The Other of One - Book One: The Lythiann Chronicles

by Brian G. Burke

  Then, as though being asked to sniff a skunk’s rump, the horse gawked at William with fearful incredulity. But the boy secretly replied with a subtle wink, easing the horse’s nerves some; like he had a plan.

  “Very well then, gov’na!” laughed the Thiagoné, ready to start.

  Rapping his harmonica upon the edge of the table, he began heralding, “Roll up! Roll up! Everybody, gatha’ ‘round to see Girtìlboun the Thiagoné wagera’. Gatha’ ‘round! Gatha’ ‘round now. Don’t be shy.”

  With William and Crosco being the only two bodies present, they just shuffled in a little closer so as to comply and not infuriate this ghastly Thiagoné.

  “Now!” Girtìlboun declared. “Tonight’s prize is,” and with a sway of his arm, the forest spread open to reveal a glorious moonlit path, “way through the old oak wood. ‘Oweva’, should the contestants fail in their endeava’, then this will lead to...” just then, two beastly horns curled from his temples, and his eyes flared crimson again, “...a delicious feast for me!”

  William and the Dullahan were both quaking with horror. That is, until William felt Khrum clambering furtively up along his back, then up onto his shoulders again.

  “All’s set!” he whispered. “The Grogoch is here as well! This is the way he meant ta take us all right, he says. But he also says he knows nothin’ of any Thiagoné livin’ here! I told him about the voice too...’n’ that’s a myshtery ta him as well.”

  William then heard a slight stirring coming from the grasses beside him. Fortunately the Thiagoné didn’t notice, or else there most certainly would’ve been hell to pay.

  “Now! All ya ‘av to do is get this blindfold on and we shall begin.” Girtìlboun grinned, handing William a long strip of itchy material, most likely procured from a shoddy potato sack of some sort.

  Fastening it tightly about his eyes, William was ready for the games to commence, though not before the Thiagoné had a chance to inspect the security of the blindfold for himself.

  “Very well! Now let the games begin!” he bellowed, with a further toot from his harmonica.

  Khrum and Icrick were watching Girtìlboun with intent focus as he placed the ball beneath the centre cup. So excited by it all, Khrum nearly let out a chuckle at this deceitfully ingenious plan of theirs...and then he witnessed the diabolical speed of Girtìlboun’s tricky handiwork.

  The leprechaun’s mouth was left hanging as the Thiagoné shuffled the cups with flawless skill and dizzying speed. He swapped them ‘round, and round’, and round’ so quickly that they could almost smell the wood charring upon the table. Suddenly, he halted with the most wincing sound, as of chalk upon slate.

  “Oh, shhh-ugar!” Khrum gulped.

  His eyes never left the centre cup.

  Not all hope was lost, however, as William felt three well-defined, confident taps upon his right knee.

  “Righteeo!” smiled Girtìlboun. “Ya may remove your blindfold.”

  Unfastening the strap, William rubbed his eyes and gazed down at the cups. With him not having witnessed Girtìlboun’s speed or skilfulness, he too presumed that they had the advantage. Hence, he wasn’t the least bit concerned about losing.

  Making overdrawn sounds of both bafflement and indecisiveness, he eventually uttered, “Cup number...three!”

  With an evil eye of wicked frustration, Girtìlboun lifted the cup to display the red ball.

  “Waa-hay!” Khrum cried accidentally, quickly clamping his trap.

  Girtìlboun’s head shot up suspiciously. Quick off the mark, Ifcus let out a whinny of joy to mask the leprechaun’s foolish blunder. Luckily, it paid off, and the Thiagoné was none the wiser.

  “Well now!” said he contemptuously. “Ya got one right! Hmmm... But, as I said, best two out o’ three!”

  Trying desperately to repress a grin of wily triumph, William concurred. All of a sudden, the Thiagoné produced another two tumblers from his magical pocket.

  “Ya ready for round two, are ya?” he devilishly sneered.

  “Hang on! You never said anything about adding more cups!” the boy protested.

  And yet, he was just as quickly muted by the great burly Cyclops who was now gazing down over him with one bulging blue eye.

  “Ya callin’ me a cheat...gov’na?!” it growled.

  “N-n-n-no! Not at all!” the lad said anxiously. “Your game...your rules!”

  “Too right!” smirked the Cyclops, as he shrunk back down to Thiagoné size, and with another declaration of showmanship, he bellowed, “Roll up and gatha’ ‘round for round number two! Gatha’ ‘round now!”

  Frigidly William put on the blindfold, only to have it inspected again by the Thiagoné, who was now in cobra form. After which he resumed his regular position at the table, where he placed the ball beneath the fifth cup this time.

  Once again his hands took off like the wind, twisting and switching cups even faster than he’d done but a moment ago.

  “Oh, I hope you’re watchin’ this, Icrick lad!” Khrum whispered, with his eyes jumbling about, moving independently to one another. “‘Coz I don’t have a bloody clue what’s goin’ on!”

  Finally, the cups stopped spinning. Stillness grew. William was shakily nervous, particularly when there was neither a touch upon his knee nor a report in his ear.

  Leaning confidently across the table, Girtílboun smiled, “Remove thy blindfold and guess again, matey!”

  How William’s luck had changed for the worse, because nobody knew where the ball was. Of course, he eventually felt a doubtful tap upon his leg, which suggested cup two. But that just as suddenly changed to cup one...and then to cup four, putting the lad in a true and utter bind. Meanwhile, Khrum was on his shoulder, quietly apologizing for his incompetence.

  William tried eyeing Crosco for help, when Girtìlboun uttered threateningly, “Don’t be lookin’ at him, gov’na! He’s not a part o’ this game! Now, do ya ‘av an answa’ for me or not?”

  “Ummm...ohhh...would it beeeeeee...Let me see now...I think it’s underrrrrrrr...numberrrrrr...Ummm...” William went, in a vain attempt to dawdle.

  “Bah, quit your stallin’,” snapped Girtìlboun, flapping up onto William’s shoulder in the form of a crafty vulture.

  Perceiving just in time, Khrum took rapid cover within William’s backpack. He barely missed being spotted by the sly brute.

  “Well?!” snapped the Thiagoné.

  “Number...two?” the lad guessed nervously, in the hope that the Thiagoné would fly off his shoulder, hence lessening the risk of apprehending his hidden accomplice.

  “Ha-ha! Wrong!” cried Girtìlboun, landing back on the table to lift up a tumbler. “Numba’ three again!”

  “Sorry, lad!” Khrum muttered, peeping out from the backpack.

  “Now...let’s do the math, shall we?” smiled Girtìlboun, who was now back in his usual shape. “That leaves us at one all! An even tie! Neck ‘n’ neck!”

  Ifcus could see, behind the Thiagoné’s eyes, a look to say that he was indeed keen on receiving this delicious meal of his, and this made the horse quiver.

  “Round numba’ three has arrived!” he presented, with yet another chime from his harmonica, yet this time around he produced a further three cups.

  Enough was enough, so William protested, “Look, this is ridiculous! You have all the advantages here! It’s not fair!”

  “Well, ya ‘av the greatest advantage of all, right now, ol’ chum,” Girtìlboun answered in a sinister way. “Ya ‘av the advantage o’ still bein’ alive! So, me advice to you is, ya keep it...while ya can.”

  “What...so now you’re going to eat me as well I suppose?” William retorted, more angrily than he meant to.

  With a long and ireful glare, the Thiagoné sneered, “My game...my rules...or ‘av ya forgotten?”

  Who could contend with such a frightening leer? So, this was it. The victor of this round was either going to be bountiful with food, or bountiful with life, and neither of them knew whi
ch it was going to be.

  Apprehensively, William put on the blindfold whilst, in gecko shape, Girtìlboun checked it a final time. Sweat was beading upon the boy’s cheeks and brow. His breaths were shaking like his heart was set upon the very verges of seizure. Considerations of running away clogged his mind. But to try and escape such a creature would surely have been pointless. For, with all his many possible forms, he could effortlessly ensnare any prey before it could get so much as two measly metres away. Alas, who knew what outcome would prevail in this final, horrific round of Twisty cups.

  Girtìlboun placed the ball beneath one of the cups and went about shuffling them this way and that. All the while, Khrum forced his eyes to attention, concentrating with undeniable focus. Icrick, I suppose, could’ve only been doing the very same.

  In and out, and ‘round and ‘round went those cups.

  He transposed with such speed that smoke actually start rising from the table this time.

  It went on longer, too, in that an entire minute had passed before he even considered letting up.

  Suddenly, he stopped dead.

  No other noise seeped past the screen of smoke, other than Girtìlboun’s ravenous panting...

  “Remove your mask, mate...” said he.

  William pulled back the blindfold, and he saw that same gorilla manifesting before him with such a wicked grin.

  “Which cup do ya choose?” he asked, plodding around the table, eyes fixated upon William as if wondering where to begin his evening feast.

  Suddenly, in the boy’s ear, he heard, “It’s the third one again. The third one!”

  Khrum, the little gem, sounded so undeniably certain. William was just about to say, “It’s the third cup!” when he felt two distinct taps upon his knee.

  “Ara, which is it?” William barked excitedly, but Girtìlboun presumed him to be thinking aloud.

  “Yes! Which is it, matey?” he sneered, with those great white fangs poking up from his lip.

  Was it cup number three....or was it cup number two? William had no idea. What if it was neither of those two cups? Or worse yet, what if it was all a con and it was under none of the cups? Who’s to say that this Girtìlboun character wasn’t a devious swindler after all? Especially after him altering the rules in mid-game so very often.

  The lad was so flustered that he couldn’t concentrate on the puzzle at all. Escape clouded his mind, but he knew it was futile. Then, just as the gorilla plodded around Crosco to find his way towards the boy, William saw that The Head was desperately trying to grab his attention. He was mouthing the number three, over and over again to him.

  “Three! It’s cup number three,” William blurted out excitedly.

  With that, the gorilla ceased; his eyes gleaming with devastation. For a moment he did not speak. He instead lingered, staring at the boy with disbelief.

  Eventually, he conceded, “Well blow me ova’.”

  Deflating to normal size, he lifted it up. William was right, and he let out a well-deserved sigh of relief.

  “I ‘ave to admit, gov’na,” Girtìlboun actually smiled, “that was one ‘ell of a guess! Ya ‘ave to be the first person in ova’ four ‘undred years to eva’ beat me in a game o’ Twisty cups! Credit where it’s due, well done!”

  As you’d expect, this came as quite a surprise to William, because he wasn’t expecting the Thiagoné to live up to his word at all. Girtìlboun just seemed so sneaky and untrustworthy. Be that as it may, he did stick to his promise, which was just what the boy had hoped for.

  The Thiagoné then said, “Looks like it’ll be rabbit food for me for the next while! Well, until anotha’ travella’ ventures past these woods, at least! Fair’s fair though! Congratulations...you’re away with your life! The best prize anyone could eva’ ‘ope to win!”

  Standing aside, he reopened the path for William with a sweep of his gangly arm, saying, “This way, gov’na! Pleasant walks and safa’ sleeps! Ya’ll need it ‘round these parts.”

  “Thank you, Girtìlboun!” William said civilly, and so, onto the moonlit path they wandered, with the trees parting before them as they went.

  A forced sense of welcome flowed from their surroundings as the oak trees glowed silver by the moonlight. How peculiar some of them appeared, having been truncated from their crowns; no doubt done by Girtìlboun himself as means of gathering firewood to warm his cruel bones. They didn’t seem happy, as far as trees go. They seemed bled of colour, and what looked to be, their spirit. To reside in such a place seemed tiring for them, much like those who’d been hindered by the Sadness in the Grollo. Though what could they have been so sorrowful about? Neglect? Age? Or could it have been Girtìlboun who brought melancholy to their existence? For he did, after all, say that the trees feared his abilities. All in all, it was a sad sight to see, but it was something they just had to ignore for now.

  With the Thiagoné now gone and the trees closing in behind them, William soon felt like it was safe to acknowledge Icrick’s presence.

  Turning to the Grogoch, who was still invisible, he bickered, “Cup number two? Then cup number four?...Or, wait, was it cup number one?!”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, William!” Icrick said apologetically, lowering his guise. “I was in such a muddle! But, in my defence, you didn’t see the speed of him! His hands were a blur.”

  “It is true, aye! I’ve never seen anything like it,” Crosco agreed.

  “Is that where the smoke was coming from?” asked William. “The cups on the table?”

  “Yes!” they both replied.

  “Well in that case...sorry, Icrick.”

  “Well, well...I knew it!” sounded a sharp voice, as though dark presumptions had suddenly come to fruition.

  Swivelling about, William witnessed the form of another ashen-furred Grogoch, with eyes of darkness, materializing from out of the gloom.

  “Uh-oh! This can’t be good!” he muttered.

  Herewith, this strange visitor trembled with brutal contortions until he rose up and up, into the shape of the most gruesome beast. Upon a scorpion’s body it held stance, and its torso was that of a scarlet devil. Intense fire smouldered from its horns and claws, while it ever grew to such a colossal stature; looking over them with his grim fangs smirking at the apparent weaklings beneath him.

  “I knew ya must ‘av been cheatin’ me somehow!” snarled the beast. “Lucky I followed ya. Four ‘undred years I ‘aven’t been beaten! And even then I was only beaten once...by a cheat. He was like you. Only he ‘ad a leprechaun in hidin’. Used the little maggot to watch the cups for him, he did. But neither of ‘em lived to tell the tale.”

  Realising they’d been apprehended, Khrum stuck his head out from behind William’s ear, and said with a nervous smile, “How’s tricks? Um...Gentlebum...was it?”

  “What...are...you...doing?!” William squeaked, hardly able to believe the leprechaun would choose such an inappropriate moment to show his face, let alone how he’d just called him Gentlebum.

  Awkwardly, Khrum asked, “...A bad time?”

  “A bad time?” the boy shrieked. “Unnecessary risk is an act o’ blatant stupidity, is it? Really?”

  When Girtílboun saw the leprechaun, it brought back humiliating memories, making him lose control completely, such that he let out such a devastating roar that the trees themselves went into a fit of mass hysteria.

  Like wild cattle they scattered, rattling the ground as they stomped about in their fit of roaring alarm. It was all so confusing, not to mention downright dangerous. Not only were William and the others at risk of being devoured by a huge demon, but they were also in danger of being trampled by those panic-stricken trees. As if that wasn’t enough, their path had also been swallowed up in the midst of the commotion.

  Dodging in and out of great swaying branches, Crosco whimpered, “What are we supposed to do now? We’re trapped.”

  “Well, we can’t exactly stand around here all day talking about it!” cried William, as one limb swu
ng perilously close to his face, and another over his head. “We have to try and get through these trees. It’s our best chance.”

  Girtìlboun’s scream had done some good, as the turmoil had created enough of a diversion for our heroes to escape unseen. With that, they scrambled through the anarchy as best they could, all the while trees were clomping before their path, over their heads, clipping their heels, while ceaselessly forcing them to duck, dive, and change direction on a whim.

  During their escape, they managed to find a momentary sanctum amongst the confines of a generously proportioned woodland rockery, that of which the trees seemed to evade, being too stubborn an obstacle. All of a sudden, they heard a shrill directive coming from Girtìlboun himself.

  “Silence!” he demanded. “These flames aren’t for you lot. Quit your moanin’.”

  Upon that command, the trees halted and moved no further. Quietness revisited the wood.

  “O’ course,” William realised, peeping out for a listen. “Did you hear that?”

  “About the flames?” Icrick asked. “What of it?”

  “It’s fire that the trees are afraid of!” whispered the lad.

  Regardless of his alleged epiphany, it was still a scary few minutes in that forest, because they couldn’t tell where the Thiagoné was. They knew he was lurking about somewhere...only they didn’t know where. Only when he uttered again did they truly feel the fear overwhelming them. He sounded to be on the move. Frightening it was, to hear him closing in.

  “By God, ya won’t escape this wood!” hissed Girtìlboun’s grimacing voice, as he prowled through the trees with his big, blazing pincers snipping and a-snapping. “Ya’ll be left to wanda’ within its bowels for the rest of eternity! Or, at least until I find ya, that is. I told ya there were still folk in ‘ere; but that was a lie. They’ve long since been gobbled.”

  “Eek, gobbled!” squeaked The Head, when the Body palmed his mouth for him.