feels strange. Besides, weren’t you the one going on about us being watched in the first place?”
“I realise that…but still…” huffed The Head, stuck for a retort.
“I get that feeling too, Wren. Chilling, isn’t it?” the Grogoch contributed, as he watched the rooftops. “However, let’s the not linger here discussing it. None of us wish to be in this place, so let’s get our direction sorted and press on.”
“Right…left firsht, right?” Khrum asked, inadvertently confusing himself.
“I believe…um…it is, yes,” the Elf replied, wishing he would not puzzle him so. “But remember, we must stick together at all times, and keep our voices low, as always. We do that, then we stand a better chance of seeing the other side.”
As they discussed their plans, William felt a strange discomfort within him. It was terribly peculiar. A heavy sensation flushed through him, tiring him instantly, and urging him to rest a moment to gather his strength.
Looking oh so bewildered, he groaned, “Ugh, my head! It’s spinning. Can we wait here for a minute? Just till I sort myself out.”
“What’s the matter?” Stell asked, warily watching those dismal roads. “Are you ill?”
“Don’t know. I just need to rest a bit, I think. I’ll be fine in a minute or two,” the lad said, settling himself by the remains of a nearby abbey.
“I’m not so sure about this, William. I know it’s quiet right now, but for how long? And this place frightens the living daylights out of me!” Icrick quivered, ready for the worst. “Waiting around here is not my desire. I just want to get it over with!”
“Icrick has a point,” said the Elf. “We must not dawdle, William. It’s not wise. It leaves us vulnerable…out in the open. I think it best if you just keep moving. It may take your mind off your ill feelings.”
A haunting chuckle echoed in the deep, casting William back to a dream he had long, long ago in the Grollo Halls. He shook his head as if, through some transient prevision, he knew what was about to occur.
He looked agitated. He was rubbing his eyes and brow; grunting and groaning like something was trying to get inside his head to torture him. The others recoiled and unleashed their weapons, when the winds too escalated, and washed angrily through those dusty avenues. Suddenly, William leapt to his feet with a countenance bred only from fury, freed Thérn, then dashed into the shadows ahead. He was running away from their recommended course. The wrong direction.
“WILLIAM! THAT’S THE WRONG WAY!” Wren cried out; yet he didn’t rest.
Instead, he lunged into the darkness where they heard the distinctive crack of steel upon bone. Darkness robbed all sight of him and, briefly, there was not another sound.
“What’s he at, for pity’s sake?” Khrum shrieked in a fluster. “What ‘n’ the hell did he go ‘n’ do that for?”
There was a brutish growl. William was being shoved from the darkness by a monstrous beast.
Eyes flaring in terror, Stell gasped, “It is the demon of Gúran…it is the behemoth, Nalpaltharán!”
The Symphogram bumped violently on Icrick’s shoulders. The force flung him head-over-heels, but he got off with just a scratched wrist. What does this mean? he thought. Was it William Muldoon’s time to prove himself?
Thérn clashed against the twisted horns of this vulgar creature as William, in turn, shoved forth in conflict. Its dripping wings broadened in anger as the powerful villain drove William out into the open, but the lad held his ground mightily, such that his heels, planted in the dirt, ploughed it aloft during their fierce struggle.
“The rest of you…stay here!” Stell ordered, as the others took refuge behind a mound of debris, from where they watched, and The Head whimpered, “He’s done for, the buffoon! What an idiotic thing to do…running into the darkness like that. Now the beast will come for all of us.”
Running in with a ready bow, Stell called out, “William! You retreat, this second! Wherever Nalpaltharán is, she is never far behind.”
William paid him no heed. Something inside of him was erupting with a molten rage, such that he dared not dread this devil before him.
Grinding its horns with a twisting neck, the behemoth persisted in pushing him backwards, but the lad wouldn’t give in. Thérn had locked onto the behemoth’s horns so stubbornly that no bite could reach him. Stell closed in, rapidly releasing arrow after arrow at William’s rival, though none could penetrate its profuse coat, ricocheting into the air every time.
The behemoth’s eyes glinted in all its malice. It lumbered forward wi
th crunching strides, but this wasn’t going to stop William, for he drove right back at him. Spanning out its enormous wings, it tried swiping its lethal claws, but missed him every time. He snarled in frustration, like a ravening bear whose bloodied kill had been sniffed by another, but still William kept his ground.
The others desperately wanted to assist, but they were so thrown by William’s actions that all they could think to do was yell at him to yield. They knew that this monster was too vile a thing to be reckoned with. And after the Symphogram had bumped the way it did, they could but hope.
“Please! Please make it so, Lord!” Icrick prayed, every now and again, looking at the Symphogram. “Help him find his power. He needs it, God. Now more than ever.”
Nevertheless, the Symphogram had since quietened, and was as unobtrusive as ever. It was only by some peculiar mishap that it jolted, being falsely convinced of William’s will by the freak stimulus of something else. A meddlesome force.
Twisting Thérn free, William flipped backwards to allow himself more room. He was certain that the behemoth would charge when he did. Landing smoothly upon one knee, he glared at the monster as it barrelled at him head on, snorting madly with flames spitting from its nostrils. Though the beast was menacing, that alien fearlessness was ruling the boy now. Pity to say it wasn’t through the divine influence of William’s transformation. No, this particular rage was induced by some other power…a wicked mind.
Nalpaltharán, galloping in, was mere feet away when William sprung lithely from its path, slashing at the behemoth’s eyes. Thérn’s final swipe carved its cheek as it skimmed by, making it gush red. The behemoth skidded and scrabbled wildly into the hunt once again. Gnashing and clawing it pursued William, who dodged and rolled with tremendous agility to evade injury at all costs. Strength may have been the creature’s asset, but it was still clumsy, constantly missing its target and leaving itself open to free attacks from the boy’s steel.
It was so intense, so demanding…even, dare I say, thrilling for William. He persisted with his attacks, and there was no convincing him otherwise. The behemoth was tiring. But before William could dish out any more, his foe retreated to the shadows, where his blazing eyes vanished amongst the shade. William waited for him on the edge of shadow, panting and sneering with a look of bitter hatred. But then someone dragged him back.
“What do you think you’re at, William?” Stell demanded. “You could have been massacred! Whatever happened to that sensible lad I knew?”
Like he’d been liberated from some spell, William came about and looked at Stell through his own eyes again.
“W-What happened?” he asked hazily. “What just happened? I can’t remember.”
“You’re telling me you have no idea what you just did?” Stell asked, when the others joined them.
Wren stomped over, slapped him across the cheek, and snapped, “Don’t you ever do that again! Ever! Do you hear me, you bloody lunatic?”
“What did I do?” William yelled, palming his cheek.
A husky utterance then seeped from the darkest corners of that gloomy city. Our heroes seized.
“I’ll draw you in, little flies,” it snarled, as if she who spoke was smiling behind her poisonous words. “There is nothing you can do to bar me from your minds, my puppets.”
Backing away, Icrick shivered. “How about we just discuss your actions later, William. Right now, we should probably—”
With a deathly roar, the behemoth then sprang from the unknown again. Only this time, black garments trailed from its back.
“—FLEE!” screeched Icrick, scurrying off.
Blocking off the alarmed Grogoch, the behemoth turned to meet him. It snarled with a bloody drool. Icrick scurried back to his friends. Mounted upon the creature was a new demon. Faceless behind a raven mist, save for two bloodshot eyes, was the witch of that Barren City—Sidell du Pòrveth.
Arrayed in an armour of shadow and vapour, Sidell wielded two maces of a lethal style in her emaciated claws, which she brandished elegantly. It was like the weapons themselves were a part of her bony arms.
“Your minds are far too weak to confront my magic!” she hissed, her vaporous cloaks riding the breeze. “I am feared by both the living and the dead. Behold, here you are. A rabble of insignificant worms; testing your nerve, I suppose, as you tread through my dominion? Tell me, how is it you think you were going to prevail over one who could potentially be the end of your God’s ever-precious flock?”
She cackled from her mount, as the ever-grimacing sky closed in to flashes of hidden lightning.
Within those few flashing seconds, William suddenly recalled his rash actions of late. And had he actually realised it himself or not, this is what really happened.
Sidell was trying to lure him into a trap, to deal with William alone, without the interference of his companions. Not that they would’ve made much difference anyway. She just liked toying with people this way. It was what she did. Likewise, luring William in first was not because he was the promised one, no. For Sidell knew not of William’s appearance or whereabouts. This was just dumb luck on her part. Redmun had told our faithful friends of her witlessness, and so it had to stay that way. Fortunately, William managed to resist her hex by unleashing an attack of his own. Obviously this was not du Pórveth’s intention; having expected him to just approach her in a daze, whereby her pet would ultimately bite his head off. What was a clear case of underestimation on her part, she put down to ‘one of those things.’
Nalpaltharán paced to and fro in the murky distance, with its head crouched and sneering. Sidell, too, studied them, pondering in what way she should go about butchering this group of foolish dogs, all the while sharpening her blades off one another. She liked a clean cut through flesh. She liked the feel of it. The smoothness of it. She was in no rush, so she took her time. She knew that every shrill scrape of that steel was sending a biting frost through their veins, and this was far more enjoyable for her than any disembowelment, decapitation, or dismemberment; the sense of fear dominating one’s soul. She knew they had nowhere to go.
Grabbing William’s arm, Wren said, “There are reasons few tales have seen the outside of these walls! She aims to butcher us like all the others. We must flee!”
“Not me!” William objected, suddenly realising that he may yet have the mind to challenge this.
Certain of triumph, he was not. Yet a weariness was engorging him, beseeching him to stand against the odds rather than escape them. ‘Face what you dread the most, boy, and you will not only overcome it…but you will also be able to confront anything,’ rang through his mind, again and again, in a continuous loop. He had to at least try, no matter what end.
“What in Hell’s Gates do you mean, not me?!” Wren demanded.
Looking deep into her eyes, he said, “Look, I got us into this mess, so I’ll get us out! Don’t worry, I’m only going to distract her while ye head for the centre o’ the wall on other side o’ the city. There’s another way out over there. You can’t miss it…and it looks a lot closer than Miack’s route. Besides, she’ll have her eye on the main exit after this. Find that other gate, leave this city, and hide!”
“But—”
“Wren…I can do this! You’ve trusted me up till now, and I’m fairly certain I haven’t let you down, so you can trust me with this, too. I promise! Now go.”
“But—”
“Bloody go, will you!” he shouted, shoving her away. “Use the alleyways! They’re your best bet for cover right now. And keep your heads down.”
His friends stood there in a flurry, hearts rumbling; yearning for someone to take charge and speak up about this madness.
Divided on what actions to take, Stell asked fretfully, “You sure you know what you are doing, William?”
“Stell!” Icrick barked. “How could you? You’re not actually considering going along with this lunacy are you?”
“I do not wish to leave him.” Stell stated. “But, had we
ever held Mysun back, then he never would have fulfilled his own makings now, would he?”
“Stell’s right. I know what I’m doing,” the boy insisted, stout in air. “Don’t worry about me, Icrick. I’ll be back before ye know it.”
“Can you…can you sense the Wrythus, William?” Icrick asked of him before moving.
Not sure of how to answer, the boy simply said, “I don’t know, Icrick. But I still have to try. I need to know if I can stand up to her.” Motioning to Stell, he added, “Lead them out o’ here, Stell. Run! I’ll catch up.”
The Elf was riven with hesitancy. He would never forgive himself if anything bad happened to William, but he had to show him faith.
“To the alleyways, at once! Swiftly now! Don’t look back,” he wound up ordering, pushing them along.
No sooner had they started for the side streets, than Sidell cracked her reins, and the behemoth scrambled north of their course to cut them off behind the buildings. A graceless beast; always rushing and shovelling the dirt at its sodden paws. Sidell had no idea of William’s intentions either. To her this was just a game, and so it was enough of a distraction for the boy to gather himself.
One last time, Wren beckoned, “William!”
She stood, fidgeting as normal, gazing at him affectionately.
“I—” she hesitated.
With a delicate smile, which uttered infinitely more than anything she could have otherwise declared, she reconsidered her words and mouthed, “…See you on the other side, yes?”
He returned a smile; enough to award some tranquillity to the hurricane of anguish that was so looming in her taken heart.
His companions rushed for the nearest littered alleyway, when suddenly William heard a curious little bellowing, as of an Indian whooping his war call. He then spotted Khrum, who’d secretly absconded so as to join William’s side. It appeared he wasn’t going to be alone in this struggle after all. Counterproductive! He thought.
“Khrum! Where do you think you’re off to?” the boy demanded, slipping in behind a broken column to confer.
The Other of One: Book Two Page 26