Starfall (The Fables of Chaos Book 1)

by Jackson Simiana

  “Don’t you get it?!” Bya-Iam shouted. The raised voice came out of nowhere, stunning everyone else into silence. “There are no more fishing grounds! We have exhausted all of our options.”

  Bya-Qwara snorted. “Do you all attest to this nonsense?”

  Qwara gestured to the other elders. Jossi and a few others nodded, others were not so sure. The dispute was becoming heated; the tension emanated out into the vocal crowd.

  “Iam would have us abandon our sacred place on the seas. Our home for half a century!”

  As Bya-Qwara continued ranting, Paku noticed Bya-Iam staring up into the blue skies above. He seemed to be transfixed by the crimson star, the one Paku had taken as a sign from Yunafa herself.

  What was he thinking?

  Bya-Iam cut Qwara off mid-sentence with a voice that boomed with both charisma and knowledge. “When our world was ravaged by the Great Flood, our people were some of the only ones to survive in the whole world. Why? How did we survive?”

  Bya-Iam gestured to the crowd, awaiting an answer. Paku waited intently. When no response came, he continued speaking.

  “We adapted… when the landwalkers refused. We got our feet wet. We lashed our crafts together and we tamed the very seas.”

  Paku was mesmerised by the man’s tone, as people from the crowd began to clap and holler.

  “Are we not nomads?” Bya-Iam looked out to his people as their opinions began to shift. He repeated the question. “Are we not nomads? It is within our blood to change and grow. Just like the waves, we can overcome any obstacle. But, and I do not say this with any sort of joy, I am adamant that we are all going to starve if we do not act on this day.”

  Paku clapped in support of the elder. Bya-Qwara, his argument having unravelled, sat back down, disgruntled.

  “We are Gywera, and we must adapt if we want to survive.”

  The crowd became a symphony of applause and supportive shouting. The other Byas stood up one by one in agreement with open palms to Iam.

  “However, I do not believe that this decision should be left up to just us seven,” Bya-Iam said, referring to the elders. “This decision affects us all, from this day onwards. As such, in what is normally a decision for the seven Byas, I move to include every single man, woman and child of Gywera in the vote of how our village will proceed with the coming doom.”

  Paku was stunned. No Bya had ever said such words before to their people. The crowd, too, were shocked. Most looked to each other in disbelief.

  Had he really said that?

  Old man Bya-Dera cleared his throat before addressing the statement. “Bya-Iam, it is our responsibility to navigate rough seas for our clan as leaders and representatives. What you are suggesting-”

  “Is quite unconventional, yes,” Bya-Iam said. “But so are the times we live in. This decision affects us all… shouldn’t we all have a say, then?”

  The people clapped once again in favour of Bya-Iam’s eccentric request.

  “This is ridiculous!” Bya-Qwara protested, but he was drowned out by the crowd’s backing to which he promptly shut his mouth.

  All seven of the elders, even Bya-Qwara despite having his doubts, eventually stood up to vote for the motion.

  It was decided, then.

  Bya-Iam looked out to his people. “All who believe it is time to set sail for the southern seas, please raise your hand.”

  A huge majority of the crowd, Paku included, raised their arms high in a massive show of support. Some appeared apprehensive, while others were certain of their decision.

  Bya-Iam smiled and nodded- he had convinced his people successfully. A clear bulk of the village thought that their time upon the Emerald Sea had come to an end.

  “Very well,” Bya-Iam said. “The time has come. We shall begin preparations at once. Our village will again sail like it once did. Gywera will take us to a new home under Yunafa’s guiding hands.”

  Paku returned to his nuna with an air of excitement and anticipation. He had never seen the village sail before and never thought he would in his life.

  Gywera had always been a relatively sedentary village, weighed down with enormous anchors for lifetimes on the same spot in the ocean.

  Their future and very way of life was about to change forever.

  Nuna, still sunbaking by the waterside, grinned when she heard her grandson arrive back. “You’ve returned. All is well, I hope?”

  Paku leant down and held his nuna’s hands within his own. He looked deep into her glassy eyes then down to the luck laurel that she had crafted him, realising that somehow it had worked. The trinket had helped lift his wrist to vote for Bya-Iam’s motion.

  “Yes, nuna. All will be well from now on. All will be well.”

  Interlude - Downhill

  Dyr sat at the edge of the dock of compact stone and wood with his legs dangling out over the water of Crown Bay. Dyr was Anai and, as such, being of short stature meant he could hold his dirty bare feet over the sloshing waves without getting himself wet.

  Rea and Ixo were rising over the horizon as dusk set in, bringing with them the high tides and a stream of huge trading vessels, colourful merchant ships, sailboats, and fisherman back into the harbour.

  Most were vessels heading between Dawnhill and the kingdom of Caldaea, carrying foods, wine, spices, and all sorts of craftsmen wares.

  The ships would be out to sea by the morning when the moons left the sky. They took the ocean with them, and the many ships currently docked.

  Dyr drew in a deep breath of the salty ocean air, scratching at the slashed crescent tattoo on his forearm. Dusk was the only free time he ever had; he relished each moment of it.

  Grey gulls squawked overhead. Drops of water trickled from the barnacle-infested wooden posts of the dock after each wave.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  The fiery star that had illuminated Dawnhill’s nights for some time was lit up like a ruby with a long, streaking tail.

  Dyr heard footsteps approaching. He jumped up with haste, fearing it to be his master or a guard out to cause trouble. He turned to see another of his kind in a tattered dark cloak.

  “Nathin,” Dyr said, recognising his companion and greeting him with a firm handshake.

  Nathin’s tattoo had been burned off, leaving a ragged scar of melted flesh on his forearm which he did not try to hide. The Anai stood as tall as Dyr at around four-foot. He met Dyr’s handshake with a smile of rotten teeth.

  “Evening, lad.”

  “How goes business today?” Dyr asked.

  Nathin scoffed, opening his cloak to reveal several coin purses hidden within. “I’d say it was average. Too many rich wankers hide their purses around their necks nowadays. Makes it harder for us smallfolk to pinch.”

  Dyr laughed. “One of many setbacks of being Anai.”

  Nathin gestured behind him towards Beggar’s Way. “Shall we? Those sailors’ll be flooding the taverns and whorehouses. Could probably pinch a few coins before the next guard duty comes along.”

  Dyr agreed. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Good. And I’m supposed to be meeting Mell outside the Crab Claw.”

  “Let’s head there then. I need every mark I can get at the moment.”

  Dyr looked back up at the ruby star with a cheeky grin, praying to which ever god would hear him that it was a sign of the riches they would take on that night.

  The pair of Anai headed into town. Dawnhill was the most populated city in Alyria, meaning there were lots of people to rob.

  Dyr’s bare feet pitter-pattered on the stone road beneath him as he tried to keep up with Nathin’s determined strides.

  In a shadowy alleyway off the main thoroughfare, Dyr thought he saw Ol’ Beau lying amongst some waterlogged hay.

  “Beau!” Dyr called out, jogging over to the motionless old drunk. The homeless Valkhor owed him two marks for ale. But upon reaching his makeshift home in the gutter, he realised Beau had been dead for some time.

  Beau�
��s skin was beginning to grow tight and bloat. Rats and roaches had infested his clothes and were burrowing into the rotting flesh.

  The smell was atrocious, like shit and piss and old fish mixed into one.

  No one had bothered to remove his corpse.

  Damn. There go my two marks.

  Dyr gave a quick nod as a sign of respect for the old Valkhor before leaving, wondering what had killed him. The cool nights? Beaten by some thugs or guards? Hunger, perhaps? Or maybe his drinking finally caught up with him.

  The Crab Claw was a popular bar near the docks, the exterior wooden panelling painted red like the shell of a crab. Drunken patrons of all sorts crowded the street outside, but Nathin quickly spotted his brother, Mell, leaning against the outside smoking a pipe.

  Mell had a long beard and crossed eyes. Dyr had never felt all that easy around him, but the Anai was quite talented at picking pockets and had gained a reputation as someone to avoid, lest you want to lose your gold.

  Nathin patted his brother’s shoulder. “Ready for a night of hard work?”

  Mell puffed smoke into Nathin’s face with a laugh. “S’only hard if yer bad at it.”

  “You’ve met Dyr before, aye?”

  Mell eyed Dyr with a squint and a frown- out of spite or a lack of vision, Dyr was unsure of. He took in another puff of his old pipe. “Aye.”

  “He’ll be joining us. The lad’s getting good at it and needs the marks.”

  “Aye,” Mell repeated.

  “So, where we headed?” Dyr asked the brothers.

  “May as well stay by the Bay, this time of night. What’s the saying in Dawnhill? ‘Shit flows downhill?’” Nathin sneered.

  Mell chuckled with a scratchy cough. Dyr nodded in agreement; it would be risky attempting to pick pockets in the richer parts of town.

  The capital sat between two sheer valleys of ghost-white rock. Uptown, home to the royal citadel of Alderhall and the richest, most powerful people in Ashen, was at the highest point in the city, furthest away from the stink and squalor of Beggar’s Way and the Gutters, and the hustle and bustle of Crown Bay harbour.

  Dyr, Nathin and Mell passed a group of drunken sailors snickering to themselves and falling over one-another as they stumbled to whatever destination their desires took them to. They smelled of week-old fish and looked as though they hadn’t bathed in months.

  The trio rounded a corner and Nathin stood back in silence as they eyed a man in a long coat wearing an eyeglass, locking up his store with an armful of books.

  Mell wanted to take the opportunity, but he was held back by Nathin who ushered Dyr on with a tilt of his head.

  Dyr knew exactly what to do. He inconspicuously walked up to the man as he fumbled around with his ring of keys, pretending to be on his way home. The man with the eyeglass did not turn around.

  In a split second, Dyr had spotted the man’s coin purse hanging at his hip from his belt. He did a quick step towards the man, as if having lost his footing all of a sudden, before swiping it without so much of a bump.

  As quick as a cat.

  The man had not noticed a thing.

  Nathin nodded with a grin. He had been teaching the younger Dyr how to pickpocket for about a month, and the boy was getting rather good at it. His willingness to do so while barefooted gave him the extra advantage of silent steps.

  Three Anai in the darkening, gloomy streets were hard to spot and even harder to hear.

  They slipped away into the shadows of a side alley before the man with the eyeglass had even finished locking his store.

  Nathin snickered as Dyr handed him the purse. “Humans, they’re so oblivious.”

  “Nice job, lad. Smooth as a whore’s ass,” Mell praised.

  There were only a few marks inside. Nathin separated them into thirds and handed Dyr and his brother their share before pocketing his own.

  Dyr had never seen himself having to resort to pickpocketing. It made him feel as though he was only adding validity to the awful things the humans said about his kind.

  Yet, he could not deny the rush it gave him, nor the necessity of finding gold to survive when his master paid him next to nothing.

  Loud voices from a few blocks away startled Dyr. A woman shrieked and a man was calling out.

  “What’s that?” Dyr said. Nathin shrugged.

  “Probably a knifing,” Mell said casually.

  More screaming, from more people. It sounded like panic.

  A loud horn thundered through town.

  The three Anai looked to each other, turned, and raced back towards Crown Bay to try and gauge what was going on. Others in the area of all kinds, human, Anai, some Valkhor, heard the commotion and were doing the same.

  As they got to the cobblestone road that lined the harbour, Dyr spotted the screaming woman. She was taking steps back, pointing out towards the sea.

  A city guardsman was attempting to direct people away from the area with little success. Everyone wanted to see what was happening, brainwashed by their morbid curiosities.

  Dyr looked out across the harbour. Heading straight in their direction at tremendous speed was a huge trading vessel. The ship was at full sail. It rode through the waters at full speed straight for the harbour.

  “What is that?” Dyr said with concern. He did not like what he saw; that ship was going way too fast.

  “Looks like they ain’t gonna stop,” Nathin replied. “What the fuck are they doin’?”

  The ship wasn’t slowing down as it careened straight for land.

  Dyr could not see anyone on board. What was going on?

  A smaller fishing boat was unable to get out of the way in time. The people crowding the docks and wharfs tried calling out for them to flee, but the colossal trading ship simply ploughed through the smaller vessel without losing a shred of speed.

  The fishing boat was utterly decimated, sending shattered wood and the fisherman flying into the water.

  “W-we… we need to get out of here!” Dyr realised.

  Mell had dropped his pipe and was already running.

  The crowd began to flee back away from the harbour. Dyr and Nathin’s pockets jingled from the marks within as they bolted.

  The vessel did not slow as it crashed into the wooden piers first at an angle, shearing them completely in half and crushing through the docked boats. The sailors onboard leapt into the water.

  Dyr turned as he ran to see wooden fragments and roaring waves proceeding the ship. It was far larger than he had initially realised. It towered as high as a two-storey house.

  The ship clipped one of the harbour’s wooden guard towers, causing it to twist and collapse. It slammed into the main walls of the docks, the bow of the ship creating a cascade of water, wood, and stone fragments.

  The masts detached and collapsed like towering trees, falling forwards with the inertia of the impact into the houses lining the nearest street. Their tiled roofs caved in from the intense force.

  The rest of the ship sliced like a knife into the dock walls before completely breaking apart upon the road where Dyr had just been standing moments earlier, before ultimately coming to an ear-splitting halt.

  A baby wept in the distance as one of the buildings that bore the brunt of the impact began to crumble.

  Dyr halted as an eerie silence then gripped the streets. The ship’s hull had caved in and was broken in several colossal pieces, some embedded into the seawall. The street was a mess of rubble and wreckage.

  Dyr ran to try and help. He heard his heart thumping like a drum in his head as he climbed the jagged remains of the collapsed façade of the building. Several lifeless bodies lay amongst the debris, covered in dust and wood splinters, having been crushed.

  Dyr helped some of the city guards and other townspeople search the trading vessel to try and help whoever they could still onboard.

  “Is anyone hurt? Is anyone here?” Dyr called out, fuelled by the adrenaline pumping in his system from the shocking event he had just witn
essed.

  Nathin followed behind with a groan. He was probably more interested in looting the corpses than helping anyone.

  Mell had taken off.

  Dyr searched the remains of what was once the main deck of the ship, trying to find anyone. Anything. Nothing but wood, shattered rocks, broken cargo, and mounds of debris.

  What the fuck happened?

  Dyr slipped. His small legs flew out from under him, and he landed on his back in a cool, sticky liquid. He raised his hands to see what he had fallen in, only to see that his skin was covered in thick, coagulated blood.

  Dyr jumped up in disgust, wiping his hand and looking down to see that what was left of the ship’s deck was completely saturated in a slick paint of blood. Gallons of it.

  “Guard! Guard!” Dyr called. Some of the guardsmen searching the ship heard his cries and came looking with flaming torches.

  The entire deck shimmered in a deep, horrifying crimson red and chunky black. What Dyr had thought was pieces of destroyed cargo were actually body parts.

  Torn arms.

  Legs ripped in half.

  Human bowels strewn about.

  Severed heads with eyes gouged and tongues sliced out.

  It was the crew, Dyr realised. Their remains littered the wreckage.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  “There must be dozens of ‘em,” Nathin gasped, flicking off a piece of torn skin that was stuck to his shoe.

  “What in the Creator’s name happened here?” a guard said.

  Dyr’s eyes were wide in terror. The body parts, along with the spilled blood, weren’t fresh. This massacre had happened some time ago.

  “What could have done this?” Dyr asked.

  More people climbed the ship’s wreckage to see what was happening. Women screamed upon the discovery. Men backed up in fear, praying to the Creator.

  “It must have been pirates,” someone said.

  A city guard cut the idea down. “We have no pirates in the east. This could be the work of Caldaea! Are we under attack?”

  The crowd muttered and argued. The stench of rot and viscera was thick in the misty air.

  “Whatever this is, no human could’a done this,” Nathin muttered to Dyr. “No way.”