“Very well. We feared this could happen,” the king eventually answered, with all the pity he could offer, “for your civilization has been ever prone to misinterpretations through the influences of others. You tend to pass judgements about someone or something without passing honest hearings first. You have always betrayed your guts by acting on what the eyes see and the ears hear, taking either as instant truth, without truly trying to fathom the real reasons behind things, which are mostly hidden. Through no fault of your own, you simply grew up this way. It is in your nature. Remember those boys back home, in the schoolyard? Teasing, judging, gossiping? That’s where it began, for all of you. Then this habit of mindless assessment simply…rubs off.
“You have the tendency to think yourselves know-it-alls and mind readers. Then, under these assumptions, this most of the time leads to the damaging of either oneself…or others…or, in some cases, both. All over something as puerile as a guess.
“Another reason why it’s not always wise to spring to rash conclusions is because, as a rule, you—the faultfinder—are the one who winds up looking foolish. You then become distrustful and sly in the eyes of others. We should never be hasty to judge others by what we think we know of them. Hard evidence can be so vital. Rumours, after all, are but the frustrated hatchings of the shallow-minded, and you’re better than that, William my lad. Instead of trying to condemn people—over hearsay from Vahna Webble particularly—we should learn to leave them alone.
“Lucky for you, you decided to judge your guardian angel with appropriate reason before it was too late. And it is such reason, William, that the greatest hero of our time chose you to represent him; what with your ability to use your own heart to see beyond the fires into truth. Or giving situations the benefit of the doubt, while also learning when to be impartial.
“Had you accused Wren of treachery, she would’ve surely felt unwanted, thereby abandoning your group. In which circumstance, who would have been there, just in the nick of time, to catch you after you’d stumbled in the catacombs that night? Because nobody else would have reached your hand, despite their best efforts. And, indeed, without you, we would have been doomed! In all, what Webble told you did have some truth to it, depending on how you look at it. I can only thank God you found your wit and bit your tongue before you let the cat out of the bag. Otherwise we would not be talking now. He certainly has pulled through for you in more ways than one, lad! God. You would do well to remember that!”
William then gave off a “Humph,” amused in some way.
“Am I missing something?”
He didn’t reply straight away, though he had to say something to stop Thedius from staring.
“So you knew about Wren?” he asked, hoping it would do.
“Of course I did!” Thide said. “It was I who sent her down to Lythiann. It was so many years ago, I can barely remember when. She grew up down there. Raised by dragons and the one whom she called her aunt. Unfortunately, she was born with a broken wing. I mended it for her though, when you lot came to visit. She should be back on track in a matter of weeks.”
Resting his shoulder on William’s, he then whispered, “I have no doubt you wanted to ask about the girl. However, I don’t think that’s what your little ‘humph’ was about just now. Do I lie?”
Knowing he could not fool him, the boy spoke his mind. Nor was he overly troubled if it offered insult.
“The way you said…’Thank God,’“ he confessed. “I just find it funny. Not in a ‘Ha-ha’ kind o’ way. More in a ‘give me strength’ sort o’ way. I wish I had your faith.”
“Ah, I see,” the king smiled, twigging where this was going. “The sceptic still questions all that he already knows true, am I right?”
“Not that any o’ this even matters right now, but if you’re on about everything I’ve seen on Lythiann, then yes, I do believe in Him. Sort of. I’m too afraid not to, I suppose. But that doesn’t mean I don’t struggle with it. I mean, where was God when Briggun was off torturing all those people? Or when Pew died? And those caged prisoners who were left to rot in Thérn’s stronghold, what about them? Or my father back home? You’re more of a god than He is! No disrespect meant, when I say it like that. At least I know you exist, is what I’m getting at. All we ever hear about heaven is…well…what we hear! And we’re supposed to just believe in it, with everything that’s going on in the world?!”
“Again, searching for the deeper meaning of things.” Thedius nodded. “You’re getting good at this, lad. What if I told you that these awful things—wars, cruelty, torture—are, in reality, results of our own bad choices, and that all God is truly guilty of, in the end, is giving us, not only the chance, but the choice too?
“We were given the gift of free will, a privilege, which we’ve managed to misuse over…and over…and over…and over again. So it is us who brings this cruelty about. It is us who are destroying the world. It is us who start the wars, who are slaying innocents. Not the one who put us here. But humanity is not entirely to blame, either, for it is often manipulated by meddlesome forces. For there can be no true good without true evil, can there? And there, behind it all, pulling the strings and working on a different agenda, is the foulest demon of all. It who dwells beneath the Nether-plain, who people tend to forget about. It who causes oceans to flood, pestilences to spread, and the earth to crack, destroying millions of lives for nothing more than its own sullied merriment. More’s the pity that such power is beyond that of our own, and therefore out of our control. But we can still try and work together to outlast it.”
“What? So, basically, God just sits back while the devil, or what have you, bashes away however he sees fit, is it?!” the boy quizzed, finding it all a little too hard to swallow.
“And what makes you so sure that He hasn’t already prevented an unending plethora of the devil’s other, more devastating, more apocalyptic, onslaughts?” the king put to him. “And you have to remember, the Nether-demon is brutally powerful, too.”
This quieted William, sure enough. He wasn’t about to admit it, but he could see Thedius’ point.
“Ever ask yourself why you are here, lad?” asked the King.
“Well, that’s the big question, isn’t it? Nobody knows.” sighed William.
“So you do think about it? That’s good. Now, supposing I was to say that we exist on this kind earth to prove ourselves.”
“Prove ourselves? How?”
“Well, what truly drives us is emotion. In everyday life, it is our emotions that fuel us. They play a vital link, without which this chain of logic can tow no authority. Think about it for a moment. It’s so obvious when you think about it. Especially for you, when you consider what you’ve learnt from the Banádh. Without happiness, hate, love, or even sadness, we would have no reason to carry on, rendering everything else invalid. Without these feelings, this emotional steam, we’d have no desires for anything…ever! Not even discovery! True, we might still possess our basic instincts, but they only go so far. We would remain sacks of lifeless meat, watching the seconds tick by. Eating. Sleeping. No better off than any poor, lost Úngmin.
“So what are emotions exactly? A mystery. How come we can feel beauty whenever we look upon a sunset or a piece of art? Why must we seek out those inner rushes? Why must we…appreciate? We constantly crave the urge to be moved. To be touched. To love or be loved. Oh, if love conquered greed then the world would be a fairer place than what it is now. Ideas and invention would be exchanged only for the good of mankind, not for wealth or glory.
“Our emotions affect our choices; our choices affect our actions; our actions affect our accomplishments. It is all related. One huge, everlasting circle. Our physical selves, while essential, simply tag along. A twig, to a branch, to a trunk, to a root. The fruit surrounding the seed, as it were. Emotions are a part of our spirit, lad. And who do you suppose granted us this deeper, more mysterious, side of ourselves? Some lifeless comet? A simple particle not yet evolved? Or maybe…j
ust maybe…another unknown force of absolute beauty who wants us to see past the great mystery? To see if, when inspired by our own true passions and initiatives, that we have what it takes to pull through and believe in the impossible? Because if we can do that…then anything is possible!
“I asked you why we are here. We are here to prove ourselves, because we are being tested for a paradise far greater than the one already entrusted to us. A boundless utopia of our own distinct imaginings, where we shall be endlessly rewarded for our honesty, our achievements, our courage, our charity. Everything our sweetest of emotions have brought us to pursue. A place that is far and free from cruelties of the Nether-demon.
“Creators do exist, my lad. In our time, anyway. Leí-Achr’noú, is what we call them here. They are not gods, as such. Not like the One I believe in, who I feel is responsible for so much more. No. Although more knowledgeable than some, these reclusive folk merely have a knack with nature.”
“So I presume Anun wasn’t one o’ them then? A Leí-Ach..Ach—” William struggled.
“Achr’noú,” Thedius said, helping him.
“Achr’noú. Not after everything you told me about her. With her cheap, broken, parlour tricks and that?”
“Anyone who is a creator of worlds does so for the benefit of the people who reside therein, and that is all. As with God—despite some beliefs—creators are humble, and they forge lands not for glory, or recognition, but for good. In fire, the secret law was inscribed, by the Gún-Achr’noú, the sky council, that no creator can seek praise for their own work, nor commend it themselves. For if history teaches us anything, it is that arrogance coaxes us onto dark trails often.”
The talking stopped.
“…So?!” William asked, surprised by his need for enlightenment.
“So?” the man replied, playing thick.
“So…who is the creator o’ Lythiann then?! God, I suppose.”
The humble king offered no insight. Easing into a little hum for himself, he got up off his backside, had a bit of a stretch then sauntered off towards the sunlit gardens where he could be alone, just as he always liked to do around that time of day.
Confounded, and fascinated, and feeling robbed, all at once, William beckoned, “You mean it’s not? After all that? Thedius? Where are you off to? You can’t just walk off and not tell me!”
Before his silhouette was erased by the wondrous light of his cloudy realm, the kind king hollered back, “Your portal has been fashioned for your homeward return, my dear fellow. Bless your heart for all you have done; both for our people, and for yours. And, should you ever need to revisit us here, remember these words: ‘Only by the dawning of the new light shall you find your path back to legend.’ Bearing in mind, this will work only once, and you will never be able to return home again should you walk the path. The clock of your Lythiann age will also start to tick once you step back onto our soil, so don’t say I did not warn you.”
“But—”
“So long, dear boy. And whether you believe in Him or not, He will be by your side, always. Through the thickets of times, and the thin.”
“He? Aren’t there, like, a hundred different Gods? Which one is the right one?”
“He is such a powerful anomaly, William,” the king answered, “that He is whoever we need him to be.”
Thedius Thide then diminished into a brilliantly snowy light, from whose searing intensity William shielded his eyes.
When it finally fizzled off, he found himself, back beside Anun’s coffin with Wren, who was still weeping like none of it had ever happened.
Suddenly, William heard a mysterious last whisper of Thedius’ voice, “It wouldn’t do any harm to leave the Mites in the dark about any of this. What good could come of it by telling them now, anyway? But, I shall leave it up to you. So long now, my brave young friend. So long.”
“Won’t…Won’t you s-say something?” Wren sniffed, her chin dimpling under a trembling lip.
All woolly-headed after his little adventure into the clouds, William, through acceptance of what he’d learnt, paired with the honesty she deserved, faced her and spoke, “Without you, we would’ve lost!”
She did not expect this. An argument, maybe, or for him to walk away, but not this.
“My home in Ireland, it would’ve been destroyed,” he continued, while being so astonished by his own honesty that he too was growing emotional. “And us, the Dwelvin-Mites, and Lythiann…would’ve all been annihilated, had it not been for you. And you’re afraid o’ me judging you, over a pair o’…wings? Which, now that I see them, actually suit you down to the ground!”
How he had the ability make her smile so. And how comforted she was for it, too.
“They bring out the fieriness in your eyes, they do.”
“Oh, I don’t know about all that,” she chuckled bashfully. “However, I am happy to think that I might have helped you in some way at least. Lord knows, you were there for me enough times! Besides, something tells me you had a lot more help from higher places.”
She said this as she caressed the rim of Anun’s coffin, whom she gazed upon with unbounded admiration and commiseration; longing to follow in such righteous steps one day. William heeded. Meanwhile, night was bearing down, as was her coffin window.
“She played her part.” he uttered, lifting her hand away, to rest it on his heart. “And we played ours. In the end, we won. Besides, when push came to shove, she was never happy. You wouldn’t want her sadness. Her sense o’…discontent. You’re perfect just the way you are.”
“Look at you, William,” she replied, almost dreamily, “all grown up. I never would have imagined such words from that same moody fellow I met that day in the clearing. Remember? You were fit to kill me, and I you, to be quite honest. But now look at us. Me, an angel no less! Pfff! Who’d have thought?! And you, a born hero. A legend of the land. Wait till you see how royally you will be treated when—”
She restrained herself, for William wouldn’t be around long enough to be treated any such way. Not when he had to go home.
Rather than forfeiting themselves to this dark reality, they both surrendered to one another’s eyes. Despite how less painful it might have made their lives in the long run, neither of them could resist the desire to kiss, right there, right then. Angel or not. Holding one another all the tighter, William ran the backs of his fingers down her soft cheek. He was on the verge of doing as he’d always wanted. But then, with a screeching whistle, tailed by a resounding crack, a beautiful umbrella of avocado and marmalade sparks floodlit the navy yonder, casting a colourful reflection across the mirroring sea.
A second wave of fireworks launched thereafter, then another, and again, until the realm could not have been obscured by darkness for any more than a split-second before another one would pop off.
Between bangs, they heard the thuds of marching feet. Lo and behold, with torches raised high and huge smiley mugs, all of the Dwelvin-Mites were on their way up the hill to meet them, whilst being careful not to disturb the dead.
Stell, cheery as could be, was leading them. To his left, carrying a royal litter fit for two, were Grump and Dreckal, those friendly Grollo Trolls from before. Obviously the celebrations had begun, having committed their dear Anun to eternal peace. And not only were the festivities in honour of her, but of William, too. A farewell gathering. And a celebration of Briggun’s end.
“What’s going on now?” asked the lad.
“Come off it, William!” Stell laughed, throwing his flagon-grasping arm around him and pulling him into a half-headlock. “We saw your portal manifesting down by the wood there. And we decided, what better to do in your final hours, than to get some festivities up and running. I hope you’re ready to do some dancing. Both of you!”
To have shared in that one precious kiss would’ve been a more perfect end for William. But what could he do, after they’d gone to so much trouble on his behalf? Wren shared his disappointment, but she had no choice in the ma
tter, either, other than to accept it for the better.
With some amusing persuasion from the boisterous mob, William took Wren’s hand and assisted her onto the litter, whose curtains were rolled back on all posts, preventing any decent privacy. Then he climbed in himself, to be transported back down to the glade like a king and queen, where everything was ready for a grand old bash.
Everybody else were hooting and dancing around them along the way. Their giddiness rubbed off on them a smidgen too, which was a good thing, considering what they’d just missed out on. And, before long, they were clapping along to the sounds of drums, fiddles, and tin whistles, with everyone else.
The feast itself consisted of slow-roasted goose with herb stuffing; mashed spuds, topped in butter and cream; sides of boar, basted and done on smoked maple chips; steaming, buttery corn cobs; white pudding sandwiches; wheels of soda bread with jam of all fruits; jars of rich gravy and pickled chutney; toffee puds; hot cross buns with lemon curd filling; treacle cakes; butternut soup…and that was just one of six tables. The remaining five had much, much more, including a chocolate sculpture of our heroes themselves. And if a bite was taken out of it, it would just grow back. It was more for fun than anything, and William got a great laugh out of it when he saw it.
In the drinks department (Khrum’s favourite) they had a list of wine as long as your arm. To name some, there was cherry wine, gooseberry wine, plum wine, and strawberry wine, all of which contained little alcohol, yet carried enough punch if drank in large quantities, which was normally impossible to avoid, given how tasty it was. The mere mentioning of these beverages would make the cheeks tingle, like when you imagine biting into a fat slice of bitter lemon. A more traditional grape wine was in store too, along with some barrels of tangy beer.
Being very fond of ‘the good shtuff’ as it is known, the great hounds were catered for with some bottles of fine whisky, which was stowed safely away in a special cabinet called a ‘No-No,’ under lock ‘n’ key, and a magical password. You already know why, I’m sure. Khrum managed to procure all (save for the last) of these items one night, about thirty-odd years ago. Chancing his arm, he went to open the ‘No-No,’ but in so doing, he spilt diarrhoea in his knickers and hee-hawed like a donkey for two days solid. It’s safe to say his cat-burgling days were pretty much over after that. And there was he, slagging Icrick off about his little incident with the Gremlin den that time. Some cheek.
The Other of One: Book Two Page 68