“I’m sure she didn’t mean it, lad,” Khrum explained. “Bubbly sorts are like that - shtraight up ‘n’ no messin’.”
“Ah, I’m not bothered. She’s an eejit.” The boy tutted, and the Dullahan finally came huffing and puffing along with Ifcus on his back.
“Why did you take off like that?” he whinged. “I hate running when my stomach is full.”
“You’ll have to deal with it,” William retorted. “Now, let’s get moving. It’ll not be long till it gets dark in this stupid place.”
“But you haven’t even eaten yet, William,” the Grogoch objected. “You’ll need food in your belly if you wish to keep up your strength.”
“Thanks, Icrick, but I’ll get food later on. Right now, I just want to get moving...clear the head.”
As he set himself for their eastward course, he suddenly stopped before he really got going. He was peering off into the distance, as one who was trying to figure something out.
“Is that...?” he asked, uncertain of what he was seeing.
Across the land, yonder, over the hills and beyond a crest of birches, was the gaunt outline of a structure, with a black spiralling all ‘round its crown. Although it appeared quite tiny from afar, William imagined it to be monstrously tall had he been right up beside it.
“Oh, bless!” gasped Icrick, and Khrum recognised it too, but he just shook his head at the sight of it.
His face full of horror, Crosco uttered, “The Tower of Thérn.”
“You know that place?” asked William.
“This tower is known by everyone,” replied The Head. “The very last structure ever to be erected upon these lands. Planted here by evil itself! It is a dangerous place, that tower! Full of peril and enemies that can neither be destroyed nor hindered! People go mad in there, they say! And you plan on going there?!”
“Unfortunately...I have to!” William uttered nervously, eyeing-up the tower.
Refusing to concede, The Head added anxiously, “I myself have spotted evil folk roaming those parapets at night! Filthy Po—”
“Crosco,” William interrupted, “I’m really sorry, but you won’t change my mind! I know you’re frightened...so am I! I’m scared stiff actually! But we have to get moving. And the last thing we need are more ghost stories, so...”
Plucking up his nerve, he scouted eastward.
* * *
After a time, when all sight of the tower had diminished to both darkness and nearing terrain, they happened upon an old forest. It was a dark forest named Brookweir, by reason of the quiet, trickling streams which ran pitifully into its trees on all sides. It was as if those waters were trying, with utmost devotion, to bring some passion back into that decaying woodland, though they were being barricaded from doing so by the coldness of the forest’s horrifying façade, sparsely flooding the surrounding grasses instead. ‘Twas an unfriendly, miserable place.
Khrum, of course, was quizzing Icrick about the accuracy of his directions again. Need I say, they were going the proper way. For the borders of this forest were said to be the home of terrible beasts, as well as the reside of the Sòr Krous caves where the Stone Ogres once settled. Whether they still dwelt within those caves or not, it was very difficult to say. Any new occupants would had to have been fierce indeed to evict such beastly tenants as the great Stone Ogres, in order to rest in their stead of late. If truth be told, William and his comrades didn’t particularly want to risk going on that route to find out. Alas, Brookweir was their path. And even though it was considered more of a kindred route, it was still terribly gloomy, and very few from the outer world would dare to travel through it, day or night...neither friend nor foe.
Stepping over the undergrowth, they walked apprehensively inside that dreaded forest. Even before negotiating any deeper they knew, too well, that its bowels were indeed something to be wary of. Foul was the stench, being both musky and damp. Not even a single ray of moonlight was permitted past the thickness of the gnarled branches and thick canopy of dry leaves, either. Repugnant sogginess also impaired their footing, merely adding to the drudgery of wading over the rocks and pools, and cumbrous toadstools. The deeper they went, the darker it got, and they slipped and stumbled as they moved along until, eventually, all they could recognise of each other were their voices.
Soon it was absolutely pitch-black, bitterly cold and tediously damp, such that William’s pelted boots were soaking up the moisture like sponges. He would’ve avoided that if only he could see where he was off to; however, he was completely blinded by the darkness. Even Crosco’s head only lit up his face and nothing more, so there was no point in using him as a torch. Even to spot the hand which carried him was impossible, thus making him appear very mysterious and magical as he floated through the darkness. Besides, they literally would have had to hold his face right into the muck to see where they were stepping, and he wasn’t about to let them do that. Not he. Not by a long shot.
Forward they plodded through the mushy earth. All the while, their legs were getting stuck in thick muck and tangled in scratchy nettles. The growth had gotten so severe at one point that they could hardly move at all. All they could feel about them were branches and thick nests of warped brambles. It was a terribly exhausting time, ploughing through that mess. Worst of all, it felt like an entire night had passed, and it was going well on into the next evening.
By that stage, their spirits had gotten very, very low. During those gruelling hours of cold, wet, uncomfortable labour, they only grumbled and complained amongst themselves. It took them so long to make such little progress that it just felt so hopeless, as well as infuriating.
Eventually, William’s aggravation coiled itself up to the point of failure, thereby unravelling itself with a fierce cry of vexation.
“AGH! THIS IS ABSOLUTELY USELESS!” he roared, and with a raging burst, he pushed through the growth with a scream.
In the process, he knocked his already tender shin into something very hard, and upon reclaiming his balance, he sunk his foot into a slimy puddle.
“Gah!” he yelled, hopping about. “What now?”
“What happened ya?!” asked Khrum’s voice.
The lad felt around so as to avoid hitting that thing again, whatever it was.
“I just clocked my shin off something...a rock I think,” replied William’s voice.
He then grabbed onto a cold, wet, solid object which was certainly of stone, but it was no rock. Its shape was far too peculiar and sculpted to be such a thing. It was more of a bowl shape, and it was filled with cold water, dead leaves, and greasy algae. Into this bowl, drips trickled from above, and it had long since overflowed into the soil beneath it. He could tell all of this through touch and sound.
In patting around, William traced the trickle up, and up further still, to what felt to be a smooth, stony surface.
“Crosco, can I borrow your light over here for a second, please,” he asked, in a nice enough manner, should The Head start waffling on.
“Did you find something? What is it?” asked Icrick’s voice.
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t belong here...whatever it is,” William described.
“Well, would you mind finding out a little more about it before you go shoving my face into it then?” sulked The Head. “It could be some blasted animal for all I know.”
“It’s not an animal,” the boy griped. “It feels like a statue or something.”
“Oh, very well then! If I must,” moaned The Head, floating over to William.
In scanning the object, William was just about able to discern what it actually was. It was a fine stone fountain; quite small, and was set inside the hollow of a decrepit black tree. On its crown, a small, stony gargoyle stood, with disgustingly murky water dribbling from its mouth. It drooled right down along the stone serpentine neck, then into the basin where William had hurt his shin. Underneath it was a large puddle from where the basin had flowed over.
Suddenly, Crosco said, “Hang on! T
here is something written here.”
“Where?” asked William’s voice.
“The gargoyle. He is holding a scroll which reads: ‘Rub into thy eyes, through darkness you will see. Take it not and move, in repose thou shalt be.’“
As Crosco read this out, the ugly gargoyle remained, smirking tauntingly into his face.
“Why is it that things like this are always told in riddles?” Khrum disputed. “Could they not jusht say, ‘do this or try that, then be on your way?’ They always, always, always have ta give it in some sort o’ poem, ‘n’ then they make it sound so dangerous that ya nearly soil yourself if ya don’t do exactly as it says. Annoyin’...if ya ashk me. An’ pointless.”
“Seems simple enough to me,” Icrick’s voice said. “You just wash your eyes in the water fountain and it somehow helps you see better in the dark. I guess that’s it, anyways. However, I do not know for certain.”
“I was thinking the same, Icrick,” said our William’s voice. “But I kind o’ hoped I was wrong. Did you see it? The water, I mean? It’s all brown...and it stinks, too.”
“Well, I’ll take my chances,” said the Grogoch’s voice. “The second half of that rhyme doesn’t sound too nice, so I don’t think I’d mind a bit of dirty water in my face.”
Then the leprechaun teased, “Why would ya...ya shmelly aul’ sock ya!”
Once again they started to go off at each other; grumbling, and moaning, and pushing, when William finally spoke out.
“Look! I’ll just do it!” he yelled over the other voices.
Herewith, they recognised a break in the dribble as William went about patting some water into his face and eyes. Nobody said anything for a second. They were waiting to see if anything would happen. Amazingly, after a moment and to their sudden surprise, two brief blinks of light started flicking on and off. Bulbous, white lights.
“Bit sore on the eyes!” William said.
Amazed by this, Khrum smiled. “Well I’ll be damned!”
All they could see were two lamp-like eyes gazing at them. A beady set of brilliantly glowing eyes.
“This is so weird!” the boy said, smiling. “I won’t say that I can see perfectly, out the corners o’ my eyes. But I can see where I look...if you get me. Like horse blinkers!”
As William was testing this new vision of his, he noticed that he had a much clearer view of the forest. Unfortunate to say, he didn’t like what he saw. Not one little bit.
They were completely barricaded in on all sides by high walls of brambles. And it seemed to carry like this, far into the depths of the forest. Somehow they’d managed to fight their way right into the heart of it all, and now they were stuck, almost totally engulfed by it. Yet that was not the worst of it, no. All about them were these frightening-looking trees, ensnared within the aging grasp of those deathly brambles. At least, he thought they were trees, for they were of wood, and bark, and branches. And yet they bore an uncanny likeness to human beings having been fixed in different poses of distress and panic. Something told him that these people, these wooden statues, had been trapped there for time out of mind; over the years being strangled by the undergrowth.
After first spotting them, William couldn’t stand to look at them any longer. He turned his glance from their pitiful sight. Then below the fountain, to his right, he noticed a slight gap in the brush. A tunnel.
Like a sett leading in through the brambles, it looked just wide enough to fit them all; provided they went in one at a time. It still would have been an extremely tight squeeze, particularly for Ifcus, the poor chap.
“There’s a tunnel down here. Maybe it’ll lead us out,” William reported. “Get some o’ that water into your faces and follow me.”
“Not me!” The Head snootily opposed.
Not in the form for another row, the boy sighed, “What’s wrong this time?!”
“You have to be having me on! I am not putting that stuff in my face! It’s revolting!” Crosco replied assertively.
“Fine. Have it your own way,” William grumbled, getting on his hands and knees, and he stuck his head inside the burrow for a look.
It carried on further than he could see. From what little he could make out, it appeared empty.
“Looks clear,” he conveyed to the others.
Removing his head from the burrow, he noticed Khrum and Icrick standing there, blinking away, revelling in the novelty of their new night vision. He could barely see Khrum’s eyes, funnily enough. The leprechaun was so small that he may as well have been a rat.
Through the sett they went, and it was a very close fit indeed. Brambles were scratching their arms and legs as they crawled deeper within. William stayed up front, then Icrick came behind him with Khrum, and Crosco followed last, pushing Ifcus along ahead of him. Comfort was not the case here by any means. It was awkward, fusty, freezing cold, and still extremely dim, even in spite of their new vision.
Slowly they travelled, stopping every couple of minutes to catch their breath. Meanwhile, things were wriggling beneath their hands, while twigs and thorns were snagging onto their garments with much doggedness. They carried on, for ages and ages; three sets of glowing eyes and a green, floating head. How odd they must’ve looked!
Suddenly, William started to worry. He had unexpectedly arrived at a junction, of which he could see down neither side.
“Icrick, there are two ways here,” he described. “Which one will I take? Left or right?”
Spitting out some mysterious fluff, the Grogoch had a quick think about it.
“Well, we were heading east before we came in here, and I’m fairly certain that this burrow has been bringing us north. So I think we should go right!”
Right it was. William hoped it wouldn’t be like this for the whole way, when, with a pinch of fright, he saw something up ahead, retreating from the glow of his eyes...or so he thought.
“Shhh!” he gestured, and they all stopped dead.
“What is it?” whispered Icrick, eyes like fat lemons.
“I thought I saw something.”
Holding their breath, they feared to budge until William had reported back with more hospitable tidings.
Releasing his own breath, he eventually said, “It was probably just a trick o’ the shadows. Keep going.”
“Next time you think you see something, please, be a good fellow, and do not mention it!” shivered Icrick.
They proceeded on for another while, and to William’s dismay, they arrived at a crossroads.
“Crossroads, Icrick!” he whispered loudly. “What now?”
“Keep going east,” The Grogoch said with a sulk, his head now brimming with thoughts of unusual creepy-crawlies after William’s unclear sighting.
The poor creature was scared out of his wits. All he wanted was to be out of that awful burrow and back on normal land.
“Straight on so?” William confirmed.
“Yes,” the Grogoch whispered peevishly.
Grudgingly, they continued.
Along their way they noticed many more side-tunnels and burrows straying off from their set easterly course. Knowing that Icrick was somewhat nervous, William didn’t bother asking him any more directions. He pressed straight on by his own accord.
As they passed by them, they noticed how each of those tunnels were as dreary and as dark as the next. What’s more, there were so many of them. Dozens, maybe even hundreds. All in all, there were enough to make them feel like they’d been creeping along for hours, and certainly beyond the point of any return.
Occasionally they rested, as the journey truly did go on for many, many hours. Therefore, they were constrained to rest their heads every so often. But even to get the slightest bit of sleep in that place was an impossible feat. Those burrows felt far from amiable, regardless of their numbers.
Finally, after yet another laborious spell of crawling, when all of their hopes were hanging on by a thread, they were given a cinder of good luck. Whispering through the tunnel toward
s them, William felt the gentle touch of cool, fresh air.
“I think we’re nearly there!” he said ecstatically. “There’s a breeze coming from up ahead.”
“Thank goodness for that,” sighed the Grogoch, when something budged to his right.
Fearfully, he turned...and there in a tunnel next to him...Eyes! A white face gawking right at him, no more than six inches away. Through the Grogoch he stared, with a wide, gawping maw and bulging, pale eyes. Its head was of long, tangled knots, and its skin looked leaden and veiny from having been down in those burrows its entire life. With nothing else for it, Icrick let out an almighty screech...
“MOVE, WILLIAM!” he squealed.
“What’s wrong?” cried the lad, shuffling along anyway from fright.
“JUST MOVE!” screeched Icrick again, making William shoot off like a hare.
The lad didn’t know what was wrong, so he just scrambled as fast as he could. Meanwhile, Ifcus was near the rear, trying to turn around as he had yet to pass whatever this thing was...and he didn’t want to. Pity for him there was another creature coming up slowly behind Crosco. The Head was blubbering like a baby, for he could hear its gargling as plain as day. But The Body was strong and had the heart of a lion. With a kick he smacked the creature in the face and sent his nose gushing with a luminous blue liquid; resulting from which, the beast fell into a shrieking retreat.
“GO! GO! GO!” ordered Khrum, who was just caught up in the excitement and hadn’t the faintest idea of what was really happening.
With wild ferocity, even more creatures gave pursuit as our heroes wriggled frantically through the burrows. There were ten of them at least.
The Other of One - Book One: The Lythiann Chronicles Page 22