The Other of One - Book One: The Lythiann Chronicles

by Brian G. Burke

  There, laying within the flame in his wicker cradle, was the impression of a helpless infant, calling for his mother. He was a healthy, strong-looking newborn, wrapped warmly in a woollen blanket.

  “Days passed, all went quiet on the land again...and the child was discovered by a wandering witch named Èona; one of our very own. She took him in and cared for the child as if he were her own, raising him with the other survivors in the canyons of Lòr.

  “By then, we had grown very fond of our canyon home, and had rebuilt much of what was once lost. Nevertheless, word of our new existence reached the ear of our enemy, and so he took it upon himself to seek us out at the canyons. He did not take kindly to sharing his land with us, so his warmongering gave birth to the dreaded Battle of the Seasons.”

  Again the army of kindle marched upon the flaming font. This time the view soared down through the great battalion, then in amongst their banners and arms, before rising to the great heights of the mountain ranges of beyond.

  “Many were born to see the beginnings of that great war, yet it outlived most, either through age or conflict. Endlessly Èona and her baby endured the hardships of battle. But the child eventually grew up. He had the potential to become a powerful warrior and masterful wielder of the great Wrythus art. To use it for good this time! Nevertheless, this took patience and time. Thus, it was not until the later years of the battle that he could wield it skilfully. Mysun, this boy was called, so named after Èona’s own brother, who had recently been slain in that very war. But in spite of our hero’s latecomings, our victory was lost. Our nemesis claimed the canyons as his own and, again, we had to run and find exile. Most of us had to run and find exile.

  “This time we found our sanctum below the ground, alongside other innocents who had discovered this refuge before the war. And there we remained, the last enduring survivors of our kind; Elves, fairies, witches, banshees. All you see amongst you.

  “I myself turned the newfound subterranean land into a country of beauty and named it Lythiann, meaning—in a different Celtic tongue—Realm of the Forgotten. It was full of meadows and tremendous plains as far as the eye could see. Oceans, lakes and rivers. Riding dunes. Mountains grew by the hundreds amid miles upon miles of scattered forest. It was our paradise, our home, and we had hoped to live out the rest of our lives there. Unfortunately, another danger had yet to reveal itself. There came the final threat.

  “The ugliest of mankind had again returned to the Elderland above. Only this time they brought new technologies and weapons. By then, Drevol’s dark army had long since faded from the lure of his beacon, meaning that he was alone yet again until the arrival of the next eclipse. When that was due, nobody could say for certain. He became conscious of these soldiers, and feared a possible uprising. So, through whatever magic he had left, he commanded the ground beneath the canyons of Lòr to crumble, and take new reside beneath the crust! So, once more, he has invaded our new world, and again the time will arrive when we will be forced to fight for our right to be.”

  Reliving those dark days like they could never be forgotten, the imps comforted those who’d been most affected by it. Anun continued, “It was suggested by some that we return to the Elderland again and leave Lythiann to Drevol. But there would be too many differences up there for us now. If only we could exist upon your world today, we would try; but Ireland nowadays does not treat the lands as we once did. Nor would your people see the legends as we once knew them. We simply could not survive! In fact, we know of a precious few who have abandoned us to sample the life on your world. All we know is that they now live lives of torment, being hunted and pestered by curious humans.

  As for the curse of Briggun...all I can say is that, to a degree, our grudge no longer remains with mankind, but with the curse itself. We realise that it was done inadvertently, for both races have suffered its bane. Now we must protect our own, and save our new home from the fate which we had suffered in the past.”

  Curious and a tad concerned by his part in all this, William asked, “But what is it you want from me? What could I possibly do to help? Honestly, I’m really sorry to hear about your troubles, but I have to go! It’s getting late, and my mother will be annoyed if I don’t get home soon. I can’t apologise enough, really, ye seem like such nice people and all...but it’s high time I left.”

  He went to leave, when he felt Anun’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Please...” she beseeched, “...take another look into the flame.”

  With a sigh, William stepped up and reluctantly watched on. The magical flame began to burn loudly again, and a fresh image appeared from within; and this time it showed William’s mother. She was laying fast asleep on her bed, soundly and unbothered.

  “Ma?” said the boy, unsure of what he was seeing.

  “Unfortunately, your being here comes at a price,” Anun said, knowing that there was no easy way to put it. “One you must be prepared to pay.”

  Somehow William knew that he was on the verge of uncovering the secret behind that mysterious curse. So he listened, fearfully.

  “It was exactly five hundred years ago today, in the later years of the Battle of the Seasons, that you were last with us,” she explained. “But you were not William Muldoon. You were in another form. One of a warrior. And you were the mightiest warrior that the land has ever known!

  “Many of the other heroes had fled when their numbers fell. Still, the loyal minions of the dark one found them and, one by one, those heroes disappeared without a trace. Nobody, not even I, know what happened to them. They simply vanished. You were the only one who stayed to fend for the likes of our kind; a true patriot, and the only warrior who stood a chance against the dark one. The magic you possessed was the only kind in existence that could oppose, and possibly surpass his own. Your name was Mysun Margyle.”

  The silhouette of a hero flickered within the fire. His gallant stance was tall and broad, and in his hand there was a blade which he flourished like a true swordsman. Enemies ran at him but he smote them all, one by one. They came at him in great waves, all at once, but still his skill was too powerful for them, and not a scratch did he take.

  “Unfortunately, in the last days of the great battle, when our defences ran low and Mysun was weakening, we knew that our enemy and his army were standing upon the brink of an inevitable victory. There was nothing else Mysun could do but leave for another path; a road which could yet bring us aid, one final hope that could lead us to our ultimate victory. However, this stratagem was not without its risks, because its fruition would take some time. For Mysun knew that, by leaving us, whatever defences we had left would have to face full challenge...yet we had no other choice. Mysun was the one we needed, and we needed him in full strength.

  “And so he departed for the spiritual land of Pherenstead. A world of peace and slumber, where he could replenish his power to such an extent that eventually he could face Drevol again, alone and without aid. But, in walking this path, he was forced to leave his physical self behind, and allow just his spirit to take the journey.”

  “And when Mysun left, it was then that ye travelled to Lythiann?” William began to catch on.

  “Yes. Then upon Drevol’s Lythiann invasion thereafter, some of us fled here, to the protection of the Grollo caves, whilst others sought exile elsewhere. Luckily for us, we have so far dwelt in these caves unnoticed while awaiting Mysun’s return. I presume the only reason Drevol has not yet found us here is that, like Mysun, he is replenishing his power after the battle, and the return of man. I would imagine tasks of such proportions would drain power quickly and require much rejuvenation...even for him! To take proper effect, this would require him to lie dormant for quite some time, away from threat. However, this is mere speculation. For all we know, the dark one could again be roaming freely throughout Lythiann as we speak.”

  The crowd nervously agreed.

  “One century after Mysun had left us,” she said, “we received word from the swallows of the
distant land of dreams that he would return approximately five hundred years from when he had first departed, in another form...the form of a boy. A youngling whose body could be nurtured into strength and his mind to wit by guardians of the new Ireland, until it was eventually his time to return to us in the newly styled land of Lythiann. It was also explained that his memories of being the great Wrythunn may not be easily recalled. Therefore Mysun, through an act of catatonic unawareness, a dreamlike spell, placed a curse upon his own future life, an incantation which would give the boy no other choice but to fight for his initial cause.

  “And so the curse was eternal repose for those who meant the most to him. And the only way for this curse to be lifted is for Mysun, or in this case you, William, to become who you really are...and destroy Drevol Briggun”

  Stumbling away from the font, with fear filling in his eyes, William cried, “No...NO! This can’t be true! You’re full of it.”

  “I am so sorry, dear William,” she uttered sadly, “...but it is the truth.”

  “Get away from me!” he snapped, and he ran through the tunnel behind him in search of escape.

  So much ill news had been brought upon him that he needed to escape as quickly as possible. A concerned Yàckin was about to go after him, only Anun restrained him with a glance, and she observed the boy as he escaped up a long stretch of tunnel. She hoped to see his face again soon. For without him, any aspirations she might have had for Lythiann’s future would surely be without hope.

  - Chapter Four -

  The Sadness

  William dashed on and on, with his chest as tight as a drum for fear that what Anun said might have some truth to it. He did, after all, see his mother in that dreaded fire. But how could he tell if it was authentic or not? He couldn’t. So it was imperative that he rush home to see for himself.

  Up a sloping path he so darted, through a tunnel of red stone, with no idea as to where it was leading him. All he knew was that it travelled upwards; not dramatically upwards, but still up...which was good enough for William.

  There were more of those markings on those walls as well. Only this time they were emitting heat and light through their etchings. It could only have been, I suppose, a trick of the lava which he’d seen from the main hall earlier. It was as if the molten rock was soaking into the very stone, though being blockaded before it could accomplish thorough penetration, thereby creating just enough heat for the immediate sections of the caves. Yet, to William, the temperature was beyond sweltering. He was not used to it, and it was quickly smothering his already clammy flesh. All that running didn’t help matters much either.

  Just as he was about to ease his pace to catch his breath, there came a splendid gush of refreshingly cold air from up ahead. He couldn’t see where it was coming from because his view was blocked by the gradual escalation of the path. Could it lead to danger? Or safety? He did not know. Either way, he made his way toward it. The tremendous chill put vigour back into his legs as he sped up along the path. Then, before long, the tunnel opened to a grand entrance.

  ‘Twas like a wide, gaping mouth with long fangs of partially hitched limestone. What William witnessed beyond this threshold, however, made him stop dead in his tracks. He could hardly believe his own eyes.

  It was a town of some sort. No...bigger than that. A subterranean metropolis. It was dark and empty, yes, but its magnificence set him aback with sheer astonishment. Scores of amiable-looking dwellings filled the caverns all over; both on the ground and up along the walls themselves. Houses upon houses, all three stories high, were cramped in together such that, over the years, they were forced to lean their twisted rooftops out over the cobbled streets below. Smoky remains of roaring fireplaces from previous nights lingered in the air, leaving behind traces of a welcoming scent. And even though this city possessed a cosy atmosphere, there remained an ill sense of incarceration to it.

  William found it all extremely surprising. One such as he might have expected such beings to reside in holes or straw hovels, which is a rather arrogant and unfair generalization. Even William himself could but concur after pondering briefly, for these gabled buildings were of fine red and brown brick, roving amongst which were many footpaths and archways, leading through back alleys, roads, and laneways. There was even a towpath on one side of a quaint canal that ran off into the hazy distance.

  The main city was considerably well-lit by tall, black Victorian streetlamps and, as well as that, it was so well maintained and tidy. High up above, in the craggier areas of the ceiling, he spotted many more of those same bridges leading from one place to another, sometimes carrying on through porticos and tunnels here and elsewhere. There were more homes up there, too, built into the stalactites themselves, with crooked chimneys poking out of their shoddily slated rooftops.

  Apart from all of these rather unexpected peculiarities, he saw flocks of very unusual crimson birds flying around. Aberrantly tiny in size, they had wild, feathery tails as long as snakes, and muscular, serrated beaks which appeared rather ungainly in proportion to their small bodies. In from the darkness they soared, gliding up to their nests hidden somewhere in the rocks. What part they had to play within that community, William could not say. He simply referred to them as ‘Redfeathers.’

  In the city centre itself, an island was situated at a crossroads. Upon this island stood a majestic property with more elegance than all the rest. A lofty tower of expansive stone spiked from within its massive surrounding woodland until it concluded to a pointed spire high, high above. An awesome sight, but William could not stay to appreciate it. He had to find a way out, and he had to do it now, before he got discovered.

  Off he ran, through the vacant cobbled streets, each footstep echoing with a hurried ring as he went. There were so many side roads, lanes, and junctions that he did not know which way to turn next. He ended up taking his chances, and dashed down every path he saw until he discovered some manner of exit. Indeed, he would’ve attempted to climb up to one of the higher levels, if only he could. There were so many more potential routes to investigate up there, only he couldn’t find any way up. There were no ladders, no ropes, nothing. Even the rock itself proved quite slick, due to the water constantly trickling in from fissures in the ceiling. William knew it would’ve been hazardous to climb, and idiotic to boot. Therefore, he left that plan as an overall last resort.

  He continued searching for what seemed like ages. Every now and then he’d hide in a dark corner and peek out to see if anyone was following him. But nobody was, which made matters all the more daunting. After a tiring time of searching and skulking, one particular alley caught his attention, having seen a much brighter light gleaming off the bricks near the end of it. It was by no means the indication of an exit, but it was something new compared to that which he had already seen. So he made for it in the hope that it would somehow lead him out of that outlandish place.

  When he got there, he discovered that it was merely an old lantern kindling in some dusty textured window. This was hopeless! he thought, putting his back to the wall and sliding to the ground. For a moment he wallowed in his misfortunes and, in all honesty, almost felt like crying. Still, he knew better than to start blubbering, because nothing constructive could come of it.

  Just then, he thought he heard the rather indistinct sound of somebody else crying. Instantly he snatched back his senses, thinking that it might be Maggie, back again to confront him. Yet the more he listened, the more it seemed infantile and innocuous. Slowly, William stood up and slinked to the aperture of the alley. He poked his head out, but even then the weeping was very faint. First he glanced left, then right, then he looked down to find, sitting upon a doorstep to his right, a small, brownish faerie, about the size of a young sparrow. It had its hands to its face and it was crying. William was tempted to sneak past it and bolt. But being as irrepressibly accommodating as his nature was, he couldn’t help but to ask in a gentle way, “Um...hello? Are you all right?”

  The fa
erie sniffled and removed its hands from its face.

  It was quite an odd-looking creature, but quite the adorable-looking thing, too. It had small, underdeveloped wings, a perfectly round head, big brown eyes, which were ever so slightly crossed, and a tiny, trembling mouth.

  “Who is th-th-there?” asked the faerie with a sniff, feeling out in front of her like she couldn’t see.

  “My name is William,” said the boy, waving his hand in front of its face. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but, can’t you see me?”

  “N-No, I am afraid I c-c-cannot, sir. I am b-b-blind,” said the faerie, who clearly had a terrible stutter, too.

  She looked about, while the swelling of her tears just magnified the innocence of her eyes. William felt absolutely awful for being so nosy, and his heart went out to the poor little faerie.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” he said, with utmost sincerity.

  “N-N-No, it is all right, sir. I have b-b-been blind for s-s-s-some years now. Anyhow, my n-n-name is Picksy, P-Picksy Whispin. I am sorry to be b-b-blubbering. Not very p-polite of me, is it?”

  “It’s fine, really.” the lad replied. “Besides, I’m the one who should be apologising, for intruding.”

  “It is okay. I am g-g-glad you are here,” said the faerie.

  “Glad?”

  “Yes. It is just...I lost my f-f-father. When word c-c-came of the Newcomer’s arrival, e-e-everybody rushed to see, and I got s-s-separated from him in the crowd! And now I do not know wh-wh-where I am.”