William, after waking, sat up to find the Grogoch settled on the brow before him. Now that there was a little more light, he could see a bit more of their current whereabouts, too. They were on top of a forested hill, and going by the vague silhouettes of the horizon, they seemed to be rather high up.
Icrick just sat there at the utmost point of the hummock, with his legs crossed, peering out into beyond as though waiting for something.
Yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eye, William asked, “What are you up to, Icrick?”
“Waiting...” answered Icrick, as he watched the land.
“Waiting? For what?”
Icrick didn’t reply. He simply sat still, with two flies swirling over his blinking eyebrows.
Not sure if he’d been heard, the lad asked again, “Icrick, waiting for—”
“Waiting for this,” the Grogoch said suddenly, speaking like he’d been forever longing for this moment to arrive.
In nothing less than a wonder of divinity, a beam of brilliant sunlight spread itself across the skyline. With a tremendous twitter, the birds broke from the trees and made their way across the wild, while the bleating of the early lamb awoke upon the freshly grazed hilltops nearby. Softly the light crept across the gorse-strewn hills, awakening the land as it went, and the colours of the countryside became all the more mesmerizing when touched by its golden glow.
Flowers nodded blissfully to the touch of waking wind, and the leaves rustled back and forth as the breeze drifted throughout the woodland. The welcome sun rose over the mountains until the whole of Lythiann had been awoken by its grandeur. In all of his wildest dreams, William had never known such a glorious world.
Cliffs with running waterfalls stood high from the plains in the north, leading then onto prairies which travelled far past the mirroring lakes to the direction of the northern peaks of a place called Mèl Bèrra. Fine emerald meadows sloped low to the east, blending into field-clad hills of barley, alfalfa, corn, and grains. Developing from the eastern borders was an abundance of forest, which continued on over the eternal crests until they could no longer be captured by the naked eye. By the dales of the south, he saw the stark faces of magnificent mountainsides, each gleaming to pearl in the sunlight. On they strode, southwards, to congregate with generations of even more ancient snow-coated summits. Whatever of the land remained thereafter was majestically draped in a velvet blanket of the finest, green grass.
It felt as though it was alive, like the land itself was breathing with the soul which time had bestowed onto it. Deer were bounding through the pastures as rabbits chased each other deep into the brush. Faerie lights and wisps of little-witch swirled amongst the fern and skimmed playfully over the wholesome, green grass. All the while, clusters of wandering birds were gliding through the air, dancing gracefully to the melody of the soaring breeze. Even then, all of these marvels were nothing compared to the seldom occurrence of the odd tree or two, picking up their very roots and ambling off to sunnier areas of the forest where they could rest up again. It was an undeniably miraculous sight.
As William and Icrick looked on, the softness of the summer air kissed both of their faces and, with it, came the aroma of fresh heather, just like the boy’s home. In its own right, it truly was paradise, and he stood at its feet in awe. Dumbfounded. Struck voiceless by its magnificence.
“Amazing, isn’t she?” The Grogoch sniffed, with a tear in his eye. “Abso-lutely, amazing!”
“This can’t be...” William uttered, gazing afar from the hilltop. “Are we still underground?”
“It is pure and utter unspoilt magic,” the Grogoch said with a smile.
“I’ll say!” William said. “So, this is Lythiann then!”
“Yes...yes, it is! This is what we call Yùrnacha...Lythiann’s capital and main county to the western lands,” the Grogoch explained. “It is the farthest place of beauty from the evil east...and it was once my home, after we fled from Lór.”
“You lived in this part?” William asked, gazing still into the wild.
“Yes,” replied Icrick. “Just below those cliffs in the north there were many caves. A tunnel system named Burrows Mile. And that was where I once lived with my family. Some of the happiest days of my life.”
“Well, if it’s on our way, maybe we could stop by, so you can get a look at the place again. I know I’d want to...if it were me,” William suggested, just then heeding Icrick’s expression.
The Grogoch’s eyes had retreated to pity, and he replied, “No, no. Best not...”
Then a fond smile grew somewhat evident upon his trembling lips, when he added, “Too many memories.”
“Oh...o-okay,” said the lad, sensing a hidden grief behind Icrick’s tale. “On second thought, maybe it’d be best if we just get on with our journey then.”
“Yes, I agree.” Icrick nodded, returning to the splendour of the world.
Before they set out, they couldn’t help but linger for a spell longer to indulge in the glory of the countryside. They hardly even spoke, for Lythiann was far too captivating for them and much too mesmerizing to ignore, should they never get another chance to see it like this again. William could then fathom why they wanted this world to be saved. Such splendour was never meant to be surrendered so easily. If it was his own home, he knew, it would definitely have been worth fighting for.
After a time, Icrick pulled himself from his daydreams, took out his maps, and started studying them. William, on the other hand, was quite famished, so he decided to lay out some breakfast. He had hoped that Icrick wasn’t too keen on eating bugs and insects like the others from the Grollo. But the Grogoch said he’d scoff anything that was laid out in front of him, which William was only too delighted to hear. Last thing he wanted was to have to reach into his food satchel and drag out some fat, hairy cockroach by the legs, and then watch as Icrick munched down on it. That just would’ve been nasty business altogether.
Instead, he conjured a tower of cheddar and toast, four fried eggs, two helpings of cooked mushrooms, ten sausages, eight cuts of white pudding, six fried tomatoes and four tea cakes, all because he was relishing the novelty of this magic satchel of his, right to the point of over-egging the pudding, as you can probably tell.
Being a rather useful chappy, Icrick had some utensils with him, which worked a treat for fishing out the eggs and such. With a spatula in hand, William thus went about laying everything out.
“It’s really quite manky, taking uncovered food out of a grotty old bag like this...when you think about it,” said he, easing out a wobbly egg on the nose of his spatula. “But what can you do, I suppose? A bit o’ dirt never hurt anyone.”
“My belly is so empty at this stage, I think I’d drink a pail of hot runs if it was put there in front of me,” Icrick put in, as he flicked through his maps. “Last bit I ate was yesterday, down below. A few measly snails and some frogspawn. And that’s only because all the beetles were gone. Gobbled up by some greedy Gumìn, they were. Rotters never leave us any! We have to be quick off the mark to beat those fatsos to the breakfast table, make no mistake about that!”
To be honest, William didn’t quite fancy hearing about runs or snails before eating his morning meal. That’s why he knelt there, gawking at Icrick with a twisted expression on his face, as the Grogoch went on about the other delicacies of the Grollo. Of which, week-old spit and hairy worms stuck out the most.
Regardless of his repulsion, William soon had breakfast laid out beautifully, and they indulged in a delicious morning feast beneath the sunny indigo skies. Of course, they could only consume half of that which was to be had and, even at that, William’s tummy was crammed to the point of overload. Icrick then collected their leftovers and tossed them just behind the gate for some of the forest animals to have a nibble on.
For a short time after eating, the boy just sat there, digesting and waiting. Icrick was making some last-minute calculations with regards to their journey. The Grogoch had a short fishing rod in
his paw, but in place of a hook there was a small pyramid of maple wood with strange numerical symbols upon each side. They could otherwise have been some sort of lettering, for all William knew, although whenever Icrick analyzed the symbols, he saw him counting them on his fingers.
Standing to his feet, Icrick closed his eyes, turned about three times, then cast the line out into the open. Funnily enough, the cube landed east every time he did it, no matter which direction the Grogoch was facing. If he spun ‘round and ended up pointing west and then cast the rod, it would fly forth and still zip back over his head, like some manner of divining tool. He’d then reel it in, examine the markings, and mull over it for a moment.
At any rate, he was soon finished with his odd apparatus, and they were ready to pack up their possessions and sally forth.
“What was all that about?” William brought himself to ask.
“What?” replied the Grogoch, polishing his fork before stowing it back in his satchel.
“That thing with the fishing rod,” asked the lad.
“Oh, it’s not a fishing rod, silly!” said Icrick, chuckling. “It’s a Wayrod!”
“A Wayrod?!” the boy asked, his eyebrows flattening. “What’s a Wayrod when it’s at home?”
“Why, it’s a rod that shows us the way, of course!” explained the Grogoch. “I came up with the idea myself. I invented it! Used it many times before when I used to live here.”
Then the lad asked, “Well...does it work?!”
“Most of the time it does...yes!” Icrick replied, then he pointed out their route, straight ahead, eastward through the valley.
Whether that course was correct or otherwise, William would have no way of knowing until he actually got there.
Doubtful on account, he muttered, “Most of the time, eh?”
But he allowed the Grogoch the same trust as Anun would, so eastward it was.
As they were packing up their last few belongings, much to William’s surprise, he saw his magic satchel squirming. Quietly he stood back and tapped Icrick on the shoulder with his finger to his mouth. Just then, funny, stifled words started muttering from the satchel. Happy, delighted words.
“Oh, this’ll be mighty craíc! Great, it’ll be! Fantashtic altogether!” it uttered.
Suddenly things started flying out of it: Apples, potatoes, steaks, and all sorts of other mouth-watering goodness like that. Now William knew only too well what was going on here.
“Hey!” he shouted, plunging his hand into the bag, only to pull out Khrum again.
“I thought it would’ve been you! What do you think you’re at?” he demanded.
“Ara, let me off!” the leprechaun protested. “D’ya know how hard it is ta get a drink down in them caves? Ya’d shtand a better chance o’ comin’ across a brothel on happy hour than ya would a drip o’ flat lager! This tricky bag o’ yours is jusht the kind o’ bounty I’m after! I’m jusht baffled I never heard about it before.”
With that, he slipped from William’s hands like a fish, before doing a perfect nosedive right back into the satchel.
“Get back here!” William snapped, rooting around in it again.
All he could hear was Khrum saying, “How do ya work this flippin’ yoke, anyways?” when the boy yanked him out once more. This time, Khrum had a raw onion in his mouth, which he spat out instantly with disgust.
“Ugh! Yuck! Rotten!” he rasped. “Veggies!”
“What are you doing out here?” demanded the lad. “You’re not supposed to be out here, you know! You’re supposed to be down there, in the Grollo...where it’s safe.”
“Safe? Safe?” argued Khrum. “Look at ya talkin’, like ya know what’s goin’ on! Ya want me ta shtay down there ‘n’ let ye have all the fun. That’s it, isn’t it?! C’mere ‘n’ I tell ya, lad. I’ve been out there batterin’ ogres since you were a babòg, so don’t ya go gettin’ all high ‘n’ mighty, tellin’ me what I can or can’t do! Besides, this little feat o’ bravery might jusht shcore me some points with the G.L.A.”
“What are you on about...G.L.A.?” William scowled.
Proudly, Khrum answered, “The Grollo Leprechaun Association! It’s an organisation o’ my fellow people who’ve been awarded a place on the Grollo Faerie Council.”
“Let me guess, the G.F.C.?” William said mordantly.
“Ha? No!” snapped Khrum. “It’s the F.C.F.T.D.M.!”
“I’m not even going to bother with that one,” said the lad, shrugging.
“Faerie Council For The Dwelvin-Mites!” said the leprechaun. “And I used ta be on it.”
“Which? The F.F.C.T.F...D...thing?” asked the lad, a little muddled.
“No! The G.L.A.!” scolded Khrum, tutting. “It was a royal honour indeed, ta be on that council. But I managed ta muck it up twice by breakin’ the rules. Drinkin’ on the job ‘n’ that. So they booted me off. But I’ve been given one final chance to redeem myself...on account o’ my legendary nerve. An’ there is no way I’m goin’ ta botch it up this time! An’ if I do—which I sincerely hope I don’t—then I know there won’t be a fourth chance. No way in the bubblin’ baths o’ hell! So helpin’ ye out should work nicely in my favour, I’ll wager. A courageous deed, ya see.”
Whilst Khrum was explaining things, he noticed that the Grogoch was in their company too, so he grinned, “Ah, Icrick! Is it yourself?”
“Hello, Khrum,” sighed the Grogoch, then he drew William down to ear level so as he could have a quiet word. “A piece of friendly advice should we be stuck with him. Whatever you do, never, under any circumstances, give a leprechaun whisky! Not unless you want to be neck-deep in trouble. So my advice to you is, keep that satchel on you at all times and never let it out of your sight.”
“What are ya whisperin’ about...ya hairy arse?” Khrum growled, getting defensive and rather insulted over Icrick whispering.
After all, he wasn’t stupid, and it wouldn’t have taken a genius to know who Icrick was talking about.
Contemptibly, the Grogoch huffed, “Well, I never!”
“Yeah, yeah, neither have I...and I don’t think I ever will, either!” said Khrum, dismissing him with the backs of his hands.
“Right, that’s enough out o’ ye!” William exclaimed.
Scuffles were the last thing on his mind, and he could do without them.
“Fine, you can come with us, Khrum. But I’m not babysitting you. You can watch your own back! Fair?”
“So, that’s it then...I can join ye?” exclaimed a smiling Khrum.
Feeling rather put out, William replied, “I suppose.”
“Wahaay!” cried the little fellow, doing a jig. “As I said, lad, I can take good care o’ myself! Don’t worry your freakishly sizhed head ‘bout me.”
Cynically, the boy sighed, “I have your word on that, do I?”
“Indeed ya do, me aul’ bucko! Indeedy do!” laughed Khrum.
Icrick couldn’t say if he was happy or frustrated about Khrum joining them. You see, unbeknown to William, those two already knew each other rather well before this meeting. As it happens, it was Khrum who gave Icrick that raven for his birthday one year. So, you see, they weren’t all that hostile towards each other really; quarrelling was just the nature of their friendship. Besides, some folks just get along better with their differences. It keeps relationships ticking along longer than you’d think.
All as it was, there was yet another member in their band, so off they ventured, eastward through the valley. Not before including Khrum on their secret list of do’s and don’ts though, which Anun herself had imparted before their outset. Heartily the little fellow vowed her wishes to complete secrecy, and away they swept.
Merry enough was their stroll; constantly seeking out all the exquisiteness that Lythiann had to offer. The sun too was out, high in the sky, making it feel like a splendid summer’s day. Over the hills they ambled, climbing in through ditches and fields which, might I add, were ripe with barley and wheat.
�
�Who’s harvesting ‘round these parts?” William asked, slowing to inspect the crop. “I thought everyone was supposed to be in hiding?”
“‘Tis the land itself, lad,” Khrum answered, as he bounded alongside him, up and down through the tall wheat like a jack-in-the-box.
Finding this quite the surprise, William asked, “You mean it grows...just like that...with no one watching over it?”
“Why of course!” Icrick joined in. “Doesn’t it do the same on your homeland, as it used to before?”
“No, we have to tend to it when the season comes.”
“Ta hell with that lark!” Khrum bickered. “That, ta me, sounds like far too much shlog! Let nature do its own thing, I say. Let it take its natural course ‘n’ that.”
“Well, people make an okay living out of it back home,” said the boy, somewhat sensitively.
He didn’t wish to be, but he was ever so slightly irritated to think that their crops were cultivated so easily. At home, so many men and women had to put much of their money, sweat, and blood into such labour; not to mention broken backs. Even with all that effort, it still wasn’t a hugely prosperous living for them. Then again, it was but a mild luxury which the Lythiann folk retained in comparison to their real problems; therefore, William refrained from going on about it. It’s not like it was anybody’s fault or anything.
“It’s just handy for making a few bob here and there...that’s all,” he concluded.
“What a horrid vice that must be!” Icrick added.
“What?” asked William.
“Growing crops for the want of coin!” replied the Grogoch. “On account of the greed of those who govern, I’d expect? God be with the days when no such thing ever existed upon our lands. Politics and coinage and the likes. Foul instruments of man’s avarice, it is! Life is much happier without it...less to worry about.”
The Other of One - Book One: The Lythiann Chronicles Page 15