Cloudfyre Falling - a dark fairy tale (35 page)

Gargaron could not help but think
of the Creep Mounds he’d seen. The piles of skulls, victims of some
foul disease.

‘
That were not all,’ Hawkmoth went
on. ‘The witches promised also to send out armies of foul beasts to
mop up any soul who had not perished under the force of the
shockwaves, all those who proved immune to the Cropps.’

‘
Dark Ones,’ Gargaron
said.

‘
Dark Ones, Harbingers, call them
what you will. But they are here. And so be the Boom bombs. The
witches have indeed kept their promise to wipe out all sorcerers.
Sadly though, their campaign cripples more than sorcerers alone.
And it must be stopped. So, here be my quest: I shall take back
Mama Vekh from my old brethren and return her to her own kind. Only
then, do I fear, shall the witches cease their detonation of these
Boom weapons and call their Harbingers to heel. And only then can
our world return to some semblance of peace.’

Rishley Locke were tossing stones
down into the plunge cave, perhaps having already heard this tale.
(The plummet of his stones into water echoed up and about the steep
rocky walls.) Hawkmoth were staring into the fire pit. Grimah
nibbled at chaff alongside Razor. Zebra were submerged somewhere in
the depths of the plunge hole. Melai looked from Locke to Gargaron
then finally to sorcerer.

Watching Hawkmoth, Gargaron were
first to speak. ‘Where then be this Goddess, Mama…
Mama…’

‘
Mama Vekh.’

‘
Where be she held
prisoner?’

‘
At a secret location,’ Hawkmoth
informed him. ‘A place known as Sanctuary, a place that has lain
hidden from the witches and much of the world for an
age.’

Gargaron looked keenly and with
intrigue at the sorcerer. ‘What be this place?’ he asked as if he
had heard something of its like before but could not place where he
had heard it nor recall what it might be.

‘
A fortress,’ Hawkmoth told him.
‘The mountain fortress of the sorcerers. A stronghold. Our home.
Lying atop the Bonewrecker Ranges. And no easy place to
reach.’

Gargaron mulled this over. ‘And
say we find our way there, how easy will it be to liberate this
witch Goddess from Sanctuary?’

‘
That depends on whether or not my
brethren still inhabit it.’

‘
And do they?’ Melai
asked.

Hawkmoth shrugged. ‘I have
received no word from them for over a week now. Though that does
not mean they have perished. It could just mean that their avenues
for communication have been diminished. Or that they have gone to
ground to avoid further witch attacks.’

‘
So if this fortress remains
fortified and defended,’ came Locke’s voice from where he sat at
the edge of the plunge hole, ‘will your brethren be likely to give
up this Mama Vekh?’

Hawkmoth grinned. ‘Over time my
brothers have grown rather arrogant and pig headed. Well, more so
than ever they were. If that be possible.’ Here he retreated into
his thoughts for a moment or two, smoking his pipe, again his eyes
on the embers of the fire pit. ‘In my younger day, when Sanctuary
were still my home, I made it my secret agenda to make peace with
the witches. I saw no point in waging a never ceasing war with ever
mounting casualties. My first step in reconciliation would be to
return Mama Vekh to her kind. I brought one or two sympathisers to
my cause but none were willing to go up against the might of the
Order. Thus I were a lone voice. When I decided to go public with
my idea I were laughed at and ridiculed by my senior Brothers.
Undeterred I tried to rally support for returning Mama Vekh to her
people, arguing that if we were to do such a thing, the witches
would be more likely to desist in their guerrilla and terrorism
tactics. “Sometimes, in order to turn tides, it be better to
swallow your pride,” I told them, “and your arrogance and your
sheer pig headedness.” But the leaders of my Order, a stuffy,
pompous lot, would not relent and could not see that their actions
were prolonging an already protracted conflict.’

He looked up and across at Locke.
‘So, in answer to your question, crabman, if my brethren still
reside within Sanctuary, if she be guarded still, then gathering
Mama Vekh into our possession shall be no easy feat.’

Gargaron nodded. ‘How far?’ he
asked finally. ‘How far are we from this Sanctuary?’

Hawkmoth glanced around at his
downed and ruined zeppelin. ‘On foot? From our present location?
Eight days. Give or take.’

Gargaron felt slightly deflated.
‘Eight days may see the end of Cloudfyre.’

‘
That it may,’ Hawkmoth admitted.
‘And eight days may see the end of the protection enchantment I
placed around my hill and home. But we have little choice, my
friend.’ He toked back on his pipe. As he exhaled, smoke drifted
away on gentle breeze and he said, ‘Anyway, whatever the case, we
ought push off as soon as we can. If you so choose to accept the
mission and accompany me, of course. Yet, if I am to go on alone,
then all’s well.’

8

Gargaron pondered this. And all
that Hawkmoth had said. He pondered his own home, and his girls. He
pondered his village dead and all the death, dying and destruction
he had witnessed since that first shockwave had swept over him on
the banks of Buccuyashuck. He pondered Melai and her Mother Thoonsk
and the passing of her sisters. This were not solely Hawkmoth’s
fight. This Ruin, as the sorcerer put it, were killing all without
discrimination, and if he himself did not do his part to end it
then the deaths of his wife and daughter would be for
naught.

Gargaron looked from Melai to
Hawkmoth. ‘Then I am with you.’

Gargaron waited for Melai and
Locke to give their own vows to this undertaking though he saw
Melai smile. And guessed she and Locke must have offered similar
pledges whilst he had been held in slumber.

Hawkmoth gave a reserved look of
gratitude. ‘And I shall be glad to have you along, giant. All of
you.’ He knocked out the ash from his pipe, and nodding at Melai,
and at Locke the crabman, he said, ‘And should more catch us up on
our journey and choose to join our fight then we shall welcome
their company in turn. Now, what say we get riding from here
without delay?’

1

THE woodland and its plunge holes
persisted for much of that morning, and the going were steady
enough. They trotted their horses where they could, with that
enormous serpent, Zebra, always slithering on ahead, Locke mounted
in its saddle. Often they got up to galloping pace where the way
forward were flat. Though at one stage before the woods ended the
trees grew thick and their pace were slowed to a walk. Gargaron
took this moment to pull Grimah alongside the mighty grey horse of
Razor.

‘
I must thank you,’ Gargaron said,
‘for rescuing me from that Skinkk. And for my subsequent care.
Without you I would surely be dead.’

Hawkmoth smiled kindly. ‘I have
seen more than enough death lately, giant. Where I can, I try to
sustain life. Think nothing of it.’

‘
Still, my gratitude goes out to
you.’

Hawkmoth nodded.

‘
Oh, and also allow me thank you
for the use of this scabbard.’ It were a snug fit across Gargaron’s
broad shoulders but his greatsword hung nicely across his
back.

‘
Well, it be worthless to me now,’
Hawkmoth told him. ‘I still have my staff, aye, but my enchanted
sword, Starfyr, were lost down in that depthless plunge hole. And
no amount of searching by myself, Locke, or that serpent had it
back. So, keep it. A gift from me to you.’

Gargaron nodded. Though as they
filed between the woodland trees there were still things on his
mind. ‘Tell me, sorcerer. I don’t suppose you happened to tap a
portion of that Skinkk’s blood before it passed on?’

Hawkmoth glanced across at him.
‘Fortunately, giant, I am not in the process of exploiting my
animal brothers. So, no I did not.’

Gargaron had suspected as much.

‘
May I ask why you seek such a
substance?’

Gargaron sighed. ‘No reason. It matters not, I
guess.’

Hawkmoth eyed him for a short while. But said
no more.

2

By midmorning they had left the
woods behind them and came across a plain bordered southways by
steep hills and bluffs. That soon changed to barren hilly terrain.
As they pressed on, Gargaron searched for any sign of these
Bonewrecker mountains northways, but lost were they beyond the
horizon.

Not long after, they passed
through a deserted, somewhat miniature, settlement of tiny mud huts
with grass rooves and mud-walled animal pens. A stink of rot hung
here thick as soup. Livestock lay dead and scattered. Settlement’s
inhabitants, small folk, smaller than Melai, lay dead also, and
scattered. Another sad and pitiful sight, and it made Melai think
of her sisters. She could not look. Tears welled in her
eyes.

No-one spoke as they continued on
their way, their mood having turned somewhat. To help lighten
things, Locke began regaling them with often humorous tales of his
home village, Barnacle-On-Sea, a settlement hewn from rock and
coral on the Vale’s southern Stromness Coast.

‘
Of course, my
full name be
Sir Rishley Locke the
Impregnator
,’ he told them after a lively,
and rather raunchy, story about his first love. ‘Oh, and
incidentally, I hold the record amongst my people for most females
impregnated in one night. No easy feat I assure you. Though such an
accolade does not come without its ongoing responsibilities. My
society be matriarchal, and any involvement with females by males
must mean that a crab-lady’s pleasure and enjoyment be seen to
first and foremost. Lest you wish to be banished from the clan. And
should a male impregnate a female, well that male must, whether he
likes it or not, until his dying day, remain loyal to that
particular female and, if she so chooses, provide for her, or until
such time as that particular female grows tired of him and kicks
him out.’

Gargaron could
not help smile at the way this crabman spoke. His energy and his
enthusiasm and his warm easy going spirit belied the dead and dying
world about them. He wondered more than once if this crabman were
in fact constantly drunk. ‘And what of your knightly title,
sir
?’ Gargaron
enquired.

‘
Oh aye, for my services to my
people, and to the kindness with which I have treated my eighty
three wives, I were knighted.’

Hawkmoth almost choked at hearing this.
Gargaron were simply struck dumb. When he found his voice he said,
‘Eighty three wives?’

‘
Aye,’ Locke said proudly. ‘Eighty
three. I can name them all if you’d like.’

‘
No,’ Gargaron told him. ‘I
believe you.’

Hawkmoth were still contemplating
the prospect of having to serve eighty three wives. He shook his
head, incredulous but impressed. ‘I find both hands full with but
one wife,’ he declared. ‘Let alone eighty three.’

‘
So, do you sing to them?’
Gargaron asked, indicating the peculiar instrument strung across
the crabman’s back.

‘
Sing?
’ Locke held a heavy frown. ‘I
do not take your meaning, giant.’

Gargaron pointed again to the
instrument. ‘The lute upon your back. Be you some bard that keeps
your wives and village entertained?’

Locke laughed and glanced at
Hawkmoth, as if to ask where did you find this imbecile? ‘Aye, if
that is what you wish to believe, giant, a lute it be.’

Melai, seated there upon Grimah’s
shoulders, looked curious. ‘Someone tell me,’ she said, ‘What be a
wife exactly?’

3

They pressed on throughout the day
stopping briefly at a stream to dismount, stretch their legs, and
collect water. Their horses drank. And splashed playfully together
downstream. Zebra the serpent slithered into creek, swishing below
the waterline where the way were deep enough, gobbling up mouthfuls
of sickly frogs. Hawkmoth remained ashore, seated upon a large
rounded boulder, supping on his pipe, showing no interest in
immersing himself in the brook—content he were with keeping
look-out for Harbingers. Though Melai, Locke and Gargaron did not
hold back. Gargaron and Locke stripped off their shirts and raced
each other into the deeper parts. Melai followed, content with
kneeling in the shallows; though seated there it were the happiest
she’d felt since Thoonsk.

Locke removed his helmet, dunked it and drank
from it. And tipped great gushes over his head. ‘Wondrous,’ he kept
saying. ‘Simply wondrous.’

Melai were intrigued by the
pictographs etched on his two horns. They were beautiful in design.
Though Gargaron when he eyed them thought they looked a tad
childlike.

‘
Locke, be it your custom to
decorate your horns?’ Melai asked.

He looked around at her from where
he stood nearby upon a shallow bed of stones. Water dripped down
his face. His torso were bare for the first time since Melai and
Gargaron had met him; his jerkin and shirt piled on the bank. His
skin were patterned in beautiful designs of ink.