The Other of One - Book One: The Lythiann Chronicles

by Brian G. Burke

  “Run through? Are ya daft?” cried Khrum. “Look at the size o’ me! One decent swipe from a faerie sword ‘n’ I’m turf! You’re all right...with your big, fat head.”

  “I know I can’t help being scared, but it’s very strange to see you afraid of small faeries, Khrum!” said the Grogoch. “You’ve battled bigger things in your time, have you not?”

  Picking timidly at his waistcoat, the leprechaun replied, “I have, yeah. But big, clumsy fellas are easier for me ta get around, ya see. Whereas little tiny faerie critters can give any feisty leprechaun a good run for their money. Zippy little yokes, they are.”

  Urging to get his plan over and done with, William replied, “Just climb in my...” (he was going to suggest satchel when, wisely, he reconsidered) “...sporran. You’ll be safe in there. What about the rest o’ ye? Do ye think we should go for it?”

  “I don’t suppose there is anything else for it,” moaned Icrick, with an almighty sulk.

  “Fetch my helm,” ordered Crosco, and The Body went to one of Ifcus’ saddle bags to display a shiny black helmet.

  He then shoved it on, and they were ready to dart. Ifcus, however, wasn’t armoured much at all, save for his saddle. But The Body would’ve been able to clear a wide enough path to see him clear of any injury.

  “Ah, ta hell with this,” said Khrum rather gruffly, stepping inside William’s sporran, while keeping his head down. “We should all have our heads examined.”

  “Right, I suppose if we run fast, we’ll make it across fairly safely. It can’t be any more than fifty yards. We should be fine,” William calculated.

  He was hoping, I suppose, that they would console him by saying that it would indeed be fine. Instead, they were all just gazing out at the battle, thinking realistically about how difficult it was actually going to be, let alone painful.

  “We’ll be fine,” the boy muttered. “Fine, fine, fine.”

  Crouching down, he climbed over the hedge, all the time watching out for stray faeries and the progress of the battle. Obviously, he wished, and yearned, and pleaded that there may be a gap of some sort leading through it, but it was utter chaos in every direction. Orders were being yelled out, and tiny arrows were whizzing through the air as little red and blue lights plummeted to their barley graves below.

  Gripping his cloak tightly in his sweaty hands, William asked, “Right so, are ye ready?”

  “Go on, quickly! Get it over with,” said a voice from his sporran.

  “Right...here we go then!” the lad said anxiously.

  Like a greyhound, he tore in through the battle, with the others not far behind. He hadn’t gotten five yards, though, when he started jumping about, howling and yowling as miniscule weaponry assaulted him from every imaginable angle.

  Little prickly points were hitting him in the face, thereby making him fear for his eyes. Quickly he covered himself up all the tighter, therefore impeding his vision. He twirled and grunted, and tripped and slipped, until he felt like he’d lost all sense of direction altogether. It may sound funny to you, though I can assure you, it was not. His legs were actually starting to bleed from the waves of attack. It was worse than running through an entire lea of the most lethal thorns you could think of, albeit the faeries weren’t attacking them intentionally; rather the group were simply in their way.

  Having worn armour, the Dullahan was quite safe, plodding through the turmoil with large, heavy steps and his axe in hand. He was practically at the other side already, whereas the others were still caught in the centre. William and the Grogoch were pouncing and staggering across the field like they were treading on red-hot coals. They looked like great walking pincushions. Belatedly, William realised that it wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be.

  Wading through that battle felt like an eternity. Stopping and starting; waiting in places where the fight was calm, and dashing in areas where the conflict was heavy. It was awful. Eventually they made it to the hedges on the other side, over which they then tumbled into the stillness and safety of the very next field.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” said Crosco, smiling away as his helmet got lifted off, and Ifcus was doing just fine.

  Meanwhile, the others were sprawled out on the grass with their chests heaving in and out.

  “Is it over?” trembled a voice from William’s sporran, and the lad panted, “Yeah, it’s over...finally!”

  He and Icrick then sat up to begin carefully plucking the tiny arrows from their skin. I am thankful to say that neither of them were badly hurt. That’s not to say they weren’t sore.

  In spite of the sheltered next field, there were still some faeries secretly approaching, only they were coming from the east this time.

  Hopping up, Icrick exclaimed, “I’ve had enough of blasted faeries for one day!”

  Waddling over to a tree, he twisted out a thick branch, along with some dry moss, and began fabricating a torch.

  Snapping his flint over it, he was grumbling, “Maybe we can clear the way with this should they come near us.”

  It worked a treat, as it happened. For as soon as the lichen took a spark, all faeries dispersed from it almost instantly. Meanwhile, Khrum was giving off about it, saying they should’ve done that in the first place. What he had to be so grouchy about, the boy did not know, considering he was safe ‘n’ sound in the sporran all that time, whereas it was William and Icrick who took the brunt of the attack. After a moment’s arguing, the leprechaun eventually calmed down, and refocused on the task at hand.

  * * *

  The white gleam of moonbeams glared over the hills, to then fade beyond the reach of the stars. The group walked into the night, only to see that fields, gorse, and hedges were all that occupied this part of Lythiann. It was possibly the longest night of our William’s life, having been through so much up to this hour, and he felt like morning couldn’t come quickly enough. Wearily he trudged along, ever thinking of how grand it would be to suddenly wake up in his nice, warm bed back home in Ballycongraggon. Alas, this was not a dream.

  Walking alongside him, Icrick was using his torch to brighten the way. A handy tool, but risky, as it disrupted nature, making dark things stir in the night. Eventually they decided it best to travel on by moonlight alone, so as not to draw any preventable attention. Scuttling back to a pond while the others carried on, Icrick therefore extinguished the flame. The faeries were gone by that stage anyway, so there was no real use for it anymore.

  Beyond a cluster of sheer hills, running from north to south, with its edge in an unusually seamless row, they discovered an old oak wood, deep and strong. It was characterized by a border of mat rush and grand Agave gentryi. Another wood, no less. The tail of Crannúch, actually. If not for William, they might have indulged in a quick five-minute rest before approaching it, only he could have sworn that he heard a voice beckoning him inside. Not just that, but its utterance was remarkably familiar to him. It was extremely soothing and pursued by a soft, sweet echo thereafter.

  “This way...” it so angelically whispered, “...through the trees...be safe...”

  Trusting his gut, William slowly wandered uphill toward the woodland.

  Thinking the boy to be in some sort of trance, Khrum beckoned, “Lad? What’s the rush? Take some rest for yourself.”

  Then, “...This way...” the voice uttered again, and this time they all heard it.

  “Wh-Who was that?” asked The Head, trembling.

  “Not really sure, Crosco,” answered William, making sure not to mention Anun or the Grollo, “but I want to check it out.”

  “Well, what if we get lost?!” asked Crosco, as they followed William to the brink of the wood. “Is this even the right way?”

  “Best ask our guide, I suppose,” the lad suggested, when he noticed Icrick hadn’t yet caught up with them.

  “He’ll be along shortly I’d say,” Khrum assumed, who was now perched on William’s shoulder, surveying for the Grogoch.

  Calculating it o
ut, the lad explained, “Well, this must be the right way. I don’t think he would’ve led us here if he wanted us to go around the wood. Look at it. It’s too long out of our way. Otherwise he would’ve brought us farther north...”

  “Or south!” added Khrum.

  “Exactly.”

  As they were waiting on the Grogoch to return, another strange voice suddenly sounded in the trees. That which was very different from the last.

  Of a cockney sort, it spoke, “Lookin’ to get through me trees, are ya?”

  Just then, an odd little man came strolling merrily from the wood, with a wooden harmonica in his claw.

  About half the size of William, he had the rather bizarre features of someone fully grown. His tanned face was copiously wrinkled, and his upper lip was very long and outlandishly prominent. Downright ugly, to be honest. Shoved in the side of his tweed cap was a playing card; the four of clubs. Save for that he was rather agreeably dressed, with a plaid umber waistcoat, a baggy shirt with baggy sleeves, brown trousers, and nice black brogues just like Khrum’s. What they hadn’t noticed, until he stood behind it like a clerk, was that a short, three-legged table had been set out before them.

  “Oh...hello.” William smiled, more surprised than anything. “Didn’t see you there!”

  “Sayin’ somet about me height, are ya?” scowled the man, and his eyes burnt hellish crimson through the shade of the night.

  Now questioning the man’s nature, the boy stuttered, “N-n-no, not at all! It’s just dark...so, I couldn’t see you.”

  “Very well then!” the stranger went, and removing his hat courteously with a bow, he introduced himself with, “Girtìlboun the Thiagoné wagera’, they call me.”

  Placing the harmonica to his lips, he then let out a short flurry of notes. Nor for the last time. It appeared to be some manner of quirky little trait. And all cheery again or not, there was still something relatively suspicious about this chap, William found.

  “And what we got ‘ere then? A young fellow and an ‘eadless ‘orseman, eh?” he leered, not noticing Khrum, who was well hidden behind the lad’s shoulders.

  Just then, William heard the leprechaun gasping quietly, “One o’ the Thiagoné? Oh...curses!”

  Better than any ventriloquist, William whispered, “What?! What’s wrong?”

  “Get away from him as fast as ya can!” Khrum whispered urgently.

  “Who ya talkin’ to?” asked Girtìlboun shadily. “More to your group are there?”

  “No! Just us!” William proclaimed.

  “I see...” replied the Thiagoné, with a shifty eye.

  He was about to say something else, when a hooting caught his attention to the north. It was likely an owl, but Girtìlboun was on it like a shot, scowling and sniffing the air.

  Taking his chance, Khrum continued to explain, “The Thiagoné! Landed on the eastern shores from across the sea, they did. Dangerous, dangerous creatures. Gamblers ‘n’ chancers...’n’ shape-shifters, more importantly. It’s really strange ‘coz most other folk from their shores are fairly sound. However, these Thiagoné...oooh, gangshters. It’s a pity Briggun didn’t rid the land o’ these vermin when he was runnin’ the resht of us out. Then again, I suppose he could use their likes hangin’ about. Ya’ll have ta play by his rules here, lad. That’s the only way ya’ll eshcape him...the rotter.”

  “So...what ya doin’ ‘round these ol’ parts o’ the world? Lookin’ to get through the old oak wood?” asked the Thiagoné with unusual politeness.

  “Well, yes. In fact, I thought I heard a voice coming from inside, just a few minutes ago. I was going to see if I could find whoever it was.”

  “Someone inside this wood?” Girtìlboun glared. “Are ya windin’ me up? Nobody gets in or out o’ these trees without me knowin’ about it. I’m the tree-keeper, ya see. Besides, even without me permission ya wouldn’t get more than five feet in there...with the trees constantly shiftin’ about and that. It would take ya twenty lifetimes just to find your own schnoz with them endlessly changin’ around ya. Folk are still lost in that wood, I’ll ‘av ya know. Way, deep inside, where ya can’t hear ‘em. Ever since the friendlia’ days, even. Mind you, it’s a lot safer in there than it is out ‘ere nowadays.”

  Although it was dark out, William noticed within the wood that some of the trees were hoisting up their roots, then clambering off to different parts of the crowded understorey, thus suggesting that any possible means of reliable navigation would seem no less than hopeless.

  “But there is a way through, mind ya!” Girtìlboun added slyly, as he let out another twitter from his harmonica.

  “How?” asked William.

  Taking three wooden tumblers from his pocket, Girtìlboun laid them upside down on the table before him. Next, he displayed a small red ball, which he rested beside the cups. Indeed, his pockets must have been quite deep (or somehow bewitched) for those tumblers to fit, as they were considerably fat in comparison to his tiny waistcoat.

  “Twisty cups.” He cunningly smiled.

  “Twisty cups?” William parroted, instantly recognising the premise of the game. “You mean, I have to guess which cup the ball is under? Then you’ll let us through?”

  “Indeed,” said Girtìlboun with a nasty smile. “Ya catch on quickly, lad. Yes, if ya win, I’ll let ya through. The trees listen to me, ya see. They know who’s boss. I can permit entry to whomeva’ I want...wheneva’ I want.”

  “Well, can you not just let us through anyway? It’s really important business we’re on. We’d be really grateful.”

  “I don’t care about your bloomin’ business!” snarled the Thiagoné, turning suddenly foul again. “The only way through is by playin’ me in Twisty cups. So, I challenge you and you alone, matey. Best, two out o’ three.”

  Then William asked, “A-And what if I lose?”

  “Well then,” Girtìlboun hissed, walking casually around the table toward Crosco, “it’s been quite a while since I got me some decent grub. And some nice, crispy horse meat would do us just lovely right now.”

  As he uttered, his appearance began to change, and bubble, and swell, until he ended up looking down upon the great Crosco in the manifestation of a colossal silverback gorilla.

  “Oh, dear me!” squeaked The Head, and Ifcus’ eyes almost popped out into the grass like hardboiled eggs.

  There was no possible way they could outrun a creature of such enchantment. So challenging him to this game of his was the only way they could get through that puzzling woodland. Either that, or find another route. That’s if there even was another one, judging by that sheer stretch of that wood, that is. And who’s to say that Girtílboun would let them retreat so easily?

  “Are there any other rules then?” the lad asked reluctantly.

  “Well,” said the Thiagoné, shrinking back to size, “first off, gov’na, I ‘av to blindfold ya! Then I’ll place the ball unda’ a cup, swap them ‘round, then ya remove the blindfold and guess which one it’s unda’. Easy...as...pie.”

  “Wait, so I don’t even get to see where you’re putting the ball in the first place?” griped the lad, not caring how he sounded.

  “Course you don’t! What would be so challengin’ ‘bout that?” Girtìlboun smiled smugly.

  All of a sudden, William was struck by such an infallible idea that he almost sniggered.

  “Can I just have a second...um...to think?” he asked, attempting to appear earnest and troubled by the situation.

  “Think all ya like, mate! But don’t take too long. Bloody starvin’ ‘ere,” Girtìlboun chuckled, with a smarmy wink to Ifcus, making the horse’s ears flatten.

  William backed away to reflect.

  After spacing some little distance between himself and Girtìlboun, he whispered to Khrum, “I need you to help me with this, Khrum. He doesn’t know you’re here, so you have to keep an eye on that ball for me and tell me which cup it’s under!”

  “Well, what a brainy plan,” the leprechaun s
aid with a grin.

  “Let’s just hope it works,” whispered William.

  “I was wonderin’ how we were goin’ to get outta this one,” Khrum said. “I was half-thinkin’ o’ doin’ a runner myself.”

  “And leaving us here to deal with it, yeah?” William grumbled. “What about your Leprechaun Council thing? Being brave and all that?”

  “There’s a time ‘n’ place for bravery, lad!” replied Khrum, in a defensive tone. “An’ neither occasion involves the presence of a bloody Thiagoné. Did ya not see the size o’ that ape? Unnecessary risk is an act o’ blatant stupidity. That advice has kept me alive for a long time, so it has.”

  “Yeah-yeah-yeah!” the lad whispered impatiently, trying to hush Khrum down. “Forget I said anything. Now, if we work together, we should get through it okay.”

  “Sorry. I just get a little emotional at times, lad. It’s all this business o’ bein’ sober.” Khrum sighed remorsefully, trying to scam a sly snifter before the game.

  “Well, you can do without the drink for now. How do you expect to choose the one right cup if you’re seeing double?”

  In the midst of his sentence, William spotted Icrick waddling over the hill in the distance, so he said quietly, “Look! There’s Icrick now. Go and tell him to turn invisible. He could watch the cups for us too. We need all the help we can get.”

  “If I fetch his smelliness for ya, do I get a tiny drink then?” asked the leprechaun.

  “No!” the boy exclaimed in a whisper. “And hurry up, before he gets spotted.”

  “Oh, fine!” grumbled the leprechaun. “Bloody wet blanket!”

  Evasively he shimmied down William’s arm and made way to impart instruction unto Icrick.

  Returning to Girtìlboun’s table, the boy then said, “Grand! You have a deal. If I win, you let us through. If not, you get the horse.”