Icrick assessed the cavern’s air with a breath, and saw it condensing before his eyes. Suddenly, without even the chance to evaporate (as warm breath normally does in brisk conditions), the microscopic beads of moisture actually coagulated in the coldness, forming a gelatinous mass, which dropped out of the air and splattered on the ground by his toes. It was, without any denying, deathly bitter in there. Colder than even the deepest caverns of Lythiann’s eldest ice mass, The Glacier Colthus in the northeast. This proved it.
Grabbing a fair-sized rock, Icrick next attempted to roll it into the shadows, believing that, perchance, its size and weight might well save it, meaning that they themselves may stand a chance against the frost. But the results were just as disheartening. For all the stone did was trundle in a couple of feet, clatter against a wall, and splinter into glass-clear shards.
Admitting their defeat, they finally concluded that negotiating this passage would be a foolish plan. Instead, they tried the top tunnel. Actually, Khrum chose to. They were certainly going to be in for a show now.
“Gis’ an aul’ blasht o’ this top one here.” he grunted, scrabbling up the steps. “I’ll soon get ta the bottom o’ this.”
Slapping his paw against his brow with a wearying groan, Icrick wanted to tell him not to even bother. The likelihood of him generating his usual amalgam of unwanted chaos would surely result. This, however, would’ve merely encouraged the leprechaun to try harder, so he just sighed and observed, hoping that it wouldn’t turn out so. Nor did it, to his surprise. Not straight away, at least.
Khrum, being a leprechaun, really wanted to seem confident and unafraid. But when he finally reached the mouth of the cavern, it was plain to see that he was actually frightfully nervous of it. For a solid minute, maybe two, or five, he simply stood there, lingering awkwardly, with his neck stretched out as if making sure nothing was inside waiting for him. Past incidents, it seemed, had finally heightened his vigilance. ‘About time too,’ says you.
Aware of his dawdling, he glimpsed back at the others with a rather feigned chuckle, hoping it would pall his trepidation somewhat. Nobody was fooled. But they couldn’t really blame him for being so afraid. It was a very unforgiving place, after all. But it was diverting to see Khrum swallowing his pride and being truly nervous for a change.
Amusing and, in a way, cruel. But it was the only way he’d learn.
Even more amusing was when, with his expression ever drawn and shook, he slowly peeked into the tunnel again, for fear of having alerted something with his giggle that time. He was convinced that some big, hairy brute would come springing out of the shadows, scoop him up, then boot back again, and that’d be the last of him. To his relief, the mine was as silent as ever.
With a nervous squeak of the throat, he stuttered, “Hel…ahem…H-Hellooo?” like an uninvited guest entering another’s abode without them knowing; very polite and melodious, with a pinch of servility.
“Hellooo?” he hollered again. “Anybody in? I say?”
Not a stir within. Not a single flutter in response, save for the whistling of the coming draught. Still unconvinced, Khrum had a quick forage for a stone, or something he could lob in like Icrick had done with the tunnel below. With slim pickings about he tried the next best thing, by Khrum’s standards, that is.
Hunkering down, with his hands planted firmly on both knees, the leprechaun’s cheeks gave a fierce rattle. There was a disgusting gurgle from his gullet as he hocked up, while exhibiting the most constipated of faces, a most dreadful phlegm. Once fully loaded, so to speak, he leaned back like a little bearded trebuchet and, in butting the air, he launched forth and cast it straight into the tunnel, only to have that exact same greener shoot back out and splatter him right in the eye. Had you heard the splat, you would have retched. I daresay none of them took much time comprehending it, as they were trying so hard not to laugh.
Outright disgusted, and scooping the gunge from his eye, Khrum cried, “Agh! Ha? What ‘n’ the hell?! Was that me own shpit flyin’ back at me or what?”
“I’m not really sure, Khrum,” Wren answered, palming her smile. “And I don’t fancy inspecting the evidence to find out, either. It was the draught, I’d expect, blowing it back out at you. Those old caves are funny like that. Wind and what have you. Look, what say you climb back down? There has to be a way in here someplace. We shall take five minutes, have a quick think, and then find it together. Yes?”
Hearing nothing of it, the leprechaun insisted, “Not-a-t’all! Sure we don’t have those minutes ta shpare. Anyway, what’s there ta think about, Wren? We’ve two tunnels here, right! One o’ them’s clearly a death-trap, so this other one has ta be our way in, ya? Simple matter-matics is all.”
His theory did bear logic, and who’s to say it was even Khrum’s spit to begin with. It could have been somebody else’s. Some trickster, sitting inside the hollow which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly a comforting prospect, either. But Khrum was prepared to find out.
“Right so!” said he, folding up his cuffs. “If there’s anyone in there, ye’d better watch out. Because nooo-body shpits in my eye ‘n’ gets away with it. Ye hear me in there? I’m a leprechaun, me! An’ leprechauns don’t shtand for cheek. D’ya hear me talkin’ ta ya?!”
“So close!” whined Icrick to himself, sorely aware of the turmoil to follow.
Casting aside his fear, his vigilance, and essentially his horse-sense, Khrum discharged a fist into the abyss in the hope of getting a blind knockout. Last thing he expected was to have his very own knuckles fly back out at him, then thwacking him good ‘n’ proper in his one good eye.
All at once, the others shuddered with an ‘Oooh!’ It was, after all, a full-on box he’d given himself. Right on target, too. On a more optimistic note, this punch had exposed to them precisely what was happening with these tunnels.
Omitting the fact that his friend was hurt and hobbling all-sides, covering his new shiner, Stell deduced, “It appears to be a magical portal of sorts. An enchanted portal which goes no other way except straight back out again. I have heard of similar doorways before.”
“Yes, yes, me too, now that you mention it.” Wren nodded. “My aunt used to tell me tales. Tales which came to pass after the rise of sin, and how sometimes people would travel these portals as a means of avoiding peril. Many of these doorways, however, fell victim to time, for they’d been forged using nature’s spells; the likes of which are too puissant and volatile for such everyday tasks. And we all know that natural magic chooses its wielder, and it’s seldom the other way around. Funny there should be two of these portals here though, in the core of Briggun’s habitat. Clearly, one is broken. Whereas the other, I can only speculate still works, albeit it leads to a frozen territory where no warm-blooded being could tread.”
Grimly she concluded, “My friends, with no other direction to go, this isn’t looking promising for us at all!”
In the meantime, infuriated, disorientated, and ever more determined to raze his unseen nemesis to bones, Khrum took a running bound headfirst into the mine. Before they knew it he came shooting back out, only to bowl Icrick to the ground, and forcing him to do a tiny parp. Nothing deadly, mind you, but a whiffy one all the same.
“Curse you anyways, Khrum!” Icrick bellowed, rocking side-to-side on his back with the weight of the Symphogram, not unlike an overturned tortoise. “Did you not hear Wren? It’s an enchanted portal. And a faulty one at that! We can’t go this way, you bloody imbecile!”
More and more he complained, disparaging Khrum for how he never pays heed to anything.
“You see those ginormous flappy things on either side of your hollow little head?!” huffed Icrick, flipping himself onto his belly. “Do you? You know what they’re called? Well, Khrum, those are what we normal folk call ears! One uses them as a means of listening to what’s going on about them! I would strongly suggest you use them. Get me? Listen and learn…for once! Just once. Is that too much to ask? Am I being unreasonable?
Or has your greasy old beard already clogged them both up?”
Too preoccupied and befuddled by what had just transpired with the tunnel, Khrum dusted his jacket, and answered, “Wha’?”
“Ara, forget about it,” Icrick grouched, then under his breath he put in, “deaf little bugger!”
“Oi!” Khrum returned, snapping his fingers. “I heard that!”
“Did you now? Imagine that. Do me a favour and pinch me fast, because I just can’t believe me own ears now.” the Grogoch retorted in a cutting tone, when it all kicked off into another of their famous hullabaloos.
Baying aloud till blue in the cheeks, Icrick and Khrum delved into an all-out frenzy again. It arose to a bickering of such proportions that even the others had to interject lest it got out of hand. But they just ended up toppling over and banging into each other, making matters worse. Soon everyone was involved, be it peacemaker or quarreller, and they were shouting, and cursing, and tugging at one another trying to get it to stop. Wren was stuck smack-bang in the middle, and, bless her, she was doing her best to calm everybody down. But for some strange reason, she went still. The fighting otherwise continued, yet she stood there, looking at something which clearly had her baffled.
It was Pew.
Rubbing his furry chin in deliberation, oblivious to the goings on about him, he sat, rump on the ground, studying the two passageways. He was deep in thought, with a mystified impression on his face, like he knew he could do something here to help, only he hadn’t quite figured out what yet. Wren left the others to their petty arguing and joined the Poppum, though she took care not to disturb him. Suddenly, Pew stiffened. He’d just been clued in on something. After which he took to rapping upon the shale segments around the arch.
“Hey!” Wren said, beckoning the others. “You lot! Quit your biddy-tiffing and have a gander at this.”
Red-faced, sulky, and a bit dishevelled after their little upsurge, they brought the conflict to an end. They were glad they did when they saw the Poppum go.
Pew, thick with dynamism, had sped into action. He was scaling, lizard-like, all about the arch, investigating the facings of those dark and, once presumed negligible, stones. The main tunnels were of no interest to him here, which was fairly odd, given that they were the main focus to begin with. They, however, played only the role of a dangerous decoy, and it was more so the outer rim which the tiny Poppum was intrigued with.
There was no stopping him. When Pew wasn’t tapping away ever so surgically on those slabs, he was pacing hither and yon, permitting infrequent glances to the mysterious masonry which encircled both mines. He looked so serious and intense. What in heaven’s name was he doing, you may ask? One could but wonder.
Upon feeling a sudden draught, featherlike and bracing, gliding in from the west, Pew spotted a lonely star bolting straight across the black of night. A brilliant, blue star. An astronomical light which looked to have no business in the dreaded skies of the east. Suddenly, with a far-off pop which sounded shortly thereafter, the star exploded into a bright cluster of blue and green dust. Before it vanished from all sight, Pew seized a glint in the corner of his eye. There, mirroring the waning sparks, was the decanter which Thedius had presented to our Icrick. Eureka! That was it. The Poppum somehow knew what to do now. His underlying Artisan instincts had, at last, kicked in. That’s right. Pew, the innocent Poppum, was an Artisan. Yet one could ask if the magnificence of Ebyulán was, in some way, at work here also; lending him a helping hand in this desperate hour.
Pew, now teeming with excitement, grabbed the canteen from William’s pack and, to Icrick’s alarm, started pouring it onto the wet ground. The Grogoch didn’t know what he was up to. Not like the others, who just assumed the Poppum was doing something of use but, also, something they didn’t fully understand.
“I knew it!” wailed the Grogoch, throwing his arms about. “The vole is possessed! Didn’t I say? Didn’t I? I should have known better after I saw him chowing down on the Glog’s eyeballs that time! Look! That’s perfectly good water he’s spilling all over the place. We need that!”
Just as Icrick was about to rescue the flask from the Poppum, both his arms were restrained by Stell and William.
“Not so fast!” the Elf said. “Let’s just see what he does first. We have plenty to drink, so we won’t be dying of dehydration anytime soon. Besides, haven’t you ever wanted to see an Artisan at work?”
In awe, Icrick gasped, “An Ar…” when Stell shushed him with a wink, and smiled. “Who’d have thought, eh? Now, let’s be quiet and watch.”
Instead of soaking into the already drenched earth, the puddle of Ebyulithic water violated every natural law by actually dribbling, in a serpentine motion, toward the tunnels. It then trickled up those shale slabs, thus revealing peculiar-looking watermarks, which more or less resembled musical notes.
This music was an ancient sort which few could interpret, unless, of course, one was of discoverer’s blood. With such blood pumping through his tiny veins, Pew knew how to read this music quite ably. So, in his endearing little voice—that of squeaks and tender whistles—he hummed the opening notes.
It sounded beautiful and relaxing, at first. Yet being in an age-old scale of gypsy minor, it swiftly declined into a heartless tune of a more sombre nature. An ill-disposed wariness followed, such that they crowded in together, like something was about to explode. And they weren’t far wrong.
On completing the melody’s final note, the Poppum found himself backing away too. None of them knew what to expect of this precipice as its whole face, tunnels and all, behaved like something of an image on a canvass. It looked true-to-life and solid, and yet, was supple enough to swell and bend all at once, like it was struggling to contain some catastrophic deluge. Soon the entire wall, forever engorging, looked to be more of liquid than of tough rock.
“What is this?” Wren trembled, and not just from fear, but also from the ground shaking under her. “Is this supposed to be happening? More to the point, what are we supposed to do about it? Hide? Hold? What?!”
“I say we jusht fire the Grogoch at it ‘n’ shcarper.” Khrum suggested, stumbling upon the tilting terrain.
But before the tremor could worsen, the rock face eased to but ripples in a pond. Everything was calm again. Too calm; and just when they thought it was safe to breathe again, that liquescent wall lunged out in a secondary upsurge, forming a formidable and vile bubble of explosive and domineering proportions. Bigger and bigger it distended, when, with a gurgling blast, the precipice swallowed in on itself into an abrupt, spine-chilling silence once more. Nobody wished to brave a look, but they did, and were astounded by what awaited them.
A marbleized stairway, alit with magical, floating candles, meandered down a low crescent gallery, into absolute darkness. There was no denying that these were the steps of a tomb. It was like this place had been cloaked behind the very caves all this time, and had now decided to reveal itself to the world through the Poppum’s ballad. Way through or not, it still felt uninviting, but what other choice did they have?
Clapping his palms with a keen rub, Khrum broke the silence by saying, “Right so! ‘Twas nice knowin’ ye, folks! Some good times we had there. Now, if ye won’t be needin’ me anymore, I think I left some shtew on the boil back home! Besht o’ luck now.”
Off he marched, but William blocked his way and said, “Oh no you don’t!”
“I can do what I bloody-well wish, excuse me!” stated the leprechaun. “An’ what I wish ta do now, is head off. So, if ya please, remove your big shpógs from my path ‘n’ let me be on my way!”
“Fair enough,” the boy said, standing aside, to everyone’s surprise. “Go ahead! I won’t stop you.”
In a mutter which only Khrum could hear, he then added, “But I’m sure the G.L.A. will be very interested to hear about this little act o’ bravery. Should earn you a rank o’ the highest order, I’d imagine. Wouldn’t you say, Khrum?”
The leprechaun could s
ee where he was going with this, and it vexed him so much that he growled with an awful puss, “I’d be a laughin’ shtock, lad! Ya know that. They’d have me out there with those rosy-cheeked, foul-tempered fat wans, shcrapin’ the shkids off the bosses’ undies for them! Not for me, that lark. No, sir! Damn your hide, boy, ya drive a hard bargain!”
William smiled and the grumbling Khrum re-entered their group, with a puss that only got redder and longer.
“C’mon, you!” William said supportively, plonking Khrum onto his shoulder. “You’ll be grand. You’re the bravest one here. Now chin up!”
“Ara, I know I am.” Khrum huffed, doing his utmost to defend his honour. “It was you lot I was worried about. Tryin’ ta lead ye all out o’ here, I was. That’s all! If it were up ta me, I’d already be back in the Grollo, feet up, with Briggun dead; if ye weren’t all here, holdin’ me up.”
“You probably would and all!” the boy replied, granting an honest and consolable smile.
But Khrum knew he couldn’t pull the wool over William’s eyes. For he was scared. He had had enough. He just didn’t want to admit it. Fear just wasn’t in a leprechaun’s nature. Then came the shame. This whole time he’d been acting so cocky and so full sure of himself. Yet now that they’d finally reached the east, with Briggun’s lair mere hours away, he was a thousand times more scared than he ever would’ve thought he could be. This made him sad and, not to much notice, he went quiet.
With thundering hearts—a blood-rushing throb which constrained them from treading another inch—they started down the grim stairway. Pew then gestured at them. They stopped and he let out one last whistle, to which the candles orbited him, turning him into a style of torch.
The Other of One: Book Two Page 45