The Other of One: Book Two

by Brian G. Burke

  Day two was much the same as the first; rainy and gloom-ridden. They had approached more trying and cumbersome terrain, that of slack stone and impasses which drove them to scale instead of walk. Such draining work; and even though Redmun had been on the mountain before, a vast deal had changed from all the landslides and corrosion.

  Ortógaí — or Mountain Moggies — also prowled in those early days of Andin’s Shield. Creatures cast from the plant life; forged from when the shoots of the Mindu bud would bond to wood or stone, thereby fabricating feral cats, puma-sized, who hid in the brush, waiting for lesser prey. Save for one frightening episode, where they came across three Ortógaí in feeding, they managed to avoid them quite easily. All the same, it didn’t help their nerves any, to know that they were out there, somewhere, creeping under darkness and observing matters from the unknown.

  Come day three, everything was getting all the more distressing. Heavier winds gushed in from the south, and there was even louder rainfall than the days prior. Memories of the foothills bygone were like dreams of a gorgeous country stroll in comparison. Wren had since tried confronting William about his little outburst back at the ruin. But he just ignored her by cutting her off and then striking up conversation with the person next to him and the likes. He was spiteful, which is understandable enough.

  She hounded him again and again, but he never returned one single syllable. Refusing to give in, while becoming all the more paranoid with herself, she didn’t always let William away with this, and every so often she would converse with him despite his discourtesy, whether he wanted to listen or not. She’d simply yap away without a bother. There were, of course, times where he got so irritated that he thought he was going to lash out at her. Such a reaction, he knew, was dicey, should he let slip any word of Webble’s counsel; something which could lead to the damnation of all. Instead he just bit his tongue, borrowed the Symphogram off Icrick, and then went off by himself to try and associate with it for a while. He knew nobody would disturb this. Wren included.

  Things went on and on like this for a time. So much so, that the others took to questioning his bitterness. It didn’t take much to see that something was amiss. But nobody ever spoke of it, straight out. They didn’t want to interfere in business that wasn’t their own. So, concerns aside yet not forgotten, they carried on minding their own business. Wren, on the contrary, soon grew weary of confronting him. She figured that, perhaps, he needed some time to himself. And maybe in his own time he would approach her instead. That was all she could really do.

  The fourth day drifted along. The rain had fizzled out and the clouds were clear, to an extent. Twilight had soon withdrawn, greeting the unusual mutterings of nameless things which they never before noticed behind the severe rainfall.

  The only person who stayed awake during those midmost eves was Redmun. Like a sentry he sat there, alone. Only William noticed this, having rarely gotten a decent night’s sleep himself, since Percy’s abode. He just lay there, under his blanket, observing the man. Sometimes it lulled him into an hour of uninterrupted rest. Sometimes, a little more, which was nice. He never talked to Redmun during those hours, or bothered him in any way. Sometimes our William just didn’t feel like talking. Other times, he wouldn’t know what to say if he did. Each clear night the Erethaoí sat there, the same way, one leg resting over the other. He always looked strangely content; not thinking of the toil to come. Nightly he whispered to the stars unseen, which William thought odd. Who could say if they uttered back to him or not. But Redmun was content either way. It must have been, I suppose, some mystifying ritual of one who was as naturistic as he.

  Four more days dragged on, slower than a year in time. ‘Twas another two nights thereafter before they’d reached the mere midst of the climb. Icrick, privileged or not to be undertaking such an eminent task as he was, wouldn’t stop complaining about the bulkiness of the Symphogram, and how it kept pinching his skin, let alone how hard it was to lug it up a sharp mountain path, whilst its horn kept snagging itself in passing branches and tugging him back with a fright. He took it on the chin, however, and carried on.

  The eleventh day had come and gone, and the air was so dangerously thin that William’s chest burnt cold with every raw wheeze. Redmun suffered likewise, and the others, too. So after finding a rare patch of Giddleweed amongst some rocks, he asked that they each fasten some to their collars. That little weed delivered an abundance of clean oxygen to any who wore it, and would see them safely to the top without fainting. And it worked surprisingly well. Khrum had to carry his on his back, but he was used to it from carrying leprechaun-sized bales back in the day.

  Up to this point, they had negotiated all sorts of obstacles—unfastened boulders; thick, slanted forests teeming with mischievous animals; horrible weathers of perilous gales and snowy blizzards; and least favourite of all, their food had been completely consumed.

  This made the Elf especially anxious, for he always had a healthy appetite, yet he stayed calm and kept it to himself, as one might expect he would. But he wasn’t happy about it. They foraged whenever they could, needless to say, gathering little more than some curled dock and bracken at a time. These plants proved awful on the tongue, and slithery to swallow. After William’s initial taste, he swore to himself that he’d do without until he had no other choice. He even snatched that cricket from his sporran and ate that before touching the other stuff. Soon came the time, however, when he was collecting as much bracken as he could, and was chewing it along the way in great mouthfuls.

  Day number thirteen on that miserable trek, and the path had gotten terribly tight, ravelling around the outermost walls of the mountain. Their pace was slow, and everywhere was riddled with black ice. Heavy gales of blinding snow blew in on all sides, there was no escaping it. William and Icrick were glad of their comfort cloaks then, believe me. But even with those magical garments they were still perished, with their teeth chattering every step of the way. And, garbed or not, Icrick’s fur kept getting blown back as he traipsed against those forceful winds. He had the look of a badly trimmed caveman about him. Those winds almost carried him clean off the edge on more than one occasion, too, like a small haystack. But they never succeeded, I’m relieved to say.

  Little Pew was also in glum form. He was too small a creature to contend with those cruel conditions. Wren, however, wrapped him up tightly in her jacket when she saw just how little he could bear it. From then on in, he squeaked away rather happily.

  Below their scraggy path was a treacherous drop into spiky rocks, way down in the deep. They could but press their backs against the wall and proceed as carefully as ever they could, and in single file. The pathway was also far crumblier, which didn’t help matters in the slightest. Vigilance was paramount, as, beneath certain points of the trail, the ground could easily have given away….and it almost did, twice or thrice. Khrum, for one, got a terrible jolt when he stepped onto an icy patch. The second he bounded backwards to regain some stability, he landed on some slack rock, only to have it shatter under his buckled brogues. Stell snatched ahold of him just in time, and the little leprechaun bestowed many, many thanks, once he’d stopped trembling. He blamed the cold for that one.

  Day fifteen, and they acquired little-to-no sleep, for the pathway was too slim to lounge upon. Rather they were forced to sit with their backs propped against the cold wall, all huddled up, with their legs dangling out over the edge. It was already difficult enough for William to sleep as it was, never mind when he was sitting, high up, on a bitter mountain ledge, amidst haunting cloud and driving snow. The poor chap couldn’t muster a wink.

  One night in particular, he stood at the brink as the others napped. He was holding the scarf which Wren had given him that day by the lake. Ever unsettled by Vahna’s story, he was about to fling it into the passing white, to be carried from his sight and mind. Only he didn’t. Just as he was recoiling his arm to throw, he sighed, turning his eyes down. He couldn’t do it. He felt like he was
throwing away a hope. He reviewed his intentions, and tied it to his waist again before lying back down. Wren was doing some reminiscing of her own, with her silhouette, yet there wasn’t much light up there for it to work properly, so she just let it be.

  Day seventeen; the weather had eased off, making their travels that much easier. The wiry path had since broadened and was now leading inwards, away from the ledge. A welcome relief, indeed; until they happened upon some rather strange obscurities in the mountain’s surface.

  The precipice was split in places, the effects of time and the extreme conditions, most probably. A gleaming greyish marble shone from beneath its outermost crust; smooth, and somehow untarnished by the elements. This was a rare encounter, at first. Yet after some few hours more, when they were advancing upon more cloud and their walk had elevated into another testing climb, the entire peak seemed to be moulded entirely from this rich marble. And because it was very slippery, they had to take much greater care, or else they’d slide right off the edge.

  When I say they had to ‘climb,’ I mean that quite literally. They were faced with a vertical clamber, with no rope, sometimes with overhangs. William found himself dangling at one point, and he couldn’t see his next move. Like you or me, he felt panic coming to get him. Evoking his lessons in composure, however, he simply closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. Ever so steadily, this relaxed him. Then, when he felt collected enough, he went back to inspecting his handholds until he found one. After which, he was swiftly back on track.

  Not before long, they’d concluded their skyward scale and were back on fairly even ground once more. At this altitude the cloud was considerably dense, but they were almost at their destination, where still the marble flourished.

  “This is pure marble, so it is.” Wren said, feeling its texture. “I’ve never seen a mountain like this before. Then again, I’ve never climbed one before, so perhaps this is normal?”

  Most of the others were wondering about it, too; apart from Stell and Redmun whom, as you already know, had both travelled those parts before.

  They meandered higher into the clouds, when, steadily, the air grew denser and denser still. The snow cleared thereafter, and a soft aroma of flowers floated before the breeze. As with the marble, this was completely out of the ordinary.

  “Does anybody else smell that?” Icrick asked, sniffing about. “It’s kind of sweet.”

  “Aw, ya didn’t fart did ya?” Khrum sulked. “Bracken farts of all things!”

  “No! Like flowers!” the Grogoch said. “I smell roses; lilacs…um…hyacinth I think; orchids, carnations…um….jasmine.”

  “Indeed, Grogoch,” said the Erethaoí, looking around curiously. “I smell them, too. But never have I encountered it up here before. Peculiar! Take no heed, though, for we’re almost at the portal, and flowers are not of our concern right now.”

  Stell then asked, “This gateway of yours is safe, I trust?”

  Then the man returned, “Safer than scaling any further on the normal route, by any means. Six more days it would take us to reach the summit, and I think it’s safe for me to say that we’ve all had enough of this mountain by now. We shall take the hidden way. Rest. And then tackle our descent come dawn.”

  “Yes! Agreed!” Khrum moped, sitting on William’s shoulder, frozen and altogether miserable. “If there’s a short-cut ‘round here someplace, I’m all for it…whether ye want ta or not! Lead on, Redmun, my good man. Let’s hope Drevol has the kettle on.”

  Off the habitual path they strayed, before pushing through some untamed slopes. It remained ever a mystery to see such beautiful vegetation up so high, as all they’d encountered for many days was simple rock and at times, marble.

  As they fought their way through the denser areas of the terrain, they had to lean to one side so as to avoid slipping into the gloom. Then, as sure as can be, they arrived at a charming gravel path of white chippings, lined with stones of pearly chert. Again, it looked so out of place, and not at all like the rest of the mountain. It had a sense of delicacy and beauty about it; as of a path you might find in some botanical green.

  Confused by this, Redmun said, “Just a moment! This isn’t right. I don’t recall there ever being a path here.”

  Then, “Greetings,” whispered a friendly voice.

  Redmun grabbed his hilt and slid it partially from its sheath as his ruby eyes burnt cold.

  “Who goes there?” he ordered.

  Two unnaturally tall figures emerged before his dubious glare. They appeared friendly, from what he could tell, so Redmun’s glower returned to the norm.

  The beings materialized as if from nothing, revealing themselves from the beauty of the gardens which too had suddenly appeared behind the figures themselves. The once unkempt wilds had altered into that of quiet, green hills, with dancing butterflies and fresh flowers of all varieties. Had they not known any better, they would have said that they’d fallen into slumber and awoken into a heavenly dream. A lone shaft of lovely sunlight shone through the sickly clouds and lit up that pleasant place. It was short-lived, but was nice while it lasted.

  One of these beings was visibly female and the other, male, and both were similarly attired in snowy gowns which trailed behind their tender steps. Set by their thighs were two silver scabbards, both housing a pair of twin blades of an intricate fashion. Armour also clothed them. Golden mail, secured about their forearms, chests, and shoulders. Much like silver tinsel, their hair flowed free. Their faces were masked organically with that of glinting pearl; presenting no features except for two friendly, sea-blue eyes which looked upon them with an affable curve. They were beings of a different race, none of whom could be found on the land of Lythiann anymore. And when their great wings of ashen feather fanned out from their backs, the others could only speculate on what they were encountering.

  These strangers had an angelic presence about them, so Redmun eased off for the time being. The others copied.

  “Who are you?” he interrogated gruffly, lest his instincts had deceived him. “I demand you explain yourselves!”

  In response, the strangers uttered each word in turn, stringing them together, one after another, into sentences, beautifully and mystically. Their intonation was so very delicate, that they could only have hailed from the neighbouring isles of the ancient Elderland where, in later years, they ended up taking refuge.

  “You - fear - the - arrival - of - the - eclipse?” they asked.

  They were correct, so Redmun nodded, nothing more.

  “Fear - not,” said they. “For - there - are - some - few - nights - remaining - before - it - falls. You - still - have - time.”

  “Is that so? And how can we trust your word?” the man asked, all the while protecting his fellowship.

  “You - have - set - out - to - destroy - the - dark - one, - have - you - not?”

  “Yes!” Wren answered suddenly. “We are heading to the canyons of Lòr. Can you help us?”

  Redmun motioned at her to hush. He didn’t want her to accidentally reveal any more about their mission than necessary. William shuddered at her voice, wishing she’d just keep her notions to herself, or, perhaps, do him a favour, get bored, and get out of his sight altogether. Taking into account how stubborn she actually was, he knew that neither would happen, so he put it to the back of his mind.

  “Yes - we - can…” they replied.

  “But you have not yet answer my question!” Redmun stated, keeping calm but alert. “Why should we trust you?”

  “Because - of - he - we - no - longer - exist - on - your - land. It - was - he - who - destroyed - us, - after - we - had - arrived - from - across - the - waters, - many - centuries - ago. It - was - he - who - murdered - our - loved - ones. So - we - wish - to - assist - you - in - any - way - we - can. To - aid - you - in - your - quest - for - justice. Vengeance, - my - dear - Erethaoí. Does - this - show - enough - reason - to - gain - your - trust?”

  His apprehension still lurked, but Redmun a
ssented and allowed them to proceed.

  “Thank - you. We - are - glad - of - your - trust,” said they, granting a bow. “But - for - now, - our - keeper - desires - your - company, - Outlander - of - old. Hold - no - fear. For - we - will - not - delay - you - any - longer - than - we - must. Will - you - accompany - us?”

  Just then a stairway came into being by the hillside in the north.

  Those marvellous, mist-clad steps of clean marble were doused in golden rose petals and, what looked to be, crystal-clear chestnut leaves with edgings of silver and bronze.

  “Your keeper?” Redmun asked. “And who exactly is…your keeper?”

  He was quite anxious that this may well be some trap set by their enemy, only for Stell approached his ear and advised him otherwise.

  “I know what you’re thinking; however, I do not believe this to be a trick,” he whispered, with his bowstring slackened. “Drevol no longer thinks we exist, remember? And what reason would other enemies have to put up such a charade? It makes no sense. I say we hear them out.”

  Redman took Stell’s counsel, and with hesitation leaving his stride, he found the nerve to step forward.

  “All - of - you, - please, - join - us,” the strangers beseeched. “Take - this - time - to - rest - and - feast. No - doubt - you - shall - require - it - for - the - remaining - days - of - your - journey.”

  They followed the stairs into higher cloud, with the two beings guiding them along. The higher they climbed, the more at ease they felt; particularly Redmun, who was most suspicious of all.