Cloudfyre Falling - a dark fairy tale (61 page)

A cord of white light waved
over Slüv, like strings of molten silver. More followed. So bright
they were that Gargaron could see nothing now beyond them. He
called out to his companions. Though he could not hear his own
voice. He felt something wrap itself around him. Wet and hot and
sticky. The toad’s tongue, he feared. He could see nothing, so
bright were the light. He were being lifted from his feet and felt
himself being drawn into the creature’s mouth…

1

GARGARON were not certain, but
he felt he had been asleep. Or at least had experienced a period of
time where he’d possessed no conscious thought. Then he sensed
light, and felt air so fresh and clean, and next he knew he were
being vomited and burped from the mouth of some immense
creature.

He poured out over its fat
puffy lips onto weed and gravel. Along with mucous and spit, Melai
flowed out behind him, followed by Locke; Hawkmoth and the serpent
were out last together.

They groaned and moaned and
Locke laughed and the serpent hissed, backing up from the toad,
rearing up and lashing out at it. Locke lying there, wiping toad
phlegm from his face ordered the serpent to stand down, lest it
become toad food. Zebra obeyed, slithering off angrily.

Slowly the others found their
feet, slipping, sliding about in the muck, scraping toad spit from
their persons, ringing it from their clothes. They edged back from
Slüv’s gaping maw and it watched them dumbly with its puffy, idiot
eyes. Bands of light began to circle and snap about it. Everyone
backed up. Moments later the toad were engulfed in burning white
light… and then it suddenly ceased to be there. What remained in
its wake were balls of swirling light and a trillion tiny stars
floating like water vapour.

2

For a while there were naught
but stunned silence. Gargaron and Melai, Hawkmoth and Locke, stood
there beneath a cloud blotched sky, dripping smelly toad spit,
blinking it from their eyes, raking it out of their hair.

‘By Ehl Nori Goddess of the
Sea,’ Locke said almost breathlessly, shaking thick gobbets of toad
spit from his horns. ‘What marvel just befell us all?’

‘Have we been transported?’
Melai said, looking about.

‘Aye, we have,’ Hawkmoth
answered her. ‘It be arcane transference. I, my Order, and all
sorcerers have long speculated on how the witches possess the
ability to suddenly appear then vanish without trace.’ He grinned.
‘Now I know.’

They turned to take in their
surroundings and their eyes caught sight of the Grass Sea. At a
glance it looked like any other ocean. Except it were green in
colour and there were something alien about the movement of its
waves. Even Melai thought this, she who had never seen the natural
ocean in her life. There were no white breakers. No sea spray. No
large swells. These things had been common too on the lagoons of
Thoonsk. They seemed not to exist out there. Though one thing this
sea did have in common with other seas: it were vast and unending
and stretched out to horizon and beyond.

None, as far as Hawkmoth knew,
had ever crossed it to the mysterious islands that lay within. And
none could swim upon it. The Grass Sea were not like water, buoyant
objects did not float here. Everything sunk to its depths that some
claimed were a hundred leagues down in parts. Those who fell in,
fell and fell and stayed there, joining the dead who it were said
walked its darkened seafloor and you could hear their howls on the
high winds and if you were not careful they would reach up and drag
you down. None could fly over it either, for some inexplicable
force drew all flying contraptions and all birds down to it
eventually, claiming all.

Some said the fabled city of
Xanaathii lay out there somewhere, swallowed—some said a hundred
leagues down, others said deeper. No fish swam this ocean. No
whale. But monsters lurked at the bottom nonetheless, mindless
things, who it was said would reach up and prong your feet with
razored talons and drag you down.

Of their group, only Hawkmoth
had ever lain eyes on this particular ocean. Of their group, none
but he had ever been this far across the continent. Not even
Gargaron who were well travelled.

‘How far have we come?’ Melai
asked.

With one last look to see that
the toad had indeed truly gone, Hawkmoth began to wander toward the
shoreline. ‘Were I to walk home from here,’ he said, ‘I estimate
I’d be gone more than four months.’ Near the shoreline he stopped,
his robes fluttering on a gentle wind. ‘Wow, I have quite forgotten
how immense it is.’

‘You have been here before
then?’ Melai asked.

‘Aye, many years gone now. One
of our initiation rites took place here. We would be tethered to a
rope, a rope that were in turn tied to a tree or some other rigid
shore based structure. We would then have to venture out into the
grass waves. Walk the alien floor. Submerged. It were meant to
conquer your fears but it sent many a young sorcerer insane. Have
none of you been this far?’

Melai shook her head. Locke
simply grinned. ‘Good sorcerer,’ he said, ‘if I’m to visit an ocean
then I prefer it to be filled with water.’

Gargaron were still
contemplating the spot where Slüv the monstrous toad had sat, still
hearing the strange words of Cahssi echoing faintly through his
mind. Though he were not even certain what she had said. Except for
one thing:
You have work here first
.

‘What say you, giant?’ Locke
called back to him. ‘I dare say you’d prefer water over grass!’

But Gargaron, feeling spooked,
did not hear him.

3

Southways, beyond low hills,
there were deserts that stretched for thousands of leagues in any
direction. Parched wastelands of sand and rock as hot as fire. As
far as Hawkmoth knew, this Grass Sea were surrounded by these
deserts. Yet, there were folk who lived here, Hawkmoth knew. Or at
least had. A number of villages were situated along the shoreline;
all inhabited by reptilian-skinned folk, folk with lizard eyes and
forked tongues, and claws where most folk had fingers. They had
found ways to traverse this peculiar ocean. A species of giant
turtle inhabited this realm. And their shells, dug out and
hollowed, were all that floated upon these grass waves.

Hawkmoth explained as much to
his companions as they stood there gazing out across the vast
expanse. There were a desolate sense to their surroundings. As if
they had reached the ends of their world. It concerned Melai that
this vast “sea” were their next barrier. ‘What lies out there?’ she
asked, trying to conceal her trepidation.

‘I’m not certain anyone really
knows,’ Hawkmoth said. ‘Mysterious islands. Unmapped lands. But
somewhere out there beyond the horizon lies our destination.’

Melai had grown accustomed
somewhat to the realms beyond Thoonsk, their open spaces. But
mostly what they had in common with her woodland home were trees,
vegetation, pockets of water such as rivers or ponds. Out there she
saw no trees, nothing beneath which she might retreat and shut her
eyes and listen to the wind through leaves and pretend she were
safe beneath her willow tree.

It were obvious that there were
no such turtle shelled vessels to be seen on this section of
shoreline. So Hawkmoth took up his spyglass and fixed it firstly
westways, where he saw naught but barren coastline and a pod of
dead turtles floating about jagged rocks. When he turned his
spyglass eastways his eyes narrowed. ‘A settlement I see.’

He studied it for a while.
Hoping he might spot some sign of life, habitation. But sadly there
were none.

‘Be it Rith Gartha of which
Cahssi spoke?’ Gargaron asked.

Hawkmoth put his spyglass away.
‘We shall not know till we take ourselves to it. Come, let us set
off.’

4

The settlement were abandoned.
No inhabitants, no rotting carcasses, no bones of any kind. Nothing
remained but wind blasted huts made of grass-mud bricks. There were
close to two dozen such dwellings spread out along the shore line.
At rear of village there were something of a boat yard where
enormous turtle shells lay piled about, some left in varying states
of being scissored up, used to fashion boat hulls. Here a dirt road
lead away to the hills and perhaps it crossed the deserts beyond to
take cured turtle meat to distant markets. A number of masts poked
from the flat roofs of some village huts, hung with tattered sails
that flapped and whipped in the wind. There were even something of
a lighthouse, a tall mud brick construction perhaps to lead ships
home on a dark and stormy night.

The shoreline on the village’s
“waterfront” rose up from the surface of the Grass Sea in stunted
cliffs several feet high; stunted trees grew from them, leaning out
over the grass waves, roots twisted and exposed. A jetty that
looked to be built from turtle shell jutted from the shore line and
moored to it were a number of turtle-shelled vessels of varying
size. Some were small coracles. But there were a couple of larger
vessels. A clipper, damaged, half of it sunk, its nose poking
toward the sky. And a carrack.

‘I think we may have found our
transport,’ Hawkmoth announced, gazing out at it.

Melai studied the ship. It were
a large craft, with spacious decks and a tall central mast, its
sails currently unfurled. There were the figurehead of a fearsome
frilled lizard poking out from the long prow. Yet, although she
were from a watery realm, Melai knew nothing of seafaring vessels.
The idea of being out there at the whim of this Grass Sea brought
her more consternation. ‘What about the Boom shakes?’ she asked. ‘I
don’t much like the idea of being stuck out there having to ride
out a Boom shake in that vessel?’

Hawkmoth sighed. ‘We must be
resigned to the fact that we have no other choice, dear wood nymph.
We must trust in our endeavour to sail this ship through whatever
the crossing throws at us.’

Melai eyed him. ‘And who, of
us, knows how to sail such a thing?’

There were a pause. And eyes
turned to the crabman.

‘Not sure why you lot search
me,’ Locke said with a humoured smile.

‘You be from the sea,’ Melai
said.

‘Aye, that I am but how many
fish have you ever seen traveling by boat?’ he put to them. And
received naught but blank stares. He sighed. ‘For those of us who
are just at home beneath water as on land, well, I barely see the
point of waterborne craft. Although, this Grass Sea may prove the
exception, of course.’

‘
I
have had some
experience,’ Gargaron spoke up.

All eyes turned to the
giant.

‘My father and I sailed the
Greenbanks off and on when I were younger,’ he told them. ‘Perhaps
those skills might come back to me once we set sail.’

‘Right then,’ Locke said
clapping his hands together and rubbing them back and forth
vigorously, ‘here be our captain.’

‘I stress though that I do not
bring to it a wealth of experience.’

‘Well, I have some rudimentary
knowledge of sailing from text books,’ Hawkmoth said. ‘So perhaps
we might simply combine our knowledge.’

‘That settles it then,’ Locke
said. ‘Now, before we set out, what say we gather some provisions?’
And with belly rumbling the crabman wandered off.

5

They found a small building
that had a sign reading
Oswetqa’s Cured Meats
. Inside they
found racks of jerky. And not just turtle meat Locke were happy to
point out, but cured lizard, giraffe, dog and harpy.

‘Pack what we can,’ Hawkmoth
said. ‘Impossible to know how long our crossing will take. But we
needn’t starve.’

‘Not a green in sight,’ Melai
observed.

‘Ah, but who needs greens when
we have salted harpy?’ Locke said cheerfully as if salted harpy
were the be all and end all.

Melai would happily settle for
the growing plants inside her pack, their fruits and fungus, their
flowers and their sap.

They found sealed flagons of
ale and some strange juice derived from sea grass. As much of it as
they could they carried down the mud-brick stairs cut into the
shallow cliffs and out across the jetty.

It were an unsettling thing
being now so near the ocean’s edge, with its strange haunting
whispers close on either side. Gargaron could not help thinking of
Hawkmoth’s strange tales: the dead who roamed the bottom of this
sea who would rise up and grab the unsuspecting and haul them in.
His arms were full of provisions so he would have had a task
reaching for his sword at a moment’s notice.

But to his relief, while there
were whispers from the grass, naught surfaced to bother them.

The gangplank to the carrack
were lost it appeared, perhaps fallen and sunk, or if it were hewn
from turtle hide, perhaps it had dislodged and floated away.
Gargaron placed his wares on the jetty, took hold of the mooring
rope and hauled the ship into dock. He held it firm while Hawkmoth
climbed aboard. Here Hawkmoth scanned the decks, making sure the
ship bore the signs that it were indeed abandoned, at least above
decks, before taking on the wares as Locke threw them up to
him.

Melai flew high but landed
heavily on deck.

Hawkmoth were quick to help her
back to her feet. ‘Be mindful, child, flying things and this
peculiar ocean do not mix well.’ The look on her face as she
accepted the sorcerer’s hand were one of rude shock, even fear.
That even she would sink here in this sea if she were not
careful.

Locke heeled his serpent and
Zebra hissed and slithered aboard. Finally Gargaron called out, ‘Be
we set to sail?’

‘Aye,’ came Hawkmoth’s
reply.

Gargaron unhitched the mooring
rope and scrambled up the side of the boat as it listed away from
the jetty. He had no need to remind himself that this were the
Grass Sea, if you fell in, then that were it, if no-one threw you a
line, if you could not grab one that was thrown to you, then you
sank. It were a constant fear in his thoughts.