As they walked through the trees, William kept somewhat to himself, elsewhere with his thoughts. Thoughts of his mission, of his lessons in Làn Chùrdal and, most importantly of all...of the Symphogram. Replaying endlessly in his mind were Redmun’s words from that day in the barn, “Once you realise what you’re fighting for...then it will happen.” For some reason, ever since William had set out from the glade, that was all he could think about. It was so cryptic that he wished he’d asked Redmun more about it while he’d had the chance. The notion even struck him to run back and ask. Just as he was about to, he saw the man taking wing some miles away in the south. He must’ve been jetting off on some personal errand, and so could be gone for hours, even days. William was too late; so it was down to his own initiative now. “What am I supposed to be fighting for? Why am I really doing all this? For what reason?” he questioned repetitively in his mind.
Obviously his initial cause was to rescue his family and friends, as well as those in the Grollo. But since he’d already realized this, surely that would’ve already made him one with the Wrythus; but that wasn’t how it was. There must be some other reason. Something overlooked.
More and more he pondered, considering every last possibility his logical mind could muster. Could it have had something to do with Thérn? Or, perhaps, a test of one’s self, like Redmun had suggested before? This made much sense to William. A test of strength or courage sounded viable. A trial of endurance maybe, or of sacrifice? Was that it? Was he fighting for something within himself, like bravery? It could’ve been any one of these things. Lost and unsure, he promised himself that he would try it all. All of these nobilities and more. What else could he do, given how little he actually knew? Either way, he would not know these theories to be true or not by simply presuming them. It would take a great deal more than that. It would require true action.
It didn’t take them all that long to find their way out of Làn Chùrdal, because William always believed that a journey back always goes quicker than a journey in. Throughout the entire trek, Khrum persisted in teasing The Head in view of his somewhat emotional, yet repressed, farewell towards Pew the Poppum earlier on.
“Ara, Crosco, are ya all right there, lad?” Khrum doted, as if consoling a youngling.
“Shut your mouth, leprechaun!” growled The Head. “I wasn’t getting emotional on account of that little ferret! It was because...because of...”
“Quick! Think o’ somethin’!” joked the leprechaun.
“I swear, if you don’t be quiet I will slap those whiskers right off your face!” Crosco threatened in a bind.
“Yeah? What’ll ya shlap me with? Your ears is it?” sniggered the leprechaun.
“Oh, hush down you two!” Icrick grouched. “We were all sad to leave Pew behind. Even you, Khrum.”
“Do ya see me denyin’ it?” the leprechaun admitted without shame. “That fluffy little monkey was the only bit o’ honest craìc around that godforsaken jungle.”
Scuttling up onto the Dullahan’s forearm, he then started pinching Crosco’s cheek, and playfully he spoke with puckered lips, “Aw, but nobody was as upset as Crosco here. I saw that tear in your eye, lad. That tremble on your lip.”
“Get off me, you little bog fly!” snapped The Head, when Khrum sprung onto Icrick’s shoulder with a chuckle. “It was the hay fever from that blasted jungle. Not tears of bloomin’ sadness! Rubbish!”
Just then, Icrick halted, and uttered in retrospect, “Come to think of it, it did look an awful lot like a genuine tear! Aw, Crosco, no shame in showing a little emotion every now and then. It does the heart good.”
At Icrick’s collaboration with his tease, the leprechaun howled with laughter. “Ho-ho, that it does, Grogoch lad! That it does, indeed! Oh, Crosco, if ya weren’t so serious, then this wouldn’t be as much fun! Fair dues ta ya, boyo.”
Funnily enough, the Dullahan was in fact rather upset about the Poppum, whilst for him to admit such a thing would be completely unheard of.
Falling into a hearty titter, Khrum and Icrick were then joined in by Ifcus and The Body, and soon they were all enjoying a good chuckle. All except for The Head, of course. If he only took himself less seriously, then he might not have been such an easy target. But he was pig-headed, and there was no saying otherwise.
“Bah, to hell with you lot,” he snarled. “Hay fever it was, and nothing more. Think what you wish.”
Glancing up at The Body, he then ordered, “And you! Pick up your pace...and quit your sniggering! And that goes for you too, Ifcus.”
Need I say, they couldn’t prevent their giggling. It was a merry little game in contrast to their usual talk of doom, and gloom, and serious issues. Perhaps you think they were being cruel towards the Dullahan? If so, you’ll be pleased to know that, in spite of him actually being the centre of their joke, The Head mostly ignored their ribbings, and always took it in his stride.
During this playful little trek of theirs, William otherwise remained on point, mentally suspended in the burdens of more crucial matters. Matters of the future; both near and far.
Before long they were peering over the far green land of Lythiann, aside that glistening waterfall. The fires of even skies were once again beginning to set upon their eastern road, a road which was yet to carry them further into darker realms of hardship. For young William’s noble alliance had indeed many more paths to tread. Veiled doors had yet to be opened to fresh encounters of camaraderie and discovery; of treachery and risk.
Alas, we can but wish upon the greatest of all hopes; that the righteous would somehow triumph throughout this long and desolate trail towards journey’s end. But how could such a thing prevail when it is so blatantly outrivaled by obstacles of such unyielding proportions? Can it be so? If yes, then can it be accomplished without the hardship of loss? Without pain, or without the forever taxing clasps of fear that we reluctantly entomb within ourselves? Or is that, in itself, to forgo everything which makes us human and so conjoins us with what is truly soulless?
Note to the Reader
First off, I’d like to say thank you for buying this copy of ‘The Other of One - Book One’. I really hope you enjoyed it.
I would be extremely grateful to you, the reader, if you would take 60 seconds out to rate this eBook on your site of purchase, or the equivalent. Maybe even write a sentence or two. It doesn’t have to be long. This request may seem negligible to some but, to me, it plays an absolutely critical role in me becoming the author that I’ve always aspired to be. Make it your jolly ol’ ‘good deed’ for the day...
Feel free to lend out this copy to whomever you will. Book Two will also be available on the Kindle store soon, so if you wish to continue alongside William on his journey into Lór, be sure to pick up your copy.
If you would like to find me online, you can do so by going to any of these sites (please ‘add’, ‘share’, ‘suggest’, ‘follow’ and ‘like’, when you get there):
www.brianburke.biz
www.twitter.com/theotherofone
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All the best,
Brian.
The Other of One - Book One: The Lythiann Chronicles Page 44