

### The Other of One

Book One

Brian G. Burke

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 Brian Burke

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Evolution. Ever since the beginning of creation there are portions of the physical being which, over the process of time, have adapted to the world around them. Science knows this as _evolution_.

Like life, there is also a particular art which has its own unique form of evolution. It has manifested itself alongside the coming of man. From its earliest existence, mankind itself has helped this art to evolve, and has aided in its harmonization for the oncoming changes of the world. Throughout this period, it has brought joy and sorrow to our hearts; inspired us when all hope was at a loss, and delivered to us a true means of self-expression.

Subconsciously, it delves deep into our souls and draws out feelings we would otherwise be happy to repress. We have elected its certain styles to represent the very pride and honour of our nations. Theatre has built performances based entirely around its impressions, whilst religion has summoned its purity to express our devotion to worship.

In itself, this ancient art is a living entity, so deeply immortal in its existence that it carries itself through the ages and beyond, never losing any of its potency. Era to era, century upon century.

The most magnificent aspect of all is its ability to makes us come in contact with our emotions, with our true selves. How it bellows so vibrantly during those times of triumph and accomplishment, blending in so seamlessly that all consciousness has no other choice but to give in to it and sail for greater plains. Likewise, it can guise itself so subtly that it's as if it isn't even there.

It is utilized as a symbol of strength, of glory, and of hope. It is one that tells many different tales.

It is the eternal power of Music.

—Brian Burke

Table of Contents

Chapter One - Home is Home

Chapter Two - Bylan's Detention

Chapter Three - Cursed by his Past

Chapter Four - The Sadness

Chapter Five - The Glogish Way

Chapter Six - A Familiar Face

Chapter Seven - Exploring the West

Chapter Eight - Horrors upon the Trail

Chapter Nine - Days into Dark

Chapter Ten - Twisty Cups

Chapter Eleven - Stronghold of Sin

Chapter Twelve - A Stranger's Realm

Chapter Thirteen - Secret of the Banádh

Chapter Fourteen - Insight to the Wrythus

Chapter Fifteen - The Duel

Note to the Reader

# \- Chapter One -

### Home is Home

Something other than he was walking in those woods. A bitter winter's night, beyond the twelfth stroke, is a dangerous time for a travelling cobbler to be wandering those elderly maples alone, regardless of how many times he'd done it before, or how skilful he thought he was with an oaken staff.

Children went missing around there, 'twas said, and who's to say that many an adult had not done so too, under the mistaken belief that they'd skipped town over an unpaid debt or to elope with a mystery lover? Who knows? Maybe they had. This time, however, it was different, and these were the bitter doubts that muddled our cobbler's mind when he heard those strange noises lurking all around him.

First they tramped, if somewhat innocuously. The cobbler was even comforted, initially, to think he wasn't the only one taking the old trail that night. It was only when they galloped, dog-like...no, ox-like...did he turn to survey. The paws stilled. The cobbler grew ever nervous. All the graver still when he peered _up_ into that wintry darkness, then through the trees, to see heavy puffs of frosted air panting back at him. The moon was clear enough to brighten those pale breaths before its nightly robes. Suddenly the shadows stirred, and two white dots stared right into the traveller's squirming soul with a baring of reddened teeth.

The cobbler's last shriek could be heard from the village inn, two and a quarter miles south...

* * *

It was the earliest years of the twentieth century, and the small village of Ballycongraggon lay just off the western headlands of Ireland. Vast changes and some few titles have befallen this village since it was first founded all those years ago. I myself can't help but feel somewhat upset when I think about what it has become _this_ day. What a crying shame that such rustic villages have become less common, and are otherwise being overthrown by horrible, smoggy places of industry and business. Very unfortunate indeed.

For now, I will refrain from discussing that, as it has no immediate relevance to this story which I am about to tell you.

Our tale revolves around a time when the wilds of Ballycongraggon flourished into the very deepest parts of the west. It was a place of special magnificence, a countryside teeming with nature in its fullest blossom. Orchards bloomed out in season, the rich fields were always ripe for the harvest, and the lakes were ever crowded with fish of all kinds. Miles of scattered woodland were nestled amongst the green hills and peaceful meadows. A simple lattice of stone walls and hedgerows then dwelt throughout the entire course of the distant countryside, giving it a truly rural feel.

You could but dream of how stunning it was, had you not known it, with its inlaying streams and magical rivers coursing through the body of land, like they themselves were acting as Ballycongraggon's own little veins of life.

In the north, the mountains towered high, scraping the clouds from the belly of the pure blue sky. When dusk came, their faces would darken behind the sunset to cast evening shadows down amongst the small village below. Then, as night closed in, the blinking stars would be out to bless the land while the moon spreads its teal-blue shimmer far across the hilltops. 'Twas a place that anybody could simply dream of living, in spite of how wild or how meek their personas may be.

Now, the word 'big' doesn't come into my description of Ballycongraggon because it was very, very small, compiled of the residences of only a few dozen families, most of whom lived on the crossroads. The road northward was called Dimpler's Way, which strayed off to the northern part of the country, then to other remote places. The western trail was called just that, 'The Western Trail,' and that led as far as the cliffs, where it stopped to gaze over the boundlessness of the perfect, blue sea. To the east was Baylor's Bothaireen, which travelled east after the big green hill, right past the last lake cottage. Finally, to the south, Old Heral's Walk wandered on, long past Fisher's Lake, and then eventually into Doolin. All of these roads met up perfectly in the midst of the cobbled town square of Ballycongraggon, right up to the stone monument itself, which was set in the exact heart of the town; a wonderfully crafted Celtic cross, sparsely garbed by ages of moss and ivy as it stood proudly upon a stepped pedestal.

Within this cosy little settlement of Ballycongraggon there lived an ever so small community of hearty townsfolk. Chiefly fishermen and farmers, they ambled around mostly by cart, High-Nelly, or by foot. One must bear in mind that the invention called the motorcar was a sight seldom seen, except for in the bigger cities of distant lands. And even then it was just the wealthier people who had the luxury of them. Such gadgets were never for the likes of the lucid Irish people. Their lives were simple, and they preferred it that way.

Everybody in the village knew each other very well, and coming into the later months, there was always a merry feeling about. All Hallows' Eve was always an especially anticipated occasion. Everyone would muster in the nearby fields and drink the finest ale, tell old stories, and dance around the blazing campfires. Merry music played, with sparks and laughter drifting joyously into the night. Children ran about all dressed up as different things and, when they went to bed, the revelries of the grown-ups would linger on until early the next morning.

Ballycongraggon was very famous for its storytellers, it so happens. Come the night before All Hallows' Eve, it was tradition for the families to congregate in each other's houses to hear the chilling ghost stories told by candlelight.

Well, those stories frightened the children to bits, so they did. But they were just tales, for the most part, so everyone was quite safe.

But Ballycongraggon has one particular legend of its own, which I think you should know about. 'Tis a blood-curdling myth of ghastly kidnappers, dark legends of a mysterious brotherhood who had terrible dealings far off in the north. Folk called them The Shadow's Guild. People used to say that the leader of this fraternity was a mean old man, clad entirely in black, with a frighteningly hideous porcelain mask which guised his true self. He was supposed a reclusive sort, from what the locals guessed. Nor did anybody ever learn his true name. They simply called him "Furìn the Vile," as that name possessed fiendishly miserable qualities. It was also simple enough to stick in the children's minds and make them shudder anytime they heard it.

As the story goes, every All Hallows' Eve this evil brotherhood would creep out in the dead of night to snatch all of the newborn children from under their parents' noses, then disappear without a trace. It was suggested that they did this as a warning to those who dared to oppose them, whilst others said that they did it with the intentions of eventually decreasing the population, and extinguishing any chances of rebellious legacies. Then, when the time was right, they'd overrun the village and claim it as their own. But as I said, those were just stories...

All the same, on occasion you might still hear the people of villages alike, telling some of the bolder children to be aware of the _Guild_ , should their tomfoolery ever get too much.

"Don't you be gettin' up ta no mischief!" they'd say, "Or the Shadows will have their eyes on you! Snatch you up before you could say _boo_!"

This may have worked on some of the younger children, but the older ones were well aware that there was very little truth behind the stories, if any. Still everyone, adults and all, enjoyed listening to these tales upon a crisp Hallows' eve, when the creatures were out and night had closed in. Without a yarn or two it just wouldn't have been the same, what with it being tradition and all; everyone huddled up, holding their piping hot mugs of sweet tea and warm lemonade as the stories unfurled.

So, now that you've gotten to know the village a little better, I think we should talk a little bit about the adventurer of this story. _Adventurer_? Now _that's_ a title that this person would never have imagined being branded with. Not in all of his wildest and most vivid of dreams. And there really is much to tell...

Away eastward, over the big green hill, through the Elder-grove wood and past the old moor, lay a splendid, sparkling lake where, at its edge, a tiny cottage hid. Charming as one might imagine, it was small and white, with a thatched roof and a tiny stone wall running all around it. Out front a quaint little garden grew, blooming with winter flowers. There it sat, all alone, peacefully away from the busyness of the village.

Within that cottage there lived a young mother and her son. Her name was Deirdre Muldoon, and her young, thirteen-year-old lad was called William.

They weren't the wealthiest family in the town. To tell the truth, they weren't well-to-do at all. William's mother kept food on the table and clothes on their backs by not working just one job but _two_ jobs. During the day she worked quite contentedly with her best friend, Mary, as a washerwoman. Down by Donnelly's stream was where they spent most of their days, and it was tough labour, to say the least. But they had a giggle to themselves as the days drew on, for big Mary was the bubbly, good-natured sort, who often coaxed out Deirdre's fine spirit with her clever antics and sayings.

At night, Deirdre was a barmaid in the local inn, The Ghost n' Calf. Four nights of the week she toiled in that inn, and while it may not have been quite as taxing as laundering, it remained very diligent and exhausting work. Poor Deirdre was always on her feet, and constantly kept going.

Sometimes William would drop by the inn for a few minutes on his way home. He always found it so amusing to watch the drunk folks carrying on, especially those who were trying to court. Funnily enough, the real fools (as he so put it) were always the ones who ended up walking out with the prettiest girls. William deemed this rather strange, as they were always acting like such toads towards them. Then again, what did _he_ know about any of that stuff really? Perhaps it was what those ladies were after.

Aside from all that hustle 'n' bustle, Deirdre was a caring, kind-hearted mother, who loved William beyond all boundaries. She always tried her very best to put him before all else in her otherwise busy life.

As for Conor Muldoon, William's father, he moved around quite a lot on business as a travelling cobbler. Whenever he returned from a trip he would never fail to bring home a bunch of the nicest flowers for Deirdre, along with a picture book of some sort for William, even though they couldn't really afford it. Deirdre often teased him about this, saying he must've been up to no good on the road, and that it was a gesture of guilt. But he knew she was only messing, so it was no harm done. Besides, he loved his wife and only son very much.

One night years ago, in midwinter, Conor had picked up and left on business, and was never heard from again. His hat and carry-case were found in a tatter, speckled in blood, just north of Ballycongraggon. They were tangled in the branches of a gooseberry bush just shy of a maple wood near Dimpler's way. William was little more than a toddler when it happened. Such a spell ago that he could barely remember. As for Deirdre, she could recall it painfully well, and was absolutely heartbroken because of it.

She endured many sleepless nights and searched for many months, with the help of some close friends, for her lost husband. Not before long, she fell ill from stress, thus stirring some concern amongst the villagers.

One grey afternoon, a small group of friends came to her house, all with their caps in hand. They pleaded with her, for the sake of her health and family, to give up her search. Eventually, exhausted as she was, she had no choice but to do just that, for she came to understand that she'd been neglecting William (unintentionally, you realise), and she didn't want to abandon him any longer.

Alas, much to the Muldoon's dismay, Conor was declared 'at rest;' a hardship which fell heavily upon everyone. Neither Deirdre nor William had ever forgotten Conor's love. Nor did they let their love for him subside. But the boy...he never cried.

A story to thrum the heartstrings, no doubt. Specially when we consider how much we want our lives to turn out like those faerie tales of old, all perfect and cheery, William included. But the truth is, buried beneath the innocence of the world, no matter how much of it there is, no matter how pure it may be, reality will ever lurk. There is no escaping it. And where there is that, there is cruelty. But in cruelty, a pearl of hope can often grow.

The only possessions left to remember Conor by were some clothes, his rocking chair by the fire, his second pipe, and a set of nickel-plated Schofield pistols which he kept in a wooden case on top of his wardrobe. As a precaution he kept it locked up, lest William should ever sniff them out, which he did, once or twice, without his father knowing. He even fired one of them once; straight through the crotch of a pair of long johns on his neighbour's clothesline, which William never owned up to.

Those pistols were very precious to Conor, having belonged to his own father before him, who had brought them back from America when he was there all those years ago in 1880. The grips were of rosewood, while the guns themselves were customized to fire automatically, round after round, due to a small coiling mechanism mounted on the side, beneath the hammer. It was because of this feature that they were considered a set of a kind, and worth a handsome sum of money. Given their sentiment, there was no chance Deirdre would ever consider such a greedy notion. That's not to say she relished the idea of having such dangerous items laying about the house, either. It was just the idea of knowing that they were held so dear by Conor, in memory of his own father, that she never wanted to let them out of her family. Therefore, selling them was simply not up for debate. Not even if they were forced to eat muck, and shelter out in the woods.

Despite his tough past, William was a relatively happy and curious little rascal and, moreover, quite charming at times. In some ways he was also very intelligent, and very well-spoken, too...when he felt the need to do so, that is. A scrawny enough lad he was; not very tall, with longish brown hair and friendly blue eyes. He had an unusual attitude about him too, so you know.

You see, he was reasonably confident in whatever he did (apart from his studies, which I will get to later), but he never cared much for the likes of stature or popularity. Not that the rest of the people knew of, at least. This was considered quite odd, because one could only assume that any form of independence at such a young age, whether it be innocent or intended, would naturally come package 'n' parcel with some form of leadership qualities. Not with William, I'll have you know. He kept to himself mostly, and he preferred it so. Always did.

Young Muldoon did have _some_ friends of his own age but no _real_ friends, as far as he knew. Just a few quiet chaps to make small talk and trade the odd conker with at school. When it came to the livelier lads, he felt like something of an outsider, because they were more inclined to get along better in their own circles than with him. Not in a cold way, exactly. Not when it came to him, at least, as he was a likeable chap, and they often told him so. It's just...they had their own little cliques, which was fair enough, seeing as he didn't really care about trying to fit in anyhow. Nor were any of the other things terribly important to him, such as following the more popular lads around just because it was what the less popular ones used to do. He couldn't help feeling that there was a bit of disloyalty amongst that sort in particular. They were ever gossiping behind each other's backs, trying to gain the favouritism of those whom they idolized the most, and so on. Sheep, with no minds of their own. Judgmental and often presumptive. Quick to spread a rumour without trial. That sort. It was all very two-faced and silly, he thought. One second they'd be slagging some poor fellow off behind his back or dropping snide remarks, then, not two minutes later, they'd be off being all pally with him like never a bad word was said. Unfair carry on, to put it mildly. Especially when they weren't around to defend themselves. And the most amusing part of this for William—if any portion could indeed be deemed as 'amusing'—was how they always thought they were getting away with it. Maybe they were, with some. But not with young Muldoon, no. He could always see through their bitter tricks like old net curtains.

When it came to William himself, he was mostly very loyal, very courteous, generous, and very set in his ways. He treated everyone exactly the way they deserved to be treated. It was because of this that he didn't think he would've been cut out for that toadyish way of life. It just wasn't for him. If it was the other children's wont, then so be it. 'Off with them,' that was his attitude. So long as it didn't rub off on him...

Whenever they went off about their sports and marbles, he went off about his reading and, sometimes, daydreaming. He needed to believe, young William, for sanity's sake, that there was more to life than just dribbling a ball or flicking glass pebbles about. Indeed, something was missing in his life. Purpose...

Day to day he otherwise loved his own little comforting pleasures. Be it going for a stroll with the farmer's dogs, playing slingshot (which he was terribly accurate at, by the way), or else relaxing with a tasty jar of buttermilk. He simply adored his own company above any which could be granted by his peers, because again, he was left to his own thoughts. However, if any task ever called for his absolute attention, he would be all over it like bees to honey.

He used to love exploring strange places, too. Most of the time he ended up getting into all sorts of trouble with the older folk, but it was all very harmless. The villagers adored him, don't you know, despite his boyish antics. The old ladies even had a persistent habit of pinching his cheeks and ruffling his hair whenever they saw him. He often got a farthing, too, for carrying their groceries to their houses and feeding their animals. William certainly would've done it for free, because it gave him a chance to get out and about, but they insisted on it nonetheless.

Another of his most favourite pastimes was getting up before the birds to feel the westerly winds blowing in from the ocean. He could enjoy the winds best upon the crest of the big green hill near the town. A fine stroll in itself, especially at that time of the morn, but worth it. He'd just sit there, waiting. Then, before long, the smell of fresh heather would carry through the westerly breeze, right up into his nostrils. William treasured that feeling most. Its mild sensation and gentle aroma whisked his mind off into different worlds and, like clockwork, it would tell him that the sun was about to rise behind him. He would then turn eastward to see the birds taking off from the forest, after which he'd witness the sun rising through the trees. This was a sight he deemed ever so free and wonderful, nor did it ever lose its novelty.

Every one of these little pleasures were all well and good. But as far back as he could recall, nothing—and I mean _nothing—_ enthralled William more than the reading of Irish lore, and the sound of good music. Every day after school he would be first out of the classroom and through the playground gate. He knew the faster he got home, the sooner it would be that he could start reading about his favourite stories (the tales of Cùchulainn, and the Fianna, were two of his favourites).

To get home, he took this special shortcut which he'd discovered through his explorations. He'd dash home through it as fast as he could; sometimes with his jacket only half on over one shoulder. He never took much care, nor did it really bother him. His bag was always left open, and it bounced up and down, with pencils and erasers flying out here and there. The young fellow usually happened upon items which he had dropped the previous day, which he considered a lucky omen.

"Be sure to close that bag o' yours before you come home!" his mother used to say. "And don't run so fast, William Muldoon! I can't afford to be buying you new toppers and pencils every day o' the week! It'd almost be cheaper to have aul' Mattie's jarvey pick you up outside the school every day. And you know how fond o' counting the shillings _he_ is! Sense the tone, lad!"

It wasn't much of a scolding, because she couldn't help but smile whenever she said it.

As was to be expected, William promised her every day that he would take more care. But, time after time, he would do the exact same thing: The bell would ring, he'd spring out from his desk, dart across the yard, and dash off onto that old shortcut trail, running faster than ever he could. Down the big green hill he'd go, past Mr. O'Connell's field, over the old moor, and then through the Elder-grove. He simply couldn't contain his excitement...he had to run.

Whenever he got tired of reading—which was seldom—he would head over to his neighbour, Mr. O'Connell, and listen to the phonograph. The farmer had the only one in the village, and it was quite an attraction to the other locals if there was ever a party on. Mr. O'Connell didn't mind folks listening to it, though, because he was a cheerful man, and one of William's closest friends, too.

His music collection was absolutely massive; with his little living room crammed with shelf upon shelf of records. He had all of the greats, and every piece that was ever composed by them. There was Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, Vivaldi, Haydn, Chopin, and many, many other funny names in that collection. It was very impressive to see.

William could lose himself for hours in their music, and often he did just that, pondering the tales behind the symphonies. Each and every time, those same pieces had different stories to tell, depending on William's mood that day. His mind would simply drift away until his consciousness eventually carried him back to the falling of twilight and a grumbling belly, then off home he'd trot for a feed and a fine rest.

However...

One day something happened to William on that homeward trail. Something so unexpected and so impossibly wonderful that even he himself could hardly believe it.

So now, if you're sitting comfortably, all settled in your favourite chair, let me tell you what happened to our young William Muldoon.

# \- Chapter Two -

### Bylan's Detention

The church bells chimed on a dull Friday's eve in October. It was icy and brisk, and a thick blanket of mist lingered over the hills of the old countryside. Just beyond the cobbled streets of the town square was the old school.

Of gothic structure, it bore cold, granite brick. The grounds were of two wooden prefabs with the tiny chapel across the yard. It was named St. Mathew's School for Boys, and our young William had just finished talking to Mrs McGrainne and was on his way to a dreadfully boring Latin lesson.

Mrs McGrainne was William's history teacher, and was his most favourite teacher at that. A thoughtful old woman with frizzy grey hair and glasses as thick as jam jars, she always told the most amazing stories of warriors and kings; of great creatures and magical lands. The children would sit there, chins plonked on their arms, as quiet as mice as she told her tales. And when she finished, they'd all yawn and stretch, happy and fulfilled.

That morning, she'd lent William one of her old books. It was blandly named, _Irish Myths and Folklore_ , within which was a story about an evil imp known as the Pooka.

(Now, you could also call them 'Faeries,' but that often leads to the misconception of tiny critters sporting spangled wings, fluttering about the place all happy and nice, whereas that isn't necessarily always the case. Not with the Faeries of Ireland, at least, the likes of whom come in many different shapes; some you would never deem likely. For the sake of fallacy, we will refer to them by their other common title, which is _imp_ , because this tends to darken the image that one might have, and rightly so.)

Incidentally, they happened to be learning about this particular imp in class that same day, and William had immediately taken a keen interest in it. This was how the book described him:

"Cold hearted and nothing on his mind other than an undiluted lust for chaos, the Pooka was the most feared imp in all of ancient Ireland.

As well as his fear-mongering, he has been known to feed upon the souls of those who were once good, invading them and spellbinding them through the use of his demonic minions, spirits and devils, who serve their master well. These evil ones offered their entranced hosts up to him freely; sometimes even as sustenance, should he ever crave it, which was, unfortunately, all too often.

Otherwise their job was to transport the Pooka, from place to place as he saw fit, like work horses, and often in a conveyance of his own liking, be it a carriage or a trap, boat or winged, depending entirely upon his whim.

This fiend could make your hair turn white and your skin come alive with goose bumps had you seen him. Thank your lucky stars that that day will never come..."

Now you can see why William was so enthralled by this character, like any other lad his age would be.

In any case, William already had that book somewhere in his collection, although he hadn't previously read it, as he had so many others to get through. His 'pile of shame,' he called it. And yet he didn't wish to seem uncouth by declining his teacher's kind gesture, either. Graciously he accepted her token with a thanks and a smile.

Little William was never much good at the other stuff. To be honest, he _despised_ school otherwise. He never saw himself amounting to much, you see. Maybe working for a farmer, or for the local greengrocer; that would see him through life just grand until something better comes along, he thought. And as far as he was concerned, _anything_ would be better than school. His skin simply crawled at the idea of equations and timetables, or adjectives and politics.

The sciences, I suppose, proved _something_ of interest to William, on occasion. A crutch, so to speak. Only because he had a burning disliking towards feeling cheated, in that he was forever itching to ask why there was always a huge deal of contrast between his scientific studies and the religious studies which he'd sat through during his junior years at that same school. "Which was it?" he pondered. "Which came first? God? Or was it science? Does heaven even exist at all? Who, or what, really created space 'n' that?" He was a curious chap, but it was more a one-sided curiosity. He had a mistrust in religion, which likely had more to do with his father's unjustly death than he would otherwise care to admit. In the end, he just kept his taboo theories to himself, lest news should travel home and offend his dear mother, who was already giving him a reasonably devout upbringing as it was. Asking such heathenish questions in an esteemed Catholic school like St. Mathew's would have only resulted in one consequence anyhow; punishment. So where was the point in raising his hand when he knew he wasn't going to get an answer, just a sound thrashing? " _Humph_ , a holy school named St. Mathew's that teaches its pupils about the science of all things. Just odd!" he often remarked, fairly pleased at himself for having picked up on it when nobody else had.

In all, he would've been perfectly content to just go in for Mrs. McGrainne's class and be on his merry way.

He tried that once; to skip off. The pup. Only to be caught by the scruff of the neck before he could even reach the front gate. Caught by 'Old Misery-Guts' himself...Mr. Bylan Blackhead.

Blackhead was William's maths professor, and also the vice principal at St. Mathew's. To this day, I have never heard of such a horrible-sounding teacher.

His teeth were few and stained brown from smoking his long black pipe, and his fingers were dirty and thin. You couldn't even begin to imagine the feeling of these cold, bony digits grabbing your neck when you did not expect it. Nasty. Very nasty indeed. A highbrow yet lonesome individual, he had a cruel manner nobody honestly cared for. Most of the other teachers even dreaded his presence, bar Ms. Cleaver, who was just as dreadful, if not worse. Lucky enough for William, he didn't have _her_ for any of his classes.

Blackhead's face was scrawny and pale, with the baggy sacks under his eyes stretching down to the very length of his thin, aquiline nose. To top it all off, his oily, black hair was slicked back in such a way that it gave the impression of two shadowy horns poking out the rear of his head. But the worst thing about him was this long, unsharpened pencil which he carried around. I wish I could say that he used it for its intended purpose, but unfortunately, his students were not that lucky. His 'friend,' he used to call it, and he was never afraid to clatter you over the knuckles with it if you ever stepped out of line. And he would continue to whack and slap you with it until the pencil was stained red, and your bloodied hands shaking. Yes, Old Bylan was the bane of William's life for many a year in that school. Granted, that's slightly beside the point for now.

So, after a laborious and quite dreary afternoon of Latin, the five o'clock bell finally rang. Breathing a sigh of delight, William jumped from his seat and legged it out of the classroom door. He just couldn't wait to get home and out of that boring old uniform—a loose pair of grey socks, old brown brogues, long baggy shorts in an awfully dull shade of grey, and a wrinkled old jumper with a fat, striped tie. He never even gave his teacher (Ms. Leary, his Latin teacher) the chance to give out the homework for that weekend. But she yelled it after him regardless, with a wave of her fist as his footsteps disappeared down the long corridor.

"Read Chapter Eighteen, and do questions one to thirty at the end! And don't run out o' my class like that again, ya little maggot, or there'll be lines! _Lots_ o' them!"

Not taking a blind bit of notice, William rushed through the large green doors of the main hall and darted across the playground as fast as his legs would go.

On the grounds ahead of him, near the old school chapel, was a small gathering of pigeons. They were feeding upon crumbs and bits of loose bread which had strayed from the litter collection at lunch time. Yelling out, William dashed through them, making them flap into the air in every direction; releasing a bombardment of crumbs and droppings to the tarmac below. He laughed heartily as he watched them taking to the steeple, when suddenly, he heard a shuddering, throat-clasping scream.

"What do you think you're doing?!" was shouted from a prefab door across the way.

Yes, that's right. It was Old Misery-Guts himself, standing there in his thin black suit, with a pointer in hand. William stuck like a fly in glue when he heard him. He didn't even have to look to know who it was, for he knew that foul voice only too well.

"I said, what are you _doing_?!" demanded Mr. Blackhead a second time, smacking the pointer off the prefab wall with a muscle-tightening crack.

William threw his eyes upward with a silent sigh. He was indeed fully aware of what was on Blackhead's mind, thus bracing himself for the lecture which he was undoubtedly about to receive.

"Did you not hear me, boy?!" growled Misery-Guts, who was now becoming very agitated and rather purple for his ghostly complexion.

Stomping out from the door, he made for the lad, and with every step of his old black brogues it tore a splint in William's nerves. Any boy at St. Mathew's, beefy or frail, would have cringed at the familiarity of that very sound. Not just he...

"Yes, sir?" William asked, fixing himself upright.

"Don't you 'Yes, sir' me! You have quite the habit of leaving class before the other boys, don't you? Don't think I haven't noticed, because I have! Do you think you are more important than everybody else in this school that you always have to be the first to leave?!"

At a loss for words, William turned his eyes downward. What was the point in him saying anything really? Blackhead was never very fond of him, don't you know. Nor was William extremely fond of Blackhead. And yet he never made his feelings known, and he always did as Misery-Guts asked, never once spitting out complaint.

Still, the revolting old blight always tried his hardest to mock and berate the poor little fellow, endeavouring to make his life harder than it already was. He was a cruel piece of work, I can tell you.

"Should I go back to class, sir?" William asked, trying to cooperate.

"Don't you pull that innocent little student routine with me! I can see right through you!" snapped Blackhead, with a string of dribble oozing down his chin. "Though I am hardly surprised! One could only expect this from someone who was raised by such an incompetent, sorry state of a woman...trying to get your own way all the time! No respect for those who rightly deserve it!"

William looked up at Mr. Blackhead, who was now standing skinny and tall before him. It upset him immensely to think that someone so much older than he, and supposedly more mature, could take such an unfair stab at somebody's family. Contrary to that, it was also making him very angry, although he managed to repress it.

"Oh, yesss!" hissed Misery-Guts, displaying a grim smirk.

He saw how his little mind games were having an effect on William, so he continued to twist the dagger.

"I have seen her working in that establishment late at night, on my walks home. All the men in there, _ogling_ at her! And she does nothing more but encourage their filthy thoughts! She is scum-ridden _filth_ in my opinion! No more than yourself! Such a shame your father had to leave. Maybe he could have put some proper manners in you! On second thought, maybe he is better off six...feet...under! Who'd want an embarrassment of a son like you, anyway!"

William could hear his teeth grinding through his ears and his fists trembled tightly, clasping with the desire for one swift thump straight into Blackhead's stupid eye. Yet he still dared not look at him. For, despite his inner rage, he could also feel his lip quivering and his eyes glazing.

"Well?!" barked Mr. Blackhead. "Do you not have something to say for yourself?"

"The bell rang, sir. I thought class had ended—"

"NO BACKCHAT!" screamed Mr. Blackhead, bending over to meet William eye to eye. "You know per-fect-ly well that home assignments are given out _after_ the bell rings, so don't give me that codswallop!"

Then William implored, "I'm so sorry, sir. It won't happen again. I promise!"

"Oh, I know it won't. Because if it does, I will be sure you get exactly what is coming to you! Do I make myself per-fect-ly clear?!"

Reaching inside his breast pocket, Blackhead flicked out his long, orange pencil. It was all twisted and chewed. He then pressed it hard against the end of William's nose.

"Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!" the lad said apologetically.

Holding his breath, he hoped that Blackhead would leave it at that and just get lost. After all, the last thing William wanted to do was get cross and say something foolish. That would've only meant punishment, leading to nothing other than his poor mother's disappointment, which was not what he wanted at all. She had enough to deal with without being dragged in for a meeting with Blackhead over William's 'unacceptable behaviour.'

Besides, he knew that the things Mr. Blackhead had said about her were false, because he had often gone to watch her working, as you know. The innkeeper, Don Molloy, didn't mind him visiting, and while he was there, William noticed those cheeky male reactions which Misery-Guts was referring to. It was all completely harmless, of course. She was more put out by it than anything. But she gave back as good as she got and worked away regardless, without any real bother. Anyway, what does ol' Misery-Guts _really_ know about me or my family, for that matter? thought William. Even so, I think you can appreciate why he found Blackhead's words very unfair.

"Now go back to your classroom, and remain there until I say it is okay for you to leave!" ordered Misery-Guts.

He turned, and the long tails of his old suit jacket flew behind him in the gust of the day's old gloom; a day which managed to personify the very essence of Blackhead's cold-blooded heart. William watched his insect-like legs carrying him, with long strides, back to the prefab. In the window, he noticed some faces quickly vanishing upon his return. The children, it seemed, were watching the lecture from inside (as even William himself had done, many times before). Usually they'd heckle and jeer, but not this time. This time they said nothing. It was almost as if they knew Misery-Guts had taken his words too far, and all they could do was watch poor William with sympathy.

Everything as it was, he chose not to take Blackhead's words to heart. It wasn't the first time he gave out to him, and it sure wasn't going to be the last. Therefore, he remained strong—a quality clearly inherited from his highly esteemed and tenacious mother—fixed the bag on his shoulders, picked up his cheer, and strolled confidently back to his classroom.

* * *

The day pressed on, and William waited in that cold, empty classroom for nearly an hour before Misery-Guts finally decided to show his face. By that stage, William had already melted back into his dreams of myths and music, so he was not altogether paying attention to Mr. Blackhead _or_ his words.

"Well now, leaving before home assignments, was it? Filthy little rat-boy!" He frowned with an ugly leer. "I'd keep you here for the rest of the evening if I had my way, but principal needs to close up for the night. Consider yourself lucky! But before you leave... _boy_...you must remember that Mr. Clack won't be principal forever, and I am next in line! And when that happens, there'll be a lot of changes around here! You no-good little brats won't know what hit you! Now push off! Home with you!"

Fair dues to William; he'd already predicted during his solitary hour that Misery-Guts would try and come up with something hurtful to say, so he'd prepared himself to keep his mouth shut and simply _not_ listen. All he heard was that it was time to go home.

Standing out from his seat, in a mannerly, yet meekly unruly fashion, he grabbed his bag and walked quietly towards the door beside Mr. Blackhead. Before he could reach it, he felt five scrawny fingers clasping round his arm.

"I'm watching you, lad...and don't you forget that!" growled Blackhead, looking down past his long nose at William.

Now, what William meant to say next was, "Yes, Mr. Blackhead, sir!" like any _sane_ student would do. But, don't you know, he managed to make a proper muck of it!

"Yes, Misery-Blackhe—" He faltered when shock paralyzed him.

Blackhead's eyes whipped open to a burning rage, and William couldn't believe that he'd made such a stupid mistake.

"I m-m-mean, Miser-M-Mr. Blackhead, s-s-sir!"

Just at that crucial moment, the principal stepped in. He was a small, round man, well dressed in three-piece attire, bald, with glasses, and a moustache as thick as a broom. He must've been doing the rounds, locking up the classrooms for the weekend, much to young William's relief.

" _Bylan!_ " he snapped, in his traditional squeaky tone. "Take your hands off the boy this instant! We do not tolerate corporal punishment here at St. Mathew's! We never have, and we never will! You know this! Now, be on your way, lad!"

Taking heed, William slipped from Blackhead's grasp and ran so fast to the main door that he couldn't even remember passing down the long, narrow corridor.

"That still doesn't give you reason to run in my halls, either, Mr. Muldoon!" the principal called out.

Like before, William flung the doors open and sped across the yard. Before he knew it he was already past the town square, and well on his way over the big green hill. The evening was getting on; birds were flocking home for the coming of night, and William's breath was in plain sight before his eyes. Still, he'd rather be out in the cold than in a classroom with just grumpy old Misery-Guts for company. I must say, he was quite relieved to get out of _that_ situation, and he couldn't get out of it fast enough, either...

With a loud " _Woohoo!_ " he ran full-steam down the hill, and jumped as high as he could to make the bottom. This led him into a harmless tumbling bump, but up he jumped, as nimble as ever, and off he went again towards Mr. O'Connell's stone wall.

It was a custom of William's to try and clear this wall as often as he could. At the end of the week, he would add up his score and try to beat it again the following week. It was a test more than anything, to see what he was made of.

With a lift in pace and his head crouched to a charge, William leapt fearlessly into the air and over the wall. It mightn't surprise you to learn that he was very deft and unusually quick, and he cleared the jump without any trouble. He was very deft, indeed. You could not but agree, had you only seen the height of the wall compared to his small stature. Over he went and down he landed, and there was the farmer himself, standing stoutly at the backdoor, with his chubby thumbs in his braces, puffing on his pipe.

"How ya doin' there, young William?" He laughed. "Off to read some more o' your stories are ya?"

"You got that right! How's things, Mr. O'Connell?!" shouted William with a wave as he sped by. "It's Friday after all! Oh, and I'll see you tomorrow and give you a hand with them chickens, too! Three to the market and six to Ms. Ríordan's coop, am I right?"

"Right ya are, young Muldoon! See ya 'round eleven-ish, say! Should be back from musterin' by then. Enjoy your readin' now!" said Mr. O' Connell with a smile.

The farmer guffawed and waved again till he became but a small, fat figure in the distance.

William was near the Elder-grove wood by then, and just beyond it was the old moor, with his small, warm cottage thereafter. He was nearly home.

Or so he thought.

# \- Chapter Three -

### Cursed by his Past

William had reached the edge of the Elder-grove wood and just in time too, for lumpy black clouds were starting to gather overhead, and spits of icy rain began falling in his direction. It started out mildly at first. William wasn't even certain if it was raining or not. Soon enough it came clattering down, without any sure sign of letting up. The guts of those grim clouds were groaning ravenously, as swift flashes struck at them from behind. Into the woods William dashed, seeking shelter from the storm. How dim it was in the dreary light. Dim, and retaining the damp, familiar scent of forest vegetation.

Once below the bare canopy of oaks, he remembered that he had one of those sewn-in ponchos buttoned into the rear of his backpack. It never appealed to him all that much to actually wear it. To be honest, he thought it looked slightly disconcerting and silly. But the storm was brewing up to be quite bad, and nobody was around to catch him wearing it, so he quickly began unpacking it from its compartment.

"Lousy ol' winter weather!" he grumbled. "Why can't we ever get a bit o' good sunshine 'round this time?"

Just then he heard something, a whinging, as though someone was sobbing nearby. For a second or two he went still, his eyes darting left to right, listening intently. Nothing could be heard outside the swaying of trees and the muffled thunder from afar.

"Humph! Just my imagination." He smiled, shaking his head, and proceeded to unpack his poncho.

Imagination or not, he found himself rooting quicker this time around. Suddenly it happened _again_ , only this time it was louder. It wailed and wailed, without question.

"That's it...I'm gone!" he shrieked. Leaving his poncho half dangling out, he started for home in record time.

Not once did he dare glance back, for the bawling didn't let up, and seemed now to be _following_ close behind him. Outside, the clouds grew heavier and more ominous. Closing in angrier than William had ever seen before, they roiled themselves into a whirlpool of demonic shapes, and the trees broke into a much more violent sway.

Young William couldn't contain his panting or his whimpering; that crying was far too morbid and terrifying to ignore. In great bounds he bolted, over mossy tree stumps and felled trunks, when, just up ahead, he spotted the opening of the wood. Not far beyond was the old moor, and the cottage soon after. He wanted to sigh with relief and slow down, but he wasn't out of the woods just yet, so to speak.

Suddenly, the moaning stopped completely.

It came to such a hasty finish that it was like someone had just silenced it with a thump.

Not only that, but the wind had also died down, and the trees stopped rocking, too.

It was truly bizarre; as though something had put a spell upon time itself.

Deep quietness reigned, and William slowed into a jog, only to soon stop completely in wonder. Everything appeared outlandishly still, making him feel nauseously uneasy. Not all was stagnant, however, as the quiet flashes were still raiding the clouds. Yet they were sustaining longer than usual before eventually dwindling. Likewise, they fulgurated with a reddish colour one second, then a kind of greenish colour the next. It was truly unusual. William dared not dawdle, so he kept walking briskly.

Trudging on, he curiously surveyed the trees while asking himself what was going on. By then he was nearly at the edge of the forest. He finally gathered the courage to stop and look behind him, to try and spot the cause of that dreadful weeping...but not a soul was around. Just a deep surrounding of forest trunks.

With that, William turned back and started to move, when all of a sudden...it _struck_! The storm returned with a cracking boom, and a flash of green lightning buried itself into the ground just feet behind him. That hateful tempest crashed louder than ever. A gigantic ripple of wind rushed past his feet, sending leaves and pine needles spouting up with a raging torrent. Then he saw it, the poor fellow...he saw it...

Before his very eyes was a gaunt, old woman. Draped in dark woollen rags, she screeched miserably as she tried to reach at poor William with her long, grubby fingers. Her eyes were as black as beetles, and such were the tears that dribbled down her sallow cheeks. Thin was her hair as it haloed her scalp by the failing light which, in turn, shadowed her disgustingly wicked face.

"The curse has been placed!" she moaned, ghostly and old. "His spell has been set!"

Scrambling with fright, William's legs flailed into retreat. Little did he know, two branch-like claws were jutting up from the ground behind him, very close to where the bolt had struck. Suddenly, as if brewing with some temporary life which had been channelled through that very bolt, the branches clasped onto William's ankles before he could make a break for it, and sent him tumbling onto his back, whereupon he grazed his forehead slightly upon a small rock. He was lucky that he didn't crack his head off it altogether.

Throwing up his arms, he shielded his face in terror as the witch hobbled closer, wailing relentlessly with her arms reaching out. She moved in an ugly, awkward manner, like her legs were beyond the point of fragility and about to completely collapse. Nearer she staggered, upon every bellow of ferocious thunder, while William was yelling as loud as he could, with his arms fretfully defending his horror-filled face.

"The curse has been placed!" she bawled again and again, when the unthinkable happened.

In his hysterics, William glanced down at the entanglement of branches to see two searing red eyes emerging from beneath the leaves, with roots curling over them like hair. Suddenly the claws yanked him, by the feet, under the muddy earth. And before he knew it he was zooming, legs first, down a dark, mucky under-slide.

How wet, and slimy, and disgusting it was. William's bellowing echoed back at him as he was whisked left, down, up and right through the tunnel. Funnily enough, after the initial shock of falling through the forest floor, it seemed that William—being as curiously adventurous as he was—unexpectedly _enjoyed_ the spin. But the mystery of what actually lay ahead was still very disheartening.

The slide wasn't letting up, and he felt like he had been travelling very far on a downward slope, making him feel sick to the stomach. Eventually, in one tremendous dip, he slid down the sludgy slide towards a dimly lit opening. The tunnel then opened out and, through a second of silence, he fell with a loud puff 'n' snap into a large cushion of dry leaves and twigs. Problematic as this was in itself, he also managed to get a mouthful of leaves upon the crash landing, which he spat out immediately with disgust.

Once he was done picking bits out of his teeth he stayed perfectly quiet, for fear of being pursued by the old woman. Quietness played in the air, then moments drifted by, and William was truly alone. Since there appeared to be no sign of a pursuit, he began to move again.

"Great!" He coughed, all tangled up in bits of root and branch. "How am I supposed to get out o' _this_ one?!"

Sitting on the edge of the compost mound, he had a quick glance around.

First thing he noticed was that it was freezing down there, and there was also very little light to go by. But there was enough that, all along the walls beside him, he could see different types of markings. They were odd, swirling designs of a Celtic fashion. What they meant, he had no idea.

Then, "Oh, I do say," said a sudden voice from the shadows.

With that, William flung his head back into the twigs and went as still as a rag doll.

"I was expecting someone a little older than you!" said the voice. "Oh well, she knows what she's talking about. I'm in no position to question _her_ judgment!"

"Wh-Who's there?" William stuttered, realising he'd been spotted.

Then, in peeping out, he noticed that some light had curiously arrived at the coming of that strange voice. Also, up ahead, he could see a tunnel of some sort. Not a particularly high tunnel, nor exceptionally wide. Actually, William didn't expect that he would've been able to stand upright at all, if he tried. That is, if he were so inclined, and not trying to stay hidden from whatever it was that was speaking to him.

"My name is Icrick," the voice uttered again.

This time a figure became exposed in the corner by the light of an oil lantern which he was holding. Even though the tunnel now shined, the figure somehow appeared to manifest from nothingness moments later. William peeped out from his leafy nest to see the strangest-looking chap, to say the very least. He was odd in shape, and not very human-like at all.

After eyeing him up for an instant, William had the odd sense that the creature wasn't threatening, although a creature it definitely was. That's not to say he wasn't frightened, because he wasn't sure what to expect from this peculiar fellow.

The chap's hairy face was broad and kind, though no shoo-in for any beauty contest was he. His arms and legs were scrawny, and on the end of his nose lived a large wart. Above his fat jowls were his fat lips, with two of his bottom teeth sticking out to meet his snout, and his tiny, round eyes were welcoming enough. His smile was long too, and he was covered from head to toe in mousy-brown hair. Then, sprouting up from his forehead, were two tiny horns. This was all rather pleasant in contrast to his odour, which was on the opposite side of the scale altogether. It was hardly surprising, after all, given how his scruffy fur was entangled with pieces of old twigs and dried muck.

Knowing that he'd clearly been discovered, William crawled out from the mound of foliage, and again he stuttered, "W-What—"

"What am I?" chuckled Icrick. "Why, I am what you folks would call a Grogoch! I would have expected _you_ to know that, young William."

How the creature knew William's name was indeed a mystery. But there were far deeper questions on the boy's mind at that point in time.

"A Grogoch?" he replied, with his face held stiff. "You mean like the imp I've read about in some o' my books?! Nah! You _can't_ be!"

"Oh, but I am!" the Grogoch said stoutly, when William continued to quote what little he knew about those creatures.

"The one who helps with people's crops, without payment, except for a bucket o' cream?! The one who is full o' good intentions, but always ends up getting under people's feet?! The one that—"

"Yes, yes! All that!" interrupted the Grogoch, with an awkward twitch in his eye. "So, you _did_ hear about us before?"

"Yes, I've hear-...I mean...I've _read_ about you before," said the boy, walking slowly closer to the creature, examining him with every step. "But you don't exist...except in stories! And how did you know my name?"

"Ho-ho!" laughed Icrick. "Much to learn you have, my lad. Much to learn indeed! We don't exist?! _Pfff!_ Posh! Where do you suppose the tales come from then? We exist all right, though we may not be seen above on your world nowadays. And I know your name because we've been expecting you! We've been waiting for this day for a very long time, in fact!"

William said hesitantly, "You have?!"

"Yes! Now, we must be off. There's much to be done! Hurry along now. Follow me."

Unsure of how to respond to the Grogoch's request, William found himself peering up through the sludgy tunnel above his head. It didn't tickle his fancy all that much to follow the creature; then again, he didn't really have any other choice, because the opening from which he fell was too high up for him to reach. Not to mention how slippery and confusing it might be to negotiate, had he been successful in actually reaching it. So, he could but hope that this Grogoch thing knew of some other exit.

"Are you going to show me a way out o' here? I need to get out and be on my way as soon as possible. My ma will be worried," the boy explained.

Without answering, Icrick simply took William's hand in his furry paw and walked him merrily down the long tunnel.

Because Icrick himself was fairly small, he was able to waddle upright through the tunnel without any trouble whatsoever. But William had to walk with a hunch, while roots were tickling his ears from above as he passed under them. Still he ventured on, regardless of how unwilling he may have been to do so.

The minutes pushed on to what felt like an hour, or perhaps even more. By then, the lad's legs were aching beyond anything he had ever felt before, and his clothes were absolutely filthy from rubbing against those muddy walls. He even lost his footing a few times, on account of it feeling like they were walking at a funny downward angle. But the Grogoch creature obliged him to his feet every time before traipsing on.

As they strolled, Icrick softened the silence by humming a few ballads in some form of ancient Gaelic which William wasn't familiar with. It sounded Irish in the way it was pronounced, only it was more of a gobbledegook sort of Irish, as it made no sense to William whatsoever. Saving him the trouble of asking, Icrick began explaining that it was an ancient Gaelic, no longer used in regular society, after which, he continued to hum away.

His sound was very calming and deliriously tranquil, even though he himself was still very odd and completely out of the ordinary. High ahead of him he held out his lantern, not at all bothered, not at all bewildered, and not the slightest bit concerned about the young boy who was, to be quite honest, all of those things at once. William didn't know what to think at this point.

In the past he'd heard so many stories of children going missing in peculiar places, and such demoralizing thoughts truly did not bear thinking about at that particular moment in time. Yet the more he tried holding those malicious thoughts at bay, the more they came to terrorize him. Notions of the Shadow's Guild began germinating within his newly crazed sense of imagination, making him worry a great deal more. As a result, every now and then, he considered shoving the Grogoch away and making a break for it, back to the other tunnel. He didn't, however, as his already slim sense of bravery had by then relinquished itself to worry through his overly-suspicious ideas. Alas, he just kept on following the strange Grogoch.

Farther in they trudged, for another long time. Icrick's songs had long since finished, and quietude was in the air when finally, he spoke. "So, you met old Maggie, I believe? I hope she didn't scare you too much. She's been planning this day for a long time, you see. About two hundred years, if my memory serves me correctly. That was all she used to talk about. We never used to get a moment's peace with her ranting on about it. _All_ the time! 'Oh, I'll give him the full treatment!' she used to say." (He delivered this impression in an elderly lady-like fashion.) "'Oooh, he won't know what hit him...' Some sort she is all right! Some sort indeed!"

"Maggie?" William asked, fearing the thoughts of actually having to hold a conversation with this creature. "Um...y-y-you mean that old lady that was crying up the woods? The one who chased me?"

"That's the one!" Icrick smiled, shining the lantern here and there by the cavern walls, which were now diverging into many various routes. The Grogoch was examining the wall markings as though they were directing him in some way. "You could call her an old lady, if you like, but she prefers the term _banshee_. She prides herself on her ability to scream 'n' shout! She'd give you a blinding headache if you had to listen to her for half as long as we have...silly old crone! But she has her moments."

Smiling at Icrick's insight into Maggie's persona, William's opinion had somewhat changed about the old woman. For some reason, she didn't seem so terrifying to him anymore.

Harvesting the guts to ask a question, he finally said, "She was going on about some curse. She kept on saying that it's been placed...or something or other? What do you think she meant?"

"Not to worry! All of that stuff will be clarified soon enough, young William," the Grogoch answered politely. "I would fill you in now myself, if only I could. But it's not really my place to explain these things, I'm sorry to say. I hope you can understand. But that's _her_ job, you see. She'll know the proper way to clue you in. Me, I'd probably muck it up and leave out a whole bunch of important stuff! Best leave it to _her_ , William."

Wishing his answer had been a little more informative and less mysterious, the boy asked no more. Now he was really curious as to the import of that curse and, moreover, of this nameless woman whom Icrick had referred to on two separate occasions now. The _her_ he kept referring to was not Maggie the witch, but some other woman.

The Grogoch was quite remorseful for being so vague. It appeared he had no choice in the matter, for the mysterious lady had evidently been pre-appointed to disclose said details unto William. Thus, acknowledging the Grogoch's predicament, William respectfully accepted his humble reticence, and carried on by the creature's side.

They sauntered along, and Icrick continued to tease and giggle, while doing all sorts of weird and wonderful impressions. And as more time passed by, the boy actually found himself smiling and laughing, and becoming all the more comfortable with his situation. What's more, now that he'd gotten to know Icrick a little bit better, he had also come to the conclusion that the Grogoch was the most delightful character indeed, albeit William still found the entire situation totally obscure, not to mention baffling.

"We'd better get someone to see to that graze as well," said Icrick, gesturing to the boy's forehead. "The last thing you need is to get a nasty infection! Uncomfortable things, if you ask me!"

"When you say 'we'...who are you talking about?" William asked. "I mean...how many o' you live down here?"

"Ho-ho!" Icrick laughed again. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you! But now you can see for yourself."

Having suddenly approached tunnel's end, William stepped out onto a large, rocky shelf which extended from the higher confines of a marvellous round cave.

"Welcome to the Grollo Halls!" Icrick said proudly, displaying the cavern with a big, toothy grin.

The cave stretched out, both high and far, and it was altogether remarkable. After spending so much time in that confounded tunnel, a greatly desired warmth comforted William's spirits, along with the smell of fresh pine, which drifted blissfully through the air.

Many torches were fixed into the stone all around. Each burned brightly, and the merry shadows danced to the heights of those grand cavern walls. Countless portholes and doorways were hewn all over, together with even more tunnels. Numerous ladders, of both rope and wood, and even bridges, which were carved into patterns of such splendour, ran from wall to wall, and door to door, in every thinkable route. All of this great architecture carried on and on so deep into the bowels of that monstrous cavern that William could see only shadow. Then, acting as a great column in the heart of the foremost cave was one, magnificent evergreen tree, unnaturally colossal, with its crown growing copiously back into the ceiling above; intending, I suppose, on creating a sturdy mesh amongst the stalactites, lest any should become loose from wear.

That grand cavern was positively seething with the décor of orange and black ribbons scattered widely amongst the glittered limestone, whilst threads of golden leaves, entwined with emerald ivy, crept up along the walls on all sides, and in copious amounts. To William's right, on ground level, a long, slender void was set within a wall, and it stretched on far, like some huge window. Outside of it he noticed the banks of a simmering molten lake, which was undoubtedly the source of that lovely warmth.

Down below, in the midst of it all, where the light was plentiful, were those who dwelt within. Hundreds upon hundreds of creatures! I would even say that there were a few thousand or so. They were all there... _everywhere_. All that William had ever read about. Dancing, singing, feasting, drinking, and playing festive songs, as if that was just their way of life. He had never seen such an odd mixture of folk in one place before...apart from maybe his uncle Marty's house on a drunk St. Stephen's night.

It didn't appeal to him all that much to see what these folk were feasting on. For, in their hands, were bowls of insects and creepy crawlies which they gobbled down ravenously, like popcorn. At the sheer sight of this, William discreetly belched into his collar with disgust.

All manner of beings were present. From big hairy trolls to small skinny imps; covens of witches and their bubbling cauldrons; monkey-like people called Bidícks, who appeared very strong and had immense floppy ears; cheery looking ghosts; four-legged beasts of many variations; forked-tongued serpents lumbering about on all fours; and peculiar grey Mèlcrige people, with spanning raven wings and massive, curling horns. A very large congregation of Grogochs were resting nearby in a stony hollow, too, pouring pots of cream into their bellies. Even old Maggie was there, gliding by them and moaning for no apparent reason, annoying the Grogochs as she went.

But there were more.

From black unicorns to great noble hounds; Dwarves and amazingly lanky Gumìn folk, to ever so fat Yackà creatures, with six arms each and big yellow tusks. There were beautiful Elfish maidens with pallid skin and pointed ears, which William noticed immediately. Yet they did not feast, nor dance, nor sing. They simply sat quietly and watched on with a peaceful look in their eyes and a gentle smile upon their faces, carefree in their own reside. Dancing around everyone were hundreds of little bearded men. _Leprechauns_ to be more precise; wearing fine, big green and brown hats, and black buckled shoes. But that's not all. Everywhere William looked, he could see tiny lights zipping through the air in every imaginable direction.

"I can't believe this!" He smiled. "Are...are those garden faeries?!"

"What's that you say?" asked Icrick, whose eye was on a barrel of hot cream not too far away. "Oh, garden faeries? Oh yes, yes! We are all faeries of some shape or size in here! We prefer the term _imp_ though. You name it, we have them all down here! Elves, Mèlcrige, banshees, hounds, tree-imps, Yackà, sprites! All who are sound and benign! And we are known as 'the Dwelvin-Mites'...the dwellers of the Grollo!"

He then muttered to himself, "Oh, what a delight it would be, to be able to live as happy as this, in total comfort."

"In comfort? What do you mean?" asked William, still flummoxed by what he was seeing.

"Well...I..." said Icrick, hesitating for a moment. He leant in close and whispered darkly, "To tell you the truth, our innocence has proven to be our downfall! For there is one abroad who does not belong. One who wants to hold us in fear of his evil power!"

This interested the boy, however not enough to stop him from asking out of turn, "Oh! Actually, are there any Pooka? I can't seem to see any."

As soon as he mentioned that word, the entire cavern fell to utter silence, and all heads spun in his direction.

Inquisitive whispers came over the community. Finding the attention to be completely unnerving and really very embarrassing, William gazed slowly over the crowd, his shoulders twisting in his dirt-splotched shirt while the tension turned his face a cherry-red, and he could feel the dots of sweat forming upon his brow.

"Oh, nooo! Nooo!" Icrick whispered worriedly, from the corner of his mouth. "You are a Newcomer! Our very _first_ Newcomer! You aren't supposed to mention that word here!"

With a forced smile to the curious horde, the boy panicked. "I didn't know, I'm sorry," he said, whilst his nerves were, by degree, escalating in rhythm to the very throbbing of his heartbeat.

It seemed to him that the Grogoch was also quite anxious of being on the spot.

"No, no!" said the creature. "It's not your fault! I should've told you earlier! I apologise, it's all _my_ blasted fault!"

Suddenly, a bizarre noise hailed from a tunnel on the opposite side of the cave, directly across from where William stood.

It started out with a low scratch, only to grow steadily louder, into a _shuffley-huff-buff-skuffle_. The community then faced the other tunnel, and the music commenced yet again, only this time the tune was more graceful and melodic; almost ceremonial. The next thing William knew, everyone had rested upon one knee, and were bowing their heads in a loyal fashion. A light then brightened within that far tunnel, thereby reflecting off the cavern walls in a dreamlike sparkle. It grew so intensely pale that William retreated a step, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand. It was so very bright indeed, though not blinding, and he could just about distinguish a shape approaching the tunnel opening. 'Twas then that he saw something even more wondrous than that which he'd already encountered.

A most magnificent creature. A beast like William had neither heard of nor read about. Twice as high as the boy himself, a great ice-badger appeared, with fur of frost and icicles. It had on gleaming striped armour of blue and platinum, with its small, berry-like eyes, which shone as clear as saffron, peering through a helm of wrought silver. And yet it was _she_ who sat astride the beast that truly captured William's attention, and inexplicably reassured his nerves.

As the woman became more revealed by the failing light, Icrick took William's hand and requested that he bow too, so he did. The music then faded, silence prevailed, and the cavern went absolutely silent once more. For a moment, William felt like he was alone, deserted, away from it all. Through the darkness of his eyelids he could see the light turning dim and returning the cave to the way it was when he'd first entered. What was happening?! he thought. This couldn't be happening, it was impossible! Not to mention daft! Was he sleeping?! That _must_ be it! He was still in Ms. Watkins' class, and after drifting off! Ah no, she'd have his guts for garters and would tell old Misery-Guts!

With that disturbing notion now whizzing about in his mind, William went off on an all-out mental dispute, when a gentle voice suddenly uttered, "Yes, this is happening. No, it is not impossible. And no, you are not sleeping."

Carefully, almost timidly, he opened his eyes to the presence which had unexpectedly appeared before him.

There was she, the fairest woman he'd ever laid eyes on, dressed in a pearl and coral sparkling gown with lace gloves to match. Her long, golden hair ran the length of her dress in a single braid, and it was so dauntingly beautiful how it shimmered, bordering the realms of the surreal. And resting in those gilded curls was a tiara of silver feathers. Within her eyes, William found a sense of comfort and wisdom, and her smile was without guilt or hostility.

And so she did smile, as she said, "I am Anun."

William couldn't quite explain it, but it sounded as though her words were being mimicked by a serene, trailing whisper. It was haunting to him, yet also somewhat pleasing.

Taking his chin in her hand, she moved his face tenderly from left to right; all the while, his eyes were fixed upon hers.

When she was through examining him, William asked, in a peculiar state of delirium, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but...who are you?"

The lady smiled at him with those umber eyes which were only too pleasing to lose yourself in, and she said, "I am Anun. The lady of prosperity and of comfort. I am the protector of the poor and the caretaker of all who are held dear upon the land. I sometimes have the power to foresee matters of importance, and can dispense knowledge of the past to any who require it. I am Anun...the creator of realms..."

"The creator of realms?" William repeated, growing a solemn grin. "You mean like...like a deity or something?!"

"Indeed, one of the lesser immortals," she replied. "And you, William of the great Muldoon clan, have finally come back to us!"

"Come _back_?" went he, snapping out of his bewitchment. "I'm not sure I follow you. I've never been down here before in my entire life!"

A wave of curiosity brewed again amongst the crowd, only to be quietened by Anun's palm as she continued to speak.

"Oh, but you have, my dear boy. And long now have we awaited your return to the land of legend. Too long have we tolerated the evil means of the dark one!"

"The dark one?" William asked, still a little bewildered by her last statement.

"Yes," she continued. "Who was the first being you asked for when you walked through that tunnel? You already knew who or what the other beings were, for you were thinking of their names when you saw them. Yet who was the one your heart most eagerly coveted once you became aware of his absence?"

"...The Pooka?" the lad answered, doubtful of whether he should speak it aloud again or not.

"That is correct, though we refer to this Pooka by a different title," she replied.

Turning to the crowd below, she raised her arms and spoke aloud, "Drevol Briggun! The dark tyrant who has long cursed our peaceful lands!"

At the utterance of his name, the creatures stirred restlessly, while some of the smaller ones disappeared into little holes wherefrom they peeked out with trembling eyes.

Facing William again, Anun went on, "Although you may not have realised it, William, you knew it in your heart, as an act of protectiveness and consideration for those of us who fear his evil magic, to seek him out as soon as you came through this passage. Your desire for vengeance dies hard, and your will to destroy this creature swells in your gut...as it always has done."

"B-But I was just curious!" the lad stuttered defensively. "I just wanted to see one! Not seek one out for whatever reason you think I might've wanted to! I'm just a boy! Just a silly, young, thirteen-year-old boy who was on his way home from school and ended up falling down some stupid hole! I am not here for any _reason_! I'm sorry, but I think you're mistaken! _Very_ mistaken!"

All of this was starting to feel a bit too real for him. He did not wish to be there any longer and, to make matters worse, he became frighteningly aware of how outnumbered he was. Again, the crowd began to murmur and talk amongst each other, when Anun regarded William in all his nervousness.

"You really believe you came here simply out of chance?" she asked softly. "You honestly think that your extensive knowledge of our people is just some coincidence? Come now, I find that hard to believe."

William's already shallow sense of comfort was inevitably being overrun by a nerve-jangling terror, ensnaring his composure to the point of arrest.

Casually he backed up a few paces until he felt the wall behind him. He needed to escape. The passage was somewhere around here! he thought. He needed to find it and make a dart for it! But he searched in vain, for when he couldn't feel the opening by hand, he turned to see that there _was_ no passage. It had completely vanished, like it had swallowed itself up somehow. He glanced left and right to see if he had strayed from it somehow, but he hadn't moved more than three feet since he'd first entered that cave. As well as that, Icrick had done a runner, too.

"I know that you are the one whom we have so long sought, dear William," Anun continued. "And I will tell you why...if you will permit me. But first I think you should understand that our time has run short, and to lay such a sudden burden upon you was not what we had first intended. Originally, we had planned on giving you time to adapt to what I must tell you. But now the clocks are against us, and time is no longer our ally. Will you please listen to what I have to say? Then, if you still wish to leave after we have conversed, I cannot stop you."

She asked this of him in such an endearing way, nor was she purposely wishing to alarm him. She merely desired to confer information, and it was William's own fault for panicking. But I wouldn't expect you or I to act any differently.

So, even though he was very uncomfortable and really quite petrified, his curious side had gotten the better of him. He still wanted to know about that curse, above all else. Thus, in slowly dropping his guard, he decided to give Anun her chance.

"O-Okay then..." he answered fretfully. "But you'll help me get out o' here, once I've heard you out? I mean, that's the deal...right?"

"Indeed it is." Anun smiled, and she took William's hand.

Leading him to the edge of the shelf, she suddenly stepped off onto nothing. Thinking her batty to stray into such a treacherous drop, William gasped with fright, and was on the brink of bounding from her grasp when a step suddenly sprouted out from the wall, just in time to support her. Another grew out after that, and so on, until they reached the bottom. Not at all used to it, William was hopping back 'n' forth as he went, wobbling and flapping and trying to keep up.

By then, the celebrations had completely come to an end, and an audience of Dwelvin-Mites had formed a large perimeter around the evergreen as they got ready to listen to Anun. Another hundred or so had since rushed in from a tunnel just off to the right. Clearly they had gotten late word of William's arrival, and so came flooding in as quickly as they could to see him.

Upon the branches of that great evergreen the garden faeries rested, like lights upon a Christmas tree. Most of the smaller beings were sitting up there with them too; tree-imps and leprechauns, for the most part. They clutched onto the skinny boughs as their free legs dangled from side to side out of sheer eagerness for the discussion to come. One might think to feel quite threatened to be encompassed by such a bunch, but I'm relieved to say that our young William approached the situation with fairly steady nerves. That's not to say that he didn't wish that he was at home, curled up in front of the fire with a cold jar of buttermilk and a good book. Unfortunately, that was not the case, so he had to deal with this peculiar situation as best he knew how.

In the centre of the congregation, upon a platform afore the base of the tree, was a stone font stuffed with branches and dead maple leaves.

"So what's all this about?" the boy asked, in a somewhat neurotic tone. "How come everyone's watching us?"

"Please, we will leave the questions until later. Also, because much will be brought to hear upon this hour, I bid you...stay focused," Anun asked of him, waving her hand over the great font, thereby setting it alight with no evident form of kindle.

Suddenly, the cave turned dark and quiet.

Raising her arms, Anun spoke out clearly and mystically, words which would change young William Muldoon's life forever.

"Countless centuries ago, before it was entitled Hibernia, or the Ireland that you know today, there existed a country which praised the moon, while the lands themselves were green and undisrupted by man or machine. It was known as the Elderland. You may very well insist that the country you know of today is the same as that to which I refer, but I beg to differ...as do all who surround us here today, young William."

He glanced around to see nodding heads and mumbling agreement.

"We have come to terms that names may change through time, but to us, this magical world will always be kept dear in our hearts as the Elderland, or the _true_ Ireland, as it was made so by great wizards and heroes. It was forged by those who embraced their love for the natural world. Feigned by those who learned to live amongst nature through equality and preservation. Not by those who thrive on greed and corruption. The land you know today is what Ireland has become due to the influences of mankind!

"Let me tell you of this true Ireland and, with God's blessing, you will be able to understand why you are here with us in this precious hour."

In that moment, William's anxiety was diluted by fascination. Abruptly as it was, he couldn't help but become enthralled in the words of this supposed deity.

The cave darkened even more, and the font shone ever brighter into Anun's face as her story began.

"Back in those days, the land was far from what you see when you look out of your window nowadays. The hills ran free, the forests grew strong, and the wild was guarded by the constant watch of great, towering mountains. Free throughout, there roamed all that was magical and good. Beings which have now been so long forgotten that they only exist in tales that you humans choose to believe as either false or impossible. Those of whom I speak encircle you at this very moment, my lord William. Other than a lost few, these are all that remain after the great curse of mankind."

William scanned the wall of surrounding faces, and they all stared back at him with kind, innocent, shy eyes, and simple smiles.

"These creatures were the _true_ rulers of the Elderland. For rule they did not, but dwell in relative peace and understanding they did; without the rules of barter and conduct. But then the men, who differed greatly from the worshipped warriors and champions of old, began thriving on riches and dark arts and, slowly, they fell into a curse which was spawned by their own malicious lust for power, thus giving birth to a new creature. One of their own. One who inherited their lust for pain and hardship. The one whom you have asked after, not so long ago."

Enthralled by the story, William walked closer to the font and, without realising it, he placed his hand on its warm stone rim. Suddenly a flame shot up from within and blazed high into the air, lighting up the cavern for a brief moment and sending the shadows into hiding.

With fright, he pulled his arm back and observed as the fire began to take shape. The flames burned high and flickered into different shades of blues, reds and yellows, as swirling images started to force their way through.

Analysing the flame, William whispered to himself, "...A Pooka?"

A devilish face took form, materializing through the fire as though he himself were a part of it. Tongues danced hellishly from its ears, and its eyes burned cold-white and dark.

"Yes!" said Anun, under a grim gaze shadow. "A certain _form_ of Pooka. That is what they had created! Through the breeding of their own anger, magic, and greed, they forged a single beast so powerful that even the sorcerers themselves could not tame him! It was named Drevol Briggun...meaning 'taker of innocence'."

Once again the creature of flame laid to rest within the burning embers, though the fire continued to dance out images of Anun's historic tale.

Next emerged a race of creatures, both benign and malevolent, as the chronicle continued to unfold.

"Now, William, there are many different kinds of imp in the world, and all of them come in different forms and styles. I am sure you already know that Pooka are a demon faerie who roam the nightly lands, instigating evil, and are probably the most feared ones of all. Unlike the goblins and ogres of the ancient world, whose darkness was derived from temptation and gluttony, the race of Pooka thrive upon creating pure mayhem, and that alone! And logic shows us that it is virtually impossible to reason with chaos that has never been provoked to begin with. Their sole purpose is to cause harm and misery toward the good people of the world.

"However, _this_ beast was quite different from the rest of his kind. For not only did he possess all the callousness of any normal Pooka, but he was also borne by the coming of a dark art, a new art, known as the Wrythus. You may not have heard of this magic, as it has been long since extinct from your world."

Contemplating briefly, William replied, "I've never heard of it before. Then again, I don't know that much about wizards at all, so it stands to reason."

"Not a wizard...a Wrythunn."

"...A Wrythunn?" asked he, not at all acquainted with the term.

"Yes," the deity replied. "'Wrythunn' is the term given to the practitioner of this particular style of magic and warfare. It was bred unintentionally by the vices of men, and it was also believed that it could not be wielded for peace. Few could dabble successfully in the ancient art. It was simply too powerful. Its complex fusion of good and evil could easily overwhelm the common mind, no matter how just the person's intentions were in using it...granted, much has evolved since its beginning."

"Tell me about the beginning," asked the boy.

Happy to enlighten him, Anun replied, "Let us journey back further again, and I shall explain. In the later years of the Elderland, before the birth of the demon Briggun, there existed two sorcerer brothers; Belenathus and Belenathor."

Burning loudly, with coiling wisps of red flame, the fire began sprouting the images of two men, performing their story theatrically.

"At that time, the great lust for power had started sweeping throughout the land, though Belenathus was very honourable and did not agree with the selfishness which had overcome the world. Belenathor, the eldest and wisest of the two, felt differently. He then corrupted his brother into conceiving a new magic. He told Belenathus that this new sorcery would return the world to the way it used to be, by vanquishing all desires for domination and materialism. But what he actually intended to do was hoodwink Belenathus into channelling his very energy into Belenathor himself, leaving the younger brother powerless and the elder brother twice the magician he was before. This was his ultimate goal; to become all powerful and to govern the world at his feet!

"Unfortunately for Belenathor, it all went horribly wrong! For Belenathus was not rid of his power, nor did Belenathor become the mighty magician he had so hoped to be. Instead, a terrible miscalculation occurred, and during the ceremony of the spell, it all fell apart. The ground quaked. An immense explosion covered the land for days in a dark, cyan cloud. Alas, a newfound power was brought upon them. This sorcery became known as 'The Wrythus' and, from within, that creature was born. This was something that neither brother knew of until it was too late. Apart from them obtaining the new and unfathomable way of the Wrythunn, they had also given birth to a different class of Pooka, a lone anomaly of its kind. It was a creature which was naturally competent in the art of the Wrythus. 'Twas he...Drevol Briggun! Alongside his birth, the Pooka had involuntarily resurrected all sorts of dark creatures. Creatures long forgotten by our people. What a disaster it was.

"A powerful magus Briggun turned out to be, with the ability to conjure terrible spells and inflict horrible curses! No Pooka before him had ever known such force! From birth, the power had manifested itself inside of him in the form of a mighty jewel, known in our lore as the Rock of Krimmìn. This precious stone replaced what could only have once been a heart of rotting meat. By its power, he could dominate all who chose to oppose him, warrior and wizard alike. By the halo of the burning lunar eclipse—a phenomenon which could only be predicted by some—the stone acted as a beacon, coaxing all of those evil creatures to do its will. This is exactly what happened not too long after the Pooka came into being.

"The eclipse arrived, and armies of villainous creatures: hobgoblins and demons, gremlins and hounds, all of whom he had since resurrected, came and fought for Drevol, aiding him in taking the land as his own. The Elderland had never seen such destruction. It was total genocide!"

Within the font, from a bird's-eye view, vast legions of blazing soldiers marched. From different corners of the land, they all met up to merge into one monumental battalion.

"The two brothers were forced to flee from this abomination of theirs, along with everyone else in the Elderland, seeking exile wherever we could find it. They had not even the time to study the Wrythus art which they had fabricated, to try and find some resolution to the problem they had caused. Alas, time faded to history and, one by one, both mankind and our kind were either destroyed by Drevol, or forced to find refuge.

"I gathered whom I could—the rarest of the species—for fear of extinction. And for many years thereafter, this band of ours dwelt secretly within the deep canyons of Lòr in the east of the Elderland, where we stayed for centuries.

"Much time went by and, in the west, the two magicians struggled to fathom their art...but to little success. It was too potent. Too complicated.

"Drevol and his army got to Belenathor first. He did not stand a chance against the Pooka! Then he came for Belenathus. This brother, you should know, had secretly taken reside with a woman named Clara, deep below the roots of a valley mountain."

"Clara?" William asked, drawn ever deeper into the legend. "Was she a friend of Belenathus' or...?"

"No, she was a stranger to him," Anun answered. "You see, after Drevol's first rampage, when the country was distraught, Clara gave shelter to Belenathus, and she aided him with his wounds. Immediately he fell in love with her, although he decided to keep his past a secret...for obvious reasons. They hid for some months in those caves, during which time, the woman was with child. Chance, unfortunately, led Drevol to their lair. So, after having given birth to the newborn, the parents left the child in hiding while they attempted to lure their enemy away from him. The Pooka attacked, killing both Belenathus and his love...yet their child went unnoticed!"

There, laying within the flame in his wicker cradle, was the impression of a helpless infant, calling for his mother. He was a healthy, strong-looking newborn, wrapped warmly in a woollen blanket.

"Days passed, all went quiet on the land again...and the child was discovered by a wandering witch named Èona; one of our very own. She took him in and cared for the child as if he were her own, raising him with the other survivors in the canyons of Lòr.

"By then, we had grown very fond of our canyon home, and had rebuilt much of what was once lost. Nevertheless, word of our new existence reached the ear of our enemy, and so he took it upon himself to seek us out at the canyons. He did not take kindly to sharing his land with us, so his warmongering gave birth to the dreaded Battle of the Seasons."

Again the army of kindle marched upon the flaming font. This time the view soared down through the great battalion, then in amongst their banners and arms, before rising to the great heights of the mountain ranges of beyond.

"Many were born to see the beginnings of that great war, yet it outlived most, either through age or conflict. Endlessly Èona and her baby endured the hardships of battle. But the child eventually grew up. He had the potential to become a powerful warrior and masterful wielder of the great Wrythus art. To use it for _good_ this time! Nevertheless, this took patience and time. Thus, it was not until the later years of the battle that he could wield it skilfully. Mysun, this boy was called, so named after Èona's own brother, who had recently been slain in that very war. But in spite of our hero's latecomings, our victory was lost. Our nemesis claimed the canyons as his own and, again, we had to run and find exile. _Most_ of us had to run and find exile.

"This time we found our sanctum below the ground, alongside other innocents who had discovered this refuge before the war. And there we remained, the last enduring survivors of our kind; Elves, fairies, witches, banshees. All you see amongst you.

"I myself turned the newfound subterranean land into a country of beauty and named it Lythiann, meaning—in a different Celtic tongue—Realm of the Forgotten. It was full of meadows and tremendous plains as far as the eye could see. Oceans, lakes and rivers. Riding dunes. Mountains grew by the hundreds amid miles upon miles of scattered forest. It was our paradise, our home, and we had hoped to live out the rest of our lives there. Unfortunately, another danger had yet to reveal itself. There came the final threat.

"The ugliest of mankind had again returned to the Elderland above. Only this time they brought new technologies and weapons. By then, Drevol's dark army had long since faded from the lure of his beacon, meaning that he was alone yet again until the arrival of the next eclipse. When that was due, nobody could say for certain. He became conscious of these soldiers, and feared a possible uprising. So, through whatever magic he had left, he commanded the ground beneath the canyons of Lòr to crumble, and take new reside beneath the crust! So, once more, he has invaded our new world, and _again_ the time will arrive when we will be forced to fight for our right to be."

Reliving those dark days like they could never be forgotten, the imps comforted those who'd been most affected by it. Anun continued, "It was suggested by some that we return to the Elderland again and leave Lythiann to Drevol. But there would be too many differences up there for us now. If only we could exist upon your world today, we would try; but Ireland nowadays does not treat the lands as we once did. Nor would your people see the legends as we once knew them. We simply could not survive! In fact, we know of a precious few who have abandoned us to sample the life on your world. All we know is that they now live lives of torment, being hunted and pestered by curious humans.

As for the curse of Briggun...all I can say is that, to a degree, our grudge no longer remains with mankind, but with the curse itself. We realise that it was done inadvertently, for both races have suffered its bane. Now we must protect our own, and save our new home from the fate which we had suffered in the past."

Curious and a tad concerned by his part in all this, William asked, "But what is it you want from me? What could I possibly do to help? Honestly, I'm really sorry to hear about your troubles, but I have to go! It's getting late, and my mother will be annoyed if I don't get home soon. I can't apologise enough, really, ye seem like such nice people and all...but it's high time I left."

He went to leave, when he felt Anun's hand on his shoulder.

"Please..." she beseeched, "...take another look into the flame."

With a sigh, William stepped up and reluctantly watched on. The magical flame began to burn loudly again, and a fresh image appeared from within; and this time it showed William's mother. She was laying fast asleep on her bed, soundly and unbothered.

"Ma?" said the boy, unsure of what he was seeing.

"Unfortunately, your being here comes at a price," Anun said, knowing that there was no easy way to put it. "One you must be prepared to pay."

Somehow William knew that he was on the verge of uncovering the secret behind that mysterious curse. So he listened, fearfully.

"It was exactly five hundred years ago today, in the later years of the Battle of the Seasons, that you were last with us," she explained. "But you were not William Muldoon. You were in another form. One of a warrior. And you were the mightiest warrior that the land has ever known!

"Many of the other heroes had fled when their numbers fell. Still, the loyal minions of the dark one found them and, one by one, those heroes disappeared without a trace. Nobody, not even I, know what happened to them. They simply vanished. You were the only one who stayed to fend for the likes of our kind; a true patriot, and the only warrior who stood a chance against the dark one. The magic you possessed was the only kind in existence that could oppose, and possibly surpass his own. Your name was Mysun Margyle."

The silhouette of a hero flickered within the fire. His gallant stance was tall and broad, and in his hand there was a blade which he flourished like a true swordsman. Enemies ran at him but he smote them all, one by one. They came at him in great waves, all at once, but still his skill was too powerful for them, and not a scratch did he take.

"Unfortunately, in the last days of the great battle, when our defences ran low and Mysun was weakening, we knew that our enemy and his army were standing upon the brink of an inevitable victory. There was nothing else Mysun could do but leave for another path; a road which could yet bring us aid, one final hope that could lead us to our ultimate victory. However, this stratagem was not without its risks, because its fruition would take some time. For Mysun knew that, by leaving us, whatever defences we had left would have to face full challenge...yet we had no other choice. Mysun was the one we needed, and we needed him in full strength.

"And so he departed for the spiritual land of Pherenstead. A world of peace and slumber, where he could replenish his power to such an extent that eventually he could face Drevol again, alone and without aid. But, in walking this path, he was forced to leave his physical self behind, and allow just his spirit to take the journey."

"And when Mysun left, it was _then_ that ye travelled to Lythiann?" William began to catch on.

"Yes. Then upon Drevol's Lythiann invasion thereafter, some of us fled here, to the protection of the Grollo caves, whilst others sought exile elsewhere. Luckily for us, we have so far dwelt in these caves unnoticed while awaiting Mysun's return. I presume the only reason Drevol has not yet found us here is that, like Mysun, he is replenishing his power after the battle, and the return of man. I would imagine tasks of such proportions would drain power quickly and require much rejuvenation...even for _him_! To take proper effect, this would require him to lie dormant for quite some time, away from threat. However, this is mere speculation. For all we know, the dark one could again be roaming freely throughout Lythiann as we speak."

The crowd nervously agreed.

"One century after Mysun had left us," she said, "we received word from the swallows of the distant land of dreams that he would return approximately five hundred years from when he had first departed, in another form...the form of a boy. A youngling whose body could be nurtured into strength and his mind to wit by guardians of the new Ireland, until it was eventually his time to return to us in the newly styled land of Lythiann. It was also explained that his memories of being the great Wrythunn may not be easily recalled. Therefore Mysun, through an act of catatonic unawareness, a dreamlike spell, placed a curse upon his own future life, an incantation which would give the boy no other choice but to fight for his initial cause.

"And so the curse was eternal repose for those who meant the most to him. And the only way for this curse to be lifted is for Mysun, or in this case _you_ , William, to become who you really are...and destroy Drevol Briggun"

Stumbling away from the font, with fear filling in his eyes, William cried, "No...NO! This _can't_ be true! You're _full_ of it."

"I am so sorry, dear William," she uttered sadly, "...but it is the truth."

"Get away from me!" he snapped, and he ran through the tunnel behind him in search of escape.

So much ill news had been brought upon him that he needed to escape as quickly as possible. A concerned Yàckin was about to go after him, only Anun restrained him with a glance, and she observed the boy as he escaped up a long stretch of tunnel. She hoped to see his face again soon. For without him, any aspirations she might have had for Lythiann's future would surely be without hope.

# \- Chapter Four -

### The Sadness

William dashed on and on, with his chest as tight as a drum for fear that what Anun said might have some truth to it. He did, after all, see his mother in that dreaded fire. But how could he tell if it was authentic or not? He couldn't. So it was imperative that he rush home to see for himself.

Up a sloping path he so darted, through a tunnel of red stone, with no idea as to where it was leading him. All he knew was that it travelled upwards; not dramatically upwards, but still up...which was good enough for William.

There were more of those markings on those walls as well. Only this time they were emitting heat and light through their etchings. It could only have been, I suppose, a trick of the lava which he'd seen from the main hall earlier. It was as if the molten rock was soaking into the very stone, though being blockaded before it could accomplish thorough penetration, thereby creating just enough heat for the immediate sections of the caves. Yet, to William, the temperature was beyond sweltering. He was not used to it, and it was quickly smothering his already clammy flesh. All that running didn't help matters much either.

Just as he was about to ease his pace to catch his breath, there came a splendid gush of refreshingly cold air from up ahead. He couldn't see where it was coming from because his view was blocked by the gradual escalation of the path. Could it lead to danger? Or safety? He did not know. Either way, he made his way toward it. The tremendous chill put vigour back into his legs as he sped up along the path. Then, before long, the tunnel opened to a grand entrance.

'Twas like a wide, gaping mouth with long fangs of partially hitched limestone. What William witnessed beyond this threshold, however, made him stop dead in his tracks. He could hardly believe his own eyes.

It was a town of some sort. No...bigger than that. A subterranean _metropolis_. It was dark and empty, yes, but its magnificence set him aback with sheer astonishment. Scores of amiable-looking dwellings filled the caverns all over; both on the ground and up along the walls themselves. Houses upon houses, all three stories high, were cramped in together such that, over the years, they were forced to lean their twisted rooftops out over the cobbled streets below. Smoky remains of roaring fireplaces from previous nights lingered in the air, leaving behind traces of a welcoming scent. And even though this city possessed a cosy atmosphere, there remained an ill sense of incarceration to it.

William found it all extremely surprising. One such as he might have expected such beings to reside in holes or straw hovels, which is a rather arrogant and unfair generalization. Even William himself could but concur after pondering briefly, for these gabled buildings were of fine red and brown brick, roving amongst which were many footpaths and archways, leading through back alleys, roads, and laneways. There was even a towpath on one side of a quaint canal that ran off into the hazy distance.

The main city was considerably well-lit by tall, black Victorian streetlamps and, as well as that, it was so well maintained and tidy. High up above, in the craggier areas of the ceiling, he spotted many more of those same bridges leading from one place to another, sometimes carrying on through porticos and tunnels here and elsewhere. There were more homes up there, too, built into the stalactites themselves, with crooked chimneys poking out of their shoddily slated rooftops.

Apart from all of these rather unexpected peculiarities, he saw flocks of very unusual crimson birds flying around. Aberrantly tiny in size, they had wild, feathery tails as long as snakes, and muscular, serrated beaks which appeared rather ungainly in proportion to their small bodies. In from the darkness they soared, gliding up to their nests hidden somewhere in the rocks. What part they had to play within that community, William could not say. He simply referred to them as 'Redfeathers.'

In the city centre itself, an island was situated at a crossroads. Upon this island stood a majestic property with more elegance than all the rest. A lofty tower of expansive stone spiked from within its massive surrounding woodland until it concluded to a pointed spire high, high above. An awesome sight, but William could not stay to appreciate it. He had to find a way out, and he had to do it _now_ , before he got discovered.

Off he ran, through the vacant cobbled streets, each footstep echoing with a hurried ring as he went. There were so many side roads, lanes, and junctions that he did not know which way to turn next. He ended up taking his chances, and dashed down every path he saw until he discovered some manner of exit. Indeed, he would've attempted to climb up to one of the higher levels, if only he could. There were so many more potential routes to investigate up there, only he couldn't find any way up. There were no ladders, no ropes, nothing. Even the rock itself proved quite slick, due to the water constantly trickling in from fissures in the ceiling. William knew it would've been hazardous to climb, and idiotic to boot. Therefore, he left that plan as an overall last resort.

He continued searching for what seemed like ages. Every now and then he'd hide in a dark corner and peek out to see if anyone was following him. But nobody was, which made matters all the more daunting. After a tiring time of searching and skulking, one particular alley caught his attention, having seen a much brighter light gleaming off the bricks near the end of it. It was by no means the indication of an exit, but it was something new compared to that which he had already seen. So he made for it in the hope that it would somehow lead him out of that outlandish place.

When he got there, he discovered that it was merely an old lantern kindling in some dusty textured window. This was hopeless! he thought, putting his back to the wall and sliding to the ground. For a moment he wallowed in his misfortunes and, in all honesty, almost felt like crying. Still, he knew better than to start blubbering, because nothing constructive could come of it.

Just then, he thought he heard the rather indistinct sound of somebody _else_ crying. Instantly he snatched back his senses, thinking that it might be Maggie, back again to confront him. Yet the more he listened, the more it seemed infantile and innocuous. Slowly, William stood up and slinked to the aperture of the alley. He poked his head out, but even then the weeping was very faint. First he glanced left, then right, then he looked down to find, sitting upon a doorstep to his right, a small, brownish faerie, about the size of a young sparrow. It had its hands to its face and it was crying. William was tempted to sneak past it and bolt. But being as irrepressibly accommodating as his nature was, he couldn't help but to ask in a gentle way, "Um...hello? Are you all right?"

The faerie sniffled and removed its hands from its face.

It was quite an odd-looking creature, but quite the adorable-looking thing, too. It had small, underdeveloped wings, a perfectly round head, big brown eyes, which were ever so slightly crossed, and a tiny, trembling mouth.

"Who is th-th-there?" asked the faerie with a sniff, feeling out in front of her like she couldn't see.

"My name is William," said the boy, waving his hand in front of its face. "I don't mean to sound rude, but, can't you see me?"

"N-No, I am afraid I c-c-cannot, sir. I am b-b-blind," said the faerie, who clearly had a terrible stutter, too.

She looked about, while the swelling of her tears just magnified the innocence of her eyes. William felt absolutely awful for being so nosy, and his heart went out to the poor little faerie.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" he said, with utmost sincerity.

"N-N-No, it is all right, sir. I have b-b-been blind for s-s-s-some years now. Anyhow, my n-n-name is Picksy, P-Picksy Whispin. I am sorry to be b-b-blubbering. Not very p-polite of me, is it?"

"It's fine, really." the lad replied. "Besides, I'm the one who should be apologising, for intruding."

"It is okay. I am g-g-glad you are here," said the faerie.

"Glad?"

"Yes. It is just...I lost my f-f-father. When word c-c-came of the Newcomer's arrival, e-e-everybody rushed to see, and I got s-s-separated from him in the crowd! And now I do not know wh-wh-where I am."

The lowly little faerie looked scared to death, and again she started weeping. William didn't know what to do, for he badly needed to get home, yet he couldn't very well leave the faerie alone, either.

"Will he be out looking for you? I mean...he'll obviously notice you gone, yes?" he asked.

"Oh, y-y-yes!" answered Picksy. "I am sure he is out l-looking for m-m-me!"

"Well, that does it then." The lad smiled, trying to sound optimistic for Picksy's sake. "I'll help you find him."

"Oh, w-w-would you?" she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "That would b-be wonderful!"

William was more than happy to help and, within those first two minutes of meeting, Picksy had already managed to burrow her way deep into his heart.

"Right! Let's go!" said he, lifting Picksy carefully into his hands, and off he marched down the road.

They scavenged up through the streets, down through the streets, in by the side roads, and down along alleyways. He even made hunt amongst the bins and gutters, around gardens, and behind walls; still there was no sign of her faerie father. Around, and 'round, and 'round, they went, until it felt like they'd checked everyplace twice. If William didn't know any better, he might've said that they were at it for hours.

Picksy called out as loud as she could in her tiny faerie voice and William called out, too, though he had to call Picksy's father by his first name, Fibbùn. To be honest, he felt like a proper twit in doing so. It was such an obscure thing to be yelling out, he felt. Having said that, he couldn't very well walk around calling out, "Father, Father!" either, could he? And "Mr. Whispin" would have been a title unheard of amongst the Celtic faerie folk, which William knew well enough from the stories he'd read in the past.

While they sifted through the city, William came to notice that the streets weren't as uninhabited as he'd once presumed. There were figures about. Quite a few, in fact, draped heavily in patched woollen garments. They were well stowed away in dark corners and in blind nooks throughout the town. Occasionally, he'd get startled by a shrouded cough or a distant sneeze. Eventually he got used to it, albeit it all seemed very sickly and weak to his ears. Every now and again, he would spot an individual staggering lamely across some random street, only to disappear into the shadows before he could fully understand them. The more he kept his eye out, the more of those beings he could see. Quiet bouts of weeping roused from unseen corners, whilst a gradual unveiling of misery seeped into the mood of that otherwise magnificent city.

"What _is_ this place?" William found himself whispering, though not expecting Picksy to hear.

"Have you not been t-to this part b-b-before? This is where m-most of us l-l-live," replied the faerie, believing William to be one of her own. "Although, I'm n-n-not all that surprised. The G-G-Grollo is a b-b-big place! Goes on and on so it d-d-does!"

William then decided to play along with the faerie. He let on like he was a Dwelvin-Mite himself. Besides, he really didn't want to alarm the poor little thing by telling her that he was an outsider.

"No, this is my first time in these parts," he said, somewhat artificially. "What's wrong with everybody? They look sick."

"Yes, they a-a-are," stuttered the faerie. "The Grollo Halls have indeed p-p-protected us Dwelvin-Mites, but the darkness has only b-b-brought illness and sadness t-t-to our kind. Have you n-not felt it? The d-d-depression?"

Incapable of denying his sense of pity, William replied, "No. No, I haven't."

"That is a g-g-good thing!" Picksy replied. "Not everybody has f-f-felt it yet...thankfully. My father s-s-said that we were not b-b-born to live in shadow. He s-s-said that we are c-c-creatures of the light, and slowly the darkness c-c-consumes us. I fear that, if we do not get back to L-L-Lythiann soon, it will s-s-seal our fate...and one by one we will d-d-die here in the G-G-G-Grollo. Taken by the S-S-S-Sadness. That is w-w-what we call it."

All the while, William kept quiet, allowing Picksy to continue with her tale.

"As I s-s-said before, I was n-n-not always blind," she explained. "There once w-w-was a time when I could see! Yet t-t-time down here has stolen it from me. Nor did I always have this s-s-stammer, or these undersized w-w-wings. That is why the N-Newcomer is here. To h-h-help us. Oh, I _d-do_ hope he helps us!

"My father t-t-told me about him for the first t-t-time only last n-n-night. He did not want to give m-m-me false hope had the Newcomer r-r-refused us, so he left it until the l-l-last minute to tell me a-a-about him. I d-d-do not even know his real n-n-name. We stayed up all night talking about his amazing a-a-abilities, and it slipped m-m-my mind to ask. So silly. Do you know his n-n-name, William?"

"I'm afraid I don't," the lad replied, ruefully maintaining his act.

"That is o-o-okay. It does n-n-not matter," said the faerie, getting all excited she went on. "Oh, I just know he will h-h-help us. I _know_ h-h-he will."

She was so full of hope when she spoke of this Newcomer that she beamed out a thrilled little giggle to herself. William, of course, smiled with her, though he felt the guilt skewering within him. And as he dwelt upon how ill these people actually were, an inner disgust began battling with his conscience.

"You know what I think?" he said, trying his best to sound like a Dwelvin-Mite, but also en route to gaining some answers.

"What's that?" asked Picksy.

"We should go back out to Lythiann! Back to the light! Then if things get hairy, we can always run back down here...secretly like. And even then we'll have gotten out into the open for at least a while, and that alone might do us the world o' good!"

"B-But, what about the s-s-spell?" asked Picksy, intrigued by his plan.

"Spell?"

"Y-Y-You really d-d-don't know much about your own home, d-d-do you?" giggled the faerie, presuming William to be intentionally acting silly to cheer her up.

"Um...remind me." He smiled, and she could hear it in his voice.

"The p-p-protective spell of the witches. 'Once you l-l-leave you cannot re-enter.' That spell," she replied. That alone said enough for William to brood over, and not ask any more about it for the time being.

Suddenly they heard a feeble call on the air, and it was traced by a hacking cough.

"Picksy! Picksy! Where are you?! _Cough-Cough!_ " he yelled, and how poorly it sounded.

"It is m-m-my father!" chirped the smiling the faerie, and off they went on the trail of Fibbùn's voice.

They traced his echo through a good many streets before they eventually found him. After passing a junction, by a small bridge, William turned a corner and noticed a small, elderly faerie wearing thick crescent glasses, and he was crouching over his walking stick as he hobbled up the pathway by foot.

He was very old, and bald, with a wagging white beard, and he was almost entirely crippled, poor fellow. Which is more than I can say for his eyesight, which wasn't very good at all. His wings were majestically large, yet they'd seized up and could barely flap at all. Then, in his stride, he could step but a whisker's width at a time. He was yet another deprived soul which William felt for, seeing him worried sick as he staggered around those gargantuan streets in search of his lost daughter.

"Picksy!" he called again.

Joyously, the young faerie cried, "Father!" and let her tiny wings do their best in carrying her to the ground, where she gave Fibbùn a tender, loving hug.

"Where did you get to?" he exclaimed, but how relieved he was. "I was worried sick. _Cough-Cough!_ "

"I am s-s-sorry, Father. We got s-s-separated when the c-crowd rushed to see the N-Newcomer," Picksy explained.

"Oh, but you're safe now, so I suppose there's no harm done," he said, rubbing her little round head.

Sadly, she then asked, "It is a pity we m-m-missed him though, Father."

"Yes, I'm sorry, petal. And I know how much you were looking forward to seeing him, too. But maybe you will get a chance to spot him later, if he's not too busy. _Cough-Cough!_ You might even get to wave or say hello even...if you're lucky."

"Yes, we m-m-may yet see him...hopefully. Oh! I would l-l-like you to meet s-s-somebody. This is William. He helped me f-f-find you."

Fixing his specs, Fibbùn gazed up and, through those eye-muddling lenses of his, he saw William's deformedly bulbous head smiling down upon him. After a moment, Fibbùn finally understood what he was looking at, and his jaw almost hit the ground in shock.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Dear me!" he babbled, not knowing what to do with his hands.

With nothing else for it, he bent down on one knee, almost cracking his back in the process, but he didn't care about that. Young William, on the other hand, didn't know what to do, being just as nervous, if not more.

"Father! What is the m-matter?" Picksy panicked.

"It is _he_!" Fibbùn whispered loudly. "It is the Newcomer himself."

Well. Picksy keeled backwards like a rigid toothpick when she heard this. Luckily, William came to her rescue before she could knock her head off the hard pavement.

Catching her in her fall, he implored, "No, no, please! You don't have to be like this."

Hearing his voice, Picksy awoke from her spill only to find herself lying in William's big palm.

"Oh, ma'l-l-lord!" she said, trying to clamber out. "I do apologize! I d-d-did not know!"

"You don't have to apologize...honestly! It's all right." William chuckled fondly. "I should be apologising to you for not telling you who I was. Only I didn't want to makes things weird."

"You do n-n-not have to explain yourself to the likes of m-m-m-me," Picksy grovelled, as she too got down on her knees. "We a-a-are your humble s-s-servants, ma'lord."

"Please, you don't have to bow," the lad persisted.

Nevertheless, the two faeries bowed before him anyway, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Once he'd finally convinced them to stop adulating, he was going to ask them how to get out of there once and for all. But something strange happened to him then. His words were restrained.

He glanced at Picksy in all of her tribulations, then he considered Fibbùn, and all of the other unfortunates of that city, for that matter. This was no way for somebody to live, down there in the depths of blackness. Especially for the likes of Picksy and Fibbùn, who were kind and pleasant, and altogether harmless.

So, it came to this. William promised himself that he would find a way out...later. Right now, he was compelled to go back and see Anun.

Seeing as he had no idea as to where he was, or how to even find Anun again, Fibbùn accepted it as a great privilege to guide William back to the Grollo Halls. It took quite a bit of time, with Fibbùn being an invalid faerie who wouldn't hear of being carried, and you can be sure that the lad offered to do so insistently, but to no avail.

After a short while, they made it far enough for Fibbùn to direct him the rest of the way by mouth.

"Just beyond that corner there, ma'lord. That'll take you back to the Grollo," he explained.

Sure enough, just beyond a nearby bend there was a ruby-red glow pulsating from that same broad tunnel mouth.

"I hope I can meet you again before I leave," William said to the faeries.

"Oh, me too! It was s-s-such an honour, ma'lord! It w-w-was _such_ an honour!" Picksy replied, as she stood hand in hand with her father.

"It was an honour to meet you, too," the boy said, and taking a knee before the faeries, he added, "But will you do me one favour, though?"

"Anything you wish, ma'lord," Fibbùn replied, and Picksy lowered her head again.

"My friends call me William..." The lad smiled. "...Just call me William."

Slowly Picksy lifted her head and, for a brief moment, it was as though she was staring directly into his eyes.

"F-Friend?..." she asked timidly.

"Friend." William nodded happily.

Then off he strolled as the two faeries could do little else but embrace his gratuitous compassion, and moreover...his true humbleness.

He traipsed through that stifling tunnel once again, with taller strides and a flair of fearlessness in his eye, until he stepped out into the Grollo Hall with a far bolder presence than before. Still everyone was in there, all cheerless with burden, and Anun was sitting beside the font, worrying about what would come of it all. Momentarily, William waited by the tunnel, until she became aware of his presence.

She was truly relieved to see that he had not left. Suddenly William stepped forth and said, "When you said, 'all that I love has fallen under this curse,' does that mean all o' my friends...as well as my ma?"

"I am sorry...but yes," Anun answered with a trailing whisper, standing. "Everyone you hold dear in your home village has to suffer the burden of this spell."

"And I can take your word for this, can I...that it's all true? Everything I've seen? Everything I've heard?" he asked.

"I would never lie to you," she replied, and how honestly her eyes spoke. "But what you saw need not remain so. For you can save them all, William...and only you!"

The brave young lad dropped his stare in thought and Anun halted her words, folding her arms in her cuffs. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Nobody dared even blink.

"What exactly would I have to do?" he asked, and heeding those words, the cave echoed with excited murmurs.

Anun smiled, with a sparkle in her eye and said, "First you must understand, young William, that we cannot risk open war. Indeed, Lythiann still remains in her beauty to this very day, for I do not think the dark one has any particular reason to demolish it. However, there is a chance that he will ruin our land in spite, if he foresees any attack. He will raze Lythiann to rubble in battle if he must. Then the last five hundred years of preservation through submission will have all been in vain for us. He does not know when Mysun's return will be exactly, but he knows of it nonetheless. So we must be careful, and use this to our advantage. It must be an assassination, William. He must not know you are coming. Otherwise an attack could hit and spell disaster for us all."

"And how exactly is Mysun's transformation supposed to come about?" the lad asked, hardly believing he would ever have to utter such a question.

"There is a certain way for this wakening to take place. Along your journey you will find a blade; an enchanted sword which is indestructible by man or magic. It is so fine, that its blade could effortlessly sweep through almost anything. When it is held in your hand, it is said that you will be given the means to return to your true paladin self. But again, just finding it is not that simple."

"It never sounded simple in the first place!" he said with a sour smirk. "Why should this be any different?"

Sensing his agitation, Anun said with a note of pity, "All of this must be difficult for you, I know—"

"I'll be all right. Sorry," the lad put in, regretting his sore and rather boorish remark. "So, why will it be so hard for me to get the sword then?"

Even though feeling rather sympathetic towards William's obvious upset, Anun continued with her story.

"When the swallows were returning from the land of Pherenstead with tidings of Mysun's return, they were ambushed by the dark crows of the enemy. Fierce, immortal creatures who live as shadows of their former being, with eyes that burn as dark as red flame. For days they chased them, through the deepest caverns of the world. Constantly at their tails! Then one of the swallows was captured, and she let go the secret of Mysun and his sword. Immediately the news was reported back to the dark one.

"With knowledge of our hero's return, the enemy found Thérn, the sword of Mysun. It had been forsaken within the canyons whence we fled, lost in the turmoil. Alas, with the sword now in Drevol's grasp, he would do what he could to prevent it from returning to the hand of his adversary. Unable to destroy it, he stowed the weapon somewhere on Lythiann, and left it guarded by terrifying things. It is there, in the solitary stronghold known as the Tower of Thérn."

The creatures shivered to themselves, along with anxious murmurs which swelled before fading back into the nothing.

"To find this blade will be a journey of considerable peril, I will not deny that. Yet it could also be a venture of vast revelation. How you choose to see it is entirely up to you. Once you depart the Grollo—and when you only have yourself for companionship—your will to choose will be the most crucial part of your survival. Taken for granted as free-will usually is, William, one wrong decision on this road can still lead you into unspeakable consequences. Hence, you must learn to see the good in all situations; only through this shall you find courage enough to face things which have not yet come to pass. Heed what I tell you in this hour, William, for it is of the highest importance. So, now that you are aware of every detail, we need to know if you will still help us. You are our last hope...and we are unable to run anymore."

Glancing at the crowd around him, William indeed saw the countenances of worn hopes; tired faces. However, they were still able to sustain a quality of sanguinity despite how unforgiving those dark times may have been towards them.

William tried to understand it all, but he was far too perplexed to truly comprehend what was happening. Dark demons, curses, alternate personalities within himself, and magical swords were too much for him to cope with all in one go.

Just then, a slight spark of courage suddenly jumped within his heart, leading him in his best effort to show no fear. How could he, when standing before him were so many blameless creatures? They were placing all of their hopes upon his shoulders. And what of the lives of those whom he cared so deeply for back home? Thus, as difficult as it was to utter, he didn't wish to disappoint.

"Okay...I'll do it," he spoke, and Anun took his head gently in her palms and kissed his forehead.

"Thank you, William." She smiled gratefully. "At long last, we can hope again."

The softness of her lips soothed him to an almost dream-like state. A tepid sensation streamed down his body to the tips of his toes. It was as if the kiss clasped his fears until it washed them away, if only for the time being.

Anun then gazed into the boy's eyes. He was exhausted, and his weary eyelids were drooping, almost tarnished from fatigue.

Concerned, she uttered, "You look so tired."

"I am," he replied. "But I'm guessing there's a lot to get done, and I can't wait around, so—"

"You need some rest, William. You cannot expect to get anything done in such a state. A lot has been brought upon you this day. It would be much for anyone to bear. You will stay here and sleep a while. Then, once you awake, we shall converse more about your journey."

"Sleep!" He smirked. "For some reason I don't think I will be able to sleep."

Anun then smiled and said, "Will you permit me to try something?"

Waning briefly, he took a step forth. He was quite apprehensive about what she was going to do. But he was far too tired and stressed to completely care at that point in time.

"All right." He sighed, with a nod. "If you're sure we have time."

"For you to rest, we have time." She smiled, and raising her arms into the air, she spoke in a deep, commanding voice, "Bring forth the Farcodalé!"

Suddenly, a surge of excitement came from the crowd. Slowly, they began parting like two huge waves.

At the far end of the pathway was an alcove, pitch-black on the inside, and the outer rim was lined with straw, leaves, and feathers. Inside, something began to stir. Noises followed, and louder they started emitting from the alcove, carrying themselves throughout the hollows of that majestic cavern. Strange noises they were, drawn and shrill, as though someone was yawning with mighty fatigue. Quietness revealed itself among the low mutters of the community as they all peered inside the blackness of the mysterious grotto.

Suddenly, in a swift flash, an ashen shape flew from the cave as fast as anything, and bulleted towards the cavern roof, where it made these prolonged yawning noises which resonated all around the confines. It was a cloaked figure, remarkably tall in size, with the hood drawn to a faceless shadow. Here and there it flew. Swerving around the stalactites, yawning furiously with its tattered cape flailing chaotically behind it.

Down below, amongst the cavern folk, a surge of great weariness came over them. They were stretching and yawning, and their eyes were growing drowsy. But the Farcodalé's spell was not intended for them, thus they remained awake, but still rather drained.

Placing her hand on William's shoulder, Anun lifted her free palm to the flying phantom, and commanded in a bizarre Gaelic, "Fùh tòudell rè gan còdalla!"

Suddenly, upon those dominating words, the cloaked figure poised itself before darting into a downward swoop...straight towards William.

The speed of its flight seemed to accelerate more and more the closer it got. William stood back, clenching his eyes for fear of the unexpected. The yawning grew heavier and louder, and louder still. It was almost impossible for him to suffer. He covered his ears and peeked through his eyelids, only to see that the pale blur was almost upon him.

"WHAT'S...GOING...ON?!" he cried, with his eyes now stretched open like chasms.

Then, mere inches before the Farcodalé could hit him with a sure crash, everything went black, all went quiet, and with it there flowed an unfathomable soothing wave of relaxation.

# \- Chapter Five -

### The Glogish Way

"You're just a mangy old dog and your son should be disciplined!" shouted Blackhead to William's mother.

They stood in the depths of a huge gorge, in the midst of a wallowing miasma, and the mountainous walls climbed high on either side like great sentinels. Faces shifted upon the precipice. Evil faces, fashioned from the very stone out of which they chanted and jeered.

"Get her, maim her, scratch her, murder her! Murderer! Murderer! Murder her!" they shouted in unison.

All the while, William was standing upon a narrow outcropping high on the cliff side, gazing down. He saw what was happening, yet he could do nothing about it, for he was trapped, and to jump surely would've meant to his death. The screams, moans, and chants grew and grew. Intolerably gut-wrenching to bear, they continued to grow louder.

The faces seemed to have multiplied over and over again, until both walls of the gorge were totally swarming with them. They were all streaming over one another like filthy, pulsating globules.

"Get her, maim her, scratch her, murder her!" sounded the cries, when Blackhead grabbed a brutal hold of William's mother.

She struggled and screamed for aid but she was in the company of foes, and Blackhead's grip was far too robust. His long, nasty fingers had formed into barbed vines and were ravelling themselves firmly around her limbs.

"Son...help me! Oh, my boy! My dear William! My son! My son!" she pleaded, with blubbering palpitations.

"YOU LEAVE HER ALONE!" William cried, and in a selfless attempt of bravery, he leapt from the rock.

Down against the wind he plummeted, for miles it felt, until he eventually landed with a crash, shattering the ground beneath him with his knee and closed fist. The chanting and screams had suddenly diminished, and William stood slowly from the rising dust. Only then did he realise that he was not himself. While he could not see his own face, he could nevertheless tell that he was taller, broader and altogether older than his thirteen-year-old self.

He scanned the canyon floor like a wolf in search of its game, but nobody was to be seen. No Blackhead, no faces, no mother. It was completely empty, nothing but a vacant chasm, noiseless, save for William's livid breaths.

Then, as though hauled through the silence like some second wave of furious terror, the cliffs began to tremble, as massive boulders came hurtling down along the precipice towards the canyon floor. William was knocked off his senses and fell to the ground in torment by the most horribly unbearable pain. His anguish brought him to a scream, and scream he did, though he sounded as ferocious as a lion. Rocks splintered, boulders crashed, and the gorge erupted to the fearsome bellowing of his suffering. Just then, the pain subsided. He slung his head with exhaustion, and the chaos rested quickly thereafter. He lay upon the ground, panting, shaking, clutching his arms, when there came a desolate, haunting chuckle, like the dreaded last laugh of evil was waning back into the shroud of lonely mist.

William sat up with a jolt, only to find himself lying in a huge bed, big enough to fit ten grown people. It was a four-poster bed with an assortment of pelts and pillows. William himself had been stripped of his own attire. Instead, he was garbed in a comfortable flannel nightgown, and the graze on his head had been treated as well. With a start, he grabbed at his chest, where he found a pendant on a chain. This wasn't new, mind you. He'd always worn this...ever since he was little. It was a round lovat amulet, quite small, with a Celtic knot on its face. It was just a great relief to see that it was still there and had not been stolen from him by some nosy miser. It was precious to the lad, and you will find out why as the tale progresses.

Glancing around, he saw that he was in a small stone room, like a grotto, with a round wooden door at the front. Some stools were beside the wall, and a chest of drawers near the bed. A hearth blazed to his right (without which the room would have been completely dark) and all of his clothes had been washed, dried, and neatly folded on a locker to his left. Beside them was a basin of fresh water. Whether it was for drinking or washing up in, he didn't know.

Falling back into the pillows, William threw his forearms onto his brow.

"I'm still here," he sighed, when a stony face suddenly flashed before his mind's eye, forcing him to shudder, as if someone had walked over his grave. "Bloody hell, that dream was weird. Then again...this whole _place_ is weird!"

For a moment he stayed put, pondering, when again he was starting to feel alone. Anun's soothing kiss had long since faded, and the reality of it all came flooding back ceaselessly. Of a sudden, he heard a slight shuffle emitting from the corner of the room. There was also a low and rather indistinct grumbling, and it sounded as if it was near William's knapsack. Or, worse, _inside_ the knapsack.

Sure enough, his pencils and notepads came flying out left, right, and centre. What could it be? Our young William kept his gaze set upon the bag, and he carefully lifted back the covers, then slinked out of the bed, ensuring not to make a peep. For some reason the mumbling became all the more agitated and, whatever was in there, was definitely speaking English. William could tell by the enunciation.

The closer he got—trying to stay as stealthy as a cat—he could understand more of the babble.

"Nothin'! Nothin' at all! Absolutely useless! Pathetic even! Not a drop o' whishkey nor a shnifter o' brandy...not even an aul' sip o' port! Young fellas today, ha? Ya'd think they'd have a bit more sense!"

As William approached the bag, he could see nothing inside it. It was too dark to see anything. Then, with a shocking _twhack_ , he was flicked on the nose by a stray ruler, which had a bite taken out of it.

"Hey!" he demanded, plunging his arm into the bag.

He rummaged through it for a bit when he felt a sharp nip on his finger. Something had bitten him. Pulling his hand out of the bag, William shook it vigorously to numb the pain. Suddenly, something leapt out at out him with a hefty bound.

"Waahay! Ya'll never catch me, ya little twit!" it said, and its voice was surprisingly husky for something so small.

It was a little thing. A little green creature and, whatever it was, it started bounding and leaping with great height all over the room, howling and taunting.

"What were you doing in my things?!" the lad demanded, chasing the creature all around the room.

He managed to catch it once or twice, though it was as slippery as a bar of lathered soap. He then decided to snatch his shirt from the pile so he could use it as a net.

Here, there, and everywhere William chased it; every two seconds crashing into drawers and stools. Eventually, with one massive lunge, he sailed through the air, caught ahold of the critter in his shirt, and landed with a _fump_ onto the bed. The room was a mess, but finally there was silence.

William began to wonder then if he'd even caught the creature at all, such as you would be if you were falsely convinced you'd captured a housefly. He stopped and deliberated, wondering if it would be a silly idea to lift the garment and sneak a peek. He was even a tad anxious. After all, how was he to know what he was holding? It was small, green, unlike anything he had ever seen before, and it could talk...from what he could tell. But his inquisitiveness was getting the better of him.

"Are you in there?" he asked first.

There was no response.

"Say something if you're in there!" he asked again; this time his tone was stricter.

Still there was nothing. No sound, save for the crackling of the hearth. Taking a deep breath, he ever so slowly began lifting up the shirt. His eyes were practically shut, as he was half-expecting something frightening to happen. But, as it turned out, the shirt was empty. He'd caught nothing but a shirt-full of air. He simply could not fathom it. He was _sure_ he'd snatched ahold of him in mid-leap...but nothing was there.

Whilst he contemplated his ensnaring techniques, he felt a sharp tug on his briefs through his nightgown.

"Ouch! What the—" he started.

"Ha-ha! Now how do ya like that, ya aul' tulip?!" taunted a voice.

Wouldn't you know, the creature was standing on William's back, yanking and tugging at his underwear with all of his might, giving him a wedgie.

Angrier than ever before, William scowled. "Get off, you miserable ol' pipsqueak." And flinging his hand backwards with flawless accuracy, he snatched the thing firmly in his fist.

The little fellow had much determination. He even managed to slip out of William's grip more than once. Only this time the boy was ready for it, and he caught him every time he tried.

"Who are you?! Or _what_ are you is more to the point?" William asked sharply.

Fixing his underwear, he then sat down on the bedside, with the creature held securely in both hands.

It was a small being with skinny limbs, a bit of a round belly, and he was dressed chiefly in green, save for a suede waistcoat. His facial features were extremely caricatured, and he had on a marvellous green hat, twice the size of his head, with a golden buckle and the brim folded upwards at the front. His scarlet socks were knee-high, and his black buckled shoes were finely polished. Have you guessed it? That's right! He was, clearly, a leprechaun.

"Please, leave me be!" wailed the leprechaun. "Don't damage me! My heart is weak 'n' my bones are frail!"

He was bawling now, uncontrollably. The tears were cascading from his eyes and soaking into his ginger beard like a sponge.

"You're a leprechaun, aren't you? I never thought I'd hear myself saying that, but that's what you are...isn't it?" William interrogated.

The lad constricted his grip a smidgen when the little fellow didn't respond. He didn't wish to hurt the chap. He was just so befuddled up to this point that all he wanted were some straight answers.

"Do you have a name?!" the boy asked impatiently.

The leprechaun bawled, "Khrum. Khrum's my name. Khrum McCruín. I meant no harm. I was just thirsty is all."

He seemed far from brave now! William thought, so he loosened his grip a bit. But in doing so, the leprechaun seized his chance; ditched his helpless act (for an act it was) and slipped swiftly from William's grasp. Into the air he sprung and, in taking off his hat, he sliced it hook-ways and cracked the lad right across the nose.

"Ha-ha! Ya bloody _Gombeen_!" he cheered, before tearing out of the room as quick as blinking.

Before William could even consider giving chase again the leprechaun had vanished, and the room fell back to the silence once again.

Scratching his nose, he said, "What was all _that_ about?"

Thus with the leprechaun gone, there William remained, sitting quietly on his bedside, trying to make sense of it all. In spite of that engulfing silence, so much was barraging through his mind that he just wasn't able to think straight. Thoughts such as, what was he to do now? Wait there in that lonely chamber? Get dressed and look for Anun? What?

While he pondered, there arose yet another disturbance. Another noise. Something was going into a stir; quite unobtrusively at first. However, it quickly developed into a blaring ruckus. It was like that of a grating sound. Imagine heavy slabs of slate being dragged through gravel. It started and stopped, then started and stopped again. William, startled by the noise, jumped to his feet and began twisting and turning about, trying to see what it was.

"It's that damn leprechaun thing again, I know it!" he muttered. "Show yourself, you little coward! What are you up to?! Come out here where I can see you! _Khrum_ , is it?"

The rumpus took off again, only now it was picking up its pace. Then, in the corner of his eye, William saw it. There appeared to be something burrowing its way across the walls. He saw a large bulge, about as big as a rain barrel.

It moved at a vigilant speed, though not even so much as splintering the stone in its path. It sped all around, across the ceiling, and even before the boy's feet, making him dodge it clumsily. It circled the hearth once or twice, while being very careful about avoiding any precious things in case it knocked them into smithereens. It would just reverse its course and try a new direction instead. Eventually, after nosing about for a spell, it shot up to the wall before William, where it waited.

Other than the fact that it was actually tunnelling its way around, there was yet another obscurity to it. William saw it pulsating. Breathing. As usual, he didn't know what to make of this. But, I have to say, he wasn't altogether surprised, either, because so many bizarre events had occurred up until now that this seemed quite regular...to some odd degree. Still, that's not to say that he wasn't curious as to what this palpitating lump was all about.

Then, with a unexpected, joyous shout, "You're awake, young fella!" cried a voice.

William jumped with a squeak and fell back against the post of the bed.

"No need to be afraid! My name is Glorgan, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. A pleasure of all pleasures, to be sure."

The cracks on the strange clod began to shift and churn until they moulded into a face with a wide, welcoming grin. It wasn't a particularly nice-looking face. In all honesty, it was quite grotesque; whereas both its utterance and air seemed completely affable.

"Glorgan? What are you, um...if you don't mind me asking?" William inquired, remembering his manners this time.

Just then, he recalled the dream he'd had with all of those devilish faces which looked just like this one. But he left his suspicions on standby and thought it best not to mention it.

"Well, I am a Glog, and my name is Glorgan, and it's a pleasure to meet you, William. I am Anun's first assistant here in the Grollo Halls," said the face, as it began sliding and shifting all about the room, observing William from different angles. "I am one of the stone people...a burrower. Or, at least, I _was_ one of the stone people before they became swayed by the evil of the dark one. Oh, that dratted lunar eclipse. Curse it!"

"The eclipse?" said William. "But I thought it only lured evil creatures?"

"It does! But Drevol had previously corrupted the other Glogs with empty promises. The eclipse merely completed the transformation. When I saw what was going on, I burrowed myself as fast and as far away as possible! Oh bless, I was lucky to escape! Very lucky indeed! The hooligans. Demented troublemakers! Chased me for miles, they did. Miles and days. But I soon lost them, somewhere 'round N`raìla, I think? By the Ivy Path...near Crystal Falls. It was around there that Anun called to me. I heard her whisper through the air, and it led me here. Took me under her wing, she did. She's a lovely lady, I must say. Most enchanting."

"N`raìla?" asked William. "I don't think I've ever heard o' that place before. It's nowhere near Ballycongraggon anyway...is it?"

"Oh, no!" Glorgan laughed. "N`raìla is just south of the old canyons, on the borders of Drùschland. It is located near the far eastern region of Lythiann, named Shillìg Bèg...where _he_ lives now. Time has led that place to darkness, it has. Always cold, gloomy, and downright miserable. It would set a chill to your very bones, I'm guessing...seeing as I don't have any bones, I mean.

"Originally us burrowers came from far off in the north of Lythiann; living in caves and mountains, and all kinds of rocky places. I was the first of my kind, believe it or not. Their jolly patriarch. Oh, how I miss them sometimes...the way they were, I mean. Oh yes, we were a friendly bunch until _he_ came along."

William could sense the sadness from within the Glog's hollow well-being. He could tell that there was a loneliness to this creature, which reminded William of his own life after his father had died. An empathic pity instantly befell him, whereas any fears which may have lingered from his recent dream otherwise dwindled to this newfound sympathy.

"We can travel 'round fast, you see!" the Glog continued, once again showing a spirited smile. "Very fast when it needs be. Stone is our home, and while it exists, we can go anyplace that it goes. Anyplace at all. Even the molten places of the world, if it needs be."

Putting his hand out to touch the face, William asked, "So, you're not always stuck in the wall then?"

"Why no, of course not! Now isn't that just a silly thought! We can come and go freely, whenever we please. But we do feel more comfortable in stony places. I suppose it would be like you humans and water. Ye can swim whenever ye wish, but I wouldn't expect you to spend _all_ day _every_ day in the sea or lake, or what have you. Oh no, we don't have to stay in the walls at all! Just stand back there a biteen and I'll show you."

"Okay," said William, stepping curiously aside.

"Right, here we go then," said Glorgan. "One...two...three."

With one giant thrust, he leapt out from the wall and landed with a deafening thump, almost rattling the entire room. William couldn't even being to imagine such a creature before this encounter. Come to think of it, former to this very meeting, he had neither read nor heard of a Glog before, so it was even more of a delight to happen upon this new species of mythical beast now.

Glorgan was a magnificent being, roughly six feet in height and organically formed of stone, muck, and moss. He had short, stocky legs and thick, brawny shoulders with tremendously long arms like an ape. Along his ribs were even more limbs, three to each side; though they were short and emaciated, similar to spider legs, always kicking and clicking. These appendages must have, in some way, been employed for his burrowing. His head was no bigger than a melon, and he had four long fingers on each hand which looked extremely cumbersome to deal with. His face was still as ill-favoured as ever. Nonetheless, it was more so his gentle personality which gave him his delectable presence.

"Oh!" groaned Glorgan, with a cracking stretch. "Now that's much better. It doesn't do us any harm to come out into the open every once in a while. Loosen up the ol' limbs and that. So, how are you finding your stay in the Grollo? It's cosy, don't you find?"

"It's okay, I suppose..."

"I trust you slept well?" asked the Glog.

"It was grand, thanks." said the lad, refraining from going into detail about his dream. "By the way, what time is it? How long have I been asleep?"

Disregarding his question, Glorgan replied, "Brrr, it is nippy in here," and approaching the hearth, he poked at the embers with his stony finger until they sparked and flared again.

Curious of why the Glog didn't answer the first time, the boy asked again, "Um...how long have I been asleep?"

Holding his back to William, Glorgan paused, saying absolutely nothing.

"...Well?" the boy smiled, though sensing something was amiss.

"You have been asleep for exactly nine days," Glorgan eventually answered. "Time works differently down here and, well, you'll need your strength for what lies ahead, young William. You really did need the rest."

" _Nine days_?" The boy gasped. "You have to be joking with me! I need to get all this sorted, and here I am standing around, _sleeping_."

The Glog took settle upon the edge of the bed, with the frame almost giving way under his unwieldy poundage. Meanwhile, the agitated boy grabbed his clothes, and was in such a fluster that he was putting his leg into his sleeve and his arm into his leggings.

"I was afraid you'd act like this," sighed Glorgan. "You have to calm yourself, William. You should know that time doesn't work the same down here as it does on your land...if that is indeed what you are worried about. If my calculations are correct, then nine days would be the equivalent to...hmmm...let's see...about two minutes and fifteen seconds by your clock...give or take a second or two..."

"Well, how can I be so sure _what_ the real time is? What if my mother is stuck up there under that stupid spell and I'm down here mucking about?" William snapped, all in a panic, with his shoes on the wrong feet and his shirt on backwards. "Who knows what could be happening up there in the meantime. The village could be getting ransacked for all I know."

Swamped by his ill-temper, he just let all of his aggression spill out; granted, it could very well have been nine days overdue.

"How can I be sure what the hell is going on here?" he yelled, traipsing about the room. "I can't be sure about anything, can I? Weird old grannies chasing after me in the woods...hairy Dwarves walking me down tunnels...Pookas...wall monsters...green men eating my stuff..."

"Wall monsters?" barked Glorgan, standing stiff with insult. "Well! I never heard the likes! I've tried nothing else but to be nice to you, and this is what you say...wall monster? Thank you so very much! Just so you know, young man, it _has_ been roughly two minutes by your clock...give or take a second or two, because I...don't...lie! And if you don't even have the slightest bit of trust in me, or anyone else down here, then you wouldn't have let the Sandman near you, would you, hmmm? Wall monster indeed."

Searching around for the belongings that Khrum had flung from his bag, William argued, "Sandman?! What are you blabbering on about?"

"Yes, the Sandman," Glorgan stated. "The one who put you to sleep...the Farcodalé. You trusted Anun when she asked for your blessing there, so the least you could do is show me the same courtesy. I've been nothing but friendly, so _humph_!"

Done with this debate, the Glog swung about, cocked his chin into the air and folded his arms high and tensely.

Ruefully aware of his rather harsh outburst, William stopped what he was doing. He knew, after all, that Glorgan had a point. William _did_ trust the lady, for whatever unknown reason. He trusted the Glog too, no matter the warnings which may have been in his logical mind. I mean, honestly, there was nothing logical about what had been happening to him up to this point, not by the average person's expectations at least. Any being which William had encountered so far seemed so genuine (save for the annoying leprechaun thing, of course), so why should Glorgan be any different?

Stepping up to the Glog with his head down and his arms dangling loosely inside his backward sleeves, William uttered, "I'm sorry. Maybe you're right, Glorgan. But you have to understand just how strange all this is to me. I mean...I'm not even sure why I'm here!"

Sitting upon the bed with his head drooped, William's eyes began to bulge and his throat started to swell.

"I just miss my ma..." he said.

Glorgan, still poised rigid, turned his eyes to shame. He didn't even stop to understand what it must've felt like to be William in that moment; being parted from his mother and such. The mournful guilt twisted every pebble in his stony heart. Turning to the boy, he sat down gently beside him and put his heavy arm carefully around his shoulder.

"I am sorry, William. I shouldn't have gone off like that either," he said caringly. "I know this must be difficult for you...let alone odd. Being pulled out from your home and all.

"You know, I managed to stick my head up on your world once or twice, and it is so much different to ours. It's all humans! No tales-folk such as ourselves. Ye have all seemed to have forgotten about us..."

Glorgan said this, I suppose, in an attempt to show William that the Dwelvin-Mites shared, with him, a common grief after abandoning their home and loved ones too, when Drevol first rose to power. Yet William kept his head hopelessly hung, with the Glog's story not making any noticeable impression.

"Still...it can't be easy for you," Glorgan uttered sadly. "I'm sorry for snapping."

Light then retreated to the coming of darkness as the hearth burned down to its embers.

Suddenly, a horn sounded in the distance and, at that noise, William lifted his head and asked, "Why has it gotten so dark?"

Gently, the Glog answered, "Well...it's almost time."

"Time for what?"

"Why, it's time for the gathering," the creature replied. "The final talk that Anun wishes to have with you. But first you must dress...and I have just the thing!"

"Can I not just wear my own clothes?" William sighed, just then noticing how foolish he looked in his twisted uniform.

"No, no. You will need those garbs again later. I was ordered to give you these."

Plodding over to the wall, Glorgan sank his stony arms deep into the rock like it was soft mud and pulled out a brown paper parcel tied with hairy twine.

"Here you are!" he said, turning his back to William. "Put these on. Hurry along now! I won't look."

Opening up the package, William looked inside and found some clean underwear, a brown tartan kilt with sash, a pair of bear hide boots, a white tunic, tough leather vambraces, leather gauntlets, and a thick calfskin pauldron, which looked to fit comfortably over the right shoulder.

"What's _this_ stuff?!" William asked with a crumpled nose. "A kilt?! You can't be serious? I'm not even Scottish."

"Well, you'll have to wear these clothes if you want to fit in," said Glorgan. "If any enemies saw you in your own outlandish garments, who knows _what_ sort of devious curiosities it would arouse amongst them! A scent which could lead them to places where you would not wish them to go, William. For your protection, and for that of your home, you should really wear these. Though I quite agree...the dress is a bit much. But it's all that we could find in your size, and nothing can be done about that now. Come along. Get a move on, if you don't mind. We're late enough as it is."

With a fed-up look on his face, William stepped behind the chest of drawers and put on his new clothes.

At first, he wasn't entirely sure about how to fasten the armoured items, but he quickly figured it out after some trial and error.

"Are you nearly ready?" asked Glorgan.

"Yes!" groaned William, grabbing his old rucksack and pulling it over his shoulder.

He liked having his knapsack with him. He hardly went anywhere without it and no Glog, deity, Grogoch, or bothersome little leprechaun could convince him otherwise.

"All done," he said.

"Right you are," said Glorgan, turning to see the lad in his new attire. "My, my! Don't you look strapping in your new garments! Very bold indeed."

And William _did_ look bold, and strapping, and adventurous...all at once. Just like someone from one of his stories. He feared the kilt might make him look a bit of a girl. But that was not the case whatsoever; his whole attire was grubby and slightly tattered, with a musty odour, such as what a boy's medieval garbs should truly be like.

Once he was done admiring the lad, Glorgan fell into a sudden pause.

"What's wrong? Are you all right?" William asked charily, for fear of even more shocking surprises.

"Oh yes, I'm fine! But I was just thinking," said the Glog, who began speaking with his fingers, as if figuring out a tricky equation. "to get to where we need to go, we could either go out that small door there, walk for about two miles down a dreadfully boring bridge, and then climb down a really long length of rope. Or we could just take...the other way! What do you think?"

The Glog smiled and glared at William with anticipation. The lad wasn't quite sure how, but he had an inkling that the Glog was suggesting a more fun and adventurous route. So, throwing all caution to the wind, he concurred.

Shaking his fists with delight, Glorgan rushed over to the wall and sank his hand into the rock again, only this time he displayed a small lump of stone. It was egg-shaped, in its own rough, stony way, and it was about as big as an egg, too.

"Here, once you take this in your hand and say what I tell you to say, then you will be able to travel alongside me through the walls...like one of us! Are you sure you'd be up for it though? I don't want to put any pressure on you, mind," Glorgan asked.

Excited by this, William chuckled, which was quite a nice surprise considering how glum he'd felt but a moment ago. His troubles were still far from forgotten; however, such an opportunity seemed far too scarce to pass up.

"Sure, let's give it a go!" he said, taking the stone in his hands. "What do I have to say?"

"Oh, joy!" Glorgan laughed. "Nobody will ever do this with me. They're all afraid of getting lost. But I won't let that happen...not me! Oh, it'll be like I'm at home again with my friends! Just don't say anything to Anun about this, or she'll cast a spell on me and drop me into the mines for chipping."

Clearly, Anun would never do such a thing, but she _did_ frown upon carelessness, regardless of whether it was for pleasure or not.

In any event, William cupped the rock in both hands, and Glorgan continued.

"Okay, now repeat after me: Rock, stone, flesh and bone, the Glogish way I wish to roam," he rhymed, excited as could be.

Clearing his throat, William fixed his stance, closed his eyes, and uttered, "Rock, stone, flesh and bone, the Glogish way I wish to roam."

Nothing happened at first. William even had a quick peek through one eye, to find that everything was just as it was. Just then, the stone began to shake in his hand. It began to rattle rather violently, in fact. All of a sudden there was a snap and a crack, when, from out of the rock, there popped a brown baby chick, completely wrought from stone like Glorgan.

"What the—" William started, but before he could finish his words, the chick let out a twitter and pecked him once on each palm. "Ouch! You little..."

With that, he dropped the stone eggshell, and the little bird fluttered back inside the safety of the walls.

Together with the atypical sensation of pins and needles, he felt his hands becoming very weighty and dry. Before he knew it, they were turning a heavy shade of granite brown, all misshapen and sparkly, and it began inching its way slowly up along his arms. Stopping at his shoulders, it crawled down along his body, then through his legs, and finally up along his face. With a _thump_ , his knuckles hit the ground like sledgehammers. The transformation was complete.

"Ho-ho! You would make a fine Glog indeed." Glorgan laughed. "Dear me! You should have a look at yourself."

William found it fairly testing to move at first. He couldn't even talk. Side-to-side he swayed, forever trying to hold up his weight. It was so unyielding that he almost tumbled backwards a few times. But he adjusted.

"Where can I look at myself?" he asked in a slow, droll voice, which sounded nothing like his own.

"Look into the basin over there, that should do the trick!" smiled Glorgan.

And so, heaving up his knuckles, William plodded over to the basin like an ape, where he found himself lingering.

He was quiet at first glance, when suddenly he began to chuckle, harder and harder, until he was guffawing like drumming thunder, causing sheets of dust to loosen upon the grotto walls. He looked just like Glorgan, albeit he could still recognise his true self through mannerisms and his eye colour.

"This is amazing! It seems impossible, but it's still amazing! If only old Blackhead could see me now. He'd run for the hills. Him and that stupid bloody pencil o' his! Now, how do I follow you, Glorgan? Is it difficult?"

"No, it's not difficult at all! You'll know exactly what to do once you step inside the wall," said Glorgan, placing one foot inside the rock, making way for the lad.

"All right, just don't let me do anything stupid. I don't want to get lost."

"Of course! You can count on me, William. I shan't see you wrong."

Employing all of his might, William hoisted his leg into the wall. Inside was quite a pleasant sensation, almost feeling like fine sand; warm to touch, and unusually soft. He then sank his arms in, after which his head followed and finally his other leg, until he was completely stuffed inside, where it was totally dark.

For a time he couldn't hear anything, until eventually, like listening to a rap of muffled thunder from beneath the deepest of tides, there came the rummaging of stone up ahead.

"You might want to open your eyes," uttered a happy voice. "It's quite safe! Take a deep breath, too, while you're at it...there's no need to worry. You've temporarily got Glogish blood in you now, so stone is your home, remember?"

Doubtful of inhaling oxygen in such a dusty place, young William couldn't help but dawdle. It took a couple of moments before he eventually came around. But then, with a tremendous effort, he took in one massive breath, and as he did it, he opened his eyes as wide as they could go.

What an unusual sensation it was! He felt to be puffing in great streams of dust, but it didn't irritate or tickle his chest in any way. He was breathing just fine...better than normal, as it happens, for his innards felt somewhat vitalized and more vigorous due to his Glogish transformation.

Just up ahead of him, he could see Glorgan gazing back with a mighty grin. Both of them were laying lengthways, and were ever so tightly cocooned by solid rock, whereas the shell itself shifted like jelly in whichever manner they so wished to move.

Ready for off, Glorgan said, "Right, just follow me. We'll start off slow so you can get the hang of it. Then we'll pick up the pace a little and have our fun. So, just let it come naturally, and try move up a couple of feet. Go ahead."

"Okay, just wait for me. Don't go taking off!" William asked, readying himself.

He squirmed and adjusted to some comfort until, at last, he was set to go.

Firstly he tried moving in his usual human motion (as a normal person would do if they were creeping through a burrow; all elbows and knees). Only that didn't get him moving at all. He then tried it again the same way, and again, and again after that. Unsuccessful with every attempt, he soon grew tired, not to mention panicky.

"I can't do it, Glorgan! I think I want to get out." He squirmed.

"Calm yourself, lad. You're not being naturally Glogish! You have to feel the movement as I do. Look, it's easy."

Providing William with an example, Glorgan bolted forth several feet before slowing into a halt. He moved just like a giant earthworm, in that he didn't seem to be using his arms or legs at all. He was like a fish through water, as it were.

"Now, try it again."

Though the situation was getting all the more daunting for him, William didn't want to quit, despite how frightened he was.

In closing his eyes, he allowed a calmness to overcome him. He released an alleviating breath, making him calmer still. Exercising a new focus, he then opened his eyes, and drew in a fresh lungful of oxygen. Suddenly, with a strong hoist of muscular tension and undiluted power, he shot forth unexpectedly, with a frightful yell. Remarkably he managed to boost forth a short distance. However, in so doing, he misjudged his direction and smacked right into the soles of Glorgan's big feet.

"Ouch! Sorry!" he called out, but Glorgan was merely laughing in praise.

" _Waaahaaay_! You've got it!" cried the Glog, clapping. "And you got a bit of speed in that one, too! Hmmm, most unnatural for a beginner. You should try out for the Glogarian Specials, you'd be a right shoo-in."

William laughed, surprised at his bizarre, yet satisfying, accomplishment.

"Now let's try another few feet, shall we?" Glorgan suggested.

The boy eagerly replied, "No, wait! How about we just have a race? I think I've got the idea."

Glancing curiously back, Glorgan said, "Getting a little sure of ourselves, are we? You've only moved once so far, and a very few feet at that. We'll just keep going like this for a while. Maybe then we'll think about racing. Besides, you really don't want to take me on. I was the winner of the Glogarian Specials three winters running! I'd only beat you. Now let's just take it nice and—"

In mid-sentence, William shot past Glorgan in a cracking blur.

"Come on so!" He laughed. "Let's see what you're made o'!"

Glorgan didn't know _what_ just happened. He was flabbergasted.

"You're supposed to be following _me_!" He smiled. "Ho-ho! I'll catch you yet, you little blighter. On we gooooooooo."

With that, the Glog set off like a cannonball. Skilful and quick was his burrowing, yet, up ahead, he could see William's trail narrowing off into the darkness, leaving no sign of William.

"How did he manage that?" Glorgan asked himself, diverting from the path to take a sharp right.

Faster he went, in an attempt to cut William off on his road. The Glog, after all, was very nervous of the idea that he might actually get lost, which was the last thing he wanted to happen, especially after promising him that he'd be safe.

Flaring up, his eyes ignited to a bright green, as he probed left and right throughout the underground as he went. You may or may not know that Glogs can see through rock whenever they so wish, and that is precisely what Glorgan was doing at this time. It was imperative that he keep a close eye on the boy, and misplacing him was simply not an option.

"Where are you, William? Don't go straying off. It's very easy get lost in here!" he yelled out, with worry dangling from every word.

Just up ahead to his left, he spotted another Glog burrowing on at an absolutely extraordinary speed. It was none other than William himself.

"This lad is fast," Glorgan said to himself.

I think it's safe to say that he was even a tad peeved about William winning the race, but Glorgan's determination was not about to be broken.

"Tally-hooo!" he bellowed, ploughing on quicker than ever, slowly but surely gaining the lead.

They were but fifteen feet apart by now, shoulder to shoulder. William had comfortably adapted to the Glogish ways by then, for Glorgan noticed his lightning-blue Glogish eyes flashing back at him.

Up they zipped, scaling higher and higher, and in perfect unison. Modifying their course, Glorgan slowed at the pinnacle of the climb before blasting back downwards with burning velocity. William followed, and eventually regained his position in first place...but not by much.

Virtually at an even tie, they went down, then left, and right, for the best part of a mile. The rumble of passing rock grumbled in William's ears, which he found to be extraordinary and free. Every couple of minutes they could be spotted outside the walls, in the open caverns. Innocent Dwelvin-Mites would be just ambling merrily along to the gathering, minding their own business, when, from out of the unexpected, two great clumps of stone would suddenly rip past them before disappearing back into the deeper depths of the dark, stony innards. The passersby almost jumped clean out of their socks when this happened, and that's no exaggeration.

On and on they raced, for ages; travelling in every which way, and they were relishing every last second of it. Spinning and churning, diving and turning until, after more than fifteen minutes of high-speed racing, they were approaching the end.

"Okay!" shouted Glorgan, still at full speed. "Look up ahead, and you should see a tunnel opening above. That's where we have to stop and I'll change you back. William! Can you see it?"

Roguishly, the boy taunted, "You mean, that's the finish line?"

"Yes, that's the finish line!" Glorgan howled. "And the last one there is a witch's knickers!"

"You said it!" laughed William, and the two tunnelling creatures broke into the final sprint.

Every second counted. And in every fraction of those seconds, they were both gaining and losing their leads. How impossibly close it was. First Glorgan was ahead, then William, then Glorgan again. Seconds zoomed by far too quickly. The end didn't seem far enough away at all. With one last kick of energy, Glorgan then burst out from the wall with William just a whisker behind him, both screaming joyously.

Away they flew, over a yawning gulf and across onto a long, narrow shelf on the other side. Glorgan landed into a jog before coming to a complete halt. William docked himself with a clumsy fumble, tumbling along the ground until he was left sprawled out on his back.

Running to him, Glorgan asked with concern, "William? William, are you all right?"

Gawping up at Glorgan with a silly smile on his face, the lad pulled himself to his feet, and dancing about hysterically, he laughed, "That has to be the _best_ thing I've ever done!"

"Easy now," said a laughing Glorgan, calming him with his hands. "You're still in Glogish form, and the last thing we need is for this ledge to give in."

Indeed, he couldn't have been more right. Neither of them realised it, but a tiny fracture was already making its way across the length of the lip behind them. Steadily it was widening and eating its way dangerously downwards.

They seemed to be in a deeper part of the caves now. It almost appeared forgotten from centuries of disuse, as there wasn't much around but for the ledge on which they stood, and a sheer precipice across the gulf which vanished into an abyss of clouded shadow.

"First things first, young William. I'll be needing this back," said the Glog, slapping him on the back of the head.

From out of his mouth there popped a small, egg-like stone, much like the last one, and it fell right into William's hand. First his head shrunk back to size, then his torso; his legs came after that, and finally his arms.

"Wow, now _that's_ something I'd love to do again," the lad said, kneading his shoulder after changing back.

His adrenaline was pumping so hard and fast that it made all of those plucky leaps down the big green hill back home feel like a boring old round of hopscotch.

Suddenly they heard a faint cracking sound, and Glorgan became alert and scanned around, but it had already stopped, so he ignored it.

Placing his hand upon William's shoulder, Glorgan began to give him careful instruction.

"Now, down there in this gorge is where you will find the Watergate. Once you jump in, it will whisk you back to the Grollo Halls. You remember the Grollo Halls, don't you?"

William nodded, although the idea of now being _whisked_ was still mildly discouraging, regardless of his Glogish accomplishment.

"You'll be fine, young William. It's a doddle! Nothing to worry about. You may not be able to see the gate from up here, but if you look across onto the far precipice, you'll see that rope which I was talking about earlier. You will need that to get down."

Sure enough, there was the rope, not twenty feet away, suspended from the tunnel above, and waving gently in the high draught. Strange to say, William hadn't noticed it before. It was as if the rope had suddenly slithered out from the tunnel when he wasn't looking. Then again, William had been so overcome by his excitement that he wouldn't have noticed a chorus of ballet dancing giraffes if they were right there in front of him, either.

It was quite a luxurious-looking rope, having been threaded with both silver and gold, and it was very, very long. Deep down into the abyss it dangled, with its end totally out of sight.

As it happens, there were lots of those tunnels upon that precipice, which all had ropes of their own, of all different lengths. William even witnessed an occasional Dwelvin-Mite or two rappelling down them in the distance until they disappeared into the darkness below. Also, with a rumbling, which started out subtly only to break into a drilling of grinding stone, a head appeared through the very granite of the crag on the far side. 'Twas an insect head of anomalous proportions, with gaunt, probing tentacles and clear pincers. Then another one appeared, far, far below, and another way off to the right. It seemed that it was _they_ who were fabricating the tunnels. These giant translucent insects were actually working with the Dwelvin-Mites, aiding them in the construction of their subterranean world.

Pointing them out, William scowled. "What are _those_ things?"

"Oh! Those are the Trenchins," Glorgan explained. "They help us to excavate. Sometimes our tunnels tend to collapse due to shoddy support. It's a real nuisance. Actually, I'm amazed nobody has gotten killed yet. However, we are working on some scaffold to remedy the problem. The Trenchins there just go around, day after day, clearing passageways and making new ones as we need them. Friendly things they are. Their droppings make for very rich soil, too. Great for growing vegetables in...particularly mushrooms! They're of an eastern breed, meaning that they can only drill through certain soils. Anyhow, enough of that. Are you ready to go then?"

"Well...how am I supposed to reach the rope?" asked William, who didn't care much for jumping from things at great heights.

"Why, you leap of course!" said Glorgan, smiling. And with that grin, William's heart lapsed.

"Don't fear. It's a Grip Rope. You don't grab the rope...the rope grabs _you_! It's really quite safe. Made by Percy the Lythiann gardener. He was a bit daft really, old Percy. But he was very good at inventing clever things. Lives out in Lythiann, last I heard. But whether he's still around or not, I can't honestly say. Who knows what sort of dangers he could have gotten himself into, out there...with Briggun roaming around. Dangerous business indeed. Isn't that so, Stringles?"

The rope gave a wobble, and down in the depths of the gulf there came a squeaky reply.

"That's right, indeed! Full of scoundrels it is. Is that you, Glorgan ol' boy? Was that you I heard causing that racket in the walls just now, not but a moment ago?"

"You heard that?!" gasped Glorgan. "I hope Anun didn't hear it. Or hear _about_ it would be more to the point!"

As they conversed, that crack was ever festering, and had almost gnawed through the better part of the ledge. Still, they were none the wiser.

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about Anun," the voice replied. "She's in a good mood today, with the arrival of the young lad and all that. I haven't yet met him meself, but he sounds a bit jumpy...a confused sort like. Oh, and by the by, I'll be needing those trousers back later on this week. I want them for my party next Friday."

Glorgan was just about to explain something to William when, with a shocking churn to their stomachs, both Glorgan and William felt the ledge give way.

Turning to the crack, the Glog suddenly sneered, "Get back! You have some nerve."

Upon that command, the fracture went into a retreat. Unluckily for them, it wasn't quick enough. Had Glorgan only noticed it sooner, the fissure might have had some chance of sealing itself up properly. Only he was too late, and much of the ledge had already been riven. All of a sudden...it collapsed completely.

Before William could tell what was happening, the wind was blustering past his ears like a thousand flaming torches, and the Glog wasn't too far behind him. Poor William was too panic-stricken to comprehensibly shout for aid, instead yelling as loud as his lungs would allow. The frosty wind was stinging his eyes, making them burn. The rock face raced up and up with such speed that he couldn't even focus on grabbing onto a stray branch, or perhaps a ledge, if even there was one available at all. Instead he spun and twirled, with nothing else coming to mind other than his mother, and how she used to console him anytime he was ill or hurt himself. He couldn't say why this came to mind, it just did.

His throat clammed up from all his babbling screams as he sped past that very shelf which had collapsed beneath them. It had somehow gotten wedged between the two precipices, and the young fellow was so very fortunate not to have splatted into it like some unsuspecting bug.

In the midst of his spinning and twisting, he caught a glimpse of a bright turquoise pool at the foundation of the drop. It was getting ever closer with each chest-wringing breath. "Oh, God! Now I'm _definitely_ done for," was his last recollection. Then, with swift action, the unthinkable happened. Luck, it seemed, was on his side.

"I have you! No need to fret," squeaked a voice.

Opening his eyes, William saw that he was swaying to and fro, suspended just a few feet from the bottom, with his fingers quietly dabbling in the pool of water. Something had clutched onto him mere seconds before his inevitable splat into the pool. Surely it would have been a splat, too, considering the height he plummeted from.

Arching his back to look behind him, he saw a rope mummifying his lower half. It was ravelled 'round and 'round his legs with some security. William was lost for words, and he felt like throwing up. As a preferred alternative, he just let out a grateful roar of relief.

So, with the blood coursing rapidly through his veins, he vented, "GOD ALMIGHTY!"

"So _you're_ the lad?" a voice suddenly put in. "Strange-looking creature, you are. You look a lot like me father, actually...now that I can get a decent look at you. Ye two are the same breed of animal by the looks of it."

William didn't quite like being called an animal, but right now, he was just glad to still be blinking. Suddenly something thin, silky, and serpentine held onto his pauldron and turned him about in full circle. It was the end of the rope; it was alive, and that was precisely what was talking to him in that shrill voice.

William wasn't quite sure of what to say at first, he was just so baffled. So he ended up blurting out any old sentence, on the off-chance of breaking the silence, and to hopefully dissuade the rope from examining him.

His arms dangling lifelessly in the water, he asked, "Um...Percy, is it?"

Too busy turning William about and scanning him from head to toe with his serpentine head, the rope said nothing.

To look at him, you'd say that he was quite a normal rope, like something you would find in a garden shed; aside from his lavish gold and silver threads, that is. At the end, where the threads were bare, was a tiny, bristled mouth. No teeth, no nose, no lips, no eyes nor ears, just a mouth.

When he didn't reply, William felt most uncomfortable, and he couldn't think of what to say next. He then remembered Glorgan, and he wondered where he might've gotten to.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, trying his best to sound courteous. "I seem to have lost my friend, Glorgan. He was supposed to bring me to some gate. I think he called it the Watergate? I presume this is it...maybe? But I think I've lost Glorgan himself! Do you know where he might be? I hope he's all right."

Erupting into a sudden cry of laughter, the rope began to speak so sharply and proudly that William rattled with fright.

"No, no, me dear lad! Percy is the gardener of Lythiann. Stringles is me name, and I'm one of Percy's many creations. He made a whole family of us Grip Ropes and gave them to the Dwelvin-Mites as gifts before the great flee. He stayed abroad on Lythiann, however. Wanted to stay with the trees, he did. But never mind that. I've got even better tidings. Three hundred and forty seven years old I am, this very day. It's me birthday, you know! And tonight I think I am going to get re-threaded by some of the leprechauns. I can't wait!"

William didn't really know how to approach this response, because it didn't seem to answer his question about Glorgan at all.

Deciding to remain courteous anyway, he smiled. "That's great news! Happy birthday, Stringles."

He'd also been dangling for long enough by then, and his vision was starting to come alive with colourful spots. What he wouldn't have given to be put the right way up, even if it meant getting drenched. And that was a hundred times better than having his head pop off like some ripe berry.

"No, no, I haven't seen him," Stringles carried on. "But I'm sure he's fine. Glogs can be nimble when they wish. He probably just fell back inside the wall during his tumble."

Confused, William asked, "What do you mean? Oh, you're talking about Glorgan now?"

"Oh, thank you...you're very kind," said Stringles with a laugh. "I must admit, I'm a very old age. But once I get re-threaded I shall be as good as new."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," William said, speaking louder and slower, for fear of the rope being slightly deaf.

Then Stringles said, "What I mean is that Glogs can be quick, very quick when they need to be! I bet he'll pop his head out at any moment."

William was so puzzled, what with the rope's answers being out of sync with his questions.

At that moment, and not a moment too soon, Glorgan popped his head out from the wall beside them.

"Well, thank _God_ for Stringles!" he said, with a sigh of relief. "May your threads stay strong and full. Are you all right, William?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Stringles...um...may I call you Stringles?" he asked the rope, "Stringles caught ahold o' me just in time."

Sinking into a whisper, he then said, "But he seems a bit delayed in answering my questions. I'm fierce confused here."

As Glorgan and William went into a secret murmuring, Stringles went on with his examination of the lad.

"Oh, I know what you mean," the Glog whispered, turning his eyes up. "His reactions are a little slow. He confuses me too, sometimes! _And_ he's a little deaf. Not the full helping of strawberries, either...if you take my meaning! That's what I was going to tell you before the ledge gave in. Trousers indeed! Ridiculous! When did you ever hear of an enchanted rope wearing trousers?"

William wanted to say that he had never even heard of a talking rock before, either, but he just kept that one to himself.

"Has he told you about his birthday again? I bet he has," asked Glorgan. "He'd be getting presents every minute of the day, if half the things he said had any truth to them! But he can't help it, I suppose. Poor ol' dope. He's harmless."

"What do you mean, you don't understand?" Stringles asked aloud, answering yet another of William's retired questions. "You're not a half-witted lad, are you?"

"No, I'm not half-witted....not really. Not in the normal run o' things at least."

Stringles then went back about his business, disregarding the boy like he wasn't even there. What an odd creature he was. But those were his ways, and his ways were his means, so it couldn't be helped.

Stretching his neck out from the wall, Glorgan looked down onto the turquoise pool and said, "This is the Grollo Watergate. All you have to do is jump in, and it will give you safe passage to the Halls."

Meanwhile, after further observation of the boy, Stringles looped his narrow body around to William's face, and protested, "I'm not daft, take no notice of her. She's always trying to make me out to be a blundering idiot. Isn't that so, Aíne?"

Glorgan and William just paused at that, and stared blankly at each other.

"Well, I suppose I'd better let you go now," the rope concluded. "I've business that needs tending to. It's me birthday tomorrow! Two years old I'm going to be, and there's much to get done. So long."

Thwacking like a cracking whip, Stringles released his hold on William's legs, letting him loose into the pool with a splash. Upwards he then zipped like a projector cord, but not before dealing out some belated invites to yesterday's birthday party.

"Right!" said the Glog. "Peace at last. How do you find the water? Is it warm enough for you?"

"Yeah, it's fine!" William said, as he spat and spluttered, kicking his limbs to stay afloat.

"I must be off now," said the Glog. "I still have a lot of duties to see to today, and I'll be lucky to get a morsel in before I start! No doubt I'll see you again before journey's end. Good luck, William! And it was a great honour to meet you!"

Upon those departing words, away he burrowed, off up the walls like a great mole.

"Wait! You forgot your egg...stone...thing!" William shouted, but it was pointless.

The Glog was already gone and he was all alone, with no direction to go other than downwards through the Watergate. So he put the stone in his sporran for safekeeping until he saw the Glog again, whenever that may be.

He stayed put for a few minutes. Just him, alone, with the sound of water dabbling by the edges of the lake. The wind crept through the deepening shadows of the chasm and sang softly, yet dauntingly out of key. The gloom was otherwise motionless and still, but again for those airy whispers and lonesome ripples which circled his every movement. 'Twas a woeful situation, and William became very on edge. He wanted Glorgan to come back; at least then he would've felt more safe. The Glog was gone now, however. It even crossed William's mind to utilize the stone again, to search for him. Then again, that creature moved swiftly, and therefore could've been leagues away by then. Chances are, William would've only gotten lost anyway, thereby ending up in an even bigger bind than he was already in.

This was the first time he'd been truly alone since he first came to that unusual world, and he didn't like it one little bit. On all other occasions, someone, or some _thing_ , had found him and helped him, which he thought much more convenient and less frightening. Even to see Khrum again would've been an unexpected delight. Alas, that didn't happen, and the lad's options were stark.

"Right!" he said, trying some enthusiasm. "How hard can this be?"

Those words were then suddenly traced by a shrill copycat whisper from the unknown. It was only a trick of the wind, but William didn't know that. When he swished about to find no other signs of life, it made him very hot under the collar.

"...Right!" he said again, expecting another whisper; yet there was none. "I'm alone now...I think. But that can be easily fixed. All I have to do is wait here till the pond _whisks_ me away...as Glorgan said."

The Glog's instruction notwithstanding, nothing happened. Not straight away.

William's doubts quickly subsided when he got yanked below the surface, like a great plug had been pulled from beneath. Bubbles gushed by him, as of a vicious gale, and he spun through the current with great bulging cheeks of air. Next thing he knew, he landed with a bump onto a golden throne with quilted cushions. Quite an awkward landing it was too, with his leg slung over the armrest, whereas the rest of him had almost slid off the throne completely. Not only was he bewildered again, but he was also bone-dry and back on dry land, too.

On the ceiling _above_ him, stretching around for at least a mile in every direction, was that huge rippling lake. A truly unusual sight. It just lingered there, upside-down, like the rear of a mirror. It lapped gently with growing ripples, dripping not a drop onto the ground below, whereon a thick bed of hay was scattered, as some sort of landing pad for any other who came plummeting down through that gate. William, on the other hand, was given this majestic-looking throne, and was getting all of this special attention which he really had no care for. All he genuinely wanted was to be on his way to getting things sorted, and that was it.

Ahead of him was a huge cavity in the stone, leading from which, a long stairway ran right down into the centre of the Grollo, where the massive tree column was. The Dwelvin-Mites were gathered around it; peering up and awaiting his arrival. Anun was at their forefront with her usual tranquil smile.

William was about to stand up and make his way down when two friendly looking trolls, clad in fur hides, came clambering up the stairs before him, each with a wooden pole in their hands. They were brawny fellows, grey of skin, with massive, hardworking backs. Their heads were rather obscure, having been studded over with tiny horns. Noble were their noses, and their jaws burly, with great tusks poking out from the corners.

"Hello, sire!" they uttered in unison.

"Oh, hello..." William replied.

You might've already noticed, but he was feeling a little less coy around these strange folk as he was meeting them. He was adapting, whether he knew it himself or not.

One of the trolls then said, "My name is Grump."

"And my name is Dreckal!" added the other.

This made for a rather strange, yet also mildly amusing, situation. For it was obvious that they were both trying their hardest to speak properly, like two children who were made to read aloud before a class.

"And we are here to show you to your gifts, sire," Grump uttered.

"Gifts?!" William exclaimed, hoping that they didn't actually intend on giving him _gifts_ now.

"Yes. Anun is waiting for you down below. She has some of your _older_ belongings. She thinks they will help you out a bit on your journey!" said Dreckal, in his languid troll voice.

Now curious as to what these possessions might be, the lad perked up some.

"Right so! Let's be off!" said Dreckal, dropping his elocution and getting back to business.

Clutching their poles, they fished them through two slots on either side of the throne. Once the rods were securely fixed, the trolls hoisted William up onto their shoulders like he himself was the King of the Grollo.

Down the stairway they moseyed, at a respectable pace and in an orderly manner. The Dwelvin-Mites conversed silently amongst one another and, again, some of them were bowing. You already know how this sort of behaviour made William feel; very embarrassed, and even a trifle exasperated. He was never one for fuss, you understand, and for people to fuss over _him_ was something intolerable altogether. It made him feel absurd and pompous; two traits of which William's true qualities were least like.

He could but smile and act polite towards their courtly gestures. And as an act of Irish impulse, he threw down a fine wink here and there, only to realise that such a common motion in return may not have been entirely appropriate. Thus he stopped, and endured the remainder of the journey with an awkward smile on his face. Thankfully, they'd almost reached the end of the stair.

Before the crowd, Anun welcomed him with her hands out. Having approached the end of their duty, the trolls settled the throne down delicately, delivered a bow, and disappeared back into the gathering.

"Hello, William. Did you sleep well?" she asked.

Glad to finally be rid of the throne, Williams answered, "Well, yes, I did."

Again, he decided to say nothing of that awful nightmare which had now, somehow, resonated itself in his mind, unlike any other dream he'd had in the past. Normally, by his second slice of toast at the breakfast table, his dreams would've already been forgotten. Rarely could he remember them. This time, it was different.

Changing from the topic at hand, he asked, "When do you think I should start this journey?"

"I see you are very eager, young William!" Anun smiled, with a serene murmur thereafter. "First we have some items which belong to you. Items which you may require along your path."

Anun then showed him to another small room just off the main hall. The crowd also picked up and followed behind.

The chamber did not go back all that far, nor was it all that high or wide. But it was a-clutter with treasures of every kind. That's not to say that it was restricted to the treasures that you would imagine, such as gold coins or necklaces. There were also very modern items in there, too; such as kites, footballs, marbles, playing cards, abacuses, lettered blocks, hand puppets, and even comic books. Kitchen things were there, too. Colanders and breadboards and the likes. You may wonder how such items came to be a part of the Grollo trove? Well, these were the things which fell astray from the land above, in the early years. Then, one day, they were happened upon by one of the Dwelvin-Mites, who brought them below, thinking of them as valuables. Model boats hung from the ceiling above, jars upon jars of marbles and bright stones had overflowed and were spilling out onto the floor, and different artefacts like shields, jewels, and armour were all strewn throughout. The room was a muddle, and yet it would have been the playroom of _all_ playrooms to any normal child...but not to William. For this brave young fellow had far more important issues to deal with now.

Soon the threshold of that room was jam-packed with beasts, creatures, and odd beings, all goggling in at Anun and William. There were even two witches wedged in the pileup, with the brim of their hats forced over their eyes from being lodged between the threshold and a Bidìck's hairy shoulders. It looked like an altogether uncomfortable mess, granted you may think it to be amusing, sitting comfortably where you are.

"This is what we salvaged during our escape; our trove," said Anun, introducing the riches with a sway of her arm. "Ancient possessions which we managed to scavenge lest we should have required them for that pollution known as commerce. Take what you must, William, but only what you can carry. I cannot fully aid you in your decision, as it was foretold by the swallows that you would already know what to choose, though now you may not know it. You must let your intuition work for itself. And remember, Lythiann is a large country. There will be other opportunities to gather more useful implements along your path, so do not burden yourself now with items that you may have no use for."

Walking into the room, William stepped away from Anun, and everyone fell into a discreet observation.

Everywhere he searched; examining all the bits and pieces around him. Firstly, within a pile of silver coins and soft teddies, he noticed the cork of an old popgun poking out at him. He was already well aware that he was not going to choose this item, but he wanted to look at it all the same. Over he went to inspect the toy, yet before he could even touch it, the crowd made a wondrous gasp. It distracted William, so he refrained from picking it up and, again, he carried on searching.

Slowly he panned the trove, when this time he saw what looked like the helm of a wooden army man jutting out from a thicket of holly and costly brooches. Again, he reached down to retrieve the toy when there was yet another soft " _Ooooooooooh_!" from the creatures behind him. Spinning around, he glared at the mob with meeting eyebrows. Frightened to see William apprehending them in such an irritated fashion, their eyes gleamed; probing elsewhere in the room but for his grim expression. Some even took to whistling, to make it seem like they weren't in the least bit interested in what he was doing. Others tried sparking up conversation with the idle person next to them. When William went back about his business again, they all leaned back in, with just as much intrigue as before, if not more.

After a little more scavenging, he saw something that really took his interest. From beneath a large mound of spangled stones and expensive rings, he spotted a small wooden case encrusted with black diamonds. An unknown desire grew in his heart, making it kick hard and quick, which then led him toward the mysterious case. Kneeling upon both knees, he put his tattered rucksack aside, and began rustling through the trinkets until the box was totally uncovered and resting upon a mound of golden treasure. Suddenly, another " _Woooooooooooo_!" emerged from the threshold.

"I can't concentrate with this _racket_!" he said gruffly, which he was soon sorry for, as he didn't like the sound of his voice when he was giving out.

Not a squeak could be heard. He then glanced over his shoulder, and other than Anun, nobody else was around.

"Where'd everybody get to?" he asked, surprised.

Just then, a few dozen eyes peered in at him from both sides of the doorway. His outburst had scared them all into retreat, but, sure enough, they gradually made their way back inside the archway, one by one.

"Sorry," the lad said apologetically. "Didn't mean to snap like that."

"They will be fine," Anun condoned. "Please, proceed with your search."

Returning to the case, he found himself staring at its perfectly unspoilt craftsmanship. On its front, a golden latch was affixed, which he eventually brought himself to open. With a pop, the lid bounced, and it was ready to be exposed. He then lifted it back to reveal that which was inside.

The lining was of flaxen velvet, and neatly placed within rounded pockets were three packages, bulbous in shape, all perfectly wrapped in gold and silver foil.

"I believe you have chosen wisely," said Anun, who was observing from over his shoulder. "Those are the enchanted truffles, which were prepared by the Necromancers of the south. A magical food which, upon consumption, can give you the power to cast whatever spell that such truffle represents...but only for a limited amount of time!

"Within the foil of each is a description and direction, telling you what the magic is and how to wield it. Unfortunately, you will not know what each does until you open it. A minor flaw in their design. Whichever you decide to consume is entirely up to you, and your choice must be consumed immediately! It cannot be replaced for another because, once the wrapping is removed, the magic will only remain potent for a short time. And after such time, it will vanquish completely. So choose carefully, and not with haste."

Closing the box again, the lad was about to pack it into his rucksack when, just to his right, he saw another item dangling from a nail on the wall. It was a thick leather satchel with a heavy golden buckle and two elongated back straps, and it was empty. Around the seam was a line of silver runes, going from one corner to the other. William inspected it, and then compared it to his own shabby rucksack. He also remembered just how unreliable it was in the past, with things flying out of it and whatnot, so he grabbed the new satchel and began spilling all of his belongings into it.

When his old bag was finally empty, he rummaged around in the fresh satchel to make some space, when suddenly, he felt something strange at the bottom. He reached in and pulled out a cream bun. He didn't remember packing any buns, but there's no sense in throwing it away. It seemed to be fresh.

He stuffed the bun back inside again when he happened upon yet _another_ object. It was large, round, and rather soft. This time he lifted out a large loaf of freshly baked bread.

"This isn't mine either!" he said, scratching his head.

Leaving the loaf to one side he began rooting inside for a third time, until he came across another new thing. It was warm, very slippery, and of a very obscure shape. It was a roast chicken. William continued to search and, the more he did so, the more he came across the most wonderful types of food. From apples, to ham sandwiches, to bacon, to biscuits, and all were freshly prepared and ready to eat.

"What kind o' bag _is_ this?!" he asked, with a contorted eye.

"This is your satchel of plenty," Anun explained. "It delivers you a never-ending supply of food, as well as a substantial amount of space for your own belongings. You need but think of what you desire, and it will offer it to you instantly. And judging by all you are finding now, it seems you are quite famished!"

"Well, it has been a good long while since I ate. Nine days, or whatever it was," said William. "And one thing I've been craving since I left school was some nice green grapes. Do you mind?"

"By all means!" Anun chuckled.

Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a fine bunch of the greenest, seedless grapes, and he tucked in without thinking twice about it. He was very hungry indeed, for the grapes disappeared into his mouth within seconds, leaving his cheeks bulging with tasty pulp and sweet juices.

Anun chortled again, and asked, "Enjoying yourself?"

William tried saying something, only his mouth was too full, so it came out all muffled.

Eventually, he gulped it down, and praised, "Those are probably the best grapes I've ever tasted!"

"Indeed they are." Anun nodded. "Everything from the satchel of plenty is fresh, because it comes fresh from your thoughts. It is a smart decision to bring this item with you, for some of your odyssey may be desolate, and food will be scarce. Take good care of it now. You cannot afford to misplace it, and it could also prove very dangerous in the wrong hands."

Wiping his mouth on the back of his gauntlet, William slung the bag straps over his shoulder, so the satchel hung down neatly upon his thigh.

I must tell you, that this precious little item also caught the undivided attention of one of the onlookers, and I bet you can guess who it was, too. Exhibiting a crafty giggle, the idea of an endless drinking supply danced through his head, and he left a puddle of drool by his feet.

"So will that be all, William? Or do you wish to take more?" she asked of him.

The boy thought for a moment, rubbing his chin and gazing about the room. Meanwhile, the others kept watching him, blinking stupidly, and any beast with a snout was sniffing the path of William's eyes.

Eventually he decided that he would need no more. He had food and magic, and that would suffice until he came across more useful items along the way. He considered bringing a weapon, but that was just begging for trouble, so he decided against it. Besides, he owned a good pair of running legs, and a sword was already awaiting him, whether he wanted it or not.

"Very well then," said Anun, helping him to his feet. "You must embark on this mission soon, young William."

"How soon, exactly?" he asked, somewhat anxiously.

"Ideally...hours," she replied. "Time, unfortunately cannot be spared. The last burning eclipse was around the time of the battle. And we have recently learned that, once Mysun comes back to us, the new eclipse will be soon thereafter. Thus meaning that Drevol's army will scout the land yet again. Then again, 'soon' to us could mean months, or...even years!"

"Years? Really?!" The boy gasped.

"You must understand, William, given how we all live throughout the centuries, mere years to us pass like moments. So, we must strike before Drevol can brainwash these beasts into doing his will. I dare say, if that happens before you get to him, then it will make your journey all the more perilous. And we must not take that chance."

"All right...I agree...the sooner the better! And is there anything else I need to know before I go?"

Elusively, though with a sense of faith, she answered, "Anything other than that which I have already told you, you shall likely learn along the way, William. So, I implore you, have trust in all that I have imparted. Have trust in yourself, in your decisions. And try not worry needlessly."

"I'll try. But I'm still not entirely sure about which way I have to go when I get to this Lythiann place," he said, feeling rather apprehensive about doing all of this on his own.

"This has been taken care of. I have arranged a guide for you. He will stay with you until journey's end. I told him to watch out for you no matter what the cost. He is very loyal, and he knows some of the best ways to get around Lythiann."

William was comforted by this, but he was also quite curious as to who this guide was actually going to be.

"A guide! Well, that's good. When will I get to meet him?" he asked.

"We can go now, if you wish," Anun replied.

"It's as good a time as any, I suppose."

Thus, leaving the crowd behind, they made their way back into the Grollo city so as young William could become acquainted with his new guide. Little did he realise how comforted he would be to see who it actually was.

# \- Chapter Six -

### A Familiar Face

Just aside the tower house there was a wide, cobbled road down which they ambled. Sloping to a dip, the path led onto a residential street with ancient houses on either side. It was a much darker area of the city, that street, having only accommodated seven street lamps down a stretch of road which measured about a half-mile in total. Apart from those lamps, the only light to glimmer was from the volcanic etchings near the ceiling, which seemed to linger all the more profusely in that specific area, thus conveying even more warmth to the district.

'Derelict' came to William's mind, when he studied those houses. But those buildings weren't unoccupied, as more melancholic creatures were dwelling within, though very few. William only counted eight Elfish women, all of whom were wrapped up tightly in thick woollens as they sat on their old porch rocking chairs, rocking to and fro, with the wistful creaking of wood upon aging floorboards.

There could very well have been more people about, in hiding, though William did not see them.

How sad those present few seemed as they gazed blankly at him, while he and Anun strolled on by. It was almost as if they were staring right through him, directly back into the despair of their own lives, and every ounce of spirit seemed to be bled from their souls until they were but empty shells, yearning for the release of their own demise. Much like those who dwelt within, the houses too were dreadfully rundown; with the garden gates just barely clinging from rusted hinges, and limp boards leaning out from splintered garden fences. Weeds grew copiously throughout this side of the town, from one property to the next, yet not obstructing the dusty road. Instead, they curled through the palings until they crept up and around the very houses themselves, choking them and invading their cavities as years of decay ate slowly away at the lice-infested timber.

It was a depressing old stroll for the young lad, wandering down such a dismal road, with him in perfect health. Something told him that he hadn't the right to scrutinize these people in their anguish; it seemed wrong and disrespectful. Yet they had every right to be watching him, admiring all he had and all that he would _ever_ have, for never was he to be bound to their miserable fate. Only then did he notice a sadness seeping its way into his gut, soaking into his very bones, and he began to understand what dreaded potentials this place might have in store for one who was constrained to eternally endure its pitiless grip. In that moment, William felt truly uneasy in this strange new world, but he continued to feel for those who had no choice other than to remain there.

Near the end of this road, where it could travel no further, was probably the nicest house of all; but it was still rather dilapidated, and ever so misshapen. It was almost like something from a bizarre dream, however not in the least nightmarish. To a degree this abode was still fairly well preserved, like it had been cared for; both treated and painted. Its convivial shade of midnight blue was but now fading to flakes and cracks. An effort too had been invested into the little garden, where a periphery of weeds had been pruned to appear quite decorative. The lawn itself was more of dry muck than of grass, whilst what little grass had occupied it had long since wilted. Also, just outside the garden gate was a metal post box which merely said 'Tum' in white paint. But why such an implement would be required in that place, would be a bafflement to most.

"Here we are," said Anun, gesturing to the house. "This is where your guide lives."

"It's nice!" William said politely, suddenly spotting three mice making a dart across the lawn into the unknown.

Knowing full well the boy's true impressions, Anun replied, "Well, as nice as can be expected in such a place, I am sure you would agree, William. Your host takes great pride in preserving whatever beauty he can scavenge within our caves. Now, we had better get inside. He is expecting you, and time is now of the utmost importance!"

"Are you coming in with me?" he asked, and Anun replied with a nod.

William had just lifted the latch and pushed open the quaint wooded gate when an elderly Elfish woman, bunched in rags, suddenly came at him from nowhere. She hobbled right up to the boy and began groping onto him with her sickly hands.

"Believe in yourself! Trust your intuition! Follow the prophecies!" she moaned, as though pleading in her withered, juddering voice.

William leaned away in horror as she moved in closer. Not that he was repulsed by the lady in her condition. It was more down to him not expecting it to happen. But no matter how odd the situation might have been, he could not deny the genuineness of her words. The sheer urgency.

"Leave him be now, Sasà." Anun smiled affectionately, as she helped the woman's frail hands off William's tunic. "He has much to do, and I am afraid he cannot be bothered."

Nothing else could explain how this woman appeared, other than worn and demented. She had an undiluted gaze of madness in her eyes. And as Anun was turning her away from him, the woman was nodding to herself like she didn't quite know where she was or what she was doing. But Anun, being caring by nature, assisted her, and was going to see her safely home.

"You go on in, William," she said, as she walked the lady gently back to her house. "Sasà is one of our eldest, and is not quite herself of late. Used to be a very talented fortune teller back in the day, poor thing. Nowadays her visions are cluttered and all jumbled up, so it confuses her. She must be put to bed, lest she stray into harm. I shall meet you here when you have conversed with your guide, for I have some gifts of my own that I wish to give to both of you. You will be okay, I trust?"

"Oh...I'll be fine," William found himself saying. "Take your time. I'll meet you out here in a few minutes."

With that, Anun departed and, as strange as that whole episode was, William managed to disregard it, having had far too much going on in his mind that he simply couldn't bear adding more to his pile of burden.

Thus, "I'm not even going to ask," he muttered, as he watched the two ladies amble off into the darkness.

Opening the gate with a squeak, he strolled up the garden path to the cosy wooden stair which led onto a rather inviting timber porch. Once again, it was quite ornate, as some of the more colourful weeds, such as dandelions and purple nut sedge, seemed to have been floriated and thoughtfully arranged in pots along the windowsills and decking. I wouldn't imagine that any species of typical flower would have survived too well in such a bleak environment, much like the Dwelvin-Mites themselves. So it was not surprising that they had to make do with whatever they could find.

It was a snug little abode, from what William could tell by the outside. There was a small, crooked door in between two windows, which themselves were equally as wonky, and curtained with some tattered lace, thereby preventing any view of the inside. A fire had obviously been lit, for a thin thread of smoke was streaming out from the chimney and floating up into the shadows of the cavern. William stood there briefly, glancing around, thinking. He would have preferred that Anun introduced him to this new guide of his, rather than William making his own introductions. It was already an awkward enough situation as it was, and he wasn't wholly certain on what he was going to say. All of a sudden, the door opened all by itself.

At first, he didn't budge. He simply stood away from it, discreetly peeping in. It then opened up wider, almost as if the door itself had noticed William outside and found it terribly rude to keep a guest waiting. Presuming it an invite, he hesitantly found his way inside.

Into a large open room he stepped...and halted. It was empty. A touch apprehensive about just strolling in like he owned the place, William instead stuck out his neck to see if he could spot any signs of life...but nobody was to be seen. Well, not until the patter of feet came walking merrily across the stone floor, that is. Immediately William caught sight of some footprints appearing upon the dusty stone and, hitherto, he heard someone humming, but there was no physical sign of anyone present.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "Ahem...hello?"

Then, before his eyes, like a figure materializing from the very furnishings of the chamber, the shape of a Grogoch manifested. Only when it came to full form could William truly say who it was. It was, of course, that friendly Icrick creature again. He was plodding around in invisible form, doing his few little dribs and drabs. It is a very useful talent of the Grogochs, invisibility. That and... Well, you shall find that out a little later.

"Hello, my dear lad!" he said, with a gleaming smile and his arms out. "Come on in."

"Hello, Icrick!" William said, being rather glad to see a familiar face. "Icrick _Tum_ , is it?"

"That it is, my dear fellow. Icrick Tum, at your service," he said with a giggle.

"So, you're my guide then?" William asked.

"Indeed I am, my boy. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this day. All my Christmases have come at once, so they have," Icrick replied with a cheerful chuckle.

"Well, I'm just glad to see a familiar face," said William, glancing about the room, and then out into the street behind him. "So, you...um...live in this part...with the rest of them?"

I think he was rather surprised to imagine that someone would dwell so voluntarily in such a place, presuming Icrick was given a choice to reside elsewhere in the Grollo to begin with. How it could have been good for maintaining one's spirits, William did not know.

"Oh, most of us live here in this part of town. Even Anun." The Grogoch smiled, waddling over to close the door. "She lives in the large tower house in the very middle there. Of course, she deserves it, after all she has done for us in the past. There are a few other areas about where others choose to stay. That's their preference, however. All parts of the Grollo are pretty much alike, anyways, so it doesn't really make much odds. Now, come inside and get some warmth into your bones."

Glad of the invite and rubbing the heat into his hands, William went further inside and made himself comfortable.

It was a simple enough sort of house, consisting of just one very high, dusty room. To the left, a ladder was leading up to a loft, where a cot rested beside a window. To his right was a blazing fireplace, within which a small cauldron was bubbling over. Spotting this himself, Icrick waddled over to it, cursing to himself. Using a cloth, he carefully lifted it off and carried it to the table in the centre of the room.

Beside the fireplace, a raven flapped upon his perch stand, which William hadn't noticed at first, and he was squawking away as though laughing at Icrick and the mess he'd made of his dinner. He was a funny-looking fellow, with a fluffy grey mane, and a red bell-collar about the nape of his neck.

"Oh, hush your beak, Meldrid," the Grogoch said grumpily.

There were a good many hideaways and cupboards about the room, too, and they were all jammed with maps, and books, and broad antique scrolls. The place would have been a complete sty had they not been packed away as tidily as could be.

"Fantastic, that's my soup spoiled," the Grogoch said, tutting, with his head practically shoved inside the pot. "No harm, I suppose. I'm only just after having a swift bite in the Hall just now. But I had to rush back here and greet you, my dear fellow."

"Oh...well...if you want to get something quick, I can just wait here for you," William offered civilly. "Only, I think Anun might want to meet us outside shortly?"

"Oh, in that case, I had better get moving!" Icrick replied hastily.

"Are you sure?" the boy insisted. "No point in starving yourself, either."

"It's no trouble, William, honestly!" replied Icrick. "Besides, we have too much to get done before we leave."

"Like what?" asked the lad, putting his finger out to the raven and almost getting it snapped off.

"Well, I have to pack up all of my maps and belongings. 'Tis quite a long trip, you know, and I can't afford to forget anything important. Oh, I just can't wait."

William, in the meantime, helped himself to a stool near the fire, while Icrick went about packing his things.

The Grogoch scuttled about, here and there, picking up his bits and pieces with an excited grin on his face.

"What are you so happy about?" William said, sort of smiling as he watched him. "To me this journey sounds like it's going to be dangerous. And here you are, acting like you're going away on holidays."

"Oh, but I am, William," said the Grogoch, with his head buried in a barrel of parchments, as if he'd half fallen in.

He was a very clumsy critter; walking into stools, and stumbling about and whatnot. Then again, Grogochs generally are—clumsy.

Eventually, out he popped with an armful of papers and shuffled on over to the boy.

"It has been centuries since I last saw the light of day, William. And no better place to see it again than Lythiann. Wait till you see it...this land! Rolling hills of the finest green grass; forests full of all kinds of birds, and beasts, and magical creatures. Lakes with nothing but the freshest of waters, and mountains that stretch past the very clouds themselves. Oh, it's a wondrous world, William! Wait till you see!"

To William it sounded quite like home, save for the mention of magical creatures, naturally. And Icrick appeared to love Lythiann just as much as William loved Ballycongraggon.

"I'm sure it'll be nice to see," the lad agreed, trying desperately not to dredge up home whilst trying not to appear rude.

After several minutes, Icrick had finally gotten everything arranged and together. All of his maps and magnifying glasses were packed into his backpack, along with some cutlery and tin dishes for eating with, and he had on his dark-red cloak with a bronze pin.

"Are those Uileann pipes?" William asked, pointing at the nozzles which were dangling from the bottom of the Grogoch's pack.

"What's that you say?" Icrick asked, twisting about like a dog after his tail. "Oh, Uileann pipes?! Yes, indeed they are, as a matter of fact. Wouldn't be a proper journey without a tune or two, now, would it? Do you...um...like the pipes?"

"Well, actually, I used to enjoy listening to them in the place where my ma worked. I was thinking I might take them up some day," William answered.

"Oh, good! I'd be happy to show you a tune or two, more than happy."

"Well, I'll just leave it to you for now," sniggered the boy. "I've a feeling we have enough to deal with without me dishing out migraines as well!"

"Ho-ho, I'm sure you wouldn't be that bad, William!" chuckled Icrick. "But I shall make them sing a happy melody when the moment calls for it, nonetheless. Delightful! Now, let's be off. Goodbye, Meldrid!" he said, as they set off out of his house.

Outside they saw Anun waiting beside the letterbox with her hands resting in her cuffs. She had been waiting there for quite some time. The Grogoch couldn't apologise enough for keeping her waiting. Anun didn't mind, because, during her wait, she had done her rounds of the other houses, visiting the ill and making sure that they had everything they required, such as food and water. Once Icrick was done apologising, they strolled up that sloping road towards Anun's abode.

During that walk, William kept his eyes to the ground. Seeing the sorrow in those faces again was something that he would not wish to encounter twice in one day. Anun was explaining a few details to William, and Icrick too listened intently, should William fail to recall anything later on.

She explained to them that Lythiann would seem bare of life. For, after Drevol's attack, not everyone came with her to the Grollo. Any remaining survivors had probably scattered to different parts of the world and were now in hiding from his magic, somewhere, under those post-apocalyptic conditions. Lest it should happen where they _did_ encounter life, she explained that some folk could very well be friendly, while others, hostile, and to be extra vigilant.

She then went on to warn them about one soul in particular.

"There is a man who roams the land of Lythiann," she said, with her eyes pleading that they heed her counsel. "A blind man, name of Redmun. He means well...as far as I know. Yet it troubles me to think of him, for I know not if he is a threat, out there, roaming around. So maybe it would be best if you stay clear of his company, unless you have absolutely no other choice."

"Where does he dwell, Your Highness?" asked Icrick, in his struggle to keep up. "So we will know when to be wary of him."

"Nobody truly knows," Anun answered. "Some say that he has terrible powers and resides within shadow. Others call him the Outlander; a nomad who endlessly wanders in search of reason. Nevertheless, trouble is never far from him, so be ever watchful, because you will never know when your paths may cross. Be warned!"

Both William and Icrick remembered the name well, and they kept it stowed safely within the forefronts of their minds.

"And another thing, William," she said, kneeling before him.

With her eyes fixed serenely on his, she tenderly ran her fingertips from his forehead to his cheek, while saying, "For our protection, do not tell others of us in the Grollo...I beg of you!"

It was quite a pleasant feeling. So much so that his eyes closed unwittingly as she did it, and a feeling like that of a tepid glow was hovering over his face. It then seemed to absorb into his flesh and envelop his mind, as though wrapping his burdens in a fine quilt of tranquillity and care. But it soon waned. William then made his promises, together with the Grogoch.

"I won't tell a soul," he vowed, rousing from his passing trance.

"Nor will I!" added Icrick.

Placing both hands upon their cheeks, Anun smiled. "Splendid. I thank you both."

Once they arrived at Anun's abode, William needed to step back to appreciate it. It was absolutely magnificent. A fantasy to the eyes. From the road it was quite difficult to see, over the high grove of remarkable redwood and banyan trees. But once they entered the grounds and found their way up the path, the tower became all the clearer. It was a castle built from a cluster of stalagmites which themselves were of gargantuan proportions. The largest and most majestic one of all acted as the main tower itself, and it reached to quite a magnificent height. At its front was a set of royal wooden doors with two rows of birch trees leading up to them on either side, poised like grand wardens of the estate. As a matter of fact, as William strode by, he felt as though their trunks were twisting ever so slightly in his direction as he passed below them, like they were studying him in his ways...granted, he could not say for certain. The shorter of the towers was set with many windows, all of which were placed sparsely from the next and in little sequence, while many stairways climbed steeply about the face, leading into different rooms which were also connected by a multitude of fixed bridges. It looked to be a fortress, big enough to house the entire population of the Grollo itself. It belonged to Anun, however, and Anun alone. Needless to say, it was rightfully hers for all she had done and, indeed, was _still_ doing for the Dwelvin-Mites. Nor was there any protest, as they all knew this to be just.

When they went inside, Anun asked them to wait in the foyer as she went to retrieve their gifts. She made her way down the tall hallway before them, and there they waited for her to return. Beside the arch of the hallway there was a black steel staircase accompanied by many lanterns, both of which wound up and up for a time. To the right of that was an extravagant mahogany door which was slightly ajar. William, after having nosed around the foyer for a bit, wound up pushing the door open another crack to have a peep in.

It was quite the crammed little room, like a study, for there were quite a few books upon the shelves. A table with a deep porcelain basin was in there too, which seemed a little out of place, yet that whole room possessed such a regal feel to it that, perhaps, it did belong. And regardless of the amount of volumes that occupied its space, that chamber was still extremely organized.

William poked his head in a tad farther to feel a strange, rising humidity on his face. It seemed to keep to the confines of that particular threshold. Then something really grabbed his attention. At the rear of the study, wreathing a high, stain-glassed window, was a huge assortment of yellow flowers, all set in pots and vases, and hanging from baskets. There were vessels upon vessels of yellow daisies, yellow roses, yellow pansies, yellow sunflowers, yellow daffodils, yellow lilies, yellow hyacinths, and yellow moonbeams. Clusters of them, all bringing sweet aromas to the air which, to our William, now felt to be broiling. Her collection was astonishing. And then there were the three shelves just inside the door, to the left, with dozens of glass jars on them, all filled with a curious, yellowish pulp—presumably from the flowers—and they lit up the chamber cosily.

"Nightlight?" Icrick speculated, _pinging_ one of the jars with a good flick, nearly toppling it over, but he caught it just in time.

William found the look on Icrick's furry head very amusing then. The sheer shock. And yet, the Grogoch was probably right, considering the amount of books in what would otherwise be a fairly dim library. Quite the avid reader, Anun. No wonder she was so wise.

Just then, they heard her arriving back from down the hall, and she had some items with her. Two cloaks, a backpack, a walking stick, and a tiny black velvet purse dangling from her finger.

"I have kept these for quite a while. I was not sure if I would be able to find them again." She smiled, handing them each a cloak. "These are for you. They are enchanted garments known as 'comfort cloaks.' They work in accordance to the weather, you see. So if it is cold they shall keep you extra warm. Or if it is hot, they will cool you down. And if it rains, they will keep you bone-dry. They also mature with your height, so there will never be any fear of growing out of them. They are not much of an item, but you will be glad of their magic when the time comes."

She had a dark-brown cloak for William and a charcoal one for Icrick.

"Why thank you, Your Highness!" said Icrick, coddling over it with great detail. "With your permission, would it be all right if I left my other cloak with you...until I come back?"

"Of course you can, Icrick," said she. "I shall keep it safe for you."

Graciously the Grogoch removed his red cloak and left it with Anun. He then slung the new one over his back.

"Thank you very much," said William, pulling the cloak over his shoulders, and immediately he felt it cooling him from the warmth of that room.

"Here is a backpack for your camping equipment should you need it, William," she said, handing him the bag. "And here is the walking staff which I myself used to use on my own little excursions around Lythiann."

She then offered him the staff. On top of it, a hawk's head was whittled. It had eyes of amber beads. Fastened just below its neck were two white feathers, giving the staff a feel of outlandish antiquity.

"Thanks, again," said William, accepting the gift with great appreciation.

"And here are two golden coins which I have kept since the Free Age. They are very rare, so keep them safe," said she, displaying the purse.

"What will I need these for?" asked William, taking it and examining it in his hands.

"You will know, when the time comes," she replied.

She then crouched before the boy, again staring into his eyes. There was something different in the manner in which she looked at him then. An expression which spoke with less imperialism, but of more purity.

"You know, before warriors ever made it to fruition, it was custom to tie their hair in two tails as part of their internship," she explained. "It suggested that, once the tails became one again, it would symbolize one being united with his mind and heart, bearing the knowledge of the true warrior. It is more of a superstition, really. Nothing may ever come of it, but it was tradition...may I?"

Obliging as he was, William permitted. Anun so reached around his head and tied two short tails behind each ear. She then bound them with tight black fibres.

"There!" She smiled, observing the boy before her. "Now you are on your way to becoming a true warrior!"

There he was indeed. Young William Muldoon, now clad in the complete noble attire of an ancient warrior, and ready to embark on his journey. Still, his elation for this new appearance was restrained by a sudden thought.

"Can I ask you something, Anun?" he said.

"Certainly, William. What is it?" she replied.

"I heard about a spell that was placed on the Grollo. 'Once you leave, you can't come back.' Why is that?" he asked, curious as to whether he could indeed make it back inside, if he really needed to.

Troubled, Anun sighed and said, "Where did you hear of this?"

"I...um...overheard it when I was in the city before," he answered, hoping to spare Picksy a possible scolding.

Showing slight distress, Anun went on to explain, "After the Pooka invaded Lythiann, we travelled for miles and weeks on foot, being incessantly careful not to be spotted by Drevol, for he was still combing the land for prey. In the west we happened upon this cave and, inside, we discovered it was quite large. Large enough to accommodate our entire community and more. However, the Pooka was on our trail. So, together, we entered this mysterious cavern without any time for thought. Fortunately, he did not see where we went. Yet, with us just in hiding, the mere hope of him overlooking this sanctuary was still not enough for us. We needed a gateway of some kind! A barrier. Protection from the outside.

"There were three witches in our party; Jesil, Monra and Lainà. They were sisters, and a very powerful coven. I implored these witches to place a protective spell upon the opening of the cave. So they began to do just that. But in order for the spell to be completed in full, a corresponding spell had to be cast on the outside of the gate...someone had to stay behind. Unfortunately, Jesil had been severely wounded during our initial escape...she did not have much time left. So her choice was made and she stepped forth, claiming this task as her own. She sacrificed her own life and remained in Lythiann to complete the spell, while the others executed it from the inside. We knew that once the incantation was active, no more could get in. And if anybody managed to get out, then they would not be able to return.

"The opening was finally secured, but Jesil was abandoned; left to travel the land until death eventually caught up with her. She was a very dear friend to me, and sometimes it pains me to speak about her. But she was a very brave and noble soul."

"I'm sorry." William fretted. "I-I didn't know..."

"Do not apologise, William. It is okay. She did not die in vain. She rescued more with her courage than I could have done otherwise. She was a hero to us...like you."

She then smiled at him, their saviour-to-be, and a tear glistened in her eye like a liquid diamond.

"But these details are irrelevant to the task, William. That is why I chose not to tell you of it. You already have enough burden upon your shoulders without worrying about your return," she said, when a seriousness overcame her. "But I promise you...you will return to us, a greater person than you would have ever wished to be! Do you understand this, William?"

"I understand," said he, sensing the sincerity in her voice.

"I hope so," she said with a smile. "Now, you must make for the land of Lythiann. Are you ready? Both of you?"

With both in agreement, she said, "Good. Now, let us be on our way."

In leaving Anun's tower, they went on to the final location for departure. It was that same molten place which William had noticed through that large stony window when he first came to the Grollo. There they were to be collected and conveyed to the gateway into Lythiann's west.

As they approached the thick river of fire, it bubbled and popped in its syrupy flow. Waves of heat danced up into their faces, and William found himself sweating by it upon his arrival. He could hardly open his eyes, the heat was so intense. But their cloaks kept them cool enough.

The molten river rolled on to their right, past nubs of rock, until it widened and rushed down to what seemed to be a huge volcanic falls. Beyond this were the innards of another massive cave. All William could see of it was the steaming heat from the fiery lake below, and the giant stacks of rock which stood up within. So, there they waited, in this tunnel; such as the way one would wait on a platform for a train.

Suddenly he heard something approaching from the darker end of the tunnel.

"Whoa, Whooooah!" it commanded in a gritty voice.

Then, running along the volcanic river there came two strong-looking wolves, with paws of fire and eyes as red as blood. Massive wolves, with jet-black fur and great, bat-like wings pleated over their shoulders. They were drawing a raven chariot which ran upon two wheels of blazing tongues, and it was entirely riveted with steel barbs.

"Whoa!" said the man again.

It was he who drove the chariot who spoke, and his name was Greaves. A sweaty, grimy man with an enormous, fat belly and a face of thick stubble. Also, he was chewing on the end of a cigar, and on his head was a black top hat. Outside of that, he simply wore a patched-up waistcoat, a pair of raggedy brown trousers with braces, and no boots at all.

"Aye-aye there, folks!" he spoke stoutly.

Holding the brim of his hat to Anun, he then said, "Ma'lady," and Anun bowed in response.

"Well now, what have we here? Is this him then?" he asked, and William waved with a kind hello.

In seeing the boy's coy gesture, Greaves smirked rather haughtily. The boy appeared far too timid to uphold such an intrepid reputation, Greaves thought. But he knew quite well that he was just there to drive and not to judge, so he kept his opinions to himself. Meanwhile, Icrick was too preoccupied to wave at anyone, as he was double-checking all of his belongings, convinced that he'd left something behind. But, of course, he hadn't. It was just the initiations of that nervous scourge which would truly define our dear Icrick Tum.

"Well, well, well! Bit of a skinny young fella, aren't ya?" Greaves grinned, with his hairy nostrils aiming down at William.

The wolf closest to William then glimpsed back briefly to study him. Once satisfied, he extended his massive wings, as though somehow testing the lad. Shaking his mane with a snort, he then folded them again and went back about his business.

"Take no notice of Brùn! He's a cranky aul' mess!" Greaves told him.

"Amazing-looking creature though," said the boy.

He wanted to reach out and pat one of the wolves, but they didn't really seem all that friendly towards William, so he refrained.

"Two of the few remaining wolves of Isk. A dying breed, unfortunately!" answered Greaves, leaning over the rim of the chariot. "Anyways, right ye are then! Can't stand 'round here chattin' all day long. I've some bits that need doin'."

William and Icrick thus stepped aboard the chariot...but Anun stayed where she was.

"Are you not coming?" William asked.

"No, I cannot," said she. "This will be as far as I go with you, William, for Greaves has much important work to do with the Trenchins in the lower caves, and tending to my return would only delay him."

She then took his hand in hers, and spoke. "I can only hope that, the next time we meet, the conflict will have ended, and our situation will be much different."

Impatiently, the wolves reared, but Greaves calmed them with a snap of the reins.

"Looks like you've got a fine send-off, lad," he then said, and William peered down to that long window beside the main hall.

They were all there, all of the Dwelvin-Mites, each holding a small candle and watching him as he was about to embark upon his mission. Prayers were being said for him and his wellbeing, in the hope that he would one day return to them with tidings of his safety, the safety of his companion, and news of Drevol's downfall.

"Their thoughts will always be with you," Anun uttered gently.

So much was racing through the boy's mind then that he couldn't focus on what to say. Instead, he ended up smiling at Anun as best he could, to show her that he could be strong. But he was also rather conscious of it not appearing natural, because it wasn't...and fear had made it so.

"You need not be scared, William. You've been very brave to come even this far. And someone very special to us once said: 'though life is a quest for all souls, courage remains a mission of precious few. An incessant trail, often of weakness and of pain, the first steps of which only the strong are said to dare...' And never a truer word was spoken. Remember that, and you shall remember hope," she said, and seeing him dwelling upon it, she asked, "This philosophy heartens you?"

"Yeah. It's...It's kind of uplifting, actually!" He nodded, looking at his situation from a slightly more optimistic angle. "Who said it?"

"Theoretically...you did..." she replied.

At a cracking of their reins, the wolves suddenly howled into a charging sprint. The searing wind blew through William's hair as he peered back at Anun. She was waving at him with those same friendly eyes. He hoped that this would not be the last he would ever see of her.

"Now, both of ye'll have to hang on to your hats!" Greaves shouted through the noise of the fleeting wind. "Take these and wrap them 'round your waists."

Within the interior of the chariot was a hidden compartment into which he reached. He then pulled out two leather belts that were locked onto the frame. Taking a harness each, Icrick and William secured themselves as best they could.

"What about you?" shouted William.

"Doin' this for centuries, lad," Greaves said, laughing. "Don't need 'em!"

They raced and raced, faster and faster, and the wolves growled and salivated as their wings got set for flight. The molten river was starting to widen before their path, and that meant the falls were not long after. William shut his eyes as tightly as he could, and held on with all of his strength. Icrick was in a state of shock now too. He was so distracted when he first stepped on board that he only just realised what was actually going on.

"Oh, crikey!" he squeaked, when both wolves leapt marvellously over the fiery falls.

They stretched out their enormous wings and away they flew, through a great wall of heat, like two kites.

Greaves held on with little effort, chewing on his cigar and snapping the reins. He navigated flawlessly throughout the mighty stacks of rock whilst the wolves appeared to be gliding on their wings, using only an occasional thrust to gain some altitude. In and out they went, dodging all that obstructed their way. Eventually, William plucked up the courage to peek over the side. As soon as he did, though, he had to yank his head back from the heat. Icrick, otherwise, sat secured by the belt with his head shaking from side to side in his hands. He was mumbling things, but William couldn't hear him through the sounds of blowing steam.

Over to the right, amongst the stalactites, where the shadow began to flow into the deep, William saw a gigantic shelf extending from the wall. There was a small, arched door leading onto it, and directly across from the shelf, over the chasm, were two viridian flames burning upon the precipice. They were not burning as if ignited by hand; they were smouldering naturally, from vents in the rock. For some reason, when William saw these flames, his mother came to mind, and an overwhelming feeling of devotion grew within his heart. He then grasped onto his medallion and tried to get through the rest of this flight without a hitch.

"Not long now!" yelled Greaves, and motioning to the other side of the cave, he said, "See that narrow gap, just up ahead, on that cliff? That's the Witches Window, and ya know where that leads, don't ya?!"

"The Witches Window? Where?" Icrick asked, snapping out of his huddle.

Up ahead, through the fingers of hanging rock, he could see a black sheen sparkling through the gloom. Nobody had ever seen that window since it had been created, and the adjoining path destroyed. Nobody but Greaves and his wolves. And even though he seemed like a decent chap, there was no chance he'd go out of his way to bring tourists up to look at it. He had far too many important errands to run as it was. Besides, even if he wanted to he probably couldn't, because wild Iskian Wolves are known to be as stubborn as dragons...if not worse, caring for no troubles outside of their own. But Greaves knew how to respect them, and so they did the same in return, mostly.

"Why is at all black?" the Grogoch asked disappointedly.

He really couldn't wait to see Lythiann again. It had been so long. Then to find this blacked-out window, it totally flushed the Grogoch's hopes down the drain altogether.

"Sorry, Icrick lad!" yelled Greaves. "Looks to be night time out there."

When he heard Greaves saying 'night time' the Grogoch went into a mood, like a five-year-old who didn't get the right train set for his birthday.

"Ya see, once you walk through it, it only brings ya to the Nether Realm...the place between the Grollo and Lythiann! Part of the spell it was, lest some messer should find a way in somehow. It is there that ya'll find the Lythiann gate! But, don't ya know, nighttime in the Nether means nighttime on Lythiann as well. So, sorry...you're all out of luck, Icrick!"

"Did you know about this Nether Realm?" William asked the Grogoch.

"Nope," replied a sulking Icrick.

William was then beginning to wonder, quite worriedly, about what kind of guide this Icrick was supposed to be at all, and if he had any clue as to what was going on here. What else could he do though, only give the creature the benefit of the doubt?

"Oh, bother this nighttime business anyways," moaned the Grogoch. "Sure I'm only out of bed a few hours."

"Time differences, lad," replied Greaves.

"Well, mind, would you keep us posted on what time it is in the _real_ world?" huffed the Grogoch.

"Pay me enough and I'd be happy to," Greaves said, laughing and slapping the reins.

"Pfff! _Payment_!" The Grogoch moped to himself in disapproval. "You should know better!"

Watching the window, William asked, "Well, how do we go about finding Lythiann then?"

"Don't worry about it!" said Greaves. "Just walk through the second gate and you're there. Easy as pie!"

Greaves spoke about the Witches Window like it was nothing special, whereas any other Dwelvin-Mite would have given their left kidney to get a glimpse of it. He'd seen it many times before, however, so it was nothing new to him.

"Now, here we are. Whoooah!" he said, drawing back the reins.

The wolves howled and threw out their wings for landing. Ahead, that tall, oval window reflected their embarkment.

"Whoooa!" said Greaves again, and his passengers hopped off. "Well now, that's the end of the trip. My blessin's to ya, lad! You too, Icrickeen. Hope your own journey goes as smoothly as that landing."

"Thanks, Greaves. I hope so too." William smiled, and Greaves gave a consoling salute before taking off again.

Before he dwindled into the rippling air, he called back, "When ya see Briggun, be sure to give him a good slap across the teeth from me! All the best now!"

Resting his hands on his sides, the Grogoch gazed up at the window and said, "Well, here we are! The Witches Window!"

Peering back down at them, as high as a mast and as wide as an average doorway, the window sparkled hypnotically, as though the pane was fashioned from precious black stones. It really did intimidate poor William a tad, making the reality of his situation become all the more traumatic. But there was no room for doubt just then. He had to do what he had to do.

"Right!" he said, sticking his thumbs behind his shoulder straps. "I suppose this is it then!"

"Indeed it is, my dear boy!" exclaimed a smiling Icrick, who was only too delighted to be seeing Lythiann again. "After you."

"Um...well, you can go in first," William offered, still somewhat nervous about making the first step. "I know how much you want to see this place again and all."

"I wouldn't hear of it, William," said the Grogoch, holding out his hand. "I insist! Besides, I prefer doing things last. It adds to the excitement. You know, the way you might keep the best bit of rasher till last on your plate?"

"Well...you sure?" William asked crookedly.

"Positive!" replied the Grogoch, still smiling.

"Hmmm... _positive_...great!" the lad muttered. "Right. Here I go then."

Expelling a sigh, William stole in through the window. What a peculiar sensation it turned out to be; freezing cold and harsh on the skin, like the blustery colds of winter's wind was pulling his lips back over his gums. Thankfully it didn't last long, for as soon as William put his foot down, he was on the other side, and he stumbled forth into this new 'middle' realm.

It was dark there; dark and starless, with the aroma of solitude floating upon the feeble wind. William found himself upon a platform of smooth rock and, behind him, the reverse side of the window. It was a large, rectangular slab of dark marble, standing upright. Not half as high as the other side, mind you, while the impression of William's transition was imprinted upon its surface like an effigy. Suddenly out squeezed the Grogoch with a nasally squeal, and that too left a stamp of his character. There they were, two stony sculptures of William and Icrick, pulling disgracefully ugly faces as they passed through into the Nether Realm. How delightful.

Surrounding them now were lowlands and wide-open spaces, though it wasn't very charming. It was lonely and miserable; a barren land with no story to tell, and with little sentiment whatsoever. William then took a quick glimpse over the edge of the platform, only to see that they were on the top of a monstrous rocky column. Steadily it rocked in the breeze. Even the occasional piece of debris would trot down the sides before vanishing out of sight. The very bottom was too shrouded for William to judge, on account of which his stomach started turning, alongside a dizzy head, so he stepped back to where it felt safer.

"There it is," Icrick gasped suddenly.

Thus, waiting before them, was a gate. A pallid, double gate, which was intricately crafted with the designs of creeping ivy, through which the stems of living ivy roiled. On either side were stone pillars to which the gates were hinged. Sprouting up from the base of each were some toadstools and curling grasses. But these pillars just eroded before they could run into any sort of adjoining walls. It was unusual to both William and Icrick, because all that they could see through the rails was the horizon of the Nether Realm. William went over to one of the pillars and stuck his head 'round to investigate, but there was only a treacherous drop into shadow, and nothing more.

"I'm not so sure about this, Icrick," he muttered shakily. "Where's this Lythiann place supposed to be?"

"No need to worry. You can go last this time if you'd like...fair is fair!" replied the Grogoch.

This sounded reasonable enough to William. He knew the Grogoch was used to all this stuff anyway, so he let him go on ahead.

Icrick opened the gate, with William glancing over his shoulder. To his amazement, he saw fresh grass by the Grogoch's feet, and it was blowing in a calm breeze. With the gate fully open, he noticed a cloister of branches, hills, stars, forests, and a moon. Having not a moment to waste, he followed Icrick through the gateway, and felt the soft touch of grass beneath his own feet. It was a greatly missed sensation for William, the sensation of grass. Any more of those stony paths or stuffy tunnels and he would have gone berserk.

Whispering a gentle squeak, the gate shut as William's curiosity brought him to examine the rear of it again. All he saw this time was a dark elm forest native to Lythiann, and that was all.

"Ah, home at long last!" said Icrick, with a refreshing breath. "But it would have been so much nicer to have arrived during the day! Oh well, it will be just as nice to see her properly by morning light!"

"Her?" William asked.

"Yes...'Lythiann'!" replied the Grogoch, and after scouting about for a moment, he said, "You know, I think it would be a decent enough idea for us to rest here for a bit. We are fairly sheltered from the breeze, and considering it's night and all, we may as well try to adapt; get our sleeping clocks in order. We will be doing much of our travels during the day, I expect. And map reading at night isn't as easy as you might think."

"I presume we're walking this then?" William frowned, staring anxiously into the east.

"Well, initially we had some ponies that were to bring us on our journey," replied Icrick, picking a leaf from a tree and giving it a fond sniff.

Curiously, William asked, "And what happened to them?"

"Time below ground took its toll on them, you see. They became slaves to what we call the 'Sadness' disease; something you need not know about, nor do I wish to discuss. Poor fellows just couldn't last," the Grogoch said pitifully. "We're going to have to make do with our legs, I'm afraid. But, never mind all that dreary talk. What do you think we should do tonight? Get a fire going, eat some food, then rest up for a bit? Up to you!"

What Icrick said made a lot of sense, and the idea of setting straight out on the journey had been a weight on William's mind also. He'd already done much that day, between meeting the Glog and doing his few bits in the Grollo, that it seemed only fair to have some rest. So, in laying down, he removed his cloak and wrapped himself up in it like a blanket.

But that night his sleep was troubled. The moon had stolen his undivided attention, and stories came back to plague him. Stories of the Pooka and of the curse back home; together with visions of his mother within the blaze, and the marching armies of kindle. Hours he gazed upon the eyes of the moon, within the dim silence which kept them; hoping, pleading. Eventually he drifted off, unknown to himself.

# \- Chapter Seven -

### Exploring the West

Early the next morning, William was still sound asleep, having been able to relax a far sight better than he could the previous night because there was less stuffiness and more of a soothing breeze.

In his dreams he heard the swaying of trees and the rustling of grass, and eventually it dawned on him that he was slumbering, and that it was the noises of the outside world that were creeping into his sleep. Gradually his eyes opened to see the brink of dawn and, before the retiring of night, the sky was awash with an assortment of different colours, all of which were caught up gorgeously within the soft clouds as the bronzing vista set its gleam down upon the landscape below.

William, after waking, sat up to find the Grogoch settled on the brow before him. Now that there was a little more light, he could see a bit more of their current whereabouts, too. They were on top of a forested hill, and going by the vague silhouettes of the horizon, they seemed to be rather high up.

Icrick just sat there at the utmost point of the hummock, with his legs crossed, peering out into beyond as though waiting for something.

Yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eye, William asked, "What are you up to, Icrick?"

"Waiting..." answered Icrick, as he watched the land.

"Waiting? For what?"

Icrick didn't reply. He simply sat still, with two flies swirling over his blinking eyebrows.

Not sure if he'd been heard, the lad asked again, "Icrick, waiting for—"

"Waiting for this," the Grogoch said suddenly, speaking like he'd been forever longing for this moment to arrive.

In nothing less than a wonder of divinity, a beam of brilliant sunlight spread itself across the skyline. With a tremendous twitter, the birds broke from the trees and made their way across the wild, while the bleating of the early lamb awoke upon the freshly grazed hilltops nearby. Softly the light crept across the gorse-strewn hills, awakening the land as it went, and the colours of the countryside became all the more mesmerizing when touched by its golden glow.

Flowers nodded blissfully to the touch of waking wind, and the leaves rustled back and forth as the breeze drifted throughout the woodland. The welcome sun rose over the mountains until the whole of Lythiann had been awoken by its grandeur. In all of his wildest dreams, William had never known such a glorious world.

Cliffs with running waterfalls stood high from the plains in the north, leading then onto prairies which travelled far past the mirroring lakes to the direction of the northern peaks of a place called Mèl Bèrra. Fine emerald meadows sloped low to the east, blending into field-clad hills of barley, alfalfa, corn, and grains. Developing from the eastern borders was an abundance of forest, which continued on over the eternal crests until they could no longer be captured by the naked eye. By the dales of the south, he saw the stark faces of magnificent mountainsides, each gleaming to pearl in the sunlight. On they strode, southwards, to congregate with generations of even more ancient snow-coated summits. Whatever of the land remained thereafter was majestically draped in a velvet blanket of the finest, green grass.

It felt as though it was alive, like the land itself was breathing with the soul which time had bestowed onto it. Deer were bounding through the pastures as rabbits chased each other deep into the brush. Faerie lights and wisps of little-witch swirled amongst the fern and skimmed playfully over the wholesome, green grass. All the while, clusters of wandering birds were gliding through the air, dancing gracefully to the melody of the soaring breeze. Even then, all of these marvels were nothing compared to the seldom occurrence of the odd tree or two, picking up their very roots and ambling off to sunnier areas of the forest where they could rest up again. It was an undeniably miraculous sight.

As William and Icrick looked on, the softness of the summer air kissed both of their faces and, with it, came the aroma of fresh heather, just like the boy's home. In its own right, it truly was paradise, and he stood at its feet in awe. Dumbfounded. Struck voiceless by its magnificence.

"Amazing, isn't she?" The Grogoch sniffed, with a tear in his eye. "Abso-lutely, amazing!"

"This can't be..." William uttered, gazing afar from the hilltop. "Are we still _underground_?"

"It is pure and utter unspoilt magic," the Grogoch said with a smile.

"I'll say!" William said. "So, this is Lythiann then!"

"Yes...yes, it is! This is what we call Yùrnacha...Lythiann's capital and main county to the western lands," the Grogoch explained. "It is the farthest place of beauty from the evil east...and it was once my home, after we fled from Lór."

"You lived in this part?" William asked, gazing still into the wild.

"Yes," replied Icrick. "Just below those cliffs in the north there were many caves. A tunnel system named Burrows Mile. And that was where I once lived with my family. Some of the happiest days of my life."

"Well, if it's on our way, maybe we could stop by, so you can get a look at the place again. I know I'd want to...if it were me," William suggested, just then heeding Icrick's expression.

The Grogoch's eyes had retreated to pity, and he replied, "No, no. Best not..."

Then a fond smile grew somewhat evident upon his trembling lips, when he added, "Too many memories."

"Oh...o-okay," said the lad, sensing a hidden grief behind Icrick's tale. "On second thought, maybe it'd be best if we just get on with our journey then."

"Yes, I agree." Icrick nodded, returning to the splendour of the world.

Before they set out, they couldn't help but linger for a spell longer to indulge in the glory of the countryside. They hardly even spoke, for Lythiann was far too captivating for them and much too mesmerizing to ignore, should they never get another chance to see it like this again. William could then fathom why they wanted this world to be saved. Such splendour was never meant to be surrendered so easily. If it was his own home, he knew, it would definitely have been worth fighting for.

After a time, Icrick pulled himself from his daydreams, took out his maps, and started studying them. William, on the other hand, was quite famished, so he decided to lay out some breakfast. He had hoped that Icrick wasn't too keen on eating bugs and insects like the others from the Grollo. But the Grogoch said he'd scoff anything that was laid out in front of him, which William was only too delighted to hear. Last thing he wanted was to have to reach into his food satchel and drag out some fat, hairy cockroach by the legs, and then watch as Icrick munched down on it. That just would've been nasty business altogether.

Instead, he conjured a tower of cheddar and toast, four fried eggs, two helpings of cooked mushrooms, ten sausages, eight cuts of white pudding, six fried tomatoes and four tea cakes, all because he was relishing the novelty of this magic satchel of his, right to the point of over-egging the pudding, as you can probably tell.

Being a rather useful chappy, Icrick had some utensils with him, which worked a treat for fishing out the eggs and such. With a spatula in hand, William thus went about laying everything out.

"It's really quite manky, taking uncovered food out of a grotty old bag like this...when you think about it," said he, easing out a wobbly egg on the nose of his spatula. "But what can you do, I suppose? A bit o' dirt never hurt anyone."

"My belly is so empty at this stage, I think I'd drink a pail of hot runs if it was put there in front of me," Icrick put in, as he flicked through his maps. "Last bit I ate was yesterday, down below. A few measly snails and some frogspawn. And that's only because all the beetles were gone. Gobbled up by some greedy Gumìn, they were. Rotters _never_ leave us any! We have to be quick off the mark to beat _those_ fatsos to the breakfast table, make no mistake about that!"

To be honest, William didn't quite fancy hearing about runs or snails before eating his morning meal. That's why he knelt there, gawking at Icrick with a twisted expression on his face, as the Grogoch went on about the other delicacies of the Grollo. Of which, week-old spit and hairy worms stuck out the most.

Regardless of his repulsion, William soon had breakfast laid out beautifully, and they indulged in a delicious morning feast beneath the sunny indigo skies. Of course, they could only consume half of that which was to be had and, even at that, William's tummy was crammed to the point of overload. Icrick then collected their leftovers and tossed them just behind the gate for some of the forest animals to have a nibble on.

For a short time after eating, the boy just sat there, digesting and waiting. Icrick was making some last-minute calculations with regards to their journey. The Grogoch had a short fishing rod in his paw, but in place of a hook there was a small pyramid of maple wood with strange numerical symbols upon each side. They could otherwise have been some sort of lettering, for all William knew, although whenever Icrick analyzed the symbols, he saw him counting them on his fingers.

Standing to his feet, Icrick closed his eyes, turned about three times, then cast the line out into the open. Funnily enough, the cube landed east every time he did it, no matter which direction the Grogoch was facing. If he spun 'round and ended up pointing west and _then_ cast the rod, it would fly forth and _still_ zip back over his head, like some manner of divining tool. He'd then reel it in, examine the markings, and mull over it for a moment.

At any rate, he was soon finished with his odd apparatus, and they were ready to pack up their possessions and sally forth.

"What was all that about?" William brought himself to ask.

"What?" replied the Grogoch, polishing his fork before stowing it back in his satchel.

"That thing with the fishing rod," asked the lad.

"Oh, it's not a fishing rod, silly!" said Icrick, chuckling. "It's a _Way_ rod!"

"A Wayrod?!" the boy asked, his eyebrows flattening. "What's a Wayrod when it's at home?"

"Why, it's a rod that shows us the way, of course!" explained the Grogoch. "I came up with the idea myself. I invented it! Used it many times before when I used to live here."

Then the lad asked, "Well...does it work?!"

"Most of the time it does...yes!" Icrick replied, then he pointed out their route, straight ahead, eastward through the valley.

Whether that course was correct or otherwise, William would have no way of knowing until he actually got there.

Doubtful on account, he muttered, " _Most_ of the time, eh?"

But he allowed the Grogoch the same trust as Anun would, so eastward it was.

As they were packing up their last few belongings, much to William's surprise, he saw his magic satchel squirming. Quietly he stood back and tapped Icrick on the shoulder with his finger to his mouth. Just then, funny, stifled words started muttering from the satchel. Happy, delighted words.

"Oh, this'll be mighty craíc! Great, it'll be! Fantashtic altogether!" it uttered.

Suddenly things started flying out of it: Apples, potatoes, steaks, and all sorts of other mouth-watering goodness like that. Now William knew only too well what was going on here.

"Hey!" he shouted, plunging his hand into the bag, only to pull out Khrum again.

"I thought it would've been you! What do you think you're at?" he demanded.

"Ara, let me off!" the leprechaun protested. "D'ya know how hard it is ta get a drink down in them caves? Ya'd shtand a better chance o' comin' across a brothel on happy hour than ya would a drip o' flat lager! This tricky bag o' yours is jusht the kind o' bounty I'm after! I'm jusht baffled I never heard about it before."

With that, he slipped from William's hands like a fish, before doing a perfect nosedive right back into the satchel.

"Get back here!" William snapped, rooting around in it again.

All he could hear was Khrum saying, "How do ya work this flippin' yoke, anyways?" when the boy yanked him out once more. This time, Khrum had a raw onion in his mouth, which he spat out instantly with disgust.

"Ugh! Yuck! Rotten!" he rasped. "Veggies!"

"What are you doing out here?" demanded the lad. "You're not supposed to be out here, you know! You're supposed to be down there, in the Grollo...where it's safe."

"Safe? _Safe_?" argued Khrum. "Look at ya talkin', like ya know what's goin' on! Ya want me ta shtay down there 'n' let ye have all the fun. That's it, isn't it?! C'mere 'n' I tell ya, lad. I've been out there batterin' ogres since you were a babòg, so don't ya go gettin' all high 'n' mighty, tellin' me what I can or can't do! Besides, this little feat o' bravery might jusht shcore me some points with the G.L.A."

"What are you on about...G.L.A.?" William scowled.

Proudly, Khrum answered, "The Grollo Leprechaun Association! It's an organisation o' my fellow people who've been awarded a place on the Grollo Faerie Council."

"Let me guess, the G.F.C.?" William said mordantly.

"Ha? No!" snapped Khrum. "It's the F.C.F.T.D.M.!"

"I'm not even going to bother with that one," said the lad, shrugging.

"Faerie Council For The Dwelvin-Mites!" said the leprechaun. "And I used ta be on it."

"Which? The F.F.C.T.F...D...thing?" asked the lad, a little muddled.

"No! The G.L.A.!" scolded Khrum, tutting. "It was a royal honour indeed, ta be on that council. But I managed ta muck it up twice by breakin' the rules. Drinkin' on the job 'n' that. So they booted me off. But I've been given one final chance to redeem myself...on account o' my legendary nerve. An' there is no way I'm goin' ta botch it up this time! An' if I do—which I sincerely hope I don't—then I know there won't be a fourth chance. No way in the bubblin' baths o' hell! So helpin' ye out should work nicely in my favour, I'll wager. A courageous deed, ya see."

Whilst Khrum was explaining things, he noticed that the Grogoch was in their company too, so he grinned, "Ah, Icrick! Is it yourself?"

"Hello, Khrum," sighed the Grogoch, then he drew William down to ear level so as he could have a quiet word. "A piece of friendly advice should we be stuck with him. Whatever you do, _never_ , under _any_ circumstances, give a leprechaun whisky! Not unless you want to be neck-deep in trouble. So my advice to you is, keep that satchel on you at all times and _never_ let it out of your sight."

"What are ya whisperin' about...ya hairy arse?" Khrum growled, getting defensive and rather insulted over Icrick whispering.

After all, he wasn't stupid, and it wouldn't have taken a genius to know who Icrick was talking about.

Contemptibly, the Grogoch huffed, "Well, I never!"

"Yeah, yeah, neither have I...and I don't think I ever will, either!" said Khrum, dismissing him with the backs of his hands.

"Right, that's enough out o' ye!" William exclaimed.

Scuffles were the last thing on his mind, and he could do without them.

"Fine, you can come with us, Khrum. But I'm not babysitting you. You can watch your own back! Fair?"

"So, that's it then...I can join ye?" exclaimed a smiling Khrum.

Feeling rather put out, William replied, "I suppose."

"Wahaay!" cried the little fellow, doing a jig. "As I said, lad, I can take good care o' myself! Don't worry your freakishly sizhed head 'bout me."

Cynically, the boy sighed, "I have your word on that, do I?"

"Indeed ya do, me aul' bucko! Indeedy do!" laughed Khrum.

Icrick couldn't say if he was happy or frustrated about Khrum joining them. You see, unbeknown to William, those two already knew each other rather well before this meeting. As it happens, it was Khrum who gave Icrick that raven for his birthday one year. So, you see, they weren't all that hostile towards each other really; quarrelling was just the nature of their friendship. Besides, some folks just get along better with their differences. It keeps relationships ticking along longer than you'd think.

All as it was, there was yet another member in their band, so off they ventured, eastward through the valley. Not before including Khrum on their secret list of do's and don'ts though, which Anun herself had imparted before their outset. Heartily the little fellow vowed her wishes to complete secrecy, and away they swept.

Merry enough was their stroll; constantly seeking out all the exquisiteness that Lythiann had to offer. The sun too was out, high in the sky, making it feel like a splendid summer's day. Over the hills they ambled, climbing in through ditches and fields which, might I add, were ripe with barley and wheat.

"Who's harvesting 'round these parts?" William asked, slowing to inspect the crop. "I thought everyone was supposed to be in hiding?"

"'Tis the land itself, lad," Khrum answered, as he bounded alongside him, up and down through the tall wheat like a jack-in-the-box.

Finding this quite the surprise, William asked, "You mean it grows...just like that...with no one watching over it?"

"Why of course!" Icrick joined in. "Doesn't it do the same on your homeland, as it used to before?"

"No, we have to tend to it when the season comes."

"Ta hell with that lark!" Khrum bickered. "That, ta me, sounds like _far_ too much shlog! Let nature do its own thing, I say. Let it take its natural course 'n' that."

"Well, people make an okay living out of it back home," said the boy, somewhat sensitively.

He didn't wish to be, but he was ever so slightly irritated to think that their crops were cultivated so easily. At home, so many men and women had to put much of their money, sweat, and blood into such labour; not to mention broken backs. Even with all that effort, it still wasn't a hugely prosperous living for them. Then again, it was but a mild luxury which the Lythiann folk retained in comparison to their real problems; therefore, William refrained from going on about it. It's not like it was anybody's fault or anything.

"It's just handy for making a few bob here and there...that's all," he concluded.

"What a horrid vice that must be!" Icrick added.

"What?" asked William.

"Growing crops for the want of coin!" replied the Grogoch. "On account of the greed of those who govern, I'd expect? God be with the days when no such thing ever existed upon our lands. Politics and coinage and the likes. Foul instruments of man's avarice, it is! Life is much happier without it...less to worry about."

"Yeah, but you have to understand, Icrick, that we need money back home. We need it to survive. Without it we'd be out in the street, hungry and freezing!" said the lad.

" _Need_ , you say?" asked Icrick. "What is it that you could possibly need which nature cannot already freely provide? Life only _needs_ one thing to survive, William."

"And what's that?"

"Well, if you don't already know...then...um...I can't honestly tell you," Icrick answered regretfully. "It doesn't work like that. It's just one of those precious little things that you have to discover for yourself. But you will no doubt discover it for yourself before the candle fades. We all do! And only then will you truly understand its worth."

Khrum was nodding away in accord, and after Icrick had said his piece, they both sauntered on, leaving William to ponder his rather mysterious statement. "What was all that about?" he thought.

As he watched those two curious characters strolling merrily off towards the thinly clouded, summer horizon, he began to accept that this world was indeed much different to his own, and that he may yet have much to learn. Sticking his thumb behind his strap, he waded on through the wheat with his long staff leading his way.

Being out there amongst those fields was all so welcoming for the boy, and even more so for Icrick and Khrum, who'd been cooped up underground for God knows how long. The sun moved lazily across the sky and beamed down upon their faces, bringing them to a squint. Everyplace was just so peaceful and undisturbed. It was really very difficult for our William to believe that this land was under any threat whatsoever, but he had a peculiar feeling in his gut which told him otherwise. Those hills were almost _too_ still.

Dinnertime soon came again, and dusk was hinting in the clouds. At the base of a steep hill they rested beside some lilac bushes, and Icrick got a fire going with his trusty flint. There was a narrow gully nearby where William attended to his lavatory needs. Before he could 'spring a leak,' however, he encountered the most unusual flock of creatures legging it up the gully floor. They were just as nervous of him as he was of them, but they were still so very strange; like lizards with really long, stiff tails, and obscurely lanky hind legs which spun in wide circles. What's more, they were quite small, being about the size of a chicken. When William spotted them first, he fixed his kilt in a panic. How was he to know that he was peeing into some creature's nest? The instant his shadow clouded over their gully they scampered off up the little ravine with belches of squiggly gobbles, then they were gone. As an alternative, William found himself a small bush where he could finish his business, though not before inspecting it with a long branch first.

During their preparation of dinner, they watched the sun diminishing to the west. Absorbing this view, William recalled the times upon Ballycongraggon when he saw the sun setting near Galway Bay, and how extraordinary a sight it was to him even then. Soon, night closed in, and they talked and talked, and feasted much. So much so that they turned in early to sleep off the grumblings of their bulging tummies. Sound was their slumber in the tranquil air of the night. Then, amidst the cool breeze, their fire burnt low; yet still the embers were glowing come daylight.

Gathering their supplies, they decided to cover some ground before having breakfast that morn. Their stomachs were still satisfied from the hearty feast the night previous, so they felt that they should just try and make up some time and settle for an early lunch instead. On they swept, easterly through the valley, after which they eased slightly north by Dimlìn Forest before approaching the foothills near the other end. Lunchtime had already come and gone by then. Once they realised this, they left their things down beside some grand boulders and a quiet stream, where they ate just enough to see them comfortably through the rest of the afternoon. They could easily have rested all the longer, after walking all that way. Still, the more they lingered, the more they felt obliged to make up more distance.

Because a mild chill was approaching, they built a quick fire and dined hastily. Chiefly, buttered bread and jam. Waiting for Khrum, who was wolfing down the last of his meal, Icrick mentioned how he'd taken a deep interest in William's name, for it was such an obscure title in comparison to most imp titles.

Getting a feel for its pronunciation, he said, "William...William...Will-yam. That's a funny name, isn't it? William. William...Wi-lee-am. Where did you get it from?"

"Well, there was Scottish blood in our family, _way_ down the line, on my father's side," the lad told them, prodding the embers with a branch. "Apparently I was named after King William. 'The lion,' they called him."

He then smirked to himself and shook his head.

"What?" asked Icrick, swabbing the crumbs from his lips. "What's funny?"

"Nothing really. It's just...he was supposed to have been a ferocious warrior," he answered, grinning, like a quiet revelation had just dawned on him.

"It doesn't surprise me sure," added Khrum, as he washed down the last of his food with a swig of milk. "The Irish 'n' the Scots are both extremely alike, ya see! Both were races o' brave souls. Folk o' principle! Races o' men who knew what it meant ta live for their beliefs. Nothin' could've dissuaded that stubborn will ta claim their rights as human bloody beings. Nothin' at all! That's backbone, I tell ye, lads! When the world outman's ya on every possible front, yet ya shtill say, 'Ta hell with ya!' an' press on regardless. That's the way the world _should_ shtill be! But the years have a funny aul' way o' turnin' them things 'round..."

A tad surprised by Khrum's sudden fervour, William smiled and said, "Wow, so you _do_ have a serious side to you after all, Khrum!"

"Only if the issue calls for it, boyo," said the leprechaun, and winked. "An' nobody deserves it more than the heroes of our yeshteryear."

His eyes lost in middle distance, Icrick added, "If only that nobility prevailed. Then we would still have the land that we once called home...and we would never have known such immorality as we do today."

"Blame the sorcerers, I say...not the men," Khrum pointed out. "Were it not for them blashted necromancers 'n' the likes, then we would shtill have the honourable folk that once were. Always wantin' more power than they could use...greedy pigs!"

"That's not entirely fair either," Icrick differed. "Only some of them had gotten swayed by greed...not all of them. And you know that well enough, Khrum. Take Mysun, for example!"

"Ah, yes, well...they're but few 'n' far between," replied the leprechaun, when he drifted into a thought, and said, "But I _do_ miss the aul' Elderland, I do! Don't get me wrong; Lythiann is paradise as well, so it is! But I jusht have so many great memories o' bein' back in the old land. Memories from my childhood 'n' the likes. Runnin' through the cornfields...after the girls...'n' havin' my first glass of poitìn at three. Aaah, good times! But I suppose it's all knocked ta smithereens now. Eh, William lad? Gutted! Gaudy aul' structures gawkin' over ya, blockin' out the sun as if it were bad for the spirits. I've heard what goes on up above."

"It's not all that bad," said William, listening contentedly as Khrum romanticized about his home.

Shuffling in a little closer, Icrick asked, "Oh, what's it like nowadays, William? Do tell!"

"Yeah, tell us what it's like now in your day 'n' age, lad," Khrum added, and he too got a little more comfortable.

Amused by their keen interest, William brushed his hands of the branch and began, "Well, it's not as bad as you might think, for a start. I mean, there are no massive buildings about, like the ones you'd find in foreign countries. Ireland is still really very simple; with cottages, and mills, and little boathouses by the riverbanks. Then there's the countryside itself. And to be honest, it's not really much different to Lythiann. Well, we may not have as many magical things or huge mountains near Ballycongraggon. But it's still really beautiful there, and it has its own _kind_ o' magic...a not so obvious one. It's almost like you can feel it when you wake up, or when you smell the heather by sunrise; or when you talk to your neighbour, or when you just stare out across the ocean on a summer's day. Kind o' like the magical _home_ feeling...you know? That content feeling you couldn't really get anywhere else. It's nice...really nice."

" _Home_ feeling, you say? What makes this sensation so, exactly? The land? The trees?" asked Icrick, who was warmed by William's homey description.

"Well, I suppose the land has something to do with it. But I'd say it's more the people who are mostly responsible for it...and family," the lad replied. However much it pained him to confess, considering his troubles, he still managed to smile.

Clearly empathizing with the boy, Khrum interrupted by saying, "Well...um...yes, we see what ya mean there, lad. Sounds grand, it does. But we besht get movin' on! Don't ye think? Before we lose any more time?"

Then, with William lost in his reminiscences of home, Khrum elbowed the Grogoch with a glance, and Icrick said, "Oh! Oh, yes! Perhaps it would be best if we got moving! Wouldn't you say so, William?"

Oblivious to their concern, the lad said with good cheer, "Yeah, you're right. Better be off. Maybe we can find some decent shelter tonight as well, while we still have the sun on our side."

"Right ya are, laddie!" laughed Khrum, in hope of raising his spirits. "Sounds like a plan 'n' a half ta me, it does! Considerin' most plans only half work out, let's hope all our luck is in that extra wee bit," he joked.

With rest taken and food gone, they collected their gear, quenched the fire and traipsed further through the day.

Leading over the knolls to the left was a beaten trail of some sort, which eventually strayed true north amongst the waist-high grasses and the new realm of Gil Tullìn, so Icrick said. But that was not part of their route, so they decided to skip through the trees and hilltops beyond the River Bán instead, and keep their course eastward.

Stealing from the trail, they slunk up through the hills, then on into the wood. Great black bears resided in that part of the world, thus it was imperative that they kept the noise to a minimum. Imagine how unfortunate it would be for them to set out upon this bold adventure only to be slaughtered by some ravenous bear in the first few days. It just wouldn't do.

Silently into the woods they skulked. Spruce trees filled that shallow woodland; both big and small. Luckily for the three, they weren't long safely pressing through before the level plain became visible again downhill on the other side. But their venture through those trees did not go by without the occasional snarl or the nearby rustling of ferns. It was quite unnerving, particularly for William, who thought he could live out his entire life without ever seeing such a creature, as none were to be found in Ireland in his days. And yet, here he was, walking cross-country with a leprechaun and a Grogoch...so _anything_ could've been possible for him really. But they were safe on the plain again, and out of harm's way.

In the clear distance, mountainous teeth sparkled in the sun, right up toward the solitary Mount Giffùr on their right, roiling around which was a helter-skelter of bleak cloud. Not far north of this peak was an ancestry of ancient cliffs which they decided to make for, should they need to camp up before reaching day's end. At least then they would have had some form of shelter from any nightly chill.

They were travelling alongside the foot of the cliffs when, after about an hour or so, they saw more grand mountains staring down upon them from the plateau above. These were snow-capped mountains of bluish-grey rock, with many caves near the bottoms of them, which would have been ideal to sleep in. But, every now and again, a low, sullen howl emitted from those caves. They could but imagine what sort of beasts lay resting inside, so there was no point in considering it further, and they ventured on.

It was near sunset when the cliffs disappeared southward from their course and they were left, again, to travel the flat openness of the plain. Here they happened upon another brook, which they followed in the hope that it may yet lead them to some form of haven. It was Icrick's idea to drink as much as they liked from that brook once they settled for the night. That way they could still replenish their own supply, should they need it the following day. Building a fire near the brook, they wound up camping beneath the stars another night, with the reeds swaying about them.

Khrum and William had a little wash for themselves there, to clear away the cobwebs and, even more so, that unsavoury stink of sweat from their day's travel. Noting that Icrick wasn't too bothered on doing so, Khrum went off on a rant, telling him that he was beginning to pong so atrociously that he was starting to attract flies. Icrick wouldn't give in. Grogoch's like to think that their hair cleans itself over time...and so it does...but it takes an age, and even at that, they still reek something awful. Also, should a fly or three ever get lured to their niff, more often than not, the Grogochs end up growing rather partial to their company, chatting on occasion as the flies come and go. Disgusting, I quite agree. But that's Grogochs for you. Tired of wasting his breath, Khrum left him alone, and they all sat back and had a rest.

That evening was mild and quiet, and they indulged in a relaxing night of Uileann pipes. The sound was mythical and magical, as though the enchanted tune—so named "The Neamh of Evenings"—belonged with them, there in that moment, as a part of the magic and mystery which flowed beneath the stars to the very ends of Lythiann herself. It was calming, though courageous; powerful, yet gentle, and once Icrick laid those pipes to rest, they rested their own heads and eventually drifted into a night of uninterrupted sleep.

Next day, they came upon the new region of Ràl Ahalà, a huge spread of sweeping heathland which was absolutely seething with a canopy of fresh purple heather. It was a slightly more taxing trek in comparison to the terrain of previous days, as the ground tended to rise and dip quite a bit. Nonetheless, the sun was out on yet another cloudless sky, and the house martins chirped alongside the warming coo of the nesting woodpigeons.

The heathland pressed on for the better part of their day, while Icrick had his maps out for most of it. He really was quite efficient when it came to map-reading, for once in a while he would mention something specific, such as a landmark. Then, a little while later, they would unexpectedly stroll right up to it.

On three separate occasions he did this. First he mentioned a primordial faerie ring, which they happened upon minutes before setting foot onto the heath. He then told them to keep their eyes peeled for the wise rock of Jum Rò. Lo and behold, William almost walked his face right into it whilst having his undivided focus set upon the head of his staff. For some reason he thought those amber eyes were fixated upon him, from, I suppose, the glistening of the sunlight that was reflecting off them. Spellbinding as it felt, William deduced that it was but a trick of the light, and nothing more.

In any event, the rock of Jum Rò seemed to be a rather angular boulder, made of bronze stuff which bore some resemblance to a winged lady with her chin resting upon both fists. Legend said that the wise rock knew the answers to all questions. But when Khrum asked if there was any whisky nearby, the only answer he got was a thrush making its droppings onto his head.

"Ho-ho! That's a sign of good luck, so it is!" chuckled Icrick behind his paw.

Mopping away the mess, the leprechaun grouched with a puss, "I know all about luck, lad, 'n' that's far from it. Ara, lookit! There's _loads_ of it! Shmelly aul' droppin's all over me good cap. Blasht that feathered flute anyways! I'll remember ya!" he yelled, wagging a threatening fist at the bird. "I'll find your little neshteen someday 'n' do a big phlegmy one into it. We'll see how ya like _that_!"

Unscathed by the leprechaun's crude remark, the little thrush swished off into the blue skies, chirping and twittering as merrily as could be.

The last landmark mentioned by Icrick was a lake called Lough Margal, a frozen lake to have supposedly never thawed. Unknown to most, the ice was actually penetrable, although any forced cavity would quickly freeze over again, despite the heat of the day. According to tale, within that lough there resided the helpful imp named Knitt, who welcomed any visitors. She was, of course, of the aquatic breed, and was infinitely protected by the ever-watchful eye of a notorious sentinel. Notorious to those of malignant ways, that is. It was told that the good folk of the world could swim invitingly through his lake, if ever they should find a way in, whereas if evil ever attempted to bathe within his waters, the sentinel would instinctively become aware and either swallow them whole or incinerate them using his dragon-like breath. Icrick was explaining all of this to the lad as they rested to have a quick snack, and William shivered more than once at the idea of that frightful sentinel, whatever breed of animal it may have been.

* * *

It was before dusk when they finally came upon this great lough, just as the last of the heathland was straying into the ranges of the north. To William, the lough didn't appear all that magical or forbidden. It wasn't even all that big, as far as lakes go. It was set within an icy basin, engulfed by higher ground, perished rock, and some frosted trees whose leaves were still in bloom. Travelling over the lake from one end to the other was a suspended wooden bridge. It didn't look the sturdiest of structures, that bridge. But the lake was mere feet below, and supposedly of heavy ice, therefore falling from it certainly wouldn't have meant to their death. A turned ankle, maybe.

When they were through submersing themselves within the beauty of that sparkling lough, they decided to walk the bridge and set up camp once they made it across to the other side. Wouldn't you know...Khrum had other ideas.

Once they'd reached the far end of the lough, the leprechaun sprang from the bridge and landed with a flurry of slips onto the ice.

"Whoooah!" he yelled, flapping his arms until he found balance. "How are ya supposed ta swim in here, anyways? There's no way in! I often wondered about that when I was here lasht."

"Oh, I don't know, Khrum," sighed the fed-up Grogoch. "But still, I don't like the idea of angry sentinel sea monsters coming to gobble us up, either. So let's just leave it alone and get some food. I'm starved!"

"Hold your horses, will ya! Don't ya want ta know about these sort o' things? I thought ya were into history 'n' all that tripe?" Khrum asked, adapting so well that he'd broken into a graceful skate. "I heard there's a never-ending world o' delicious fishies below here. The freshest fishies on the land...an' certainly a damned sight fresher than what comes outta that aul' schoolbag o' yours, lad. Down there is a watery land where ya can breathe just fine...just like ya were on land. A place where there are no troubles from the likes o' Drevol bloody Briggun I'll bet, too."

He then jumped into a terrific spin before landing into a sequence of figure eights.

"Who knows?" said the Grogoch with a tut, growing more aggravated out of hunger. "As you said, there's no way in, so we'll never find out, will we? So let's just be off!"

"Oh, I suppose you're right!" moaned Khrum. "I could do with a morsel myself."

But before leaving the frozen lake for good, he wanted to do just one final twirl.

He broke into a nimble dash, with one arm behind his back and his head low.

Commentating, as if in a race, he muttered, "An' here we have the amazin' Khrum, comin' up ta his lasht hurdle. Never have we seen such grace, here in the finals o' the Lythiann ice-rippin' championships."

Quicker, and quicker, and quicker, he skated, until he was blazing along with shavings of ice spraying up all about him. Meanwhile, William and Icrick had almost vanished from sight, having already disembarked the bridge, and were on their way through the bushes on the other side.

With one glorious leap, Khrum jumped into a triple twist. Elegant though it was, he landed into a _not_ so graceful recovery, for he plummeted straight _through_ that supposedly impenetrable rime.

Under he went. Submerged. Taken by the black lough. Its surface was otherwise completely lifeless, with not a single indication of him re-emerging and, what's worse, nobody had seen it happen.

A moment passed before Icrick came waddling back, grumbling about the leprechaun.

"It's always something! Khrum. Let's get moving," he groaned, but Khrum wasn't there.

"K-Khrum?" he asked, peering about.

William came walking up behind him, asking, "Where'd he go? Off hiding or something?"

Suddenly, Icrick noticed the tiny void which the leprechaun had fallen through, and it was slowly freezing over again.

"Oh, _no_!" he gasped.

"What's wrong?!" asked William, glancing about.

"Look! There's a hole. He must have fallen in. That stupid lout. Oh, what are we going to do?"

Before he could say another word, they heard a faint thumping noise from below. Quickly, William ran onto the bridge and gazed down, only to see the little fellow on the wrong side of the ice, pummelling it with the sides of his fists. He then disappeared back into the gloom.

"Aw, this isn't good! I _told_ him to be careful!" said the boy, in a clutter. "Icrick! Quick! Give me your fishing rod thing before this hole seals up!"

"What?! Why? Whatever are you going to do with it?" asked the Grogoch in a dither, hesitantly handing William the Wayrod.

Lowering the line carefully into the hole, the lad said, "What do you think? I'm going to try and fish him out! Khrum, can you hear me? I'm sending in a line. Grab it if you can."

Gaining no response, he could but wait. He waited, and waited, and waited some more; with every single second adding to his concern for poor Khrum's wellbeing. But there was no sign of a bite. Then, all of a sudden, before all hope could be completely abandoned, the reel started into a violent spin. It even started to smoulder.

"What the—?" the lad cried, when the rod flew from his grip, right below the surface of the lake.

"Oh, _Jaynie_!" moaned Icrick, slapping his forehead. "We needed that. It was important."

Removing his satchel, his cloak, and his pendent, William lobbed them at Icrick, and said, "Here! Mind these."

"Why? What are you going to do now?" cried the Grogoch, taking William's things.

"We can't just leave him there. We have to help him," said William.

"But how? What if you can't find him? It's a deep lake...probably with a current."

"This imp, Knitt; if I come across her first, do you think she'll help me find him?" asked William, rolling up his sleeves and stepping over the rail. "Providing what's been said about us being able to breathe down there is true, o' course."

"Well, I presume so," Icrick said in a panic. "But it's bumping into her that's the trouble!"

"Icrick...if I don't come back out...I expect you to come in after both of us," William said, leaping in feet first, not even giving the traumatized Grogoch a chance to retort.

As he plunged through the icy surface, William had a firm hold of his nose, lest a rush of bubbles might tear up through his brain. As he sank and bobbed up, he came to notice that the water was actually fairly tepid. At first he couldn't see much, other than the blue murkiness which blinded him from seeing all else, but more and more became visible to him the further down he went, which was lucky enough for William. At least now he wasn't swimming blindly, and there was lesser chance of him paddling headfirst into some strange hole and getting trapped.

Soon his vision began to adapt, and he could recognise the coarse boulders of coral manifesting before him, yet there was no sign of his leprechaun friend. With a hopeful plea, he so proceeded on his hunt.

Vast quantities of those reefs encumbered that lake, all draped in rags of flowing seaweed, swaying dreamily to the hands of the current. Rich aquatic flora also flourished throughout, covering much of the area at hand. Some of these included green ulva, red porphyra, grasses with churning strands, carrageen moss, devil's apron, gulfweed, seaweed with eyes and periwinkles, while many different types of creatures resided amongst it all. Starfish, hermit crab, king crab, iridescent waving eels, thorny sea urchins, stingrays, otters, and even squids of unnerving proportions. Thankfully, they all minded their own business, and didn't pay much heed to the strange boy who was lurking about in their watery home.

Just beyond these aquatic wonderments, a crater emerged. It was like a monstrous marine valley, teeming with amazing underwater waterfalls, vales, and monumental teeth of rigid stone. It was all so very beautiful, but extremely preternatural, thus adding even more astonishment to that which Lythiann itself had already granted.

Amongst the algae, coral, and weeds of below were large schools of funny-looking fish with scaly stripes of silver and green. Some even had sea-grass upon their crowns, like hair. They sometimes swam close to William, only to disperse to different hideouts any time they caught his attention. But whenever he went back about his dealings, they'd surely return to investigate him further.

Far, far into the gloom, he could just about see the lakebed through deep, sandy clouds; disturbances from startled watery things. Once it settled, he could tell that this strange, new place carried on for miles into the dark of the navy deep. It looked so much more enormous in the depths than it did from the outside. It was huge. Almost like another universe.

As young Muldoon continued on by the rocks, even more things came to light. Up ahead he noticed more fish, who appeared solitary and were very big, with snowy beards, dull teeth, and four eyes each. Slowly they travelled westward, dragging themselves along like ancient wandering nomads, both noble and wise. Hordes of blinking eyes peeped out at him from dark places, and tentacles danced along as he swished by. To William's left was a crowd of glowing jellyfish who shimmered and shined with all the colours of a rainbow, and they moved with much grace and elegance. But they could travel with as much grace as they liked, as far as William was concerned, for he was stung by a jellyfish once, and there was no _way_ that he was going to go through _that_ pain again, so he kept clear of them as they danced on by.

He wished to go deeper, to further his search, but he was running short on breath. And, to be honest, he wasn't all that keen on the idea of inhaling water either, even with the expectance of being able to breathe, so he thought it best to keep going to the surface for oxygen instead, until he finally came across Knitt. Or better yet, until he came across Khrum himself.

He turned and made his way back towards the surface, with bubbles of air gushing from his nostrils. That icy void wasn't far away, and he had a sufficient amount of air to see him comfortably to it. Just then, the situation took a terrifying turn, and he was abruptly cut off.

A titanic silhouette came sailing across his path from above, blocking off his route to the surface. Out of sheer horror, William started to panic. And as you already know, it isn't very wise to panic underwater and, even more so, when you're running low on oxygen. The cosmic shape moved like a sailing ship before William's eyes. Had he acted quickly enough, the boy might have managed to slip past it on either side, as there was plenty of room. But the fact of the matter was, he was scared out of his wits, and completely taken by surprise.

Oh, that beastly shadow seemed never-ending. Its body was curved elliptically, clad in barnacles, and it draped much of the lakebed in darkness. William tried his utmost to conserve his air, only he couldn't hold his lungs any longer. He _had_ to get oxygen.

With nothing else for it, he pulled himself in behind a craggy rock and tried his best to stay hidden. By then, his air supply was drastically thin. So clenching his eyelids, he released his breath, counted to three...then hesitated till five...and grudgingly heaved in a fresh wind, all the time thinking, "You'd _better_ be right about this, Khrum!"

At first it felt like he had gotten his head dunked into a barrel of water and was sucking in massive, excessive gulps. Then, sure enough, his lungs started to swell with salty liquid. Upon this atypical act, the boy writhed and bellowed like a trout on a hook. He couldn't help it. I'll wager you would be hysterical too, if you were stuck beneath a giant sea monster with your lungs full of water.

It was a horrifying sensation to begin with. And yet, after that initial breath, he discovered that he was suspended in the midst of the lough like a speck of plankton within the prying fingers of protruding sunlight, and he was breathing just fine. He could also see much clearer, too, having suddenly developed some form of transparent film which shielded his eyes from irritation. Glancing up, he noticed how the mysterious beast had nearly passed him by, with its giant tailfin dragging from left to right with mighty thrusts. What's more, to William's relief, the monster hadn't seen him (or else took no notice), and he soon felt that it was safe again to explore the vast, new world beneath the waves in search of his friend.

After a few more breaths and a brief scan about, he pressed the soles of his feet against the boulder's edge, then launched himself out into the open water. As soon as he did, that same school of fish returned in covert pursuit, though William didn't even begin to bother about them. Away he drifted into the deepest blue depths, yet, for some reason, his usual swimming technique wasn't comfortable at all. He was kicking, and thrashing, and flicking, and paddling, but it just seemed far too awkward, and harshly painful to the chest. With each attempt as useless as the next, he stopped for a moment and thought, "What's going on here? Why can't I swim?" He then attempted a doggy-paddle. That wouldn't work. Then he tried swimming on his back. That was just as unpleasant. Eventually he conceded, and dragged himself back onto a ledge where he could sit and deliberate it.

He was truly distraught, when all of a sudden that same congregation of fish gathered all around him in a great sphere. It was as though he was trapped in a fishy bubble and there they all were, staring and blinking, with tiny bubbles _ooping_ from their mouths.

"Trouble?" asked a crowd of infantile voices, like that of a toddler's classroom.

Meanwhile, the fish just kept watching William with that same simple expression.

"Um...y-yes!" he answered, surprised that he could talk underwater, too. "I can't seem to swim all that well all of a sudden. I mean...I was fine when I first came in. But as soon as I took a deep breath, I haven't been able to swim with any comfort!"

"Lungs!" answered the fish.

Puzzled, he asked, "Lungs? What do you mean?"

"Water in your lungs! It restricts you!" they answered.

"So, what you're saying is, now that my lungs are full o' water, I have to figure out a new way to swim?"

"Water restricts you. Restricts your arms and legs," said the fish, while some moved in closer.

"Right...I can safely say I don't know _what_ you're on about," William said. "Listen, I've lost my friend. He's a leprechaun. He fell through the ice a few minutes ago, and I came in to try and find him. Have you seen a leprechaun in your travels?"

In response, they merely blinked, wondering about how odd this boy looked in his peculiar garments.

He then asked, "How about Knitt? Do you know where I can find her?"

Still, they just floated and stared, refusing to recognise his query.

"Um...what say I just stay here? I'll be fine, now that I can breathe...and you can go and tell Knitt that I want to talk to her. Would you mind?" William asked, growing extremely tense and uncomfortable.

But the fish remained suspended in a motionless sequence of blinks and bubbles. They did nothing other than gaze, as if pondering, with William gawping back at them in the same silly way, albeit he was unaware he was doing so.

"So, by the way you're not saying anything, I'm guessing you don't really like that idea?" he asked, becoming altogether bewildered about how he was going to get out of this predicament.

Then, out of the blue, there popped a noise.

" _Knitt_!" it said, with a sharp squeak.

Then along came another, "Knitt," and it was followed by another three.

"Knitt! Knitt! Knitt!"

Before William could tell which fish was saying it, there was already another twenty of them behind him at it when, eventually, all of them were doing it.

"Knitt! Knitt! Knitt! Knitt!"

He presumed them to be calling for Knitt, but of course he couldn't have been more wrong.

"Knitt! Knitt! Knitt!" they chanted, on and on.

Getting a bit of a pain in his head, William said, "Yeah-yeah, that's who I'm after."

He was just about to plug his fingers in his ears, when they suddenly silenced, and scattered into different parts of the lake.

"Wait!" he called out. "I wasn't going to hurt you. I was just blocking my ears. Wait! I need your help! Don't leave."

During his plea, a thundering shade floated beneath the ledge, and as loud as a subterranean foghorn, it let out a deafening boom from its blowhole. Out came a great rush of bubbles, sending William off into a spin.

Can you guess what it was? That's right, it was that sentinel again. The same beast that was sailing above him earlier. It didn't look like it wanted to cause William any harm, mind. He just happened to be in its way. In any case, the giant fish merely drifted by again and carried on with its patrol, not caring the slightest if William was hurt or not. But, thankfully, he was okay. For, during his spin, he was flung back into a bunker of sea-sponges and algae. A very prosperous landing. Having said that, young William had also landed the left-hand side of his bum on a wicked old crab and got pinched for his troubles. Upon that warning, the crab then click-clacked off grumpily to the underside of a leaning rock, where he vanished.

"That was _far_ too close for comfort!" sighed William, scratching his behind.

Unbeknown to him, the colourful fish had returned, and were staring at him from behind the spongy bunker.

"Knitt!" peeped one.

It immediately nabbed William off guard, making him shudder into a swivel.

"Oh, _you_ lot again!" he scowled. "Why don't you flip off and annoy somebody else for a change? I'm done with you. I'll find Khrum myself."

Brushing off a few stubborn seashells, he was about to be on his way, when a, "Me Knitt!" suddenly held his attention.

"Wait...what did you say?"

"Me Knitt," said one, and sure enough, they were all at it.

"Me Knitt! Me Knitt! Me Knitt! Me Knitt!"

Pining for the slight probability of success, William's voice took charge and he commanded imperially above all others.

"PLEASE...BE...QUIET!" he yelled, and they all went back to gawking.

"What do you mean by, Me Knitt? Are you the one I'm looking for? Are you Knitt?"

Suddenly, the fish broke from their spherical formation, thereby gathering themselves tightly in together and into a gradual spin. The top ones started to swim around the bottom ones, whilst the bottom ones roiled about the top ones. The left ones swished around the right ones and vice versa, while the middle ones swam around all of them at once. It kept going like this until they were all whizzing and whirling around, and around, and around, with rapid speed and a haze of foaming bubbles. Squinting his eyes, William raised his arm fearfully, waiting for something to pop. I'm happy to say, nothing either explosive or implosive occurred. But there was a transformation nonetheless.

After the commotion had diminished, floating there in place of the fish was the manifestation of a young mermaid. The fish were still present, you understand, for it was they who'd convened to form the figure itself...that of a mermaid. Her scales glittered and shone like she was clad in a treasury of rare diamond jewels. And the tender current gave her long, sea-grass hair a design of immobility, as though from some forgotten dream; treasured and serene.

"Hello there, William!" she smiled.

Lowering his arm, he replied, "Knitt? H-How did you know my name?"

Just then, in an unexpected _whoosh_ , the mermaid started swimming around the boy, laughing and giggling. She was a very energetic thing indeed and, to William's sudden revelation, she was unusually affectionate...in a boy-girl sort of way.

"My, you are a pretty thing!" she said, ignoring his question, for William's needs weren't all that vital to her quirky ways. "A bigger change than I would have thought! A lot smaller than the other fellow, you are...but still so handsome!"

Slipping from William's sight, Knitt then popped up behind him and started pinching his cheeks.

"Aw, get off," he spluttered, flapping his hands about his face.

Not bothered by any means, Knitt simply giggled again before taking off to another of William's blindsides. She was so quick that he could scarcely keep up with her.

Catching him out on different angles, the girl sniggered, "You used to be one for the blarney back in the old days, I hear. Can't you remember?"

"I have absolutely no clue as to _what_ you're on about," the lad protested, twisting all about. "Could you please just stay still! I need to ask for your help...please! Why is it that all you creatures have to stare at me all the time?"

As abrupt as it was, the mermaid suddenly stopped and peered as though, upon William's order, she was going to grant him the opportunity he'd asked for. But before he could open his mouth, Knitt had already burst into a vivid cluster of fish, flushed by William's head, and reformed herself behind him with a flirtatious, chuckling wave.

"Oh, I give up!" he huffed. "If you're not going to help me find my friend, then I'll just have to find him myself, won't I? That's if he's even still breathing! Goodbye...good luck...and good riddance!"

He was about to step off the edge and scramble off pathetically down a nearby grade when Knitt whisked up before his nose again.

"Get out o' my way, will you!" he snapped, but she didn't budge.

"Whoah! Would you look at the size o' that worm!" William pointed with a gasp, trying to steer her attention away so he could give her the slip.

Two fish simply poked their eyes out from the rear of Knitt's head to confirm his claim. But when they saw nothing, they just shook their heads, and William's ruse was cleverly foiled.

"Ah, just head off, will ye?" he moaned, at the end of his tether.

But before he could argue any further, Knitt asked of him, "Is it the leprechaun you seek?"

Believing that he'd finally made a breakthrough, the lad said, "Yes! Thank you. Have you seen him?"

"Well then, you shall need Waterlilly for that one," the mermaid said with a smile. "She spotted him not too long ago. Found him very out of place."

"Waterlilly?" William groaned. "You mean I have to go off looking for _another_ person?"

Throwing him a smile, Knitt gestured at him to turn around, and wouldn't you know, there was Waterlilly.

She was a seahorse as big as William himself; grey in pigment, with black stripes and a leather saddle upon her back. Two organic reigns dangled from her snout, and her tale was coiled inwards at the bottom. She also had relatively similar behaviour to Knitt's fish, in that she just floated there, observing William amid sprouting a wisp of tiny bubbles.

"Waterlilly?" said the boy, stepping up to her, as he ran his palm down her gorgeous, sable mane. "And she'll take me to Khrum?"

When there was no response, he looked over his shoulder to find Knitt gone, and far off in the distant waters he spotted a vast school of playful fish vanishing into the thick shade of the deep.

"Well now. She was odd," he said to himself.

Suddenly, approaching from the east, he witnessed the return of that massive silhouette. By that stage, it seemed that the creature was growing very suspicious of William, and he had good reason to think this. For those waters travelled on for an eternity in all directions and, for some reason, the sentinel was keeping his proximity in order to keep an eye on things, and William didn't particularly wish to loiter so as to see what the beast was going to do next.

Thusly, in sliding one foot into the stirrup, he uttered gently into Waterlilly's ear, "I'm looking for my friend, Khrum. He's an annoying little leprechauny thing. Can you help me find him, please?"

Now, you should understand that he made two fundamental errors here. Firstly, he didn't have to explain anything, because Waterlilly already knew what he wanted, and, secondly, because he was wasting his time talking to the seahorse, he was paying very little attention to his footing...and seahorses don't wait around.

Before poor William knew what was happening, Waterlilly took off like a hare in a hunt, whinnying and snorting. She was so fast that his legs went from underneath him. He struggled frantically, dangling from the reigns with one hand, to climb back into the saddle.

Briskly and flawlessly the seahorse swam. Maybe not quite as fast as the Glogish travel, but it was still very swift, considering the lake within was congested with all sorts of razor-sharp rocks, prickly creatures, and all manners of weird, slimy oddities.

They raced on and on they raced, with grave haste. Through underwater arches, dodging jagged spines of lethal coral, over and under crowds upon crowds of surly jellyfish, and hurtling over the boiling hot gushes of submarine volcanoes. Naturally Waterlilly was quite careful not to bang her _own_ head or snag her tail, but it was up to William to watch out for himself. If he smacked his elbow on a turtle's shell or clipped his ear on some passing lip then it was his own fault, as far as Waterlilly was concerned. It was her duty to get William to his friend...and nothing more.

"Not so fast!" he begged. "Will you let me get settled...please! Please!"

Imploring, however, was futile. Waterlilly was having none of it.

With the reins ravelled tightly around one arm, William hauled with all his might and eventually managed to pull himself back into the saddle. Not a second did he have to get comfortable before they plunged into a sudden vertical drop, down into a sheer valley. Whilst skilfully altering her direction before the drop's end, Waterlilly skimmed rapidly across the lakebed like a smooth stone skipping over a stagnant drift. Through an entire forest of bizarre seaweed they bored, as little creatures went clinging to William's clothes and face, making him scream with a bellowing of white bubbles. He didn't know _what_ these things were. Awful-looking spidery fellows. But they were harmless, and William was otherwise far too enthralled in the chilling action to do anything other than screech.

Just then, in mid-dash, Waterlilly dipped her nose into that murky seaweed and yanked out the little leprechaun like he was on a fishing line.

"Whoooa!" he hollered, finding the saddle with a thump, then William barked out, "Khrum! Where did you get to?"

"Oh, William! Ya came down for me!" cheered the leprechaun. "Sorry, lad. I saw a fine bit o' herrin' on its way down here, so I chashed after it. Couldn't shtop myself."

"If you wanted fish you could've just gotten it from my satchel, you dope!" William argued, shouting through the bedlam of Waterlilly's velocity.

"Nah, ya see, that jusht would've made _sense_ ," Khrum replied, trying to lighten the mood, but his guilty face implied a world of apology.

"What about the Wayrod? Do you have that?" the boy interrogated.

"I had it..." replied Khrum.

"But..."

"That massive sardine thing tore pasht me 'n' the current ripped it from my hand. I think he ate it, actually!"

"Ah, Khrum...for crying out loud! We _needed_ that!" William protested.

"Well, whose fault is it for cashtin' it in then?" Khrum argued.

"Don't test me, leprechaun."

Sinking to a sulk, the leprechaun muttered, "Ooh, _someone's_ in foul form."

Further on they sped, and although they didn't know it yet, the end was near, and it's only natural for a horse of any breed to sprint at the final lap. So, as if it wasn't already bad enough, young William wasn't even remotely prepared for what was about to happen next.

Firstly, everything about them started to slow into an amalgam of colour, but immense pressure seemed to be drawing against them. It was so strong that their faces started to ripple, and their gums drew back over their very teeth. Back to the surface they then ventured, only this time they were going in some form of lightning speed.

Everything around them had lost its shape, altering dramatically from the norm. It was a great distortion of greys, browns, and greens. William couldn't help but swallow a few big gulps of the salty water in the process, and Khrum's eyelids were practically pulled back over the brim of his hat. It was nearly impossible for them to hold on, with their teeth chattering wildly through their sickly groans. Ceaselessly their hands were slipping, and William's feet kept losing the stirrups. Faster, and faster, and faster they went. Closer, and closer, and closer they got; until Waterlilly finally threw back her head and skidded with a howling neigh. Like two torpedoes, William and Khrum shot from her back, tore through the water and, with a crash, they blasted through the ice and landed their backsides into a thick patch of snow aside the lake bank. They'd made it out.

"Oh! Oh! You found your way out. You're alive!" cried Icrick, running to them with a look of genuine worry. "Bless us and save us all!"

He was wearing a pair of ridiculous-looking goggles and a leather cap, both of which he took off immediately when he saw that his friends were safe. It seemed that he was readying himself to go in after them...which was quite a noble gesture, really.

Neither of them could talk at first, with them clawing at the grass, choking and coughing, and drawing in gasping breaths.

Eventually, Khrum spluttered, "Why didn't ya jump in after me, Icrick? Ya could do with the wash! I thought ya were my friend."

Upset by those words, Icrick grew shameful of his cowardice. But he couldn't help his timidity, because Grogochs were never meant to be brave creatures. They simply attended to people's minor needs and chores, like helpers of daily tasks and such. Khrum knew this well enough.

"Bah, never mind me!" said he, regretting his harshness. "It was my own fault for actin' the maggot on the ice. Sorry, Icrick...I didn't mean ta take it out on ya. Anyways, by the looks of it, I'm guessin' you were goin' ta jump in...at some stage."

Still gasping for air, William pulled himself up onto a rock and, knocking the water out of his ear, he frowned. "If you ever, _ever_ pull something like that again, Khrum, you can go straight back to the Grollo and wait outside it until that spell dies out! Because I am not jumping in after you."

"Ah, ya enjoyed it, me aul' bucko...admit it." The leprechaun laughed, clambering up onto William's shoulder. "But now I'm indebted ta ya for savin' me. So you're shtuck with me I'm afraid!"

"Great!" said William, wringing out his kilt. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Why, it's always good luck ta have a leprechaun by your side. Now, if ya'd be so kind as ta get a wee shnifter o' whisky out o' that bag o' yours... 'Twud be jusht the trick ta warm up the aul' bones after that nippy escapade!"

"Not on your life!" the lad objected. "You can have some tea. Like it or lump it."

"...with a sip o' port in it, perhaps?"

"No! You're lucky to be getting anything at all after what you've just pulled. You and your _herring_ ," William snapped, removing his wet gauntlets and flicking out the water.

"Fair enough so! _Be_ a spoilsport!" sulked Khrum.

"Hang on a second," said Icrick, looking at their empty hands. "Where's my Wayrod?"

"Uh-oh!" muttered the leprechaun, ducking behind William's shoulder.

"Sorry, Icrick," the boy said. "It was the sentinel who snatched it off me that time...I think he...um...ate it. I'm sorry, it's my fault."

"Oh, bother!" the Grogoch said sadly.

All the same, he was rather appreciative of William's honesty, even though the lad was secretly covering for the leprechaun.

"Well, we aren't at a total loss, because I still have my maps and another gadget or two hidden away," said Icrick, packing away his goggles and cap. "Not to worry, William. We'll get by. And I thank you for your honesty."

When the Grogoch turned his back to gather up his things, Khrum leant into William's ear and whispered, "Thanks, lad. I wouldn't have heard the end of it."

Not amused, the boy whispered back, "I know! That's why I did it. I have enough on my plate, without having to listen to you two going off at each other all the time. I was doing myself a favour."

"Shtill! Fair play ta ya, boy," said Khrum with a wink. "'Twas a decent gesture no matter what ya say."

So, having discovered a cosy little nook in which to settle, Icrick went about building a nice, refreshing fire, while also preparing two mugs of hot tea for William and Khrum, which he obtained from the boy's satchel.

Happily they rested there that evening, under the fair shelter of a grand evergreen tree, broad and tall, as the mild eastward breeze faded into night's arrival. Quite a little adventure they'd had that third day, but innocent in contrast to those nearing days of dread which had not yet come to pass.

# \- Chapter Eight -

### Horrors upon the Trail

Having roused unusually early the following morning, William already had breakfast laid out just in time for sunrise. By the time the others had finished eating theirs, he already had all of their belongings packed and ready to go. How eager he was to set out that morn. It could only have been, I suppose, that the trip was beginning to take its toll on young William; that he would have preferred to get it over with, sooner rather than later. It's not that he wasn't enjoying the company of his companions, or that he didn't appreciate the Lythiann countryside, or anything of the sort. It was just down to him missing his mother, and all he wanted was to get the process moving along as swiftly as could be.

Making way for the woodland ahead, they began a fresh outset. Little did William or Khrum know that there was yet another hidden vale en route to the east, so they had no other choice but to wander down through it. Icrick, of course, already knew of that vale, though he led on without mentioning a single word about it. It was of no big issue to him, so he didn't see why an explanation was needed. Khrum and William would've liked some decent notice to prepare themselves for yet another laborious valley hike; both downward and upward again later on. With grievances kept to themselves, they travelled on regardless.

Most of their morning, and afternoon, was spent reaching the far side of the vale. They came to discover that it was actually quite small in comparison to most, and that situations could have been much worse than having to take an extra bit of time to stroll across something as picturesque as that valley actually was. For even though the mountains upon either side were of coaly bare rock, the lesser slopes were flush with oak, chestnut, pine, and cedar, all of which rambled downhill until they met with acres of wild flowers: Blue flax, Chicory, Golden yarrow, Crimson clover, Butterfly weed, and Foxglove were but a taste of those which they encountered. Those blossoms remained at the base of the foothills and went no further, and the aroma was summery and warming. The floor of the vale itself was of grass and little else. But it was fine dwarf fescue, with a delightfully seasoned scent drifting from it. Yes, it turned out to be a kindly stroll, which had them glad that Icrick decided to take them that way after all.

Once that vale had ended, they ambled upon a trail which carried them 'round by a lofty fir forest, then up to the brink of a shallow gorge. Rushing wildly within were the roaring rapids, and the talk of shifting stones clicked and clacked beneath its turbulent tide. Awaiting them was a grassy ramp which, though sheer as it was, eventually slid down to the bottom of the gorge. Down there the grass had faded to tufts until it was no more. Instead, gravelling the gorge floor were smoothly rounded stones and clumps of fallen rock which spread steadily along the bank, up as far as the water's edge. Then, not too far upstream, about a half-mile or so, resided the tunnel wherefrom the white waters flowed.

Icrick was a good deal ahead after having descended first into the heart of the chasm. William and Khrum followed, slipping and wobbling on the rickety stones as they progressed along. It really was far from safe down there. The surrounding walls were very unpredictable, and extremely brittle. At one point, Khrum even shouted ahead to Icrick to ask him about Meldrid and how he was doing, when a massive sheet of sandstone slid from the face and came crashing down right before him, smashing into a hundred pieces. You can rest assured, he wasn't long keeping his mouth shut after that.

"That'll teach you!" Icrick grumbled. "You know better than to go shouting around these gorges, Khrum. Remember what happened to little Yilly Nipkin when he bet the woodland crier that he could put on a one-man opera inside the Echoless Gorge by N'raìla? He hadn't gotten two notes in when a boulder trampled him into the ground like a wild gooseberry. Thought you would have learnt your lesson from that story."

Icrick then went back about his maps, leaving Khrum standing there, rattled by the notion of what might have actually happened. Still, _that Icrick had some nerve, showin' me up like that_ , was his thinking.

"Maybe I'll shtand a little closer ta yourself next time I let out a screech! Bloody high n' mighty..." he muttered brazenly.

Unwise to Khrum's remark, Icrick toddled on.

Up through the tunnel they went, where they found a gaunt path aside the left-hand wall. It was piercingly loud in there, with the rapids gushing by in a violent rage. Quite a stretch too, that tunnel. The end was but a diminutive point of light far in the distance. But they marched on, in single file, and with little concern. What was the worst that could happen, after all?

About five minutes went by when William noticed a peculiar stench in the air. It was stale and mouldy, but it seemed to only bother him, from what he could first tell, because the others proceeded on without a care in the world. It was on account of, I suppose, them being more familiar with Lythiann and all of its other oddities.

All of a sudden, Khrum said, "My nose is killin' me! Itchyin' like hell it is. An' that pong! _WOOO_! Do any o' ye get it...no?"

"Yes! As a matter of fact, I get it too," said Icrick sourly. "I wasn't sure if it was either of ye, so I just kept it to myself."

"Yeah, I smell it too, whatever is it," William added, pinching his nose.

In peering up, they then saw how the shadows of the craggy roof were alive with squeaking, dangling vampire bats. They must have been keeping in out of the daylight until nighttime fell.

"Bats!" William squeaked. " _Vampire_ bats and all!"

You may wonder how he knew that these were vampire bats and not any other breed of bat. The lad could recognise them quite easily, in fact, by their stumpy noses, as his neighbour, Mrs. O'Loughlan, had one in a cage in her living room back home...strange though that may seem. Bernie's husband, Jack, brought it back for her from Argentina one Christmas as a joke. Funnily enough, she adored it, thus, she kept it. Her house was full of weird bits and pieces from around the world, including an attic full of ancient weaponry from the east, which William was truly fascinated by, but was never allowed touch.

What they were smelling in that passage were the squat dunes of guano which had mounded up into slanting piles against the tunnel wall. At first, they didn't pay them any attention, presuming they were just heaps of dust and debris; but they were wrong. What a grotesque sight it was, let alone haunting, what with all of those swinging, jerky bodies gazing down upon them.

"Oh! What ugly, _ugly_ creatures," whispered Icrick, cringing.

"I hear these things shtick ta your hair if you're not careful," Khrum murmured, genuinely trying to dispense some practical information.

"Oh, shut up, Khrum!" snapped the Grogoch.

"What?" Khrum barked. "Who wiped their crack on _your_ facecloth this mornin'? Constantly complainin', ya are! Like some aul' biddy."

"Oh, ya right! Like you weren't suggesting that they'd be straight after me because I'm coated in fur," Icrick said accusingly.

"Ara, for God's sake!" sighed Khrum. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Will you two ever stop giving out!" William arbitrated. "They won't stick to anybody's hair. Besides, they're probably just as frightened of us. So let's just get through this tunnel and be done with it."

Without warning, another rock collapsed from the cliffs outside, and William whipped around to see what was happening. By doing so, the other two encountered something that brought them to a fearful scream.

"BAT!" they shouted together.

Lo and behold, clutching to William's pack was a foul vampire bat who was slowly clawing his way up to the lad's neck for a nip. As well as that, their cries had roused such upset amongst the rest of those nightly critters that they all broke loose from the ceiling and swooped towards them in a black cloud.

"Get moving!" William cried, and they snapped into a sprint.

Bats were hurtling and spinning about their heads, forcing them to crouch in their getaway. All they could do was cover they heads and scamper as fast as they could, for turning around wasn't an option, as that would mean running against the onslaught. Nor could they jump into the river, because they had no idea where it would carry them. That's if it didn't kill them first. Onwards they so dashed, crying out and swishing their arms about in a frenzy.

All of a sudden, a shiny black bat slapped directly onto Icrick's face like a wet rag and adhered, squeaking and batting its wings.

"It's on my face!" he yelled, with a muffled shriek. "Get it off!"

With the Grogoch first in line, he was impairing the rest of their progress, for he'd stopped in his tracks in a struggle to peel the bat from his face.

"Go, Icrick! Will ya run!" cried the leprechaun, with bats bouncing all about his head.

"I can't! Get it off! Get it off me!" screamed the Grogoch.

"Ara, for cryin' out loud," growled Khrum, springing onto Icrick's back.

Bravely, with one savage butt of his forehead, Khrum nutted the bat in the snout, forcing it to release its grip and flap away.

"Now! Go, will ya!" he ordered, taking settle upon the Grogoch's shoulder.

Forth they ran, with such speed that they never would have dreamt possible.

Quickly and thankfully they soon made it safely to tunnel's end, with William at the rear, still wrestling that last bat from his backpack. Sunlight exploded onto their faces when they found the outer world, and a ghastly trail of shrieking bats soared up into the blue, making way for the nearby shade of the old fir trees. It was a lucky escape for our heroes, and they were only too delighted to be out of that filthy place.

After their little adventure in that sordid, terror-filled passage, they came to a calmer part of the river whereby they could cross over. On the opposing side, the bank rolled up to a higher knoll, which soon returned them to level ground. There they discovered the ancient moors afore their chosen path. Mikloc's Moors, they were known as, so named after Mikloc Maheyrin. An eccentric old hermit, once a respected 'Artisan' of Lythiann's east, whose own tale, I am sorry to say, has no bearing upon ours at hand. Although, perhaps you will learn of him on some other occasion, when the lights are dim and all desires for moving tales have been long since put to their beds. For the legend of old Mikloc was neither a happy nor an inspiring fable.

While upon those moors, they noticed that the weather was indeed holding up nicely. The skies remained reasonably overcast, yet they were nonetheless seething with friendly, cotton clouds, which drifted by peacefully in all manner of shapes and sizes. Walking along beneath them, William was as happy as could be. Well...as happy as the whole situation would allow him to be, at least. Chewing upon a long stalk of grass, he absorbed the view of the countryside. He might as well have been going for a quiet summer ramble back home, for all the difference there was. That is, until he came to notice the more obscure patterns of Lythiann's geography.

At one stage, the clouds dispelled, and the sun began beating down very heavily. The wind was growing lighter too, so they decided to rest in the shade of the trees for a spell. William sat there for a good long while; watching, thinking, minding his own business, when he noticed that one of the tree roots, by which he sat, had lots of swirling engravings on it. They crawled all the way up, around the very trunk, and even into the branches. Yes, that's right. They were exactly the same designs as in the Grollo. Nor were they just on this tree alone, they were on _all_ the trees. Every single one he took a moment to examine. Every one of them had those markings, yet they were very faint in the grain. Many of the rocks and boulders had them, too.

Apart from that—though as intriguing as those markings were to him—yet another feature came to William's attention. The mountains. Not all, but some of them, had a very peculiar shape about them, he felt. There was something very irregular, yet very beautiful about their formations; being all pointy, and narrow, and capped with snow. They gave the distinct impression of thin shards of stone, like that of spearheads wrought from flint. But there were only ever one or two of these karstic peaks in the midst of the regular ranges. Even so, both breeds grew strong and tall, emerging from clusters of the forests spread beneath.

Those ever-arising surprises of the Lythiann world were something for William to be constantly in awe of, and that's no mistake. Now and then, the birds sang and butterflies danced by. It was truly divine. William wished that the entire journey would be like this. Quiet, peaceful, untroubled. But you will find out before the end that not all the things we wish for wind up coming true.

After the fourth day of their arrival, their course had gotten a little worse. Into what seemed like unknown parts they strayed. Even Icrick was getting to the point where he would go off alone to consult his maps. On one instance, they even caught him reading a map upside down; granted he was trying his best. Things started to feel a bit more sinister. A bit more unwelcoming. Sunshine visited less frequently and the more outlandish animals seemed to frolic all the more; snotterbugs, tree pixies, snap sparrows. Yet, for the most part, they all of them remained in hiding.

Mustiness filled the air, and the trees grew barer and more twisted. Past the west they'd wandered; left it behind, and were now travelling south by Icrick's guidance to a place that brought uneasiness to their resolve. They were beyond the borders of Scalàn Fweè, now heading through a region known as Nà Fìun. Dealings of this county were best left untold ever since the banishment from Drevol, for creatures lurked abroad that even the mightiest feared.

Dusk was falling when they happened upon a road. An old road. A wild-looking road. After some nervous debate, Icrick suggested that they take it. It didn't, after all, appear so menacing during the light. But Icrick was quite regretful for bringing them that way once night came. Spiteful clouds loomed before the nightly moon, bringing an even ghostlier tone to the road by which they had to travel. It was a skinny, muddy trail, cutting through a dismal, wicked forest. The grassy banks that strayed into the secrets of the trees on either side were dreadfully overgrown and eerily withered. Old was that forest, of both ash and oak, with its jagged branches dangling like talons over the path, and its ragged knots forming terrifying faces as though moaning and screaming, and trying to reach out. Owls hooted from the unknown, and flocks of ravens—regulars to the dark—cackled as the three stole unnervingly by. Occasionally, they spotted a set of eyes or two, blinking out at them from within the forest, then quickly disappearing back into the shadows before they could guess to whom or what they belonged. How horridly unwelcoming that place felt. It was so intimidating that they were huddled in closely as they shuffled grudgingly along the path, constantly glancing about, sometimes getting startled by mysteriously unfavourable mutterings.

Hiding in his hood, William asked, "Are you _sure_ this is the right way?"

This chilling place was truly having an ill effect on him and, the further they pressed, the more he was beginning to wonder if he would ever see the daylight again. Not that there was any obvious threat, mind you. It was merely a paranoid sensation which continued to engorge itself the more he dwelt on it.

"Yes, yes! I'm quite sure, William," replied Icrick, trying to seem fine. "I remember this path being a very charming hike during the daytime."

As it happens, the Grogoch did actually know of this place, though he didn't appear too convincing, as it had obviously changed significantly since he'd been there last.

Suddenly, a mist began prowling in from the forest floor, lingering upon their path; sparsely at first, but soon it grew thick. Then, up ahead, beyond this daunting miasma, they saw a grand archway of ageless stonework. Upon each pillar were two flaring torches, and the whole structure was entwined with ivy of a brawny stem and wilted vines. When they got nearer they saw a gargoyle's head leering down at them from the centre of the arch. It was that of a demon horse with flaring nostrils and lethal fangs.

"Oooh, I dunno, lads!" said Khrum, who was up on Icrick's shoulder and feeling rather unsettled. "I've been 'round these parts too, remember. An' I don't recall comin' across a path like this one. I say we turn back...find another route."

At the thought of that refreshing concept, William halted, and was quite inclined to agree.

"I am the guide!" said Icrick, trying his best to appear conservative. "And I can assure you that this is the right direction. I remember there being only one true trail that led from Scalàn Fweè to Ná Fiun, and this is it. In fact, it's the only clear road that isn't encumbered by mountains which will take us to the tower! We _could_ risk our hides by venturing into the deeper wilds where so many have gotten lost in the past. Personally, I think that _that_ would be a stupid idea. But I am just the guide...so what would I know?"

With that, Khrum and Icrick fell into an inevitable quarrel about who was right and who was wrong. In a vain attempt to arbitrate the situation again, William was on the verge of stepping in when something abruptly caught his ear.

It sounded like a snort, eerily emitting from the fog up ahead. Hastily, he put his hand over the Grogoch's mouth and a finger over the leprechaun's face, and listened again. Hauntingly the mist crept frightfully closer, as though evil powers of vile souls recently departed were returning for one last night of trifling torment. Leering down deviously upon them was the clouded moon, and an unbearable quietness suddenly governed the way.

"Did you hear that, just now?" William whispered.

(The other two shook their heads.)

"You sure?"

(The other two shook their heads.)

Suddenly, up ahead, the mist began to break, and William stepped back with sheer and utter terror by what he saw. A silhouetted figure grew from behind its misty veil. It was freakishly large, and it looked powerful.

"Something's coming!" he whispered fearfully. "Hide!"

Covertly they rushed to the side of the road where there was a large boulder and some bushes. As quietly as possible, they slipped in behind them and peeped out. That's when the shape strode from the fog and William gasped at its presence. It was a giant of a man. Eight feet tall, if not more, he would have guessed; clad entirely in jet-black armour and a heavy, tattered cloak with a broad collar. By his side he was walking a grand stallion, as black as night, and with eyes as fierce as death. Above all else, its most chilling feature had yet to be revealed. For, in the rider's hand, set out high before him like a lantern, was a head...his very own head...a glowing, green head. How heart-kneading it sounded; hearing it moaning and groaning with such misery. No terror of bats or sentinels bore so deep a fear as that which they were suffering at that moment.

This manner of creature, both man and horse as a whole, was branded 'the Dullahan'—the headless horseman of the ancient west. His wrinkled face was the pigment of terminal sickness, sallow and green; with eyes pinched and black as coal. His face glowed out the brighter through the intensity of his emotions.

"Who gooooooes there?" he moaned in a quivering tone, yet it sounded quite highborn and powerful.

Through the denseness of the miasma, his utterance sounded horrific.

"Who gooooooes there?" he demanded a second time, as the horse kicked the dust and snorted.

Although the animal was quite a splendid beast, he was also very threatening to William and the other two, with his head stooped as though on the hunt. Also, it seemed his right foreleg had been severed and replaced with a wooden peg, thereby adding even more bite to his chilling appearance.

Not a peep did they make, whilst observing him from behind the rock. They shivered and shook, and glimpsed at each other intensely, but they did not dare budge the tiniest fraction. The Dullahan probed the area one last time, then turned into the mist and strode away. The others waited, too afraid to stick their heads out for a gander to check if he was really gone.

"Take a look," whispered a voice

"No! _You_ take a look," said another.

"Why should I?"

"I think _he_ should take a look," they said, whispering louder as the argument progressed.

All of a sudden, there was a piercing crack just shy of their heads. Startled by this, they all tumbled into the muck, backing themselves away from whatever it was. During his fall, poor Icrick hurt his ankle and was now yelping like a dog. Sure enough, there was the Dullahan, with his massive, black axe having carved right into the boulder like a pumpkin.

"GO BACK!" William shouted to the others as he scrambled up to retreat, but poor Icrick was stalling due to his foot.

William couldn't very well run off without him, now could he? So he lifted the Grogoch on his back while Khrum jumped onto Icrick's shoulder.

William piggybacked as fast as he could. Icrick's legs were otherwise running on the wind, as if it would somehow propel William further. Panic-stricken, the leprechaun turned 'round only to see that ugly brute walking briskly after them, with powerful steps and its bright-green Head calling after them.

"How _dare_ you use my path!" he bellowed. "Now you must suffer me, the traveller's bane."

Without thinking, William glanced around to see what was happening. As he did, it robbed him of his direction, making him sway considerably off course...though he did not realise.

"LOOK OUT!" squawked Icrick.

Suddenly, William rammed his face right into a passing branch, and they all came crashing down like a house of cards. The Dullahan was gaining, but the lad acted quickly. Picking up a stone, he flung it into the air like a bullet. His technique was flawless, and the speed was just right. It whizzed straight for the Dullahan, cracking him square on the nose.

At first, The Body itself halted, like it was awaiting further instructions from the injured Head. Instead, the unexpected happened.

"Aaaah! My nose!" he whinged. "You've gone and broken my nose!"

The Head wailed and wailed, and it seemed to William that The Body itself was actually starting to giggle. You know...the way you can spot someone who is trying to repress a good old howl of laughter at your expense? Then the horse came plodding along with his head low and he was glancing up at The Body with a jolly curve in his eyes. Now that he was in the light, and they could see him a little better, he didn't look that threatening at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. He appeared somewhat frail and tired, if anything.

"Don't just stand there!" cried The Head. "Get me a handkerchief or something, so I can blow my nose."

Rolling his eyes, the horse rambled off to the side of the road where he plonked his backside lazily into a cushion of grass. Still sprawled out on the road, the others could but watch in surprise at what was happening. One second they were being chased by this giant devil, whereas the next, here he was, blubbering like a baby. What on earth was going on?

After going into the bushes to find a dry leaf, The Body pressed it against The Head's nose and he let out a rasping blow.

"I can't believe you did that," he moaned.

"Well, bloody hell, I'm sorry!" William yelled back. "But what did you expect? You were running after us with your axe, for God's sake! I had to do something."

"Yes, but people don't usually retaliate," whined The Head. "They usually escape me before I get to them...which is just the way I like it. Without a hitch. Oh, my nose! You've broken it! I really think you have."

As he carried on howling, William helped Icrick up, and Khrum was patting the dirt off his clothes, and the lad bickered, "Oh, it's not broken. I didn't throw it all that hard. It's probably just bleeding."

"And how would you know?" huffed The Head. "You certainly don't look like a physician."

"I'm not," answered the lad.

"Well then! Keep your rubbish diagnosis to yourself, if you please!" exclaimed The Head.

"Suit yourself!" the boy said with a tut, shaking his head and grabbing his belongings off the muddy ground.

"Who are ya anyhow?" the leprechaun decided to ask.

"Why, I am the Dullahan of the ancient west...and my name is Crosco. That fine steed you see on the roadside there is Ifcus," The Head said proudly with a sniff.

But neither The Body nor the horse seemed so enthusiastic about it, judging by their body language.

This meant nothing to him, so Khrum merely shrugged his shoulders and went back about his business.

"You mean to say that you have never heard of me?" gasped The Head.

"Nope. Never heard of you," said Icrick and Khrum together.

The Head then went into a fit of disbelief. The Body otherwise gestured to his good friend Ifcus to resume whatever it was they were doing before the travellers came along; probably playing a harmless game of checkers or backgammon on a rock someplace.

"HALT!" demanded The Head. "And where do you think you two are going? I haven't finished here yet. Turn around this instant."

Again, Ifcus sighed and plonked himself back down. The Body just rested himself upon a rock with his hand on his knee, while the other held out the annoying Head.

"I am the brains of our little organization here," he explained to the others. "This lug has got the heart, but it is I who has the intelligence. He and Ifcus are always teaming up against me, telling me in so many gestures that I am egotistical, and that I'm always making the wrong decisions. But it's all thanks to me that we are still around," he stated, glancing up at The Body, who turned suggestively to the horse. "Anyway, who are you, and what are you doing in these parts?"

William was just about to talk when Crosco shushed him abruptly. Movement had stirred in the trees just a short way off behind them. It was accompanied by a pant and a mild growl.

"Shhh! Stay very quiet!" he whispered.

The Body went into alert and stood tall, slowly turning his shoulders. After a moment, the rustling started again. It sounded farther away this time, but it was still there, somewhere...whatever it was.

"In what direction are you going?" whispered The Head, with a countenance of true worry.

"Why, east," replied Icrick, who was also whispering, though he wasn't sure why.

"East it is! I've had enough of this blasted place anyway. He can play night-watchman himself...lousy old grump! I trust you have no discrepancies about us joining you?"

They could only presume that Crosco was referring to he who was lurking from within the forest and that it was, in fact, he who had Crosco guarding this pass for him. Obviously the Dullahan didn't care much for this appointed position and, therefore, wanted out of it. So they concurrently agreed that the Dullahan could tag along for as long as he wished.

"Get Ifcus strapped up and let us go," he whispered to The Body.

This curious line led onto something which they found very obscure indeed. And yet, it would have been terribly rude to say anything of it, so they pretended like they didn't notice.

In finding his secret storage place beside a boulder—a hole in the earth, covered by moss and bracken—The Body produced a rather complicated-looking leather harness. He then went over to the horse and strapped him in, so that his legs were tucked in together. The Body then hoisted Ifcus up onto his shoulders with the steed facing backwards, and they were ready for off. A truly bizarre set-up, I'm sure you will agree. A headless, armoured man with a black horse strapped onto his back. But, as I said, the others kept their mouths shut and their minds on their own affairs.

"Let us go. Quickly! Quickly!" bossed Crosco, who was more agitated still.

Suddenly, another snap gave in the woods, along with a snarl, and a very unobtrusive shrieking. With that, Crosco blared out an order...

"RUN!" he yelled, like they'd been spotted.

Off he sprinted, ahead of the rest. The others didn't hold back either. They knew that Crosco was far more familiar with those parts than any of them, so if he was running, then so were they.

"Why are we running?" William yelled, when he became quickly aware of hasty movement pursuing from the trees behind.

"I took a kill of his one night when he was not looking," panted The Head as they ran. "I was starving! But he caught me. He said I could live if I watched this path for him and gave him tidings of those who passed through, so as he could hunt for them. I know not if you are familiar with this creature...but he leaves _none_ alive! So I accepted his offer, and have been doing this ever since. I am tired of it though...I have had enough! Especially since _you_ made my nose bleed."

The noises were getting faster when something galloped across the path behind and stole into the forest on the other side. It was gaining quickly, and his foul shrieking roused ever louder from behind its rushing breaths.

"He's not friendly so...by the sounds of it," William asked in a panic.

"Not this one. Quickly, down here!" The Head ordered.

Off the path they bolted, down through the forest onto a great leafy decline.

"Where does this lead?" shouted Icrick, as he hobbled painfully along. "This isn't on my map."

"It leads off that path, and that is good enough," replied The Head when, without warning, there was a huge drop into nothing.

One after another they tumbled off the edge. So much for keeping quiet, as their cries would've woken the dead. Down and down they plummeted, with just the sound of breeze in their ears. William suddenly slammed into a fat branch, tumbling and flipping into more and more of them as he fell closer to the ground. He was in a large tree of some sort, with the branches snapping and cracking under his weight as he dropped through. Conversely, the others were caught in just the same way, all crashing painfully through the boughs, one after the next. Be that as it may, it was quite a lucky spill in comparison to what _could_ have happened. For had they not landed in its branches, they would undoubtedly have been pancakes on the forest floor far below. Not all of them got out of that tumble unscathed, however.

With a hollow thump, William crashed to the ground, but his right forearm was unexpectedly impaled by two sharp nodes from a fallen limb. Unable to stifle his anguish, he let out an almighty roar. Icrick landed down beside him like a sack of old spuds, and scrambled straight over to him to see what was the matter. A thoughtful chap, and nobody could argue otherwise.

"William! William, are you all right?" he implored.

Wincing with the pain, the lad groaned, "My arm!"

"Oh, dear!" gulped the Grogoch, when he saw the two nodes poking through William's skin.

"We have to be quiet," whispered Crosco, who'd landed quite safely in a bush just under the tree.

Meanwhile, Khrum came crawling out from beneath the same bush, spitting and picking pieces out of his cap.

"Can't you see he's hurt?" Icrick argued. "I'd like to see _you_ deal with this injury, the way you were carrying on up above about your bloody nose."

Just then, there came a galloping from the road above. It grew louder and heavier. The others were praying for them not to slow down. And how fortunate they were, for the hooves didn't let up. They instead dashed straight past their position, and had soon faded altogether. All at once, they let out their breath before focusing their attention back on William.

Putting a fat stick in between William's teeth, Khrum said, "Here, bite down on this, lad. An' Dullahan, put a small biteen o' pressure on the end o' that branch there."

"Do we have time for this?" sulked The Head.

"Are ya takin' the mick or what?" Khrum glowered, but The Body stepped up to help out regardless.

"Oh, very well," sighed The Head.

Ever so gingerly, Crosco placed the sole of his armoured boot onto the limb, gently anchoring it down.

"On the count o' three so, Icrick lad," Khrum said, mouthing the number _one_ to the Grogoch with a secret wink.

Poor William was in fierce agony. He bit down onto the stick as hard as he could. The leprechaun and the Grogoch grasped onto his arm, then glanced at each other for the countdown.

"Ready, lad?" Khrum asked, and William nodded.

"Right ya are! One..."

With a sudden jerk, they yanked his arm quickly and safely from the broken limb. Again, William howled out, almost snapping the stick with his teeth. Painful, but at least it was over.

"That's not an easy wound to take, William," Icrick said. "You have some strength in you...I must say. Now, we have to find you somewhere to rest."

They already happened to be in a strange sort of place, where the moon shone in adoringly through the glade, for a glade it was. A glade beside a running river, in fact, and the rays peered into the very centre by which they were gathered.

It was quite captivating down there in that dell. All trees were in bloom, unlike the forest on the road above. There were faerie lights down there too, gliding by them every now and again. Then, beside the river bank, an old willow tree was stooped, slouching just high of the water. It looked very out of place, seeing as every other tree in that dell were of spruce. Then, across the narrow river, a precipice climbed up to higher ground, to where the tufts of grass were peeking out from the lip above.

"It seems quite warm over here, jusht so ye know..." said Khrum from beside the willow, with his hand out judging the temperature.

Icrick went over to test it for himself, and it was true. It was very warm. As warm as a good campfire, he would've thought.

William was very pale by now; from shock, mostly. He was holding his forearm close to his chest as he tried to sit up.

Supporting the boy, Icrick said, "Here, help me get him over there so."

Crosco removed Ifcus from his back and carefully rested The Head upon a rock before lending a hand. Already The Body was participating much, which was welcomed greatly by the others.

William put his arm around Icrick while The Body (being abnormally strong) was taking immense care in how he handled him.

"Thanks, Crosco," William groaned, as he hobbled over to lay beside the tree.

The moment his back touched the bark, a great wave of heat flowed right through his body with a pleasant, tingly feeling. It was such a delightfully soothing sensation that he let out a sigh of comfort as soon as it happened.

"That should do you," smiled Icrick. "Now, just let me find something to dress that arm with. You know how I feel about infections."

Plodding over to his pack, he rooted around for some materials he could use for the job. That's when he found his spare yellow hood stuffed in at the bottom. It had a very elegant style to it, having been embroidered with majestic designs and strange runes. It was the type of cloak that one would only ever wear for exceedingly special occasions. Icrick had brought it along in case he would ever need it for such an event. Shaking it out, he turned himself from view of the others, when they heard a sharp tear. A moment later he returned, all smiles and carefree, with a strip of yellow material dangling from his paw. He then did his very best in patching poor William up.

It turns out that it was his father's favourite cloak which had been passed down by his father before him. It was very dear to Icrick, as his father had passed away only a few years back from the Sadness. William needed mending, however, and the Grogoch did what he felt should be done. A very kind soul he was, with a heart of pure gold.

"I don't think it'd be a bad idea ta resht ourselves here tonight," Khrum suggested. "The lad could use it, by the looks o' things."

There was William, already fast asleep against the trunk of the old willow.

"I agree, it has been a long day for all of us," Icrick added.

"But we are still by my pass," moaned The Head. "You want to rest already? We have only just left."

"I do apologise, Crosco. But William needs to mend. He needs sleep," insisted Icrick.

"Yeah, let him resht, horseman," Khrum agreed. "If ya don't like it, ya can always go back ta your wood!"

With an awful puss, The Head huffed, "Can't go back now, can I? As for this boy, you make him sound like a king or something. Doting over him like that. I saw you ripping up a perfectly good cloak to make him some bandages. What was all that in aid of?"

"Look, he's a good lad," Icrick whispered defensively, hoping William wouldn't wake. "No, he's not a king but he is...special."

"What do you mean, 'special'?"

With nothing else for it, they went on to tell Crosco about the return of Mysun, and William's purpose for being on Lythiann. Of course, The Head threw his eyes up and berated all he heard, but he was still interested enough to keep asking questions about the whole situation. They told him of Drevol and his armies, and about the possible arrival of the new eclipse. But they refrained from including him in the more confidential factors.

For hours they talked about the legend, and all the good which could come from it; until one by one, they all nodded off.

Icrick was the very last to go to sleep that night, having been awake for most of it watching over William. Every now and then, the lad would emit a sweaty moan and start to writhe slightly in his sleep. But Icrick was there to calm him down whenever he got unsettled. It was about dawn when the Grogoch himself finally managed to claim a few hours' rest. But he soon shifted and woke once William had risen from his own slumber...and he had risen to a very big surprise at that.

"Icrick! Icrick!" he said excitedly. "Look at this!"

Sitting up with a mighty stretch, Icrick had a glimpse of that which William was trying to show him. It turns out that it was a truly remarkable occurrence indeed. William's wounds had completely scarred over to a white tissue, all in the space of just one night. The scars looked like they had been there for years and had gotten to the point where they were hardly even visible.

"Ugh! What's all this racket about?" grumbled Khrum's voice from under Icrick's rucksack (where he'd slept).

When the lad showed him his scars, the leprechaun wasn't quite as astounded as they were. Still, he showed _some_ enthusiasm, only so they might shut up and go back to sleep for a bit. Either way, William was astonished, and couldn't help but wonder if the tree might have had something to do with it.

You see, it wasn't your average willow by any means. It was a very rare gift of nature, kind and welcoming, and, in the daylight, William noticed how its roots emitted a wispy glow. Just a delicate, frosty glimmer at that fine point where the roots sank into the earth. Little did they know that this tree was the only one of its kind and it was, indeed, a Healing Tree.

The Healing Willow mended wounds, spirits, hunger, exhaustion; anything that needed to be remedied. It could heal any affliction other than death, and the most terminal of illnesses, and it did each of them the world of good that night. Their sleep had never been so peaceful, nor did they need to touch the satchel for food that morning. On top of that, Icrick's ankle was as right as rain again.

When they were up and ready for off, they each had renewed spirits and a newfound sensation of confidence. Even Khrum was there sucking in huge chestfulls of air, complimenting the freshness of it, and saying how 'Mighty!' it was to be alive. Most likely, the beautiful morning also had a part to play in their good moods that day. Aside from a slight breeze and cloudy shadows rolling over the hills of beyond, it was still very warm, and nature had come back to being, as it had done times before in that ever so breathtaking world of legend.

Thus, with yet another recruit under their belt, they continued upon their long trek into the east. The Head was, as you may have guessed, a soul of acquired taste; being a touch direct and a smidgen conceited. He was, nevertheless, far from evil. Ifcus was otherwise the essence of innocence, with his quiet manner and diffident stride, while The Body seemed steadfast and strong. But, as a whole, the Dullahan made for quite an interesting encounter...and he certainly wasn't going to be the last.

# \- Chapter Nine -

### Days into Dark

Plonking himself down on a felled trunk, William said, "I need to stop for a second...get these stones out o' my boot."

They were just beyond a rocky way, by more rushing waters. Through an egress of brush they'd since ventured, after sweeping over a hilly grassland, only to negotiate over those white waters by way of some stepping stones. This course carried them straight through a heavy grove of birch trees, which then found an open flatland. There they came upon a crescent-shaped thicket, high from the wind. There were also a few flat rocks inside for them to sit down on. So they all got in, out of the way of the cold, and gladly welcomed the opportunity to catch some resting time.

Pulling on his boot, William suggested, "You know, it's not half-bad here. Good shelter. How about one o' ye gather some wood for later, while I get the food ready?"

Straight away, Icrick and Khrum diverged into the woods to see what they could scavenge for a decent fire. Both of them loved dinnertime, and this allowed them the perfect opportunity to give their menus some careful thought. Meanwhile, the Dullahan sat there with The Head in his hand and he wouldn't shut up about how cold it was. Mild was the weather that day, at worst. It certainly wasn't half as drastic as he was making it out to be.

"Oooh! _Oooh_! I can barely feel my cheeks with this _ice_!" he nagged. "I think I'm catching something. A flu, maybe. Oh, drat this coldness!"

Even The Body looked to be developing a headache with him ranting on, however unfeasible that may seem. Ifcus, on the other hand, was over in the corner, trying to struggle out of his harness, with his legs poking out like bagpipes. But he soon figured it out. He then teetered about, smelling the bushes, in search for a comfy patch to rest his rump.

Opening up his satchel, William pondered aloud, "Let's see, will we have fruit or salad to go with dinner?"

"I will only eat mutton...or lamb, if it needs be!" proclaimed The Head. "So, unless you have a nice cutlet of lamb in there, I'm not interested."

"Lamb it is," William muttered, rather fed up with the attitude.

Reaching into the satchel with his fork, he lifted out a piping-hot rack of lamb, still sizzling, and covered with herbs and hot, salty gravy. Carrying it over to The Head, he plonked it down on the rock before him, but not before saying, "There you go, _sir_!"

"Bravo, my good man!" The Head said happily, licking his mouldy old lips, and to his other half, he uttered, "Get me up there and we shall get this grub into us."

Obeying his order, The Body lifted up his head and held it firmly against his neck. Remarkably, he looked whole again, and without wasting a second, he tucked into his delicious, mouth-watering meal.

"Mmm, not bad. Not bad at all," he mumbled, with his cheeks crammed to a slobbery bulge. "Still...(nyom—nyom)...I must say...(nyom)...it is nothing compared to the wild mutton you would find down near Bròf! A rare treat. They needed to be smuggled here from the east by pirates for a fine price...(nyom—nyom)...as few others would dare muster them from there. They are a tasty dish, to be sure. This is a little leathery...but it will do! (nyom—nyom—nyom)"

"Really..." William sighed, not letting Crosco's rude opinion annoy him in the least, and he carried on preparing both fruit _and_ salad.

Slobbering away, the Dullahan sucked and chewed, and drooled all over the lamb, until there was nothing left but the bones. Famished was, by no means, the word for his massive appetite. William even thought that he was going to start gnawing on the bones. Before it could come to that, he handed the Dullahan seconds to keep him happy, or, more so, to keep him from yapping on.

Now free of his harness, Ifcus was hobbling around, unsure of his present state. William placed two handfuls of bright orange carrots upon the ground for him. Well. Ifcus' ears sprung up with delight when he saw them. He then tucked in for himself, devouring every last one, followed by a huge, fulfilling belch. By then the others had also returned from firewood duty, and had a fine blaze flaring to a crackle 'n' a fizzle. Khrum was indulging in some hot shortbread biscuits with corned beef and luncheon, while Icrick was dining on some crispy egg-coated pork with peas and caramelized onions.

By the time they were finished, William was the only one who hadn't yet eaten. He just couldn't decide on what to have.

"Should I have steak or fish?" he asked, gawping into the bag.

Before he could say what happened, a hooded figure unexpectedly traipsed out from the bushes and decked him good and hard across the face, sending him right back...and almost into the fire.

"Aw! What the f—" he exclaimed, holding his cheek.

Guised and poised before him was a person, not tall, who was clad mainly in saddle-brown leather from head to toe; but for the dark scarf that was draped beneath their long jacket. In various sections, the material had been stitched and self-mended, whilst two tomahawks, uniquely wrought, were sheathed behind each shoulder. Two daggers, of a similar craft, were holstered at each hip. And as a final touch, a scarlet rose was pinned to the left lapel, like some manner of self-appointed symbol by which others could identify this mysterious brute.

The second this whole episode erupted, the others had immediately bolted to the far side of the fire. Even brave little Khrum darted when a cowled figure came unexpectedly crashing through the hedges behind him. It nearly gave him a stroke.

They were all of them in a right shambles, indeed. Well, everyone aside from The Body, who remained quite collected, unlike his Head, who started insisting above the ruckus that he didn't even know who William and these other people were, so as to save his own skin.

"I've been captured!" he bellowed. "I've got nothing to do with these bandits! Help!"

But this mysterious person took no heed of Crosco, or the others, for that matter. William was the one whom it had attacked, so that's who the stranger stayed focused on.

"Who the hell are you?" the lad demanded. "Explain yourself."

All of a sudden, _she_ replied, "Who are _you_?"

Drawing her hood back, there stood the most incredibly beautiful-looking girl that William had ever seen in his entire thirteen years alive. The beauty in her eyes alone would've been enough to put any one line of princesses or queens to shame.

As immersive as a starless winter's night, her black, undulant hair fell shyly over those deep, hazel eyes, and her lips were full with a faint curl to each corner. She had the smoothest-looking olive skin, and there was no way that she could've been any older than William himself.

"I-I-I..." William stuttered, like a scratched record.

"Yes?" she asked firmly, rolling her shoulder as if to ease an ache.

"My name is W-William. William Muldoon."

"And what do you think you're doing in my camping area, _W-William_ Muldoon?" she growled, before booting him solidly in the shin.

" _Ah_!" the lad yelped, pulling his leg in. "What did you do that for?"

"You're in my campsite. This is where I camp. It _belongs_ to me," she told him.

"Well, bloody hell, I'm sorry! I didn't see anyone in here, so I presumed it was free to whoever was passing," he stated, hobbling upright. "Who are you, anyways?"

Coming to terms with the lad's authenticity, she pondered and said, "My name is Wren. Listen, I'm sorry for hitting you." She then gestured an apology to the others, "But you can't be too careful around these parts. Too many blaggards around, up to nothing but mischief! I didn't know if you were one of them or not, until now. And despite the cowardly pleas of your headless _friend_ over there, you just don't come across like the bandit type. Oh, and excuse the hood, too. The way I see it, if you're going to thump someone, you're as well off doing it without them knowing who you are."

"Well, you could've just asked me first," William said, feeling his cheek for a bruise.

"Here, let me take a look," she said.

"I'm grand! I'm fine," he said stubbornly, jerking his head away. "How is it you've gotten away with camping here, anyways? Presuming you've been living in it for a while now...seeing as how it _belongs_ to you and all."

"I presume you're referring to the one in the east?" she retorted.

"Who else?" he replied.

"I have my places and my ways, lad," said she, "and I don't particularly want to share their whereabouts with you. You'd probably just try settle your rumps there as well, when I wasn't looking!"

"Fair enough, have it your own way," grunted William, as he sat himself down on a nearby rock. "Probably all dumps anyways," he grumbled.

Gathering that all was well once more, Ifcus felt it was safe to lay down again. Off he so wandered, over to the bushes, where he circled a spot a few times before sliding lazily onto his side. Yet the second he landed, he brayed loudly enough to shake the hills themselves. Up he sprang—fairly lively too, I have to say—and limped hastily over to Crosco with his tail between his legs.

"Ifcus, what happened?" demanded The Head, with The Body in expectance of trouble.

"Calm down, it's nothin'," said the leprechaun. "He just sat down on this thorn is all!"

Sticking out from beneath the bushes was quite a large, amber thorn. But when Khrum wrapped his little hand around it, it all of a sudden lifted him high up into the air. It wasn't a thorn, it was a thornlet. And do you know what sort of animals have thornlets? Yes. Dragons.

Khrum was dangling high up from the end of a dragon's tail like a worm on a hook. Lo and behold, the rest of the beast then rose up from behind the other side of the thicket, where he had been slumbering all that time.

A massive creature he was, with shiny red scales and monumental wings which were big enough to cause a terrible gale, should they beat in your direction. As well as that, those thornlets were all over him, having quite a few about his chin, jaw, and scalp. Down along his back was a fan-like mane of more spikes and bristles. Astonished by his appearance, the others could but gawk up at him, particularly William, who'd never seen a dragon before.

"Meet Jimzin, of 'Greale' Horde," Wren introduced with a beautifully satisfied grin. "I am his Bondite!"

"Huh? Bondite? What's that?" asked William, still mesmerized by the beast before him.

With a perplexed look, she asked, "What rock have _you_ been living under?"

"Ahem," Icrick interrupted, with his hand up. "A Bondite is the life-form to which an infant dragon holds his junior life bond with...until it finds its magic, that is. After which, it takes off to face the world alone."

Again being slightly antagonistic, William asked the girl, "So, this dragon chose you to look after him until he is old enough to go out and look after himself? Is that it?"

"Well, I wouldn't say _that_ exactly. I don't look after him by any means. And if I was to go telling Jimzin here what to do, he'd probably fling me off over the other side of those mountains there. Don't you know how stubborn dragons can be?"

Shrugging off that question, William waited for her to continue.

"I would say it's more a case of _him_ looking out for _me_ ," said she. "That's really the whole purpose to them finding their magic. They grow to protect another being and, more sooner than not, through cause, they end up finding it. In our case, Jimzin here is still trying to find his fire. Poor thing's been at it for a while now. He was brought down to me when I was very young by his father and mother, Turogoth and Varmanna Greale. Turogoth the Black is a mighty ice-dragon, and the largest of all dragons. Varmanna is a beautiful green-dragon. She uses toxins against her foes. They truly are the loveliest animals...once you get to know them. But if you ever get on the wrong side of one, or try to order one about...you'll soon know all about it."

As she explained this to the others, Jimzin stood there, not paying the least bit of attention to what she was saying...or the others, either. But he was, without a doubt, a proud beast, by the look of him. With his head held high, he probed the lands abroad, as a devoted hound would do when guarding his master's side.

Then something roused his senses.

Catching the scent of William's satchel, Jimzin was about to start nosing through it.

"Wait! That's mine!" the lad cried, thinking the dragon was about to scoff the whole thing in one go.

Scurrying over to his satchel, he thus grabbed ahold of the strap, then whisked it from under Jimzin's nose, like some tablecloth trick. Should he have done that, do you think? Of course not. Enraged by this, the dragon swung his great, heavy head right up to William's nose, where he scowled at him with livid reptilian eyes.

"Now, now, Jimzin! Try and be nice, if you please," Wren asked civilly.

William, almost too paralyzed to budge, couldn't even whimper...though his bladder felt to be loosening up a bit. Fortunately for him, the dragon merely snorted out a puff of sooty smoke into the boy's face, making him splutter, and went back about his own business again.

"Not very smart...if I may say so, William!" Icrick said, just as petrified as the boy.

"True-true!" Khrum agreed. "'Twud be a pity ta make it this far, only ta lose ya ta some dragon over a stupid aul' sack! Maybe ya should let me hold it. I'll keep it outta harm's way."

"Oh, Khrum!" Icrick objected, copping what he was at.

"What?" The leprechaun shrugged.

" _Lose_ you?" Wren put in, beginning to get very curious of William. "Who are you? You still haven't explained yourself."

By now the dragon was once again scanning his surroundings, so William's fear had finally eased its cold choke.

"And why should I have to explain myself to you?" he whispered, being careful not to upset her Bondite friend over there.

Unexpectedly, Icrick butted in again, and smiled. "This is William Muldoon. The one who is destined to inherit the power of the great Mysun Margyle, warrior of the Elderland. We venture east to slay the one who brings terror upon these lands...Drevol Briggun."

"Icrick, don't go telling her that stuff," William put in, as he was truly embarrassed to be regarded in such an exalted manner, especially in front of someone who was as forthright as Wren.

"Pfff!" She grinned with barefaced rudeness. "You?! Mysun Margyle? Now, that has to be the worst fib I have ever come cross in my entire _life_. I would have believed _you_ to be more of a Mysun than him!" she said, pointing at Khrum, with the little fellow taking it in high esteem.

"It wasn't a compliment..." she said with a smirk, making Khrum's face fold to a puss.

William was growing very impatient with her uncouth ways. Common sense told him that he would have been far better off ignoring her and calmly excusing himself, so that he could quietly vent his aggression in private. But it was bothering him beyond all tolerance...he had to ask.

"And why is it so hard believe?" he asked sternly, folding his arms, trying to appear prominent and notable.

"Well, for one thing, Mysun was never without Thérn, his sword. And all I see on you is a handbag...and a skirt."

"It's a kilt!" he growled, and his face was as red as a pepper, knowing perfectly well that he couldn't justify wearing a dress of any kind.

"Whatever! And look at you! Not bad on the eye, I'll give you that." (At that, William blushed further.) "But you're a skinny young lad...arms like ropes. You're not warrior material," she stated, trying to grope William's muscles.

"Get off!" he snapped, yanking his arm away. "Who asked you, anyways?"

Showing a smug eyebrow, she smiled. "You did...genius."

"Walked right into that one, laddie," whispered the leprechaun, who was now up on William's shoulder.

Young Wren was getting the better of William at every turn, leaving him in a right muddle. The very expression of contempt upon his face was quietly amusing to the others. Only for it was, albeit, a harmless situation, they would have otherwise backed away from this loathsome countenance of his.

"Tell her that you're off ta _get_ the sword," the leprechaun quietly suggested.

"I won't tell her nothing," the boy disputed. "We're off. Out o' here! As far away from her as possible."

"Aw, don't blubber now, Mysun...thou great warrior of old," she jeered with a bow.

"I don't have to take this rubbish from you. Good luck." He scowled, and he traipsed from the thicket with the others tearing after him, trying to keep up.

"Take care now, William," she sniggered, with a twiddling wave.

"Yeah, yeah! Shove it!" he barked, walking backwards with a particularly rude gesture.

"I take it you're jusht goin' ta leave her here so?" asked the leprechaun.

Stubbornly, he replied, "Yip! Let the creatures have her...I don't care! She's a bloody creature herself, anyways...should fit right in!"

"William, wait!" Icrick panted, jogging up behind him. "You're running too fast for Crosco!"

Meanwhile, there was the Dullahan, still back in the thicket. He was struggling to get the horse all harnessed up and ready to move, for he was caught under the pressure of the dragon's hungry glare. William sighed, halted, and waited.

"I'm sure she didn't mean it, lad," Khrum explained. "Bubbly sorts are like that - shtraight up 'n' no messin'."

"Ah, I'm not bothered. She's an eejit." The boy tutted, and the Dullahan finally came huffing and puffing along with Ifcus on his back.

"Why did you take off like that?" he whinged. "I hate running when my stomach is full."

"You'll have to deal with it," William retorted. "Now, let's get moving. It'll not be long till it gets dark in this stupid place."

"But you haven't even eaten yet, William," the Grogoch objected. "You'll need food in your belly if you wish to keep up your strength."

"Thanks, Icrick, but I'll get food later on. Right now, I just want to get moving...clear the head."

As he set himself for their eastward course, he suddenly stopped before he really got going. He was peering off into the distance, as one who was trying to figure something out.

"Is that...?" he asked, uncertain of what he was seeing.

Across the land, yonder, over the hills and beyond a crest of birches, was the gaunt outline of a structure, with a black spiralling all 'round its crown. Although it appeared quite tiny from afar, William imagined it to be monstrously tall had he been right up beside it.

"Oh, bless!" gasped Icrick, and Khrum recognised it too, but he just shook his head at the sight of it.

His face full of horror, Crosco uttered, "The Tower of Thérn."

"You know that place?" asked William.

"This tower is known by everyone," replied The Head. "The very last structure ever to be erected upon these lands. Planted here by evil itself! It is a dangerous place, that tower! Full of peril and enemies that can neither be destroyed nor hindered! People go mad in there, they say! And you plan on going there?!"

"Unfortunately...I have to!" William uttered nervously, eyeing-up the tower.

Refusing to concede, The Head added anxiously, "I myself have spotted evil folk roaming those parapets at night! Filthy Po—"

"Crosco," William interrupted, "I'm really sorry, but you won't change my mind! I know you're frightened...so am I! I'm scared stiff actually! But we have to get moving. And the last thing we need are more ghost stories, so..."

Plucking up his nerve, he scouted eastward.

* * *

After a time, when all sight of the tower had diminished to both darkness and nearing terrain, they happened upon an old forest. It was a dark forest named Brookweir, by reason of the quiet, trickling streams which ran pitifully into its trees on all sides. It was as if those waters were trying, with utmost devotion, to bring some passion back into that decaying woodland, though they were being barricaded from doing so by the coldness of the forest's horrifying façade, sparsely flooding the surrounding grasses instead. 'Twas an unfriendly, miserable place.

Khrum, of course, was quizzing Icrick about the accuracy of his directions again. Need I say, they were going the proper way. For the borders of this forest were said to be the home of terrible beasts, as well as the reside of the Sòr Krous caves where the Stone Ogres once settled. Whether they still dwelt within those caves or not, it was very difficult to say. Any new occupants would had to have been fierce indeed to evict such beastly tenants as the great Stone Ogres, in order to rest in their stead of late. If truth be told, William and his comrades didn't particularly want to risk going on that route to find out. Alas, Brookweir was their path. And even though it was considered more of a kindred route, it was still terribly gloomy, and very few from the outer world would dare to travel through it, day or night...neither friend nor foe.

Stepping over the undergrowth, they walked apprehensively inside that dreaded forest. Even before negotiating any deeper they knew, too well, that its bowels were indeed something to be wary of. Foul was the stench, being both musky and damp. Not even a single ray of moonlight was permitted past the thickness of the gnarled branches and thick canopy of dry leaves, either. Repugnant sogginess also impaired their footing, merely adding to the drudgery of wading over the rocks and pools, and cumbrous toadstools. The deeper they went, the darker it got, and they slipped and stumbled as they moved along until, eventually, all they could recognise of each other were their voices.

Soon it was absolutely pitch-black, bitterly cold and tediously damp, such that William's pelted boots were soaking up the moisture like sponges. He would've avoided that if only he could see where he was off to; however, he was completely blinded by the darkness. Even Crosco's head only lit up his face and nothing more, so there was no point in using him as a torch. Even to spot the hand which carried him was impossible, thus making him appear very mysterious and magical as he floated through the darkness. Besides, they literally would have had to hold his face right into the muck to see where they were stepping, and he wasn't about to let them do that. Not he. Not by a long shot.

Forward they plodded through the mushy earth. All the while, their legs were getting stuck in thick muck and tangled in scratchy nettles. The growth had gotten so severe at one point that they could hardly move at all. All they could feel about them were branches and thick nests of warped brambles. It was a terribly exhausting time, ploughing through that mess. Worst of all, it felt like an entire night had passed, and it was going well on into the next evening.

By that stage, their spirits had gotten very, very low. During those gruelling hours of cold, wet, uncomfortable labour, they only grumbled and complained amongst themselves. It took them so long to make such little progress that it just felt so hopeless, as well as infuriating.

Eventually, William's aggravation coiled itself up to the point of failure, thereby unravelling itself with a fierce cry of vexation.

"AGH! THIS IS ABSOLUTELY _USELESS_!" he roared, and with a raging burst, he pushed through the growth with a scream.

In the process, he knocked his already tender shin into something very hard, and upon reclaiming his balance, he sunk his foot into a slimy puddle.

"Gah!" he yelled, hopping about. "What now?"

"What happened ya?!" asked Khrum's voice.

The lad felt around so as to avoid hitting that thing again, whatever it was.

"I just clocked my shin off something...a rock I think," replied William's voice.

He then grabbed onto a cold, wet, solid object which was certainly of stone, but it was no rock. Its shape was far too peculiar and sculpted to be such a thing. It was more of a bowl shape, and it was filled with cold water, dead leaves, and greasy algae. Into this bowl, drips trickled from above, and it had long since overflowed into the soil beneath it. He could tell all of this through touch and sound.

In patting around, William traced the trickle up, and up further still, to what felt to be a smooth, stony surface.

"Crosco, can I borrow your light over here for a second, please," he asked, in a nice enough manner, should The Head start waffling on.

"Did you find something? What is it?" asked Icrick's voice.

"I don't know, but it doesn't belong here...whatever it is," William described.

"Well, would you _mind_ finding out a little more about it before you go shoving my face into it then?" sulked The Head. "It could be some blasted animal for all I know."

"It's not an animal," the boy griped. "It feels like a statue or something."

"Oh, very well then! If I must," moaned The Head, floating over to William.

In scanning the object, William was just about able to discern what it actually was. It was a fine stone fountain; quite small, and was set inside the hollow of a decrepit black tree. On its crown, a small, stony gargoyle stood, with disgustingly murky water dribbling from its mouth. It drooled right down along the stone serpentine neck, then into the basin where William had hurt his shin. Underneath it was a large puddle from where the basin had flowed over.

Suddenly, Crosco said, "Hang on! There is something written here."

"Where?" asked William's voice.

"The gargoyle. He is holding a scroll which reads: 'Rub into thy eyes, through darkness you will see. Take it not and move, in repose thou shalt be.'"

As Crosco read this out, the ugly gargoyle remained, smirking tauntingly into his face.

"Why is it that things like this are always told in riddles?" Khrum disputed. "Could they not jusht say, 'do this or try that, then be on your way?' They always, always, _always_ have ta give it in some sort o' poem, 'n' then they make it sound so dangerous that ya nearly soil yourself if ya don't do exactly as it says. Annoyin'...if ya ashk me. An' pointless."

"Seems simple enough to me," Icrick's voice said. "You just wash your eyes in the water fountain and it somehow helps you see better in the dark. I guess that's it, anyways. However, I do not know for certain."

"I was thinking the same, Icrick," said our William's voice. "But I kind o' hoped I was wrong. Did you see it? The water, I mean? It's all brown...and it stinks, too."

"Well, I'll take my chances," said the Grogoch's voice. "The second half of that rhyme doesn't sound too nice, so I don't think I'd mind a bit of dirty water in my face."

Then the leprechaun teased, "Why would ya...ya shmelly aul' sock ya!"

Once again they started to go off at each other; grumbling, and moaning, and pushing, when William finally spoke out.

"Look! I'll just do it!" he yelled over the other voices.

Herewith, they recognised a break in the dribble as William went about patting some water into his face and eyes. Nobody said anything for a second. They were waiting to see if anything would happen. Amazingly, after a moment and to their sudden surprise, two brief blinks of light started flicking on and off. Bulbous, white lights.

"Bit sore on the eyes!" William said.

Amazed by this, Khrum smiled. "Well I'll be damned!"

All they could see were two lamp-like eyes gazing at them. A beady set of brilliantly glowing eyes.

"This is so weird!" the boy said, smiling. "I won't say that I can see perfectly, out the corners o' my eyes. But I can see where I look...if you get me. Like horse blinkers!"

As William was testing this new vision of his, he noticed that he had a much clearer view of the forest. Unfortunate to say, he didn't like what he saw. Not one little bit.

They were completely barricaded in on all sides by high walls of brambles. And it seemed to carry like this, far into the depths of the forest. Somehow they'd managed to fight their way right into the heart of it all, and now they were stuck, almost totally engulfed by it. Yet that was not the worst of it, no. All about them were these frightening-looking trees, ensnared within the aging grasp of those deathly brambles. At least, he thought they were trees, for they were of wood, and bark, and branches. And yet they bore an uncanny likeness to human beings having been fixed in different poses of distress and panic. Something told him that these people, these wooden statues, had been trapped there for time out of mind; over the years being strangled by the undergrowth.

After first spotting them, William couldn't stand to look at them any longer. He turned his glance from their pitiful sight. Then below the fountain, to his right, he noticed a slight gap in the brush. A tunnel.

Like a sett leading in through the brambles, it looked just wide enough to fit them all; provided they went in one at a time. It still would have been an extremely tight squeeze, particularly for Ifcus, the poor chap.

"There's a tunnel down here. Maybe it'll lead us out," William reported. "Get some o' that water into your faces and follow me."

"Not me!" The Head snootily opposed.

Not in the form for another row, the boy sighed, "What's wrong _this_ time?!"

"You have to be having me on! I am not putting that stuff in my face! It's revolting!" Crosco replied assertively.

"Fine. Have it your own way," William grumbled, getting on his hands and knees, and he stuck his head inside the burrow for a look.

It carried on further than he could see. From what little he could make out, it appeared empty.

"Looks clear," he conveyed to the others.

Removing his head from the burrow, he noticed Khrum and Icrick standing there, blinking away, revelling in the novelty of their new night vision. He could barely see Khrum's eyes, funnily enough. The leprechaun was so small that he may as well have been a rat.

Through the sett they went, and it was a very close fit indeed. Brambles were scratching their arms and legs as they crawled deeper within. William stayed up front, then Icrick came behind him with Khrum, and Crosco followed last, pushing Ifcus along ahead of him. Comfort was not the case here by any means. It was awkward, fusty, freezing cold, and still extremely dim, even in spite of their new vision.

Slowly they travelled, stopping every couple of minutes to catch their breath. Meanwhile, things were wriggling beneath their hands, while twigs and thorns were snagging onto their garments with much doggedness. They carried on, for ages and ages; three sets of glowing eyes and a green, floating head. How odd they must've looked!

Suddenly, William started to worry. He had unexpectedly arrived at a junction, of which he could see down neither side.

"Icrick, there are two ways here," he described. "Which one will I take? Left or right?"

Spitting out some mysterious fluff, the Grogoch had a quick think about it.

"Well, we were heading east before we came in here, and I'm fairly certain that this burrow has been bringing us north. So I think we should go right!"

Right it was. William hoped it wouldn't be like this for the whole way, when, with a pinch of fright, he saw something up ahead, retreating from the glow of his eyes...or so he thought.

"Shhh!" he gestured, and they all stopped dead.

"What is it?" whispered Icrick, eyes like fat lemons.

"I thought I saw something."

Holding their breath, they feared to budge until William had reported back with more hospitable tidings.

Releasing his own breath, he eventually said, "It was probably just a trick o' the shadows. Keep going."

"Next time you _think_ you see something, please, be a good fellow, and do not mention it!" shivered Icrick.

They proceeded on for another while, and to William's dismay, they arrived at a crossroads.

"Crossroads, Icrick!" he whispered loudly. "What now?"

"Keep going east," The Grogoch said with a sulk, his head now brimming with thoughts of unusual creepy-crawlies after William's unclear sighting.

The poor creature was scared out of his wits. All he wanted was to be out of that awful burrow and back on normal land.

"Straight on so?" William confirmed.

" _Yes_ ," the Grogoch whispered peevishly.

Grudgingly, they continued.

Along their way they noticed many more side-tunnels and burrows straying off from their set easterly course. Knowing that Icrick was somewhat nervous, William didn't bother asking him any more directions. He pressed straight on by his own accord.

As they passed by them, they noticed how each of those tunnels were as dreary and as dark as the next. What's more, there were so many of them. Dozens, maybe even hundreds. All in all, there were enough to make them feel like they'd been creeping along for hours, and certainly beyond the point of any return.

Occasionally they rested, as the journey truly _did_ go on for many, many hours. Therefore, they were constrained to rest their heads every so often. But even to get the slightest bit of sleep in that place was an impossible feat. Those burrows felt far from amiable, regardless of their numbers.

Finally, after yet another laborious spell of crawling, when all of their hopes were hanging on by a thread, they were given a cinder of good luck. Whispering through the tunnel towards them, William felt the gentle touch of cool, _fresh_ air.

"I think we're nearly there!" he said ecstatically. "There's a breeze coming from up ahead."

"Thank goodness for that," sighed the Grogoch, when something budged to his right.

Fearfully, he turned...and there in a tunnel next to him... _Eyes_! A white face gawking right at him, no more than six inches away. Through the Grogoch he stared, with a wide, gawping maw and bulging, pale eyes. Its head was of long, tangled knots, and its skin looked leaden and veiny from having been down in those burrows its entire life. With nothing else for it, Icrick let out an almighty screech...

"MOVE, WILLIAM!" he squealed.

"What's wrong?" cried the lad, shuffling along anyway from fright.

"JUST MOVE!" screeched Icrick again, making William shoot off like a hare.

The lad didn't know what was wrong, so he just scrambled as fast as he could. Meanwhile, Ifcus was near the rear, trying to turn around as he had yet to pass whatever this thing was...and he didn't want to. Pity for him there was another creature coming up slowly behind Crosco. The Head was blubbering like a baby, for he could hear its gargling as plain as day. But The Body was strong and had the heart of a lion. With a kick he smacked the creature in the face and sent his nose gushing with a luminous blue liquid; resulting from which, the beast fell into a shrieking retreat.

"GO! GO! GO!" ordered Khrum, who was just caught up in the excitement and hadn't the faintest idea of what was really happening.

With wild ferocity, even more creatures gave pursuit as our heroes wriggled frantically through the burrows. There were ten of them at least.

Panic moved them quickly, for fear of getting caught and, most probably, eaten. They stomped over thorns and sludge, and all sorts of repulsive, foul stuff. William could feel the breeze from the outside world, when, just up ahead, he spied an opening; the end of the forest, hills, and twilight. Nevertheless, those creatures were catching up.

All of a sudden, one of them wrapped his slithery hands around Crosco's boot and yanked him back with considerable force. But Ifcus wasn't going to let this fiend take his comrade. Not a chance. So he champed down hard on his fingers, forcing the beast to let go with a shrill, writhing scream. William then blasted out of that burrow like he'd been doing it for years, and the rest tumbled out straight after him.

"What was wrong with ye?!" he panted, trying to catch his breath. "Ye almost gave me a heart attack!"

"There were things...vile creatures!" Icrick gasped, who was also robbed of his wind.

From inside the tunnel, they noticed a pale face gazing out at them. It lingered momentarily before dying back into the depths of within with a thin and spiteful hiss.

They were being chased by Roògles. Demon men. Burrowers who dwelt within the deeper parts of the world. It was they who had turned the travellers into trees, because if you ever get bitten or scraped by a Roògle, you'd become the very substance of the forest, and so driven to live out eternity in darkness. If William and the others had only realised what they'd obliviously overlooked at the beginning of that forest; an entire legion of knights who had been heading to battle from the west. Alas, upon their journey through the trees, these knights were caught by the Roògles and, ever since, had to suffer the misery of their spell. Regrettably, never had anyone dared re-enter the forest to break its curse. Nor, is it likely, anyone ever will.

After that desperate struggle through the setts they were in awful shape, labouring to regain their breath. They weren't out of danger yet, though. True, the outside world wasn't far, but after that little scenario, this forest had shown enough potential for them to wonder about what could be hiding in the remainder of it. All but one of them, that is.

"Let us sally forth!" Crosco told his Body.

Jumping to his feet, William implored, "No! Crosco. Wait for—"

"No time for it," interrupted The Head. "The sooner we get out of this hellhole, the better!"

Confidently, with his chin up, he trudged past the others. But he hadn't gotten ten feet when all of a sudden, he started to sink.

"Aw, what _now_?" moaned William.

"Help!" The Head squeaked, with Ifcus flailing around on his back, trying to get off.

They had, of course, strolled right into a pond of quicksand.

"Help! Help! Get me out!" cried The Head, with The Body clawing wildly at the heavy earth on the brink.

In a fluster, Icrick cried, "Toss your head out, at least."

"Good idea." William nodded, reaching out. "Here! Give it to me."

"Okay, okay! Here!" said The Head, passing himself out to William. "What now?"

"That'll do. See ya," Khrum waved.

"WHAT?!" shrieked Crosco.

"He-he, only coddin'," the leprechaun chuckled. "Listen, I seen this happen to a cow years ago. Just don't shtruggle. That's the worsht thing ya can do. The more ya kick, the fashter ya sink. Hey, that rhymes."

"That's true, actually. I read about it," said William, searching about in the trees for something of use. "The movement sucks you down or something. Hold on, I'll get something to pull you out. Don't move."

In an honest attempt to console his other half, The Head whinged, "Try not to struggle, old chap. We shall have you out in a jiffy."

Meanwhile, William was traipsing about, scavenging amongst the trees, when eventually he found a large vine which he yanked down for some slack.

"Here, grab onto this!" he shouted, tossing it out to The Body.

"Oh, good lad! Thank you," Crosco sighed.

"Don't thank me yet. We still have to pull you out."

Now, you have to remember that they were trying to lift the weight of a tall man, suited in heavy armour... _and_ his stallion. Not a sack of old spuds.

Lining up, one after another like a tug of war, they each grabbed the rope. William was first, then _dangled_ Khrum, with Icrick last, and they tugged with all of their might. They tugged, and pulled, and heaved, and Crosco was slowly escaping the clutches of that pesky quicksand. Harder and harder they hauled. Their teeth were grinding, while veins bulged from their foreheads. Yet, what Icrick didn't notice, was that he was backing right up to the burrow again and, with a sharp hiss, a pair of skinny arms lunged out at him from the inside. Nobody was prepared for what happened next...

The Grogoch jumped high with terror (just in time, too, for he let go of the vine. But the Dullahan was mostly back on land then), and out of complete traumatic dread, he ripped out the loudest ripple of flatulence that anyone had ever heard. It spluttered out, rattling the shrubs, and the creature quickly scampered back into its hole with a string of yelps.

Pulling his collar up over his nose, Khrum instructed, "Quick! Everyone! Cover your mouths!"

With not a moment to squander, they cupped their hands over their faces as its windy resonance sank into the deep, forcing the bickering talk of the forest to moan in retort. Khrum suggested that they wait a moment for the air to clear. Little Icrick otherwise sat there, exhausted from his gassy explosion. Soon, the minute passed.

"I'd say it's safe enough now!" said the leprechaun, testing the air with a sniff.

Taking away his hands, William sniggered, and said, "What was _that_ all about?"

"Grogochs, lad!" Khrum replied. "It's a defensive reaction they have, like their invisibility! If somethin' comes threatenin' them... _BANG!_ They get blown ta Kingdom come by the mosht rotten shmellin' foulness ya've ever come across!"

"I do apologize!" said Icrick, and blushed. "Sometimes it just happens and I can't control it!"

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" William said, happy that they were all safe again.

After that little episode, they were certain that the only obstacle left to undertake was that pit of quicksand, so testing its distance was imperative. This was appointed to Crosco, as he was undoubtedly the strongest.

Picking up some rocks, he began flinging them out into the sand, to discover that every one of them sank, thereby suggesting that the pit stretched right through the trees, right up to the very ends of the forest. With nothing else for it, they climbed up through the awkward branches above and moved from tree to tree until they eventually reached the forest's end that way.

Inhabiting those trees were red squirrels, crows, and little shadow faeries, all of whom were examining them as they clambered by. Crosco looked especially odd to them, with him carrying a horse and such. At any rate, it took some time, but they soon made it out.

Oh, how good it felt for them to be back outside in the great, wide world once again. That, however, remained the start of this long night, which still had in store for them even further surprises, much more gruesome in nature than that of Brookweir Forest. For there were many mysterious woodlands within Lythiann's reaches that housed even deadlier, more sinister beings, let alone the tower of Thérn itself.

# \- Chapter Ten -

### Twisty Cups

It felt like it was late that evening when they escaped the Roògles, and the dark of night had clouded over Lythiann. Nor at this point did the tower appear to be all that far away, for its spire seemed to ever grow by the moderate advancement of their weary steps.

William suggested that they should just make for the tower as hastily as they could, then get in, grab that sword, and get out again, all in one fell swoop. At least it would be one less thing off his worried mind. Of course, he requested their opinions on this plan, and they could but concur. It was about the best one they could conjure. Aside from the fact that this stratagem seemed somewhat basic and actually rather frighteningly to the point, they were otherwise far too anxious and bewildered by the sight of the dreaded place to so much as even _attempt_ to fabricate anything better.

While they mulled over his proposal, Crosco remained at their tail, silent, not saying a word about it; hesitant in what he truly wished to impart about that horribly wretched tower: That it was simply evil.

Tiredness had also passed them at that point. They were moving on instinct, and sapped of all energy. None of them could say exactly how long they'd been stuck in Brookweir, or what day it actually was. All that they were aware of was that it was early night, going by the tellings of the moon.

During his previous nightly ventures through the land of Lythiann, William had come to notice a rather strange lunar behaviour. It never seemed to just appear through the dusk like any normal moon does. Instead, it grew from something no bigger than a star, and it grew very large at that. Had one actually taken a night off to sit there and fixate upon it, like watching paint dry, they would actually see it expanding. Hence, the greater the moon, the later the time.

William had been a trifle worried, hoping that no lunar eclipse had come and gone during his time spent with the Rooglés. Icrick reassured him all the same, telling him that he need not fret, because the land was still. William asked what the Grogoch meant by this. Icrick explained that, had the eclipse actually arrived while they were burrowing away, there would have been a barrage of enemies flooding throughout the land at that very moment and, if not that, they would have undoubtedly been able to hear them growling on wind, somewhere from afar. Strangely thankful of that somewhat comforting yet disturbing information, William cleared his mind of any thoughts that could worry him needlessly. So they trudged on, with the moon now being monumental in size as it shone behind the treetops of the eastern hills.

It felt like they'd been walking for miles and making hardly any progress, given how the tower appeared farther off than they'd previously imagined. And for that whole journey, they were being annoyed by bothersome flies, too. Icrick's flies, no doubt. They buzzed by their ears and zipped about their heads, stirring a great discomfort amongst the group which, obviously, was an irritation they could've done without. Khrum was up on William's shoulder, and he kept on complaining about it to himself, hoping that Icrick would hear him, take the hint, and call the flies off. Grumpy little Khrum would have lashed out with a swing and knocked one of them to the ground, if only he could see them quick enough. But it was just too dark, and they were far too swift. He could hear them nevertheless, charging by his face every so often, and catching him completely off guard every time. Now and then, even William would bend over and spit because one of them had skimmed past his mouth, and the notion of fly legs on his lips was quite revolting.

Icrick plodded cross-country quite cheerfully, not being irritated in the least. The Head, however, was getting it worst of all, because he could not help his glimmering, as you well know, and the flies were attracted to his face like moths to a flame. Throughout that entire trip he kept his eyes fastened and was puffing air up into his face, in an effort to clear them away. It was a terribly uncomfortable time for all of them. Still, nobody wanted to speak out and hurt Icrick's feelings. Although, if it was to be anyone at all, they presumed it would have been Crosco, seeing as he proved to be very forthright and even rude at times.

They were too enveloped within their own tired thoughts to comprehend what had happened, when the inevitable finally landed with a jolt. A great _whoosh_ drove by the back of Khrum's head and almost put his eyes out through his ears with shock.

Thus, in standing high, with his face seeping to a devilishly furious red, he took a deep breath and yelled as loudly as his tiny lungs would allow: "ICRICK! GET THESE DAMN FLIES OUTTA MY FACE!"

Well! The Grogoch nearly sprang from his fur when a screech suddenly erupted from out of nowhere, screaming his name. You can also rest assured that Khrum's yell was so strident that everybody else leapt to attention too.

"Whatever are you raving on about?" Icrick snapped, being somewhat temperamental after getting a fright.

Everybody then stopped to heed the commotion; granted, they were thankful of the break because their legs felt like jelly from all the walking.

"Those flies o' yours!" barked Khrum. "Either have a wash...or swat them. One or the other, boy! 'Coz if one more goes by my ears, I swear, I'll bite its little head off!"

"Oh, shut up, you lousy little fungus. My flies are here where they belong!" snapped Icrick.

And sure enough, there they were, whizzing 'round his head as always.

"Then...what are these things?" asked The Head, still blowing here and there.

Ducking and dodging, and swatting his ears, William said, "Who knows? But never mind them for now. That tower isn't too far away. The quicker we get there, the sooner it will be before we get rid o' these damned insects."

Grouchily they proceeded across the fields whereon they were now travelling. Icrick kept trying to get an apology out of Khrum for what he'd said, but the leprechaun just kept saying, "No! No! No!" short and sharp, like some temperamental three-year-old.

A few yards ahead of their course, there was a hedge which ran down south toward the ancient lands. Nobody would risk travelling those parts, not even in the early days, and certainly not for all the riches in the world, what with folk disappearing there for no good reason. The earth was believed cursed, and that it would swallow you up if you ever tried.

Near the beginning of the hedge they found a gap to climb through. Just to the left of it, another hedgerow was running parallel to their trajectory, behind which was light woodland that gradually augmented until it filled the forest land of Crannùch in the north.

Crannùch was a friendly enough place for the most part, yet it was also very wide and very deep, which meant that anyone could easily get lost in there. Furthermore, in its innermost territories dwelt the Scahaì, dwarf animals of the flora, with long, branch-like arms, and heads as small as acorns. Mischievous little scoundrels. Always hiding in amongst the bushes and watching out for lost travellers so that they could ambush them and thieve their teeth to make necklaces.

It just goes to show that not all tooth faeries are full of kindness and gifts. Actually, the Scahaì were the ones who were banished from the order of the tooth faerie, because they filched the teeth for themselves, never once leaving gifts behind in exchange. The stories said that the faerie king—King Lìnn—cursed them to the deep forests where, over the ages, they ended up evolving into dark, demented faeries of the growth. So now you know, if your tooth is ever replaced by something nice, you're being watched over by the good-natured magic of the world. Whereas if you never once got anything in return for a tooth, then the Scahaì will have you on their list. So beware.

The ground was very sludgy and soft where they lumbered, having been freshly uprooted by some manner of nomadic grazing animals which, I suppose, had moved on of late. Likewise they were still getting bothered all the more by those pesky flies. Owing to this, Khrum was on the brink of yet another flare-up, when suddenly, he was silenced.

"Shhh!" said Crosco, his eyes zipping about.

"What's wrong now?" they asked, waving their hands about their faces.

"Do you not hear that?" he asked.

Pricking up their ears, they each had a good listen. It turned out they could hear something; sounds of a skirmish in the distance. They recognised the clashing of steel upon steel, and terrible cries of bravery and pain.

"Sounds like a battle, lads," Khrum stated, rolling up his sleeves, as though by some far-fetched means he was going to challenge the entire battlefield by himself.

But before he could hop to the ground, something happened which completely caught them all by surprise.

The very flies which were whizzing by their heads quickly brightened up to a pulsating red. Yelling like miniature warriors, they then zoomed over the hedge, where a luminescence of magenta was in the air. Icrick feared the worst, and he was right. They weren't flies at all. They were Garden Faeries of the Fiú, who'd been secretly returning to battle after obtaining new orders from back west. Scouts most likely. No wonder they were so attached to our heroes all that time, which was a smart concept, when you think about it. What rival faerie would dare search for them amongst a band of misfits like William and the others? None, that's how many.

Quickly and carefully they pursued the lights to the hedge, where they glanced over to see what was going on, only to uncover the mystery of that bright glow.

"Ah, _now_!" groaned Icrick, slapping his furry paw onto his eyes. "A faerie battle!"

There, in the very next field, was a great battlefield of faeries. Hundreds and thousands of red and blue lights were shooting around the field in conflict, all hovering just high of the barley that was cultivated within. It was very difficult to see exactly what was going on, but they could hear it when they listened closely.

Cry and growl, scrape and grunt, went the fight. To William and the others it sounded kind of harmless and quiet. To the faeries themselves, it would've been a total massacre.

"Look at the _size_ of it!" gasped the Grogoch, noticing how the battle went well out of their path.

Then, only a few fields across the way, over an old oak wood and a hill lined with birch trees, was the faint silhouette of the tower's crown. It _was_ fairly close after all.

"Well, I'm fresh out of ideas," said the Grogoch.

Drawing his hood and pulling his cloak in tightly, William said, "Lookit. There's the tower. We're nearly there. Let's just run through it, and that'll be that."

"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 out, 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 said 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."

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 which 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 swung 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.

"If only ya played by the rules," Girtìlboun continued, poking around in the brush. "I'd only be eaten one or two o' ya right now! But now...as a penalty...I get the whole bunch. I'd get a right good feed out o' you lot too, I reckon. A nice leprechaun and Grogoch stew, followed by some fried boy and minced horse, with roasted horseman brains for desert. Sounds like a royal banquet indeed!"

They still couldn't see where he was. Neither did he sound far enough away from them to be in any way comforted.

"What'll we do?" Icrick whispered nervously. "I don't fancy being stewed."

Trying to remain calm, William said, "Well, it's only a wood, right?"

"Right! And?" said The Head, who was also shivering at the notion of having his brain roasted like a chestnut.

"So, it can't be all that big, _despite_ what he says," stated the boy. "If we move quietly enough, we might be able to sneak past him and get out o' here."

"But what if we _never_ find a way out, like he's making out?" whinged The Head.

"Well, we'll just have to trust our own intuition over his word then," said William, when two trees got violently separated behind them like curtains and Girtìlboun stuck his devilish face through.

" _BOO!_ " he snarled.

From out-and-out terror, Ifcus twisted and neighed to such a jolt that The Body lashed out instinctively with his axe and struck the flaming pincer of the Thiagoné, sending a rain of sparks cascading into the air. When this happened, the trees bolted again, for fear of catching alight and burning the rest of the woodland to ash.

"Why ya little—" snarled Girtìlboun.

Suddenly two oaks lumbered past him, knocking him to the ground.

Waddling off ahead, Icrick screeched, "GO! WHILE WE CAN!"

As fast as they could, they bolted deeper into the trees. Meanwhile, Girtìlboun, after much effort, managed to flip himself back onto his skinny insect legs.

"Silence!" he ordered again, yet to be ignored by the trees.

Then, with sadistic conviction, he yelled out a second time, "I...SAID... _SILENCE!_ " and the trees suddenly ceased in their dread like before.

Nevertheless, this gave the others a decent chance to get out of harm's way. They could also get a much better glimpse of the outside world as the wood was shifting about, for the trees seemed to be drawn to an outer perimeter, an opening, as though it would somehow save them from the flames. But they were restricted from leaving the actual boundaries of the woodland floor due to, I would expect, some manner of binding spell or such. After all, these trees (however grudgingly they may have been to do so) played a crucial role in Girtìlboun's twisted dealings, and to let them wander so far was not what he would consider 'good for the trade.'

"Okay, so it _is_ the fire they're afraid o'!" William concluded, as they all skulked inside a deep hollow. "Icrick, do you still have that torch on you?"

"Yes. Here it is," said the Grogoch, pulling the torch from his pack.

"Great! I'll need you to light it up in a minute," said the lad, grabbing up two more dead boughs from under the leaves. "Khrum goes with me. Icrick, you keep your own torch. And Crosco, you can take this branch."

"Well, what do you intend to do?!" asked The Head, gazing miserably at his particularly flimsy-looking bough.

"The trees seem to be heading for the end o' the wood every time they get frightened, right?" William explained.

"Right," they whispered.

"Well, we'll each take a torch, climb up into a tree, and hope that they will eventually carry us to the end. Then, when we get there, we can just jumped down and make a break for it."

"How do you suppose _that_ lunacy will work?" said The Head, frowning.

"The flames, Crosco lad!" Khrum added, finally catching on. "Ya saw how they reacted ta those sparks! Imagine how fasht they'll go if there's a torch whippin' them along."

"Exactly!" William nodded. "The trees should keep running...provided there's always a naked flame burning, spurring them on like."

"Sounds like a risky move!" whimpered Icrick. "What happens if they carry us right back to that dirty old Thiagoné?"

"It's our only chance right now, Icrick. Unless ye have any better ideas? And believe me, if ye can think o' anything easier than this, I'd be more than happy to try it."

None of them had any better proposals, so they were stuck with this plan.

"Why do we have to take separate trees though?" Icrick asked. "Surely we can all go in the one?"

William then explained, "Yeah, but with all of us stuck in one tree, it could be easy pickin's for him."

"Hmmm, I don't know..." Icrick replied doubtingly. "It sounds like a serious gamble to me."

"Don't worry. Did you see how those trees knocked Girtìlboun to the ground just then?" the boy asked.

"Well...yes."

"Well, if we get separated, and someone gets into trouble, I think we'd stand a better chance o' defending one another if we have our own trees. Hopefully it won't come to that, though."

"Hmmm...well...okay!" the Grogoch anxiously allowed. "I trust you...I _think_!"

"Thanks, Icrick!" smirked the lad, amused by how little he sugar-coated it.

Standing above them were three stumpy oak trees; decrepit and branchless, though they carried an appearance of ligneous creatures, having been fashioned to be fairly beastlike through their beefy knots and lack of limb. With nothing else for it, they each climbed up into the trees and saddled themselves securely into the branches. Growing within Icrick's oak was some old vine, which he handed out to the others to use as makeshift reins.

Passing around some lengths, he said, "Here! These might help us hold on better."

"Good thinking, Icrick!" said William, slinging one around his trunk. "Now, let's get these torches lit."

Holding their torches close together, Icrick set them alight with three sharp snaps of his flint.

"Are ye ready?" asked William, holding the torch high, with the leprechaun settled on his shoulder.

"As we'll ever be, I suppose," The Head said, gulping, with Ifcus barely peeping over his collar.

"Ready!" Icrick quaked, his eyes sealed shut.

With his torch, William lashed his tree with a fierce whip, like it were a steed.

" _HEEA_!" he cried.

Suddenly, in a flurry of orange sparks, the tree hoisted up its roots and stomped off. Following his example, the others did the same, and their trees galloped after him with equal haste.

Pandemonium kicked off once again in that enchanted wood as the timorous trees pounded through the scrub, groaning and howling.

At first it proved quite difficult to settle themselves on the branches, but they soon adapted. It was still scathingly uncomfortable. Bobbing up 'n' down upon that rough bark was more than any man should ever be asked to bear, especially in a kilt. And yet, they were heading at a steady pace, thus making much more progress than they would have done otherwise.

Through the wood they lumbered, dodging wild oaks at every turn. Old Girtílboun probably didn't know what was happening.

Holding on tightly was all that they could do, for if only they could've somehow steered those wooden beasts by use of their reins it would have been something...only they couldn't. The only thing to comfort our heroes was the knowledge that they were still together and had not yet been divided.

In line formation, they plodded along, as frantic oaks grinded and grated by them in terror.

"Get off! Get away!" cried Icrick with a wave if his torch, sending them into retreat.

Leaves plummeted and wafted through the air as the commotion grew ever worse. Girtìlboun's cries could scarcely be heard beneath it all. This drove William and the others to beat their trees even harder so as to drown out the foul wretch and his horrid commands.

"QUIET!" he was yelling, till blue in the face, to be dampened by the beatings of chaos.

William could see more and more of outer Lythiann, and what appeared to be a great pumpkin patch just at the wood's edge. They were almost out of there, or at least close enough to scurry out should they somehow become dismounted from their wooden steeds.

Good fortune, it seemed, wasn't entirely on their side, however. For swinging through the bedlam, from branch to branch, was Girtìlboun, in his great silverback form.

"I can see your lights, ya blasted swindlers! I'll catch ye yet!" he roared.

"He's gainin' on us, lad!" yelled Khrum, monitoring the Thiagoné's progress.

After branching off into separate, unpredictable routes, their group was no longer united in their escape. It was obvious that the trees themselves had brains no larger than walnuts, if they even had any at all. Because, aside from merely attempting to reach the woodland edge, it appeared that they were otherwise just running 'round and around, with little consideration for any logical progress. Only by sheer luck did some of the rogue oaks actually succeed in making it to the border and, even then, they still scurried back inside, only to get lost again. William was distraught by this. He believed that, once the trees found the rim, that they would just linger there, allowing our heroes the opportunity to escape the Thiagoné for good.

"Aw, what's this all about?" he so murmured.

"What's what about?!" cried Khrum through the noise.

"Oh...um...nothing! Nearly there!" the lad found himself saying.

"Good!" Khrum replied, hopping about like a jumping bean. "Any more o' this bouncin' about 'n' I'm goin' to vomit up all over the place."

"Which bloody way are we going?" Crosco then cried, as he whipped his tree like a madman. "This blasted oak doesn't know its left from its right!"

Heeding him through the mayhem, William replied from a different area of the wood, "We're nearly there. I think it just...um...it just takes them a while to figure out their direction. But we'll have to act fast once we reach the end. We'll have to jump before the trees run back inside."

"Run back _inside_?!" cried Crosco. "You never said anything about that! Oh, I _knew_ this was a stupid idea."

All of a sudden, the massive ape landed in Crosco's tree and leaned in at him with a drooling smirk.

Shuddering with fright, The Head screeched involuntarily, "MY HEART!"

"Appetiza' numba' one!" smiled the gorilla, with a thick string of saliva dangling from his fang-filled mouth. "I'll leave your eyeballs for the crows."

"Get back! Get back, I say!" cried The Head, with The Body swinging his torch left and right.

"This is the end for ya...gov'na'," drawled a grinning Girtìlboun when, with one impeccable stroke and a cluster of sparks, the blazing torch pared him right across the eyes.

"Aha! Got you!" laughed The Head.

Wildly the ape screamed as he rubbed his scalded eyes, before lashing out and knocking the torch from Crosco's hand, after which he tried snagging the brute who'd stolen his sight.

"Ya've blinded me! I'll skin ya for this!" screamed Girtìlboun. "I'll scoop out your gizzard and boil it in oil."

Unfortunately for the Thiagoné—though fortunate for Crosco—the wood had almost ended. So the Dullahan vaulted from the moving tree, with a frightful neigh from his back, before crashing to the ground, where he scrambled for the pumpkin patch. Little did he know, his torch had strayed into a dry thicket and was caught in the gust, thus setting the wilted shrubs ablaze, and much more of the woodland quickly thereafter.

Fire cascaded through the trees, like the brushwood itself was drenched in lard. But before the Dullahan could get caught up in the blaze, he leapt from the woodland into the soft muck of the pumpkin patch. Before long, from out of the wall of flames which were now scaling fast, sprang William, Khrum and Icrick, all masking their faces from the fire, and they all landed into the safety of the rich soil beside the Dullahan.

"What happened there?" yelled Icrick, scrambling to his feet. "How did it catch fire?"

"He knocked the torch from my grip!" replied Crosco, looking upon the inferno in terrible awe. "It wasn't my fault."

From within the infernal blaze, they heard the diminishing bellows of the Thiagoné as the fire consumed him to his very ruin, and the once-enchanted forest fell to the ever-feared tongues of their fiery foe. They could but watch as the sparks wafted into the blackness of the night.

"I feel so sorry for those trees," Icrick sulked, failing to consider how bad Crosco must've felt, even though the Dullahan didn't avow to it.

"Ara, they were enchanted trees anyways, Icrick lad," said Khrum. "Under his shpell, no doubt. That's no way ta live. But life'll fill that wood again...sometime; when there's not a foul scoundrel ta dominate them againsht their will. If ya ask me...I think they're better off! Put outta their misery like."

"I reckon so too," added William. "Not to mention the lives that were saved."

"What lives?" asked Icrick.

"Anyone who had yet to go through that wood!" the boy answered, like it was obvious. "Well done, Crosco!"

"Well _done_?" asked The Head, sounding somewhat surprised for being deemed in such a way.

Folding his arms, whilst looking at the burning wood, William pondered out, "Yeah, honestly! You chose the greater good and all that. That's what you meant to do, I take it?"

"Well...yes! Yes, I suppose it was," answered The Head. "Ahem...of _course_ it was! I knew it all along."

To that, William and Khrum glanced at one another with funny grins.

In that very same moment, realisation grasped the boy in a clutch as firm as steel, when he suddenly remembered Anun's beautiful utterance.

"The voice!" he gasped.

"What about it?" said Crosco, getting scared again.

Without answering, William approached the wall of flame with distress. It was far too sweltering for him to enter. Trees collapsed and toppled within, fizzling and creaking in the heat of the inferno, and William's face filled by degree with utter dread.

"Oh, no!" cried the Grogoch, his paws to his face. "What have we done?"

"This can't be!" said Khrum, with the reflecting flames glistening in the sadness of his eyes.

"What are you lot going on about?" exclaimed The Head, more worried now than ever. "The voice? It could have just been a trick for all we know. To lure us into that Thiagoné's trap."

Just then, William and William alone heard a soft whisper in his ear saying, "Fear not, William. Never was I in those trees. When the moment permits me, I can speak to you...in spirit. Just as I am now. However, these connections will be far between. I will nonetheless aid you as best I can when it happens. Hence, beyond the birches your bounty lies. Now go. Claim it as your own. Our love is with you, William. Always and forever!"

"William! What will we do?" cried Icrick, tugging on the boy's sleeve, who then sighed at him with a relieved sort of smile, "Icrick, it's all right."

"But what will we do! She'll be burnt alive!" screeched the Grogoch.

"Really, Icrick...it's okay!" William insisted. "She wasn't even there in the first place. It was just her voice."

"Well...a-a-are you sure?" the Grogoch sniffled.

Patting him on the back, William winked and said, "I'm sure; trust me."

Sensing veracity in the boy's gesture, Khrum let out a long breath and muttered to himself, "Well, thank the shtars for that!"

"Who's voice _was_ it then?" asked Crosco, feeling somewhat out of the loop. "Did you know her or something?"

"Just someone I met when I came to Lythiann...that's all," answered the lad.

"Oh, have it your own way then. _Keep_ your secrets!" replied a sulking Head, returning to his normal behaviour once again.

The surrounding vegetable patch was encumbered with many pumpkins of every imaginable size. It was situated at the base of the birch-topped hill, whereon they saw a pointy-eared figure peering down into the fire, as if it was investigating the goings-on. But it soon disappeared back over the mound.

Deploying his staff for the walk ahead, William asked, "What was _that_ thing? It looked like a dog..."

"A fox I'd expect," Icrick guessed, still glancing now and again at the fire. "They thrive in these parts, year 'round."

Sceptical of the creature, Crosco remained silent, though mindful...

Over the pumpkin patch they strolled, then uphill towards the birches through which they weren't long tramping. Past that, they came upon a natural gallery of blooming branches, which led into a clearing. Sure enough, this would lead to a way out.

* * *

Once at the gallery mouth they all peeped out; eight blinking points of light and a shining head. The moon seemed much larger from here, just high of the hills, as it lined the passing clouds with a paler shade of grey. Upon the foreground stood some mangled, leafless trees, which emitted haunting silhouettes to the moon's face as their branches stabbed northward. Then, just to their right, upon a malformed eroded knoll, was the tower itself...

It was tall. So high, in fact, that they had to completely tilt their heads back in order to see its pinnacle. It housed no walls nor courtyard, not even a spire did it have. Its only features were two small windows near the crown, beneath which was a wide indentation in the brickwork. Through this dent, and by the sombre impressions of the moon, the tower emitted the likeness of a great, ungodly face, whose head was haloed by the stagnant swirl of grim cloud; all the while flocks of wicked old rooks tirelessly encircled its parapets.

"I'm _telling_ you, this place is full of badness. We must not get any closer," insisted The Head.

"I have to get closer, Crosco," William protested, although he would've gladly walked away, never to look back, had it not been for his mission. "In fact, I have to get _inside_! You can all stay here, if you prefer. I'll try not to take too long. Just don't go leaving! Especially _you_ ," he said to Icrick, who he needed the most to be his guide.

He was all set to move out from the bushes when a shocking howl rose up from close by. William paused; as quiet as silence itself. In response, another howl lifted from a different location, then another, and yet another followed after that. Cautiously as he could, William shrank back into the trees again.

"Not goin' in then?" Khrum grinned, who was actually just as nervous, but he didn't let on.

Then, " _Shush_ ," said the others.

Creeping from around from the rear of the tower, as though patrolling the grounds, was a set of glowing red eyes. Two more approached from the left, then three more from the darkness beneath the knoll, where a cave must've been, and wherein they were likely loitering.

Lifting The Head in close to William, Crosco whispered, "Not foxes, not dogs...Devil Hounds! Dreaded dogs of night! We must not linger, for they do not need sight to catch us! They could sniff us out without any trouble at all! Let us leave, at _once_!"

"Stop for a second. Let me think," William whispered sharply, as turning around was just not an option. "Your family and friends aren't on the line here. Mine are. And I _need_ to get that sword."

"No, not my family and friends. But my neck is," argued Crosco.

"Fine choice o' words there," sniggered Khrum, prodding The Head.

They all let out a quiet chuckle at this. Except, of course, for The Head, who found it very rude and insulting, and William, who was busy with his own problems. Even Ifcus and The Body gave a hint of a snigger while he wasn't looking.

Then the boy said, "I get that you're scared, Crosco. This isn't a great situation to be stuck in, by _any_ means. Believe me! I got chased by a dog once...scared the snot out o' me. But there's no way I'm leaving here without that weapon."

"Fine!" The Head snapped, caring not a sausage for William's civility. "But I'm staying here!"

He tried being nice about it, only to get a snotty response, so William simply mimicked Crosco's supercilious, " _Fine_..." and went back to planning his way into the tower.

Just then he had a recollection, and said to himself, "Wait a second!"

Removing his satchel, he sat against a tree and began rummaging through it, until he eventually displayed the box of truffles.

Hesitantly nibbling his lip, he muttered, "Hmmm, I wonder..."

Eagerly he popped the latch, and slowly opened the lid. Skimming his palm across the truffles, he pondered; thinking of whether he should or he shouldn't. After a moment, he made up his mind, and was just about to reach for one, when...

"Choose carefully!" Icrick suddenly blurted out.

He was peeping over William's shoulder, with his eyes absolutely bulging with inquisitiveness. Sitting back again, the lad gave it a second thought. Rubbing his chin, he examined the truffles even closer when, eventually, he decided to go with his gut and stick to his initial choice.

As he cautiously unwrapped the truffle, the others slowly gathered 'round to observe. Oh, how delicious it looked. Flakes of toffee-covered nuts sprinkled all over, and smothered in a thick layer of smooth milk chocolate. Ifcus couldn't stop licking his lips. His drool was dripping out faster than he could swallow it.

Holding the foil up to the moon, William then cleared his throat and began to read, quietly:

The Selkie's Gift

This truffle comes in many pieces,

Three or four, whichever's needed.

Thinking of another form,

Another shape you shall be born.

But keep it hush and do not tell,

For if you do the spell will fail.

Rolling his eyes, Khrum let out a _tsk_ of frustration. Everyone else was otherwise gawking at one another, half-expecting someone to explain it.

"What do you suppose that means?" asked Crosco, who was becoming interested again.

"Not quite sure," replied William. "It sounds like a riddle. Damn! And I was _useless_ in school!"

The boy went over the conundrum quietly to himself a few more times before he could make any kind of a stab at it.

"Quickly now, laddie!" the leprechaun was saying. "The magic doesn't lasht that long, remember."

"Yeah...I remember," said the boy, still engrossed by the riddle. "Well, the spell can obviously change us into something else. Alter our form...like Girtìlboun back there. And that'd be just what we need to get past those hounds there. I presume the first bit o' the rhyme means we can share it out, so _all_ of us can use the magic. Don't suppose you've changed your mind about coming, Crosco?"

It seemed that the horse was only waiting for his chance to sample that dreamy, silky chocolate. But his wishes were quickly shattered when the stubborn Head declined the offer, instead ordering himself to be put back in the saddle, away from the others. His pleasantness, it seemed, had changed ever since that little giggle they'd had at his expense.

"We'll go with ya, lad," said Khrum, speaking for Icrick too, which made the Grogoch sweaty and anxious.

"Great! To be honest, I wasn't mad on the idea o' going in there by myself! Thanks!" said the boy, breaking the truffle into three pieces.

The middle was simply oozing with lush, mouth-watering caramel. It almost gave the horse heart failure, the forbidden deliciousness of it; so he was compelled to look away. Meanwhile, his salivating had formed a perfect puddle around his hooves.

Icrick took his piece in his paw; Khrum took his bit in both hands, as it was quite large; and William kept a piece for himself. While awaiting further instruction, the silky centre was slowly inching its way down toward their fingers.

"So, now what do we do?" asked Icrick, trembling.

"Um...well...my understanding is," William explained, "we eat first, and then we think hard about what it is we want to change ourselves into. Something clever. But keep it to yourself, or else it won't work. At least...I _think_ that's what it means."

"Sounds about right ta me," Khrum added, with a hungry smile on his face. "Ye ready ta tuck in so, lads?"

Settling themselves, they each wiped their lips and got ready to indulge in that sweet milk chocolate.

"Okay then. Here goes nothing!" said the boy.

Tilting their heads back, they lowered the chocolate into their mouths. The caramel was so sticky and so incontestably sweet, and the milky cocoa texture was rich and creamy. Khrum's eyes rolled around in his head and his cheeks were bulging with syrupy toffee. William had his eyes closed tightly amid concentrating on the spell at hand. Icrick was doing the same, but he was more afraid of exploding rather than considering his disguise. As all this was going on, Crosco and Ifcus just sat there, analysing them all, waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly, William's eyes shot open like a set of old blinds. For a second he was still, but then he began to tremble. Ifcus jumped with a start and put his peg over his eyes. He thought that something had gone terribly wrong.

"Oh, here we go! More confounded shape-shifters!" whimpered The Head.

William began to quiver more and more, such that Crosco thought his head was going to pop. Standing up before the moon, young William then stretched out like he was ripping his way from invisible restraints. Beside him Khrum was also beginning to rattle, and Icrick had kicked off, too. Poor Crosco was starting to feel terrified and alone at that point. He knew not what would come of it all.

Throwing back his head, William discharged a beastly snarl, followed by a tremendous howl. It almost forfeited their position, but the Devil Hounds presumed it was one of their own, thereby proceeding to nose about in the night. Grotty black hairs sprouted from William's arms and legs. The hair on his head was now growing rapidly past his ears, which in turn were also sprouting to a point. His teeth stretched to fangs, and his eyes gazed inhumanely with an intense redness. Falling onto all fours, he remained with growling breaths in the form of what he'd chosen...a Devil Hound. His ruby eyes rose up to meet Crosco, who was sneaking off into the trees with the horse on his back.

"And where do you think _you're_ off to?" asked William, still with his own voice.

Doing an about-turn, Crosco stuttered, "N-N-Nowhere!"

When he saw William glaring at him, in the condition he was in, poor Crosco didn't know what to say nor how to act.

"Don't worry," William said cordially, "it's still me."

Suddenly there came a rustle to William's right. And there, shaking its leaves, was a little fern.

Shaking his head, the lad said, "Now, who could that be, I wonder?"

"All I could think of was where I wanted to hide," shivered the bush.

Yes, it was good old Icrick himself. Then, to William's left he heard a rattle and a clink. He glanced down and was dumfounded, and not in a good way. For, next to him, was a bottle of wine with a brown hat, a mouth, and a big ginger beard.

"I don't _believe_ this," said William, sighing. "Could ye not've thought o' something a bit better than a bush and a...a bottle o' drink, by the looks of it! How do you suppose that's going to get ye past these dogs?"

"Well, if I can somehow get all liquored up by the time they catch me, then I'll have the death of a leprechaun king," the bottle replied with a fine smile.

"Oh, come on so," grumbled William, who wasn't very pleased about this at all.

He wasn't exactly perfect either, still clad in his garments; all twisted about, with the sporran on his back and the satchel by his foreleg. But it was better than nothing. So, picking up the shrub in his teeth, he placed it into the satchel with its leaves sticking out, and he put the bottle into his sporran with its neck poking out the top. The remainder of their supplies were left in the care of the Dullahan, before they ventured silently out from the wood to start cautiously towards the tower.

"If you're so high 'n' mighty, then what did ya hope ta achieve by turnin' into a Devil Hound? A Devil Hound in a kilt, might I add!" asked the bottle.

"It's the only thing I could think of!" whispered William. "Now be quiet! I'll need my wits about me if I want to avoid these hounds! So no interruptions!"

"One more thing though! Icrick," Khrum questioned, "jusht wonderin', but why didn't ya jusht turn invisible rather than puttin' yourself through all the stress o' transformin'? For a second there, I thought ya were goin' ta have a fit."

"I _am_ invisible!" rustled a transparent bulge from within the satchel.

"Be quiet!" William ordered.

"Sorry..." answered the bottle.

William noticed how the other hounds were behaving; sniffing the ground and prowling around suspiciously in the shadows. So he did the same, while trying his best to keep his distance. 'Round they went, to the south side of the tower, where a lower level of ground eventually ascended up to the tower gate itself. Slowly and vigilantly they skulked, while keeping to the fuller bushes on their right.

In what little time he had to do so, William studied every last minor movement of the other hounds with intricate detail. He hoped that all they could see of _him_ were his eyes and not the bottle, the bush, or his strange attire. He would've preferred that they couldn't see any of them at all, but that was just wishful thinking.

As they progressed, Icrick was growing restless.

His leaves started to rustle, and gaining any unsolicited attention was not what William wanted, so he whispered, " _Shhh_!"

With that _shush_ , a hound suddenly peered out from behind the castle with his nose up high. William went still as a rock when those red eyes started to glare nearby. It was only then that he realised how he himself could see very clearly in the dark and, that they too, could probably see him just as well. His heart felt like it was going to pop as it _drum-drum-drummed_ in his chest, alongside an onslaught of flooding panic. Dropping his head like a lion, the hound crept shiftily toward William. What was the lad to do? Alarm bells were ringing in his head as the beast drew ever closer. Thus, the young fellow acted on the very first thing that came to mind.

Sniffing about in the shrubs he raised his hind leg. He didn't know what on earth he was doing it for. It just seemed like something a hound would do. He hoped that the other curious chap might have a bit of courtesy and leave him to it.

"What in the name of all the saints are ya at?" whispered Khrum in a frenzy.

"I have no idea! Just shut up, will you!" William snarled, with his leg trembling from the strain of holding it aloft.

Lo and behold, the other Devil Hound stopped, lingered briefly, then turned around and went back the way it came. They all let out some sigh of relief when he did; particularly William, who found it rather difficult to lower his leg after all that.

"Oh, dear! That was far too close for comfort!" quivered the ghostly fern. "You weren't really piddling there...were you?"

"Five seconds more and I would've been," answered William, before proceeding on.

The tower gate wasn't all that far away, but the journey to get there felt like hours; constantly pausing and creeping, and lurking and sniffing. Eventually they made it and just in time, too, because when William was nudging on the great wooden doors to open them, he could feel the sticky sensation of grass both between his skinny fingers and below his bare knees, too. In glancing down he saw that the black, doglike hairs were sinking back into his skin, thereby revealing his true boyish exterior. After which he saw that the wine bottle had sprouted arms, whereas the now visible bush had developed two traumatized eyeballs. They were all changing back to normal.

Evasively as he could, William shoved the door open with his hands, trying his utmost not to cause too much of a stir. In spite of his delicacy, the hinges creaked and groaned as the Grogoch and the leprechaun shushed the noises, like it would somehow suppress the racket.

Fortunately, they soon made it inside unnoticed, and William shut the doors securely behind them. They were in. But whether that was a good thing or not, you will soon find out.

# \- Chapter Eleven -

### Stronghold of Sin

"Hellooo?" asked Icrick's voice.

It was absolutely pitch, not unlike Brookweir.

"Where are you?" asked William.

One after another, six torches suddenly combusted into flame in the corridor ahead of them.

This long hallway had a high, arched roof, riddled with cobwebs and dust. Hanging from the midst of the ceiling were some rusted old torture cages; residing therein were the remains of those who had once attempted to reclaim the tower's treasure, yet failed. But the mystery of who actually put them there was a matter more disturbing, rousing William's wits to a higher level of vigilance. Bracing themselves, they carried on.

At the end of this long corridor, upon an altar in the main hall, a green strand of light was shimmering upwards, out of sight. It could be heard sparkling and crackling through the silence as though electrical, while it flickered left to right in a slight candlelight motion.

Along the wall to their right were the torches which seemed to just blaze up upon their entry. Each was held by a hideous, bronze talon. Between them were pilasters, whereupon demented images were engraved, stories of torture, and death, and sadness. These morbid decorations continued on past the corridor and, as William crouched, he could see them leading up the stairway of the main hall, with each depiction having a different horror unfolding from the next.

Uneasily he scouted on, with his hand out before him, clearing the cobwebs from his way. There were lots of brown, furry spiders scuttling along them, then vanishing into cracks in the walls. Big, grisly ones, about the size of your hand. William could hear the clicking of their pincers as they scampered about and lurked from within their holes.

"Oh, I don't like this!" shivered the Grogoch. "Not the slightest little bit!"

"Me neither, sure," Khrum put in. "Chewin' on roots in the Sadness o' the Grollo never seemed so appealin'."

"I don't like this either," William admitted. "But I need to find that sword. And just so ye know, thanks for coming in with me. I'm really glad you're here."

"Wish I could say I was happy ta help. But in this present situation, it'd be a right fib!" said Khrum, as he surveyed for threats.

"I don't blame you." William tried to smile. "So...does anyone know where the sword _is_ exactly?"

To his dismay, neither of them knew. So they were left to face the murky dreariness, unaided, and with little knowledge of what lay within...

The hallway was cold and gloomy as the breeze flowed by the walls like a lamenting wraith, swooping and gliding past them every so often, making the cobwebs flutter. Other noises rang, too, noises which paralyzed them in their steps, like that of distant growls elsewhere in the tower. They would at first grow, and then suddenly die back into the shadows. Minutes later, they returned from elsewhere, only to simmer back into emptiness again. Nor was it the cry of a beast, for that sound is unmistakeable. It was more like a person, crying with drawn-out howls after they'd suddenly fallen from the lip of their psychological brink into madness. Aside from this rather disconcerting occurrence, however, the tower seemed abandoned. And those demented cries were but momentary and remote, thus not of their immediate concern.

When they arrived at the end of the hall and reached the main keep, the altar awaited. How grotesque it was; being assembled from skull, bone, and actual living organs. They cringed at its appearance as they stared grudgingly at the foul periphery of beating hearts which lined the base of its chalky skeletal rim. Its panels were nailed with lines of heaving lungs, all in some manner of satanic embellishment. In its centre pattern, everything was conjoined by a throbbing, interwoven net of azure and garnet-coloured arteries, the sodden sounds of which were truly hellish to suffer.

Upon the altar itself was the thin, dwindling tail of what looked to be a green, swirling vortex. The fine end of its funnel was discreetly bending and swivelling above the marble altar as it emitted the most delicate of illuminations. Within the progression of its great, widening upward cone were gatherings of drifting spectres, evil souls of those who were damned to an eternity of torment by the edge of Thérn itself. Trolls, Gremlins, and Goblins alike. All were moaning and mourning in painful bellows as they spiralled upward through the vortex. They were alone in their misery, and anyone who'd passed through over the years had surely done so unnoticed by them. For these spirits were left to bear their mundane curse with no means of contact with the outside world. That living altar, it seemed, was breathing that sort of life into them; the barest, most hollow of consciousness.

"What on _earth_..." said Icrick, hiding behind William's arm.

As agitated as Icrick, the lad replied, "I have absolutely no idea!"

Following the vortex upwards to see how far it went, his gaze paused at its end, where a great whirlpool of green light was twisting in the highest point of the tower's climb.

Beyond the altar then, on the farther confines, was a dense backbone of wall, which also scaled deep into the tower. On this a huge, dust-ridden tapestry was nailed, tattered and flowing by the slight draught of the vortex. Embroidered on the tapestry was a portrait of the Death Bringer, a shrouded demon with the face of a wicked skull. He was standing over an infernal dale of his own tormented souls.

"What a hideous decoration!" said Icrick, with two handfuls of William's cloak to his face.

"Ya got that right, Icrick lad," said Khrum, frowning. "Wouldn't be the sort o' yoke ya'd have hangin' at the end o' your bed, anyways."

To their left and to their right were two stairways running upward by the rounded walls. There were four doors walking up alongside each stair, both of which met with small landing areas on either side of the mainstay. This then led to another shorter, but steeper, flight of steps thereafter, before carrying on to the next level. Both stairways progressed just as the prior level did, and so on, in and out, like great plaits of solid stone. Up and up they continued, as far as young William could see, hence bringing him to believe that there could very well have been many more doors as well, and that wasn't a very encouraging thought.

"I wish I didn't have to say this," he said, being purely dispirited by the height of the tower, "but I think we're going to have to split up."

"I wish ya didn't have ta say it either," said Khrum, putting it aside as the silly idea that it was. "So let's just pretend ya didn't say it, yup?"

"Sorry, Khrum," said the lad. "But—"

"I know, I know! You're right! We'll split up."

Then, as if something had suddenly exploded from the deep, there was a loud crashing of chains which roared piercingly throughout the acoustics of the tower.

Peering up, Icrick saw something hurtling down from the ceiling at great speed, and he screamed with quavering horror, "LOOK OUT!"

With that, they all stumbled back under the shelter of the passageway when a massive steel grate fixed with twisted rusty spikes came crashing to the ground behind them. It jammed right into the stone slabs upon the floor. An immense haze of dust spun into the air, making the vortex flicker. Then, slowly, with an aging crank of long dereliction, the grate somehow hoisted itself back to wherever it came from.

"That was _too_ bloody close now!" exclaimed William, coughing. "What was all that about?!"

"It's like Crosco said...it's this tower," whimpered Icrick, not daring to leave the boy's side. "It's full of hazards and...and _traps_! Set for those who dare enter to retrieve the blade of Mysun! It's all Drevol's work. Or, at least, the work of his minions."

Dusting himself down, William replied, "We'll just have to watch our step so, if that's the case."

Suddenly, the snarl visited them again in the night, before fading away back to its dealings.

"Lookit, that noise is givin' me the right willies, so it is!" trembled the leprechaun. "It wouldn't be so bad if I knew what it was!"

"Me too," said William. "But it probably won't annoy us unless we annoy it first. So, we'll just try and keep out of its way."

Directly right of where he stood he noticed a pile of rags and bones, with a decomposing skull resting on top. With an awful creak, the skull opened its rotting mouth, then hissed at the boy, as if warning him in some manner of disdain, before dying with a horrid grin.

"Um...l-l-let's get moving!" William stuttered, dragging his gaze from it.

Watching as the spikes diminished back into the shadows above, they seized their chance and made a break for it.

"Right! You two! Go and check that side. I'll check this side," the lad instructed, as Icrick darted to the opposite stairway with Khrum scuttling behind him.

William spotted a blazing torch set upon the wall just beside him, so naturally he thought it would be a good idea for him to take it.

He recalled there hardly being any windows in that tower. Whatever moonlight that may have _once_ been available to them, would now be scarce. However, that tower was indeed a treacherous place. As soon as he removed the torch from its frame, he heard three sharp clicks of a concealed mechanism. Before he knew it, with a slicing, horizontal _whoosh_ , a large, hidden blade of smouldering frost spun out from the mortar and almost took William's head clean off before disappearing back into the wall just a few feet behind him. Still, that momentary twitch of suspicion which came over him initially paid off immensely. In hearing that mechanism it immediately fuelled William's awareness, such that he quickly hopped backwards, while the icy blade just missed scalping him by a strand's width.

Having just caught sight of the action, Khrum said, "Oooh, now _that_ was close," adding a whistle thereafter.

But Icrick didn't see what had happened, because he was too preoccupied with grabbing ahold of a torch on _his_ side.

"Icrick, wait!" William yelled.

"Don't bloody touch that!" Khrum cried out, but it was too late.

With a stupid look of wonderment as to what they were waffling on about, Icrick lifted the torch. All of a sudden, a bunch of old sword heads jutted out from the wall like spikes. They would have taken Icrick's legs clean off had he only been a step lower. Whereas Khrum—being so tiny—ended up getting wedged in between them, and there he so waited, belly sucked in, for them to withdraw again.

"Ya _fool_ , Grogoch!" he yelled, groping himself for damage, including his crotch, which he then released with a nod and a sigh of relief. "Are ya tryin' ta kill me or what?!"

"I didn't know!" Icrick argued, partially from terror, though partially from feeling shameful about almost murdering his leprechaun chum.

"Just be careful, you two," William solicited. "I have a feeling we haven't seen the half of it yet! Just keep your eyes peeled and watch your step. I'm going to check this room now. So you check your door, and we'll all meet out here when we're done...then we'll move onto the next one. Agreed?"

"Right ya are, lad!" Khrum said, putting on his hat. "And you, _Grogoch_. No more meddlin' with my hide or I'll _brain_ ya so I will. Got that?"

"I said I was sorry," grumbled Icrick.

And so it was that they began scaling the ghastly tower of Thérn. Little did they know, it would be quite some time before they would see each other again.

* * *

With a bitter judder, William approached his first door. It was of an ancient hew and was antique in life too, being welted with cracks and rot. With great caution he placed his hand upon the old wood and pushed it open. He also made sure to put his torch in first, lest there happen to be any more secret mechanisms about. There were none, so he was safe for now.

It was darker than dark in that room, you won't be surprised to learn. Nor was there evidence of any windows; so the torch only lit up so much of the chamber at any one time. In the lad sauntered, scared and tense. Making a shuddering creak, the door closed behind him. It was just William now, alone in some strange room, with nothing for companionship bar his torch and his wild imagination.

In there he saw a table with three mahogany chairs placed around it. It had been laid out quite elegantly with fine silver candlesticks, a bowl of fruit (which was still fresh, strangely enough), beautiful porcelain plates, golden cutlery, a black satin tablecloth, and violet napkins. Then, as though conveyed into reality through some twisted ghost story, there was a rather antiquated baby carriage, ebony and of jagged style, aside the wall to his right-hand side. He could barely swallow with trepidation, should something pounce from it, or worse. Need I say, his presumptions couldn't have been more real when, from within the carriage, he heard a most haunting tune. It reminded him of a music box, except with worn clockwork. Its melody played slowly and sombrely, and eerily flat to the note. As if awakened by its tune, a crying started somewhere on the other side of the tower; loud enough for William to hear, but low enough for him to question himself. A child's crying. That of a newborn—and how it bawled!

Tentatively, William approached the carriage. For some reason he was drawn to it, though he would have preferred to just leave it be.

The closer he got to it, the higher he raised his neck, endeavouring to see inside but without closing too much distance. The crying grew louder. Further he advanced, reluctant as he was to do so, with that awful, infantile music torturing him with every stride. Strange to say there was something about that music, in a derisively peculiar sort of way...but William couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He proceeded forth until he was but a few feet away from it. The music unexpectedly slowed to its death. Out went William's hand. He was going to nudge the pram to see if anything would happen. But before he could do so, the carriage rolled forward some inches all by itself...and a baby chuckled as if slung to his back. Fearfully he took his hand away, when all of a sudden, the table behind him rocked as though someone or some _thing_ had bumped it. He spun around, but nobody was there. He hardly had the chance to turn back when he heard the child giggling again over his shoulder. When it did, William stumbled away from where the pram had once been, for it was there no more. The spot where it'd rested was now nothing but callous stone walls and floor. Where did it get to? Suddenly the moderate squeaking of rusted wheels visited the night. Away they rolled, until they were but a whisper in the dark. And eventually...they were gone.

Trembling perceptibly, William muttered, "I don't know what the hell is going on here, but I need to find this sword and get out o' here as fast as I bloody well can."

Suddenly, there was another sound. This time it was of the cutlery.

Wincing for fear of the unexpected, he shed his burning torchlight in that direction. Again, not a soul was present. You may well have presumed that poor William didn't care much for the tower at all by this stage, for terror had him snagged in its rigid jaws, and he just wanted to be rid of it. Still, he desperately needed to find Thérn; owing to which, any strange occurrence which might have happened in the meantime may very well have been some clue as to where he might discover it. So there was nothing else he could do but embrace his fears, and proceed about the unusual goings on.

He was just about to examine the table itself when, unwarily, he inhaled some dust that made his chest tickle. With a cough, he spluttered and cleared his throat, and thought nothing of it. He went back to the table a second time. But again the dust swarmed about him, with a voice of uncertain muttering, before flushing through his airways even worse than it had done before. Stumbling over his feet, William fell into a second fit of coughing, but now he was forced to lean over and spit onto the ground by way of ridding himself of its musty putrescence.

"Yuck!" he spluttered, finally catching his breath again.

He still didn't learn from this experience. For, at that point, his wits were far too numb from fear to react accordingly. William merely presumed it to be a dusty room and nothing more, so he approached the table yet again. This time, from out of nowhere, there was a demonic, scornful yell right into his face. It was so close that he could feel the moist spray of spittle in his eyes and the stench of rotten, meat-like breath forcing itself up his nostrils.

"LEAVE US, FILTHY PIG!" it roared, as if it were some demented old man.

William started, dropping his torch. Of course, he would have run after it, but the dust was now wafting into his eyes. Had he not known any better, he would've said that the dust was _after_ him. Vigorously he rubbed his eyes in a vain attempt to see straight. The more he did so, the worse it got. Now his eyes were stinging and watering to such a degree that William was growling and moaning in irritation. Even if he forced them open, he could only do so for a few seconds before he had to clench them shut again.

While he was overcome, the voice sneered again, only now it was calmer and all the more maniacal.

"...Get yourself out of here, lad!" it warned, with what could only have been a cold scowl.

All of a sudden, as he struggled to see, William was violently shoved from one side of the room to the next. He was about to call for aid when he sucked in another awful cloud of that wicked dust. Down he fell, onto the ground, coughing and wheezing, and rubbing his eyes. He urged himself to stand whilst, through blurred vision, he saw the flickering flame before him. Staggering over to it, he picked it up, but again he was thrown. This time he stumbled into another pair of arms, which shoved him onto somebody else, he couldn't see who. They were like bullies in a playground toying with their victim.

William stumbled and griped as they tossed him all about the room, all the while guffawing with their wheezy laughs. Fortunately, the boy's vision soon became clear enough for him to make things out. The bad news was, he couldn't see any door. What he _could_ spy were two stairways just right of the table which he had not noticed before. Both were hidden behind brickwork, running up behind the wall. One went left and the other, right. With no time to choose, he broke from the invisible crowd and rushed to the stair on the right-hand side, constantly rolling and banging into the walls as he strove.

He scrabbled as hastily as he could, but one of the steps suddenly crumbled beneath him. Taking a traumatic jolt, he collapsed through the stair, but caught ahold of the next step just in time. In doing so, he fumbled, and his torch dropped into another room, which wasn't too far below him. How unfortunate he was, given how that room was a-clutter with piles of scattered hay and timber barrels. It was an old pantry of some sort. The torch buried itself into one of the stacks, which immediately caught fire, the rising flames licking just below William's wagging legs. He roared aloud and, with all his might, he attempted to pull himself to safety. Suddenly the next step broke, dropping him into the inferno. Luckily he dropped rapidly enough to tumble safely from the burning heap and not get scorched, though he was far from out of danger's way.

The entire room was ablaze now, aside from the clear patch where William stood. Pigs, white-skinned from fear, were hanging by their necks behind him. One was still twitching. That was it; he needed to get out of there. He'd seen enough.

Feet beyond the wall of fire which had now fully surrounded him, William could make out a mass of tall silhouettes crowding around, observing him in his despair with cold and lifeless stares. Satanic-looking beings they were, freakishly gangling as they looked on in an eerie sway. They were hissing in such a sinister manner that William's skin almost rippled with goose bumps. What manner of creature could achieve such terribleness simply through their being alone? One could but wonder.

Peering staunchly into their dead and stony eyes, William bravely demanded, "Who are you people?! What do you want from me?!"

When he stepped forth, a chained noose that was hidden beneath the scattered straw suddenly snagged his ankle and, whisking him off his feet, yanked him right up into the air.

He tore upward so hastily that he thought he was going to splat right into the ceiling, though he didn't. Instead he was dragged _through_ the stone and mortar, as if the walls themselves were that of some ethereal manifestation. With savage speed the chain whisked him up and up, through floor upon floor of rooms. He cried out, but there was nobody who could help him. In every chamber he zipped past, William caught an instantaneous glimpse of those same shadowy figures from before. Every floor they were present; room after room, peering at him with their dark and faceless features. Suddenly the chain came to a rapid halt and he was left dangling in silence, gasping for air.

He found himself in another chamber. An unfurnished, quiet room, he noted, with four walls, a ceiling and a floor, that was all. Not even a door. He was able to see where he was because that same torch was gently rocking back and forth in the centre of that very room, as if someone had dropped it in a great hurry.

"What's going on?" he cried, but no one replied. "Icrick?" (There was silence.) "Khrum?" (Still no response.)

Just then, the chain liberated him before vanishing from sight. Falling with a harsh thump onto his shoulders, William was left sprawled out on the floor. Woefully he crawled to the torch and lifted himself with both arms, being almost completely deprived of all strength. Like some callous, ghostly prank, the flames suddenly turned to a shade of blue, and as he examined them, the very tongues turned into frosted ice; yet still they flickered as in the same manner of fire itself. Nevertheless, it was but trivial in comparison to William's exhaustion. He was so drained of his wits that all he could do was find the nearest wall, by which he could rest in an attempt to regain some strength.

Placing his back against that cold, wet stone, his eyes grew weary. And whether it was the torch burning down or his eyelids closing, he could not tell. Either way, everything went dim.

After a time, our William awoke to the funereal creaking of a door. For an instant, he was not sure if he'd dreamt it or that it had, in fact, actually woken him from his dream. He then noticed how his light had completely extinguished. Suddenly, the door continued to squeak and croak upon its hinges as it drew slowly open, but the poor lad could not see where it was, nor what was pushing it, because he was all alone in the dark.

"H-Hello?" he asked, still curled up by the wall. "Wh-Who's there?"

Silence reigned, and there was not a whisper.

"...Hello?!" he asked again, louder.

Just shy of his cheek, he then heard a wicked, dry cackle, which conveyed moistness onto his very flesh. Pushing himself away from the wall, William leapt quickly upright. Out went his arms, for fear of unseen walls or, even worse, booby-trapped triggers.

"Who's there, I said?" he demanded, his voice quivering.

Then, with a sudden spark, the torch struck to red fire again by the black stone wall. Apprehensively, he walked to it, hoping he would hear no more. Carefully, he lifted the torch and probed the room, which was only occupied by his own nervous breathing.

William felt deserted, and could see no sign of any door whatsoever. Suddenly that dead, wheezing chortle returned in his ear. It was like that of a child, a wicked infant who thrived upon the despair of others. This too was pursued by that same livid moaning which he'd become wary of earlier, only now it was in that very room with him. He spun around to see where it was coming from, and as he did, the light skipped past a small figure which he was not sure was even there at all. Quickly William returned the flame to where it stood, but nothing could be now seen or heard. He had seen that face clearly in his mind. His quick glimpse had given him much to haunt him for the rest of his days.

By the firelight there was what looked to be a small person; lifeless in posture, staring up at him with a face like that of a newborn child, save for the aging wrinkles and a head of grubby, thinning hair. It was smiling at him, for its love of witnessing pain was, by the looks of that devilish smirk, its most beloved pleasure.

As he was bound within the terror of that image, William heard a tiny patter of footsteps along the stone floor behind him. Again he swung the torch back to apprehend those to whom the steps may have belonged, though nobody was there. He shone it into each corner of the room, to no avail. Then, plunging him into a surge of sheer terror, his torch blew out, just as a candle would do in the slightest puff of wind. Suddenly, in his left ear he heard, "I HOPE YOU DIE..." in that same infantile, grimacing way. Following that came another whisper from just as near, yet from a different angle, and another, and another after that; all muttering horrible and nightmarish things.

"YOUR SOUL SHALL BE RIPPED FROM ITS ROOTS."

"I WANT YOU TO SUFFER."

"YOU WILL ENDURE THE PAINS OF INFINITE DEATH."

"FAIL, BOY."

"YOU'LL BE THE DEATH OF 'EM ALL."

"DEATH, HE SHALL FIND YOU YET."

Without warning and with a brutal, growling scream, as of a hound being tortured, William was suddenly dragged from his shoulders back onto the ground by some invisible animal. The mysterious child cackled to himself in delight of this horrifically bewildering spectacle, when all of a sudden, there was no more.

All went back to being silent, and William was accompanied by nobody else outside of himself.

"William!" called a concerned voice. "William! Where are you?"

It was Icrick, and William couldn't have been happier to hear his little Grogoch voice calling out for him.

"Icrick?" he yelled, grabbing at the wall in the dark. "Icrick, I'm in here!"

A door, concealed by the bricks, snapped and opened. From a window, a most tremendous glimmer of moonlight shone in, with Icrick and Khrum silhouetted before the once-hidden threshold.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you two," William sighed, his face as pale as snow.

"Lad, we're never shplittin' up again, ya hear?" ordered Khrum.

"Why? What happened?"

"Well," Khrum continued, in a pleasantly sarcastic fashion, "after ya left us, we were left ta find our way through a gauntlet of even more shpikes, shpinnin' blades, wasps, 'n' at one stage...vicious furniture! After that we fell into a dark pit with no light, after which I eventually found us a way out. So, merrily we made our way through another gloomy maze o' torture, in the dark, all the while I was walkin' alongside Icrick 'n' ridin' on his shoulder occasionally. Then, lo and behold, didn't I jusht bump into him about ten minutes ago in one o' the hallways."

"Whose shoulder were you on then?" asked William.

"God knows!" the leprechaun quivered. "So let's jusht grab the sword 'n' get outta here!"

"Yes! Let's!" Icrick agreed. "And when we get out of this mess I'm going to make sure some giants come back here and knock this place to the ground!"

Disturbed by their tidings, William said, "Sounds to me like you two got the worst o' this place. But I did come across some weird things myself. There was this music box, or, at least that's what it sounded like. And then I saw these weird...people. They reminded me of..."

"Reminded you of what, William?" asked Icrick.

"Just something I'd heard about in school before," the boy replied. "Nothing important. Anyway, how long have we been apart? Believe it or not, I think I actually fell asleep for a while!"

"We misshed another day, laddie," Khrum answered. "I saw the sunshine come 'n' go as I travelled. Fine day it looked ta be, too."

"Another day?" William gasped. "Well, what about the sword? Did you see it anywhere? I know I didn't."

"Indeed we did," said Khrum, and they both parted to reveal the wide brow of a whirlpool in the deepest shaft of the tower. "...An' there 'tis!"

They were on the topmost level, on a platform of stone, where the ceiling was a-clutter with chains and cogs. In the midst of the pool's rotation, where the funnel was at its loudest, was a floating sword. It spun discreetly above the oncoming waves of the pool, its stubby blade glimmering like clear glass.

Approaching the edge of the platform, a different sensation overcame William. A curious feeling, like he was being reunited with someone he cherished so dearly. He couldn't quite explain it; all he could say was that it just felt 'right.'

Icrick then smiled. "Take it, William...it's yours."

Obviously, it would've been risky for him to just plod out onto the vortex itself to retrieve the sword, because it didn't appear solid by any means. Rather, an unfamiliar itch had told him to hold his hand out to the blade. With a sudden _swish_ , the grip of the sword spun magically into William's palm like a boomerang. There it was, the sword of Thérn at last in his grasp...and seemingly not for the first time.

But it wasn't over yet.

His arm got yanked suddenly skyward when a fierce and mysterious wind ploughed its way up through the tower. It startled them something terrible. They were left squinting as the vortex flared and crackled, blowing their garments dramatically in the gale. Just then, the demonic whirlpool spun into a rapid flow before casting itself back into the blade by which its occupants had once fallen. William appeared so gallant as he stood there, sword held aloft, with a great surge of green light sweeping back into it.

"This is a sight to behold, and that's no mistake!" Icrick said with amazement. "The tower was almost worth it, just to see this happening."

The sword consumed it all, as the booms and shrieks of the vortex's death howled within the depths. Soon thereafter, all went back to quietude, and the wind became little else than a delicate draught.

With reunifications over, William gazed upon Thérn to see its magical blade transforming from its glassy lustre into a sparkling blade of solid steel. A shimmer of moonlight glinted along its fine edge, revealing a vague tint of an emerald sheen.

Then, "What's that?" the frightened Khrum exclaimed, as he surveyed the bottom of the shaft.

The main door had flung open, and they could just about see what was going on.

A small pack of four-legged shapes had streamed in from outside and were hastily making their way up the stairs. It could only have been that the commotion of the vortex had roused the suspicions of the outside world, thereby alerting the Devil Hounds.

Ravenously, they gave chase. William and company could hear them scrambling up through the tower. And these hounds knew their way without question, for the voices of their pursuit, as well as their scrabbling shadows, were ever growing amongst the corridors. Crashing through doors without stopping, they could be heard scampering wildly while their voracious panting turned William's flesh to ice.

Vanishing with fear, the Grogoch panicked, "What ever are we going to do now?!"

He couldn't prevent it. It simply came upon him sometimes when he got really frightened. Nevertheless, they were in luck.

Spotting a black cord hanging from a well-veiled trapdoor above their heads, William jumped up, grabbed it with his free hand, and with all of his weight, he yanked it down. A most gorgeous gust blew in from the outside world, and this meant freedom.

William was the first to climb up, bringing Khrum on his back; so Icrick was all who remained. The lad reached down to help him up, with the blood rushing to his brain like a river and his chest quaking chaotically from adrenaline.

Stretching out, he groaned, "Here! Take my arm!"

Icrick jumped once but it wasn't high enough. Meanwhile, they could hear the sounds of nearby scampering, and another door flinging open just a few chambers away.

"Hurry!" shouted the boy.

Again, Icrick sprang, missing it a second time. To make matters worse, he was now completely invisible out of panic.

"I can't see you, Icrick!" William shouted. "I can't see you to grab your hands! Turn back to normal!"

"I can't help it!" the Grogoch screeched.

By then the claws were clearest as they scratched wildly over the stone floors. Then, with a mighty _thump_ , they crashed into the final door, just left of the haunted chamber where William had been of late. Luckily, this room was latched by a sturdy wooden beam. Whether it would detain these hounds or not, was a completely different matter. Their first strike alone had already splintered its wood, making enough holes to fit all of their hungry, slavering snouts. With red mouths full of teeth, they slobbered and snarled, while their crimson gums salivated down along the splintered wood.

"Get me up there, _fast_!" squealed Icrick, when Khrum had an idea.

"Here!" he said to William. "We found this scabbard down below in one o' the chambers! We thought it might be o' some help ta ya when ya got the sword! Use this, sure!"

"Where the hell were you keeping this?!" asked the boy, referring to the length of the sheath in comparison to Khrum's small stature.

"Magic, lad," answered the leprechaun. "But never mind that! Quickly! You're washtin' good time here."

Handing William a short, leather sheath wrapped in a heavy belt, the boy then lowered it down for Icrick to grab onto.

One of the hounds almost had his entire head through the shattered doorway, and he could smell fresh Grogoch meat in the air.

"Here! Grab on!" William shouted.

The hound exploded through the door like it was paper.

Granted he couldn't see the Grogoch, but William could still feel his weight on the sheath, and a high-pitched screech going, "LIFT! LIFT! LIFT!"

Using the best of his might, he hoisted him up, causing the Devil Hound to pounce up and snap onto nothing but air. The Grogoch was safe, and they were all in the sanctuary of the tower's rooftop. But just because they were on the roof, didn't mean they'd escaped the Devil Hounds completely.

While William and his companions were settling into their senses of triumph, one of the beasts suddenly lunged up through the trapdoor, sinking his long, jagged claws deep into the very stone. They got such a fright that they all fell against the parapet and huddled in together. Like steel, the Hound's nails were glinting. All the while, he leered at them through eyes of malice, before hoisting himself topside. As he was doing this, another hound jumped up, and he too began pulling himself up. They were persistent tyrants, let me tell you. Not ready to give in at all.

William peeked over the edge to see if there were any other options. In his alarm, he couldn't see a way down, except to jump, which simply _wasn't_ an option. By now the hounds were almost topside, thus forcing him to grasp the handle of his new sword. Now would be the time for him to use it, he feared. Two of the hounds had successfully made the climb, with another well on its way. Keeping their heads crouched, they crept up on our heroes, delectating over the feed they were about to receive.

Just then, from out of the unexpected, a figure, shadowed by the moon, dropped down from the clouds, landing on the far side of the roof.

There was Wren, ready for battle, with two beautiful tomahawks spinning in her hands. Daringly, she stood her ground, awaiting their pathetic attack with a glare which burnt right through them. Ferociously, the hounds turned to her, spitting out slimy strings of barks, only to be quickly silenced. For two great, beating wings, together with a deathly reptilian face, rose up behind the girl. Comrades in arms, both Jimzin and Wren were prepared for whatever horrid deeds these creatures had planned.

"C'mere, _puppies_!" she said with a wink, blowing them a kiss.

Almost as if they could understand her taunt, every one of those beasts went absolutely haywire and charged. With blind determination, the first one lunged fast and hard, with froth flying from his mouth and his sagging red tongue flapping in the wind. Immediately Wren stooped and sliced her axe straight across his belly, sending him spinning over the edge and into Jimzin's mouth. Then the second ran in, with the third close after, but they were no match for the girl.

She cut the head off the next with a spin, after which she kicked the third one in the teeth. Backwards he tumbled, bowling into William and the others, knocking them onto their backsides like wooden pins. Before the hound could retaliate, Jimzin had already perched his great crimson talons upon the roof and had his colossal wings spanned out. The hound didn't stand a chance. Snatching him up, the dragon flipped him into the air and snapped down on him with his powerful jaws before swallowing him whole. It was a beautiful sight. Wren then spun her two tomahawks around and sheathed them masterfully on her back.

"Had you not come here looking for that sword, I wouldn't have believed you," she smiled, talking to William. "But you really could use some help until you get your act together. And me...I have no plans. So I think I'll join you. It'll be fun!"

She then helped them up, one by one; Khrum first.

"Fair play ta ya, lass!" the leprechaun said. "Ya showed them blashted mongrels a thing or three."

"All in a day's work...um...Khrum, was it?" she asked politely.

"'Tis indeed!" answered the leprechaun. "An' this is Icrick. We also have a Dullahan named Crosco in our group somewhere, too. Him 'n' Ifcus, his horse...remember? And...um...well, ya already know the lad."

"What? No kicking?" asked William, who was still quite sore about their initial meeting. "Listen, we appreciate your help, thank you. Really! But I think we can manage just fine on our own from here on in."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." She smiled. "If you're not off getting chased by Thiagoné, you're being diced by faeries...or getting chased by demonic dogs. Seems to me like you could use all the help you can get."

"How did you know about all that?" William asked, suspiciously.

"Jimzin!" she answered. "You tickled his interest when you left. So he decided to follow you...to see what you were up to. Wasn't _my_ doing."

"For some reason I find that hard to believe," William said, fastening the sheath to his left side.

"He goes where he goes, William." She sighed, tired of explaining the ways of the common dragon over and over again. "I just follow. And, as I said, I don't give him orders."

"Well, do you think he might find it in his heart to help us off this tower maybe?" the lad challenged.

"Why don't you ask him?" she smirked, getting out of William's way and folding her arms.

Curiously, they all watched as the lad prepared himself to ask for the dragon's help. He was a tad nervous about it, however, for I think he knew quite well that no good would come of it.

"Um...excuse me...Mr. Greale?" he said.

At William's somewhat pitiful address, Wren sniggered behind her breath, whereas Jimzin paid no attention to him whatsoever. As usual, the dragon was merely inspecting the goings on in the world around him, and didn't even consider listening to what the boy had to say.

"Um...Jimzin?" he uttered again, in the nicest way possible, yet the dragon ignored him still.

Grinning at William from behind her hand, Wren asked, "Well? Do you give up?"

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 us?" 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.

Across the way, by the mountainous summits of this new valley, William spotted a vague silhouette sailing in stealthily from the rear and landing upon a mountainside. It belonged to Jimzin. He and Wren had taken settle upon the closest of the highest peaks, where they could observe matters from a safer viewpoint. Crosco had since caught up with them, and was insisting that they go no farther. Not just because he was frightened, but also because he was exhausted from hauling the horse up and down hills and through thick grass. Nobody could blame him, now that they were close enough to get a proper glimpse at the fire.

Lying down flat on the hilltop, they spied in. And this is what they saw...

A narrow valley with patches of woodland on either side. A mighty waterfall gushed from the cliffs in the distant north and ran into a deep lagoon far below. Streams branched out from it and spread out like fingers to yet another dip near the remote end of the valley. Beyond that was a dale of heavy forests and many black mountaintops afar, and, high above, the clouds had cleared and the moon was at its fullest.

Close by, the trees had clambered as high as the foothills would allow, and the distant fire was of flickering reflections, like torchlight upon the glistening mountainsides. In the centre of this valley there was what looked to be an arena of some sort; built into the ground as part of a deep, empty crater or natural depression. Inside this crater was an audience of ghastly creatures, with an awful sense of hooliganism about them altogether.

They were all shouting, and snapping, and sneering, and screaming; jabbing their skinny tridents up at the moon. Ugly looking scoundrels they were, and our heroes were close enough to know just that.

Small, oily characters, with dark-green skin. Their noses were long, with flaring nostrils, and standing up straight like spears were their ears. Rimmed in red, their eyes were white and bulging, and they had lethal black claws, big, flapping red gums with teeth like needles, and all of them had a thick, ashy mane running down their bony spines. They were Gremlins...and they were all settling in for an evening of their dreaded games.

"Oh, my!" gasped Icrick. "Travel the world over and you'll never find a gang of more horrible, filthy, ugly, rotten, deviously disgusting little toads as you would a Gremlin!"

"Gremlins!" William whispered, kind of excited. "Really?!"

"Ara, there's worse out there in all fairness, Icrick boy!" Khrum said. "You're just afraid 'coz—"

"Oh, keep out of it, you!" the Grogoch snapped to shut him up, while also trying to stay discreet.

"Why? What happened?" asked William.

"Oh, it's nothing, William...really," Icrick said with a grin, when Khrum let out a cheap little chuckle at his expense. "Be quiet you!"

"Back when we were livin' on the Elderland, Icrick here went out for a nice summer stroll," the leprechaun narrated, as Icrick mumbled away, all red and bothered. "It was jusht after the midsummer's feast, 'n' the poor aul' lout had eaten some bad prawns..."

"It was crayfish!" the Grogoch corrected. "Get it right!"

"...Oh, okay, _crayfish_ then," Khrum amended. "He was in such bad shape that he didn't know _where_ he was off ta! Sweatin' 'n' groanin' like an aul' badger, he was! Anyways, he ended up shtrollin' down some dark, broken path...delirious. I followed him ta see if everythin' was all right when, all of a sudden, I spotted him pinned to the ground by four Gremlins, with a big mess o' poo all about him."

" _Poo_?" William exclaimed, trying desperately not to snigger. "What happened?"

"The pains had gotten so bad, ya see!" giggled Khrum. "So he felt that 'wringing the tubes' might relieve him a smidgen. He was jusht about ta squat behind a bush when it turns out he had his backside shoved, point-blank, up against the hole o' some Gremlin den! They pounced on him before he could say 'lavvy leaves'! He wasn't long lettin' loose after that, I can tell ya! Nearly calfed, I did. Can't blame the Gremlins though, really, when ya think about it."

"Well, how did he get free? Did you help him?" William asked, battling a smile.

"I pegged in a few shtones 'n' that was the end o' them," Khrum went on. "They're not so bad if ya get them in shmall groups, ya see. A bit thick like. But if ya come across a gang, then that calls for a little more brawn! 'Coz some Gremlins are known to have terrible powers. Powers ta control the minds o' those whom they meet. Beashts, Elves, magicians...it doesn't matter who."

As the story was being told, Icrick was sitting out of the conversation with a look of pitiful embarrassment.

"Not to worry, Icrick," William said thoughtfully. "We've all had our awkward moments at one time or another. No need to feel embarrassed."

With that consolation, Icrick turned to him, smiled shyly, and asked, "Really? H-H-Have such things happened to you, too?"

"Well...maybe not like _that_ as such!" the boy answered, trying earnestly not to offend the poor Grogoch while retaining some dignity. "But other things have happened to me...all sorts o' funny things. They happen to everyone, and anyone that says otherwise is a liar."

"Yip, that's true, Icrick!" added the leprechaun. "We've all had our moments. I remember wakin' up shtarkers beside a leprechaun dolly one day. Ugh! That was one violent hangover."

Shocked by the sheer inappropriateness of Khrum's remark, everyone stopped and stared at him with drawn faces.

"It f-f-fell down from the land above, it did," he stuttered defensively. "A _woman_ dolly, like. She looked real ta me in my shtate! Ara, forget it...Gombeens!"

He then tried to divert the focus from himself by saying, "Besides, Icrick lad, it hasn't happened ta ya since...wanderin' off into Gremlin dens like that. Meldrid sees ta that."

"You mean, the bird?" asked William.

"Yip!" said Khrum. "That's why I gave it ta him for his birthday, so he wouldn't get losht 'n' into as much trouble. A super guide, is Meldrid! Watches out for all kinds o' nashtiness from above, ya see."

"It's a wonder you didn't bring him along, Icrick," the boy said. "You know...for backup or whatever. Not that you'd need it. Just saying."

Coming around from his state of mild discomfiture, Icrick said, "Old Meldrid has aged quite a bit since I first got him..."

"True indeed!" Khrum concurred.

"I think he would've preferred to stay put in the Grollo. Or, at least until Lythiann is unbound again and he can roam the lands free of peril. Who knows...it might even bring some vigour back into those old wings of his!"

They all faded into fond ponderings at this.

"Listen, this is all very touching, but aren't you forgetting about _these_ Gremlins!" grumbled Crosco. "I'd hate to think that you woke me from my slumber, only to have me travel all this way, with Ifcus on my back, just so as you could reminisce on such nauseating memories...while ever in the presence of enemies, might I add!"

"Um...good point!" William said, nodding.

Although they still couldn't see clearly enough to understand what exactly was going on within the actual arena itself, the peculiar whistling screams (which sounded innocent and not in the least Gremlin-like) continued to wail, and William insisted that they move in closer to inspect.

Crosco stayed put, ultimately meaning that The Body and Ifcus stayed put as well. William didn't object all that much, as he too was scared, and there was no point in him denying it or judging others for being so either.

Again, they left their possessions behind with the Dullahan as they scouted for a more suitable location wherefrom they could observe more efficiently.

Just before the arena, to the left, was a very deep mass of hawthorn bushes upon a bluff. William, Khrum, and Icrick all made for it as silently as they could, with every fleeting step keeping to the guise of shadow. But I don't expect the Gremlins would have taken much notice, for there was far too much excitement brewing within the arena.

Once they'd reached the thicket, they immediately dropped to the ground and peered out. The grass there was so full that Khrum had to sit on top of Icrick's shoulders, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to see anything. So there they were, at an upward angle gazing down, with a much clearer view than before.

In contrast to the size of that fairly huge subterranean arena, in the centre of it was a great labyrinth of stone walls. All around these confines were many torches and, encircling the labyrinth, were two stone tiers full of Gremlins. They were all sitting around this oval stadium, chanting and taunting at whatever was in the pit. Suddenly the screech for help roused again, and William sharpened his focus.

In the very heart of the maze, a heavy wooden post was stood, tied to which was a small, furry creature of a greyish coat. It looked completely harmless, as well as helpless. Then, on either side of the maze, two iron gates slowly started to open. On sight of this, the crowd grew even wilder, and their tridents danced even more savagely at the moon.

This was the main event...

From the gate on the left, a monstrous snake slithered. Twenty times larger than any snake you've ever heard or read about. Scaled with a wet complexion of sorrel and sable diamonds, it was bristled with spiky quills all down its back. Upon the entry of this beast, Icrick blocked his eyes, and Khrum even plugged his ears for him.

At first, the serpent didn't move that much; only tasted the air with forked flicks of his poisonous tongue. Once he'd gotten a scent for his prey, he slowly rolled off through those corridors to find it. From the other gate, something entirely different emerged.

It lumbered out on all fours, champing hard and snorting madly. This creature looked magnificent and terrible, all at once. His brown coat shone in the firelight. Its snout contorted as he sniffed, with rabid foam slobbering all over its black lips. Almost like a bear it seemed, but for its back, with its massive hump. His ears were as that of a wolf's, and his paws were brutishly huge and out of proportion with the rest of his body. Indeed, a most ferocious beast.

To its hind legs it rose; so tall a thing that its head was practically peering over the walls. And so it began sniffing after its evening meal.

In a muddle, William said, "This is cruel! We have to do something!"

Just then, he saw how Jimzin had taken flight and was circling dangerously low over the arena. He was still relatively out of sight, nonetheless.

"What in the name o' God is she at?" he griped. "She'd better not give away our position."

Seeing Jimzin doing this made the Grogoch sweat. But, to his relief, the dragon heightened his altitude and disappeared off behind the mountains.

"Good," sighed the boy. "Now, about this lot..."

"What do you propose we do?" asked the Grogoch. "We're outnumbered! Not only by Gremlins, but by large beasts, too! Not to mention the fact that the thing we're trying to rescue is stuck right in the middle of that confusing labyrinth."

"Agreed," said Khrum. "Ta run in there would surely mean we wouldn't be runnin' out again, lad!"

All mixed up in his head, William said, "Hang on, let me think. There _has_ to be a way! I suppose we could try the truffles again?"

"Not wise, lad," Khrum advised. "Ya can't be usin' them for every little obstacle that comes by. Ya have ta shpare them for when ya _really_ need them, 'n' ya only have the two left."

"Yeah...yeah, maybe you're right," said William, stroking his chin.

Then, with a click of his fingers, an idea sprang on him.

"Icrick! _You_ can save him! Just turn invisible. They'll never see you. Even if you just untie him, at least then he has a chance."

Icrick went as rigid as a mop handle, as every animate organ in his now-trembling body felt like just scuttling up through his mouth and then dashing back to the Grollo where they could hide under the nearest bed.

"I'm sorry ta say, Icrick, me aul' segotia. But that's actually not a bad plan!" the leprechaun nodded.

"That's all right for _you_ to say!" the Grogoch nipped, all agitated and bothered. "You'll be hidden here in the bushes, all safe and sound, when it's _me_ who has to go out into the middle of that shower!"

"Ya can face your old fears," said the leprechaun, in the hope that it would somehow sound encouraging.

"Go and take a flying leap! You and your fears," barked the Grogoch.

"Please, Icrick!" William implored. "Think about that poor little creature and how afraid you were the first time you had a run-in with the Gremlins! How do you think he feels right now? Please..."

William had a point. Set in the spotlight, Icrick otherwise whimpered, and fidgeted, and pondered.

"Um...oh...um...well...ah...o-okay, okay then!" he finally decided. "But, _please_ , don't let anything happen to me, William. I'm not cut out for this sort of thing."

Placing his hands on the Grogoch's shoulders, William looked him square in the eye and reassured him as best he could. "I promise you; if it looks like something has gone wrong, or if you're in danger in any way, we'll be straight in to help you...I swear!"

"Cross your heart?" Icrick asked timidly.

"And hope to die!" said William, crisscrossing his heart.

He spoke with sincerity of the greatest degree. Of course he wouldn't have let one hair on the Grogoch's head get harmed if he could help it. And Icrick had every faith in him, too. With nothing else to say, Icrick's shape began to dwindle to the flora of yonder.

"Good luck!" William winked.

"Show 'em what your made o', laddie!" Khrum added, with a thumbs up.

Once he'd vanished, William and the leprechaun resumed their places down low in the thicket, where they watched on nervously. Both were extremely concerned for the Grogoch's wellbeing, but they couldn't just stand by and watch the helpless creature getting devoured, either.

Minutes passed. William's palms were sweaty, and his anxiety carried his awareness to his pulsating heartbeat. Meanwhile, those great beasts were still wandering around the maze, making slow progress as the helpless, innocent fellow in the midst of the labyrinth continued to struggle and squeak. By now, all of the Gremlins were getting caught up in the thrill of the moment, howling and crying out into the night. Suddenly, out of the unknown, a twig unexpectedly snapped just to William's right, giving both of them a violent scare.

Suddenly, a notion struck the boy. A rather discouraging notion at that.

Wincing, he asked, "Icrick...are...are you still here?"

Wouldn't you know, they heard the slight whimper of a petrified Grogoch.

"I can't! I just can't do it! I'm not cut out for rescues or battles. I'm just not!" he whinged, and he materialized before their eyes, thereby catapulting their plans straight back to square one.

"Icrick, what did you _do_?" William gasped, gripping handfuls of his own hair.

"I'm sorry," whined the Grogoch, almost on the verge of tears. "I'm so sorry!"

"No, it's fine," the lad said, realising that Icrick couldn't avoid being afraid. "I'm the one who should be apologising. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone off like that. It would o' been a nerve-racking thing for _anyone_ to do! It can't be helped. It was my nerves is all..."

"Well, I hate ta be the bringer o' bad news, but there isn't much time left, lads," Khrum reported, after he'd climbed up through a bush and was watching the labyrinth from there.

It turns out that the serpent was indeed making a lot of errors, yet he was also remembering them quite well. Nor did he have all that far to go before he'd have a tasty little morsel for himself. On the other side, the opposing creature was hunting at a great pace also; occasionally dropping to his paws and dashing along on all fours. Keen, too, was his sense of smell, and it was quickly paying off.

Time was quickly drawing to an end, and both beasts were nearly upon their meal. In the heart of it all, the creature squirmed and twisted, but the ropes were far too tight. The snake had but two corners left to turn. William stood up from the bushes, tousled in the distress of both hesitation and bravery. The ideas were rushing too fast through his mind for him to focus on one plan. The bear creature had one more corner to his left and, by then, all of this hunting was making him even hungrier than before. On the opposite side of the labyrinth the serpent took the final turn when, just up ahead, the defenceless creature cried out in vain. Discarding his fear, William ran out from the bushes with his hand on his sword. All of a sudden, a mammoth explosion roared, and the arena became engulfed in a massive cloud of viridian smoke, followed by a low ripple of aftershock. Immediately, the boy skidded and watched on in terror. Just then, as though quenched by a sudden hail of invisible rain, the torches burnt out. Within the cloud, mass panic ensued.

First were the sounds of fear, as forks clanked off one another and feet shuffled about. For an instant, William thought that maybe Jimzin had finally found his magic and had thrown down a great burst of fire, but there were no flames. He then peered up to the distant mountaintop, where he saw Jimzin sailing back round the corner towards the arena. He was too far away...it couldn't have been him, he thought. Before he could remedy his train of thought, William could've sworn that he saw something, other than the Gremlins, moving around in the smoke.

Squinting, he observed closer. As he did so, he detected a faint blur, swift in movement, followed by a terrible uproar. Weapons clashed and a vicious _hsss_ was quickly silenced. After which, all the Gremlins could be heard scuttling about, and they sounded furious. All went quiet again, if only briefly, and there came another black flash. It _whooshed_ through the smoke as quick as anything. This time he heard a hollow thud, pursued by a harrowing whine and then a thump. William could but presume it was the second beast. Next, the vile clatter of Gremlins kicked off again. Meanwhile, the smoke was beginning to clear, and that's when William saw it.

All of the Gremlins were spinning about, in search for who—or what—had disrupted their gathering. As they anticipated another attack, the shape rushed in again from the shadows and, from what William could see, it looked like a man, clad all in dark colours, and he was moving at great speed. Not with abnormal haste, but with considerable pace; enough to make them doubt their eyes. Here and there he ran, taking down Gremlin after Gremlin with his heavy sword. Enemies were swarming all over the place, biting and stabbing at this stranger, though they were unable to catch him. He ducked, and dodged, and rolled, and flipped through their attacks until, soon, no more Gremlins were left alive. By the time the final blade of the slain had hit the rough stone, all of the smoke had dispersed. All that lay within were the corpses of foes and an empty post in the middle; a pile of loosened rope at its foot. Silence came back into the world again, and the stranger was nowhere to be seen.

William stood on the brink of that bluff, flabbergasted and contemplating these events, when a booming voice echoed upon every wall of that valley.

"You dare tread by my realm?" it questioned, its tone intimidating and hostile.

From inside the thicket, Icrick yelped, "What are you standing around for, William?! Get in here!"

Taking his advice, William ran back into the bushes and hid for dear life. The only comprehensible thing that came to mind here was the Pooka, and that didn't really bode all that well for William's newfound audacity. Nor did it fare too well with the others, for Icrick was trembling like a leaf, whereas Khrum was as stiff as a board, bar his eyes, which were zipping about to all the shadowy nooks of the valley below in search of he who spoke.

"I can hear you!" the voice hissed, booming throughout the land. "I can hear you trembling! I can hear the feeble beatings of your little hearts! And the blood trickling through your veins!"

Following this they heard a strident gust growing greater and greater until, roaring like an inferno, it tore down rapidly from above. Fearing for his life, Icrick grabbed onto William. Khrum stayed where he was; endeavouring to see what was about to happen. It bellowed to such an extreme that it felt like the entire valley was going to swallow itself up, as if from some manner of implosive blast which would only occur under the fracturing of every conceivable scientific law that had ever been accounted for. Suddenly, there was a deafening thump nearby, and the noise stole off into nothing more than the breeze which had previously wandered. As serene as the atmosphere now was, something had otherwise landed in the grass just a few feet away from the thicket. It was the figure of a man; that same stranger who'd attacked the Gremlins in the arena. He rose upright, casually cracking his neck to one side.

He wore a large brown hat with its wide brim pulled low over his face. Beneath it his lead-tinted hair was not long, nor exactly short, but was enough to waver in the breeze, as did the many layers of lengthy, olive-suede coat, under which he had on a dark tunic, studded over in brass rivets. His cheeks nurtured thick sideburns, a style he'd clearly taken pride in, and would therefore never see them shorn. His face was otherwise strong, however worn. And running from the bridge of his nose to the right-hand corner of his mouth was a failing scar which, presumably, had come from battle. Crimpled hard from wear were his heavy gloves. He wore big, black boots, caked in dry mud from endless days of trekking. Then a sack was slung over his shoulder, next to which his great falchion sword was recovering in its sheath.

Unable to resist, William dared to see what he could see, so he peeked out from between the bushes. Not a peep did he make; taking his time, and even holding his breath. Nevertheless, the man's head jerked suspiciously. The boy froze.

Icrick had practically turned into a statue when he was asked to rescue the animal in the first place, so there was no fear of _him_ causing a racket. It was the leprechaun whom William had to worry about. For he came to notice that the branch, whereon Khrum stood, was under a lot of stress, and was on the verge of inexorably splitting. Worse yet, beneath him, a prickly shrub with sharp, red thorns was anxiously awaiting him.

Listening, and waiting, the man remained absolutely still. As the silence played, William was watching Khrum's branch, with the perspiration dribbling down the side of his face like he had just escaped the deepest reaches of Satan's own perdition. Too afraid to move. Too afraid to so much as breathe. Wide was his fix upon the failing branch. It was on the very brink of collapse. It bent, it bent, it bent, and sure enough...it _went_! The twig snapped, sending Khrum head over heels. Immediately the man made for the sound. In defiance of all precaution, William otherwise threw out his hand and grabbed Khrum before he impaled himself on those thorns; for all the good that'd come of it, now that the stranger was onto them.

A grimy hand plunged in through the bushes, seized William by the collar and ripped him out into the open. As he did so, Icrick had been clinging onto William's leg, and Khrum had slipped from the boy's grasp and was now dangling from Icrick's ankle. They came out like a string of sausages.

"Who are you?" the man demanded. " _Answer_!"

Being as alarmed as he was, William was unable to do little other than splutter out some jumbled noises. This put the Grogoch into a panic attack, rendering him of little use to anybody, wheezing away, strobing from invisible to visible with fear.

William could now see under the man's hat. Wrapped around his eyes was a pair of rounded goggles with thick, tinted lenses.

"Do not have me ask again," the man sneered.

Indeed, he was hard-hearted, as was his grip.

"Pl-Please, don't hurt us, s-s-sir!" William wound up stuttering. "We were just on our way across the countryside when we heard screams, you see! So we came over to see if we could help. Then there was all these creatures in the pit...and then there were these other big monsters coming from the gates...and then we were going to try and help the animal in the middle...and then..."

Unavoidably he continued to babble; a result of his terrible nervousness. Yet in spite of that, the man still wondered about the boy.

"What is your name, boy?" he asked curiously, and in a milder manner.

"William! W-W-William Muldoon!" the lad answered.

The man went still and didn't say much of anything to that. Gently, he put William down. Icrick, however, had to take a solid clout from Khrum to coax him out of his state of panic. Otherwise, with all of his hyperventilating, he would probably have inflated himself up like a balloon and floated off to the farthest shores of Lythiann, where he would never be heard from again.

They were standing there, silent in their being, when the Dullahan came huffing and puffing up from the hills behind. He'd finally found the guts to join them. The man didn't acknowledge his arrival, funnily enough. Then again, he already knew that he was there...because he could hear him quite clearly, thumping along through the heavy grass like an elephant. No. All the man did was simply turn his head slowly about the land, like he was listening for something. Something else...

Wondering about the stranger's abrupt change of behaviour, William then glanced up to the mountains where Wren had been of late, only she was nowhere to be seen. Then, out of some unknown inner well of brashness, he felt bold enough to ask a few questions of his own.

"Who are you, anyway? And w-w-what do you want with us?" he asked, though not too aggressively, and in remembering the poor creature from the pit, he added, "And what about that animal that was being held captive in the maze? What did you do with that?"

"The Poppum is perfectly safe," answered the man, whose attention was still taken by his surroundings. "...And my name is Redmun."

In awe, the lad said to himself, _Redmun!_

Anun's words came flooding back to him: "A blind man, name of Redmun. He means well...as far as I know...it troubles me...I know not if he is a threat...stay clear of his company, unless you have absolutely no other choice."

Suddenly, from the west, a piercing screech carried itself across the hills. It was the kind of cry that would bring a lump to your throat and make your stomach shrink to the size of a pea. It hailed from afar, yet it was enough to snatch the man's utmost awareness and, I think, it was precisely what he was listening out for.

"Get to your feet!" he exclaimed, wasting little time. "We must get moving! Ominix, _lead_!"

William didn't know what Redmun meant by 'Ominix, lead,' until, from out of nowhere, he heard something frighteningly large fluttering over his head before taking wing into the night sky.

Fast and unpredictably it flew, squeaking excitedly, with Redmun following it closely in full sprint. This leather-winged creature, it seemed, were his eyes.

"William, we mustn't!" Icrick begged, tugging him back. "Remember what Anun told us?"

Fast-paced, Redmun was bolting down through the valley with Crosco trailing close behind him after having dropped the burden of all their extra baggage. Again an even louder wail echoed. It sounded to be on the move.

"It doesn't sound too friendly, Icrick," William so needlessly stated, slinging his pack over his shoulder. "Actually, it sounds to me like the same thing Crosco was warning us about before. And going by the way _he_ was on about it, I don't think I really want to make any introductions. Let's just hope this Redmun leads us away from it, then we'll figure out a new plan from there. For now, let's move."

Grabbing Khrum, William upped and pursued. Into the night they so sped, away from he who was making that horrifying cry.

For time out of mind they ran; downhill, over rough patches of rock and in through dense, thorny bushes, ever checking behind. Every now and again quietude came, until it was stolen once more by further terrifying howls, forcing them to sprint harder every time.

Redmun led them onto a beaten pathway, just shy of the woods below. Winding all the way 'round those trees for a half-mile or so, it was so secretly concealed that they never would have found it by themselves. Not at nighttime, at any rate. A blessed find or not, that terrible shrieking was still squeamishly close, and it closed in more upon every dying second. This urged them into a much quicker pace, whining and wheezing in such an arduous sprint.

Neither William, Khrum, nor Icrick knew what was chasing them that hour. Redmun and the Dullahan, however, knew only too well.

"What _is_ that?!" whimpered Icrick as he ran.

Several times he'd asked this, but nobody would answer. The only voice to otherwise utter was that of Redmun's, who was only pressing them to run harder, and nothing more. Also, by then their secret path was beginning to wind out into the openness of the plain once more, leaving Redmun with no other choice except to jump off the track, where he instead guided them through the tall grasses by the forest's edge, in hope that it may still mask their presence should they get far enough ahead. All the while, this Ominix, this bat, was scouting the way; bouncing about in the air as he flew. Without question, both he and Redmun were far more familiar with that territory than any other who dared venture through it.

Not far northward, William recognized the waterfall from earlier, which was precisely where Redmun was taking them. Pity it wasn't closer; for with him being unable to maintain a good pace, what with the frosty air burning into his lungs, the young lad found himself falling back to the rear of their group.

After running flat-out for such an unbearable amount of time, he was grateful to hear that, at _least_ , the high-pitched shrieking was no longer in pursuit. What good timing, too, because the pain in his chest was getting all too much. He _had_ to slow. Still unconvinced of their safety, even with the screams having subsided, Redmun insisted that they keep up the pace. But it couldn't be tolerated much longer, by _any_ of them apart from Redmun. William and his friends weren't accustomed to running such distances at speed, and were quickly getting exhausted. Inevitably, they started to slow down more and more. _The noise has stopped! So what the hell do we have we to keep sprinting for?!_ was all William could think, angry from fatigue.

"We...need...to...take-a-rest!" the Grogoch then panted.

"There is no _time_ for rest!" Redmun yelled. "Now, _pick_ up your pace!"

Astonishingly, he himself proceeded to sprint without failure, whereas William just couldn't do it anymore. He had to stop, or else he was going to pass out.

Slowing to a trot, he halted, with his hands upon his knees, gasping with an ill wheeze as he vigorously rubbed his chest. Immediately Redmun heard one less sound of footsteps and therefore skidded and turned.

"What do you think you're doing, boy?" he shouted, knowing instantly to whom those missing steps belonged.

At once he drew out his sword, then ran back towards William. This pulled the lad up short and sharp, and that is no mistake.

"I NEEDED TO REST!" William cried.

"I knew it!" screamed Icrick. "He's a traitor!"

The Dullahan spun around with his huge axe held firm. At that exact instant, a great flood of wildlife flushed from the woodland to William's right. Hares, squirrels, birds, deer, and badgers, all bolting in fear, nearly knocking him onto his back.

Suddenly, Redmun yelled, "Find cover, boy!"

"What?!" yelped the lad, baffled by the ruckus.

Just then the loudest shriek of all filled the valley, and a huge shadow tore from the darkness of the woods. It was he, the evil centaur of Meolìch Naún, and its name was Valstarius.

A hybrid of Goblin and Faun, this creature, whose grimy hair was matted and long, wore a face of pure malice, with its twisted horns, and its bloody septum bolted with a ring so heavy that it could be used as a door knocker. The flesh of its vile horse-body was lacerated to an undercoat of reddened bone; its crooked talons resembling something of a demon dog. Valstarius was a manifestation of fear like few humans could ever conceive, and he would be one of William's greatest threats yet, had he known it then or not.

Piercingly he squealed, like the appalling whines of pigs in the slaughter, before circling the boy with thumping strides. Thinking of nothing better, William plunged face-first into the grass, and not a moment too soon, as Valstarius took a heavy swing with his massive axe. He was so close to actually striking the boy that he instead managed to shave a bit from one of William's hair-tails. Luckily the lad had landed out of harm's way. Khrum had otherwise rolled out of his sporran, right up to Icrick's feet.

"Retreat, Valstarius!" Redmun ordered. "This is not your realm to tread!"

"You _dare_ declare your risible decrees upon me, blind man?" hissed the beast, galloping into their heart with a swinging blade.

In all directions they evaded him, rearing in their midst, savagely lunging and slashing; yet they somehow evaded his reach.

Khrum didn't run, you won't be surprised to learn. In the stink of it all, he stood his ground, grabbed onto the centaur's hairy ankle, and tried gnawing on it. No sooner had he bit than he got kicked sky-high before landing by Icrick again. Not too far away, Redmun had his weapon drawn and was ready for conflict. He knew this foe from times before, when he'd otherwise chosen to abscond. Only now it was his time to _protect_.

His great falchion sword sparkled in the moonlight, and Redmun's stance was ready. Heeding this act of rebelliousness, Valstarius galloped to a distance before turning to face him.

William scrambled across the ground on all fours in search of safety. That's when he felt his scabbard yanking him back. It was being hauled upon with ferocious power and it was pulling him along, despite him scrabbling at the grass. Fearing the source of this devilry, he rolled onto his side and grabbed the sheath in both hands. He was intending to rip it from the grip of whomever held it, only nobody was holding his sheath. Nobody was there; and yet some invisible force continued to tug relentlessly on the scabbard. Its grip was so powerful that it hoisted William to his feet and started dragging him toward the centaur. Digging his heels down deep, the traumatized boy ploughed through the grass. Nor was the ground even soft, yet still he managed to turn over its petrified soil with just his heels. The power was too formidable for William. He could but presume it to be some spell of the beast that was luring him in to slay him. For fear of this, William tugged on the scabbard with all his might; so urgently that he was leaning right back, almost with his shoulders to the very ground, yet still he was being drawn.

Valstarius soon lost all interest in the blind man when he saw this. Rearing up, he broke into a terrible charge toward the boy. As luck would have it, Redmun heard all.

"Your blade has awoken! Take the grip!" the man shouted.

"HELP!" William cried. "Something's pulling me along! It's too strong!"

"Heed me, damn you!" Redmun roared vigorously. "Take the grip, boy! Your blade has awoken!"

Though William's arms were straining, he nonetheless wrapped his fingers around the grip of the sword. With a glimmer of emerald steel, Thérn sprung from its scabbard and readied itself for battle. William had not expected this at all. Hoisting his arms high above his head for him, Thérn took a defensive hold. Valstarius wasn't luring William in at all. It was the sword itself, merely trying to escape the sheath. It likewise moved independently, through some manner of enchanted life all of its own, and it was drawn to the trouble like a magnet.

William held on to all hope as Thérn dragged him across the grass toward the enemy. Valstarius charged back at him, so that they were head-to-head, and closing distance... _fast_. William was barely keeping his feet when, up ahead in the grass, was a rock which he didn't see, and it sent him tumbling over with a crash. He almost took the legs off the centaur in the process, but he wasn't that lucky. Rather, Valstarius took a mighty leap and landed clear of both William and his sweeping blade.

Yet neither the sword nor the centaur were ready to concede here. Thérn hoisted William back to his feet until he was skiing through the dirt again.

Watching this proved truly testing for the others. They had nothing but concern for the boy's safety, and seeing him in such a situation was utterly nail-biting. They were all huddled up together just outside the fight; the only ones who were actually trying to help were The Body, Ifcus, and Khrum. But Icrick was holding his dear friend the leprechaun tightly in his arms, whereas The Head wouldn't hear of such stupidity. Redmun, too, wished to get out there and aid him, only, with all the commotion, he feared damaging William with some chance attack. Alas, he waited until the moment was right. In the meantime, he conveyed his most practical instructions to the boy.

Nobody knew where Wren had gotten to, and now would have been a perfect time to have a dragon by their side. Even to just have him present might've been enough to discourage this fiend.

"Control yourself, boy!" Redmun cried through the ruckus. "Let your arms flow with the movements."

"I CAN'T!" screamed William lividly, his arms being wrenched this way and that.

Valstarius then circled for another charge and, much to William's surprise, so did _he_. Dirt exploded at the centaur's paws as he tore into a mighty gallop, and Thérn lifted William off his feet and towed him through the air like a loose flag.

Taking his chance, Redmun dashed out too; fast on his feet, not daring to let up. He chased the beast as quickly as his legs would go, and yet haste was more of an ally to this creature.

Dropping his head, Valstarius hissed as both he and the boy drew nearer. He wasn't to be fooled this time. Out came his axe, whose point reflected in his eyes. Lesser and lesser, their distance closed. Closer, and closer, and closer they neared. Suddenly, William cried out, as they exploded head on. Crashing together like two trains on a track, they rolled off into the undergrowth by the wood's edge. Skidding still, Redmun probed his surroundings with his ear in search of fresh coordinates. He heard nothing above the mundane swayings of nature. Suddenly, William jumped to his feet (or else it was Thérn making him do so) and Valstarius rose up slowly thereafter, with his axe raised high above his head. The battle was afoot.

Weapons clashed, dousing William with a flurry of green sparks. Again fixed upon their location, Redmun ran in, only to be foiled once more by how close they were, leaving him apprehensive of attack. So, again he was forced to wait and listen to the movements as that terrible battle unfurled.

Thérn sliced himself back and across, parrying all strikes from this terrible foe. William even felt as though he was controlling the situation a bit better than before. For every time Valstarius struck, he would jump out of the way, slashing wildly at every angle. Of course, he was merely playing puppet to the sword, but he still felt strong, and somewhat intrepid.

Caught up in the action, Icrick cried excitedly, "Go on! Get him, William! Get him!"

However, brave as the lad's actions were, the creature was growing angrier than he'd already been, and that wasn't good for young William.

Valstarius slammed his great axe down upon Thérn, strike after vicious strike, like the wild animal he was. He may not have been penetrating William's guard, but he was gradually beating him into the dirt.

"Help me!" the boy yelled. "For God's sake, I need some help! Why are you just standing there?"

He was on his back in the thick grass, and the centaur proceeded to bash down upon him, screaming his head off with sheer animalistic rage. Thérn's fuller was practically bouncing off William's nose, and the sharp, clanging steel was stinging his eardrums.

"Let us out there, ya whelp!" cried Khrum, struggling in Icrick's arms like a young pit bull trying to get loose after a cat.

"Don't be stupid!" the Grogoch protested. "You'll be _killed_. Be realistic for once. Besides, this Redmun fellow looks to have a plan. A trustful one it ought to be, or else he'll have hell to pay."

As they argued among themselves, The Body was also growing restless with the righteous desire to help, but the remainder of his full self was not so willing.

"Don't even think about it," scowled The Head. "I need you in one piece...s-so to speak."

Stifled on what to do, Redmun addressed all of them angrily, "Is this boy not your friend? _Do_ something. I cannot risk just jumping in and hoping for the best; whatever about a nest of Gremlins."

Eventually, Icrick let the leprechaun loose, and said, "Oh, go on! Do what you must! Help him."

"About friggin' time!" snapped Khrum, bounding onto the ground, where he began pegging pebbles at the centaur.

"Leave him be, ya hairy aul' maggot!" he screeched, flinging stone after stone at Valstarius.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

Inspired by the little fellow's heart, Icrick picked up some larger rocks and he, too, began slinging them at the centaur, hitting him clean between the horns every time.

"Take that, Valstarius!" cried the Grogoch, in a whimper blended from fear and bravery. "And that! And that too!"

Feeble as this onslaught of theirs was, Icrick wasn't expecting it to distract the abominable brute, but it did.

With Valstarius' attention finally diverted, Redmun came rushing from the shadows as fast as humanly possible. Rummaging through a small leather pouch by his hip, he displayed three black, shiny stones. Aerial bola incantations; most effective when cast downward from a great height. Quicker and faster he ran, before soaring to the skies like a hawk, his hat stolen by the wind as he flew.

Drawing back his arm, Redmun flung down those stones, as hard as he could, sending all three incantations down upon the centaur. William was so weakened by then that he would've been unable to defend himself any longer should Valstarius have kept hacking at him. A miracle to his ears, he heard three thunderous bangs, one after another, from the sky above. At the same time, the centaur was hoisted violently off him, squealing, and screeching, and thrashing, and clawing. Had William been in the way, then surely he would have gotten snagged, too.

A huge puff of ashen smoke had erupted. Borne from within were three black centipede creatures, massive in length, bearing eyes as that of white-hot metal. Having manifested from within the ashen cloud itself, these insects wrapped themselves around the centaur's limbs and forced him off William with brutal conviction.

With an immense surge of power, Redmun landed hard beside the lad. Hauling him upright, he ordered, "To your feet, boy! Sheath that sword and follow me! Those spells will not last long!"

So away they went, getting a decent head start on the centaur should he somehow untangle himself from those magical insects before good time.

* * *

Recovering their trail, they found themselves sprinting into even wilder country, where the yellow grasses were practically bobbing about their heads and blocking all view from behind, which was very unnerving, given they couldn't hear Valstarius' screams anymore. He could therefore be well in pursuit again, secretly, for all they knew. Just then, ahead, through the withy coppice, they saw a roaring river, whose rapids ran by way of the waterfall above.

It didn't take them long to reach that mighty cascade. It was still some hours from dawn when they felt its misty spray upon their faces. There was a path of stepping stones there, around which those great rapids rushed into the green dale below.

Over the crashing noise, William shouted, "Where are you taking us, Redmun?"

"Beyond the falls!" Redmun answered.

"Good! The sooner we get away from that monster the better!" Crosco remarked.

"Was that the same creature from back your way?" Khrum asked him then. "The same one who chased us through the wood?"

"Yes!" The Head replied, a touch worriedly. "And now he knows for _certain_ that I've deceived him. Not, what I would call, a fantastic predicament to be in!"

Before he could add anything further, they had unexpectedly happened upon a clash on the mountainside. A battle of mighty beasts. When Redmun heard it, he halted his troop with his arm. There on the cliff face, just right of the falls, were Jimzin and a Griffin of a monstrous size.

Jimzin was perched upon a pillar of stone with Wren on his back. Ferociously he was roaring at the eagle-like creature, who kept on swooping in, in an attempt to rip chunks out of the dragon. Its talons were like shears, jutting out before him with every assault. Jimzin tried snapping back at him, but he could catch nothing, for the Griffin's swiftness was far too astute.

"Go back!" Redmun yelled to the others. "We must find cover until this quarrel subsides!"

"Wait; she's our friend. She's with us!" yelled William. "We have to help her!"

I must say that neither Khrum nor Icrick expected him to sound so fretful over Wren's wellbeing, given his behaviour around her of late. Then again, who were they to judge?

Surprised by this, Redmun asked, "You _know_ that beast?"

"Yes! That's Jimzin of Greale horde," the boy replied. "And the girl's name is Wren! They're part of our group."

Redmun delayed briefly, then, "Very well," he said, before letting out a sharp whistle to the Griffin.

Immediately the beast stood down and flew back to the peaks above.

"How did you do that?" gasped Icrick.

"I know _him_ ," Redmun replied, with a sort of smile. "Now let us get moving before that centaur sees where we've headed."

Jimzin came swooping down to the group, and Wren hopped off his back. They began clambering up the side of the falls with the rest of them.

"Thank you, sir!" she called ahead to Redmun, but he kept moving, with no acknowledgment to her.

"Where did _you_ get to?" snapped the boy. "While we were off getting chased by monsters, where were _you_? We could've used your help!"

"Who's he?" Wren asked, gesturing toward the blind man.

"Never mind him. Now answer my question! Why didn't you help us?" William confronted.

"Listen!" she snapped, with a look of utmost intolerance. "I already told you. Jimzin does _what_ he wants, _when_ he wants and _nobody_ can tell him otherwise! It was _his_ choice to see what was happening with the Gremlins; I was just going along to remedy my own curiosity! Then, after he'd seen it, _he_ decided to fly around the mountains a few times to look about for _himself_. That's when we came across that Griffin. I told you, dragons...are...stubborn! What did you expect me to do? Jump off his back at two thousand feet to my death, trying to help you people?"

"Well...no..." William sulked, after being put in his place by that little speech of hers.

"Good!" she concluded, habitually rubbing her shoulder as if out of stress. "Now I'll hear no more about it. So, if you please, who's this man, and where's he leading us?"

William then spoke as though he'd just gotten a swift clip across the ear. "This is Redmun. Saved us from the creature down by the woods. Going behind the waterfall there..."

"And what did this creature look like?" she asked.

"It was a centaur o' some sort. Valatius...or something like that."

"You don't mean _Valstarius_?!" Wren asked, halting in her tracks.

"That's the one." William nodded.

"A servant of Briggun himself!" she gasped. "He saved you from _him_? Oh, you are one lucky young man, William!"

"Wait," he urgently replied, "he knows Drevol Briggun?! Valstarius knows Briggun?"

"I should think so!" she answered.

Suddenly, a worrying notion struck William like a dull knife between the ribs, and he called ahead to Redmun. "Um...I heard o' this...um...this creature who...um...lives in the east. A Pooka o' some sort. Will that centaur creature tell him about me and our run-in back in the woods? I mean...does he know the Pooka...um...personally?"

"Yes, he knows Briggun," Redmun said, feeling around for decent footing upon the rocks. "However, unless he has no other choice, it is unlikely that he would say anything about you, for Valstarius likes to surprise his master with gifts and he prefers to do things alone...and you would be a precious gift for Drevol indeed! No, the centaur is very competitive when it comes to Briggun's attention, so you have no fear; he will not tell any other dark agent that you are here. Besides, if Drevol did know of your presence, believe me...we would already know all about it."

"M-M-My presence?" asked William, curious as to how much Redmun really knew about him and his dealings.

"Yes, your presence, boy! So be warned," Redmun uttered, turning his face slightly. "Now that Valstarius is aware of your presence...you will be the only thing he thinks about."

He then proceeded to climb. After hearing tidings that were so enveloped in such mystery, threat and question, William's nerve shrunk, thus leaving even more to dabble upon his already troubled mind.

Wren then uttered softly into William's ear, "Anyone who was ever caught by Valstarius has never seen the light of day again! You owe this man...whether you like it or not."

"Look, are you being serious now, or just trying to wind me up?" William frowned, being rather impatient about the quantity of detail which he was obviously not yet clued up on.

"Of course!" said she, rambling on ahead, taking care not to stumble.

William gazed up at Redmun, watching him as he found his way up through the rocks. Anun did, after all, say that his intentions were good. So what reasons did he really have to deny the man's help? Then again, what reasons did _Anun_ have for William to truly deny the man's help? William did not know...

After a further short climb, they finally reached the waterfalls and, most importantly, the cave concealed behind it. Inside they wandered, one by one (except, of course, for Jimzin, who'd just taken off by himself again after seeing what they were up to). It was a shallow, dank cave, full of puddles and drippings, with its ceiling netted with bunches of chunky vines. At cave's end, a great round wall awaited them. It was terribly cracked and splintered. It must have been in a thousand pieces, and the only thing holding it together were the good many creeper vines branching out all over it.

Having approached the wall, Redmun began fishing through the deep nest of foliage just to the right of it. Eventually, in finding what he was looking for, he leaned back with a groan as he heaved upon a particularly thick vine. Following that there was a snap, and then a grinding sweep. Redmun stood away, and the others followed his motion. The wall rumbled and shook ever so slightly, when all of the vines began peeling back the shattered rock so as to reveal the hidden land behind the falls.

Redmun went in first, and the others trailed after. And so, there it was, before their eyes. The hidden realm of Làn Cùrdhal.

Gigantic was that chasm. So massive that the mountains on the distant side were but miniature shapes, which then continued to grow around the very lip until they met with the waterfalls under which they were standing. Perilous and steep those mountains were, in that they could not be conquered. Any attempt to do so would surely mean death. Creating the perfect defence from the outside world, the peaks of Làn Cùrdhal also fabricated an ideal barrier to conceal its secret world. From a bird's-eye view, the canyon bore some resemblance to that of a stone ring, wreathed with mountains, rivers and waterfalls. Then circling around the very summits themselves were more of those magnificent Griffins. It was, of course, their duty to protect this realm, should any being actually succeed in reaching the inside. Yet such events were slim, for the reasons I've just explained.

Within the chasm was a grand blanket of forest and nothing more, other than a muddy, serpentine river which ran wide through the middle, flowing into yonder thereafter. The canopy of trees below the wiser emergents was wild and full, like undulating hillocks of moss which brought tranquillity and crispness to the air. It was so full of life, that place, judging by what they heard. All voices of the nocturnal fauna were busy chirping, and buzzing, and croaking with vivacity. How astonishingly beautiful it was too, in that clear night, with the stars twinkling down. They could no less regard it than with candid reverence and respect. Yet nobody cared for that kingdom more than he who dwelled within it, alone with his animal companions; Redmun. He then led on with a silent bid for them to follow.

Before them was a vertical stairway of wood and stone. Quite treacherous it seemed, as there were no banisters for support. All they had to hold onto was the wall to their right, and even _that_ was swathed with sodden moss and slimy patches. The stair walked steeply down, and down, and down the heel of the mountain, until it eventually led to the entrance of the jungle...for a jungle it was.

Once William had finally approached ground level, everything became all the more daunting. It was all well and good, observing this hidden world from above. At least from there he may have had some inkling as to which direction he could go. However, from ground level, it was bleak, and everything looked alike, everywhere he glanced. It was but a gloomy wilderness. Gloomy and discouraging.

Lichens were dangling from all of the trees like tattered garments, and the ground itself was supple and wet with dead leaves, mosses and shrubs. The deeper they roamed, the more the understorey began seething with toadstools, great spreads of bluebells, colourful bromeliads and, in places, far courses of springing ramsons. Ferns grew copiously amongst them, making the jungle floor very cumbersome to wade through at times. Not to mention the vast families of black spruce and western hemlock which were overrun with gloriously vibrant epiphytes of many shapes and sorts. That place was truly wild, truly natural, sometimes precarious, but not without the essence of formidable beauty.

None of this abysmal wilderness affected the man's progress or mobility, even in spite of his blindness. It appeared that he knew those trees only too well. Briskly he paced on ahead, all the while stepping over fallen trunks and ducking under low branches, just like a man with unflawed vision might do. Occasionally he would stop, if just for an instant, and feel around him, or touch a certain tree trunk, or smell the air, or perhaps taste his fingers after touching a leaf. Then he would quickly move again.

William was quite intrigued by Redmun's proficiency, though he did not mention anything of it to Redmun himself, who was reminding them every so often, "Keep to my steps! For there are many hazardous areas about."

All William could otherwise think about was how to get out of that place without causing any offence. As you may very well remember, he was advised to stay away from Redmun by Anun herself, and he was on the verge of doing just that. But the fact that this man had saved him from Valstarius was also playing on his mind. So I think you can agree that he was, indeed, in somewhat of a dilemma.

As he pondered this, the Grogoch was waddling along beside Wren, and he was watching Redmun very closely and with little trust. Khrum was behind him, strolling along as normal, whistling, with the occasional skip. Hobbling last in line was good old Ifcus. He had been forced to hobble behind his master, for while he was on Crosco's back, his ears kept on getting nipped by the many snappy flytraps that were growing upon the drooping branches of the more obscure-looking trees. But the horse didn't mind rambling along, and Crosco's shoulders heartily welcomed the rest, too.

As they journeyed farther into the jungle, they noticed, through the gaps in the trees, that strange lamps were burning. They weren't quite lanterns as such, as these lights were set in cages, like something you would house a canary in. These birdcages were crammed with many half-melted candlesticks, both fat and thin, which delivered an overly generous amount of luminosity to their trail ahead. As well as that, they were placed in no particular fashion throughout; just set in random points. Considering the man's impaired vision, it was unknown to them as to what the lamps were actually for, or who had lit them in the first place, as they seemed to be kindling fresh. Yet their queries were soon laid to rest when, in the trees overhead, they heard a squawk. Then out sprang a spotted, ring-necked pheasant with a skinny candle in his beak. Shaking out the flame, he flew in beside Redmun and continued on by foot by his master's side.

"Very good, Ostly. Much obliged," said the man respectfully, as he reached into his pouch and dowsed out a handful of crumbs for the bird.

Clearly he'd lit those lamps to benefit those who could not rely upon their other senses to guide them. Quite necessary they were at that, for the jungle was beginning to darken quite rapidly the deeper the band ventured.

They continued on until they happened upon the bank of that muddy river. Which, might I add, was bordered with bull reeds; a fine habitat for bothersome midges. By now the muscles in their legs were aching beyond the frontiers of exertion, and Wren was there, picking little critters out of her hair which, I assume, must have jumped on board from the branches above; weaver ants, to be more precise. Little prickly characters that would happily nip away at you for just being too big and clumsy.

The river was extremely broad, yet it didn't appear to be flowing all that much...if at all. However, the raft that was secured to a stake not far from them seemed to be getting hauled somewhat downstream by way of some enigmatic current. Upon both banks, the trees bowed their heads to this majestic river, almost with their branches dabbling in the passing tide, and they continued to do so the whole way downstream, as far as William could see.

"Come along!" said the man, stepping onto the raft, with the pheasant perched upon his shoulder.

To William, the raft appeared far from sturdy, having been lashed together with filthy old rope and brittle logs. Then again, he felt that they had no real choice in the matter. So uneasily they all stepped on, one after the next, as carefully and as delicately as possible.

Surprisingly enough, it actually held their weight quite well, granted its buoyancy remained to be questioned, especially with Crosco and Ifcus weighing down one corner of it. William was at least thankful that Jimzin wasn't there. Being as stubborn as he was, he probably would've wanted to travel on the raft too, which would've been a preposterous notion, to say the least. But how does one say no to a dragon?

They drifted slowly down the long river, being languidly steered by the gradually flowing current. Within the jungle around them, the woodpeckers hammered in intervals, and the leaping lemurs pogoed through the scrub aside the riverbank as if on springs. Then, every so often, a bizarrely transparent dorsal fin of considerable size would drag by the side of the raft, while the remainder of its form was dimly obscured by the sheer cloudiness of the muddy water. It would then submerge for a spell before returning again.

Every time she witnessed it, Wren tugged upon William's sleeve and pointed as if fearful of it, thereby denying just how fiery she may have wanted to appear to him in the past. As she was waiting for that odd fish to reappear, her face was etched with such comical mistrust that William almost smiled. But he, too, wondered about the creature's intent, as even Redmun seemed to regard it with some manner of routine caution. Nevertheless, it soon visited less and less until it was eventually gone.

Time pressed on, to the point where all novelty of that rainforest had waned to their lethargic spirits. After the events of that testing night they were extremely exhausted, yet still mildly apprehensive about whether the trouble had yet concluded or not. Nobody really spoke, either, don't you know. Particularly Redmun, who had come across as being somewhat of a recluse.

Their dismal rafting trip had ended just shy of a moderate left bend in the river, and they approached a small wooden dock upon the eastern bank.

"We are here," said the man, stepping onto the dock.

Securing the raft to a post nearby, he then made for a clearing in the trees.

"Um...hang on a second," said William, jumping from the raft and catching up to the man. "Listen, we're really grateful that you saved us from that creature, we really are! But...we can't stay here! _I_ can't stay here! I have something important I need to do, and I have to get it done as soon as we can."

"I know what you have to do, boy," Redmun replied. "You are heading to the canyons of Lòr to slay the beast, Drevol Briggun..."

William wasn't completely sure what to say to this, because the man wasn't wrong.

"I have been waiting for you," said Redmun, resting the sack on his shoulder that he'd been carrying since the Gremlin arena. "You have been expected here in my realm for quite some time now."

"I've been _expected_? But..." William hesitated.

"But?" Redmun asked.

"But I was told by s-someone that, when I set out on this journey, I was to avoid a man. A man named...well...named Redmun..."

"Is that so?" the man asked with interest. "And who told you this?"

William didn't know if he should say anything at all when the Grogoch waddled up to his side with a hint of expression, as if to say, "Tell this man _nothing_!"

"Just a-a-a friend," the lad so stuttered.

"Well... _boy_...if I recall correctly, I just saved your life," Redmun stated, with a hard mouth. "So you owe me the courtesy of your company for at least a while! But do not fear; you being here is for a reason. You're here to _learn_."

Upon those words, he ducked under the trees and stole onto an overgrown woodland trail.

"Learn? Learn what? From you? Who said?" William called out after the man.

"The prophecies said!" replied Redmun, as he vanished into the depths of the jungle.

Heeding that response, William reflected upon what the old Elf woman told him back in the Grollo about obeying his intuitions and following the prophecies. It was that precise memory which played a part in William's reason for not leaving Làn Cùrdhal that night. Intrigue had its hold on him, despite his anxiety. Thus, they followed the man into the deep darkness of that jungle trail.

More time had passed, and the coming sunlight conveyed new visibility to the floor beneath the canopy. Eventually, they arrived at a wide-open glade, surrounding which were trees of many types and sizes, whose brawny buttress roots slithered all around the grounds like natural, wavering confines. Three buildings occupied that glade and one more just yonder, behind a protrusion of majestic bamboos. In the centre of the glade was a long log cabin, slated, with two crooked chimneys poking up either end. It had an odd shape to it, such that it sloped quite low near the back, at a forty-five degree angle. None of them imagined that it would have been very spacious inside, with such an extreme tilt cutting through it. Outside the front of this cabin, meandering along a terrace, were more of those caged lamps, along with two rocking chairs aside a small, wooden table. This, of course, was Redmun's abode; warmly hidden away from the dangers of outer Lythiann.

To the left of that cabin, pointing westward, was an even smaller cabin. It was erected in much the same respect as the first, only it didn't run quite as far, and had less of a slope going through it. Just opposite it, on the farther side of the glade, was a quaint little shed. Then, behind Redmun's dwelling, beyond the bamboos, was another dell, and in this dell was a lonely old barn. This was the entirety of Redmun's base. Four solitary buildings and a mass of deep jungle at his doorstep. It was then no surprise to William that he detained such hermitic attributes, evidently being the only human to wander in such a magnificent, yet equally lonesome, kingdom.

Making for the shed, Redmun then said, "Follow me."

When they got inside, a rather small iron furnace was burning in the corner, delivering a welcoming gush of heat to their bones, remedying their yearning desire for some small manner of comfort. A woollen blanket was spread out upon the counter before them, and Redmun lit a lantern above it. It was rather grimy in that shed, being cluttered with rusty old tools, boxes of nails, pails, saws, shovels, and other utensils of that sort. Just like any other shed, really.

Placing the sack gently onto the table, the man unwrapped it. As he did, they all peered over his shoulders to see what was inside. Then, from out of the bundle, there crawled the most curious little creature. 'Twas that same little fellow Redmun had rescued from the Gremlins of late. It was a breed of Poppum.

William had to giggle when he saw it at first, because it was the cutest, funniest, most adorable-looking thing he'd encountered since Picksy Whispin. Its domed head was fluffy and grey in colour, complete with pointy ears which poked out on either side. One of them flopped down, and the other had a tiny notch taken out of it. In contrast to the rest of his features, his eyes were massive. Big, bulbous, and hazel, with little black pupils in the centre of each. When he glanced around, they could see the faint whiteness of his eyes, which merely augmented his adorability all the more. And whenever he blinked, he would do it in such a way that one eyelid would follow the other, being never quite in unison. His snout was constantly bobbing about, and his cheeks were full and plump. Other than that, his body was small and fleecy, with stumpy arms, a pot belly, fat little legs and a tiny, curly tail.

You must also understand that Poppums were very easy prey in their time. So, as a defence mechanism, they developed folds of skin which joined their wrists to their ankles, much the same as a flying squirrel. If the moment ever required it, and threat ever arose, they would flap up into the trees, where they would remain until it was safe to come out again. Indeed, they could fly, but they couldn't do so for very long before they got exhausted. They have no magic about them otherwise, as such. And not often can Poppums be spotted in Ireland nowadays, needless to say. But I can wholeheartedly assure you...they're there, hiding all around us in lofty places, away from the commotion and cruelties of this new and malicious world that we now call home.

This poor little Poppum was still shivering from the threat of being devoured by those ghastly labyrinth beasts. Moreover, the rope which bound him had been drawn so tightly about his arms that it had broken the skin, causing a nasty graze upon his left shoulder.

"Aw, look at you!" smiled Wren, doting dearly upon the little fellow. "Poor little thing!!"

In spite of his wound, the Poppum simply waggled his little tail like a puppy, ears back, then he coiled 'round and 'round until he was lying flat on his side, exposing his belly for a scratch. When he did this his nose bobbled, while emitting an endearing little squeaking sound.

Hovering in nearer to observe, The Head scowled, "A bit rodenty-looking, isn't he?"

"Nah, he's a cute little thing," William said, tickling the Poppum's fluffy little ear for him. "What is he, exactly?"

Gathering some ointments and gauze from one of the shelves, Redmun replied, "He is what's known as a Poppum. The simplest, most uncomplicated creature in the world, anatomically speaking. Bred, nurtured, and run on pure heart alone. They make even the dullest of worms look complicated. He is the last of his kind, and you can thank the Gremlins for that!"

"Ya mean...they wiped them all out?" Khrum asked, with major disgust.

"Yes, unfortunately," said the man, tipping some ointment into the swab. "You see, Gremlins prefer using Poppums for their sports, for they cannot bear the purity and goodness of these creatures...being the filthy scum that _they_ are! And I've been searching for this particular Poppum for quite some time now. I was hoping to seek him out before they did, in an attempt to possibly preserve their race for a time longer and, perhaps, determine a means of ultimately maintaining their existence."

Finally conjuring the civility to speak in the man's presence, Icrick asked, "And how exactly would you go about doing that, might I ask?"

"I have some theories of hybridizing that could very well take a promising effect. So, with further time, further research, and further reckonings, I should be able to achieve my goals."

"Well, does he have a name then? Or need I ask?" The Head inquired, and Ifcus leaned in a tad closer to give this Poppum a bit of a curious sniff.

"No, my friend. Like you, I have only just met him," Redmun replied, dabbing the Poppum's final wounds with familiar precision.

With their conversation ongoing, Icrick, being nosy again, had taken it upon himself to inspect a pile of dusty burlap which had been strewn upon the floor nearby. In lifting it up, a great whiff of dust went zipping straight up into his nostrils. Icrick then gasped sharply thrice before rasping out a tremendous _Ahhh-PEW_ of a sneeze, whereby the little Poppum squeaked out with laughter.

"Aw, listen to him, would you!" chortled Wren, moving in closer still. "I think he liked the sound of that— _Pew_!" She imitated.

Again the Poppum chuckled.

"I think you may have found a name for him, Grogoch," said Redmun, as he finished treating the creature's wounds. "Now, we are all done here!"

Taking a basket from under the table, he then laid some soft cushions inside of it. After that, he gingerly picked up Pew the Poppum and placed him down to his comfort inside the basket. The little fellow was bandaged up remarkably well, considering Redmun's hindrance, and already he was on the mend.

"I will leave you here tonight, where it's warm," he said to the Poppum, also leaving out a saucer of fresh water with a few leaves of lettuce next to it. In a sterner tone, he said to the others, "The rest of you, come with me!"

When they got outside, he showed them to the smaller cabin of the two.

"This is where you shall be staying," said Redmun. "It is warm, dry, and fresh linens have been laid out for you. Rest for now. And when you awake, I will have one of the animals bring you some food."

Need I say, they were all very appreciative of the shelter and his hospitality.

They were just about to lumber inside for a quiet lie down when Redmun singled William out by saying, "Not you! There is a cot set up in one of the chambers in my cabin. You will be lodging there."

"But what difference does it make?" William asked tiredly. "We won't be staying here long. You know how important our job is, so we'd better get on with it."

"It is up to me how long you stay here," Redmun said stringently, as though tolerating no refusal. "And that means as long as it takes. We have much to do, you and I."

"So you're _separating_ us?" the boy said.

"You can meet with your friends again when we are through. In the meantime, they may treat this jungle as their own; walk where they wish, and entertain themselves how they will. However, I will keep you on a shorter leash. And you can do without distractions while we work."

" _Work_?!" William exclaimed.

Under the scepticism of Redmun's rather austere attitude towards the boy, Icrick and Khrum gawked at William, as if to ask, "What on earth should we do?!" Unsure of what to do himself, William inadvertently glanced at Wren. She, in contrast, merely nodded with an approving wink, hence reminding him of how much she trusted this stranger. Ever since she'd heard about Redmun's actions towards Valstarius, she seemed quite certain of his authenticity to help. So, William eventually agreed to the man's terms, albeit he was apprehensive of doing so.

And so it was that the others departed for the smaller cabin, all the while watching William as he walked, with an air of solitude, toward his new lodgings.

Confined were his new digs, with gnarled, panelled walls and a single stool, upon which sat a single lantern, aside a single cot. That was all. The only pleasant thing about it was the warmth which it efficiently held, considering the somewhat tattered conditions. For a moment he stood silently, glancing about, when a feeling of true loneliness overcame him as he threw his belongings lazily onto the floor and collapsed onto the cot.

While wallowing in his self-pity, he grew conscious of the strange noises that resided in this new place; the cracking of cold floorboards, and the slight gust from outside whistling through the chinks of the age-old wood. The noises at first frightened him, making him restless. But he would soon adjust, whether he wanted to or not. For William was there in that jungle for a valid reason. A reason which he would be grateful for before the end.

Just then, Redmun knocked on the door and stepped in halfway.

"Meet me in the glade at dawn tomorrow. You can leave your baggage and cloak here...you will not require them. Don't be late! Rest now, for you will need your wits for what lies ahead," he said, before shutting the door to the voice of his stride as it vanished down the creaking hallway.

I cannot say that William didn't feel trapped; incarcerated. As it would, indeed, be a long, long time before he would eventually see his friends properly again. Somehow he knew this, in spite of what Redmun had told him earlier. It was, again, one of those feelings he had deep in his gut.

Suddenly, an inexplicable sensation of guidance and inner trust brewed within him, extinguishing whatever doubt was surely branding its way deep into his worried mind. Once he realised that the intent of this novel feeling was helpful, as opposed to harmful, he felt slightly liberated, and he actually managed to doze off.

It was a good night's sleep he got, too, and Redmun was right; William _was_ going to need it, because the following morning, he was to begin his training.

# \- Chapter Thirteen -

### Secret of the Banádh

The grounds were still very dim that morning when William went outside. There was also an underlying feeling of downheartedness along with it. Most of the trees bordering that glade were grim and putrid, with their limbs stooping drearily to the undergrowth. Nowhere in sight, the crickets chirped a lonesome ballad, the toads croaked at intervals, and the crows cawed as though relishing the moroseness of it all. William found the whole setting cold, soggy, and eerie, even with fingers of wholesome sunshine steadily projecting through the dawning clouds.

Bats fluttered through the trees as unseen critters scuttled amongst the grasses all around him, with that deep dell just shaded enough to cater for their nocturnal needs. At one point something even slapped the boy on the back with a hollow _thump_ , giving him an awful scare. He presumed it to be Redmun, welcoming him with a slightly lighter disposition than the day previous. But when he spun around to see who it was...nobody was there. Panicking at the idea that some animal had latched onto his back, William yanked his tunic over his head, only nothing was there. It must've scuttled, slithered, or flapped away, whatever it was. This put him off to an atrocious start, I must say.

Redmun was taking his precious time in coming to meet William who was, rather surprisingly, yearning for his arrival; if only for want of some company. "This place is as weird as an aul' graveyard!" he thought, glancing around, praying that he wouldn't have to linger alone much longer.

"I should really give him a piece o' my mind when I see him!" grumbled the young fellow. "Telling me what I _can_ and _can't_ do! Who does he think he is? Maybe Anun was right. Then again, what do I know? I'm not sure if I know _what_ I'm doing at this point! Now I'm even talking to myself. Perhaps that's it...I've completely lost my marbles, and now I'm just plain cuckoo! Makes sense! _Pfff_...Redmun! And what's all this about work? _Work_! I've got enough to chew on without adding more to my plate! I should really tell him what's what! Cranky ol'..."

Kicking a pinecone into the brush, he knew well that he had no intentions whatsoever of giving _anybody_ a piece of his mind, much less Redmun. After all, he did get the impression that the man was just trying to help him in some way. Although, so far, his means proved a little less orthodox in comparison to what William was accustomed to. He also frightened the boy a bit, with his firm face and stringent rules. Therefore, any wise lip on William's part would've been unequivocally out of the question, and he was quite well aware of this, too. But he persisted to grouse, so long as nobody was around to hear him. A brave lad.

After enduring another short while of mysterious wings flapping by William's head, and slithery things rolling past his feet, Redmun finally decided to show up. William was quite relieved, to some degree, thereby calming slightly from his solitary squabbling. The atmosphere then changed abruptly when the animals of the jungle ceased to speak upon the man's arrival. Whether it was out of fear or veneration, it was hard to say. It was odd, either way.

Ostly the Pheasant swooped down from the unknown and landed on a mossy boulder nearby, and a fox named Merkel trotted in assertively at Redmun's side, glancing up at the man occasionally as he cantered.

A very clean animal he was, with scrawny legs, a lovely ochre coat, tall ears, all rounded off by his big, bushy tail tipped in white. Upon his back, Merkel carried a parcel, wrapped securely in thick twine.

"To negotiate dangerous situations, you must negotiate dangerous surrounding, boy! This is your first lesson," said Redmun, not wasting any time.

He pushed through the stubborn grass with a wooden crook, all stern and business-like. Unfastening the parcel from Merkel's back, he then unravelled the twine and produced two sticks. Each were about three feet long, made of strong, oak, and they each had a leather grip.

"You must also learn to fight with your own wits and not with that of an enchanted blade," the man instructed, circling the boy in a tutor-like fashion. "What happens if the sword is taken from you? What happens then? You're left there with not but scrot in your hand, sucking your thumb and whatnot! _Never_ depend on another for your own survival! This is the second rule. And that goes for _all_ walks of life."

Flurrying his stick to adapt to its feel, the man then said, "Now, we will start training with these sticks at first. Later, we shall upgrade to more traditional forms of weaponry. I have your sword in a safe place. I shall return it to you when I feel you've earned it. Now, let us begin!"

"But that sword is mine!" William suddenly objected.

Realising how juvenile and insolent he sounded, he would've snatched those words back if it were in any way possible, but it was too late.

"You listen to me, lad," Redmun hissed, calmly approaching. "I have encountered terrible beings upon this land. Creatures which have made me thankful I have no eyes to see them! There are beasts and sorcerers here who'll not hesitate to snap your little wishbone of a neck if given half the chance." (As he said that he clicked his fingers, making William jump.) "So, you'll happily abide by _what_ I give you to learn. _How_ I choose to teach it. And with _no_ complaints! Do I make myself clear?"

Shivering at the idea of having his neck snapped, William nodded briskly, followed by a strenuous gulp.

"Good. Now, take one of these sticks and move to the other end of the glade."

Snatching one of the sticks from Redmun's grasp, William wandered over to the far border of the glade. Whilst his back was turned, Redmun had a smile to himself. He knew the boy was afraid, and a little reluctant, yet that was all to change.

"Now, let us see how you fight," said the man, poised tall, on the distant side of the dell. "I want you to attack me..."

Curious as it was, Redmun stood quite casually with the stick by his side, and the other arm resting behind his back. He had more the look of a man who was out for a breath of fresh air than of a man who was awaiting an assault. But if Redmun wanted William to attack, then that was exactly what he was going to do...

Tightening his grip in both hands with the twisting sounds of contorted leather, William bolted towards him with a ferocious battle cry. With his bellows fluctuating on every heavy footfall, he ploughed through the heavy burdock and masses of chickweed, ruthlessly, as though expelling every last ounce of stress which had fallen upon him since his outset. Still Redmun remained. Immobile. Calm as ever.

Swinging with a wide, sweeping lunge, William attacked with every last inch of bodyweight that was available to him. Redmun simply stepped aside, and William tumbled into the pool of muck behind him. He was painstakingly effortless for Redmun to read, blind or not.

William was an absolute mess. As he scooped the mud from his sour face, Merkel was there, sniffing at him.

"I have a question for you," Redmun asked coolly. "Why on earth did you scream before you attacked me? Was it supposed to frighten me? Or were you intentionally trying to telegraph your movements?"

Picking himself up with a grunt, William fixed his garments. Annoyed, he said nothing. He simply stood there and let Redmun have his moment.

"Let me tell you one fact about combat, boy," said the man, resting both hands behind his back. "'Tis no great secret in warfare that screaming like a lunatic—which you've so kindly demonstrated for us—is good for venting steam and, perhaps, bringing you a little more power...but not enough to justify it. Other than that, it provokes clumsiness, and confusion, after which comes panic, then overall sloppy swordsmanship. _However_! Nothing, and I mean _nothing_ , is more unsettling to your enemy than the sight of a calm face. It suggests fearlessness. Confidence. It shows you have a plan. A stratagem. And that you have no hesitations in using it. And the best part of this _inner serenity_ is that it relaxes both body and mind to a state of complete combative precision. Therefore," he said with a grin, as he leaned in closer to the lad, "you will become an even more ferocious animal than you could ever hope to be otherwise."

This actually made perfect sense to William, in a way. True, he had no previous knowledge of this sort of thing, but it did make a great deal of sense to him, the way Redmun explained it. It was so simple, and so interesting, not to mention exciting, and wouldn't you know, William was immediately hooked.

Allowing that lesson to sink deep into his conscious mind, he picked up his stick again and jogged back to his starting position. And so, his training _truly_ began.

At first his training took days, which soon merged into weeks. William started out slowly to begin with; making clumsy mistakes and getting bumped on the head with sticks for his effort. It was the only way he'd learn, and he was very well aware of that fact. The only way for anyone to understand anything properly is to be thrown in at the deep end, and William was a firm believer in that philosophy...providing school didn't come into it, of course.

Redmun taught him to be wary of his surroundings. He showed him how to use his line of sight, and how to be aware of what was around him at all angles. This brought William to the study of visualisation, and how it was crucial for him to constantly visualize attacks, wherever he may be, day or night, for mental preparation is absolutely essential training for the real situation.

"Have you any hobbies, lad?" Redmun asked him one overcast morn in the glade.

"Well, I suppose I enjoy reading a lot, and slingshot...music, too," William answered, now being a little more deferential than before.

"Slingshot. Fair enough," said the man, looking for something he could utilize as an example. "Do you remember when you first began using this weapon?"

"Yeah, I remember that day well. One o' my neighbours gave it to me for my ninth birthday. I wasn't very good at it though, at first. We lined up some empty jars on my back wall. I missed every time! But I enjoyed it, so I kept at it."

"So, you enjoyed it! Would you say that you, perhaps, found it interesting enough to reflect on it occasionally...when you were not targeting jars? Thought about it from time to time?" Redmun put in.

"I suppose I did...yeah," William replied.

"And how many targets did you hit the following day after receiving the sling as a gift?"

"I don't know, really," William replied, as he tried to recollect. "Come to think of it though, I was knocking a lot more than the first day."

"Exactly!" Redmun said, tapping his finger of William's forehead. "Visualization, boy!"

"Visualisation? What's that?" William asked, with a flutter of blinks as Redmun prodded his brow.

"Visualisation can be used in any event, not just combat!" the man explained. "It is something which people sometimes tend to do without even realising it. To envisage specific reactions in specific situations and continue to do so until the mind finds it near impossible to differentiate between reality and the imagination. It conveys to you mental preparation. For example, if you consistently visualized a particular attack, and precisely what you would do in the event of said attack, your body will react accordingly by means of your mental preparation. Visualisation is a powerful tool, boy. Never forget that."

Once again, William was absolutely blown back by Redmun's teachings and, from that moment henceforth, he made it a habit to continually utilize this visualisation for every possible situation his mind could invoke. Be it dodging illusory arrows or evading trundling boulders, William imagined them all; a vast array of scenarios, and all with remarkable detail, too, over, and over, and over again.

During training, young William consumed nothing other than the most nutritious of foods. None of them really looked all that appetising; sometimes being very bland and uninteresting recipes of single-coloured glop. But it was undeniably nourishing for him, and it made him much stronger in body and a lot sharper in mind, too. Religiously, Redmun dished out six of these small meals daily, each being two hours apart; no more, no less. Most of the meals consisted of either fish or poultry, sometimes both. These were essential for building William's strength. On top of that, he consumed lots of potatoes, oats, and grains, which provided him with his much-needed energy. Every once in a while, Redmun would then sprinkle on some seasonings of his own concoction...to help the process along. Nothing risky or toxic, mind. It was actually very natural, and wonderfully wholesome. Plenty of water was also a must. Three litres a day, at least. By the time the first month had passed, William discovered that he'd shed some of what little flab he had, and it had been replaced by an ever so slight amount of brawn. The training—particularly the more laborious exercises, which you will find out more about in a moment—was paying off.

Six weeks had whisked by as an ever-increasing amount of strenuous tasks were being left aside for our William. Redmun woke him before dawn each day for breakfast. When finished eating, William would spend an hour or so hauling heavy pails of water both to and from the cabin. Never was he permitted to carry one pail in two hands, as it was 'counterproductive,' a word which he heard often in that jungle. And if he ever did so, he would suffer a severe scolding from his teacher. No, William was always made carry one full pail _per_ hand. Thankfully, the well itself was a reasonable walk from the cabin, so if he ever needed a rest between journeys, he could stop and start as much as he liked. That being said, Redmun also had those pails measured, and if too much had been spilt during their transport, then William was made go back and do it all over again.

Brawny logs also had to be chopped into firewood every two to three hours, for those dwellings were colder than igloos; especially when nighttime approached...and Redmun treasured his heat, what's more, as did the grouchy Head. So it was up to William to keep them all happy.

In fact, those were the only times William actually saw his friends, in those earlier days of Làn Cùrdhal. Leaving aside a basket of fuel for their hearth whilst in the meantime attending to his other duties, William sometimes spotted them as they came out to collect it. Usually they took it in turns, every few hours. Of course, they spotted William too, and they each exchanged a grinning wave; all except for The Head, who couldn't get his body inside quick enough from the cold jungle. Yet those greetings were always cut short by Redmun's intimidating arrival, to which end he ordered William to stop his dawdling and double his efforts to make up for lost time. It was moments such as these that William felt rather contemptuous towards the man, but he never really held his grudges. Nor was Redmun always so intolerant.

On top of all his other chores and training, a stone wall had to be erected near the shed as a reinforcement for the old goat pen. This exhausted a week and a half in itself. As that was under construction, the animals also had to be fed...daily. Weeds and long grasses had to be hoed from the trails as they got too burdensome. Irrigations had to be laid down, and saplings had to be cultivated about different areas of the jungle, which, as you already know, ran on for ages in all directions. As well as all that, another raft had to be constructed by the river. Our William had much to do, and he was beginning to wonder if he would ever get out of that jungle to fulfil the remainder of his journey. All the same, he also knew that he was attaining new and interesting virtues as the weeks went by, and that the labour was indeed playing a huge part in his physical conditioning also.

However, throughout his time there, the eclipse remained a great trepidation for him.

One golden afternoon, William appeared rather troubled, and kept on snagging his fingers under the stones as he assembled the wall.

"You'll be lucky to have any hands left by the time you finish that confine," Redmun said, walking out onto the terrace with a goblet in his hand. "Something on your mind, lad?"

Such concern suggested that Redmun was becoming all the more lenient and amenable as time pressed on. He nonetheless remained austere a good deal of the time, and still didn't tolerate idlers by any means. Yet, having pulled his weight during his stay in that jungle, William was relating to him just fine now.

After Redmun asked him about his troubles, the lad clapped the grime from his hands and sighed.

"It's all this stuff about the eclipse," he said openly. "It's just, nobody knows when it's going to happen, and I really should try and finish this journey before it arrives. Last thing I want is to get caught in the middle of some massive army and get mauled...or killed! That's if Drevol doesn't nab me first."

"Ah, the infamous _eclipse_." Redmun smiled, casting out the remains of the goblet. "It is true. Not many can truly say when the nightly eclipse will appear. However, some speculations are more valuable than others.

"I myself have studied the ways of this world from as far back as I care to recall. Ecliptic lore was one of my favourite subjects. Day and night I studied, during a phase; admiring all the wonders the lunar star could possibly bestow. I will not be able to guarantee the exact ecliptic timescale, lad...but I _do_ know better than most. So fear not. I don't think your time spent here in Làn Cùrdhal will endanger your race against time. And even if I am at fault about this—which I sincerely doubt—then I shall devise some way of getting you ahead of that army. Even if it kills me."

Redmun's words were, indeed, of great comfort to William, a welcome aid, hoisting that colossal weight from his already weakened shoulders. In so doing, William was once again able to place his undivided attention back into his training.

Each morn, before the lad ate any breakfast, Redmun ordered him to run a charted course of the jungle. It may not have been so bad, if it was merely a jog and nothing more; only this course was riddled with all manner of snares and obstacles, through which William had to bolt quickly and skilfully. To do so first thing out of bed was not as easy as it may sound. They weren't very technical traps, by any means, but they still caught William out on more than one occasion, due to his lack of focus. Be it a basic pitfall or a tripwire, he always ended up running into them and getting trapped. This came as a fierce irritation.

There were many different variations of those snares about, and all were cleverly hidden, both on the forest floor, as well as the treetops themselves. Naturally, these elevated snares were more the likes of netting that would whisk you off your feet; then there you would dangle, upside down, until you were happened upon, hours or even _days_ later. In all, this morning routine helped immensely in sharpening William's wits.

When he was finished his morning meal, he was ordered to complete a variety of laborious exercises in the glade, using just his body weight for resistance. Young William absolutely loathed this part of the day. Not only because it was dreadfully boring, but also because he vomited into the bushes more than once because of the intensity. Redmun kept pressing him to 'push through that barrier' though.

With fifty repetitions to a set, William's routine mostly consisted of push ups (four different varieties, with eight sets of each); sit ups (the same); and chin ups (as with the last). Now, as you sit there in your cosy house, you might say, "Aye, I could do those exercises. Nay bother to _me_!" But I challenge you to get into a plank position and do fifty _slow_ push ups, right now, without stopping. Then try to envision how William must've felt, doing it in a bitterly gloomy jungle, teeming with animals and nasty bugs of every conceivable kind. Then, I'll have you picture a strict tutor peering down over you, impelling you to work harder...and Redmun was a tough one, too. Not for one, solitary second did he go easy on poor William. Not one!

Even on the very first day of training, he said to William, "Just you know, boy, such tuition is not supposed to be easy! If it is not difficult, then it is not worth doing! And I promise you, I will show you no leniency."

Now that might give you some idea of just how unyielding Redmun actually was. William had never known such corporal hardships, not even old Blackhead.

As he endured all of those strenuous exercises of his, the young fellow was being secretly observed by a certain someone from that guest cabin...and it wouldn't take a genius to figure out who. From shadow she observed him; observing him in all of his pain as he crammed every last ribbon of fortitude into this one cause, and on some diminutive level, it warmed her opinion of him all the more. For the sake of discretion, however, she kept her thoughts to herself and herself alone.

Great, potted fly traps were positioned strategically throughout the borders of the glade for William to stalk using stealth. These were hostile creatures. Always wary. So he needed to sneak as gingerly as possible. To do so successfully, Redmun had provided him with the knowledge of how to spot an enemy in the dark and how, for William himself, to become as invisible as humanly possible.

"Your common enemies on these lands will not be very clever, boy," Redmun would say. "So misleading them should take little effort. Know this, and know it well! There are three points to the art of invisibility. Three things the eye instinctively looks for. Shape, movement, and colour, each of which can be manipulated. Your silhouette can be obscured by hiding a limb, say. Proper breathing and relaxation will vanquish all movement. And dark attire will remove any impression of colour. Your cloak, for example."

Soon those fly traps didn't know where to look, before a stick was pressed against their verdant throats from behind the cover of darkness. He was like a ghost.

Nine weeks in and, by then, William had become thoroughly enthralled by Redmun's teachings. Alongside that interest grew an even greater bond with his tutor. He was truly accepting what Redmun—and that place—was doing for him. He could now see that he was benefiting from his teachings in both body and mind. He was also fairly chuffed with his own headway, too, given how he was depositing no less than one hundred percent of his effort. Little did he know that he was also a very worthy student in Redmun's eyes, too, which would've been a very pleasing concept to him, had William known it.

You see, as far back as he could remember, he always liked to think that he might have some latent mettle in him, stowed away in some part of him which he never knew of. And he _did_ , contrary to what he actually believed. All he needed was someone to help him bring it out, and that someone was Redmun.

You should also understand that time remained ineffectual upon William's learning after what he'd gathered from Redmun's acquaintance with ecliptic lore. But, each night, he would still watch the skies in the hope that he would see no such signs of a coming eclipse. Fortunately, he never saw any; just the glowing of stars on clear nights as all nocturnal life arose to praise the visit of that grand lunar star.

Glittering frost dusted the jungle floor and, for some days, dancing snowflakes had been roiling gracefully through the day's crisp whisper. William had become so devoted to his teachings by then that he would continue to train alone, even when dusk had fallen and Redmun was after concluding their session for the evening. In the dark of twilight he'd remain in the glade, examining the wilds, trying to envision even more efficient ways to attack potential enemies. After that task had been provisionally fulfilled, he would sneak through the trees, endeavouring to make not so much as a single rustle upon the brushwood floor. If he heard a snap, he would beat himself up over it and start over again until he did it properly. After that, he practiced strict method with his stick for several minutes at a time. Lastly, he would run the jungle again before it got too late, and to negotiate those booby traps in the darkness was even more hazardous than at dawn. But, by then, William's faculties had been honed almost to the point of impeccability, in that never once did they lead him into the clasp of those notorious snares.

All of this extra training was done of William's very own accord. Merkel the Fox, don't you know, usually accompanied him on his late-night runs, lest something unfortunate happen to the boy. William didn't mind, though. For although he may have been making very good progress, he was still leagues away from being an accomplished warrior. And he was very appreciative of the help. Unbeknown to him too, Redmun would loiter under the dark of the terrace sometimes with his mug of wine, listening out for signs of progress. It was during such moments that Redmun truly understood just how much heart William really had.

Eventually, the time came when William felt that he'd finally earned the right to ask Redmun a rather delicate question with regards to training, and so he did. What he wanted to know was this;

"Redmun, if you don't mind me asking," he said, a trifle hesitantly, "but, with you...um...not being able to...er...see and all, how is it you are able to fight so well? I mean, there must've been over a hundred Gremlins that night in the arena. But you just shredded through them like they weren't even there! How?"

Not in the least troubled by William's inquisitiveness, Redmun explained that, ever since his sight had been taken from him, over the course of time, after much self-training, and over masses of conflict, he'd attained a certain technique of combat which made him employ his other senses. He then built onto a particular system where, upon the detection of sound, smell, and touch, he could predetermine an enemy's movement, thus giving him the ability to judge the attack and strike out on all crucial angles. Naturally, it took many years of trial and error, along with several more months of practice within the field itself. But like any other tasks impeded by his handicap, Redmun soon had it perfected to a fine art. Other than that, there _were_ some circumstances whereby his skills were hampered. One occasion being when William was caught in the conflict with Valstarius. Realising the potential risks of a chance attack there, Redmun could do no more than bide his time before acting. Otherwise the results could very well have not only been fatal for the centaur but for William, too. Once he understood this, the lad was all the more grateful for Redmun's watchfulness that night.

After the eleventh week, William discovered that he was becoming more limber, having been studying the secrets of agility. This latest stage of training began by jumping about in the high grasses of wood spurge in the middle of a coppice nearby. That way, if William fell, not much damage would be done. And even though that coppice was quite beautiful, with its subtle mix of scarlet pimpernel and bluebell, it was still a haven for guised rocks and stinging nettles. Yet William's trifling injuries had been so frequent that scrapes became second nature to him.

Redmun made him jump straight up, knees high, for minutes at a time in the hope that this would eventually promote more spring in William's bound. It did. This later progressed to rather girly cartwheels, which soon brought them to backflips, which was more William's cup of tea. But there was something about the landing of a backflip that terrified him. For ages he kept landing with painful-looking spills, but he was straight up to attempt it again. He just found it extremely demanding, and unnatural, to pull his feet in before landing down. But he was determined, so he persevered.

As he worked on that, his basic leaping lessons were otherwise moved to a nearby bayou, within which, many wooden posts of all different heights were set. With this being an expansion of the bounding tutorial, it was all about William controlling his point of balance, as well as gaining sufficient height. Standing just off the bayou, Redmun ordered him to spring from one post to the next. Do you think that sounds easy...or amusing, perhaps? Maybe you will reconsider when I tell you that each post was at least five feet apart, and the posts themselves were no more than a foot thick, and slicked with wet algae. Nor was it an option to slip off any of these, as the thought of what lay below the thin mist of those ripples beneath was very unnerving, especially when William spotted a slithery neck splashing down into the water one day. He wasn't sure what he was looking at, nor did he see it again, which was worse. What, may I ask, is your opinion of it now?

I am delighted to say that, never once did William falter in this particular lesson, for it is strange what a person can achieve when being driven by pure fear alone. Once he was able to conquer this task comfortably, he had to do it blindfolded, and that took another long time. 'Twas only then did he manage to slip; once, twice, three times. On every occasion, he scrambled out of that murky swamp like his life depended on it. He then lay upon the bank, panting, and observing the strange sway of the ripples, as though something hidden was reluctantly returning to the blacker depths.

"W-W-What was that?!" he asked in a shivering state. "Redmun! Did you see that?!"

"Creatures who choose willingly to dwell in such fetid places are never ones to be reckoned with. I shall say no more," the man said and smiled, though what did that say for him, residing where _he_ was.

After some further weeks of studying these techniques, William was eventually able to do things with his muscles which he never would've dreamt possible. Not only could he hold himself on a handstand and walk about, but he could also backflip around the glade with no trouble at all. He could also jump five feet into the air and spin about sideways like a corkscrew before landing with textbook precision. He was mightily impressed by his own achievements, but he stayed humble. Likewise, Redmun kept noticing a consistency of ever growing potential.

Those past four months were displaying quite positively upon William's appearance; with his hair having grown out a little more, and his frame, a tad more athletic than when he'd first arrived. But one evening after evening chores, when the sun was at its lowest, it all took a bit of an unexpected turn.

* * *

William was staggering wearily to the cabin. Covered from head to toe in sweat and mud, he dragged his feet sluggishly beneath him as he wandered up the terrace stair.

Smoke rose faintly from the chimney of the guest cabin; however, the lights were out, and there was no noise from within. _They must be asleep,_ William thought, smiling solemnly. He would've liked to have seen his friends, if but just once in a while. He was inclined to try and visit them whenever he could, but Redmun always called him back to do more work, and by the time he was finished for the day their lights would be out. It was at such times that his lonely feelings returned to him, and that's when William would go off to train alone for a spell. Apart from when they spotted him—those times when they were out collecting their fresh firewood—they too sometimes tried visiting William, particularly Icrick and Khrum. Sadly, they always just missed him. So regretfully they would leave their messages with Redmun.

"Your friends dropped by," Redmun would often mention in passing. "But I told them you were busy. You can see them tonight...when you're done training."

But they were always fast asleep by then, and this made for woeful times for William.

In spite of his dejection, William knew deep down that his training was crucial, and that it deserved complete honour and utmost dedication. Because one day it could not only benefit him, but his friends, too.

Before stepping inside to wash up, he laboriously removed his grotty boots and left them neatly outside the porch door. Into the scullery he trudged, to where the washing trough was. Beside it were shelves of decanters, jugs, bowls; as well as pots, pans, plates, and other kitchenware. William knelt lazily beside the trough where he cordially doused his face with a gratifying sigh. Those icy beads soothed his blistering strains from that arduous livelong day, and that was exactly what he needed. Both that and a hot meal.

All of a sudden, as if someone had opened their eyes to some unyielding nightmare, he heard a brutal yell from the far end of the cabin. At first, he wasn't sure if he'd heard it at all. He was scrubbing his face when it happened. So he waited to see if he heard it again. And he did, a few seconds later, only this time there was a loud clatter afterwards. Jumping to his feet, William ran to it at once. Dashing through the kitchen he noticed a heavy poker leaning against the threshold in the shadows, which he instinctively brought with him. Better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it, he figured.

How murky that cabin was. Dark and full of hoarded possessions. A long, haunting hallway ran on with many rooms on either side; all the while, the light was scarce to go by. Nor was William at all familiar with where he was going, save for the route to his own quarters. Redmun had strictly forbidden intrusiveness when it came to the rest of his abode. Yet the boy considered this incident a definite exception to the rule. He knew that it could only be Redmun shouting. Icrick and the others were fast asleep elsewhere, and nobody else even knew that this place existed. At least, that's what he _hoped_.

Scrabbling through those dim hallways, William pursued the noise, glancing into each and every chamber as he passed them.

"Redmun!" he begged discreetly, for fear of prowlers. "Redmun, where are you?"

Eerily, nobody replied. Beneath the shuffling of William's hasty steps, the floorboards creaked unavoidably. The shouting suddenly started again, only this time it grumbled between wails. Just then, William saw a line of light, as that of an open door at the end of the corridor. It was Redmun's study, from behind whose door those noises were emitting.

Skulking ever closer, William's footing kept to utter quietude, his weapon held ready before him. He could but presume there was danger. If there was one thing Redmun always told him, it was to expect the unexpected.

Slowly he approached. There was yet another cry, and another bang, which then waned back into oblivion. The door was open just a fraction, and the dust lingered motionlessly within the strip of coming light. William delayed at first, thinking it might be better to just leave and pretend like he was never there. But another part of him insisted that he go in to inspect the goings on, that it was his duty.

After some quick consideration, he eventually conceded to his conscience. So leaning into the door, he peered through the crack, while making sure to keep as quiet as possible. Strange to say, there appeared to be no evidence of life within. It was as if the screams never even came from there; but they _did_. Scanning around the room, this is what he saw.

To the left, a warming hearth was burning loudly, beside which was an old armchair and an end table. In the centre of the room, a high counter was covered in books, paraphernalia, bubbling jars, test tubes and some candles. Redmun's goggles were there too, strewn in amongst some scattered bits. It was all very cluttered, that chamber, and it appeared quite difficult to move about in, with the amount of books and stacks of parchments that were encumbering it. Were it not for the clutter, he perhaps might've been able to see the fine Persian-style rug that was spread out on the floor. Then, under the window at the head of the room, was a royal-looking pedestal desk. To its left, a big corkboard, with all kinds of outlandish symbols and texts pinned to it. Indeed this place had the look of a wizard's den. Slightly to the right of that board was a large, ancient-looking book upon a lectern, with two candles kindling on either side. The tome appeared to have been opened to a certain page, and William could just about read it. Upon the page he saw a circular graph, with the months of the year encompassing it. Labelled depictions of mythical beasts were allocated to each. Raising gently onto his tippitoes, upon those muttering floorboards, William tried examining the graph further. Beside January he saw a rather ugly Sphinx creature. Next to February there was a beautiful Siren. Representing March was a Man-Wolf and, beside April, there was a—

Suddenly, as if somehow provoked by William's movements to further scrutinize the book, the door swung open, and he was pulled into the room.

"What were you doing, boy? Snooping? Eavesdropping? What?!" Redmun demanded angrily, shaking William like a rabbit out of a trap.

Draped around his eyes was a strip of frayed, black cloth, beneath which were two patches of gauze, which seemed to be soaked in recent tears. William's suspicions of those phantom wailings had been laid to rest.

"I heard someone shouting," William answered sharply, pulling himself from Redmun's grip and retreating to a safe distance.

Furiously, the man strode towards that ancient book and slammed it shut. Meanwhile, William was baffled and outright defensive as to why he was being throttled just for wanting to help. In then considering Redmun's unusual behaviour, it soon became clear. The man was leaning against the lectern, swaying in small circles in an effort to keep his balance. He was drunk. And now that William was inside the room, he noticed that it was a total mess of empty bottles and goblets. But even with all that, the man wasn't so intoxicated that he couldn't talk. In fact, he was as lucid as ever, just more irritable. An immunity derived from years of dependency, no doubt.

Staggering backwards, Redmun collapsed into his armchair beside the roaring hearth.

Cautiously approaching him, William asked, "Are...are you okay?"

Redmun, however, just sat there, burbling tongues to himself. Closer William approached.

Just then, Redmun blurted out, "If it weren't for I, these lands would be safe! _Safe_!"

"If it weren't for you? What are you on about?" William asked, quite sharply again.

I think his time spent with Redmun had, in some ways, managed to rub off on him. Because there once was a time when he wouldn't so much as dare addressing the man in such a direct tone.

Pulling himself to his feet again, tentative from intoxication, Redmun swayed back across the room.

"It's all my fault!" he yelled, knocking a pile of books off the counter as he went.

William stepped quietly back, gripping his poker without even realising.

"Maybe the time has come for me to...to explain?" Redmun grinned mockingly, slouching over the counter.

He was heavily intoxicated, to an almost unstable state.

Making for the door, William suggested, "Listen, maybe I should leave. Let you sleep it off."

"Ominix... _door_!" Redmun ordered.

With that, the bat flapped from the rafters and pushed the door to with his claws before fluttering back into hiding again.

"Sit!" Redmun insisted, observing the boy carefully with drunken ears.

His face blushing with frustration, William settled upon a stool. He rested the poker next to it, should he need it again in a hurry. He found that whole situation to be dreadfully uncomfortable. Even so, he was there now, so there was nothing he could really do about it but sit it out.

"I am cursed, boy!" Redmun said, his head swaying to and fro. "Upon me is the bane of a vicious curse, and I fear I will never be rid of it!"

"Cursed?" asked William, thinking he was overreacting about something.

"Yes... _cursed_!" he shouted, downing a goblet in one go, then flinging it carelessly into the fireplace. "What's the matter? Are you deaf?!"

On that remark, the drunkard smirked, while prodding his gauze, as if to suggest some sort of hidden irony which William didn't find quite so amusing, just awkward.

"Now, let me tell you a tale, boy."

Sliding a bottle off the table, Redmun carried it to his armchair where he sat down, and being a little more earnest about his words, he asked, "Do you know what I am?"

Unsure of what he was actually asking, William just shrugged his shoulders.

"I am, what's known as, an Erethaoí Evolver...or a Warlock—as it is more commonly known to the more distant people of the world. And the Erethaoí are beings who, over the course of time, have the ability to skip generations of evolution until they have reached a more...how should we say... _advanced_ , more intellectual, and an altogether more powerful state of being. A wondrous gift to receive. Full of possibilities!"

Before proceeding with his story, the man indulged in a long swig. The liquor dribbled down his chin and went all over his vest. Setting the bottle down on the end table, he then wiped his mouth and continued.

"An Erethaoí is, ultimately, one who practices magic; the arts of spell-casting and illusion. One whose skills develops through age. This is the life which I've always pursued, ever since my early days. I always knew that I was to become one someday, ever since the day I came into this world; as sure as you know you are a growing man. I felt it in my bones, boy! I knew I was of that breed. For I was told so by the prophet. That bloody prophet!"

Once again his face melded to unadulterated rage, at which William stirred readily. The man refrained from unleashing his temper and, with a calming breath, he found composure again, though maintaining a level of unpredictability.

"The only thing is, I've no knowledge of when this transformation will actually take place," he uttered, rubbing his palms out of frustration. "You see, a long time ago, when my vision was at its best, it became a mission of mine to find out when I was to evolve into the master Erethaoí which I'd so long sought to be. Scrolls had told me of a being far away in the east; one who had the gift of foresight, and who possessed more knowledge of this world than most others. Yet this being was deemed treacherous...therefore, could not be entirely trusted. But I was young and naïve, so both curiosity and foolishness came over me."

Grabbing his precious bottle again, he leaned forward.

"I was too impatient to wait for this new power to be bestowed upon me. So I took it upon myself to seek out this prophet...Vahna Webble! With the appearance of two conflicting life forms—a moral woman and a conniving beast—this creature would be the one who'd help me find my way to fruition. Nevertheless, although its human form would see me on the right path, the beast would otherwise muddle the truth to confuse me. But the chance had to be taken.

"I admit now that it was careless of me to go, as I had already been warned about this mystic. Warned by folk about how they would try to deceive without guilt! I chose not to listen, for I was still aware that the creature also told some truth...and valuable truth at that! I heard tales of people visiting Vahna, and then living out lives of magnificent fortune. But then there were the tales which did not fare so well.

"And so, I began to travel through the perils of this land, for many days and for many nights, until, after the twentieth day, I finally found them. They resided in an old church ruins, skulking in the shadows for nobody to see. I asked them when it would be my time to evolve. Yet, they spoke to me in riddles, with no elaboration. I was not prepared for this. They said, 'Once the twins fall...your time will come.' After which they decided to tell me of the happenings of my past. Matters which were irrelevant to that which I had asked. Yet they proceeded to impart bizarre details of my history. Histories which I myself was never aware of, nor did I wish for them to be true.

"'You have already lived out the course of two lives, Redmun. You are now in your third and final course,' they told me, and they uttered in the most wicked of voices.

"'In the first you brought a terrible curse upon the land. In the second you lived for great purpose. Whereas, in the third, you live for redemption. The purpose of this final incarnation, as the magician you are now, is to give aid to any who require it, and attempt to redeem yourself for the hurt that you have once caused. It is a curse which you must honour,' they told me.

"These tidings fell upon me like a hail of poisoned arrows! The fact that I'd summoned some unknown curse to innocent lands was not the news I wanted to hear. Yet there was so much wickedness in existence that I was compelled to believe it!

"'Soon you will aid the right person, and it will be by the course of this path that you will be carried to your destiny of evolution, and the curse will no longer be yours to bear. Through this evolution you will become more powerful...you will become the Erethaoí! And it will then be up to you, if you wish to utilize this new power for what is good or what is evil,' they said, with that horrid laughter. Oh...that laughter! How it burned into my very soul!

"Not a day went by that this tale did not haunt me. The vision was so vague; leaving it up to the conjurations of my idle mind to shed some light upon what it could be, striving to figure out what wrong I'd caused in that first life of mine. I was told nothing of the second embodiment...nor do I care to know. For the burden of two was enough for me to carry! However, maybe over time, when the moment is right for me to learn of it, I will. Alas, the very notions terrifies me.

"Over the years I tried to study and research my past. I came to many theories and connections, but each was as devastating as the next. I had come to one particular conclusion which I hoped not to be true.

"Then, one night in a dream, Vahna somehow returned to me and said, 'It was not you who was evil in that initial existence. It was a brother who betrayed you. And only for your innocence do you get this second chance to make things right, for the wickedest of people are never so fortunate!'

"They then departed my dream, and finally I knew who I once was. Latent visions rekindled from my past after what they'd told me. Visions of a brother, a woman...and of a child."

Redmun poured himself another goblet and downed it all before proceeding.

"I was once named Belenathus, boy. Brother to the magician Belenathor," said he, and with that, William gazed at him with an eye which spoke of sheer incredulity. "It is because of me that this creature roams the lands and takes the lives of those who deserve to live. It is by fault of my ignorance that so much blood has been spilt over the years. Many great heroes have fallen by my carelessness, and now it is up to me, my curse, to try and remedy that which I've done."

Drawing himself from his bewilderment, William said, "But it was Belenathor's fault...not yours!"

"I refuse to shift the blame, boy," said the man, hopelessly downing his gaze. "Had I once been stronger, I would have denied his will."

"But, Redmun, you were a completely different person!" William protested. "A reincarnation! How can you take the blame for what Belenathus did? It's not as if you, Redmun, had any power over it! It was him...just him."

"I appreciate what you are trying to do, lad. But our ways differ greatly from yours. And now that I am aware of me being partially the cause of this, I cannot let it go."

Resting back into his seat, William let the man proceed with his story. But in seeing Redmun this way, he could not help feeling pity for him. He appeared fragile; believing so blindly that he was the cause of so many innocent deaths.

"But still, I found hope," Redmun said then. "Legend has it that Belenathus was father to the great warrior, Mysun Margyle. I have read all about the rebirth of this paladin and how he would someday return in the form of a boy. A boy who could be distinguished by the symbol of the Margyle's lost diamond shield!"

"The symbol of his... _shield_?" William asked, wondering what it meant.

"Yes, it was his first and only shield. When he was a boy, Mysun made it himself, with the help of a blacksmith he knew. And on it, he engraved a symbol. Nobody really knew what it was. Not even him, according to some. They just took it as it was, a child's drawing of him and his shield. But it was later discovered to be a code. A puzzle, waiting to be solved."

Taking a leather-bound, dog-eared tome from beneath the end table, Redmun leafed through it until he came to the right page. This is the symbol that it showed:

"Returning to my studies, I uncovered some ancient writings long since forgotten. 'Twas said, by the cryptologist's theorem, that if any emblem comes accompanied by black dots, such as the two we see here, it means two things. One: that the insignia itself hides a code...usually a name or a title. And two: that sections of it will need to be separated in order for it to be reassembled in its secret form. In our case, we have two dots. One on top, one on the bottom. Therefore, this means that two portions of the emblem will need to be detached, in two moves only. Fortunately for us, because the whole insignia is already split into two individual pieces—the dots notwithstanding—the difficult part has already been done for us, in that all we need to do now is split the top and bottom portions, using one move for each."

He then waved his hand over the page to show William what he meant, when the two markings magically separated lengthways. The diamond at the bottom was thus carved in half, making two sideways _V_ 's. The _X_ on top divorced completely in two, resulting in the very same. Now there were four _V_ 's on their sides, each mirroring the ones opposite.

"Next, I'll ask you to notice the two sets of diagonal notches which are scratched into the upper leg of the lower left _V_ , and the lower leg of the bottom right. Those suggest that both those very portions need to be inverted accordingly."

Passing his hand over the image a second time, the shapes moved as the Erethaoí had said.

Gesturing at the tiny lips on the lower leg of the top left _V_ , and the one on the upper leg of the bottom right, he went on. "This thus leaves us with four independent _V_ 's. All that's left now is for us to adjoin the ones above and below, using these notches."

Again, employing his sorcerer's wave, both segments connected, thereby moulding two letters...

"Lastly, we place the right letter on top, and the left on the bottom, so we can read them as the theorem had intended. And, now, if you can decipher this symbol for yourself, you'll notice that it shows two letters. The letters _W_ and _M_. Your very own initials, boy! It's all written right here in these pages if you do not believe me."

William was indeed taken aback when he saw this. He was actually being shown some form of written proof. Naturally, it made everything all the more intimidating for him, reminding him of what he had to do; of this treacherous journey which had evidentially been appointed to him and him alone.

"And that's not even the most amazing part," the man said fervidly, scooching in. "Do you see that small hook that looks like a hand, protruding from the left corner of the _W_? Well, this means that the letter can be inverted again, to reveal yet _another_ relevant truth."

For the last time, he swiped his palm across that weathered page, so that the letter flipped over on itself, revealing an _M_.

"Now you understand?" he asked excitedly. "You too have lived another life. The life of Mysun Margyle! You see, this proves it. It _is_ you I seek."

By now, poor William was silently battling, within himself, a skirmish of mixed beliefs and draining emotion. Leaving the book aside, Redmun stood before the heat of the fire, where he lingered for a time. Eventually he uttered words, so tenderly, that you would hardly believe it was him saying them.

"In another time, lad...I was once of Mysun's very blood. His kin. I can still hardly believe it. Such staggering notions, yet trivial compared to all that I must yet tell you."

Nothing of what he was hearing seemed in any way impossible to William. There was no reason for it to be otherwise. And yet so much was happening that hour that he felt like his head was going to pop, and the idea of hearing any more was only crippling his already jaded wit all the more.

Getting up, and almost to the point of speechlessness, he answered wearily, "Listen, Redmun, I understand. But all o' this is a bit too much for me right n—"

Suddenly, the man turned to him with an abrupt, drunken rage, and barked, "I _know_ it's a lot to take in, boy! But you must learn of it whether you wish to or not! It is too important to be brushed aside like some meagre irrelevancy. I wish to teach you of your life. Your history. Your past. Do you understand? And you must recognise your past to conquer any inhibitions, and thus triumph in your future. If you do not do this, then your ties with this cause will be fruitless, indifferent, and all that we cherish will be at an end. Worlds will crumble, and any life that was ever worth a damn will be lost. Filth will crawl from the abyss until all has been consumed by its malice."

Struck into silence, William stared back in shock, and Redmun continued in a way which yearned to be heeded. "And don't even get me started on how you've been given a life of great purpose. A life of salvation and glory! You have been granted the opportunity to do things that other people could only dream of. A chance to prove yourself beyond all measures! And what? You deny this life?"

"N-N-No, but—" William stuttered.

"Bah, there are no 'buts,' boy!" the man put in, growing impatient again. "To lead a life of substance is everybody's dream, but very few have the courage to actually follow it. Some may think they are _making the most_ of their given time, but all they are truly doing is reaping life's luxuries for the sake of themselves...and never will anyone be remembered for such things. Only names of the righteous and the strong can withstand the test of time. Such as what your name could do, lad."

When he insisted on telling William what he _should_ want out of his _own_ life, William became rather defensive, and protested, "Redmun, with all due respect, I had plans for my future. I already had ideas about what I wanted. Then all this happened! Fair enough, I wanted purpose, yes. But something more along the lines of a musician or something. Or some public figure. I don't know. _Something_."

"Oh, I see!" the man smirked sourly. "Had there been no threat of Briggun, you'd rather be back in your world pursuing these petty little dreams, is that it? Yes? What if they failed? What then?"

The boy, irked, didn't say anything.

"I'll tell you _what then_ ," Redmun went on. "You'd end up slaving for somebody you hardly know. Doing something you'd most likely loath. And worst of all, you know it, too. I know how your world works, boy. Ours is not all that different anymore."

"I could see myself working for someone else until I got myself sorted or till something better comes along, too right I would," William retorted. "And what's wrong with that? So what if I'm not _dancing_ my way into work every morning, happy as a pig in muck! But at least it's a living. And this living would put food on the table and clothes on my back until I find my _true_ calling! I know plenty o' folk who make the most out o' their ordinary, everyday jobs, and they get by happily enough. Some people just do what they can in order to scrape by, and it isn't fair to judge them for that. You make it sound like torture, trying to earn an honest living."

"And that's what life is all about to you, is it...scraping by?" the man asked.

"Well..." William paused.

"No," Redmun added, with profound sincerity. "Life has been given to each of us as a chance to prove how well we can survive, to the best of our abilities and courage, in the world which our good Lord has provided us with. Not only is this ultimately rewarding, but it will also help us to meet people whose love for us could not even be surpassed by God himself. As for your particular idea of 'living;' it steers us to nothing but futility. After a lifetime, when these people are too old and too lonely to have the luxury of options, they turn around and ask, 'where has my life gone?' And by then they have no way out except through death...which is truly sad. What's all the more pitiful is how so many knowingly fall into this trap! Regretfully in the end, of course. Some spiteful few then insist that others live by this code too, as it is considered the 'common way'...or the 'safe option!' Unfortunately these options are cowardly, slothful and, ironically...lifeless. Forgive me if that sounds harsh."

Before William could oppose and proceed to voice his own views, Redmun interrupted him again by saying, "Boy, each of us are born with our own potential. Some, I admit, more than others. Even so, we all possess some natural promise, and we owe it to ourselves to act upon it. Through their talents, every breathing soul out there has the ability to shape the hearts around them, for good, whether it be a minor influence or a major one. Either way, they can truly embrace their time on earth. Combined with their own dreams, drives, and dispositions, these talents can germinate and grow until something so unexpected and completely magnificent will result from them. From that first little concept. From that initial step. Be it the first glance into our child's eyes, or to be the last one standing upon a battlefield in war; something miraculous will always come from ambition. We all have our parts to play in life, lad. We weren't given our time to waste it...and it is these very gifts which allow us the power to make it through in ways which we could never even dream.

"Of course, we must work in order to achieve these goals. This means nurturing our skills so we can use them proficiently, and not disregard them so we can evade probable rejection, only to pursue a road which is truthfully unimportant to us, but will at least 'put food on the table,' as you so put it. No, sacrifices must be made for us to reap the optimum rewards. But, in the end, as we flourish in the realities of these very dreams, lad, all of our toil and pain will look to be but minuscule in contrast to the bountiful universe which has been paved by our success, creating a long and blissful future for ourselves and our loved ones, while inspiring the dreams of others to come; creating a never-ending cycle of hopes and desires for all. As for you, boy, your gift is allowing you the opportunity to make _such_ a difference!"

Intruding on the man, William said woefully, "Listen. All that sounds great and all. And I appreciate what you're trying to say. But these 'lonely' people you're talking about...at least they get to live out their lives in some comfort, without looking over their shoulders every two minutes, worrying if they're going to get their heads chopped off or eaten by some demon dog or some Gremlin!"

"Maybe so," the man admitted. "There will be dangers upon your path, I will not deny that. Yet does that actually differ, all that much, from the hazards of any other existence? Think about it. I've heard of how danger practically rules your new world. Is it not true that the poverty-stricken run the risk of fatal illnesses on account of poor conditions? Are the prosperous not under threat by the hands of the jealous and the corrupt? Do the labourers not jeopardize their wellbeing, every...single...day, while hunting, safeguarding, or sailing the ruthless seas to trawl or travel? No? Let alone the unwary woman or child who roams from place to place, beneath the very shadow of prowling evil who looks to prey on their credulity.

"Besides, it is to understand the meaning _behind_ your given journey that truly counts! You must overlook these obstacles of petty danger and see everything from a greater perspective. With your own blessed opportunities, you could be someone truly unique, boy! Someone who no other human being in the history of time has ever gotten the opportunity to be...nor will they ever! You've inherited a gift, a marvellous privilege. The gift of liberation. To help the helpless beyond the limits of anything that has ever been seen before. To be feared by the fearful. To know how it feels to be the one who so many turn to in their hour of need! One whose power could save countless lives while granting them—as has been done for you—futures of their very own. And then, a moment will arrive when your name will live on long past the margins of time itself...bestowing hope unto those who could but wish to ever attain such courage! You have been appointed the task of sole saviour for our worlds; both your world and mine. It's your destiny."

William had never known such passion in his entire life as what he heard leaving Redmun's lips in that moment. And yet he could not look at him. He spoke of William with such high hopes, and as much as he wanted to believe all of this, he still didn't understand this supposed power which he was yet to obtain, or how it could eventually achieve such feats. It was all so bewildering to him, and more than demanding.

Then the man uttered as though defeated, "Or perhaps you would rather lie down before Briggun and die. Is that it? Because that is the only outcome you shall face, should you turn around right now and head for home. Because without you, here, now, challenging him, he will undoubtedly prevail, until he eventually has it all. Our world, your world, even the universe and beyond. It is just a matter of time. But this is your choice...not mine. I'm merely trying to illustrate how nonpareil you could be."

Redmun strolled back to his chair, where he slouched himself lazily.

It wasn't a complete loss, for William heard truth in his words. It was as if Redmun knew what William wanted before William knew it himself. The boy _did_ wish to live out a life of purpose, just like those in his books, and this was likely the only chance he would ever get to achieve such righteousness. Nothing in his life back home could ever compare to the magnitude and magic of this very opportunity. He was still miles from being thrilled about the whole ordeal, but he was slowly warming to it. It made him feel special.

"So, do you wish to hear what I have to say? Or do you wish to depart and leave fate to the hands of our enemy?" asked Redmun, as if exhausted from talking to the wall, as it were.

Letting Drevol succeed was not what William wanted, not by any means.

"I'm sorry..." the lad said regretfully. "I didn't mean anything by it, honestly. It's me. Sometimes it's just hard to come to terms with all o' this...this _stuff_! But please, go on..."

A smile grew upon the man's face, overjoyed by William's will to comply.

"Good! Good, lad! Now, where was I?" said Redmun, returning to life again. "Oh, yes! The scrolls say that, once this boy truly realises his destiny, he will be able to defeat Drevol Briggun, alone and unaided. Now, if I can help you to become who you are destined to be, then maybe I can help you to vanquish this evil I've once caused. I can then fight alongside you, and do what I can to aid those who've suffered from this. I shall take it as penance. Yet, I can only hope that it will be enough to salvage these lands. Now, there is one thing required to help with your reincarnation. One tool."

William watched him lurching his way over to a tower of papers and books, below which a black, timeworn safe was hidden. Cryptically, Redmun twisted the dial left, to right, to left again, before turning the handle sharply clockwise. William was peering over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was inside...but there was very little, save for a few parchments and some scrolls. On the upper shelf, however, in the shadows, there was a fairly bulky item wrapped in red satin. Like it was a sleeping child, Redmun lifted it out carefully and carried it over to the table.

Resting the item down, he said mysteriously, "It is called the Symphogram, and it was the best-kept secret of the Lythial world."

"The Symphogram? What's that?" William asked, glaring dreamily at the veil.

"It was a device that neither Drevol nor his agents of evil ever learned of!" Redmun answered.

He then whisked off the cloth...and there it was.

It resembled a gramophone in almost every respect. Only it was smaller, and there was no turntable, merely a raven horn fixed to a polished mahogany body. On its side, a brass crank was secured by a heavy padlock with no keyhole. Upon the lock was a face, much like the face on Thérn's pommel, as it happens. Also, it appeared that the box itself could be opened, though the seal had been stitched by heavy golden thread, with each suture being of an odd rune shape and, to open it, looked forbidden. Whilst analysing the contraption, a sudden image flashed in William's mind. An image of that same music box he saw in the tower. Snapping out of it, he shook his head, uncertain of what had just happened.

"You all right there, lad?" Redmun asked, steadying the boy.

"I'm fine," William pretended. "Just a little tired from training. Happens sometimes. So, what were you saying?"

"Very well. Now! Crafted by the dwarf carpenter Mitzel Acahrá, the Symphogram was used to utter the theme of the warrior!" Redmun said, with an air of mysticism.

"Theme?" William asked, with converging eyebrows. "As in... _music_?"

"Indeed!" the man replied.

"But what's music got to do with all o' this?"

Redmun then grinned with anticipation for the story he was now to tell.

"This is the true meaning behind Mysun Margyle, lad," he said, as a faint, visiting draught gave momentary life to the candlelight. "In the beginning, when Mysun came onto this land, within his heart a song was born. 'Twas a composition so powerful and glorious that it would bellow with morale for any good person who heard it; almost rattling the very ground as Mysun strode into battle. This music was always in his heart and mind, you see. He always knew it was there, for he could hear it within himself. But there was a time when it didn't have any physical way of revealing itself to him...or to his allies, for that matter.

"So Mitzel took it upon himself to invent a tool which the warrior could use to bring the music out. Hence, he envisioned the Symphogram. Into it he placed an orchestra of Pitch Faeries, whose sole purpose was to perform that beautiful music! Mitzel had grown these faeries himself; one of his very own creations. He managed to do so through the crossbreeding of different plants and spells, along with one droplet of blood from the hero himself, which the faeries required for empathy of their host. And so it was that the Symphogram was born.

"Anytime Mysun felt strong, when he sensed the music growing within, it would drum aloud through Mitzel's creation. The music represented courage and purpose, and the Symphogram would play Mysun's theme as loudly as a dozen orchestras. The piece became known amongst the people as the Banádh...or Birth Music. The emotion in this melody was something so magnificent that no other piece throughout time itself could ever rival it. It was so undeniably beautiful and so full of hope, with drums as clear as thunder.

"But that's not all! Like the tyrant Briggun, through his music, Mysun could also summon to him his allies, those whom he had befriended throughout his existence. They too would become one with the music of the Banádh, as though enchanted by its spell, and they would sing to its melody as they marched to their hero's side in battle. But once victory was at hand, and the music had faded, both the melody and the words would suddenly become forgotten by those who were lured to it; like they were delivered amnesia by the will of its secret, so it could never be replicated and put to misuse by another. Even so, never would Mysun's allies forget nor deny their reasons for fighting alongside him. Never would they surrender that hope for freedom.

"The Symphogram was never completely essential to Mysun maintaining his power, though it did aid him immensely in war. But without it now, boy, you will neither have the ability to wield the Wrythus nor accommodate the forces of Mysun. It is a necessity for the victory of this final conflict. And if something should happen to it before then, or if it gets destroyed, we shall no doubt lose this war. This, I have learned from the precious manuscripts of Yùrnacha Hall."

"Hang on," William said, with a degree of confusion. "How can this Symphogram be a secret from Drevol if he heard the music playing on the battlefield?"

"Oh, he knows of the music," Redmun explained. "He fears it greatly. Yet he knows not of its source. He knows nothing of the Symphogram itself. I expect he thinks that the Banádh simply rains down upon them from the heavens or something to that effect. I don't know what he thinks, really...nor do I care to know."

Draping the Symphogram considerately within the satin cloth, Redmun placed it back inside the safe before proceeding with his tale.

"Some centuries after Drevol had claimed the canyons of Lòr, the Symphogram was discovered to have been left behind after the great flee. I had to study this lore in the histories, having not been around in those yesteryears myself. So, with knowledge of this, I threw caution to the wind, and saw this as the chance I had been waiting for, a chance to aid he who had the gift of salvation. So it became my mission to retrieve the Symphogram, thereby furthering the boy's chances upon this land. I knew that his rebirth would not hold true without the aid of the artefact. So, immediately, I left for the canyons, and that journey put me to the ultimate test.

"Upon that road, I came in contact with all manner of foes. Conflict was around every turn, both physically and mentally, and the quest lasted some weeks. 'Twas then that I reached the Barren City before the great mountain of Andin's Shield. Within that city were the first buildings to have ever been erected during the times of justice. However, it is the last place that anyone wishes to be nowadays, for those buildings stand upon the very edge of evil land.

"After I'd found my way over the Great Mountain, I was on the very brink of the canyons. So there I waited, in the shadows, biding my time before finally infiltrating to retrieve the Symphogram. Then it happened. My chance had arrived.

"Drevol had left his nest one midsummer's eve, so covertly I walked the dreaded trail of the canyon, entering the Bohàr Pass in search of the Symphogram. I believe a gateway has been erected there since, to prevent any from entering. A horrid contraption, I hear.

"Already I had maps in my possession, drawn by the Druid Trolls of the Seventh Moon. These rare charts contained the possible whereabouts of this artefact, and they did not lead me astray. After some days of prowling and many close encounters, I eventually found it in a chest, concealed beneath the tide of a black pool. It was apparently hidden there by the imps before seeking exile, lest Drevol wiped out every breathing soul and, in turn, destroyed the Symphogram, too. But their maps led me right to it. So with the Symphogram put safely in my rucksack, I made my escape."

Suddenly, all enthusiasm went from Redmun's voice as he slowly rubbed his palms.

"This last part I will never forget...for it would be the last time I would ever see anything again. Past Andin's Shield I roamed, before making for the Barren City; almost with a feeling of ecstasy, of accomplishment. I was sure that I had completed my mission without flaw.

"The dilapidated walls of the Barren City were about me on all sides, and I had come to the old town square of the ruined metropolis. I was surrounded by rubble and decay, and little did I know that it was the hideout of Drevol's most fearsome ally, one whom I had indeed heard about, yet took no heed of, for reasons unknown to myself, even now. Looking back, I suppose I had to take the chance. This dim place, of deathly bricks and mortar, was home to the plague bringer, the keeper of the damned. It was the residence of Sidell du Pòrveth, Drevol's very own custodian. You may well have thought that Valstarius was Drevol's closest ally, but he is merely a puppet; a simpleton that Drevol employs for idiotic tasks. A sycophantic dope. One who wishes to please Drevol and aid him in hope that he would someday share lordship. That day will never come, yet still he persists.

"Sidell, however, is truly loyal to what is evil; expecting nothing in return for her allegiance. Protecting her master from the unseen good of the world, she is a faceless immortal with no features but for her rancid, bloodied eyes. She is suited in armour of vapour and shadow, whilst taking settle upon a beast only remembered from the darker ages; the Behemoth of Gùran. A catlike creature, winged, which stands at the height of two men and walks six long. Two fierce horns jut from its skull, weighing its head to the very dirt as muscles ripple through its grey flesh and flames sprout from its heaving nostrils. Being a descendant of the deep, its fur ever trickles with a coat of seawater, creating that horrid, dripping sound which would turn one's skin to the tint of snow. This creature is evil most horrid and, only together, do they possess a terrible power. They can govern the souls of those who were doomed to walk the earth after death, the spirits of pillagers, maniacs, and murderers, while also wielding the ability to summon terrible plagues and curses which she could set upon the guiltless at will. Yes, this witch was an enemy to these lands for time out of mind.

"I ran as fast as I could through those empty streets, casting spell after spell at she who pursued from the dark. Yet my pouch was soon empty, and my magic was gone. I then began to slow in my stride, when a sudden feeling of dread came upon me. It was not the fear of her chasing me that did it...it was something else...something _inside_ me. Suddenly I got the overpowering sensation that something was very wrong. Like I was changing. This brought me to a total halt, and I could hear her approaching slowly from behind. I will never forget her black laughter; that haunting chuckle. My eyes felt like they were burning. I dropped to my knees and covered my face."

As he spoke, some logs collapsed within the hearth, setting free a sparking blaze.

"I could feel the heat from my face scalding my hands. The pain was excruciating. I yelled at her, and threatened her, and even begged her to stop. Yet soon I could see nothing...and I was left in the dark, with no defence."

Redmun walked back to the fireplace, where he placed his hands upon the mantelpiece, and the flames soothed his icy shiver. Just then Merkel and Ostly entered the room to curl up snugly before the hearth.

"She then came in for a second attack," Redmun continued. "Blow after blow she hit me, like a mangy, old dog. As this was happening, I could feel the breath of the behemoth upon my flesh and the warm trickling of blood flowing down my face. She left me to my death in that place and, back she went, to whence she first slithered from.

"I could not see anything; only hear my breaths, of which I was sure were my last. I thought I'd see the dreaded skull of death in my dreams. A shrouded, cackling skull who grins upon the souls he's about to take. But I did not...and I was not sure how I felt about that.

"Hours went by like days, and that was when Merkel found me. A new friend."

At the mention of his name, the fox glanced up, and Redmun crouched to scratch his nape.

"He muzzled my cheek and licked my wounds. Then he urged me to my feet and led me from that place. He brought me by way of some unfamiliar route through the land. Some manner of secret shortcut that only the woodland animals knew of. A way with little dangers which can only be shared with others under the strict approval of the king elk, Mathus Natha, who is adamant about keeping his pass a secret, and his race safe from outside dangers. And who could blame him? Luckily, I was permitted safe passage that day. Yet the journey felt like it went on forever, what with my legs being buckled from the fight and my vision stolen from me by the black arts of that witch. In the heart of our travel, Ostly also came and introduced himself. And, together, they brought me here, to my new home. And here I have dwelt ever since."

Hobbling backwards a few steps, Redmun bumped into the counter. Whether it was the latent effects of the alcohol or not, William could not say, but he had a look of sadness about him. The burdensome sorrows of nostalgia, no doubt. He began feeling about the worktop, knocking over tubes and jars in the process, in the hunt for more drink. Any dry bottles he found, he just dropped them onto the floor with a grunt. All the while, William watched curiously, with a constricting sense of sorrow in his belly. Redmun continued to scavenge until he found a bottle with a drop left in it. He then wobbled over to his desk, where he fell into his chair with a desolate sigh.

"Leave me be now, lad," he mumbled. "Leave me be."

William took his leave. He'd learnt enough that night for him to dwell on.

Just as he was about to close the door behind him, Redmun said, "Boy..." and William glanced back.

Hunched over the table with his back to him, the man said softly, "I did not mean to criticize whatever plans you may have had for your future back home. However, you're more than you think you are, lad. Believe me! And how can anyone expect to prove their true worth by building onto somebody _else's_ dreams?"

Pouring himself another goblet, he then rested his weary eyes in his hand. After which, William closed the door behind him, and left him to his thoughts.

That night, young William turned in with nothing on his mind other than what he'd learnt in Redmun's study. For a time he lay there in the darkness, gazing into the churning shadows upon the ceiling; weighing up, speculating, and fearing details of his past, his present...and his possible future. Eventually, the load of all that burden drew his eyelids to a close. Heedless of the sheer gravity of all that had been brought upon him that night, William's dreams were at first really pleasant. Brimming with that of Mozart and Vivaldi as he soared over magical green pastures as free as an eagle. Then, as the night gradually crept forth, he came to endure a deep, dreamless slumber, carefree and safe, before awakening to yet another arduous day in Làn Chùrdal.

# \- Chapter Fourteen -

### Insight to the Wrythus

Sunshine had once again returned to the glade, but still the days were chill. William's only sensation of comfort, however trivial, came from the cloudless blue skies overhead, and the lively songs of the golden finches gathering for their nests.

Training continued, and the time had come for William to study the mindfulness of breathing, and how calmness can often prevail in stressful situations. It was an art of meditation where William would sit cross-legged, straight of back, while focusing all of his attention upon the fine point of breathing. Twice daily he practiced this, both in the morning, and again in the afternoon, for forty minutes at a time. He had nothing other than, what he now considered to be the tranquil ambience of the jungle, to accompany him.

It proved quite testing to begin with, trying to focus on his breath and such, especially with all of those worries buzzing around in his head. Yet he soon managed to become one with it, and grew really quite efficient at it thereafter. Also, as time plodded on, he _did_ find himself attaining some manner of inner serenity. Meditation's basic principles helped him to keep focused on other aspects of his life too; granted, it'd take years for him to master it properly. But he kept at it.

To test his skills in this area, Redmun blindfolded him and had Ominix escort him out to the deepest part of the jungle, where there were no trails of any kind for miles. Removing his blindfold for him, Ominix fluttered back into the trees, leaving William to fend for himself and find his way home, alone, without food and without water. He spent days out there, in the loneliness of the jungle. And yet, that's what he'd been trained for. Staying calm, William made all the right decisions. He first toiled through that mangled scrub until he discovered a higher viewpoint near the lip of a bluff. From there, he surveyed the jungle for indications of a river or stream. Spying a depression in the jungle's east, he upped and trudged towards it. The closer he got to it, the harder it was to keep track of his whereabouts from deep within the forest boughs. Nevertheless, he stuck with it, remained calm, and kept his direction well enough to happen across a small, trickling brook, which eventually guided him back to the banks of that old muddy river. This then guided him back to the familiar grounds of his jogging route and, ultimately, the cabin thereafter.

During his time alone out there, William lived on berries and water, where he could find it. He slept where he could; in shaded areas, preferably away from the forest floor itself, for fear of toxic insects and raids of fire ants. Three days was how long it took him to get back to the glade, and our William appeared just as healthy as when he had first set out, save for some minor cuts and bruises. Throughout that time, his study of meditation was indeed a lesson more valuable than even gold itself; teaching him to ignore, and disempower, all of his intrusive thoughts and anxieties. However, some select few were slightly more taxing to discount than others.

William also had the opportunity to see more of his friends in those later days. More often than not, it was just Khrum, Icrick and the Dullahan. Wren was elsewhere. Redmun had allowed William this extra ration of time each morning before dawn as a reward for his outstanding progress. So, every morning, his friends would come out to greet him and they would laugh, and joke, and tell stories, before William went for first teachings.

While they were catching up, Redmun had Wren out to do a few errands for him. She didn't mind, though. It was the least she could've done in return for the food and board which he had so graciously supplied them with. He just gave her small tasks, such as resetting the traps in the jungle and the likes. Nothing too demanding. Aside from that, she spent a good deal of her time with Jimzin (after Redmun had granted him safe passage into Làn Cùrdhal, that is). The dragon never dwelt in the jungle for too long, mind you. He simply collected Wren on occasion, and they would fly off to explore the countryside and, moreover, spend some time together.

William wasn't without some minor disappointment when he did not see her as much as the others...though he hid it quite well. As for Icrick, Khrum, and Crosco, they too were rather sad to see Wren leaving the jungle whenever she did, because they'd gotten to know her fairly well and had accepted her, whole-heartedly, into their little circle. But she always returned and, even in spite of her absence, the others had a good chortle amongst themselves nonetheless.

By that stage, the Poppum was also out and about with them too, fully mended and well. Little Pew had a fantastic time scuttling in through the brushwood, sniffing around and investigating. He also had an especial fondness of butterflies, and giving them the chase. It was quite the environment for such a little fellow, being as inquisitive as he was. Never had he known such fun; free of danger, just flapping from tree top to tree top and scavenging a nibble where he could find it. But he did have some oddities, in certain respects, which none of them could really understand. For instance, whenever he went outside to explore, he'd often have a habit of scurrying around to all the trunks and rocks, rapping on them with his knuckles, then giving them a listen. Very peculiar behaviour, as far as the others were concerned. Day after day he'd scamper into the glade, and dash from trees to rocks, all the while knocking and listening with a careful ear. And if he ever heard something to his distaste, he would scowl, give the tree a swift kick, and hop over to the next one. Truly bizarre, I can tell you, but loveable all the same.

Within the guest cabin, Icrick had laid out a basket beside the fire, in which Pew slept each night. Khrum, Wren, and the Grogoch had all the time in the world for him, whereas The Head was somewhat repulsed by the look of him, always referring to him as a member of the _rat clan_ or branding him a 'squeaky little weasel.' Pew took no notice of him, though. Actually, if the others didn't know any better, they would've said that Pew was quite fond of The Head, constantly sniffing at him as Crosco lay idly upon a table or chair, sometimes even giving him an affectionate lick or running his brow adoringly along Crosco's cheek. But I'm sure you can already guess The Head's reaction to all of that, without me having to tell you. He was very displeased indeed. Or else he was playing a proficient role at _appearing_ so. For there were times too when he didn't seem all that troubled as the fleecy little critter showed his endearing affections. It was only when he got apprehended by another did Crosco start spitting, and spluttering, and giving out, as if to maintain his rigid repute. One could but wonder.

One morning, William and Icrick met up in the glade and they got to talking. Khrum and the Dullahan stayed inside and were stuffing their faces with bread and honey, but they weren't long finishing up.

"Redmun told me more about Mysun...and about a thing called the Symphogram. He showed it to me," William said to the Grogoch.

"Oh, the _Symphogram_ ," Icrick gasped, with a great deal of mystery on his face.

Reading his reaction, William said, "Wait...you _knew_ about this?! Why didn't you tell me? According to Redmun, this thing is really important. And, to be honest, I'm inclined to agree with him, after everything he told me about it. So why didn't you say anything about it, Icrick?"

Young William wasn't angry at the Grogoch for not mentioning the Symphogram as such, but he was curious as to why he'd kept such a significant detail so very secret.

"Anun assured us that you would find out about it in due time," explained the Grogoch, in a fidget. "We presumed that she'd let you know at some stage and that it wasn't our place to tell you."

Meanwhile, Pew came springing out of the scrub in pursuit of a brilliantly coloured butterfly. His attention was quickly diverted by the sight of his friends chatting, so he came scampering over to William, in comical bounds, and leapt into his arms.

"Hello, Pew," said William, stroking the Poppum's fuzzy head, drawing his eyelids back over his scalp. "Well, sorry to say, Icrick, but Anun never told me anything about it."

"Oh, dear! Well I can see how that would be troubling for you," replied Icrick. "But Anun is wise, William. Sounds to me like she was biding her time, waiting for the right moment. Anyhow, you found out about it _eventually_ , didn't you? For all we know this could very well have been how she intended it to be!"

Happening on a valid point, William asked, "How could she _intend_ for me to find out about the Symphogram by warning me away from the very person who actually had it?"

"Presuming she even knew he had it in the first place, you mean?" Icrick pointed out to him. "Besides, she merely offered you the _choice_ , William, remember? And, in hindsight, I think maybe we were better off in Redmun's hands than in the clutches of that Valstarius brute! _Much_ better off. So, when you think about it, you chose quite wisely. Your mind is sharpening."

"Never thought about it like that," said William distantly, feeling a bit of an eejit for getting all worked up over it. "She _did_ tell me that my choices were important to my progress...or something along those lines. Makes sense, actually. Sorry, Icrick. Head's a bit scattered."

"As would mine be if I had to deal with all the things that _you've_ had to," said the Grogoch.

"Yeah, stress is all it is." The boy nodded. "Tiredness! God knows I could use a bit of a sleep-in one o' these mornings. So, what do you make o' Redmun, then? He's been teaching me a lot."

"He does seem decent; giving us food and board and the likes," replied Icrick, considering the man's cabin. "Indeed, you _are_ learning from him, too. And yes, had it not been for him, you wouldn't have learned of the Symphogram when you did... _or_ gotten away from the centaur, for that matter! Yet, I shall remain vigilant. Just in case. Though I shall keep it subtle and stay courteous."

"I'd appreciate that, Icrick, thanks," said William with a smile, and dwelling upon an idea, he said, "I see how it must be hard for you to understand him, because you haven't spent as much time with him as I have. And I know you're only honouring Anun's wishes by being cautious and that, which is fair enough as well. But, you know, for whatever reasons she _did_ want us to steer clear of him, I think she might've been...well...overreacting a little."

"I'd sincerely doubt _that_ , William," the Grogoch insisted. "Initially, though her guidance may seem somewhat vague, or perhaps overzealous, it does eventually lead us to the answers that we seek...in one way or another. And only then can we truly see how her counsel has aided us. Trust me! I've seen it happen over and over again with Anun. She has perfectly good reasons for how she approaches things, William, honestly, even though she may not always use the _direct_ approach."

"So, what you're saying is, Redmun could still be a threat to us?"

"It's hard to say. Maybe not intentionally...no. But perhaps he has yet to do something which may not exactly work to our favour. However, please do not quote me on this, as I don't know for sure. I'm merely guessing, William...that's all. Anun's advice could mean _many_ different things. As I said before, her counsel works in very strange ways."

Just then the others waddled out lazily from the guest cabin, rubbing their bellies, satisfied and full. Ifcus remained indoors beside the fire where he usually slept in those days, whereas Wren was out with Redmun fetching water from the well.

"Now that, _that_ was a fine aul' feed!" the leprechaun praised, groaning with a lovely stretch. "I could've downed another four slices or so, but I think the aul' ticker's been actin' up ever since we moved in. Nothin' ta do here, only sit around _scoffin'_. Lack o' exercise 'n' all that tripe."

"You could always make up for it by gathering some extra firewood from time to time," The Head suggested, rather audaciously. "I know you're small, but I'm sure you could manage a few twigs at least. Might help you shed some of that gut."

At this, Khrum howled, and replied, "Says your man who won't even get off his tinned rear ta so much as shtoke the flippin' fire. Ya know what ya can do with your firewood, Dullahan? Cram it up your rancid aul' ho—"

"—ly Nora, Khrum!" Icrick interrupted. "Behave, will you! You've not seen William in ages, and all you can do is argue with Crosco. I mean, honestly!"

"It's grand, Icrick," William said, with a fond smile. "I'd be worried if they _weren't_ having a go at each other! How's it going, Khrum? And, Crosco, how are you?"

"William," Crosco greeted, being haughty as usual.

"How's the man?" chuckled the leprechaun, as he struggled up onto Icrick's shoulder. "Phew! That took some effort! Maybe I _should_ take it easy on the grub after all. 'Twas like climbin' a hairy tree, just now...with nits in it, by the looks o' things. Fairly manky, Icrick, ol' boy! Fairly manky in-deed!"

With everyone now there, William went on to include them in the details of the Symphogram, as well as what he'd been doing in training of late (on Icrick's request). While his teachings were all very intriguing, Khrum and the Dullahan were a little more interested in hearing about the legendary Symphogram, and how it came to be in the hands of Redmun.

After William had imparted all he knew on the subject, and everyone let their awe subside, they strayed into some normal chat. For a good hour they sat around, talking, laughing, and speculating over what was yet to come. William asked of their comfort within that guest cottage, and about Redmun's hospitality towards them; if it was good or bad. But there were no real complaints; only those regarding nightly insects and the occasional grass-snake slithering in from the glade, which wasn't a problem either, considering how they always wriggled under Icrick's covers every time, scaring the stink off him. Every night, they were _counting_ on it to happen so that they could get a good laugh out of it. Sometimes it did, sometimes it didn't. Either way, it made life a lot more interesting for all of them on those boring nights before bed.

After a while, Redmun would come and fetch the boy. Waving farewell to his friends, William went back to his daily duties, wholeheartedly and full of grit.

One afternoon, when he was meditating beside a small waterfall just beyond the glade, he found that he couldn't concentrate as well as usual. He kept on shifting, and stirring. He was restless. Questions regarding his previous conversation with Redmun were playing on his mind, and he really wanted to ask the man more about it.

"Something bothering you, boy?" the man asked.

He was repairing his bow close by, and could tell that William was unsettled. Coming out of his meditation, William sighed and said, "Redmun, when you evolve into an Erethaoí...how will it happen?"

He was curious as to whether Mysun's transformation would be similar to Redmun's, in some respects, though he was rather apprehensive about asking it straight out for some reason.

With a smile, Redmun said, "Glad you asked. Follow me."

Dusting himself down, William followed him to the old barn out the back of the cabin.

Fitted with a boarded sliding door on the side, this old basement barn had two large folding doors at the front, both secured by a heavy wooden beam and tarnished padlock. Holding the lock in hand, Redmun uttered into the keyhole some soft mutterings, at which the lock opened with a snap. As the man was busy folding back the doors, William stepped inside to nose around. He was half expecting something extraordinary and wonderful to be in that barn, the way Redmun was being so reserved about the whole business. But, much to his dismay, the only items occupying it were some haystacks—which must've been harvested elsewhere, yet were still very fresh—and a loft, below which hung four dangling dummies, and a short wooden tube with a strap was leaning in the corner beside some dusty casks.

Taking this tube, Redmun slung it over his shoulder and moved to the centre of the floor. He appeared most eager to show William whatever it was he was about to show him.

"Webble told me that, in this present state of my life, I am only a mere magician," he said, sweeping bits out of his way with his foot. " _Anybody_ can be a magician! It just takes practice. Currently, I can only create magic through the use of spells and, more importantly, specific ingredients...which are not always easy to find. Very well, I may be able to cause diversions or temporarily take to the skies, or defend myself long enough to escape danger...but none of this magic is truly natural. It is limited. Prepared. However, the path of the Erethaoí will be different; much more potent, in the sense that I will have the ability to manifest my energy from the earth, through the conveyance of an electric charge. Thus, these currents shall deliver a means of fuelling my magic. Magic of the elements."

"The elements? As in wind and water and that?" William asked, leaning against the casks.

"Precisely!" said Redmun. "I will be able to generate one of the four elements. Just one, permanently, through the fusion of the current. I shall be able to use this one element as a projectile. A weapon! Flight will also be as natural to me as walking, for it is one of the chief Erethaoí talents. Like witches, their female counterpart, they can soar as well as a bird. Although witches sometimes need magical brooms to bring out this gift.

"As for the elements, I am not sure as to which one I will be able to govern. It boggles me. Yet past experiences have taught me valuable lessons in patience."

Reaching into the tube, Redmun produced two small, black, leather balls.

"What I _do_ know, however, is how to practice for this new ability! Training for control of this power is the same for each element, as any Erethaoí will tell you. And this is how they used to prepare for their evolution in the early days...using these little Sní-pellets. They are actually Sní droppings. They look and feel like leather, but all the nutrients inside them—from Sní grazing—makes them last against nature's forces. Young Sní produce the best droppings, but, again, they are not that easy to come by.

So what the Erethaoí would do with these leather balls is they'd take them and fling them at their target. Sounds simple enough, I know, but they are very, very effective! Fly as true as arrows, they do.

"This exercise is said to improve accuracy, speed, and coordination. But they have to be thrown using the correct technique in order to be truly beneficial to the magic itself."

Crouching to one knee, with his head down and the pellet held behind his back, Redmun took one deep breath. In so doing, he looked to be sinking into a deeper level of relaxation. Slowly, he released his breath until every last wisp had been expelled from his lungs. Then, suddenly, whipping his arm straight out before him, palm-side up and with flawless form, the ball shot out of his hand like a bullet, thereby dusting one of the dummy's heads, nearly taking it clean off. Satisfied with this shot, Redmun stood to his feet.

"Direct hit!" William applauded.

"Aye, not bad!" the man concurred, pleased with himself. "Still, it is no contest for one to strike a sitting target. No one learns that way. So I've fabricated a simple conjuration to make it all a little more...challenging!"

Taking something from his satchel he displayed to William four rather large snails with marble-textured, studded shells.

"These are what I call Furtivites," explained the man. "An evolved species of snail which I created. These creatures were once vulnerable to many predators. But with a little of my magic, I've bred a _new_ species. Ones who can survive better in the wilds, and who can also aid me a great deal with my training."

"How do they manage that?" asked William, picking up a snail to examine it.

"They can merge themselves with an inanimate host, giving it temporary skills of mobility. Not life...mobility! They can also cause the host to move very fast and stealthily. Just imagine a mew's reaction as it swoops down to ensnare the Furtivite when, all of a sudden, it possesses a great chestnut tree to retaliate. The bird wouldn't be long retreating, you can rest assured of that! Very effective, boy. Very effective indeed! But, again, limited."

Nodding in agreement, the boy said, "I can imagine," and he handed him back the snail.

"Now stand back, lad...and observe," said Redmun, readying the Furtivites.

William backed up a little further so as to behold.

Walking into the midst of the barn, Redmun crouched and strategically placed all four snails upon the floor. When he stepped away, they took off at once, as fast as mice, towards the dummies, thus beginning to work their magic.

At first it was kind of disgusting to see those slimy creatures slithering up the backs of each dummy, leaving a wet, grungy trail after them, all the time emitting nauseatingly squishy sounds. As they slunk, their shells expanded like sponges in the rain, with the slugs themselves retreating back inside them. William could almost feel last night's chicken and spuds churning about in his tummy as he watched. Thankfully the snails had already taken position upon the back of each dummy before he could see it again, splashed across the floorboards, but all had gone quiet.

Motionless those dummies hung like rag dolls, with great shells clinging to their shoulders. Suddenly, one started to twitch. Then another, and another after that. With his back to the wall, William shuffled behind the casks with a face of utter repugnance. Before he knew it, all four dummies were wobbling about and scurrying all over the barn. It was one of the weirdest things he'd ever seen. They looked demented. Insane. All scampering around like maniacal scarecrows. One of them was even scurrying about like a spider, down on all four limbs, with the shell bobbing on his back as he scuttled towards the shadows. It was then that William understood why Redmun called them stealthy. For when that dummy scampered into the darkness he completely vanished, only to reappear from an entirely different shadow at the opposite side of the barn. Tricky targets indeed.

Drawing a new breath, Redmun uttered coolly, "Watch and learn, lad."

Again he crouched, scrutinizing the sounds of those burlap feet upon the sawdust floor. Like lightning, he flung out ball after ball. Every one walloped the dummies between the eyes, no matter where or how fast they decided to move. Redmun was leaping around like a cat, with the tails of his coat flailing in the action. He rolled and slid, here and there, hitting target after target.

As the pellets ricocheted off the dummies they would bounce back, and Redmun would manage to either catch them in the tube or reclaim them in his fist again for another volley. At one point, he even whipped out four pellets at once, concurrently knocking all four dummies to the ground. William couldn't help but laugh and clap out of sheer amazement. The rapidity of this man was absolutely insane. Of course the dummies wouldn't yield; running all over place and wobbling their limbs like crazy dolls. And yet this was exactly how Redmun liked to practice; with unremitting action. It allowed him to deliver attack after attack and continue to do so until he could do no more.

As the excitement persisted, young William was getting all the more entertained. Suddenly, one of the dummies made a charge in his direction. It was more so endeavouring to find the shadows _behind_ William rather than attack the boy himself...but William didn't know that. Crashing through the casks, the dummy floundered its way violently toward him. At that, William panicked, when, out of finely acclimatized impulses, he dealt a savage uppercut, sending the dummy right back onto his shell. I must say, our young Muldoon was definitely surprised by his reaction. With a look of pure amazement he stood there, staring at his attacker as it squirmed upon its shell like a tortoise after an awkward tumble, and then at his fist.

In hearing this commotion, Redmun stopped what he was doing and, with an imperious clap of his hands, all of the dummies flopped down like damp towels.

"Very impressive! Do that when it matters, boy, and it will be all the more impressive," he congratulated, catching his breath and sitting against the cask beside William.

"You have to remember that some beings have no consideration or appreciation for the lives of others. Your enemies will not take your feelings into account at any stage. Nor will they be either merciful or rational. _They_ want to be the ones walking away from the battle in one piece, and they will do whatever is necessary in order to do so. Keep that in mind!"

Redmun then patted William on the shoulder, which suggested to the boy some humble gesture of belated camaraderie. It was nice to get that from him at last.

"Redmun...can I...can I ask you something?" he then asked, with some uncertainty.

"It depends," said the man, fixing a loose strap on his boot.

"This transformation into Mysun; do you know what it will be like? I mean...will it be painful?"

William seemed vulnerable and worried, both of which Redmun perceived, so supportively he responded, "I shouldn't think that it will be painful. You probably think that your physical self will alter? Bones growing and splintering, and flesh tearing as you manifest into a grown warrior. Am I right?"

William's presumptions had never been so graphic, and now he was really worried.

"Y-Yeah! Well, you see, I had this dream before, where I was changing into something. And the pain was unbearable."

"Dreams can give us funny notions, boy," Redmun claimed. "They can be teaching us of things which may not have any relevance to what they show. Trying to understand them is not for the unaccustomed. It can be dangerous if we try. Lead us on trails that aren't meant for us. Like foresight; some folks should leave such dealings to those who know how to interpret them.

"The prophecy says that you will be _merged_ with the power of Mysun and, in some ways, his spirit. His physical being from all that time ago has long since turned to dust. So, no, Mysun himself will never be back to our world. However, when the time is right, you will feel his passion within your bones; within your heart! His power will be bequeathed unto you and, instinctively, you will understand what it is that he fights for. You will learn what it is to represent him, if you will. His spirit will stimulate your strength, your beliefs, and your courage."

"And I'll be able to use his magic like Mysun did...just like that?" William asked.

"Yes; however, you will not be able to use this power to its _full_ potential unless you get the opportunity to adapt to it. That could take many, many years. Nevertheless, I'm sure that you will do what you can with the magic you acquire, lad. So let us hope that it graces you more sooner than not, and we will have you get some practice in. Outside of this alteration of grandeur, it will not change a thing. You will still be you."

"Really?" The young fellow smiled, relieved, as if being suddenly rescued from some exhausting millstone. "So, once the time is right, _then_ this change will happen?"

"From what I know, once you truly realise what you're fighting for... _then_ it will happen. Once you begin to have faith in your cause. The sword is, otherwise, a trigger. Something for you to connect with your past, as some sort of fallback which could yet potentially aid with your transformation. But just because it's a backup, doesn't mean you should not protect it. For Thérn may yet very well prevail."

"Hang on," said William. "Thérn? A trigger? I don't get you."

"It's like this," the man explained. "Take the Grogoch, for example."

Redmun then pointed at Icrick, who was just beyond the bamboo trees outside getting bullied for kicks by Khrum. As a result of being teased, the Grogoch had fallen into one of his panic attacks, and was thereby struggling to catch his breath. But after a moment, he was soon breathing fine again. Khrum, after all, was only teasing him, and he was very apologetic towards him when he saw how badly his clowning had affected him.

"Do you know why he gets those anxiety attacks?" Redmun asked William.

"No. I don't think so."

"What happens is, his subconscious is associating certain situations to the feelings of fear and panic. He is not really gasping for air, he can breathe just fine...without any trouble at all. It's merely his subconscious trying to trick his body into thinking it is in a state of panic, while the situation itself grants no threat. And over the years he has built onto it; adding pressure after pressure which, of course, is not good for his nerves. But he'll live, and maybe someday he will learn to simply ignore these feelings and vanquish his fears for good.

"Hence, these associations are a form of trigger, like Thérn is supposed to be for you. It is said that, by holding the sword of Mysun, your subconscious may recall a time when you were this Wrythunn, giving you belief, and thus providing you with the means you need to inherit his power. Granted, as of yet, nothing has happened. So now it is all left down to time...and more importantly, to you! Everything in life is a test, boy. Every day you must test yourself. That way, you'll discover who you really are."

All this talk of testing oneself reminded William of when he used to jump those walls back home, albeit the circumstances were very different.

After unearthing that long-lost sense of excitement, he started wondering what it would feel like to actually _be_ a Wrythunn; whatever, in fact, a Wrythunn actually was.

He then asked, "So, about the Wrythunn. That's what Mysun was...a Wrythunn? What is it exactly? A wizard? A warrior?"

"To an extent," said Redmun, folding his arms and crossing legs. "Let me explain. Like the other magical races of this world, the Wrythunn are in a 'tier,' but of one of the highest orders. They are a species of wizard who have evolved from one rare breed of magic, a magic which only took the host of four beings that we know of: Belenathus, Belenathor, Drevol and Mysun. They were anomalies of enchantment, if you will. No two Wrythunn were the same, whereas the magic could only be passed on through hereditary means, according to theory. Drevol, however, was born _within_ the Wrythus when it first came to being; through some obscure occurrence. Nobody can really say how for certain."

"So, because you're reincarnated from Belenathus, does that mean you still have the ability to use any of his power?" William put in.

"No, unfortunately it does not," Redmun replied. "I started out anew. Though maybe my past did have some influence upon the outcome of my present abilities; I cannot really say."

"Oh, okay then," said William, trying earnestly to get his head around it.

"Anyway, that's beside the point," Redmun continued. "Over the years, we've only had these four Wrythunn to learn from. But, over time, the studies of Yúrnacha have again shown a much deeper insight into their magic, and the possibilities it could attain.

"If this breed of sorcerer—the Wrythunn—ever formed into a mass population, it was said that even in their earliest years of training, they could accomplish a variety of things, with each Wrythunn being different to the next. They could achieve anything from moving at lightning speed, to using foresight. They could cast terrible curses, have the knowledge of universal speech in order to empathize with beasts...and the list goes on and on! They would each be blessed with a natural array of formidable skills, some more than others. They'd have the know-how to change the basic principles of physics to their own will. The Wrythus would even allow some to manipulate and create forces of the elements. Yes, with the right combinations, this magic could let you accomplish _any_ range of miraculous feats! Provided one had the mind to use it that way, of course. And to accomplish creativity through such sorcery is a much tougher task than you might think. Especially in the heat of battle! In most cases, through force of habit, one tends to reuse the same tactics over and over, instinctually, as opposed to fabricating new and better ways of utilizing their power. They lack the ability to think fast. But that's where adaptation comes in."

Just then, William picked up a pebble from beside his foot, and said, "So, if I thought about it hard enough, I could make this pebble float or spin or something? Just by using my mind, say?"

"Telekinesis, I suppose you mean?" asked Redmun. "Or, at least, that's what it is now branded in your world, going by what the burrowers tell us."

"Um...yeah....right...Tella-na-nee-kasis," William repeated, with a wonky eye.

"Through Mysun's power...yes, of course you could. I presume it'd be based around the rudimentary rules of physical compounds."

The boy's silence hinted towards his confusion of Redmun's technical jargon.

"In other words, that stone is made up of microscopic particles. So are you!" the man explained. "Technically that stone is a part of you, so why could you _not_ move it? That would be the real question."

Obviously, William couldn't resist giving it a quick cerebral glare as Redmun was explaining things, but nothing came of it, so he just chucked it away.

"Over time and with enough practice, the abilities of a Wrythunn could be unsurpassable by any normal standards of wizardry," said Redmun.

He then strayed silently into a thought, and muttered, "And then there's 'the theory'..."

"Theory?" William asked.

"There is the theory of a Wrythus-beast alteration. It is a skill that only the eldest and strongest of the Wrythunn are believed to attain. The brothers, for example—had they only the mind to wield their power from the beginning. Yes, all Wrythunn are said to have the potential to eventually possess this skill, for it is supposedly the only relevant Wrythus power. It is known as 'the Mùbiia.'

"This element of the initial curse was believed to have been influenced by the myths of foreign cultures. It is said that, by the laws of the Ancient Age, a different magical beast was chosen to represent each month of the calendar year. Thus, whichever month a Wrythunn was born in, it would be that creature to which the Wrythunn would become one with, and they could use the abilities of this beast for their own benefit."

As he was imparting these details, William recalled that book upon the lectern in Redmun's study. It could only have been that graph to which he was referring. Even so, he was too scared to mention it for fear of rousing the same hostilities as he did that very night when he was prying outside the door.

"But...this is just a theory," the man continued. "For there were never enough Wrythunn in existence to prove that there could be twelve separate alterations, nor did anyone ever witness a Wrythunn changing into one of those beasts. It could just be a hypothesis based around a miscalculation, for all we know. Try not to think about it."

But the lad couldn't help it. He _had_ to ask more. It intrigued him so much to learn of such things.

"Beast alteration? The Wrythunn sound so different to anything I've ever read about. So, do you know what the four known alterations were? I mean, of Belenathus and Mysun and them?"

Putting his head back, Redmun deliberated. After a brief moment he said, "The months were May, August, November and October. And I believe the beasts were The Manticore; The Gargoyle; The Wendigo, I think; and The Hydra. But don't get too excited about it, boy. Even if such a gift does exist, it would take centuries of practice and experience to reach that level."

In spite of Redmun's speculations, William remained astonished by all that he was hearing. How could he _not_ become enveloped, when it had delved so deeply into the culture of this new magic.

"Okay, so which months were Mysun and Drevol born in? I think it'd be a good idea for me to know these things...just in case," he asked.

"I presume you wish to discover which beast would represent you?" Redmun questioned, and William reservedly agreed. "Mysun was born in August, and Drevol was born in October. But your own circumstances have undoubtedly changed, unless you were born in the exact same calendar month as Mysun. And the prophecies never foretold such a thing."

Just then, it struck William. And upon that staggering blow, all other details became so insignificant.

With much worry in his voice, he exclaimed, "Wait! If Drevol was born in October, then that means he is...a-a Hydra?! I'm going to try and assassinate a Hydra? A _Hydra_? That thing with loads o' heads?"

"Do not fear, lad," Redmun said, smiling. "I do not expect Drevol will have earned enough power to yet achieve such an ability. Not this early in his Wrythus years. And that is if such an ability even exists, boy. How many times do I have to tell you? They were just theories...legends...myths!"

Be it theory or not, it didn't appeal to William to think that there was even the slightest possibility that his enemy was both a terrible sorcerer _and_ a five-headed dragon all at once. So, for the sake of his nerves, he left the Hydra topic alone for the time being, thereby returning to his previous inquiry.

"Okay, I have another question so, about the Mùbiia," he said.

"Go on!" sighed Redmun, growing weary.

"I was born in April. Were there any theories about that month?"

Redmun didn't speak all of a sudden. He instead became on edge, and clammed up with solitary notions, like someone had just bequeathed unto him grave tidings.

"...Redmun?" William asked.

The man still did not heed him. On hearing William's words, Redmun's thoughts had been violently strewn into a blackened pit whereby the demons of fear—hopelessness and horror—were thriving ravenously upon the consumption of his dreams for salvation.

"Redmun...are you all right?" asked William's voice, though how muffled it was through the man's demoralizing ideas.

" _Redmun_?" he asked again.

"Oh...w-what creature is associated with April, you say?" the man finally uttered, so as to appear all right. "Bah, who knows? My memories of such absurd facts are hazy at best. Besides, you will not be around this land long enough to find out! You will be back home! And I presume _that_ idea pleases you very much?"

Redmun desperately wanted to talk about something else, because William was dabbling in questions which he shouldn't really know anything about. Not at this early stage, at least. To overwhelm the mind only brings anxiety, and that was a road which he need not stray toward. Redmun knew this well enough.

"I suppose," said the boy, being slightly disappointed that Redmun did not answer his question. "I do miss it; all the people around Ballycongraggon. It'll be coming up to the All Hallows' Eve party soon. I'm probably going to miss that though, or I might be early or...hmmm. I'm not too sure _when_ I'll be back there, with all these time differences and things. It'd be nice to make it back for the campfires and lemonade, though. Now _that'd_ be a real treat! I was going to—"

Suddenly, William smirked and shook his head.

"Going to what?" the man asked.

"I was going to dress up as a wizard this year. What are the odds?!" The boy smiled, though that grin was more so forged from doleful irony as opposed to glee.

Talking about his home was indeed bringing him down, and he began thinking and fidgeting to himself. He missed Ballycongraggon dearly and, in a way, he too relied a huge deal upon Mysun, depending on how you looked at it.

"Well, what about Mysun?" he asked, still fidgeting. "What kind o' magic does he have?"

"Mysun was the most complicated Wrythunn of all," Redmun answered.

He knew that William wasn't quite himself after discussing his home, so he continued to answer the boy's questions in a noble attempt to amuse him.

"Like me, Mysun also had the power of the Erethaoí in him; one of the funny turns of the Wrythus magic. So, with him also being part Erethaoí, it meant that, as Mysun grew, his Wrythus abilities evolved too! It had the potential to evolve into a much greater magic than any other Wrythunn in existence ever had. Within him, it developed much quicker and stronger than any other before him, and he could actually _choose_ his powers at will. That's why I say you must adapt to use its full potential."

Such ideas were gradually diverting William from his troubles again, and he was becoming all the more enthralled in Redmun's exciting teachings of heroes and wizardry.

"Even at the beginning of his rise, Mysun was able to accomplish incredible things," the man explained. "His abilities in hand-to-hand combat were unrivalled! He smote even the greatest of foes with ease, through flawless use of spell and sword! I only wish I could've seen him, or had the honour of shaking his hand. If Mysun had ever gotten the chance to adapt to the Wrythus, boy, and the years went by to the evolution of his power...the possibilities would have been truly endless. Bar returning light into death's perpetual kiss by actually reversing the intricacies of _human_ demise—a feat which is not only impossible, but unheard of—there is nothing he wouldn't be able to do. And only you have this potential now. And, if ever given time, you'd only be bound by the limits of your own imagination.

That is why it was so overwhelming for the brothers. Even in its regular form, the Wrythus was too potent; too strong for them. But Mysun was born with the Wrythus in his blood, alongside the potentials of the Erethaoí. And you will eventually inherit his gift. You will inherit his natural tolerance for it. But you will still have to learn from the beginning."

"From the beginning," William pondered aloud. "That's a frightening thought! Doesn't that mean I'll be outmatched by Drevol? I mean, does he not have the natural instincts of the Wrythus too, because he was born inside and that?"

"You have to realise that Drevol is still a descendant of the Pooka, boy. Not the brightest of all imps. Yes, it is correct that he has the natural instincts in his own Wrythus art. But that is just like saying, 'because a dog has the instinct to lap the stew, then why can't he prepare the stock?' In other words, do not be fooled by Briggun. He is an animal, a creature, despite his subtleties. And instinct and the ability to operate logic are two completely different things. Although that's not to say that you should underestimate your enemy either; not by any means! He is still very dangerous. His spell casting is frighteningly unstable, not to mention unpredictable. Yet old dogs can still learn new tricks, despite what people may say.

"Mysun, on the other hand, was of the human race, being son to Belenathus. He had the mind-set to comprehend his natural talent. And, as time pressed on, he was able to use his gift with unsurpassable skill."

"Unsurpassable skill," William muttered to himself. "It's a wonder the Pooka was a match for Mysun at all, if Mysun was able to use the Wrythus better than him."

"Yes, well, we have the eclipse to thank for that," said the man. "This was an ability which even the Pooka himself was unaware of possessing.

"The energy from the red eclipse—much like the one which shone on the very eve of his creation—combined with the power of his Krimmìn stone, unleashed a luring wave to all the evil on the land, acting like a beacon which could draw legions of evil to its will. Hundreds upon hundreds of thousands, boy. Beasts which have since strayed from the Elderland onto Lythiann. Nobody in the entire universe would've seen an army so vast. Not in any lifetime!

"This is what really tested Mysun! Our hero could still protect much of the land for a time. Yet after months of battle, without rest, he was getting tired. It was around then that Mitzel had created the Symphogram, and Mysun had his own army of allies to contend with Drevol! But, unfortunately, it was too late. By then, Drevol's army had grown to monumental proportions, and Mysun was still very weak. The Pooka's cowardly plan was coming to fruition. He allowed his army to break Mysun down to nothing, until he saw the perfect chance to attack by himself; to end his worn enemy, single-handedly, whilst claiming the ultimate victory for himself. Not a bad plan...for an imbecile! Though cowardly, I admit. But Mysun knew of this ploy..."

"And that's when he retreated to the other land?" William concluded.

"Yes, Pherenstead! You know your stuff, boy. Well done!" The man grinned.

Musing away, William didn't say much just then.

"What? No more questions?" asked Redmun.

"I'm just wondering..."

"...About?"

"About the one who sent me on this task, and how they didn't tell me half o' these things. I already discussed it with Icrick though, and he shed a lot o' light on it for me too, so it's no big deal, really."

Surprising him a bit, the man said, "You were better off not knowing, lad, in my opinion! For ignorance truly can be bliss sometimes. Oh, yes, whoever sent you on this quest must be very wise. You ended up finding out about everything all in good time. Venturing a guess, I'd say they didn't wish to dissuade you by overwhelming your mind with so many intricate details. Not all at once, at least. I wouldn't expect any mind, no matter how strong, could withstand even a _sliver_ of all you've come to learn up to this point. I know _I_ couldn't! And to presume one could suffer the entirety of this bane all in one sitting would be sheer foolishness altogether! It might have even changed your mind."

This made perfect sense. _Would_ he have gone through with this had Anun told him everything? For the thoughts alone of having to find a sword was already nerve-racking enough for him back then, let alone finding a thing called a Symphogram, too. Nor was it the first time she'd held details from him to spare his sanity; the Witches Window was another.

"You must also understand, boy, that we make many decisions here on Lythiann going by what we learn through the prophets. So chances are, this person already knew that you would learn of these details, at some stage along the way, thereby allowing you to choose how to see them for yourself. How to deal with them, in your own time and in your own way. And it is such an important thing—choice; our own decisions—and how we let them fabricate our life's courses. Some may show us to bounty, some may show us to burden. But, in the end, no matter what comes of them, positive or negative, our choices will always make us who we are."

"She would've put it that way too," William found himself fondly admitting.

Suddenly, the bushes quivered in the nearby jungle, and a magnificent horned owl soared down from the trees. Redmun held out his forearm where she found her perch, and there she stood, hooting, with her neck swivelling and a-bobbing.

Returning to his typical mannerisms, the man then said, "Well, it's getting late, boy. That's enough talk for one day. I need you to go as far as the well and fetch me half a dozen pails before dark. Hurry up now, or your dinner will be left for the animals!"

Sighing at the thought of having to substitute this fascinating conversation with boring old chores, William shuffled out of the barn and got on with it.

Piteously, Redmun muttered after his footsteps, "Trust lies with innocence."

Leaving Redmun's arm, the owl flew back up into the trees, allowing him to close up the barn for the evening. By then, twilight had passed, and night's shade was widening.

# \- Chapter Fifteen -

### The Duel

The next morning, if it weren't for those great loitering clouds of a leaden pallor, the sun would've been shining gloriously over the jungle. In its stead, scattered rays peered scantily through the domineering waves of those most ominous rain clouds. It may as well have been a late afternoon in cold December, as far as William was concerned.

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, gesturing 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.

Clash after clash, sparks took to the air in dispute, and the boy held his own quite remarkably. Not only did he battle well, he also fought with elegance. He flurried his weapon in a shimmering emerald haze and, with blinding skill, parried Redmun's strikes. Redmun otherwise utilized his fists at every opportunity he saw. Sometimes he hit clean; other times, he scarcely missed, bringing William to strike back with a counterattack of his own.

From above, the skies growled at the conflict below. Eyes watched from the shadows as the wind grew all the more furious. William burst forth with a multiplicity of blows. Hook, slash, knee and stab! Still the man was too deft. In turn, he lashed out at William with a slicing hook of his own, only to have the boy lean dexterously from its path. But upon his recovery, William did not see the blade following in Redmun's other hand. And as it followed through, it barely nicked William's ear, forcing him into a bungling spill. Without hesitation, Redmun drew back his foot and launched it remorselessly into William's gut! Once! Twice! Three times and more!

"WHAT ARE YOU...DOING?!" William cried, covering his head. "THIS IS...ONLY SUPPOSED...TO...BE TRAINING!"

Taking nothing from his plea, Redmun kept driving his boot into William's belly.

"Do you think your enemies will care for your wellbeing, boy? Well?!" growled he, as he continued to attack. "Do you think they will have mercy on you if you cry out? Taste the anger inside you! _Use_ it, boy! Or did your witless mother give birth to a lost hope?"

Suddenly...it happened. A nerve was clasped and twisted just too far, and Blackhead came straight into William's mind.

With his shock having elevated to a fervent rage through a dangerous fusion of adrenaline and anger, he cried out with a painful scream, "DON'T YOU _EVER_ TALK ABOUT MY MOTHER!"

Before Redmun could deliver another blow, William had already grabbed him by the leg and, with a strange darkness in his eyes, he flung him back onto the ground like he was nothing. That momentary burst of strength was none other than absolutely formidable. Certainly beyond William's typical boundaries of strength.

With the drool hanging from his mouth like some wild animal, William scrambled to his feet and pounced on top of his enemy while he was down. The image of the child which Redmun once knew was no longer evident in this being who was now being fuelled by the blazing coals of such a passionate rage. Relentlessly, like a tortured beast that had just been set loose upon its cruel master, William pounded his fists into Redmun's face, screaming violently with every blow. Again and again, he pummelled, in his fit of fiery fury, thrusting the man's bloodied face from side to side with each fuming strike. Damp sounds, as of a mallet pounding raw flesh, echoed within the trees around them. It was as though nature itself was personifying the very intensity of William's emotions, with the thunder exploding like the oceans themselves caught within a mighty feud of ancient, rivalling storms, and birds scattered from the jungle below as streaks of lightning drove themselves into the trees, bolt after blinding bolt.

Eventually, William grew weary, being able to do little more than slap lazily onto Redmun's already mauled face. After hearing the commotion from the nearby cabin, Icrick, Khrum, Wren, Pew and Crosco came rushing onto the outcrop. Ceasing suddenly in their approach, with countenances wrought from shock, they spotted William kneeling limply over Redmun. He was swaying to and fro, blankly, as though intoxicated from a concoction of heartache and terror. Both adversaries were covered in filth, gashes, and swellings. Nor scarcely could they recognise William's face through the crimson mask of glistening blood which now trickled freely from his gaping wounds.

Hastily, Wren ran to him and dragged him off. She was so concerned for him, heedless of which, he remained in his state; emotionally paralyzed after what had just occurred.

"What happened here?!" she implored, to no avail. "William! What happened? Are you okay?"

It was useless. He was mute.

With his limbs hanging lifelessly, Wren dragged him to a nearby rock, where she gently rested him against it and went about cleaning the blood from his eyes with her sleeve. Just then, a boorish magpie swooped down beside them and began cackling and squawking at him, like it was mocking William in his despair. Feeling threatened and alone, William drew his legs in to his chest, and with his head down, hugged his knees. The magpie was clearly taking an ill-effect on him, so Wren threw out a swift kick and it wasn't long flapping away.

As she attended to her wilted companion, The Body knelt beside Redmun and carefully lifted his weary head into his hand. He was not dead, but he'd been badly beaten.

Strong enough to turn his face to William, Redmun then uttered sluggishly, "That's just the kind of...emotion you will need to face the...evil of the world, boy. No matter which world it may be. And...even then, combat is but a part of the entire challenge."

A dribble of blood trickled from Redmun's lips and, as he spoke to him, William barely lifted his face to listen. He just sat there, clenching his knees, with his face low in shadow.

"Worse still is the darkness...within all of us which we must also confront," said the man. "Darkness which feeds upon our hopes, only to excrete...fear, and our belief is the only weapon we can possess to confront....such terror and...doubt. If you cannot stay strong against these fears, and believe in yourself, then you will fall to them; resulting in a light of...vulnerability and, unfortunately, cowardice among others. Pathways to both submission and pain, where you will be beaten down and taken for granted. You...will be considered weak, even by those who are too feeble themselves to face responsibility. Acknowledging how such...craven actions will make them feel stronger, these monsters will...continue to belittle you and hurt you in every conceivable way, leaving...you as but a frail shadow of that which you could've been. On the contrary, if...you can show these...trepidations and wretches how strong you _can_ be; how you yourself _can_ , in turn...fuel your strength from whatever attacks they...decide to launch at you...then you will endure! Face what you dread the most, boy, and you will not only...overcome it...but you will also be able to confront... _anything_! At first, such a task is...not easily done. It can seem overwhelming. But I know you can do this! That ultimate power will prevail inside of you yet, if you choose for it to be so...and I see that potential...inside of you, lad."

Escaping from the refuge of William's shadowed face, a single tear dropped.

"I only hope you...can understand why I took this lesson so far," Redmun continued on. "I can but pray that it has...conditioned you as well as I'd intended. Nor can I apologise for teaching you, in such extreme ways, to understand your promise...given how I believe that the toughest experiences often impart the most valuable lessons. Besides...cuts and bruises shall heal over time, and you must...understand that my attack upon you has...injured me...more deeply than any wound of yours. Yes, whatever of this conflict was a necessity in my eyes, I fear it will be one tribulation that'll haunt me to the end of my days."

Halting in his counsel, Redmun turned his ear to William, but heard nothing. And yet he _was_ listening.

Dejectedly, the man concluded, "Alas, any...act of conflict that may come upon you from this moment henceforth, lad, should be of no...surprise; no challenge. Because, now that you have...traded blows with an ally, you should have...attained nerve enough to strike down any foe with no hesitation whatsoever, and it pleases me to see that you had this fight in you. It...shows me that you _can_ survive, alone, out there in...the world. Most importantly, now... _you_ know you can be strong when you need to be, and it is...only then for you to decide when you wish to be completely unstoppable."

Although William remained silent, he could not deny how Redmun's words held, in their tone, a true sense of commiseration. He also sounded the most sincere since William had known him, and he truly _did_ seem repentant for his recent actions; though he deeply believed the extremities of that lesson essential for William's survival, what with the later dangers throughout Lythiann.

"Dullahan...help me to my feet," Redmun requested, draping his arm slothfully about Crosco's shoulder.

As The Body helped him upright, Redmun became suddenly aware of the tepid clamminess of another's blood upon his fist, which he then wiped off his apparel. For a moment he stood there, with a distant expression on his face as he fingered his blotted garment, as if he was pondering something. Something of a deep and significant interest.

Stowing away his wonder, he turned to the lad and said, "I have done all I can for you, boy. You are as ready...now as you will ever be. When you wish it, you can...be on your way. And, again, I hope you can forgive me. Or, at least, I hope you can understand."

Using Crosco for support, he staggered back through the forest opening while the once-roaring winds faded calmly back into but a breeze, returning the nightly hours to the manner of serenity which had always been.

"Are you all right, William?" the Grogoch asked gently.

With a silent response, Icrick sighed and, with much tenderness, added, "I suppose this answers our question about _her_ counsel then. Turns out his intentions _were_ good after all, but they came at a price...these bruises. She didn't want to see you get hurt. I am so sorry this happened to you, William. But...to be optimistic about it...you just bested a man who bested a hundred beasts and two monstrous creatures! I hate to admit it, William, but perhaps this was a lesson well learnt."

Appreciative of Icrick's attempt to console him, but not quite in the mood to make peace with his wounds just yet, William merely nodded and withdrew from their company. Through the jungle he then staggered, pondering all that had taken place that evening.

Two days had passed since the battle on the cliff, and since then, neither William nor Redmun had crossed paths. On a positive note, the lad's wounds were healing quite quickly, and most of the swelling had gone down too, after being attentively treated by Wren, under William's typical protest, don't you know. Those failing wounds gave the grisly impression that he'd recently been through hell and back.

As the third morning meandered into afternoon, William finally took it upon himself to wander up to the cabin alone. Meanwhile, with their bags packed and ready, the others remained out in the glade, awaiting his return.

Standing before the door with slight hesitancy, he eventually gathered the courage to knock. You can hardly blame him, considering how testing it must've been to face Redmun again after their last, rather pugnacious engagement. With the sound of steps approaching from within, the door creaked open. William wasn't quite sure what to expect.

When Redmun stepped into the light, he wasn't so conscious about his own bruises anymore, what with him looking just as bad, if not worse. And yet through the very despair, which was undoubtedly fenced behind each graze and contusion, Redmun managed to summon a quiet smile. He was also holding that same bloodied garment he wore that same notorious night. But given his visitor, he placed it upon the stand inside the doorway and came out to meet him.

"So...is it that time?" asked he.

"Yes, well, I think it's best we set out again," William said courteously. "We've all our things ready, so I just wanted to say goodbye before we leave."

Sensing his awkwardness, Redmun replied, "Well...I...I wish you luck then."

He grew somewhat tense in turn. Yet not on either part could it be helped, for they'd been through so much together. They had both learnt a great deal from one another, and they'd even come to blows. It's quite natural for one to feel uncomfortable, considering.

"I want to thank you for everything you've done for me. For _us_!" William eventually said. "As for that lesson on the cliff...I know now why you did what you did. There's a saying back home. 'What doesn't kill you..."

"...only makes a man stronger?" Redmun concluded.

"Yeah, that's right!" William nodded, pleasantly surprised.

"That truth is universal, lad..."

Showing a grin, William said, as if to suggest a truce, "Um...so you said you'd join us. Fight by our side and that?"

"And so I did!" said the man, with a smile.

William's gesture of making peace had delivered him such freshness that the spurs of guilt felt as if they had the promise to wither and, perhaps, eventually diminish over time.

Kneeling before him, he so uttered, "Once the twins fall, I'll be right there with you, boy. That I _promise_ you!"

"But...when will that be?"

"Soon enough." Redmun nodded. "Watch for it! In the meantime, I have dealings here that require my utmost attention. They cannot go by unchallenged, I'm afraid."

As he explained this, his attention flicked back to the garment, though he didn't let on.

"But what if I find the Wrythus before you find us? Who'll teach me?" William asked, a little flustered.

"Fear not," answered the man. "If the Wrythus comes, and you should hear the music, you will have a fairly good idea of what to do...believe me! Which reminds me..."

Going back inside, he returned with a most bizarre-looking leather case, poking out of which was the horn of the Symphogram.

"You cannot do without _this_!" said he. "I fixed Mitzel's straps to it so it can be carried by a Dwarf...or a Grogoch. Now, let's hope you hear its music sooner rather than later!"

Showing much grace, William took the Symphogram and gazed upon it with notions of both question and wonder.

Kneeling again, Redmun spoke sternly these words, "I cannot tell you what to do, lad, but I wish to advise you on something. Should I not see you by the time you reach the old eastern barrows, you must know that the ruins of Nùra are somewhere around those parts. The home of Vahna Webble. Be warned, they have tendencies to lure in passersby against their will, so as to torment them with vile fortunes. I merely warn you...that place is trouble."

"Okay, I understand," said William. "Thank you again, Redmun...for everything."

"The honour was all mine, lad!"

Thus, any unfavourable feelings which may have once been between them had now completely washed away. Just then, a loud ruckus came from the end of the terrace, just by the pantry door. A massive tower of pots came tumbling around the corner. But, once William spotted the culprit, the rest was self-explanatory.

Pew had been rapping on a tower of kitchenware, when the whole lot came tumbling down with a crash. Around the corner the fellow bolted, with a landslide of pans and dishes rumbling after him. Of course he evaded the peril, and when he spotted William nearby, the Poppum leapt up into his arms and gave him an almighty cuddle. He was an affectionate little thing, so he was.

"Hey, Pew!" William said and laughed, as the Poppum kept trying to lap at his chin. "We have to go now. But hopefully I'll see you again soon!"

Suddenly, having been unaware of William's intent to leave, the Poppum gazed tragically into his eyes.

For a moment, the little critter had hoped it wasn't true, if not for the candour in William's eyes telling him differently.

"Aw, I'm sorry, Pew. But we have things we need to do. There are people out there who are in trouble. And I think that, maybe, we might be able to help them. I wish we could stay, I really do! But we can't. I'm so sorry."

Alas, grasping the unlikelihood of any reconsideration, Pew embraced William one last time with a hug of such warmth that it almost made the boy melt. Yes, poor William was utterly heartbroken in that mournful moment, at how Pew's fluffy little body quivered at the thought of his dear friends deserting him, while his cheerful squeaking was now but a lonely mutter of the pain he was left to suffer.

Such guilt William felt! Granted he could not but be slightly relieved by the assurance of the Poppum's absolute safety within the great confines of Làn Chùrdal. It really was for his own good.

"Take care, Pew," he whispered. "I'll miss you."

Climbing sadly from William's arms, Pew wandered into the scrub and glanced back in a way that was heartrending to see. With his ears as downcast as his mood, he ambled off into the trees so as to say his goodbyes to the others, too.

"Go easy on those butterflies...and the rocks, too!" William called after him, but the Poppum just kept on walking.

"He'll be fine, lad," said Redmun. "I'll take good care of him."

"I know," William replied, as he watched the lonely Poppum stroll away. "I just hope I get to see him again...sometime. When this is all over, perhaps."

"Indeed you may." Redmun smiled. "Now, you'd best get a move on and cover some decent ground before nightfall. Those midlands are not as forgiving as the country bygone. And the eventuality of the eclipse still remains a threat, regardless of how distant it may seem."

"I understand. Goodbye, Redmun. I'll see you when the twins fall...whatever that means."

"When that occurs, lad, we shall both understand its import," the man replied consolingly. "Now, stay focused, keep your guard...and Godspeed!"

Taking his leave, William rejoined his band, and they departed from the glade.

Because he was wise to the jungle by then, he took it as his duty to lead the others out. Wren, instead, found her own way back to Lythiann by means of her dragon, who had flown in hours earlier to check up on her.

William and the others were soon on the raft and sailing their way gently upstream. The Grogoch, you should know, was made leave his own backpack behind in order for him to carry the Symphogram. He didn't mind, though, because William was able to fit much of his possessions, including his navigational tools, into his own satchel comfortably enough, save for a cap and a few utensils which he never really used in the first place.

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 review this eBook on your site of purchase. Please. 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. Your voice is _so important_.

Feel free to lend out this copy to whomever you will. Book Two will also be available soon, so if you wish to continue alongside William on his journey into Lór, be sure to pick up your copy.

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All the best,

Brian.
