Cloudfyre Falling - a dark fairy tale (56 page)

Below them and forward some two
hundred yards, standing directly in their current flight path,
there protruded from the surrounding landscape, an enormous nub of
rock shaped like a gigantic mushroom. It were matted in a vast
carpet of grass and vines and stunted trees. And as Hawkmoth
persisted with his incantations, a large swatch of it began to
shift, as if it were a bed of vipers rudely awoken. Yet quickly, as
if all on its own, it fashioned itself into a pair of mighty arms
that writhed and twisted upwards and outwards toward both metal
birds hurtling its way as if they were but arms of giants
stretching out to swat down pesky flies.

Instead of slapping the birds from
the sky, however, they grasped them in long leafy wooden “fingers”,
and brought them down to the rock shelf in what were still a rather
heavy landing.

The Blackbirds jolted and bumped
along the matted rock, dragging up beds of flowers and grass,
snapping twisted snake-vines, splintering withered trees, and then
finally settled near the far end of the mushroom-rock’s domed
surface. The “arms” of vegetation that had brought them down now
seemed to untangle and fall apart and were soon but chunks of wood
and huge tufts of grass and detached lengths of purple
vine.

7

Gargaron and the others took stock
of their situation, and the metal blackbirds looked about as might
a pair of real birds might who had just arrived somewhere new. That
were before the blue light went from their eyes altogether, and now
they sat, curled their beaks beneath their wings and made as if to
sleep.

Only now did Gargaron release
Melai, noticing the grimace upon her face. She stretched her limbs,
fluttered her wings and gazed up at the giant. ‘I know you meant
well, Gargaron,’ she told him, ‘but next time we’re in a falling
metal bird, might you let me take my own flight.’

Where he still sat inside the body
of the bird Gargaron blinked down at her. And couldn’t help a
sudden but short burst of laughter. ‘Oh my, I am sorry, Melai. Of
course, you can fly.’ He clasped his jaw in his hand. ‘I did not
even think.’

She patted his knee. ‘No. It
touches me you would squeeze me half to death to protect me.’ She
smiled at him sideways.

‘
So, sorcerer,’ Locke said, ‘where
do we find ourselves? If this be Dark Wood then I see no
witches.’

Hawkmoth pointed with his staff as
he stepped down from his bird. ‘Indeed, we are some way short of
Vantasia. See that dark smudge away west? That be the Dark Woods.
Vantasia lies hidden therein.’ Hawkmoth studied him, seeing for the
first time something about the crabman’s attire were altered. ‘You
have lost your helmet?’

Locke smiled. ‘Aye, I left it
behind as a souvenir for the Bewitched. Something for them to take
back to their witch masters to remind them who decimated
them.’

Hawkmoth smiled. ‘Very well.’

1

THEY left the Blackbirds “asleep”
where they were, and took some time taking stock, checking any
further wounds, quenching thirst from their gourds. None spoke at
all for a while. Gargaron kept expecting Grimah or Razor to appear.
Their absence were acute and felt by all.

‘
Be we all well?’ Hawkmoth asked
finally, shedding his robes to once again pay some mind to his
chest.

‘
As best we can be,’ were
Gargaron’s reply. ‘What of yourself? Twice you were impaled, yet
you sport no obvious wounds.’

Hawkmoth, chin pressed against
neck, were straining to conduct a thorough inspection of his chest.
And then of his lower back. The halberd wound showed up as naught
but light pink welts. So too the wound where the chain had pushed
through him. All else there were, were old battle scars and the
various panels of stone skin.

‘
I cannot explain it,’ Hawkmoth
said. ‘I can only guess that in Razor’s final transition, his
regenerative powers somehow healed my injuries and kept death at
bay. Pity it did nothing to rectify my stone plating.’

Locke narrowed his eyes with
intrigue. ‘Final transition? What, by Ehl Nori, do you
mean?’

Hawkmoth pulled his robes back
over his trunk and shoulders. He stepped forward a few paces,
gazing out across the surrounding land. He could not help
reminiscing for a moment, a sad smile crossing his face. ‘When
Razor first came into my life he were not in the form you all know
him. Aye, that’s right. He were no horse, but a wee dragonfly.
Sounds a daft thing,’ Hawkmoth said, agreeing with the expressions
of his friends, ‘but that’s what he were. I bought him as part of a
collection of exotic bugs from a traveler who claimed to have
caught them on the Northern Cape. Whether the traveler knew he had
something special on his hands I do not know, but I felt instantly
the energy and magic given off by this dragonfly amidst the
seller’s wares. For a legend did the rounds of Sanctuary in the
days when I resided there about an untamed creature that could not
die, but that with each passing of its life it would become a
creature anew. Thus when Razor passed on as dragonfly his body were
but a sugar-glider. After that he were a goshawk for many a year
until attacked by tomb serpents and killed, his body then a hound
for almost a decade. Beyond that he were Razor my steed. And now,
well, it seems he has moved beyond this physical realm to an
entirely new existence.’ He swallowed, momentarily empty of voice,
contemplating his Razor, saddened that he were gone now from his
side. ‘Eve will be most displeased when I tell her,’ he said. ‘She
so wished to be there to witness his next phase.’

‘
I am sorry you had to part,’
Gargaron told him.

‘
As I am sorry for your Grimah,
giant.’

Gargaron nodded. ‘Aye. Though I
have not known him long.’

‘
Yet a fine steed he were, and a
close friend and ally to us all,’ Hawkmoth told him.

Gargaron nodded. ‘Aye. Thank you.
He died a warhorse’s death: in battle, a hero, and saving the life
of a friend.’

‘
I have told you I feel he be not
perished,’ Melai reminded him.

Gargaron glanced at the nymph.
‘And I hold onto that.’

Hawkmoth nodded, contemplating
this news. Then he said, ‘Right then, let us find a way off this
rock.’

2

Due to its shape, finding a way
down from the rock shelf proved no easy task. Even for Zebra who
tried snaking down over rock’s curving edge. For in her effort to
curl beneath the overhang and curl deftly about the rock stem, she
fell. Locke frowned as she whumped heavily into the grass fifty
feet below. But she were up and about, shaking her head, in a mere
daze.

‘
Maybe you ought to try flying
next time,’ he called to her laughing. ‘You’ll have the same result
but I dare say it might be less labour intensive.’

For the others it were the use of
vines dangling over the side of the rock mount that were the
solution. By use of Hawkmoth’s magic, multiple strands were plaited
together for strength. The group then shimmied their way down. All
except Melai, of course, who simply sprung from the rock and flew
down with an easy grace.

3

On flat ground once more, the
group gathered themselves. And took a quick inventory of all they
had managed not to lose during the attack on Sanctuary. At their
backs, the mighty stem of rock were covered in ancient rock
paintings; primitive folk telling stories of death and life,
towering monsters, and peculiar lights in the skies. And here
Hawkmoth warned his friends that here now were the outer fringes of
the realm of witches. ‘We must remain vigilant, alert. For we are
sure to encounter strange enchantments ahead. Our food may rot, our
water may turn to vinegar. And we must keep our eyes and ears open,
for witching trolls patrol these lands.

‘
Trolls?’ Locke asked. ‘Wandering
about in broad daylight?’

‘
The mountain trolls of the
Dunhland Range are no fan of the suns,’ Hawkmoth told him, ‘and
will stay in their caves till dusk. The coastal trolls of the Skull
Coast only emerged from their barnacle encrusted grottos in the
dead of night.’

‘
Aye,’ Locke agreed, ‘and are
mighty delicious, I can attest.’

‘
I’ll take your word for it,’
Gargaron replied.

‘
But hear me,’
Hawkmoth said, ‘the hill trolls of Gwimpen bear no fear of the suns
and those of them beguiled and bespelled by the witchfolk thus roam
about in large numbers. If the Ruin has thus far spared them, then
they
will
prove
deadly. For they possess a strange immunity to magic and other
enchanted weapons. I shall personally task you with reigniting you
warhammer, giant, if we happen to chance upon any of their number.
And hope they do not prove so immune to its
kiss.’

Gargaron looked puzzled.
‘Warhammer?’

‘
Aye. Don’t you recall? You
battered those Bewitched with little mercy.’

Gargaron stared at the rock at his feet, doing
his best to recall the events of their battle. ‘I… I barely have
any recollection of our fight… I recall… I recall naught but
rage.’

Hawkmoth considered this with a frown and then
a curt nod. ‘Rage? Interesting. Well then, perhaps that be Hor’s
secret.’ He clapped Gargaron on the back. ‘Might be we can work on
that theory.’

As they got walking, Gargaron took
a huge draft from his gourd, contemplating Drenvel’s Bane. Snippets
of memory returned to him, how he had sprayed Sanctuary with
Bewitched, knocking great masses of them flying with but a single
blow. The thoughts brought some sense of satisfaction, even
excitement, though tempered with a feeling of misgiving and
unease—to wield so much power were near frightening. If such rage
could not be controlled, if he turned wild with it and could not be
stopped, he did not wish to consider it.

4

The blue sun of
Melus had tracked halfway across the sky before they spied their
first band of trolls. But Hawkmoth and his group did not expect to
find them in such a state: there were seven of them and all of them
were hanging dead by their necks from enormous gibbets tilted in
the
earyth
.

Gargaron supposed the prodigious
weight of each troll had pulled the gibbets into their lean. But as
they neared them, Gargaron judged that they had been pushed that
way, all leaning in an eastways direction, as if shoved by a great
force or gale.

The sight confused them. ‘What be
this?’ Gargaron asked Hawkmoth.

Hawkmoth had no answer except to
say that it were most likely the result of a local dispute. ‘Fort
Blackstone lies somewhere north of here. Overlooking the valley of
Conntt. King Rawsthorn presided over the lands to the north. I know
he has suffered troll raids for many a year. Perhaps he finally
grew sick of them and hung them here to send a message to the troll
clans of the hills. Or to the witches themselves.’

‘
So the trolls were hung,’ Melai
said, ‘before the Ruin came to the Vale?’

‘
Such is my guess,’ Hawkmoth said,
gazing now toward the lands to their west. ‘And by the looks of it,
the Boom shocks have almost had the gibbets to ground.’

5

They pressed on. And on. Across
boggy moors and marsh land, where a million dead bugs littered
waterways, where wicker trees were shaped like bowed skeletal
people. Where creatures rotted and bubbled and gave off foul green
gas. It made the trudging slow and tiresome.

Hawkmoth took a reading from his
chronochine and found an entire day had passed and that again night
had not returned.

‘
Aye. So we have spent yet another
night without moon or stars?’ Gargaron said.

‘
Aye.’

‘
Could these Booms weapons
realistically corrupt Cloudfyre’s orbit in such a way?’ Gargaron
asked.

‘
They must,’ answered Hawkmoth.
‘What other explanation could there be?’

They trudge along a dried river
bed and came to a grassy bank where coracles were moored amidst
dank reeds and beyond here the land hardened and they soon
approached an abandoned settlement. Here there were trees whose
trunks were arched over so far that their crowns were almost at
rest upon the earyth. Yet it were in these crowns, crowns shaped as
bowls, that small cottages were suspended. A short flight of wooden
stairs lead up to each one.

Gargaron briefly entertained the
idea of stopping here for a short while, enough to build a fire,
dry out his boots and warm his toes. He were thinking sadly of the
fate of Grimah when he felt droplets of water splashing up from his
boots against his forearms and neck and chin. He quickly decided he
would rather drier land on which to rest. Somewhere not so sodden
and boggy. Yet he noticed the water dripped from the ground itself.
Upwards. As if gravity were reversed. He stopped and looked about.
The others had stopped too. Each of them enthralled by this
peculiar occurrence.

In no time at all it were raining.
Though this rain fell upwards and out into the sky. A pall of grey
held the settlement as the deluge grew heavy. And a strange silence
came with it. Not the usual sound of heavy torrents splatting into
mud, or house or grass. But an almost unsettling quiet as this
ungodly upwards rain shot quietly out into grey clouds.