The Other of One: Book Two

by Brian G. Burke

  “I’m fine,” answered William, nodding to himself. “And thank you for coming back and helping me, you three. You really are good friends. I missed you. We all did.”

  “Glad to be back.” Crosco replied, with a kind and refreshing air. “And I just wanted to say I am sorry, William, for what I said to you back on the step. It was wrong. Hurtful. And, most of all, untrue.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” said the boy. “You’re not just a selfish, old head at all. You’re just the friend we need right now. A fresh face.”

  Making fun of himself, Crosco debated, “Oh, I don’t know about that, young William, my lad. I am just a head, true. But the ‘fresh’ part could be put up for some debate, unless mouldy curd is your thing?”

  William sniggered, then asked, “Speaking of heads.”

  “Well now,” Crosco grinned proudly, “have I got a tale for you! First, however, let me get some of this Goblin into my belly. How I loathe storytelling on an empty stomach. Come along, lad. Down we go.”

  When William didn’t follow him, The Body turned again, and Crosco asked of him a second time, “You sure everything is okay?”

  With a tone so remote, William replied, “I used to think that testing yourself was a good way o’ finding out who you really are. To see what you’re really made o’. To see what you could become. I wasn’t really sure how true this was until I came here to Lythiann. Here I believed, without question, that if I tested myself I could discover how to wield the Wrythus. Redmun even told me something similar back in Lán Curdhál. And now here I am…William Muldoon…after challenging one o’ the most feared creatures on this land. With Thérn—the supposed trigger o’ the famous Wrythus—in my grasp. The test of all tests.”

  Taking a moment, he sighed, disheartened.

  Then Crosco asked doubtingly, “What exactly are you getting at, lad?”

  Finally gathering himself to look the Dullahan in the eyes, William uttered, “And what have I got to show for it, Crosco?”

  As much as he didn’t wish it, the Dullahan could understand his plight, leaving him stuck for anything of comfort to say.

  He honestly wanted to offer him some words of cheer, but, being unnaturally direct, he just wasn’t able to lie. Facing Goidoy was a task of immense magnitude. He was the King of the Goblins, for heaven’s sake. The perfect candidate for awakening the Wrythus, given that there was any logic to William’s theory at all. And yet no chord was struck by the Symphogram, nor no Wrythus shone. It was simply them, deserted amongst the great, crushing wilds of Briggun’s east.

  Glumly, William smirked at Crosco; implying that he expected no less, while being so sorry for having failed them because of it. To him, it was like his worst fears were right all that time, and now it was just too late to care.

  “At least we know that Valstarius isn’t coming for us anymore.” William shrugged, and nodding at the satchel, he said, “And I’m looking forward to hearing your—”

  Stopping mid-sentence, he let out a little humph of surprise. An unexpected epiphany had granted him a moment’s peace. Nothing to overshadow his chief concerns, but enough to stop him from losing his reason completely.

  Considering Vahna Webble, and how deceitful they were for not elaborating on whose passing he’d encountered in his vision when they so easily could have, merely confirmed just how untrustworthy they really were. A far more beautiful revelation stemmed from this; in that Wren could finally be absolved of any accusations made against her, seeing as how Webble was so fond of dramatising their tellings. Warranted, her murky past remained something of a void, but at least now, Webble’s tidings could be omitted on account of their sheer fallibility. A small comfort, true, but some comfort, at any rate. William decided to keep his mouth shut about the prophet’s counsel, for fear of jinxing it. It’d be just his luck.

  Crosco waved his hand in front of William’s eyes, saying, “William? Hello in there? Snap out of it. What the devil are you conjuring up in that mind of yours now? More stress and bother I’ll bet?”

  “Funnily enough, no,” the lad answered, appearing a bit more perky. “Just had a nice thought, actually. Will we head down?”

  Crosco glanced at William, cockeyed, and went, “Hmmm, if you say so,” then moseyed on down to the underground pool.

  It was rather extraordinary down there, it had to be said. Magical in every way. Inside that tight, sunken cave of felled trunks and twining limbs, flowering moss swaddled every free inch of it. Bright green shrubs flourished in any corner wherein a shadow might normally lie, whilst the glow of the fireflies put the finishing touches to it all. How it all shone gold and emerald; with the white dew upon the leaves, and the silky ripples moving across the small pool at the bottom. Curious how one seed could birth such a wonder. A true diamond in the rough.

  Everyone was already by the pool’s edge, cleaning up after being so lovingly hugged by those stinking, sappy roots earlier on. Stell had also settled somewhat, which was good to see, but he remained withdrawn. What else could they expect, after what he’d been through? Of course it was going to take some time to get back to normal. All they could do in the meantime was leave him be. Nothing can be more irritating than someone sticking their face in yours when you’re not in the mood.

  Otherwise, the atmosphere was pleasant down there, where it was warm and tranquil.

  Redmun saw to Crosco’s dinner. Icrick even had himself a quick dip, once the others were finished using the pool, that is. Imagine Khrum’s disgust, to be washing his face one second, only to find a long Grogoch hair in his mouth the next. He would not be impressed.

  “Out! Out!” he would likely yell, picking bits off his tongue. “Pollutin’ the place! Take your farty aul’ niff ‘n’ skedaddle, Bog-Weed!”

  All things considered, it went splendidly well down there. That is to say, until Crosco asked after something they should have been ready for.

  He’d been seeing to Ifcus’ leg, when he had a glance about, and asked, “Oh! I almost forgot! I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t…um! Well, let’s just say my memory isn’t what it used to be. Anyway, where is he? Where is that little ferret-headed rodent? Is he here? Sure he’s one of the chief reasons why I came back. How I missed that little rascal, and I am not ashamed to admit it now, either. Call me a big softy.”

  Crosco was so cheerful since his return. Not like before. He even appeared healthier for it. It seemed such a sin to upset him, now, with their ill news. Nor was it anyone’s right to keep it from him. So, glimpsing awkwardly at one another, wondering who would be the first to talk, they waited. But, in the end, nobody spoke a word, which alone said enough to perish the Dullahan’s merry air.

  - Chapter Seventeen -

  Will o’ the Wisp

  Once the Dullahan had finally marshalled nerve enough to interrogate their silence, hesitant though he was for fear of what it may be, they agreed it most fitting to explain Pew’s untimely passing together, as a group. It was easiest for everyone that way. Most of all, for the Dullahan. There were more faces for comfort that way. Even Stell put his own difficulties aside to stand by a friend in need.

  Around they so gathered. Icrick draped one arm about The Body’s shoulder and swore to him that Pew would be just fine. How he was far away from that accursed inferno now, living the life of Riley somewhere high in the clouds, with big King Thide guffawing by his side.

  He really did paint a lovely picture.

  The Grogoch’s description of Pew’s afterlife was so compelling, and so imaginative, that they could envisage it like it was happening, right there, before their waking eyes. There was the Poppum, scampering about those royal halls, sliding on the go. Pouncing after fluttering butterflies and exploring secreted places to appease his Artisan ways. A far better life for him, they felt. Fairer. As no such creature was meant for those harsh times of war and death.

  Yet it could not pass without a wonder; would Pew actually miss the thrills of his old life? The danger. For whenever they ven
tured into the web of peril, he always emerged on the other side, chuckling. Like a child wanting another go on the playground slide. And yet he probably wouldn’t have considered his death a misfortune, either, the more they pondered it. Maybe he even deemed it a reward, of sorts. A wonderful prize. Another adventure, presented to him by the powers of evil, no less. To be transported back to Ebyulán, where he could have the time of his life again. This brought a smile to their faces. Good old Pew. Darkness had intended to punish him but, instead, it ended up rewarding him. Irony can sometimes be a truly beautiful thing.

  An uplifting prospect, yet it remained a sad and trying sight when a teary Crosco asked that he be the one to cleanse the body. No candidate more suitable, so they obliged, and Redmun passed the deceased into his arms. They all knew of that special bond between them. They were all aware of how dear the Dullahan was to Pew, and likewise. Ever placing him upon a pedestal, the Poppum thought the world of his funny, grumpy friend. His affection was unconditional. And even though The Head never spoke of it aloud, his feelings were always mutual; hidden somewhere within his soul of hard rock, never revealing themselves until now. Truth was, he loved this little messer like a lifelong pet, and so he wept for him heartfelt tears.

  Crosco rested Pew’s fragile body upon the pool’s bank. Everyone went ahead and bowed their heads in prayer while he ran those diamond droplets through his fur, gently absolving him of his past life on Lythiann. Ifcus was lying next to The Head, trying to soothe his pain with a rub of his nose as Crosco’s chalky cheeks ran wet. He knew that he was in a better place now and, finally, through the splendour of Iywék, young Pew’s end was given proper closure.

  When the ritual was over, and Pew re-wrapped in his blanket, The Body assumed the duty of taking care of him until all this was over. He insisted upon it. He went to depart that cave, presuming that time to be of the essence, when Redmun told him to rest another moment to grieve, as no such chance would arise again in the foreseeable hours as far as he knew. Crosco, with much appreciation, accepted. And even though it was the Erethaoí who’d suggested this, he still kept a wary eye on time.

  Then William whispered to Stell, “How come you didn’t perform that same ritual as you did with the doe that time?”

  The Elf replied, “Apologies, my friend. But my heart is simply not in it right now. However, Pew is a clever thing. He shall find his way to the clouds easily enough.”

  William could not argue with that, so he, as with the others, made the most of the break while they had it.

  Khrum, who was lazing back, motioned at The Head, and asked, “So, Dullahan! Are ya goin’ ta tell us what happened with Valstarius, or are we goin’ ta have ta shlap it outta ya?”

  “Ease off him, leprechaun!” Redmun scowled. “Can’t you see he’s mourning. Let him tell you about the hybrid some other time!”

  “Ara, shove off with yourself, will ya.” Khrum barked, all fed up. “I was only coddin’ with him.”

  Redmun’s face dimmed. He was not accustomed to such cheek, though he was more surprised than anything. It would take a weakened spirit indeed to address him so brazenly, so he spoke nothing of it.

  I need not explain that Khrum was just plain ticked off at this stage, for being the only one who was ever lectured over his tone. All he was trying to do was behave normally in the off-chance that it might cheer the Dullahan up. So, naturally enough, he got annoyed when confronted. Quite the norm for someone who is being incessantly harangued for just being himself.

  So, with that niggling away at him, he went on, “Leave me ta my ways ‘n’ let that be the end of it, d’ya hear? I’m sick ta the teeth of it. As for Crosco, I know he’s not in the form, Redmun! But none of us are! We all losht a friend back there. Not jusht him. An’ now that we’re here, trapped on the brink o’ hell, with some madman jusht around the corner waitin’ ta kill us, it’s a hundred times worse! Course I’m a little vexshed! We all are! Even you! So what say we make the mosht outta a bad situation for the few minutes that are in it, and listen ta a bit of a yarn! Where’s the harm in that, ha? Tell me!”

  Redmun had clearly hit a nerve so, with a gruffly sigh, he conceded. Besides, he was too distracted to take part in some pointless row, for he was in a foul mood. Khrum was right. But he wasn’t about to admit it lest the leprechaun should use it against him in the future, because he wasn’t always right, either. In fact, he was usually way off.

  He’d hardly touched his roast Goblin, so, in discarding it, Crosco licked his fingers and found himself saying, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. But only if we have the time?” he asked, throwing an eye at Redmun for consent.

  The man resigned from ever being their killjoy and so granted him the go-ahead, whilst sneaking in an almost indistinguishable glint, to suggest ‘keep it short though.’ If they didn’t know any better, they might have said that he was just as interested as any of them in what had become of the ill-reputed Valstarius. Also, the extra resting time might have made all the difference for their next climb; providing they didn’t dawdle too long, in which case the outcome could well prove drastic.

  With this in mind, Redmun kept a keen handle of time; forever checking the marks on his vambrace, as one might check their wristwatch for fear of running late.

  Crosco, enriched by their interest, nodded, “Okay…Okay I shall tell you! It might take my mind off things for a spell.”

  So, while Redmun and the Elf guarded the opening, the rest scooched in for the Dullahan’s tale.

  It went something like this…

  Thinking they might procure some fresh water, some sleep, and—with a smidgen of luck—a bite to eat, he and Ifcus had wandered south of the Barren City, towards Bròf. (This all took place a little after Crosco’s row with William.) It was coming up to nightfall when they arrived at its borders, at the pass of Dorick’s Egress; a narrow trail which ambled between the foot of some knotty hills.

  Just shy of its opening, where the brush grew deep, there lurked a shallow pool. The alpine streams trickled down from above, giving it a healthy run of fresh water. From there, the trail roamed on into the realm of Bròf itself. This was a dominion which they needn’t have ventured into, as their current spot already provided them with everything they’d need for a decent night’s camp. Water. Trees. And an abundance of heavy scrub to not only shelter potential food in, but also to shadow them from the mainland.

  Crosco wasn’t too pushed on the idea of braving it out there, on the mainland, particularly at night time. Past exploits had schooled him well on what things may be creeping across those murky lands after dusk. Fiendish beasts, and ugly ghouls, all sweeping the foggy fells in search of flesh for eating. Sometimes he heard them moaning, faintly, beyond the distant rises, with their echoes rebounding through the mist, making it sound like they were surrounded on all fronts. After being a part of a merry band for so long, he was really starting to feel very frightened out there, all by his lonesome.

  It never used to be like this. Even before William came along. He always had some sense of security given to him by the infamous Valstarius. At least he was something of an ally, Valstarius—from a certain perspective—guarding his night watchman. Not anymore, though. Not after he’d deserted them all. Now the Dullahan was truly alone. So, as those cries scaled the chill night air, he hunkered down and backed into a hidden hollow within the bushes where he waited, ever trembling, for the beautiful sunlight to yawn over the horizon and rescue him from night’s inky cowl. But it was to be a lengthy wait, with nightfall merely arriving.

  Opportunely for him, it wasn’t all doom and gloom. Crosco was fairly amused to see that the Will O’ the Wisp had returned to the pool for the coming season as, similar to the seasons themselves, that is simply what it does. It is not unlike the sun in summer or the frosts of midwinter, and Bròf was a favoured haunt of this anomaly for some months after the tempest. It found the area tranquil, I suppose.

  The Will O’ the Wisp was an unearthly phenomena. A clu
ster of lights, bearing likeness to small flames would flare and pop into all different shades and shapes above the stillness of the water. Nobody around Lythiann ever knew much about it, other than they were very beautiful to watch. Mesmerising, even.

  Few believed it was of nature’s magic, while most presumed it remnants of a Night Pixie’s fair which had recently moved on. Whenever there was a noise nearby, the Wisp would gambol to it, shooting off all sorts of sparks, depending on how loud the clatter was. And it was precisely this sort of display that was, more often than not, considered a trick of the Night Pixies, being very skilful light-bearers to begin with, carnies who managed all sorts of tricks with flames.

  No matter what the anomaly was, or where it came from, it remained a very mystical and soothing attraction to be around. So, on that, Crosco knocked together a comfy bed of grass inside his hollow, where he then rested, and watched, with Ifcus dozing on and off by his hip.

  Something of a relaxing spot it turned out to be, once they’d gotten over the noises across the land. He even felt his eyelids growing heavy, what’s more. That is, until something scampered through the trees just a few yards away to his left.

  It wasn’t a light scampering, either, like a bird or a squirrel. It seemed larger. Large enough to send the buckeyes swaying once it cut through them, whatever it was.

  “That didn’t just happen!” Crosco gulped, already sweating. “What, on earth, could it have been? Did you see, Ifcus? Eh?”

  With one ear flipped forward, and the other sideways, Ifcus’ huge eyes lit up because he, too, was scared stiff. All he could do was shake his head.

  As gingerly as he could, Crosco picked up his axe and waited anxiously for it to happen again. Wouldn’t you know, nothing stirred for a good long while after that, aside from the grass breezing down along the hillsides. Everything went as still as a picture again, so Crosco lowered his guard.

  Was it safe to relax, do you suppose?

  The second his eyes fell drowsy from watching the Wisp, an animal—or what looked like an animal—tore through the water before him, making for the trees on other side of the bank. Crosco scrabbled from his hole with his axe raised high. In his other hand he held up his Head, lantern-like.