Cloudfyre Falling - a dark fairy tale (57 page)

It were a genuine novelty at
first. It were cold and the wetness unpleasant but such a thing
none of them had ever seen nor heard of. It pushed thoughts of
Grimah’s fate from Gargaron’s mind. ‘What be this wondrous
phenomenon?’ Locke asked Hawkmoth, smiling. ‘Is this some wondrous
enchantment?’

Hawkmoth simply shrugged. ‘I could
not tell you,’ he said with an almost awestruck, boyish smile.
‘There are some things even I have no knowledge of.’

6

They continued westways, the rain
kept up, and the wetter and more sodden they grew. And faster the
novelty wore off. Especially when they realised the rain showed no
signs of waning. Gargaron at least knew why the houses back in that
village had been constructed in the manner they had: the “bowls” in
which they sat acted somewhat like inverted umbrellas, shielding
each abode from this peculiar phenomenon.

‘
I say, Hawkmoth,’ Gargaron said,
‘Do you have no enchantment that might counter this?’

‘
I have a spell that would
evaporate the water, yes,’ he said. ‘But it involves summoning an
inferno.’

‘
I think I’ve had enough of your
infernos,’ Melai told him.

Gargaron shrugged. ‘Though if this
goes on much longer, I might prefer one.’

‘
Am I the only one who be enjoying
this weather?’ Locke asked with a smile.

They soon met tall grasses that
swished against them, and in places, without Razor nor Grimah
present to boost their height, both Hawkmoth and Gargaron faced the
uncustomary circumstance of having the grass loom high above their
heads. But in patches where the grasses grew not so tall, or where
they had been trampled flat by some unknown beast, they admired to
their northways the sight of a number of colossal butterflies with
brilliant red wings and glistening black bodies; a group of them
appeared to be suckling on the juices of dead things hidden in the
grasses.

To see something living aside from
themselves after so long stopped Hawkmoth’s group for a short
while. And so engrossed in the sight that none of them realised the
upwards deluge had finally petered out.

‘
What be those?’ Locke wondered
aloud. ‘I have never before seen such wondrous
creatures.’

‘
Dead Skarlets, be their name,’
Hawkmoth told him. ‘And we would do well to keep our distance. They
are both poisonous and deadly. They exude a corrosive gas when
threatened, and if you stray too close, they will thrust their
proboscis through you and fire off a high-powered jet of gas into
your innards that will blow you apart, inside out.’

‘
I don’t much fancy such a death
today,’ Gargaron said.

7

They pressed on but were forced
into small detours here and there from their westways path to avoid
running into these majestic butterflies that seemed numerous in
number here. Hawkmoth speculated that they were likely in league
with the witches, which is why their numbers had been sustained. At
one stage they happened by accident to pass in close proximity to a
Dead Skarlet hidden in amidst the tall grass. It were suckling on
the juices of a two-headed grass serpent. Zebra’s forked tongue
flicked in and out rapidly here, as if sensing the demise of one
similar to her own kind.

As they pushed onwards they began
to see signs of other insects, drawn from the undergrowth by their
traipsing; no bug as big as the Dead Skarlets but beetles the size
of Gargaron’s head. Many had already perished; their corpses lay
upturned, legs knotted inwards, unmoving, dead. Colossal sized
dragonflies lay drowned in pockets of marsh water, being nibbled at
by a small species of water horse Gargaron had never before laid
his eyes upon. Some dragonflies still flitted about but mostly
these seemed to crash into the grass, untangle themselves, take
off, fly away, sometimes upside-down before ditching sickly into
the grass again.

Toward the end of their time
crossing this grassy expanse Hawkmoth’s small fellowship watched a
flock of black ibis swoop down to peck at dying beetles. These ibis
stood almost as tall as Gargaron and watched with beady black eyes
the group pass by. Melai in particular kept her distance, or stayed
close to Gargaron, for she surely would have proven a tasty morsel
to them. Still, observing them gave her some food for thought.
‘Maybe there be hope for us yet,’ she said aloud after they had
left the tall wicked looking birds behind. ‘With all this presence
of life, maybe all is not lost.’

‘
It tells me we are closing in on
the borders of the witch realm,’ Hawkmoth told her. ‘It tells me
these witches are indeed the cause for all the outside death and
doom. While they keep their own creatures alive, like the
enchantment I set upon the hill around my humble abode, they have
committed all else to die.’

‘
How certain are you that if we
return this, this thing of theirs,’ Gargaron said, glancing at the
bundle strapped to the flank of Locke’s serpent, ‘that it will
bring an end to hostilities.’

Hawkmoth drew in a deep breath.
‘Reasonably certain.’ He looked across at the giant. ‘Or else I
would not be here.’

‘
And should these witches prove
difficult,’ Locke said, ‘did you find means with which to coerce
them in your Lord Brother’s chambers?’

Hawkmoth did not reply for several moments.
When he did he said this: ‘Aye, I have what I need with
me.’

1

THE forest were an ancient and
enchanted place, that much Melai sensed. As they moved amongst it,
she felt its ghosts going back thousands of years. The oaks were
thick and gnarled and twisted and covered in moss of yellow and
green. The ground were damp and grassy underfoot and the smell were
wet and muddy, thick with the odours of slow rotting wood, of
hidden beetles and slugs. And the sky were not visible above, such
were Dark Wood’s deep canopy. The going were dim and murky and in
any direction they could see barely more than two dozen
feet.

At first they stumbled over root
and knotted shrub. But then it were as if the woods sensed the
presence of Mama Vekh and thus a path looked as if to open out
before them. Old, twisted roots seemed to pull up and curl aside,
shrubs seemed to move, until a bending, curving path through fallen
brown leaves appeared before the group of travelers.

Locke, leading the way Zebra,
pulled the procession to a halt. Gargaron and Hawkmoth stood
alongside the serpent. Melai, who had been in flight, swooped down
and landed upon Gargaron’s shoulder.

‘
I have never seen a woods move,’
Locke commented.

‘
The witches know of our coming
now,’ Hawkmoth said confidently, watching the Dark Wood slowly
part.

‘
But do they welcome us?’ Gargaron
asked. ‘Or do they steer us to our doom?’

A good point, Hawkmoth knew.
Without his insect scouts to fly forth and survey the paths ahead
he were unable to ascertain whether or not he and his troupe were
being lead into danger.

‘
Either way,’ Locke said, with a
grin, ‘it should make for an exciting trek forward.’

2

As they trailed the strange
winding pathways that opened up in front of them Hawkmoth came
aware of stick-men, tree critters, hidden in the woods. They were
tall beings, spindly, red of eye, green of tongue, witch spies
meant to go unseen, camouflaged against the general woodland and
difficult to glimpse. Neither Gargaron nor Locke commented on them,
so Hawkmoth surmised they had not seen them. Though he knew Melai
must have for the strange looks she delivered him, questioning
looks, as if asking silently what they were.

Later Hawkmoth realised none were
actually alive. A revelation that disturbed him. He had assumed
that Dark Wood and its many varied minions and entities had been
spared the wrath of the witch’s boom weapons. But here death, like
all the lands beyond, had reached out its ungodly hand.

3

They were upon Vantasia before
they realised it. The oaks and elms thinned and here before the
group, were peculiar wicker abodes, constructed from the strange
dark wicker wood growing in this area. The wood had not been cut
from its mother plant but instead, pulled and fashioned from the
long thin living branches, hundreds, thousands of strands, like
trussed hair, formed and fashioned into dwellings. Branches of
ancient oaks created a ceiling above, and somehow there were beauty
to the organic formation of this village. And a peculiar brownish
light from the heavily filtered sunlight beyond, illuminated the
area.

The place were also strangely
empty.

Nonetheless, Gargaron had drawn
his sword, suspicious of the silence. ‘Where be they?’

Hawkmoth gripped his staff, as if
sensing an attack.

‘
Hawkmoth?’ Gargaron said. ‘Where
be these witches? Be this a trap?’

‘
I cannot tell. Perhaps due to
war, the settlement has been abandoned.’

‘
Or perhaps the witches lie hidden
in wait,’ Melai suggested, her bow ready to fire at the first sign
of provocation.

They waited. Naught happened.

Hawkmoth began to weave his way
slowly through the settlement, staff held at the ready. At darkened
doorways into the wicker huts he prod his staff, pulses of intense,
searing violet light, flashing from Rashel’s eyes. If it were
intended to flush witches from within it did not work. Still,
Hawkmoth would move to the next hut and repeat his actions. And so
on…

As they spread out and moved
through Vantasia, Gargaron were reminded a little of home. Here,
the village were like Hovel, in the sense that everything encircled
a central structure. Where Hovel bore sacrificial megaliths, here
in Vantasia the central structure were a large wicker dwelling, a
building double in size and height to the dwellings surrounding
it.

It were here,
before this larger abode that Hawkmoth took up stance. ‘To the
leaders of Vantasia,’ he called out, his voice like a bomb in that
silence, ‘I am Hawkmoth Lifegiver, banished sorcerer of Sanctuary.
Hear me, I implore. We come in peace. We return to you Mama Vekh in
hopes that we may finally put an end to this ridiculous war started
by my Brothers. If needs be, then I give myself over to you, where
you may hold me for a hundred years as my foolish brothers held
Mama Vekh. If needs be, I offer up my life to end this conflict, to
put an end to your boom weapons. Too many have died and are
dying.
Far
too
many. Hear me now, please, I implore you.’

His voice echoed off into the
gloomy woodland. Gargaron and Melai and Locke looked around,
anticipating now either an attack by the witches or some acceptance
of Hawkmoth’s offer.

Nothing happened.

‘
What do we do now?’ Melai heard
herself asking, gazing about the settlement.

‘
So, Vantasia
lies abandoned,’ Hawkmoth said, looking about. ‘Though in Sanctuary
my Brothers spoke of a fabled place where witches retreat to in
times of war.
Dorubudur
. A temple. Some place so old it predates all of our
civilisations. Somewhere hidden away within Dark
Wood.’

‘
Lead on then, sorcerer,’ ordered
Locke, ‘if you know where this place be.’

Hawkmoth smiled.
‘Oh, I know not where it be, my good shore dweller. But I believe I
know how we may find it.’ He took another item from his robe
pocket, what looked to be a stick and knelt. ‘
Fayn uss diss rannawayss weetchus
.’
He then snapped it over his knee. From it there drifted a ghostly
blue mist that hugged the dark leafy
earyth
, swirling softly,
highlighting it seemed old footprints. But then it appeared to take
on the form of a small being. Some sort of hare that ambled on its
hind legs. It sniffed the air, looked about then ran from the
settlement. ‘Ah, here we go,’ Hawkmoth said, ‘come on,’ and after
it he and his companions promptly trailed.

1

THE blue hare
lead them on a meandering path for hours. And as they traipsed on
and on Gargaron wished for Grimah, such were the pace of the thing.
Melai flew effortlessly and kept looking back where Gargaron had
begun to lag behind. Hawkmoth were not far abreast of him. Locke,
astride his serpent and well ahead of the others would call out
continuously, ‘
What’s keeping you
pair?
’ And they would hear his laughter
ring out through the wood.

‘
I shall ring
your neck when I catch you!
’ Gargaron
yelled.

‘
Oh well, there
you are then
,’ Locke called back to him,
‘
some incentive to quicken your
pace!
’

All banter ceased however when the
thick set oaks and beeches and elms began to thin all of a sudden
late that day and a mighty clearing opened out. Like Vantasia, this
place too cowered beneath a ceiling of far reaching tree branch.
But here were a place made of stone, not wicker, a place of stone
blocks and crumbling mortar, where twisting strangler trees had
grown up from amidst peculiar ruins, their roots curling in and out
of ancient stonework.