“Pew!” she barked.
The Poppum was dreading the scolding, and quickly turned to shame, when she rubbed her nose against his, whilst doting, “Well done! You’re a brave little thing, aren’t you? Yes you are! Yes…you…are.”
“Sweet Cheeses!” Khrum said, stunned as can be. “I’d better not get in your bad books, Pew! Shkin ‘n’ hair flyin’ all over the place. Or sand ‘n’…um…sticks, I suppose, in this case. Who’d o’ thunk it, with the sizheen o’ ya. Hats off to ya, my ferrity fellow.”
“Are you right in the head?” Icrick opposed, with a twisted expression. “Did you not just see that? Pew almost killed himself, much less how utterly revolting it was to see him carrying on like that. He looked possessed. Possessed by aul’ Nick himself. I’ll never be able to look at him the same way again. Put the willies up me, good ‘n’ proper, it did.”
“Oh, hush, Icrick.” Wren smiled, wiping Pew’s mouth after his gorging. “Aul’ Nick nothing! Pew’s our friend. He wouldn’t harm us. Besides, look at the stir he’s after causing! My little hero.”
The sightless Glog was stumbling mindlessly, striking out at anything in his path, including the other Glogs, which was just fantastic.
With everything in an upheaval, those monsters were getting clobbered and flung as they toiled to find their way up the bank. What a spectacle it was. This valiant contribution of Pew’s was indeed paying off well. And yet it was only a matter of time before one of them managed to scale high enough to capture every last one of them in his wide, giant-like grip. All they could do was pray for William to overthrow Glorgan and have him back in time to halt this attack. And that was well under way.
* * *
Much like before, the boy’s Glogish speed was incredible, so amazingly swift that his rock-like exterior was reddening through the heat of his haste. Oh, yes, William had had enough. Enough of lies. Enough of treachery. He may not have been able to confront Wren but, by God, could he show this Glog ‘what for.’ How dare he put my friends in danger, was all he could think. To detain some manner of hatred against William was one thing; yet to have them suffer for it just made him all the more furious.
Just then, a most peculiar thing happened. Thrusting its way through those vengeful ideas of his, faster than the very speed by which he was now flying, William felt a curious sensation inside, flowing through him. Not a harmful sensation, but a strange one. It then subsided into nothing again. Had the feeling endured, he might have wondered about Mysun’s magic. Only it didn’t endure. It went away. His Glogish form notwithstanding, William didn’t feel any different upon its withdrawal, leading him to believe that it may well have been something as simple as his fuming adrenaline or blind anger which caused it. Choosing to ignore it, he redeemed his concentration and bored on quicker than ever.
Whilst burrowing forth with all his muscle, he was probing those dim whereabouts for Glorgan. Yet his flight was perilous, in that he was forced to dodge all sorts of iron deposits and uncountable appendages along the way, both of which could easily send him out of control should they collide, because other than magma and stone, all other forms of matter were impenetrable for the Glogs.
“Show your face, Glorgan!” he demanded, tunnelling this way and the other. “Or are you a coward as well as a damn liar?”
Through the blurs of passing earth, he got no response, yet he persisted.
“Get back here and call off your men! Do you hear me?” he challenged again, but everything stayed silent, bar the rumbling of fleeting stone.
William feared that he may have been outrun, and was even considering returning to his friends. That way he could still contend with the other Glogs whilst still in Glog-form himself; granted he wasn’t exactly certain how that’d fare out. Probably not well.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, he was rammed brutally into his right side. Glorgan, who was in hiding, had ploughed into him, propelling both Glogs out into the sweeping chasm of the Bohàr Pass.
Toppling against the far precipice with a throbbing crash, William coughed and puffed as he tried to hobble to his feet. Had he only foreseen this attack, he would’ve prepared himself, but Glorgan’s cowardly little scheme worked out just right for him.
Standing over his fallen enemy, he sneered, “So…you kept the stone, boy! I thought I’d lost it in the Watergate that time. Oh, well. We all make mistakes. Looks like I’ll just have to pluck it out of your nasty little gullet now instead.”
Exercising all of his Glogish strength, Glorgan seized William by the throat and hoisted him to his toes. William, on the contrary, hadn’t been bested just yet. Glorgan apprehended a glint in the lad’s eye, making his jaw drop for fear of what may be lurking behind it. William drove his fists down upon the Glog’s grip, liberating himself, and with a wealth of staggering wallops, he pummelled Glorgan back against the opposing wall of the pass. He didn’t know what hit him, but still he refused to cower.
Back and forth they battled; grappling one another any chance they got, in rotation, smashing their adversary back against that wrought-iron rock. Teeth gnashed and cries shook as they clashed blow-for-blow. Punching. Butting. Ramming. Kicking. Oblivious to William’s studies in combat, Glorgan was at a grave disadvantage. For, gouging his opponent’s fragile eyes, the intrepid boy then hammered his heavy elbow straight into the Glog’s teeth, smite after smite, discombobulating him. He wrapped his brawny fingers around Glorgan’s neck, then flung him back against the heel of the cliff one last time, causing the impermeable stone to fracture behind him like a web.
“You’ve picked the wrong day to test me, Glorgan!” William leered, showing such wildness that it would have been impossible to distinguish William from one of the other Glogs. “You’re going to come back with me now and order your people to stand down! Is that clear? Then you’re going to burrow yourselves as far away from here as possible.”
So badly clobbered that he could barely open his eyes, Glorgan spat out a tooth and slurred, “You fight well, boy. I’m surprised. Well done! But…tell me…how efficiently, exactly, have you been trained in the arts of Glogish magic?”
William’s since-remedied sense of resolve hurtled backwards into terrible alarm. Glorgan planted his hands tightly against the boy’s ribs and, with an explosive burst, such as the way a cannon would discharge its missile, William got flung to a terrible height before crashing down into a grey smoulder. Glorgan staggered over to his enemy, who was now laying dazed upon the dirt, and took him by the scruff to retrieve his stone.
Unlike back in the Grollo—where he gave William a gentle slap on the head—Glorgan indulged in one final cowardly blow, and so cracked William’s skull hard against the wall. Out fell the stone and, shrinking back to his boyish frame, the boy gradually came to, but was groggy and unsure of himself.
Glorgan crushed the stone in his hands, and smiled, “No more Glogish travel for you! Now, what say I take you to the dark one myself? Eh?! On your feet.”
He delivered a dirty kick into William’s gut and, although it buckled him badly, the youngster struggled to mutter something.
Displaying such fake pity, Glorgan stuck his ear into William’s nose, and derisively said, “Oh, I’m so sorry about that. My foot slipped. But, what’s this? Is there something you wish to say? Oh, do tell!”
William could not but murmur and pant when, eventually, he gasped, “S-S-So…you won’t…h-help me?”
“Oh, heavens, no!” answered Glorgan, maintaining his ridiculing tone. “What ever would I have to gain from doing that? No, I’m afraid I shan’t be helping anyone today, William. My Glogs will go ahead and do what they are supposed to.”
So smug with himself, the foul wretch started sniggering.
But by the distinct sound of whistling steel, William’s face ruptured to such an overpowering sense of fury that his wounds were now trivial in comparison, and he sneered, “So be it!”
Skewering Thérn through the soft base of Glorgan’s chin, William then thrust up t
hrough the crest of his skull. The Glog’s fiendish grin perished to the sight of this young boy, whom he’d once deemed so feeble, as he stole from him his dying breath. By the might of Thérn’s craft, he was dead.
This might have been William’s first kill; however, he didn’t feel any better or any worse for it. Truth be told, he didn’t feel anything. Not a pinch of remorse, nor an ounce of regret.
All he could mutter was, “Why did you do it, Glorgan? Why?” with a certain emptiness.
How could he have been so vacant, you ask? Well, William had already been so entangled within a spectrum of such emotion that this one act of butchery had nowhere to rest inside of him, other than sink deep into the cesspool of horrible feelings which were already whisking around inside of him like a vat of waste and putrescence. Once there, the feeling simply diminished into its slimy depths.
More to the point, young Muldoon had bigger problems to face now. His friends were still stuck behind the gate, overrun by Glogs. And now that their master was dead, he had no means of getting them to retreat. Barely able to move, and at a loss about what to do next, he lay against the wall to recover some strength, when a revelation suddenly dawned on him, like blue through skies of rain. Hope, it seems, was not lost after all.
* * *
Back at the gateway, the others eagerly awaited William’s return. By that devastating point, they could feel the scorching heat penetrating their clothing, with every last scrap of metal on their persons slowly stamping its red shape onto their sticky flesh. The heat was so dominating that even their teeth ached, such that they were compelled to clasp their lips together to reduce the unbearable sensitivity. Their eyes stung as bad, and such were their hands and how the scalding sensation crept under their fingernails.
An awful experience it was. That terrible expectance; waiting for death to arrive bearing an icy fear. An instinctive fear—as would be felt among any breathing organism should they be trapped in similar circumstances—of being burnt alive. It was, without doubt, beyond any physical pain they’d felt yet. So overpowering to their senses that, though shielding their faces, they could only see a frosted, undulating glow before them. Taking one tiny step at a time, they backed away from that deathly flow as it oozed in. Moreover, the Glogs had since overthrown their blind comrade, having flung him back down the hill so they could proceed upwards without any more interference.
But it wasn’t all bad news, as during William’s intrepid escapade with Glorgan, something rather interesting had happened with the Symphogram. Very well, it might not’ve been quite so beneficial for them, because none of them saw it happening—with the death-trap of a gateway mere feet from their backs, and the hairs on their arms standing on end from its current—but it was still quite uncanny. Not only did it judder again, but the markings on its wood also secreted a brief, pale ruddiness; almost as if it had awoken from death. And yet it didn’t do so for long before it faded. Even so, it was better than nothing.
“Blast! Where is he? He should be back by now.” Stell griped, just about keeping his nerve. “I hope nothing’s happened to him.”
“He’ll be back, Elf.” Khrum contended, afraid to abandon hope. “Don’t ya worry your pointy little ears over it! Williameen won’t let us down. He’s got too much heart in him. I’ll bet he’s on his way back right now…as we speak! I’ll wager my wee life on it.”
“Maybe so,” Wren whimpered, as the lava spat before her, radiating in little Pew’s eyes, “but, until that happens, we’re still going to have to do something here, quickly! It’s flowing too fast, and we’re running out of room.”
She couldn’t have been more right. They were swiftly running low on options. The molten mere had completely engulfed them, leaving them with scarcely more than six feet between its fiery brink and the nefarious gateway.
To cap it all, the Glogs were almost upon them. They were slow. Very slow. But they were moving nonetheless; reaching out with their fat, twiddling fingers, stomping nearer and nearer, while goggling at their victims with those same sly grins and devilish eyes. All the while, the fires proceeded to consume the west as the dreadful wall of black smoke layered the sky with a lasting blackness of hellish proportions.
Then, from out of nowhere, they could have sworn that they heard something beyond the entrance. Those all too familiar echoes of conflict. It then silenced, suddenly, and William’s voice called out from the other side.
“Hello! Can you hear me? Say something if you can hear me. Are ye still there?”
“Oh! Oh! We can hear you, William!” Icrick replied, bouncing up and down with excitement. “We hear you loud and clear, old friend. We’re safe enough, for now. What’s happening on your side? Can you help us? Can you get us inside?”
“Well,” the lad replied, “I’ve figured out how to stop the current running through the gate, if that’s what you’re asking. So that’s one problem solved.”
“How did you manage that?” Icrick asked. “I mean, I don’t want to sound like a doubting Thomas or anything, but are you sure it’s definitely gone? I don’t want to be the first one to touch it, only to keel over like an overcooked goose. No offence or anything!”
“We don’t have time to argue.” the boy answered impatiently. “Just try it! It’s safe on this side, so it has to be safe on your side, too.”
Khrum then tried the boy’s patience a little further by replying, in a rather genteel sort of way, “Ahem! Jusht amuse us if ya please, ‘n’ explain ta me what ya’ve done ta disarm the gate. We don’t want ta be takin’ any rishks like. Ya know yourself! Anyhow, we’re no use ta ya dead.”
Sighing, William yelled back, “I know it’s safe coz there are two streams running through the walls on either side here. And both o’ them are full o’ eels, you see! Electric eels…by the looks of it. Seen them many’s a time, back home, near the coast. They seem to be the ones powering the gate. Anyways, I’ve managed to block the water from flowing through now, so there’s no more current. Fair enough? Do I pass?”
“Fair enough, boss!” the leprechaun replied. “Jusht makin’ sure is all.”
Wouldn’t you know, the charge was gone after all and it was, indeed, safe to touch the gate again.
“Bravo, boyo!” Khrum applauded. “Bravo, indeed! Now! Let’s climb it.”
“No! Don’t do that!” William’s voice stated. “That’s the other problem, you see. I’ve resolved the power issue…but that’s only the half o’ it. I told you that.”
Keeping a careful eye on the Glogs, Stell frowned. “The half of it? What, pray tell, does that mean exactly?”
“It means that it’s far too dangerous on this side o’ the gate to climb down…because there are more gearwheels and sprockets spinning about all over the place. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Can’t we try at least?” Wren whined, to get the vague response, “It’s been tried before, Wren.”
Bodies. More bodies. Dozens of carcases, some ground to mince entirely, were clinging to those rotary bowels, all over. Remains of those who must’ve tried escaping the Bohàr Pass from times before.
“You’re just going to have to hang on and bear with me a second.” said our William. “I have another idea.”
“Oh, please hurry up, William.” Icrick squeaked. “I implore you! This lava is getting closer, and the heat is just too much. These Glogs are almost upon us too. Oh, bother!”
Not long did the Grogoch have to wait when they heard a grinding snap. Whatever William had done, he succeeded in unlocking the gate. It was ready for opening.
Placing his hands on both doors he push-push-pushed with all his might. At the same time, Stell, Khrum, Wren and Icrick were pull-pull-pulling on their side too. Even Pew was giving it his all, digging deep and tugging hard with those tiny arms of his. But, their efforts aside, those powerful gates were far too great and heavy for them. With each and every try, they bested our crew with ease.
Putting more back into it, William grunted, “It w-w-won
’t open. You’re going to have to t-t-try and…pull harder…on y-y-your side.”
“We’re…trying!” they cried back, when Stell said, “That gatekeeper…must’ve had the strength of…fifty…men!”
Veins now bulging from their necks, they hauled and shouldered at those doors with more vigour than ever they could, yet still they could not be moved.
Time stayed battling against them as the fires, now peaking, altered the wandering clouds to a horrifying scarlet. Then the point inevitably came where nobody was pulling anymore. William stopped and listened. What started out as a dead quietness beyond the gate—apart from the rumbling of the fiery mount and the growing storm—suddenly cascaded into insufferable wails of torment. Had the flames finally engorged them? Had the Glogs captured them at last? William, panicking, hearkened all the closer. Like you or I, he couldn’t help fearing the worst. Then a voice cried out, conveying no comfort.
“THE FIRE! IT’S TOO MUCH, WILLIAM! IT’S GETTING TOO CLOSE! IT’S BURNING! HELP US!” one voice bellowed, with such fearful agony that he couldn’t tell who was saying it.
Someone else was weeping the words “Ow! Ooow!” in a disturbing way; like a simple soul was being unjustly punished by unforgivable methods.
William’s breathing palpitated more frantically. The pity of hearing those cries was a sensation which could never, in a thousand lifetimes, be surpassed by any other. The utter trepidation behind them. The agony they preserved. Believing his efforts useless against those odds, his heart weakened to the screams.
Thrusting his shoulder against the gate again, he yelled out, “YOU HAVE TO PULL! YOU HAVE TO PULL HARDER! YOU HAVE TO TRY!”
While he fought to motivate both himself and his friends, William’s voice quivered. It was as though, by sheer disinclination, he had already yielded to the fact that their time was over. But he wasn’t about to give up on them. He refused any such notion entry to his mind. He couldn’t allow it to end like this. Not now. Not this close to journey’s end. But their wails persisted, making his struggle all the more wearing.
The Other of One: Book Two Page 41