The Other of One: Book Two

by Brian G. Burke

  “Oh! What’s this? Talking to me again, are we?” she replied sarcastically.

  The boy blanked her and went off to inspect the grounds for himself. Not allowing him the opportunity to persist in another bout of silent treatment, she confronted him. She was adamant on getting some answers.

  “Here! What is it with you?” she demanded. “You haven’t said two words to me since we left Gylbalbùn. Was it something I did? Was it something I said? Was it something I didn’t say, perhaps? Maybe it was something Vahna told you? What?”

  On that mentioning of the mystic, he leered, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  “No! Seriously!” she stipulated, as the others stood by, watching. “You’ve had a problem with me for ages now. And I’d like to know what it is!”

  “LISTEN!” William grimaced, thrown by all the attention. “What I know is none o’ your business! So quit asking, right!”

  Omitting his cruel cry, she barked back, “Well, if it’s got something to do with me, then I have a right to know. So TELL ME!”

  “LEAVE IT, I SAID!” he yelled, lashing out so fiercely that it pulled her up sharp, and the others, too.

  She didn’t know how to take that. His voice was laden with such hurt and broken-heartedness. It was as clear to her as blood on white. Any normal person would’ve just done a ‘Crosco’ on it, and left. She considered it, moreover; abso-bloody-lutely, she thought. She didn’t have to stay there and take this from him. But she didn’t leave. For in some way or form she could see beyond his anger like bars on a cage, deep into the pain he had incubating within. A loss. A need. A cry for help which compelled her to stay.

  Alas, she decided that, rather than prolonging this fight, she would stay out of his hair for a spell. Not leave. Just keep out of his sight until he’d calmed down. She desperately wanted to cry, but instead she stepped aside and left him to his own company.

  Were it not for the skies churning to an anomalous blackness, the others might’ve tried to mediate this row. They hated to see friends bickering so. And such good friends, at that. The weather, however, was pressing in heavily from the west; escorting a marching army towards Drevol’s impending call.

  The Elf uttered but two words, “Storm’s coming…”

  - Chapter Thirteen -

  Infiltrating the Gates

  Protruding from the midmost point of that enormous island of rock was the same shelf they saw from above, and it was frighteningly colossal. It would take, at the very least, several hours before they even reached the entryway of the Bohàr Pass alone, and then uphill into the gorges themselves. Beyond that, it would take yet another significant amount of time before they stumbled upon Drevol’s lair. Not to mention that quantity of, God knows what else was waiting for them along the way. But it is generally believed that one always finds a task easier when they focus on one little step at a time. To otherwise wallow upon the magnitude of any one objective alone does the spirit no good. It impedes one’s drive to carry on. William and his crew understood this principle better than most.

  The coming storm tested them further, and how it had not yet struck but was surely on its way. Awash with waves of blacks and greys, they could but watch those devastating clouds roll forth as they swelled into a wild and domineering ocean of the skies. All they could do was consider it, this impending and unstoppable thing.

  They peeked over the lip, into the marshes far below; into a ghostly, lingering fog, wherefrom the wail of the Merrows rose into the atmosphere, chilling Stell’s bones.

  Investigating the drop, he said, “Shhh! Do you hear that? Merrows!”

  “Merrows? As in, sea-imps?” William asked.

  “None other!” answered the Elf, so apprehensive about these demons that he could not but follow the trace of their calls with stillness. “I loathe Merrows! I would say that I fear them even more than…well…let’s just say, the other God-awful beasts of this realm.”

  Khrum and the Grogoch crept to the brink and glimpsed over to distinguish but vague shadows splashing through the marsh waters below. Their faint bawling rang spookily through the seclusion of that nightly land, similar to a cat’s call at witching hour.

  Merrows were a form of water imp; half-human, half-eel, whose russet flesh was peppered with scales of a withered, prune-like texture. Imagine the ugliest-looking witch you would never wish to meet and, even then, you would be nowhere close to the horrifying appearance of these frightening beings. Silvery eyes; swollen and dead. Bloated lips; crinkled and chapped. Hair; greasy and infested with molluscs of every kind. Noses; stumped and high, with a third nostril set upon the bridge for stalking mere inches beneath the waterline.

  Legend has it that, should you ever wander the marshes late at night, the Merrows will be watching you. Spying on you from below, they would bide their time, waiting for you to make one false step into the swamp. Quicker than sharks to a seal, a pack of these hellions would then pile on you, scraping and gnashing with such ruthless hostility; all the time wailing. When through mauling their victims, the Merrows are said to drag them to their watery doom below the surface, where they would never be heard from again. Even at this, it was not the end for these poor souls…no. For once the Merrow’s prey are half-drowned and far too weak to fend for their lives, the demons would suck out their very souls before incarcerating them in underwater caverns, so as they could brutalize and haunt them for the remainder of eternity. This they did for pleasure, and pleasure alone. Malicious folk indeed. Creatures after Drevol’s own heart, I’d even say.

  So be wary, dear friends, if you ever decide to wander the marshlands alone, late on a winter’s night, use caution, because they will be watching you.

  Maybe now you can appreciate why the Elf feared them so. Albeit, he had other reasons as well.

  “I don’t know about that now, Stell,” said Icrick. “I’m finding it hard to believe that you fear anything at this stage! Don’t be so modest.”

  The Elf went quiet, and did not permit even an upward glance. He appeared shaken. Not himself.

  “Was it something I said?” asked the Grogoch, feeling like he’d uttered something he shouldn’t have.

  Then, almost hesitant to make eye contact, Stell muttered, “I fear failure.”

  Clearly this place had unearthed something inside of him which he’d kept buried for many years, and now, it seemed, was its time to come out. Khrum asked him what he meant by it.

  And so, the moment was at hand for him to include them on his secret, a repressed memory that hungered to be extracted, like a putrefying thorn through suppurating flesh.

  Sinking into a world of remembrance, he at first delayed before addressing his friends with what looked to be a breaking heart. “I told you once that I only had three brothers. Well, there was a fourth sibling in our family. My twin. Her name was Kaylen. Beautiful Kaylen. I loved her dearly. Unconditionally. However, one night when I was very young, there was a raid in the north. A raid of Goblins. They’d awoken, and sought to obliterate us in our secret Elfish reservations. I think of it now because, these marshes are so very similar to the ones we ran through that night, during our escape. There were dozens of us. Although, out of my family, ‘twas only Kaylen and I. Our brothers were…were…”

  He was about to defend those undeserving brethren of his, but he stalled and sighed. He felt a sudden surge of shame, as if he was finally starting to see them for who they were. Alas, he refrained from including them at all.

  “Like a pack of wild wolves the Goblins bolted after us, across the swamp. Picking us off, one after the next! Like some sort of sick game. That’s when the Merrows rose their heads. A gathering of them were sneaking about beneath the water. Waiting. We ran and ran, Kaylen and I…”

  As if paining to convince himself, he then spoke in a confused way, “…I thought she was beside me…the entire time. No! I knew she was beside me. For I was holding her hand. So tightly! So tightly that my fingers went numb. Yet…m-maybe that’s where it all went
wrong? Perhaps I could not feel her slipping from my wearing grasp? Everything was in such chaos. Perhaps I couldn’t feel her letting go. Because, when I looked back, Kaylen was not there anymore…she had gone. Then I glanced behind.”

  He stalled again; tortured by these images. Grief crushing his every breath.

  Wren took the Elf’s hand, and uttered affectionately, “You need not continue, Stell. I know how hard this must be for you. But we all have our crosses to bear; our pasts to live with. And we are all haunted by them…in one way or another. But we’re your friends. We’re here to listen; to help, if you want us to. So if you want to get it off your chest, then by all means do.”

  Was she referring to her secret? William thought. Or her aunt’s murder maybe? Either way, he said nothing of it, as Stell was of greater importance here.

  The Elf went on to say, “A Merrow gripped her by the hair…and a Goblin, by both arms. I shall never forget that Goblin, and what he did to her after he’d claimed her. A huge, hideous brute he was; greying in fur. Staring me down with one good eye.”

  When he mentioned the eye, they all stood back, and Khrum asked, “One good eye?! But that would mean…”

  “Goidoy?” Stell asked.

  “Yes!”

  “That’s right, my friend. Goidoy was the one who led them that night. Both he and that Merrow were wrestling over Kaylen like dogs over a bone. As I watched on…I…I f-froze. I literally could not move. I wanted to help Kaylen. More than you know! She was my sister, for God’s sake! My blood! But I couldn’t! It felt like I was stuck in mud. Then he took her. I have never seen such carnage…so much blood! I dare not share what they did to her; how they tortured her.

  “Then the Goblin charged at me. Before I could share in Kaylen’s hideous fate, a passing Elf took me in her arms and carried me with her. Soon, we outran him. Lost him in the woods. But my Kaylen was gone. Ever since that night I have been terrified about freezing up again. Letting people down. Failing those who might need my help. Much less how I can scarcely stand the sight of Merrows or Goblins anymore. This is one of the few reasons why I live the life that I do, my friends. To hopefully prove that I can be brave when the time comes. Though I never really started battling evil properly until I joined this group of yours. Nor have I ever really spoken of any of it, till now. But you are my friends. My allies. And I believe it is your right to know. Maybe now you will be able to find it in your hearts to forgive me.”

  “Forgive you for what, Stell?” William asked.

  “In case I don’t pull through again.” the Elf said with brooding look.

  So profoundly grateful for everything he’d already done, Khrum stomped into the discussion and stated, “Nonsense, Stell. Complete twaddle! Ya’ve already pulled through for us a dozen times more than ya should’ve, lad. So don’t go puttin’ yourself down ‘n’ burdenin’ yourself with these depressin’ thoughts. Everyone loses their grip on the rope at some time or other! All we can do is keep holdin’ on…without hangin’ ourselves from it in the process. Ya get me? We’ll help ya through this. Won’t we, lads?”

  He didn’t even need to ask this. They were always behind him.

  “Thank you, Khrum. All of you. This means a lot to me.” Stell smiled.

  Feeling guilt-ridden for mentioning anything at all, Icrick sniffled. “I’m so sorry, Stell. I…I didn’t mean to pry. Oh, your poor sister. I feel awful. Just awful. Dredging up those terrible memories like that. I’m so ashamed.”

  “Don’t feel bad, my friend.” The Elf implored. “There’s no way you could have known. Besides, it’s high time I spoke about it. Containing my grief has never improved my life in any way. I had to let go. And, for all of you to listen, was my first step in making peace with it. I see that now.”

  To a dying screech, like the ones he’d heard in the swamp that night, Stell gazed down into the marshes again, into where those Merrows lay.

  “Kaylen is in a better place now,” said he, “where she is unbound from Lythiann’s pain. And one day, I shall see her again. Yes. We shall meet again. Come now, these shrieking devils have not yet heard Drevol’s call, so let us get ahead of them while we can. You still with me?”

  “Couldn’t agree with ya more, me aul’ matey.” said Khrum, bouncing onto their road again, and muffling his ears from the jarring screech of the Merrows, he griped, “Whatever about havin’ a lovely, quiet bit o’ kipper ta nibble on; these fishy squeakers take the cake! Let’s get a wriggle on, shall we?”

  His hallmark banter made the Elf smile, and William too, for that matter, having succumbed to his own commiserations for poor Stell, along with the return of his own prevailing troubles.

  And whilst the leprechaun sprung merrily forth, William heard him mumbling, “Wonder if there’s any puddles around here anyplace? The aul’ de-hya-dration is kickin’ in after Thedius’ ale, ‘n’ lemonwater isn’t really my thing. No, sir-ee! Not yet, anyways. Too bitter. Oooh - too - rah - loo - rah - loo - raaah!”

  William admired his ability to sustain some sunniness during so glum a time, and it made him snigger. Not that it lasted, for he caught someone staring at him.

  She stood by, endeavouring to smile along with him. He even stared back, if only briefly, in a sort of sympathy, no less. Why, you ask? She looked so upset she after his protest of late, that he felt sorry for her. Even regretful. But he couldn’t allow her allure to get the better of him. At least not until he knew where her loyalties truly lay. He had to maintain his guard, for now. So, downing his glance, he stole away from her so as to catch up with the leprechaun instead.

  Understand this—William wasn’t in any way using this approach against her, but, because he was the focus of their entire exploit, Wren was now beginning to feel like something of an outsider amongst everyone else for upsetting their liberator so. This of course was folly. Nobody was blaming her for anything. Even so, this was how she felt, but she wasn’t about to let it affect her mission. If anything, she was compelled to try all the harder.

  Catching up with Khrum, William asked, in a bid to forget about the girl, “Hangover kicking in is it, Khrum?”

  “Kind o’, yeah!” sulked the leprechaun, tasting his tongue like a chimp who had just licked a booger off a porcupine’s bum. “Feels like I was suckin’ on a wino’s aul’ sock for the lasht week! All dried up ‘n’ that. Ara, ya know yourself. Drink!”

  “Not really, no.” William grinned, having never taken to the grog before.

  “Silly me! I forgot. Ye youngin’s don’t touch a drop, do ye?” Khrum asked, pointing at Wren as well.

  Disinclined to speak on her behalf, considering, William simply replied, “I don’t drink anyways. Maybe when I get older. No rush with that sort o’ stuff, really.”

  “Very wise!” Khrum agreed, and adopting a devoted interest, he said, “So…um…can I ashk ya somethin’, lad? If I may be so bold?”

  Allowing himself to relax within this convivial conversation, William said, “Course you can. What’s up?”

  “What’s the shtory with the lass ‘n’ yourself? Did ye have a fallin’ out or somethin’? Ye seem a bit tiffy these days.”

  This was not what William wanted to talk about at all, so in a way that illustrated his aversion to touch upon such issues, he answered, “If it’s all the same to you, Khrum, I’d rather not talk about it. But, can I just say, I don’t want our business upsetting ye, either. Or I don’t want ye feeling like ye have to take sides, or anything like that. N-Not that there are any sides to take, I mean. It’s just, there’s a lot going on with me right now, and there are some things that…um…that I amn’t a hundred percent sure of. Not yet. Hopefully, though, they’ll clear themselves up…sooner or later. Hopefully!”

  “Say no more, lad. Say no more! Rowin’ with a caílin can be tricky business. Believe you me! But I’m the lasht person ya’d want relationship advice from. I’d probably send her runnin’ for the hills altogether, so I would. Then where would ya be? No, I’ll shtay outta it, l
ad. Better off! But I’ll tell ya one thing, if I may. She’s a charmin’ lassie ‘n’ there’s no doubt about that. She likes ya, too. She really does. I just hope ye can mend your bridges at some stage…that’s all. We all do.”

  ‘Charming’, said he. Vahna’s corrupt offspring was supposed to be charming, too. Pining with the itch to let it all spill and expose Wren for the impostor she was, William quickly reminded himself of the consequences and, also, of the chance that she may yet make amends with her past. She could have been undertaking this quest as penance for everything she had allegedly done. This was what he kept telling himself at least, after comparing it to when Redmun appointed himself a similar vow, although William was struggling to trust it in the same way.

  He simply ended up saying, “We’ll see, Khrum. We’ll see,” and, presuming everything would work itself out, the leprechaun asked nothing more.

  Time swept deep into the nets of the very night which held them, as they cruised along that open shelf. This lasting darkness was not all that surprising to them either, as the sun did not exist in Lòr anymore, be it day or dawn, and they knew the only way a promise of daylight would ever hail would be alongside Drevol’s downfall.

  A low gust fluttered through a sad and disturbing quietness, conveying in its trail a quality of query and trepidation for the possible nightmares which may yet befall them. Their road was stark and ever arduous. Their throats, parched, from the sheets of dust that rolled beneath the storm’s early winds.

  The more ground they covered, the more that came into view, and nothing, nothing, was to prepare them for the horrors of coming hours.

  Appalled and altogether bereaved by what he saw, Khrum glanced around with his face long and woeful, and blessed himself, saying, “Holy Mary mother o’ God! This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all!”

  What started out as the fitful presence of peculiar little fungi and wilted saplings was now merging into an expanding jungle of gargantuan sequoias, grim and tall, and giant toadstools netted in old webbing. But it was those sequoias which caught their eye from the get-go. For they couldn’t be deemed any way normal, being gruesomely arrayed with hundreds of mutilated bodies whose flesh crawled with infestations of bald rats and ruby-eyed deer mice. Crows were amongst them, caw-caw-cawing into the night as they scavenged upon the carrion of the dead. Men, women, even children not long from the cradle, were plastered to that leaching sap like flies upon glue-paper and, by their deadweight, little could their decaying skin adhere to their rigid bones as it slowly flayed away over the stress of years. Some remains were altogether putrefied, whereas others, relatively fresh, and it was upon those cadavers that the animals dined. Like some demented warning, they clung to the sable bark as their frayed garbs fluttered in the peaking draught. Curious to say that, as if resonant from a lifetime of suffering, their spectral moans and weepings could still be heard through the air now and again, faintly and chillingly. The sheer cruelty of it was, beyond any reasonable doubt, more gruesome than any haunting tale or embroidered account they’d ever heard; not in all of their frightening and most troubling of dreams.