Rain spat softly too that morn. Awful, uncomfortable rain. The sort which would at first seem harmless, until William later glanced down to find himself drenched through. He was made to tolerate it though, outside in that wet, cold glade, for his lesson that day played a crucial part in his ultimate survival on Lythiann. The time had come for him to learn the secrets of unarmed combat.
Primarily, he was instructed on how to utilize both defensive and offensive reactions, founded upon the basic instinctive principles. For instance, based around William’s natural reflex to a particular attack, the aforesaid reflex would then be moulded into a defensive or offensive reaction, which could then be effectively employed in a true conflictive situation. Once this practice had been well enough refined (over the space of some weeks) they focused on how to pinpoint a target’s most vulnerable areas, at which, an extreme attack could be launched for inflicting direct immobilization; an attack to the groin or a gouge to the eyes, for example. Indeed, the lad was being introduced to a relatively more critical, and an undoubtedly more savage, level of training. Nor was it for the faint of heart, I’m sure you will agree. Nevertheless, it had to be done, because William’s enemies within the darker hides of Lythiann were brutal beings, whose means had to be faced down with actions no less barbaric than their very own, if not worse.
Throughout that section of training, William was otherwise learning the correct way to punch, kick, elbow, and knee, alongside many variations of counter-strikes and grappling moves. He practiced everything from escaping a headlock, to tossing an enemy over his shoulder before pinning them to the ground. For the sake of logic, he required an opponent for this sort of training, so Redmun stepped in as his sparring partner. Otherwise, Icrick was called upon from time to time, if Redmun was unable to partake, on account of his need to supervise William’s form from a bystander’s point of view.
Poor Icrick was one unlucky candidate, I must say. As you already know, he was never one for battles or conflict. So I’m sure you can appreciate how he must’ve felt once summoned to participate in such pugnacious duties by a man whom he was too afraid to refuse. Not with a whole barrel of enthusiasm, that’s for sure. But William never went too hard on him. Most of their training took place in the denser brushwood, so no real harm would come to the Grogoch should he fall awkwardly or such. And during these sessions, even though Redmun couldn’t see William opposing the poor Grogoch, Icrick’s moans and yelps painted quite an amusing picture for him anyway, thus resulting in the very first time William had ever seen him laughing. Bizarre, yet, at the same time, refreshing. It even made William chuckle, and Icrick too, funnily enough. Although he, I suppose, was laughing more so on behalf of his traumatisation as opposed to actually finding the whole situation entertaining.
Next came the dummy work, which involved William punching those same burlap dummies, bare-fisted, until his knuckles were red-raw. Harsh training, but he was ordered to persist until his fists were conditioned into a tough hide. This also applied to his elbows, shins, and knees. By the time he was ready, William was striking those dummies with vicious speed and forceful power, without even so much as getting cloth burn. Were it not for the focus he’d procured from his meditation, he would not have been able to accomplish this feat as hastily as he did.
A month was spent, overall, in practicing the tuitions of combat; from dusk until dawn, every day, with only food breaks in between. In the interim, William’s other duties were placed on hold as, day after day, he was left to suffer the agonizing pains of endless combative routines while enduring the very strains of his own physical limits.
Soon thereafter, the stage of unarmed combat came to an end when, finally, true weapons were introduced. Up till then, having devoted a great deal of his spare time to his stick training, William had proven to be most proficient in the area of armed combat. However, this was it.
The time had finally come for Redmun to impart the concluding, and most imperative, lesson of all. Not only was it compulsory, but it was also vital to the conditioning of both William’s body and mind, and Redmun knew that it would be the hardest lesson he would ever have to give.
That evening was brisk. It would also be one of the last evenings that William would spend in Làn Cùrdhal. Beyond the glade was an opening, which brought them to a shelf upon a cliff side, and to a fantastic view of the lands abroad. The shelf whereon they stood was wide. Quite long, too, though it tapered into a narrowing lip before meeting the steep drop which plunged far into the botanical abyss beneath. It afforded a magnificent view of the muddy river, which wound on like a roan serpent through the depths of that ancient wilderness. Crowded rainforest sprawled over the area, as though infinite, as it carried on to the summits of the mountains afar. Dusk was also setting, and the amber sky had set those meandering clouds to all the colours of a magical prism, unspoilt and free. William wished to compliment it, only Redmun had been acting strangely all day. Believing him a touch under the weather, or merely tired, William thought it best to just keep to himself, unless Redmun wanted to address him first.
After a brief look around, the boy had a peculiar feeling that it wasn’t just a simple outcrop at all. Because, by the jungle egress, he saw two crypts on either side, both of which he didn’t notice at first, as they were overrun by the heavy flora and wild, scaling roots. Haunting-looking structures, with gruesome gargoyles perched upon their gables who leered at William with sagging tongues and great, rounded eyes. Beside each crypt, small mounds of dirt were piled; six in all, just inside the periphery of the forest under the trees. To each mound a headstone was set; some were crosses, others were tablets, but all were crooked, splintered, and timeworn.
When he saw them, the hairs on William’s arms stood up like bristles. He had never before noticed such funereal objects around that jungle, nor did Redmun ever speak of them. He dared not say it aloud, either, but clearly he was in the heart of some private necropolis. Reluctant to upset the man with inquiries, which were obviously none of his concern, he could but wonder as to whom, or what, lay lifeless within those graves.
Many torches were set upon the craggy walls of that shelf. One by one, they all smouldered to a kindle by way of the enchanted fireflies which were loitering about them. But William wasn’t there on that outcrop to just stand about, he knew this. What his true reasons were, he did not know.
There they were, just the two of them, Redmun and William, alone and silent. Just then he noticed how Redmun had an item in his possession, wrapped securely in a purple felt cloth. Slowly he unravelled it, gradually revealing to William the very blade of Thérn. It had been buffed to a fabulous sheen. Holding it high before the lapsing sun, Redmun turned the blade edge into the oncoming wind. How it sang; whistling softly as the elegant blade carved itself sweetly through the mellow breeze.
Approaching William with a stern eye, he asked, “I trust you’re ready for your final lesson?”
William noticed something odd in Redmun’s manner. He sounded more humane and less gruff than usual; even in comparison to those cherished days when William considered him more carefree. It was as though a sadness had overcome him. A dreaded sadness which had stolen the very ruthlessness from his being, to replace it with a weight of self-pity.
“Yes...yes, I am,” William replied, gazing curiously back at him.
Planting the sword firmly into the ground by William’s feet, Redmun retreated to the opposite side of the shelf.
The sun had almost entirely died behind the peaks of the east, and the ghost of the moon was prying faintly through the ending of day’s light. As though awoken by the coming stars, the creatures of the night began to arise and stir once again. With his back turned to him, William saw Redmun removing an item from his inner coat pocket. Shifting his weight onto one foot, he strove to see what it was when, suddenly, Redmun turned. In his hand was a small glass urn, complete with bronze trimmings which glinted in the failing light.
“What’s that?” William asked, gesturin
g at the container.
“Weather moths,” replied Redmun, rattling the urn until it glowed to a bright crimson. “They are capable of conjuring two temporary spells.”
Opening the lid, a cluster of red, fluttering lights shot out of the urn and began spinning rapidly up into the heavens.
“Brewing a storm...” Redmun continued.
Suddenly the sky began to strobe with streaks of flash lightning. Rain began to spit, and continued to do so until it poured. A branch of lightning cracked, with a blaze of blinding intensity, before driving itself into one of the very graves behind William. Then, as if by some hex of the storm, the dirt suddenly started to throb and crack.
“...that can raise the dead!” Redmun added. “Now, let us see how you fight with proper distractions, boy!”
Of a sudden, upon a deluge of sparks, three more bolts came ploughing from the heavens, directly into three more of the graves, all of which hit perilously close to young William. Even so, he was poised and he was calm.
One after another, those dreaded beings of the undead began to rise slowly from their pits of demise. Horrible, scraggy corpses with decomposing limbs, faces half-rotten and, oh, how they moaned. Uttering in despondent groans of torment, they ambled about grossly upon their mangled legs. It was near impossible to distinguish one from the next; they’d been that badly mutilated. But one of them had been stripped of his flesh entirely; bones sullied from blood long since decayed. An abominable skeleton, clad in a tattered tunic and scant pieces of ragged armour whilst, in his hands, he brandished two bullwhips, which he flurried in circular movements, cracking them off the dirt around him. Of all three, this one appeared to be the most important, as his movements exhibited confidence. Also it was he who gestured directives to those other minions.
Snapping his whips with a poisonous hiss, the skeleton leader studied William as the other creatures began taking formation, creaking and wailing with every step as they dragged their knotted clubs arduously after them. Watching them with a careful eye, the boy moved steadily to a safer distance. Using awkward haste, the creatures hobbled in nearer until they’d encircled him.
William had certainly come a long way since his arrival in Lythiann. There once was a time when such a predicament would’ve scared him stiff, but he was calm and collected now. That’s not to say that he wasn’t frightened, because he was still quite petrified. Only now he had the ability to retain and control his fear.
Prising Thérn from the earth, he held it confidently by his side. Meanwhile, the undead were swaying lifelessly in the blustery winds, awaiting Redmun’s orders. From his sheath, with a sharp note of scraping steel, the man drew his own falchion sword. Interpreting this motion, Thérn replied by swiftly readying itself above William’s head. This time the boy kept control of his blade...and he wasn’t about to get dragged anywhere. He couldn’t help but grin when he felt, within himself, this novel sense of control. Yet Redmun, too, could sense his newfound sense of certitude, and was thus driven to test it.
The man waited outside the battle to come, where he could observe matters better. Blowing in sheets from the direction of the jungle, the rain pressed in upon them with such rocking force. All the while, both teacher and student stood firm, analysing each other in their own particular ways, anticipating the battle ahead. Gazing at Redmun through the barrier of foul corpses, William had a sense then that they were merely trivial in contrast to the real test. Their garments floundered in the squall as their wet hair flickered before their dour eyes. Eventually, Redmun released his breath which had, until that very moment, been retained within the bowels of his truest burdens.
“Begin!” he ordered.
Upon that order, a jagged fork of pale lightning suddenly bore itself deep into the heart of the jungle behind, like that of an umpire instigating a mighty duel. The battle had begun.
Sluggish was the stride of the undead. Be that as it may, William was still outnumbered four to one, not including Redmun, who was circling from the outside, merely envisioning the battle by what his ears were telling him. Carefully, the lad observed his enemies, studying their every movement as they closed in more and more. All were eagerly awaiting the initial blow to be dealt, when one of them finally became restless.
Leaning to and fro with his hollowed sockets fastened upon William’s intent, the skeleton hissed and twirled his whips, lashing out with a shuddering snap. William’s legs surely would’ve been snagged by the whip had his reflexes not perceived. Instead, he flipped nimbly from its path. Upon landing, he barrelled his heel straight into another’s nose, knocking him back against one of the torches. Instantly, as of a spark to a pile of oily rags, the flame sent that demonic wretch into a furious blaze, though still he persisted. He rose up from behind William with a hideous wail as droplets of flaring pus dripped from his scorching limbs, and he lunged at him with his sizzling club. Thérn parried his strike from the rear before it could connect. Flourishing itself to the boy’s hip, the sword then impaled its foe with a brutal reverse grip. Writhing wildly, the cadaver exploded into a cloud of cinders. With naught left but a singed shape upon the rock face, he was no more.
William felt strong indeed, warranted, he did not allow this conceitedness get the better of him. Like a cat assessing a gathering of simple nightingales, he focused fixedly upon his remaining adversaries. Constantly, the leader was flailing his whips, with those vacant eyes forever prodding. Redmun continued to observe from outside, though his weapon was readied in a stable fist. Be it for William’s benefit, or detriment, no one knew.
Suddenly, with a further crack, the other two corpses waded in heavily for an attack, lamenting with every brittle stride. One lashed out with his club but William dropped skilfully and, with brute force, swept his leg in a wide circle. This cunning little manoeuvre literally smote their frail legs into cinders, whilst knocking both foes to the deck. Leaping to his feet as deftly as a fox, William swiftly buried his sword into the belly of the closest one. Exploding into dust, his remains upped and spiralled into the churning winds, dusting his ashes over the jungle.
As he watched those sparks carrying themselves through the bedlam of howling gusts, the other creature clasped tightly onto William’s leg. Even though this foul thing was unarmed, and its legs also severed, he still had his teeth, and was just about ready to partake in a savage bite. Before William could kick him off, one of the bullwhips ravelled itself tightly about his sword-wielding arm with a stinging whack. He was ensnared on both sides; his right leg being yanked in one direction, and his left arm being heaved in another.
William wasn’t sure what to do. Alongside that came the familiar sense of panic. But he ignored that thirst to yield and held fast, regardless of the consequences. That horrid skeleton was tugging with all his might, and was leaning back to such a degree that he was virtually reclining over the edge of the very cliff itself. Grinding his teeth in pain, William felt the clammy breath of that legless corpse as he went to chew on his calf. But there was no way he was going to let that happen. With the whip taut under tension, he thus sliced Thérn through it with a flick of his wrist. It carved through that tough leather as though it were string. Slipping frantically upon his bony soles, the skeleton tumbled over the ledge and into the dense jungle below. Suddenly, the wet sensation of tooth and tongue clasped around William’s calf; gripping tighter and tighter like an oily vice. Without wasting another second, William mustered his strength and sprung sideways with a twist. This sent the creature twirling into the air, and as he came toppling back down, the lad was already back on his feet and had slashed unmercifully through the air with a thrusting swing. Both halves of that demon’s torso spun in opposite directions to one another before inevitably taking to the winds in a puff of misty embers.
Panting with excitement, William gazed into the heavens; rejoicing within and thankful that the last of the undead had been slain. With a boastful flourish, Thérn readied itself by his side. But it wasn’t over yet.
�
��This is no storybook, boy!” Redmun suddenly sneered, as if he were a completely different person.
Discarding any response, William quickly readied himself when he saw Redmun dashing in for an attack. Displaying brutal conviction, he slashed at William with his steel, only to be foiled by Thérn. Swords scraped and scratched as they both, in turn, forced their weight against the other. Redmun then doled out a jarring kick into William’s gut, thereby knocking him back against the rocks. Before William could react, the man had already vaulted in with his knee and pinned him to the wall. No matter how hard he tried, William couldn’t budge. His adversary was digging his knee, with such jaw-grating pressure, deep into his sternum, that it made movement virtually impossible. He felt as though his every rib was on the verge of actually snapping. He struggled through every aching second to speak to the man; to attempt to reason with him somehow and implore him to stop. And yet it was no use. The pain was far too prevailing. Just then, Redmun nailed him across the jaw with the back of his fist. Then again with the other hand, thus leaving a stream of blood trickling from the boy’s nose. Shock clouded William’s mind. He couldn’t believe that Redmun was actually doing this to him. All he could ponder was, Why is he doing this?! amidst the mayhem, when he recalled him saying that he would not hold back in his efforts. Nevertheless, this was beyond savagery.
Understanding that this was no longer a game, William had no other choice but to put his full training into action. So, with what strength he had left from his struggle, he jammed his elbow hard into Redmun’s leg and barely slipped from his hold, only to have the man lash again with his blade so that their steel connected once more. This time the match was back on an even keel, and William’s gaze, stern.
The Other of One - Book One: The Lythiann Chronicles Page 42