The Other of One - Book One: The Lythiann Chronicles

by Brian G. Burke

  Thus, with yet another recruit under their belt, they continued upon their long trek into the east. The Head was, as you may have guessed, a soul of acquired taste; being a touch direct and a smidgen conceited. He was, nevertheless, far from evil. Ifcus was otherwise the essence of innocence, with his quiet manner and diffident stride, while The Body seemed steadfast and strong. But, as a whole, the Dullahan made for quite an interesting encounter...and he certainly wasn’t going to be the last.

  - Chapter Nine -

  Days into Dark

  Plonking himself down on a felled trunk, William said, “I need to stop for a second...get these stones out o’ my boot.”

  They were just beyond a rocky way, by more rushing waters. Through an egress of brush they’d since ventured, after sweeping over a hilly grassland, only to negotiate over those white waters by way of some stepping stones. This course carried them straight through a heavy grove of birch trees, which then found an open flatland. There they came upon a crescent-shaped thicket, high from the wind. There were also a few flat rocks inside for them to sit down on. So they all got in, out of the way of the cold, and gladly welcomed the opportunity to catch some resting time.

  Pulling on his boot, William suggested, “You know, it’s not half-bad here. Good shelter. How about one o’ ye gather some wood for later, while I get the food ready?”

  Straight away, Icrick and Khrum diverged into the woods to see what they could scavenge for a decent fire. Both of them loved dinnertime, and this allowed them the perfect opportunity to give their menus some careful thought. Meanwhile, the Dullahan sat there with The Head in his hand and he wouldn’t shut up about how cold it was. Mild was the weather that day, at worst. It certainly wasn’t half as drastic as he was making it out to be.

  “Oooh! Oooh! I can barely feel my cheeks with this ice!” he nagged. “I think I’m catching something. A flu, maybe. Oh, drat this coldness!”

  Even The Body looked to be developing a headache with him ranting on, however unfeasible that may seem. Ifcus, on the other hand, was over in the corner, trying to struggle out of his harness, with his legs poking out like bagpipes. But he soon figured it out. He then teetered about, smelling the bushes, in search for a comfy patch to rest his rump.

  Opening up his satchel, William pondered aloud, “Let’s see, will we have fruit or salad to go with dinner?”

  “I will only eat mutton...or lamb, if it needs be!” proclaimed The Head. “So, unless you have a nice cutlet of lamb in there, I’m not interested.”

  “Lamb it is,” William muttered, rather fed up with the attitude.

  Reaching into the satchel with his fork, he lifted out a piping-hot rack of lamb, still sizzling, and covered with herbs and hot, salty gravy. Carrying it over to The Head, he plonked it down on the rock before him, but not before saying, “There you go, sir!”

  “Bravo, my good man!” The Head said happily, licking his mouldy old lips, and to his other half, he uttered, “Get me up there and we shall get this grub into us.”

  Obeying his order, The Body lifted up his head and held it firmly against his neck. Remarkably, he looked whole again, and without wasting a second, he tucked into his delicious, mouth-watering meal.

  “Mmm, not bad. Not bad at all,” he mumbled, with his cheeks crammed to a slobbery bulge. “Still...(nyom—nyom)...I must say...(nyom)...it is nothing compared to the wild mutton you would find down near Bròf! A rare treat. They needed to be smuggled here from the east by pirates for a fine price...(nyom—nyom)...as few others would dare muster them from there. They are a tasty dish, to be sure. This is a little leathery...but it will do! (nyom—nyom—nyom)”

  “Really...” William sighed, not letting Crosco’s rude opinion annoy him in the least, and he carried on preparing both fruit and salad.

  Slobbering away, the Dullahan sucked and chewed, and drooled all over the lamb, until there was nothing left but the bones. Famished was, by no means, the word for his massive appetite. William even thought that he was going to start gnawing on the bones. Before it could come to that, he handed the Dullahan seconds to keep him happy, or, more so, to keep him from yapping on.

  Now free of his harness, Ifcus was hobbling around, unsure of his present state. William placed two handfuls of bright orange carrots upon the ground for him. Well. Ifcus’ ears sprung up with delight when he saw them. He then tucked in for himself, devouring every last one, followed by a huge, fulfilling belch. By then the others had also returned from firewood duty, and had a fine blaze flaring to a crackle ‘n’ a fizzle. Khrum was indulging in some hot shortbread biscuits with corned beef and luncheon, while Icrick was dining on some crispy egg-coated pork with peas and caramelized onions.

  By the time they were finished, William was the only one who hadn’t yet eaten. He just couldn’t decide on what to have.

  “Should I have steak or fish?” he asked, gawping into the bag.

  Before he could say what happened, a hooded figure unexpectedly traipsed out from the bushes and decked him good and hard across the face, sending him right back...and almost into the fire.

  “Aw! What the f—” he exclaimed, holding his cheek.

  Guised and poised before him was a person, not tall, who was clad mainly in saddle-brown leather from head to toe; but for the dark scarf that was draped beneath their long jacket. In various sections, the material had been stitched and self-mended, whilst two tomahawks, uniquely wrought, were sheathed behind each shoulder. Two daggers, of a similar craft, were holstered at each hip. And as a final touch, a scarlet rose was pinned to the left lapel, like some manner of self-appointed symbol by which others could identify this mysterious brute.

  The second this whole episode erupted, the others had immediately bolted to the far side of the fire. Even brave little Khrum darted when a cowled figure came unexpectedly crashing through the hedges behind him. It nearly gave him a stroke.

  They were all of them in a right shambles, indeed. Well, everyone aside from The Body, who remained quite collected, unlike his Head, who started insisting above the ruckus that he didn’t even know who William and these other people were, so as to save his own skin.

  “I’ve been captured!” he bellowed. “I’ve got nothing to do with these bandits! Help!”

  But this mysterious person took no heed of Crosco, or the others, for that matter. William was the one whom it had attacked, so that’s who the stranger stayed focused on.

  “Who the hell are you?” the lad demanded. “Explain yourself.”

  All of a sudden, she replied, “Who are you?”

  Drawing her hood back, there stood the most incredibly beautiful-looking girl that William had ever seen in his entire thirteen years alive. The beauty in her eyes alone would’ve been enough to put any one line of princesses or queens to shame.

  As immersive as a starless winter’s night, her black, undulant hair fell shyly over those deep, hazel eyes, and her lips were full with a faint curl to each corner. She had the smoothest-looking olive skin, and there was no way that she could’ve been any older than William himself.

  “I-I-I...” William stuttered, like a scratched record.

  “Yes?” she asked firmly, rolling her shoulder as if to ease an ache.

  “My name is W-William. William Muldoon.”

  “And what do you think you’re doing in my camping area, W-William Muldoon?” she growled, before booting him solidly in the shin.

  “Ah!” the lad yelped, pulling his leg in. “What did you do that for?”

  “You’re in my campsite. This is where I camp. It belongs to me,” she told him.

  “Well, bloody hell, I’m sorry! I didn’t see anyone in here, so I presumed it was free to whoever was passing,” he stated, hobbling upright. “Who are you, anyways?”

  Coming to terms with the lad’s authenticity, she pondered and said, “My name is Wren. Listen, I’m sorry for hitting you.” She then gestured an apology to the others, “But you can’t be too careful around these parts. Too many
blaggards around, up to nothing but mischief! I didn’t know if you were one of them or not, until now. And despite the cowardly pleas of your headless friend over there, you just don’t come across like the bandit type. Oh, and excuse the hood, too. The way I see it, if you’re going to thump someone, you’re as well off doing it without them knowing who you are.”

  “Well, you could’ve just asked me first,” William said, feeling his cheek for a bruise.

  “Here, let me take a look,” she said.

  “I’m grand! I’m fine,” he said stubbornly, jerking his head away. “How is it you’ve gotten away with camping here, anyways? Presuming you’ve been living in it for a while now...seeing as how it belongs to you and all.”

  “I presume you’re referring to the one in the east?” she retorted.

  “Who else?” he replied.

  “I have my places and my ways, lad,” said she, “and I don’t particularly want to share their whereabouts with you. You’d probably just try settle your rumps there as well, when I wasn’t looking!”

  “Fair enough, have it your own way,” grunted William, as he sat himself down on a nearby rock. “Probably all dumps anyways,” he grumbled.

  Gathering that all was well once more, Ifcus felt it was safe to lay down again. Off he so wandered, over to the bushes, where he circled a spot a few times before sliding lazily onto his side. Yet the second he landed, he brayed loudly enough to shake the hills themselves. Up he sprang—fairly lively too, I have to say—and limped hastily over to Crosco with his tail between his legs.

  “Ifcus, what happened?” demanded The Head, with The Body in expectance of trouble.

  “Calm down, it’s nothin’,” said the leprechaun. “He just sat down on this thorn is all!”

  Sticking out from beneath the bushes was quite a large, amber thorn. But when Khrum wrapped his little hand around it, it all of a sudden lifted him high up into the air. It wasn’t a thorn, it was a thornlet. And do you know what sort of animals have thornlets? Yes. Dragons.

  Khrum was dangling high up from the end of a dragon’s tail like a worm on a hook. Lo and behold, the rest of the beast then rose up from behind the other side of the thicket, where he had been slumbering all that time.

  A massive creature he was, with shiny red scales and monumental wings which were big enough to cause a terrible gale, should they beat in your direction. As well as that, those thornlets were all over him, having quite a few about his chin, jaw, and scalp. Down along his back was a fan-like mane of more spikes and bristles. Astonished by his appearance, the others could but gawk up at him, particularly William, who’d never seen a dragon before.

  “Meet Jimzin, of ‘Greale’ Horde,” Wren introduced with a beautifully satisfied grin. “I am his Bondite!”

  “Huh? Bondite? What’s that?” asked William, still mesmerized by the beast before him.

  With a perplexed look, she asked, “What rock have you been living under?”

  “Ahem,” Icrick interrupted, with his hand up. “A Bondite is the life-form to which an infant dragon holds his junior life bond with...until it finds its magic, that is. After which, it takes off to face the world alone.”

  Again being slightly antagonistic, William asked the girl, “So, this dragon chose you to look after him until he is old enough to go out and look after himself? Is that it?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly. I don’t look after him by any means. And if I was to go telling Jimzin here what to do, he’d probably fling me off over the other side of those mountains there. Don’t you know how stubborn dragons can be?”

  Shrugging off that question, William waited for her to continue.

  “I would say it’s more a case of him looking out for me,” said she. “That’s really the whole purpose to them finding their magic. They grow to protect another being and, more sooner than not, through cause, they end up finding it. In our case, Jimzin here is still trying to find his fire. Poor thing’s been at it for a while now. He was brought down to me when I was very young by his father and mother, Turogoth and Varmanna Greale. Turogoth the Black is a mighty ice-dragon, and the largest of all dragons. Varmanna is a beautiful green-dragon. She uses toxins against her foes. They truly are the loveliest animals...once you get to know them. But if you ever get on the wrong side of one, or try to order one about...you’ll soon know all about it.”

  As she explained this to the others, Jimzin stood there, not paying the least bit of attention to what she was saying...or the others, either. But he was, without a doubt, a proud beast, by the look of him. With his head held high, he probed the lands abroad, as a devoted hound would do when guarding his master’s side.

  Then something roused his senses.

  Catching the scent of William’s satchel, Jimzin was about to start nosing through it.

  “Wait! That’s mine!” the lad cried, thinking the dragon was about to scoff the whole thing in one go.

  Scurrying over to his satchel, he thus grabbed ahold of the strap, then whisked it from under Jimzin’s nose, like some tablecloth trick. Should he have done that, do you think? Of course not. Enraged by this, the dragon swung his great, heavy head right up to William’s nose, where he scowled at him with livid reptilian eyes.

  “Now, now, Jimzin! Try and be nice, if you please,” Wren asked civilly.

  William, almost too paralyzed to budge, couldn’t even whimper...though his bladder felt to be loosening up a bit. Fortunately for him, the dragon merely snorted out a puff of sooty smoke into the boy’s face, making him splutter, and went back about his own business again.

  “Not very smart...if I may say so, William!” Icrick said, just as petrified as the boy.

  “True-true!” Khrum agreed. “‘Twud be a pity ta make it this far, only ta lose ya ta some dragon over a stupid aul’ sack! Maybe ya should let me hold it. I’ll keep it outta harm’s way.”

  “Oh, Khrum!” Icrick objected, copping what he was at.

  “What?” The leprechaun shrugged.

  “Lose you?” Wren put in, beginning to get very curious of William. “Who are you? You still haven’t explained yourself.”

  By now the dragon was once again scanning his surroundings, so William’s fear had finally eased its cold choke.

  “And why should I have to explain myself to you?” he whispered, being careful not to upset her Bondite friend over there.

  Unexpectedly, Icrick butted in again, and smiled. “This is William Muldoon. The one who is destined to inherit the power of the great Mysun Margyle, warrior of the Elderland. We venture east to slay the one who brings terror upon these lands...Drevol Briggun.”

  “Icrick, don’t go telling her that stuff,” William put in, as he was truly embarrassed to be regarded in such an exalted manner, especially in front of someone who was as forthright as Wren.

  “Pfff!” She grinned with barefaced rudeness. “You?! Mysun Margyle? Now, that has to be the worst fib I have ever come cross in my entire life. I would have believed you to be more of a Mysun than him!” she said, pointing at Khrum, with the little fellow taking it in high esteem.

  “It wasn’t a compliment...” she said with a smirk, making Khrum’s face fold to a puss.

  William was growing very impatient with her uncouth ways. Common sense told him that he would have been far better off ignoring her and calmly excusing himself, so that he could quietly vent his aggression in private. But it was bothering him beyond all tolerance...he had to ask.

  “And why is it so hard believe?” he asked sternly, folding his arms, trying to appear prominent and notable.

  “Well, for one thing, Mysun was never without Thérn, his sword. And all I see on you is a handbag...and a skirt.”

  “It’s a kilt!” he growled, and his face was as red as a pepper, knowing perfectly well that he couldn’t justify wearing a dress of any kind.

  “Whatever! And look at you! Not bad on the eye, I’ll give you that.” (At that, William blushed further.) “But you’re a skinny young lad..
.arms like ropes. You’re not warrior material,” she stated, trying to grope William’s muscles.

  “Get off!” he snapped, yanking his arm away. “Who asked you, anyways?”

  Showing a smug eyebrow, she smiled. “You did...genius.”

  “Walked right into that one, laddie,” whispered the leprechaun, who was now up on William’s shoulder.

  Young Wren was getting the better of William at every turn, leaving him in a right muddle. The very expression of contempt upon his face was quietly amusing to the others. Only for it was, albeit, a harmless situation, they would have otherwise backed away from this loathsome countenance of his.

  “Tell her that you’re off ta get the sword,” the leprechaun quietly suggested.

  “I won’t tell her nothing,” the boy disputed. “We’re off. Out o’ here! As far away from her as possible.”

  “Aw, don’t blubber now, Mysun...thou great warrior of old,” she jeered with a bow.

  “I don’t have to take this rubbish from you. Good luck.” He scowled, and he traipsed from the thicket with the others tearing after him, trying to keep up.

  “Take care now, William,” she sniggered, with a twiddling wave.

  “Yeah, yeah! Shove it!” he barked, walking backwards with a particularly rude gesture.

  “I take it you’re jusht goin’ ta leave her here so?” asked the leprechaun.

  Stubbornly, he replied, “Yip! Let the creatures have her...I don’t care! She’s a bloody creature herself, anyways...should fit right in!”

  “William, wait!” Icrick panted, jogging up behind him. “You’re running too fast for Crosco!”

  Meanwhile, there was the Dullahan, still back in the thicket. He was struggling to get the horse all harnessed up and ready to move, for he was caught under the pressure of the dragon’s hungry glare. William sighed, halted, and waited.