All in a tizzy, William said, “Well, why don’t you ask him then? If you’re so great.”
“I never said I could do any such thing,” she replied. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! Watch!”
She then stood before Jimzin with her hands on her hips and asked, in a very courteous manner, “Jimzin, would you mind carrying us down to ground level, please?”
With that, the dragon bounded from the tower top and glided off across the starlit lakes of the north in search of more food.
“You see?” she smiled, with her hand out.
“Where’s he off to?” asked Icrick, with a scrunched expression.
“Probably gone off to find more food or something...or explore? I don’t know,” she said. “He’ll be back when it suits him.”
“Bah, how are we goin’ ta get off this blashted tower now?” Khrum whinged.
All he wanted was to just lie down in the grass for an hour so he could have a quick snooze.
“We could always go down the way we came up, I suppose,” William suggested.
“Go through that haunted house again? Good luck!” the leprechaun objected.
“There’s a mound of hay down here,” Wren donated, glancing over the ledge. “We could jump...”
“Down there?! Really?” William exclaimed. “That drop would kill us. And if the drop doesn’t, then I’m sure the rest o’ those hound things will!”
“Don’t be absurd!” Wren differed. “That mound is high enough to catch us safely. As for the Devil Hounds, Jimzin already ate them all. Mysun Margyle indeed!”
Without a second thought, she threw one leg over the ledge and slipped herself off the wall. Shocked by this, the others rushed to the parapet and flung their heads over, only to see Wren landing safely with a puff into the hay.
A tiny figure then crawled out from the mound, and yelled up, “Won’t kill many evil sorcerers with that kind of attitude!”
Oh, William was vexed. He felt embarrassed and outdone. So, stepping onto the ledge, he shook off his fear.
“Are you craicaìlte ‘n’ all?!” cried Khrum.
“Probably!” William replied shakily. “One...Two...Three!”
Then, after having just bounded boldly into the air, he heard Icrick saying to himself, “Oh, there’s some sort of ladder-release over here.”
But it was too late. He’d already jumped. Holding down his kilt, the boy plummeted down towards that dreaded mound, forever keeping his eyes front as the tree line scrolled up and up before him. Feeling a dull thump against his rear, he landed into the hay, and tumbled out onto the grass.
“There was some sort o’ ladder-release up there, you know. Icrick just spotted it,” he said to Wren with grave upset.
“I know...” she said, “...but how boring would that have been?”
Off she wandered, with a content little smile on her face, leaving William there, wordless at her recklessness.
Be that as it may, within the most private chambers of his mind, young William could not deny her beauty, or that cynical air which secretly engrossed his fascination through her every spoken word. To win over such a wild heart could not be done through frailty. He knew this. No, it could only be charmed by boldness, or passion, or perhaps even contempt. But who could say for certain what he was thinking, for actions of desire are sometimes too irrational for even the persons themselves to fathom.
‘Twas then that the Dullahan came jogging along.
“Oh! You met her!” he panted. “I was just on my way to warn you about her! Well...I was going to shout it up to you...from the bushes.”
“Yeah?” William replied, curiously following her actions. “And for some reason I don’t think it will be the last of her, either.”
“Well?” said The Head.
“Well what?” asked William, still distracted by the girl.
“Did you get the sword or not?” asked The Head.
“Oh, yeah,” said the lad, removing it from its sheath. “...Here it is.”
“And do you feel any different?” asked The Head, a tad derisively.
“Actually...I don’t!” the lad answered with disappointment, ignoring Crosco’s smart tone. “I did at first, when I held it up in the tower. But now I just feel...kind o’...normal again, I suppose. It’s strange!”
As he was explaining things to Crosco, the others came walking from around the rear side of the tower after descending by way of that illustrious ladder.
“Give it time, William,” Icrick said, overhearing their chatter. “I wouldn’t expect such celestial revelations to just fall into your lap immediately. I’m sure if you give it time, and patience, the feeling—as you put it—will come again.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” said the boy, holding the blade out before him.
Then, in recalling those odd beings up in the tower, William turned to The Head and said, “Before we went into Brookweir, you were going to warn me about the creatures that wandered the tower’s parapets but I cut you off, sorry. What were you going to say, Crosco?”
“Well,” said The Head, wishing to appear educated and eminent, “what I was going to say, before I was rudely interrupted, was that this tower...the stronghold of Thérn, that is...has been known to shelter the since departed spirits of disreputable Pooka; Gorfu du Morga and Rìffen Beek, to name two. But legend says that, in their spirit form, they could not physically harm anyone, as such. However, they are known to have scared many into their demise! Only then could they keep the ‘essence’ of their victims for their own enjoyment. Then, once they’ve scavenged what they need from their dead prey, the Pooka would place the hollow carcases in old cages and hang them up high in the rafters of the tower; as a warning I would imagine. No person has yet looked into the eyes of these shadowed wraiths and lived. Nobody ever had the pluck for it! As such, I am assuming you stayed well out of their way, William. Otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here talking to us now. That’s what I was going to tell you. As a matter of interest, why do you ask?”
“N-No reason,” stuttered the lad, dwelling upon the grounds as to why he himself wasn’t bled of his own ‘essence’ and now dangling from the girders in a cage of his own.
Looking at the sword, he was beginning to find a deeper understanding in those historical tales which he’d heard of late; the stories of Mysun and his magic. Alongside his understanding there grew a slight sense of belief, in that this myth held a lot more meaning to him now, rather than just being some outlandish faerie tale. It possessed power; a power which young William just may have actually tasted for himself during that instance with those cold wraiths of shadow.
Flicking the steel with a ping, Khrum smiled. “Beautiful piece o’ weaponry ya got there, boyo! Well wear!”
“It is, isn’t it?” said William, holding it afore the moonlight again.
Beneath the stars of that night they marvelled at Thérn’s craftsmanship and whatever fabled memories it might have stowed within its steel. Morning was also arriving, something which had long been anticipated during those horrors of recent days.
But there were many more harrowing affairs yet to come; together with a meeting of supreme consequence.
- Chapter Twelve -
A Stranger’s Realm
After escaping the tower, they stumbled upon a pleasant spot where they could claim some well-deserved rest. They were also extremely excited about finally seeing some sunshine again the following morning, but, in the end, they discovered the weather to be an underwhelming disappointment.
Permeating its tranquilly blue canvas with a morbid texture, the sky had saturated itself with a smooth sheet of greyness and desolation. Beneath this, the land lay quiet. The trees were still, tall grasses bobbed their heads through a very light breeze, and a warm, metallic fragrance filled the air. There was no rain, as of yet, but it surely wouldn’t be long approaching.
William wanted to see if he could catch a glimpse of the lightning; waiting, completely still, with
his eyes set upon the heavens. But he could never concentrate on it for very long before looking away again, and only then would a sudden flare flash in the corner of his eye. Seconds later, the sustaining pounding of thunder came visiting. Altogether, the day was unsettling, dreary, and uncomfortably bitter.
Before the weather had turned, William was toying with Thérn, weighing it up and testing its durability on shrubs and saplings. To his surprise, the blade was as sharp as a new razor, and it was also much lighter than it appeared. It was a short sword, much the same shape as the gladiators brandished in the days of the Coliseum, of Gladius style. Surprisingly enough, William remembered this little detail from one of his history lessons, only because it retained some minor association with wars and warriors.
The handle was carved from a grand rosewood, and gripped comfortably in his hand. Each finger-hold was ringed with the finest silver, as was the guard itself. It had many convoluted designs wrought onto it, knotted Celtic symbols. Beady-eyed and its mouth ajar, a rather ugly face was wrought upon the pommel. Its wavy hair, which too was of silver, was combed back towards the grip, and its aquiline nose was outset and noble. William’s interest was also stoked when he caught sight of a quick, greenish resonance in the air whenever he swung the blade about. It was brief, and hardly noticeable at all, and it only ever happened after a good, hefty swipe. All in all, Thérn was a very majestic-looking piece, and he found it very difficult to leave down.
When he saw those thunderclouds approaching from the north, he felt it wise to put the sword back in its sheath and out of harm’s way, so he left it against the trunk of a tree. William then sat back and admired it from a few feet away. His very own sword.
They were sheltering in the border of an old mountain forest, situated just inside the county of Trìmn on a flat lowland pass.
The rain bucketed down for hours as the daylight melded into twilight behind the dreariness of the conditions. Drips fell from the trees above and landed in the fire, making it nearly impossible to keep alight. After a while, William just let it die out and, instead, huddled himself up in his cloak. Icrick and the others had no problem sleeping whatsoever after their previous night’s toil. They even managed to dream through the coming of the storm. William was certain that the thunder would wake them, but it didn’t. Wren was there too, of course; lying against a tree with her hood drawn low as she slept. She also had a strange habit, in that she kept on shifting her shoulder about awkwardly. Then again, it wasn’t a feather mattress she was lying on.
New to this whole scenario, William’s impression of the girl still looked to be hanging in the balance of distrust and adoration, a most confused sort of feeling. Yes, he could feel a strange desire building within himself and, yes, for some reason he wanted her to feel the same way. It would’ve been nice. Yet he was just so suspicious of someone who would, so willingly, risk their own life to aid him, a stranger, just for the sake of a thrill. Particularly a lass who was as stunning as Wren was. It just didn’t seem to add up in his book. Did she have a hidden agenda? Was she teasing him? Stringing him along? Manipulating him in some way, maybe? What? His mind was driven wild with intrigue and accusation, trying to figure her out. On the contrary, maybe the whole situation was exactly as it seemed—a harmless young girl who was simply up for some honest adventure. Perhaps her help was truly unconditional; granted, she did prove a little fiery at times. It was all so baffling for the young chap that he handled it the only way he knew how— he remained vigilant. Who knew? Lest he be wrong, maybe the distant approach could actually work out well in his favour, if his wild little theories were anything to go by.
All of this held but minor importance in contrast to William’s true test. Nevertheless, we may yet see what will come of this interesting little ‘pickle’ as our little tale saunters on.
William soon became weary himself, thereby peeling his attention from Thérn—and the girl—to gaze back over the land. He couldn’t see very far through the rain, and the mist had also gathered thickly over the horizon, leaving barely any sight of the mountains beyond. All he could see were the tops of the trees lurking from the fog in the foreground, both of which were Phillyrea and keyaki in a bizarre mismatch, though they proved quite charming through the fog. Soon after, William stopped dwelling on whatever it was he was thinking about, and decided to lay his head down and close his eyes. Not long after, he was asleep.
“William!” whispered a voice, and somebody was shaking his arm.
“William!” the voice said again, only this time it was louder and of greater concern.
Dragging himself from his dreams, William rolled over to find Icrick at his ear.
“Be very quiet!” said the Grogoch. “There are creatures abroad in the north. We can’t be hanging around here! We have to get moving. Maybe into a place less open. This forest, perhaps?”
Still groggy, young William was doubtful about which way he was even moving, let alone dealing with the idea of mysterious creatures.
“Wh-What’s...what are you on about? What creatures?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
He could but assume that he’d slept for an ample amount of time, for the moon had grown quite large before the passing of nightly cloud. Also, in those fleeting hours, the mist had faded and the rain had moved on, too.
His gaze awash with dread, Icrick whispered, “Beasts of the moon! All out to do their deeds and get up to no good! Mischievous yokes!”
Lazily, William fastened Thérn to his waist. The others were just meters ahead, all lying low on the brim of a grassy bank, peeping out across the grassland. Jimzin had also returned since. He was just a short way up the mountainside behind them, surveying the dark countryside with Wren on his back.
“What do you see?” yawned William, dragging his feet along.
He then laid down beside Crosco, with Ifcus on the other side of him. Being a bulky horse, however, he had to keep lower than the rest, which meant lying on his side with one eye peering out whimsically over the mound. But, as you may well know, poor Ifcus never wanted to be left out, so this was how he had to go about sneaking a peek.
All was quiet but for the grasshopper’s song and the flapping of owls. Then, way off to the east, upon their path, there looked to be a fire going.
“What are ye all worried about?” William asked, squinting over the bank.
There were no obvious signs of trouble that he could see. Just then, he heard a screeching whistle, like something far off was in terrible distress. That’s when their anxiety rubbed off on him. Suddenly, he heard distant cheers, followed by grotesque laughter.
“Sounds to me like something’s in trouble?!” he said, motioning to the others.
But they just remained silent and didn’t dare reply to this unspoken implication of his.
“Well? We have to do something!” he said, this time in a louder and firmer tone.
“Shhh! They’ll hear us!” trembled The Head.
Out of utter disgust for Crosco’s self-regard, William stood up from behind the bank and spoke in an even louder voice. “Whatever’s yelling is coming from way over there. They haven’t got a notion o’ hearing us. Now, I say we go take a look. We might even get close enough to judge and far enough to sneak off...if the situation calls for it. Are ye with me?”
They all hesitated. Except, of course, for Khrum. Larger than life he sprang out from the heap of shamrock where he’d been spying from and he was only too delighted to go and investigate.
“Count me in, laddie-doo-laddie!” he laughed with a jig. “All I needed was a kip, ‘n’ now I’m ready for action again.”
His fear, it seemed, had surrendered to his newly replenished lust for adventure.
“Good. Thanks, Khrum. Now, who else? Icrick?” William asked, going through them.
Glancing at Crosco, who offered no opinion, Icrick grudgingly picked himself up off the ground and waddled up to William’s side.
“Crosco, we really could use your light. Will you help u
s?” the boy asked.
Ifcus being Ifcus, he struggled to his feet and began to nudge The Head with his snout. Fair dues to him, for he may not have been able to walk all that well, but he always tried to help out when he could. However, The Head was far too petrified, not to mention overly egocentric. But after much hounding from Ifcus and The Body, he eventually agreed, albeit he wouldn’t quit moaning about it.
After that, Jimzin came spiralling down with Wren on his back, and as he landed into a canter, she asked, “So, what’s your plan?”
Quite mulishly, William replied, “Oh, we’re going to go and have a little look, that’s all. No big deal.”
“Okay! Then we might go ‘round and see what we can spot from behind,” she suggested.
“Fair enough...you do that...” he grumbled, and Jimzin galloped into the skies before turning gradually northwards by the pine-capped mountains.
Setting off into the night, they went to further investigate the strange goings on of that bizarre fire. With his horse tightly harnessed across his shoulders, Crosco had taken point with The Head held out before him. But he later lagged for want of rest, which is quite forgivable, considering his heavy cargo. William was next in line. Low and quietly he moved, yet at a very brisk pace, looking left and right all the time as he negotiated the rolling terrain. He was fairly adapting to these daring situations now. Something adventurous was steadily waking inside of him, whether he knew it or not, and especially after the most recent incidents of his journey. Next in line after him were the other two, with Icrick scuttling last.
Eventually, they happened upon a small schist-clad hill, and as the distant blaze got ever closer, they could see that it was much more than a simple campfire. They also had a clearer understanding of what was actually taking place around it, which you will find out more about in a moment.
The Other of One - Book One: The Lythiann Chronicles Page 30