Cloudfyre Falling - a dark fairy tale (64 page)

‘
Gargaron!
’ Melai
yelled. ‘
We need you!
’

Hawkmoth were still comatose.
And Gargaron knelt there on one knee, his head hung as if it were
weighted, wincing at his sudden lack of strength.

‘
Gargaron!
’ Melai
screeched at him.

Zebra did her best but the
beast bit back at her and she were forced to retreat. As she did
she saw Locke being squished by this creature and she did not need
think. As the Leviathan wheeled around at her, its bloody jaws
gaping open, hoping to bite her in two, she slithered up the mast,
coiled back and thrust herself into the beast’s mouth and down its
throat.

The Leviathan were suddenly
distracted, giving out a strangled, muffled roar. It reared up and
back, loosening its grip on Locke who fell heavily to the deck,
gasping for air. The Leviathan slammed once into the deck,
scrabbled about as if clinging to the ship were now its life line.
But then it reared up again and thrashed, snapped one of the stay
ropes, recoiled, as if something were eating it from within. It
arched its head and squealed one last time before its throat blew
out and it flipped and kicked and reeled off the vessel and back
into the sea.

It thrashed about the grass
waves, tearing stalks, flicking clouds of grass into the air.
Finally its body wriggled weakly, and it lay across the surface of
the ocean for a few moments, moving slowly. Another hole were
bleeding black blood. And another. And Locke’s serpent now pushed
its head victoriously through one of these vents.

‘
Quick now
,’ Locke
called to it, still catching his breath. ‘
Quick, to the ship
before that beast take you with it!
’

But Zebra were in trouble. As
soon as she wriggled from the monster she could no more swim these
strange seas than fly. She hissed as she wriggled in the thick
grass, the Leviathan sinking without trace behind her.

‘
Throw her a rope!
’
Melai yelled. ‘
Quickly, Locke, a rope!
’

Locke scrambled to grab one. He
pitched it into the waves but it would not reach. She were too
far.

She squawked, trying to keep
her head above water, and then she squealed as she tried her best
to slither for the safety of the ship.

‘
Swim!
’ Locke yelled at
her, hauling in the rope and tossing it out once more. ‘
Swim, my
little one!
’

But the rope were too far from
her, and she were being dragged under and no matter how hard she
tried keeping her head above the surface it were no use.

Before she sunk and vanished
forever, she let out a pitiful cry, like a pup calling for its
mother, and then she were gone.

‘
Zebra
!’ Locke called.
‘
Zeeebraaaa!
’ He scrambled along the starboard bulwark,
peering overboard, hoping she might resurface, hoping she may have
somehow reached the ship and were clinging to it. But she were
gone. And naught were bringing her back.

The grass held the ship for a
few moments but the sheer weight of the vessel had it slowly
rolling back onto its keel and as the carrack steadied Locke turned
away and he could hold it no longer, tears fell from his eyes and
ran down his face and he staggered off to bow of ship to be
alone.

1

THE ship caught wind again.
Snarls of grass hung from the bowsprit. Blood of the Leviathan
glistened on deck and were splashed across the starboard bulwark
and gunwale. Gargaron struggled to get to the helm to bring their
boat round on a northways heading. He felt groggy, his head pounded
and ached. He clasped the hilt of Drenvel’s Bane; he had a vague
feeling he’d somehow brought it to life again. ‘Melai?’ Gargaron
asked concerned, ‘Are you injured?’

She sat there upon deck,
looking shell-shocked, pondering how close she’d come to finding
herself swallowed by this sea. Yet she watched Gargaron with
intrigue, as if he were some phantom. ‘I be well,’ she said with a
grimace. ‘Just gathering myself.’

‘What happened to the
sorcerer?’ Gargaron feared the Leviathan had bitten him, filled him
with venom. ‘Were he attacked?’

Melai frowned. ‘Can you not
remember?’

Gargaron regarded her. He were
still reeling from the fight with the sea beasts. ‘Remember
what?’

Melai pulled herself to her
feet, grimacing. ‘You went overboard. Your mooring rope snapped.
You were gobbled up by this accursed ocean.’

Gargaron’s brow held a hundred
creases in that moment. ‘No… I were… I couldn’t have.’

She came toward him. She
reached out and touched his leg to see if he were real. ‘I saw it,
Gargaron. You were gone.’

‘Hawkmoth,’ Gargaron called.
‘Hawkmoth? Be you well?’

‘He brought you back,’ Melai
said. ‘As he brought Razor back on that bridge.’

2

The revelation hit Gargaron
like a hammer. He felt his breath leave him. Yet somehow he saw
himself dropping down into the depths of the Grass Sea, falling,
falling, becoming nothing but a swirling wraithlike mass, breaking
apart and disseminating throughout the long smooth grass stalks,
splitting into a million tiny droplets of flesh, converted to
naught but vapour. A deep shudder passed through him. And he sucked
his breath back.

Melai thought he were about to
stumble, as if his legs might give way. He gripped the ship’s wheel
to hold himself upright.

‘Right then,’ he heard himself
saying, taking in a mighty breath. ‘Right then.’ He exhaled long
and slow and calm, shutting his eyes for a drawn moment. When his
eyes came open he swallowed and looked about and concentrated on
his breathing. Exhaling slowly, inhaling calmly.

He searched the skies. The suns
were setting. Night were coming on. They were not out of harm yet.
Rumination and reflection could come later, not now. They still had
work to do. He looked across at Locke. He knew that Zebra were
amongst them no longer, though he had not witnessed her demise.
Still, the squeals he had heard as he’d slumped there after the
hammer had dissipated were enough to tell him she’d gone overboard
with one of those sea beasts. And that she had sunk.

‘Locke,’ he called. ‘I am sorry
for your loss. Honestly. Though we must mourn our causalities
later. Night comes and I fear more of those creatures, and more of
those accursed scars. Would you take the wheel for a time?’

Locke did not argue. But did
not speak either. He returned to the aftcastle and took the wheel
as asked. Gargaron placed a comforting hand on the crabman’s
shoulder. ‘Thank you, my friend. I am sorry for Zebra. Truly I am.’
He felt shallow somehow saying this but he thought of no other
words of comfort right then.

‘I watched her hatch as a
babe,’ Locke said, his eyes gazing out to sea. ‘We were bonded for
life. I shall etch her passing onto my horns as I marked the
passing of my wives and children.’

Gargaron nodded, squeezed the
crabman’s shoulder again, briefly admiring the myriad pictograms
etched into the crabman’s horns. He moved away down the wooden
stairs to main deck toward. There the sorcerer still lay.

3

Gargaron untied Hawkmoth and
carried him to the aftcastle and lay him down on his bedroll. He
noticed how stiff the sorcerer were, as though his limbs had
hardened, as though his back were now entirely ironwood bark. He
ignored it. And looked about. The day were fast drawing to a
close.

‘Hawkmoth?’ he said close at
the sorcerer’s ear, ‘do you hear me?’

No signs of acknowledgement in
the sorcerer’s face.

Gargaron went on regardless.
‘Hawkmoth, hear me, I pray. I know you would probably rather rest
yourself than face more concerns but night is drawing on, and we
may face more dark threats as the stars rise. You said you had some
strategy to get us safely through the dark hours.’

Melai watched on closely. The
sorcerer’s eyes were shut. There came no response to Gargaron’s
words. Gargaron slapped him lightly on the cheek. ‘Hawkmoth, hear
me!’

Melai knelt down. Gently she
pushed Gargaron’s large hand aside. She smoothed the sorcerer’s
greasy fringe from his eyes. And softly pushed her thumb to his
forehead. ‘Hawkmoth,’ she whispered, ‘hear us. We need help.’

There were no change to his
blank expression. But Melai kept her thumb nail pressed into his
brow, her eyes shut as if feeding on his thoughts; a small gout of
blood appeared beneath her nail.

Hawkmoth’s mouth opened
slightly. His lips moved as if straining to speak. That proved the
extent of his response.

‘Hawkmoth?’ Gargaron asked,
trying to stimulate him further, ‘can you hear us?’

Melai put up a hand to shut
Gargaron’s mouth. Some moments later she withdrew her thumbnail,
droplets of Hawkmoth’s blood dripping to deck. Here she took hold
of Hawkmoth’s sidepack, reached in, felt about, eventually
withdrawing a pair of objects that looked to Gargaron like old
strands of wood, twisted and gnarled. Melai lay these on the deck,
regarded them curiously. She pressed her blood stained thumb
against a little barb on each of them, drawing off her own blood;
green mixed with Hawkmoth’s red.

It were like waking a pair of
hungry pups. Instantly the twisted objects twitched, moved, rolled
over, writhing, sniffing out the source of their sustenance. Melai
pursed her mouth as she let them suckle her thumb. When they were
satiated they stood, ugly critters, looking about with large
goggling eyes, limbs like the roots of shrubs. ‘Gesha,’ Melai heard
herself murmuring. ‘And Oosha. Hear my command, and through my
thoughts, understand our predicament. Keep this vessel under your
guard till the suns rise and we can see our way again.’

4

The bizarre little root fiends
appeared to survey their surroundings, to take in the situation.
They gazed up the crooked mast that had been battered heavily by
the Leviathan attack, and up at the sail. Then just like that, they
got to work. One scurried to the helm, effectively shoving Locke
aside (if that’s what the action could be described: this being
that barely came to Locke’s knees, attempting, without any
hesitation at all, to heave the crabman away from the wheel.)
Humoured more than anything, Locke obliged.

The creature’s tiny root arms
grew first, and then its torso. It gained little in the way of bulk
as it did so. Though it did grow taller, until it were of
sufficient height to operate the wheel.

The second root being scaled
the mast effortlessly, pulling itself up high and into the crow’s
nest where it too underwent a small transformation, growing taller,
gaining enough height to allow it sufficient survey of the
surrounding seas.

And there the two of them
posted themselves for the night.

5

The night passed without
incident. Though Gargaron stayed up late, shivering in the daunting
cold, not allowing himself to sleep, not trusting in the alien
critters helming the ship. He kept himself busy by mending as much
of the ship as he knew how; tying spare ropes around and around the
masts, reinforcing their breaks, and refastening snapped stay
lines. The suns had gone and the moons of Vasher, Gorvhald, Veeo,
Canooc hung bright and stark in the night sky. And although he did
not report it for fear of alarming the others, Gargaron, as he
worked, were witness to strange lights beneath the surface of the
grass. He wondered many times if it were the coming of another
Leviathan attack. But no more such beasts threatened them that
night. Locke had forecast as much. ‘I have heard sailors say that
if there be Kraken blood spilt on ship then Krakens will stay
away.’ Though if he wished to consult the sorcerer on the matter,
he were out of luck for Hawkmoth did not awoken.

1

HAWKMOTH were still in slumber
by noon the following day. By then Gargaron began to grow
concerned. Locke were at the helm, studying occasionally the
various navigational instruments within the binnacle, or inspecting
the sextant that hung from the iron gimble. Melai were again in the
crow’s nest. She’d been watching Gargaron who had paced the decks
constantly. Hawkmoth’s two fiends were at the sorcerer’s side,
lying, again twisted and shrunk, like old bits of root ready for
the compost.

Melai had spotted islands on
the dawn. Due north of their position. A sign, Gargaron hoped, that
they may be coming to their destination. As they came to them they
observed small, compact islands that stuck up out of the sea, each
consisting of a single strange white rock prong, shining brightly
in morning sunlight, a mighty curved spire that soared out into
sky.

Hawkmoth did not awaken that
day. And at dusk Gargaron were the one to try to bring the root
fiends to life, jabbing his thumb on their barbs. They awoke,
suckling blood from his finger. It were an unsettling sensation,
one that Gargaron were not sorry to see finished. Yet like the
previous night, the root critters did their work diligently. By
then though, Locke had discovered an item of some intrigue.

2

He and Melai had been rummaging
about the lower cabins for blankets to sew together; Gargaron had
berated the temperature drop of the previous evening and quipped
how he could not fit below decks to escape the wind chill. (The
fact Gargaron would not forsake his post for comfort even if he
could fit below decks were beside the point.) Yet other than
warming blankets, Locke uncovered a peculiar object.

Melai helped him lug it above
decks and once it lay there in the fading sunlight, Gargaron knelt
to see what he might make of it.

It were a bizarre looking
object. And what it were fashioned from were difficult to
determine. Wood or bone would have been Gargaron’s guess. Though
no-one knew. Primarily it resembled the head and bust of some
tortured angel. Her face were strained and stretched, for down her
sides there perched small devil creatures with their arms reaching
to her face and here they had their hands inside her mouth, pulling
her jaw open to what must have been an unnatural limit, so that she
looked forever frozen in a silent howl.