“Okay...I’ll do it,” he spoke, and Anun took his head gently in her palms and kissed his forehead.
“Thank you, William.” She smiled gratefully. “At long last, we can hope again.”
The softness of her lips soothed him to an almost dream-like state. A tepid sensation streamed down his body to the tips of his toes. It was as if the kiss clasped his fears until it washed them away, if only for the time being.
Anun then gazed into the boy’s eyes. He was exhausted, and his weary eyelids were drooping, almost tarnished from fatigue.
Concerned, she uttered, “You look so tired.”
“I am,” he replied. “But I’m guessing there’s a lot to get done, and I can’t wait around, so—”
“You need some rest, William. You cannot expect to get anything done in such a state. A lot has been brought upon you this day. It would be much for anyone to bear. You will stay here and sleep a while. Then, once you awake, we shall converse more about your journey.”
“Sleep!” He smirked. “For some reason I don’t think I will be able to sleep.”
Anun then smiled and said, “Will you permit me to try something?”
Waning briefly, he took a step forth. He was quite apprehensive about what she was going to do. But he was far too tired and stressed to completely care at that point in time.
“All right.” He sighed, with a nod. “If you’re sure we have time.”
“For you to rest, we have time.” She smiled, and raising her arms into the air, she spoke in a deep, commanding voice, “Bring forth the Farcodalé!”
Suddenly, a surge of excitement came from the crowd. Slowly, they began parting like two huge waves.
At the far end of the pathway was an alcove, pitch-black on the inside, and the outer rim was lined with straw, leaves, and feathers. Inside, something began to stir. Noises followed, and louder they started emitting from the alcove, carrying themselves throughout the hollows of that majestic cavern. Strange noises they were, drawn and shrill, as though someone was yawning with mighty fatigue. Quietness revealed itself among the low mutters of the community as they all peered inside the blackness of the mysterious grotto.
Suddenly, in a swift flash, an ashen shape flew from the cave as fast as anything, and bulleted towards the cavern roof, where it made these prolonged yawning noises which resonated all around the confines. It was a cloaked figure, remarkably tall in size, with the hood drawn to a faceless shadow. Here and there it flew. Swerving around the stalactites, yawning furiously with its tattered cape flailing chaotically behind it.
Down below, amongst the cavern folk, a surge of great weariness came over them. They were stretching and yawning, and their eyes were growing drowsy. But the Farcodalé’s spell was not intended for them, thus they remained awake, but still rather drained.
Placing her hand on William’s shoulder, Anun lifted her free palm to the flying phantom, and commanded in a bizarre Gaelic, “Fùh tòudell rè gan còdalla!”
Suddenly, upon those dominating words, the cloaked figure poised itself before darting into a downward swoop...straight towards William.
The speed of its flight seemed to accelerate more and more the closer it got. William stood back, clenching his eyes for fear of the unexpected. The yawning grew heavier and louder, and louder still. It was almost impossible for him to suffer. He covered his ears and peeked through his eyelids, only to see that the pale blur was almost upon him.
“WHAT’S...GOING...ON?!” he cried, with his eyes now stretched open like chasms.
Then, mere inches before the Farcodalé could hit him with a sure crash, everything went black, all went quiet, and with it there flowed an unfathomable soothing wave of relaxation.
- Chapter Five -
The Glogish Way
“You’re just a mangy old dog and your son should be disciplined!” shouted Blackhead to William’s mother.
They stood in the depths of a huge gorge, in the midst of a wallowing miasma, and the mountainous walls climbed high on either side like great sentinels. Faces shifted upon the precipice. Evil faces, fashioned from the very stone out of which they chanted and jeered.
“Get her, maim her, scratch her, murder her! Murderer! Murderer! Murder her!” they shouted in unison.
All the while, William was standing upon a narrow outcropping high on the cliff side, gazing down. He saw what was happening, yet he could do nothing about it, for he was trapped, and to jump surely would’ve meant to his death. The screams, moans, and chants grew and grew. Intolerably gut-wrenching to bear, they continued to grow louder.
The faces seemed to have multiplied over and over again, until both walls of the gorge were totally swarming with them. They were all streaming over one another like filthy, pulsating globules.
“Get her, maim her, scratch her, murder her!” sounded the cries, when Blackhead grabbed a brutal hold of William’s mother.
She struggled and screamed for aid but she was in the company of foes, and Blackhead’s grip was far too robust. His long, nasty fingers had formed into barbed vines and were ravelling themselves firmly around her limbs.
“Son...help me! Oh, my boy! My dear William! My son! My son!” she pleaded, with blubbering palpitations.
“YOU LEAVE HER ALONE!” William cried, and in a selfless attempt of bravery, he leapt from the rock.
Down against the wind he plummeted, for miles it felt, until he eventually landed with a crash, shattering the ground beneath him with his knee and closed fist. The chanting and screams had suddenly diminished, and William stood slowly from the rising dust. Only then did he realise that he was not himself. While he could not see his own face, he could nevertheless tell that he was taller, broader and altogether older than his thirteen-year-old self.
He scanned the canyon floor like a wolf in search of its game, but nobody was to be seen. No Blackhead, no faces, no mother. It was completely empty, nothing but a vacant chasm, noiseless, save for William’s livid breaths.
Then, as though hauled through the silence like some second wave of furious terror, the cliffs began to tremble, as massive boulders came hurtling down along the precipice towards the canyon floor. William was knocked off his senses and fell to the ground in torment by the most horribly unbearable pain. His anguish brought him to a scream, and scream he did, though he sounded as ferocious as a lion. Rocks splintered, boulders crashed, and the gorge erupted to the fearsome bellowing of his suffering. Just then, the pain subsided. He slung his head with exhaustion, and the chaos rested quickly thereafter. He lay upon the ground, panting, shaking, clutching his arms, when there came a desolate, haunting chuckle, like the dreaded last laugh of evil was waning back into the shroud of lonely mist.
William sat up with a jolt, only to find himself lying in a huge bed, big enough to fit ten grown people. It was a four-poster bed with an assortment of pelts and pillows. William himself had been stripped of his own attire. Instead, he was garbed in a comfortable flannel nightgown, and the graze on his head had been treated as well. With a start, he grabbed at his chest, where he found a pendant on a chain. This wasn’t new, mind you. He’d always worn this...ever since he was little. It was a round lovat amulet, quite small, with a Celtic knot on its face. It was just a great relief to see that it was still there and had not been stolen from him by some nosy miser. It was precious to the lad, and you will find out why as the tale progresses.
Glancing around, he saw that he was in a small stone room, like a grotto, with a round wooden door at the front. Some stools were beside the wall, and a chest of drawers near the bed. A hearth blazed to his right (without which the room would have been completely dark) and all of his clothes had been washed, dried, and neatly folded on a locker to his left. Beside them was a basin of fresh water. Whether it was for drinking or washing up in, he didn’t know.
Falling back into the pillows, William threw his forearms onto his brow.
“I’m still here,” he sighed, when a stony face suddenly flashed before his m
ind’s eye, forcing him to shudder, as if someone had walked over his grave. “Bloody hell, that dream was weird. Then again...this whole place is weird!”
For a moment he stayed put, pondering, when again he was starting to feel alone. Anun’s soothing kiss had long since faded, and the reality of it all came flooding back ceaselessly. Of a sudden, he heard a slight shuffle emitting from the corner of the room. There was also a low and rather indistinct grumbling, and it sounded as if it was near William’s knapsack. Or, worse, inside the knapsack.
Sure enough, his pencils and notepads came flying out left, right, and centre. What could it be? Our young William kept his gaze set upon the bag, and he carefully lifted back the covers, then slinked out of the bed, ensuring not to make a peep. For some reason the mumbling became all the more agitated and, whatever was in there, was definitely speaking English. William could tell by the enunciation.
The closer he got—trying to stay as stealthy as a cat—he could understand more of the babble.
“Nothin’! Nothin’ at all! Absolutely useless! Pathetic even! Not a drop o’ whishkey nor a shnifter o’ brandy...not even an aul’ sip o’ port! Young fellas today, ha? Ya’d think they’d have a bit more sense!”
As William approached the bag, he could see nothing inside it. It was too dark to see anything. Then, with a shocking twhack, he was flicked on the nose by a stray ruler, which had a bite taken out of it.
“Hey!” he demanded, plunging his arm into the bag.
He rummaged through it for a bit when he felt a sharp nip on his finger. Something had bitten him. Pulling his hand out of the bag, William shook it vigorously to numb the pain. Suddenly, something leapt out at out him with a hefty bound.
“Waahay! Ya’ll never catch me, ya little twit!” it said, and its voice was surprisingly husky for something so small.
It was a little thing. A little green creature and, whatever it was, it started bounding and leaping with great height all over the room, howling and taunting.
“What were you doing in my things?!” the lad demanded, chasing the creature all around the room.
He managed to catch it once or twice, though it was as slippery as a bar of lathered soap. He then decided to snatch his shirt from the pile so he could use it as a net.
Here, there, and everywhere William chased it; every two seconds crashing into drawers and stools. Eventually, with one massive lunge, he sailed through the air, caught ahold of the critter in his shirt, and landed with a fump onto the bed. The room was a mess, but finally there was silence.
William began to wonder then if he’d even caught the creature at all, such as you would be if you were falsely convinced you’d captured a housefly. He stopped and deliberated, wondering if it would be a silly idea to lift the garment and sneak a peek. He was even a tad anxious. After all, how was he to know what he was holding? It was small, green, unlike anything he had ever seen before, and it could talk...from what he could tell. But his inquisitiveness was getting the better of him.
“Are you in there?” he asked first.
There was no response.
“Say something if you’re in there!” he asked again; this time his tone was stricter.
Still there was nothing. No sound, save for the crackling of the hearth. Taking a deep breath, he ever so slowly began lifting up the shirt. His eyes were practically shut, as he was half-expecting something frightening to happen. But, as it turned out, the shirt was empty. He’d caught nothing but a shirt-full of air. He simply could not fathom it. He was sure he’d snatched ahold of him in mid-leap...but nothing was there.
Whilst he contemplated his ensnaring techniques, he felt a sharp tug on his briefs through his nightgown.
“Ouch! What the—” he started.
“Ha-ha! Now how do ya like that, ya aul’ tulip?!” taunted a voice.
Wouldn’t you know, the creature was standing on William’s back, yanking and tugging at his underwear with all of his might, giving him a wedgie.
Angrier than ever before, William scowled. “Get off, you miserable ol’ pipsqueak.” And flinging his hand backwards with flawless accuracy, he snatched the thing firmly in his fist.
The little fellow had much determination. He even managed to slip out of William’s grip more than once. Only this time the boy was ready for it, and he caught him every time he tried.
“Who are you?! Or what are you is more to the point?” William asked sharply.
Fixing his underwear, he then sat down on the bedside, with the creature held securely in both hands.
It was a small being with skinny limbs, a bit of a round belly, and he was dressed chiefly in green, save for a suede waistcoat. His facial features were extremely caricatured, and he had on a marvellous green hat, twice the size of his head, with a golden buckle and the brim folded upwards at the front. His scarlet socks were knee-high, and his black buckled shoes were finely polished. Have you guessed it? That’s right! He was, clearly, a leprechaun.
“Please, leave me be!” wailed the leprechaun. “Don’t damage me! My heart is weak ‘n’ my bones are frail!”
He was bawling now, uncontrollably. The tears were cascading from his eyes and soaking into his ginger beard like a sponge.
“You’re a leprechaun, aren’t you? I never thought I’d hear myself saying that, but that’s what you are...isn’t it?” William interrogated.
The lad constricted his grip a smidgen when the little fellow didn’t respond. He didn’t wish to hurt the chap. He was just so befuddled up to this point that all he wanted were some straight answers.
“Do you have a name?!” the boy asked impatiently.
The leprechaun bawled, “Khrum. Khrum’s my name. Khrum McCruín. I meant no harm. I was just thirsty is all.”
He seemed far from brave now! William thought, so he loosened his grip a bit. But in doing so, the leprechaun seized his chance; ditched his helpless act (for an act it was) and slipped swiftly from William’s grasp. Into the air he sprung and, in taking off his hat, he sliced it hook-ways and cracked the lad right across the nose.
“Ha-ha! Ya bloody Gombeen!” he cheered, before tearing out of the room as quick as blinking.
Before William could even consider giving chase again the leprechaun had vanished, and the room fell back to the silence once again.
Scratching his nose, he said, “What was all that about?”
Thus with the leprechaun gone, there William remained, sitting quietly on his bedside, trying to make sense of it all. In spite of that engulfing silence, so much was barraging through his mind that he just wasn’t able to think straight. Thoughts such as, what was he to do now? Wait there in that lonely chamber? Get dressed and look for Anun? What?
While he pondered, there arose yet another disturbance. Another noise. Something was going into a stir; quite unobtrusively at first. However, it quickly developed into a blaring ruckus. It was like that of a grating sound. Imagine heavy slabs of slate being dragged through gravel. It started and stopped, then started and stopped again. William, startled by the noise, jumped to his feet and began twisting and turning about, trying to see what it was.
“It’s that damn leprechaun thing again, I know it!” he muttered. “Show yourself, you little coward! What are you up to?! Come out here where I can see you! Khrum, is it?”
The rumpus took off again, only now it was picking up its pace. Then, in the corner of his eye, William saw it. There appeared to be something burrowing its way across the walls. He saw a large bulge, about as big as a rain barrel.
It moved at a vigilant speed, though not even so much as splintering the stone in its path. It sped all around, across the ceiling, and even before the boy’s feet, making him dodge it clumsily. It circled the hearth once or twice, while being very careful about avoiding any precious things in case it knocked them into smithereens. It would just reverse its course and try a new direction instead. Eventually, after nosing about for a spell, it shot up to the wall before William, where it waited.
Then, with a unexpected, joyous shout, “You’re awake, young fella!” cried a voice.
William jumped with a squeak and fell back against the post of the bed.
“No need to be afraid! My name is Glorgan, and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. A pleasure of all pleasures, to be sure.”
The cracks on the strange clod began to shift and churn until they moulded into a face with a wide, welcoming grin. It wasn’t a particularly nice-looking face. In all honesty, it was quite grotesque; whereas both its utterance and air seemed completely affable.
“Glorgan? What are you, um...if you don’t mind me asking?” William inquired, remembering his manners this time.
Just then, he recalled the dream he’d had with all of those devilish faces which looked just like this one. But he left his suspicions on standby and thought it best not to mention it.
“Well, I am a Glog, and my name is Glorgan, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, William. I am Anun’s first assistant here in the Grollo Halls,” said the face, as it began sliding and shifting all about the room, observing William from different angles. “I am one of the stone people...a burrower. Or, at least, I was one of the stone people before they became swayed by the evil of the dark one. Oh, that dratted lunar eclipse. Curse it!”
The Other of One - Book One: The Lythiann Chronicles Page 8