“I’m glad to hear it then!” she replied, almost tearing up.
“And I’m glad that you’re glad,” William replied, with a pinch of light-heartedness, hoping to dry those tears before they could glisten. “Listen, I see they’re building a fire over there. Why don’t you join them and relax for a bit. Warm yourself up. You could use it after today. I’ll be over in a minute. Okay?”
A lone tear slipped away, and she rubbed her eye with a timid giggle at her own apparent silliness, and sniffled, “Sounds like a good idea. I think if I ran anymore today my legs would probably pop off! How attractive would I look then?!”
He saw something of a deeper love in Wren. Whilst saddened by her friend’s departure, it had, in a way, been diluted by the new and unfathomable emotions which had incubated from sharing in yet another precious moment with her William.
William slid a stray hair from her eyes. He couldn’t help but smile at how they softened when he touched her. Were it not for everything that was going on, this touch would’ve been so very perfect. But now was not the time for such intimacies. More important matters were at hand. They both knew this.
Too plagued by his grief to act upon these mutual longings, he simply smiled, “Go on…get some rest.”
She returned a smile of her own. One of compassion; to keep her helpless desires at bay.
Huddling up in folded arms, she took her leave. But then she paused.
She had her nail to her teeth, as if suddenly smitten, and asked, “You…won’t keep me waiting?”
It seemed she’d finally realised how she truly felt. That he was the only person she desired, and all she would ever desire. Her look wrote this in a thousand sonnets. William’s very breath might have been stolen away, but for the circumstances.
He couldn’t allow his longings to elope with such fantasies, so he uttered, “I won’t be long. But…um…maybe you could save me a place…next to you?”
She nodded and returned to camp.
What a trying thing that was for William, not to act. All he wanted was to grab her and kiss her as passionately as he could. His first true kiss. But this would’ve been unfaithful to his cause; to his companions. No, now was not their moment.
William approached the ledge again to consider his thoughts alone. He picked up a pebble and flung it jadedly into the darkness, ever wondering about his headless ally, his missing tutor, dark nightmares, the moon and his premonition.
Westward, he noticed a small emerald light. It had halted, and was looking back. A delicate wisp of hope emanated when he saw this, only to burn out again, just as the green glow itself had done, until eventually, it disappeared. Crosco and Ifcus, his dearly cherished friends, were really gone. It didn’t even seem real to him. But it was.
Amongst a throng of willowy pines which were standing high within the shallow gorge beneath him, William heard the sharp sound of squawking. It was the same vile noise that seemed to haunt him only in his times of hurt, and there was that same magpie, fluttering rowdily in the topmost branches; screeching and flapping at him. Heckling, almost.
William found another stone, and firing it into the trees, he shouted, “You again! Shove off, you bloody nuisance! Go on! Go annoy somebody else for a change! Get!”
The magpie dodged that near hit and flew away. William then strolled back to his companions, yet not before scanning that western void one last time. He saw nothing.
“What was all that shoutin’ about, laddy?” Khrum asked, massaging some heat into his palms.
“Bloody magpies, getting on my nerves. Clucking in my face every two minutes.” the lad answered, striving now to appear slightly less unscathed than he actually was.
“That same magpie from before?” Wren asked with interest.
“Can’t say for sure. They all look the same to me really, magpies. But it could’ve been. Why?” he asked.
“No reason…” said she.
For a time they rested at the foot of the cliff, by a small, wood fire. Their blaze was but burning embers lest they drew any unnecessary attention. Even still, they wanted to have something of a mild glow to signal Redmun with, should he pass by during the night. Also, their food was almost at an end, but Stell had with him those scant portions of fruit from before, and it managed to stave off the hunger for a time, even though their gurgling stomachs kept blathering away to one another.
Khrum would have given his ‘right testicle’ (his words, not mine) for a drink in those few solitary hours. He kept going on and on about it; naming out all the different types of whisky, as if romancing over long-lost loves. He’d waffled on about it for so long that Icrick, too, had mustered a craving for a small drop of wine or, perhaps, a dribble of sherry. Anything to take the edge off, he felt.
It was a calm night for the most part. Sometimes they chatted about things in general, and other times they made suggestions about what they were going to do, and how they were ever going to get out of that jam. Either way, nothing could curb the horrors that were now plaguing them of Redmun’s long-endured absence. What was taking him so long? Was he all right? Was he even going to meet them at all? Nobody knew.
* * *
Night drew on to a blackness that presented the zenith of those darkly hours, and the Erethaoí still did not show. They feared that maybe he had not seen their fire, and was perhaps up above searching for them. Or else he still hadn’t gotten away from Sidell; a notion which didn’t bear thinking about at all.
“This doesn’t look promising, does it?” Icrick finally said, with a sulk. “Redmun should be here by now.”
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” William confessed. “Maybe we should see if we can find a way to the top o’ this cliff, further down the way. I mean, he found us once…maybe he’ll find us again.”
“You think he’s safe, William?” Wren asked. “I hate to doubt him, but do you think he made it out of the city alive?”
Staring blankly into those pulsing coals, he replied, “I hope so.”
“Right!” said Khrum, clapping the dust from his hands and standing up, like he was readying himself for off. “Perk up, folks. Let’s get our shkates on. This blasted cliff won’t conquer us, by Jove!”
“I admire your optimism, my lucky friend,” said Stell, “but how is it you plan on making the summit? Correct me if I’m wrong, but that surface would shred us in two before we could even get halfway. Let alone the shortage of grips.”
Slumping his shoulders, Khrum’s enthusiasm faded, when he tutted, “Oh, yeah…forgot about all that. Bollocks!”
“Khrum!” Icrick objected sharply, so appalled that he got a start. “Mind your manners.”
He hated such open vulgarities. He found them unnecessary, uncomfortable, and just plain rude.
“Bah, what-ever!” the leprechaun moped miserably. “Couldn’t give a riddler’s what ya think, Icrick, ta be honesht with ya! Anyways, who are you, tryin’ ta mammy me whenever I feel like effin’ ‘n’ blindin’. Quit it. It’s gettin’ old. Actin’ all holier-than-thou all the time. Makes my tummy all knotty!”
Suddenly, something occurred that they thought all their birthdays had come at once.
A brigade of squat ladies—I’d say eight or so—came marching up through the darkness to their left. They were stubby, pudgy little things, with ears as big as wings and noses like bumpy potatoes. Bearing coral armoured hides like lobsters, and garbed in short cloaks, these peculiar beings were known as Jaggiwans, or Briny Dwarvettes of the mid-ocean dales. Hardy women, by the cut of them. Never afraid to roll up their sleeves. They’d spend a significant amount of time beneath the tides. Then, whenever they got a hankering for some good liquor, they’d climb from the waters and celebrate for the same length of time that a squirrel might hibernate. They were even known to drink for anything up to eight months at a time, non-stop. Then once their celebrations were at an end, they’d stagger back to the seas and have a good long nap for themselves.
And so being renowned for th
eir glee and forthrightness, they marched along, as carefree as you please; singing sea shanties to the beat of their flapping feet. Their shadows looked ever so jolly upon the walls by the glowing firelight, and they were carrying goblets of fresh froth in their mitts. A certain someone knew quite well what was in these juicy chalices.
Jumping to attention, with an arid tongue lolling, and a smile from temple to temple, Khrum’s delight replenished threefold. The others, however, were ready for anything.
As if at home in their own little caves, the tiny Dwarvettes ambled right up to the firelight, and helped themselves to some heat without so much as a ‘how do you do?’ Drunk was not the word.
“Mind if we steal a bit o’ warmth from your fire here?” one of them finally found the courtesy to ask.
“Not-at-all!” Khrum insisted. “Make yourselves at home, young ladies. Fine night ta be out ‘n’ about. Though it could be a biteen dangerous for ye, being so darn pretty ‘n’ all!”
He flattered with great intent; until he helped one of them out of their cloak, only to find that it was slick with weird slime and periwinkles, but he battled past it.
“Oh, ‘n’ what’s that ya have there?” he asked, wiping his hand off the lady’s shell without her knowing. “Well, now! That looks like ale! An’ tashty ale at that!” he hinted, licking his lips, with his pupils reflecting a near-perfect image of a goblet.
“Tastes absolutely dee-vine,” said one of the Jaggiwans, in her gritty voice. “Cheers for asking.”
Downing one sloppy mouthful, she rattled out a horrible burp, before tossing the rest over the cliff.
What a sinful waste of perfectly good tipple. Khrum nearly broke down in tears.
Then one of the other ones said, “Here, have this one, leprechauneen! (Hic!) My head is goin’ like the clappers here anyways. (Hiccup!)” and she handed Khrum a full goblet of foaming white ale.
“He-he! SOUND! Many, many, many thanks ta ya, me lass. May God shmile down on ya from his ruby throne above.” he praised, whisking the chalice from her hand.
Scuttling over to the fire, with the oversized goblet grasped protectively in both arms, Khrum sat down, licked his lips, and poured the beer tantalizingly into his mouth. This he did in front of poor Icrick.
Well, now. The ale was crisp, it was cold, and it tasted so wonderfully sweet. The little leprechaun thought he was in drinker’s heaven…on happy hour. Meanwhile, there was Icrick, watching on wistfully as that golden nectar dribbled down Khrum’s beard. He wanted but a sip and nothing more. To his joy, the leprechaun was a decent chap, and had spared him a little less than a third. This was fairly surprising, for it is not known for a leprechaun to surrender a drink so freely. Being a lifelong friend of Icrick’s, however, Khrum was not your average, selfish leprechaun by any means. Well, at least not since he’d set out on this adventure, that is.
Stell introduced himself and his band, and the Dwarvettes turned out to be a little ebullient bunch. A little up-front and sarcastic, maybe, but far from enemies. They’d been returning home from a Pixies’ ball not too far away in the Rockstone Wood, just beyond the border. ‘Twas a secret place where bad things couldn’t find them, according to them.
Once settled, the Jaggiwans went on and on about their night; telling of their antics and how they sang and danced the eve away. Incredibly sociable they were. Not full of small talk and boring chitchat like any commonplace stranger. They were almost leprechaun-like. Nor were they afraid to give Khrum a run for his money whenever he opened his vulgar gob. His gallantry and charm seemed to have conveniently been quench, along with his thirst. But they knew well.
After he’d informed them of their present predicament, Stell then asked if there was any way they could go around the cliff, or if there was any part of the face whereby they could ascend.
“I’ll tell you what,” said one of the ladies, struggling to her feet. “The night’s still young! So we’ll give you a challenge, and if you win, we will help you get to the top o’ that cliff there. What do you reckon? Bit o’ fun?!”
“And if we lose?” William was compelled to ask.
“If you lose, then…then…um…”
Stumped by this highly inquisitive and complex question, and far too drunk to think straight, the fat Dwarvette summoned her sisters to a huddle.
Following a moment’s debate, she turned to William and answered, “Right! If you lose, then you have to give us all o’ your…money,” and all of her Dwarf friends added an unpromising yet rather caricatured “Woooh!” with one in the background contributing a muffled, “Dun-Duuun!”
William and his friends regarded one another with amusement. It wasn’t much of a forfeit on their part, seeing as they hardly had two pennies to rub together anyhow. Actually, had they not known any better, they would have said that these teeny critters didn’t even need the money, and that it was just something they could use to flaunt their victory.
Speaking for all, Wren suddenly said, “Fair enough. You’ve got yourselves a deal. So, what’s the challenge?”
With that, one Jaggiwan stepped out from the rest. A little broader than the others, she wore a seashell eye patch over her left eye.
Speaking proudly and majestically, she slurred, “Me name’s Estáz! And I am the smartest of all beings, in any world that anyone has ever known ever. Ever-ever-ever-ever-ever…EVER!”
The rest of Estáz’s companions sniggered and chuckled to themselves. They were clearly just having a laugh at the strangers’ expense, who knew this well enough. But they decided to amuse these funny lasses anyway, and thus, allowed them their performance; if it meant finding a way to the top.
“Very well, Estáz,” Stell smiled shrewdly, and she bowed grandly in accord. “What type of challenge do you suggest?”
“I challenge you to…um…challenge me, to a brain contest, competition…thing.” she exclaimed, pointing boldly into the skies.
If luck was to ever befall our crew, it could not have arrived any sweeter than this, because Stell had just the trick.
“Very well.” smiled he, displaying an astute wink to our William.
Secretly procuring the last pear from his satchel, he hid it behind his back, and said, “I accept.”
Stell scanned his surroundings, then spied a black owl who was perched in the pines below the plateau. This feathered predator was scouring the woodland floor in search of a late-night morsel, and, sure enough, something small and undoubtedly very tasty was nosing about in a leafy patch not ten metres below.
This was just what Stell was after; so he said, “Right so, Estáz. See that owl over there…in the trees?”
Squinting hard, as she stood in drunken circles, Estáz soon located the owl and gurgled, “Indeed I do, Mr. Elfington, me aul’ coconut! Indeed I do, indeedy-do!”
Stell turned a blind eye to that unbecoming and rather inane ‘coconut’ statement, and continued, “Now, he is about to swoop in and catch his dinner at any given moment, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, that’s the way it looks to me anyways!” said Estáz, squeezing out a stifled burp.
“I’ll wager that I can make you say the word ‘bear’ before he catches his dinner. Do you accept my challenge?”
This seemed an easy bet for Estáz to win. For anybody who’s anybody knows that, once an owl spots some food, he doesn’t wait around to snag it. Not at all. They swoop in hard and fast, before taking to their nest to devour it.
“Quickly now!” said Stell. “Time is of the essence.”
After some brief deliberation, the merry lady said, “Agreed! I’ll take that wager. Slap it in between two slices of bread there and I’ll gobble it up, feathers ‘n’ all!”
“Very well. You must answer these three questions as quickly as possible.” Stell instructed. “Understand?”
“Right you are!” said Estáz, keenly rubbing her hands, with all the allure of a fat rugby player outside a scrum.
William, Wren, Khrum, and Icrick stood by wit
h undivided attention. Estáz’s sisters were doing the same, only they were a tad less coordinated; sometimes staggering backwards, or dozing off temporarily. Nevertheless, Estáz herself was on the ready, and Stell commenced with his questioning.
Solemn in eye, the Elf glared at her and asked, “Question one: What is your name?”
All caught up in the excitement, she immediately bellowed, “ESTÁÁÁZ!”
Her squeal was like nails on a blackboard, and Stell juddered. “Okay, Estáz, no need to scream your head off either,” and the Dwarvette apologized.
(The owl’s neck was stretched out, with one talon raised…)
“Hmmm. Question two: What is your favourite drink?” the Elf asked.
“Why ale, of course!” Estáz smirked, like it couldn’t be any more obvious.
(The owl’s wings begin to lift…)
“And question three: What is this?” Stell asked, displaying the pear.
“A pear!” Estáz chuckled smugly, thinking she’d answered all the questions without a hitch.
“Ho-ho! That was easier than I thought!” the Elf laughed unexpectedly. “Now, take us to the top of that cliff, if you please.”
“W-W-What?!” gasped the Dwarvette, glimpsing at her friends with confusion. “You said bear not pear!”
“My, my, did you just say bear?” Stell grinned.
Not a moment too soon, the owl soared from the trees and snatched up an unwary asp, before flying back home so as to partake in his evening dish. Meanwhile, all of Estáz’s friends were left moaning and hissing at her downright thickness. Smartest being ever, indeed.
“Well, you shifty little so ‘n’ so!” Estáz chuckled, taking the trick in good taste, as did her chums. “I’ll have to remember that one for again! Very well then, MacElferson me aul’ flithereen, a deal’s a deal!”
“Much obliged.” Stell replied, bestowing a gallant bow. “Now, what must we do to get over this cliff?”
“The same thing we do!” Estáz answered, when all of the Jaggiwans huddled up together, wrapping their arms around one another’s waists.
The Other of One: Book Two Page 30