The Other of One: Book Two

by Brian G. Burke

  They never forgot those who made it all possible. So, every meal, every stop, without fail, William and his band were always made top priority, and the best of everything was offered to them first. Whether it was food, wine, water, or simply a comfortable spot to sit in, they were always given first refusal. They didn’t always accept these kind gestures, I’ll have you know; with the exception of Crosco and Khrum, who were more than happy to scoff down the best cuts of meat, or guzzle the freshest mugs of sparkling ale. But the others weren’t so pushed about who got what, provided they got something into their bellies eventually.

  Two more nights of tramping had come and gone before the day finally dawned upon the northern borders of the Iywékian shores, where the secret glade awaited them. Iywék remained as untouched and entrancing as ever. Much could also be said for the morning that was in it, making them wonder if the sorcery of the realm was making it so, for Anun’s sake.

  Cloudlessly, those sweeping skies dissolved into the horizon of tropical northern oceans, wherefrom that rather pungent, yet fond fragrance of beached seaweed came. William had never laid eyes on such crystal waters, particularly near counties once so putrid and grey. A flawless canvas, the endless heavenly blue gave warmth to a flock of starlings who were venturing into the unceasing expanses of a newborn freedom. Some swallows travelled with them, before deciding on a brief visitation to the caravan below. They skimmed across the grass by the Dwelvin-Mites, and the children had a whale of a time chasing them.

  Travelling in pair file around those thickets of gorse and tall creaking pines, William found himself wandering into a friendly glade, well hidden from the rest of the world. It was of no surprise to the imps how spectacular it was, having already been there before, which is more than I can say for the boy and his friends. To them, it proved an astonishing wonder. Lush with anthurium, pink fringe, Holy orchid, bamboo orchid, water wattle, silk oak, and more, while preserving all the greens of a perfect crystal, this secret lakeside paradise was the ideal spot for their cause. It was as if Lythiann herself was setting it aside just for Anun.

  Glimmering softly in the kindness of that glorious morn, the small tarn within was busy with fish of all families. It actually reminded William of Ballycongraggon somewhat, until he noticed some baby water-serpents splashing in there with them. Playing, no less. Stag, fawn, blue jay, and hare shied into the openness from the woods; curious of the strangers’ arrival. Two-legged faun were lurking therein what’s more; poking their noses out from behind trees and such. Coy creatures, who eventually trotted out from hiding to join the audience of wildlife on the misty fringes. Arriving on the scene thereafter were the leprechauns…who weren’t so shy. Of the northern tribes, these particular leprechauns were rowdier and bigger—in a fat sense—than any other breed of red-beard in the country. Even Khrum tutted at the sight of them, which says a lot for just how boisterous they were.

  “Ara, here we go! Hide the crockery!” he grumbled, like he was any better.

  But they weren’t enemies, just rowdy sometimes.

  Many other animals showed up as well, including the Mothosun. Fluttering around, here and there, with wings as big and as bright as Atlas Moths’, these more ancient, more revered faeries were believed to have fought in more wars than any other species in existence. An admirable reputation, granted they never die, apart from by the sword. But that day was not about conflict. It was about mourning their precious mother.

  No soul could ever wish for a more perfect send-off, and taking a fine breath of that wholesome air, the boy smiled with a sigh, “Worth fighting for indeed.”

  Just then, beyond the lake, he saw an oblong stone with veins of marble and jade streaking through it. Looking almost as if it didn’t belong, it sat there aimlessly. And then it dawned on him. It was her tomb.

  He was about to pay it a visit, when he was suddenly set upon by two young, face-pulling Trolls who did so as a joke. Endearing creatures really, in spite of what some petty folk might consider their ‘untraditional’ looks. It was so woeful to think that these imps, who happened to be twins, were orphaned in the late battle. For pity’s sake, however, it was kept from them until later years. By then, the girl, Yursé, would sail to the ruins of Lór, a missionary, to disinter the bodies of the fallen in an effort to grant them proper burials. Her brother, Korrpuc, would otherwise be on retreat at The Old Hive (otherwise known as ‘Wrythunn Abbey’), concluding his final studies; completely unaware of how the disastrous Seven Storms of the gHrún Sea were making Yursé’s voyage all the more perilous and complicated. Decades later, around crackling hearths on cold winter’s nights, her account would end up being an extremely popular tale of adventure. One of the many others since hatched from Lythiann’s ancient histories which, perhaps, you might learn of later on.

  Smiling up at William through those adorable gummy grins, the Trolls pulled him along by both arms, huffing ‘n’ puffing, in a playful bid to help them set up their camp. How could he resist such innocent charms? Catching a dose of their infectious chuckle, he hoisted the girl up over his shoulder with an “H’up we go!” before slinging the boy under his other arm. He would postpone his respects till later, when he would have a little more privacy, so he headed back to camp.

  A telling of dusk adorned the merging clouds come ceremony time, and the skies lit up with the fiery hues of a seasoned peach. After preparing their initiations in the privacy of the wood, a group of Elf-wives glided ceremoniously out into the clearing, garbed in sable robes. Dark cloth for dark dealings. So doing in single file, while in a true ceremonious fashion, their heads were down and, in prayer, their fingers were steepled angelically at their fronts. Everybody else congregated by the rock at the north end, where a stout Banshee, a floating Spirit, and a wise Grogoch were already waiting.

  Time seemed to cease during those first few minutes. Everything was just so calm and unrushed, as one would suppose such dealings to be. A soundlessness netted the world entire; sighing nothing, save for the twin aisles of crackling torches which escorted the Elves along.

  When they reached the rock, all six of them coasted into a sweet hymn. The creatures awaiting them joined hands so as to commence the ceremony with some olden incantations. In response to their chants, the slab, whose stripes now swirled, levitated upwards and hovered by their knees. Suddenly, a magical window materialized on its face, thereby exposing the resting body of the celebrated one inside. More entrancing than anyone had ever remembered her to be, Anun rested inside, a wound beneath her heart, in an everlasting repose for all to see.

  Bereavement had by then infested the air with its tender touch. Like the fog in the wood, its ghost would surely linger for centuries to pass. People wept. People comforted. Even William kept a prolonged eye on his boots for fear of anyone seeing his hurt, the bulging of his throat, or his nostrils flaring. Nyna approached his ear with a hanky to her eye, to narrate the goings on.

  “We must wash the body first,” she sniffed, pressing the hanky to both corner of her eye. “‘Tis tradition. Then the six’ll carry her up to that hill there, where she can look out o’er the grand ocean forever. That’s when we’ll be permitted to go say our g’byes. In twos, outta respect. Don’t want to be suffocatin’ her in crowds like. Everyone snivellin’ ‘n’ that. It wouldn’t do. ‘Tis tradition for great ones to be sent off peacefully.”

  Complete with a winding trail of lustrous cobbles, that lush hill wandered up and up into a distinguishable slanted peak. Northward facing, it would make a perfect lookout over the splendid, green ocean. An idyllic point to admire the cycles of sunrises and sunsets; of winters being born into springs. It would be a final resting place of peace in her one true homeland of Lythiann. This was the very world which she herself had created, and it was the very world which she scarcely got to cherish, after being exiled from it for a life-age and more.

  The six closed out their song and lifted Anun’s body out of the floating stone before escorting her into the water, where she was
cleansed thoroughly from head to toe. Because this was something of a reserved process, the congregation were asked to express their veneration by giving them privacy, praying instead.

  When the cleansing was through, the six laid the body carefully into her coffin again which, so you know, had since been attractively bedded with golden posies by the other three priests. When she was settled in, the Banshee crossed Anun’s palms for her, and the window returned to stone once more.

  Placing it then on their shoulders, those Elf-wives conveyed the coffin to the top of the knoll, and the Dwelvin-Mites returned to watch from below. She would be set upon three rocks, and then placed under one last spell, which would guard her from the world for centuries to come.

  “It’ll be nice for her up there, I’d say.” William said, as he joined the removal along with everyone else.

  Agreeing with him, Nyna smiled. “Nicer still come sunset.”

  “Why? What happens at sunset?”

  “Why, that’s when the window opens again,” the witch explained. “You see, every mornin’ at sunrise, ‘n’ every night ‘round sunset, the window’ll become clear again. That’s when most’ll come ‘n’ visit her, I’d expect. ‘Round them times. When they can see her properly in her eternal youth.”

  “And that’s when you should say your goodbyes today, William,” Icrick joined in, with Khrum on his left shoulder, holding his hat. “After all, you shall be heading home soon. It might be the last chance you’ll ever get to see her. You’ve earned that privilege at least. It’s okay, we’ve all discussed it.”

  “Aye, boyo,” Khrum said nicely. “Ya should be the one ta see her off today, when the window opens. The resht of us, we can see her at dusk’s light anytime. I’m sure Anun would like ta see your ugly mug one lasht time before ya scarper. Then, once night falls, we’ll have a little shindig for the night that’s in it.”

  Flattered but hesitant, the lad was compelled to ask, “But…who’ll come with me? Aren’t we supposed to go in pairs? Tradition and all that?”

  “Why not ashk the lass?” Khrum suggested, with that twinkle in his eye.

  He had a point.

  As that red sun bled into those flaming waters, and dusk was settling in, William approached the girl and asked her if she wouldn’t mind escorting him to the top of the hill. Outside of praying with the children, she was doing little else, so she accepted. But not without some reluctance, which made the boy conscious. She came across, to him, as being somewhat awkward about the whole ordeal. I suppose he expected to compliment her, being his one and only invite. On the contrary, they were going to visit a tomb, so how happy did he really expect her to be?

  On finally reaching the coffin, he thus felt the need to ask, “Is something up? If it bothers you to do this, you really don’t have to. I just thought you might like to see the person who brought me here in the first place. Because, without Anun, I never would’ve met ye. I never would have met…you…”

  Wren said nothing. William couldn’t help thinking that, her being there, was the last thing on her mind.

  “Wren…”

  “William!” she urgently nipped, like it could no longer be contained. “Just…be quiet for one moment, will you! I-I need to tell you something. And, yes, I realise that my timing couldn’t be any worse, because here we are, about to visit the grave of somebody you clearly care very much for, and here I am waffling on about different matters. Nevertheless, I swore to you that I’d tell you. And now that everyone knows who you are…and what you can do…I’m terrified this may be my last chance to speak with you without worrying over prying ears. But I told you I would…so now I must!”

  Into the ocean, the sun began to plunge, reanimating the window at Anun’s feet as it steadily lengthened like a shadow.

  Wren was clearly flustered, so put his arms around her to see if it would make things easier for her. He hid his worry well, for he did not know what to expect, given how he already knew all of her secrets.

  “You’re all wound up. You need to relax!” he spoke soothingly, in an effort to suppress old notion.

  And what comfort, do you suppose, he got in return?

  “I haven’t been honest with you…”

  The window of light was revealing Anun’s body from the waist down.

  “You weren’t?” he asked, preparing himself for the worst. “In what way?”

  “Thedius reminded me of who I was. It was so far back, I’d almost forgotten,” she replied, unable to look him in the eye.

  She then wrenching herself free of his arms and took two steps back. She looked at him. Be it a look of hatred, or of fear, or of readiness, he could not distinguish. Whichever it was, it was intense. A stare not easily forgotten; of one preparing for something. William hesitated.

  Having all but submerged into the boundless seas, sunset’s window was at Anun’s neck and ever stretching.

  “And who are you, exactly?” he grimaced, his heart banging against his ribs like a battering ram.

  Bracing herself for what was to come, she closed her eyes, and pulled her jacket down over her shoulders, exposing a pair of ivory-feathered wings. The right, whilst malformed, had been bandaged up and was in the process of healing.

  William stumbled back and ready himself to run. But he didn’t. He restrained himself.

  Yielding to tears, Wren sobbed, “I was afraid I would disgust you.”

  William wasn’t repelled by her, as she might have feared. He was just shocked. And in his shock, he turned to the coffin, to be set upon by another startling turn.

  For there, resting within, was the goddess he once knew, however this Anun, who’d been entirely cleansed, donned hair as black as pitch. Suddenly, with a nauseous fusion of whirling memories which forced his belly to close up, it all slammed home as a cleaver to a butcher’s block.

  His mind raced back to a time when the vindictive prophet, Vahna Webble, warned him against her daughter with the raven hair, and how she would attempt to deceive him with her charms, which Anun had some abundance of, if you recall. Her kiss was so soothing. Her voice, so serene. And such a hold she had over the Dwelvin-Mites. They praised her as if she was Saint Mary herself. Exploiting this kindness she not only ruled them, but she also claimed the best for herself, too.

  She was Vahna’s daughter!

  That was why she advised William to stay away from Redmun, and why she taught him nothing of the Symphogram. Not for him to ‘see it for himself,’ the way Icrick so wanted to believe. It was all some sort of trick on her part.

  This also explained those jars of yellow dye in her chambers. She must’ve been applying it to disguise her old self; that wretch who folk would remember. Between this guise, absence, and maturity, she was bound to go unnoticed.

  Next to slot into place was why her servant, Glorgan, was visiting Lór that night, and why he didn’t fear Anun as a threat, for there was no threat to fear.

  It wasn’t Wren whom William needed to beware of at all. It was her. Anun. Wren, the poor girl, after all the guff she’d taken from William in the past, had only yearned to protect him, not harm him. She was telling the truth this whole time. She wasn’t caressing old lynch wounds; she was caressing a tender wing. Now William could understand the meaning behind Thedius’ remark that night, for he did have a guardian angel. And the only reason she kept from him was because she was afraid of William not loving her back as a result. She was scared stiff that he could not love someone who was so different from himself. Someone who was, not only dissimilar, but whom he might have deemed as having forbidden blood too. Blood of an angel. A guardian angel. His guardian angel. Even with all this, she simply could not help her feelings for him.

  Regardless of some of his questions being answered, causing him true indignation and despair, many others were niggling him to the core. For instance, if he turned out to be right about this, then how come Anun came marching to his rescue in the end? Was it, possibly, because she’d learned the ‘error of her ways?’ What
of all those times he’d heard her whisper guiding him? Could this have been for the same reason? If nay, then whatever would she have to reap from such peculiar treachery?

  Whilst elated that he’d been mistaken about Wren, William felt so utterly trumped by his own confusion that he slumped, heartbroken, onto the grass. What was he to do now? Inform the Mites of his revelation? About Anun’s somewhat ostensible deceit? What if he was, in some way, mistaken? Supposing he wasn’t? In the event of the latter, then everybody deserved to know the truth, did they not? Meanwhile, trapped in the middle of this ungodly mess was Wren, who was in anticipation of some response, after coming clean. But what meaningful words could he offer?

  William was at a total loss of what to say or do. Time was ticking. He knew he had to do something, but what? Of a sudden, his mind wandered to the distraction of a bizarre tearing wind that ploughed in from the south, like a comet entering the earth’s atmosphere with an indissoluble descending charge.

  Pointing up into the sky, Wren screamed out, “What on earth do you think you’re doing?! William! Mind-out!”

  “Mind-out for what?” he wondered. In a sudden, sodden snap, everything went from noisy, adrenaline-pumping anarchy, to abrupt, unlit silence. He first thought his eyes were shut, until he felt them blinking.

  When his adrenaline stabilized, he grew sickly aware of a hot, overpowering stink, as that of stale meat mashed together with flat saliva. The floor beneath his hands was all warm and slimy. He then noticed faint pyramidal contours of sunlight, ebbing and flowing before him, not three feet away; and how the low roof, under which he was balled-up and stooping, was of a smooth, pallet-like texture. Assuming closer examination, he came to the just conclusion that he was in something’s mouth, and that these pointed objects were, in fact, teeth.

  Jamming his eye against one of the gaps, while in a jarring panic for being inside something’s gob to begin with, he noticed how he was soaring amongst puffy clouds on a gorgeous, golden eve. He then came to realise that, the more pressure he put on the gap, the more the mouth would open, which implied that he was more of a passenger than a meal; or worst-case scenario, a hostage. Believe you me, if this creature was going to eat him, it would’ve done so already.