Cloudfyre Falling - A dark fairy tale

by A. L. Brooks

  ‘I spread her out in my alchemy parlour, all her varied pieces. I had no idea what to do, only I knew I could not let her go. Being away from Sanctuary had given me the freedom to study far more varied branches of magic than I would have been permitted had I stayed there. Necromancy, magic of Darkness, magic of Earyth, magic of Xuub, Meschener’s Laws. But it were temporal magic I turned to. Though a cursed branch of magic it remains. For to use it means to slowly render yourself lifeless. Until the day of Eve’s death, I had merely dabbled in it. But that day I did not care for the ramifications. I dragged Eve from a time pocket just before she had left our cottage.

  ‘There were one problem. I had not perfected the art of temporal lore. Thus what I dragged through, though living, were mere splintered pieces of her. I’d had some experience of reanimating dead newts and lizards, connecting parts together. With Eve though it were far more difficult. While I had pulled most of her through the temporal pocket, her innards remained lost. I built her again as best as I could. I kept her alive in stasis and built a clockwork arrangement to fit inside her ruined torso to keep her functional.’

  Hawkmoth sat back and smoked his pipe. He stared longingly out across the woodland, the suns rising further now. (Gargaron still expected tweeting birds to greet the morning but there were naught but that unnatural silence.)

  ‘It took us both time to get used to what I had done. And I questioned myself much that first year. I had saved my Eve yes, but what abomination had I given myself?’

  ‘Abomination?’ Gargaron asked him. ‘Ghouls be abominations. Undead be abominations. The Eve I met be none of those.’

  Hawkmoth smiled, and nodded, happy in the giant’s generous appraisal. ‘Aye, you are right. Her mind were not interrupted nor corrupted. Though physically she be more mechanical than flesh. There be no heartbeat in her chest.’ He shook his head. ‘Does that make her living or dead? I do not know. But she be my Eve and I love her as much as ever I did.’

  5

  They sat in silence. Hawkmoth lost in his thoughts, Gargaron lost to his own. Gargaron wondered now if his curiosity had been sated. Had his questions on reanimation been answered? Could his girls have been saved by this sorcerer? If they had been returned to him as part-mechanical beings, without a heartbeat, then, as difficult as it were to admit it, he supposed he preferred their current fate.

  ‘Did you see to your old Brothers for what they did? Seek retribution?’

  Hawkmoth smiled and shook his head. ‘Such destructive cycles must be curtailed, giant, before they end in a tail spin one can naught pull oneself from. Though so often pride and ego blind one to the idea of such a notion.’ He smiled. ‘Besides, I believe my bringing Eve back to life in the manner I did would have enraged them sufficiently. That be satisfying enough in itself.’

  Gargaron nodded but he were again pondering his girls. He gazed at length at the sorcerer. ‘Hawkmoth,’ he said at last, ‘had you been there on the day my dear girls died… could… could you have brought them back?’

  Hawkmoth eyed Gargaron briefly from the corner of his eyes. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘At personal cost to myself, but I may have had them back, yes.’

  Gargaron swallowed hearing this, and hung his head.

  ‘Though it may have been for naught,’ Hawkmoth went on. ‘For I am certain they would have again succumbed to this blight regardless of my intervention.’

  Gargaron nodded. His heart were filled with a heavy sadness.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Hawkmoth said. ‘For your loss. Truly.’

  6

  Gargaron stared into the dirt, lost again to his thoughts. For a time he were back in Summer Wood kneeling over the bodies of his wife and daughter. Picturing their lifeless, unmoving faces. Forever that picture would remain in his mind he knew. He swallowed, collecting himself before any tears spilt from his eyes.

  Eventually he realised he still held Hawkmoth’s staff. He handed it back. ‘A fine weapon,’ he commented.

  ‘Aye, it be,’ Hawkmoth said, taking it from the giant, ‘and has served me well. As I suspect your great sword has served you.’ He dipped his staff toward the giant’s sword.

  Gargaron nodded. ‘In defense of myself and my friends, aye. Though I am no soldier and cannot say I have blooded it in war.’

  ‘No soldier?’ Hawkmoth asked, sounding surprised. Here he indicated Gargaron’s pack. ‘That there be Drenvel’s Bane. Hor the Cutter’s little baby. I recognised it on yesterday’s ride. Who would carry such an item if not a soldier?’

  Gargaron studied the hilt of the legendary hammer poking from the top of his pack. ‘A simple hunter who borrowed it from his village temple, be who.’ He had contemplated throwing it out into the woods during the night. For a burden to him it seemed now and nothing more. ‘But I am of a mind to leave it behind for all the use it has been.’

  At this Hawkmoth frowned. ‘Oh? And why would you entertain such a notion?’

  ‘I cannot wield it. Simple as that.’ He shrugged as though that were the end of it. ‘Your Eve suggested Skinkk’s blood may wake it, though I have about given up finding any.’

  Hawkmoth now understood. ‘Ah, which is why you made a request for such a substance when I found you.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Hawkmoth ruminated on this before rummaging through his pack, eventually producing a stone bottle. ‘Well then, here may be your answer.’

  ‘What be that?’

  ‘Skinkk’s blood, I believe.’

  It were Gargaron’s turn to frown. ‘You told me you were not in the business of exploiting your animal friends.’

  Hawkmoth smiled. ‘I am not. But I happened to chance upon this item on my travels. Skinkk’s blood be a rare and valuable commodity, I could not simply leave it behind now could I.’

  Gargaron sat where he were, Melai and Locke slowly stirring. ‘Would you permit me use some then?’

  ‘Why not? You have Drenvel’s Bane. Such a weapon may grant us the upper hand should we come face to face with either my Brethren or the witches. T’would be folly not to try and utilise its power, I would think.’

  Gargaron fetched the bottle from the sorcerer, turning it over in his hand. It were blown from a black glass, and both ends were tapered and rounded, resembling teats or nipples. There were no evidence of a lid, or stopper, nothing to simply pop open to access the liquid within. It were completely sealed. Gargaron imagined he would have to smash it upon a rock to get at the blood. An etched inscription on its flank read:

  BLUD OFFEN THEMS DRUGENS

  – Soossed byus himself Wrenbuggus The Great.

  ‘Blood of dragons,’ Hawkmoth translated.

  ‘How certain are you that it be genuine?’

  ‘Why, it state there it were sourced by Wrenbug the Great himself. Preeminent Skinkk specialist, and it be contained in one of Wrenbug’s signature vessels. And protected by one of Wrenbug’s signature enchantments. If you wish, I could have the enchantment lifted and the vessel opened.’

  Gargaron eyed the sorcerer. ‘Aye, lift it please, if you will.’

  ‘Right then. Let us put your legendary weapon through its paces, shall we.’

  7

  Hawkmoth took back Wrenbug’s dark glass vessel and placed it upon the ground. Here he knelt, his hands spread out above the bottle. He whispered something, his eyes shut. His hands began to shake, and soon shook so furiously that they appeared nothing more than a blur while Hawkmoth himself remained so still and becalmed. The strange bottle appeared at first to be melting at both ends while its base flattened slowly against the lay of the earyth, as of a puddle of water will pool within troughs or scoops, so that at either end the bottle had “melted” outwards and fashioned shallow scoops into which droplets of blood now splashed as it seeped slowly from each tapered nipple.

  Hawkmoth’s hands steadied at last and he sat back. ‘There,’ he said as if he had just arisen from some deep and refreshing night dream. ‘Your Skinkk blood as you require it.’

  Garg
aron took Drenvel’s Bane from his pack and stepped up to Wrenbug’s vessel. He lowered himself to one knee. There were an odour wafting from it like acid. Gargaron were reticent to touch it. ‘What… what should I do?’

  ‘You do not know the legend?’ Hawkmoth asked.

  ‘No. Only that Hor alone could command this hammer. Though your Eve suggested I would have to mix my blood with that of a Skinkk before I might bring it under my service.’

  ‘Aye, her Mothers of Long Ago helped forge this weapon. So she ought know. Though in my own studies of legendary items I have read that you must cut your fighting hand, drip Skinkk blood upon the wound and then grip the hammer’s hilt. Hopefully we may see this mighty warhammer herald this new morning.’

  Gargaron did not delay. He placed the hammer hilt upon the ground and took his greatsword from its scabbard. Then with a single deft chopping motion, opened up a shallow gash in his palm. With blood pooling in the bowl of his hand, he put away his sword and lifted Wrenbug’s bottle and tipped Skinkk blood onto his wound.

  Grimacing as the alien blood reacted with his own. Bubbling and burning, issuing a dark vapour. He ignored the stench, the discomfort, and holding his palm upright he fetched with his spare hand Drenvel’s Bane from the ground beside him and placed it upon the waiting pool of blood. His fingers closed around the width of the hilt, gripping it with fervour, both Skinkk blood and that of his own running down the hilt’s length in worming, circular streams.

  Hawkmoth had climbed to his feet, and had backed up slightly, ushering Locke and Melai to do the same.

  ‘What goes on here, pray tell?’ Locke asked the sorcerer.

  Hawkmoth, one hand gripping his staff, said, ‘Well, we are attempting to awaken a relic. One that has been in slumber for a good number of generations. And, ah, best you stand back. This could get wild.’

  Grimah were standing, watching keenly, pensively. Razor watched on with his searching green eyes. And Zebra were still asleep, belly up and tongue dangling forth like a sleeping dog.

  Gargaron got to his feet and gazed at both his hand and hammer. Then up at the sorcerer as if Hawkmoth might know what were meant to happen. For, so far, there were nothing. Not even a tingle in his fingers.

  Everyone stood silent, waiting for something to kick off. But ultimately nothing happened except for the smell of the Skinkk blood cooking Gargaron’s skin.

  8

  Hawkmoth strode forward, his staff held before him as if he were marching into battle. ‘Attack me!’ he commanded Gargaron. ‘Strike me with all your strength!’

  Gargaron frowned. ‘I might knock you into your next life should I do that.’

  ‘Fear not, giant. Rashel and Lancsh will take full brunt.’

  ‘I do not see the point.’

  ‘Drenvel’s Bane might be tempted from sleep if it could savour full scale battle.’ Hawkmoth gripped his staff with two hands, bracing his feet in the dirt. ‘Now strike me!’

  Gargaron were reluctant. ‘I hardly think striking an old sorcerer constitutes full scale battle.’

  Hawkmoth laughed. ‘Try me then, puny giant!’

  Gargaron sighed. Then he wound back his hammer hilt and lunged at the sorcerer.

  Hawkmoth showed all the surprise of someone not expecting a giant to move at such blinding speed. A sunflare later, he were catapulted away into a mess of shrubs.

  Gargaron’s first thought were, ‘Oh Thronir! I’ve killed him.’ And he dashed after him.

  Hawkmoth lay there tangled, dazed, peering up at him. ‘You have a good arm, giant.’ His voice sounded somewhat croaky. ‘How be the hammer?’

  Gargaron shook his head and held it up for Hawkmoth to see. ‘No change.’

  Hawkmoth were not put off. ‘Again then,’ he said, getting his breath back and allowing Gargaron to haul him free of the shrubs. ‘This time I shall be ready. And this time don’t hold back.’

  9

  As morning lightened, all sat around eating of their own particular breakfasts, Gargaron still wiping blood from his palm. Each of them silent, Gargaron and Hawkmoth especially so; the hammer had failed to rouse.

  ‘Perhaps Skinkk blood be not the secret,’ Melai suggested.

  ‘Aye, would seem so,’ Gargaron said. He looked across at Hawkmoth. ‘Any thoughts, sorcerer?’

  ‘Sadly no. But I am reluctant to rule out Skinkk blood altogether. There is certain to be some element we are missing.’

  Locke chewed down his dried sea moss, and cracked open his sea clams. (As far he claimed, his clams could stay shut and fresh for an age, though by their stink, Gargaron were of a mind to question the crabman’s claims.) ‘This war hammer may not have awakened,’ Locke said, grinning as he slurped back clam meat, ‘but I must say, I quite enjoyed watching your attempts at rousing it.’

  After breakfast, with Drenvel’s Bane put away (there were more pressing things to worry about than a stubborn old hammer), Gargaron spread his map out upon the grass and dirt and showed the others what he had found during the night. He sat back when he were done to allow them time to digest it.

  ‘It certainly be an intriguing idea,’ Locke commented keenly.

  ‘If anything sees us through this mission in greater haste,’ Melai said, ‘then I am all for it.’

  ‘What say you, sorcerer?’ Gargaron asked.

  Hawkmoth nodded, sipping some tea he had brewed for all. ‘T’would cut our journey to Sanctuary by half. Though, there be something you ought to know about the place.’

  Gargaron frowned. ‘Do tell.’

  Hawkmoth again sipped his tea. When he had swallowed he spoke. ‘Days leading up to my departure from home, I sent off my zeppelins in the hope that I would make contact with folk like you lot, survivors of this Ruin. The idea then, once I had hopefully recruited you to my cause, were to have us all fly on to Sanctuary. My hope would be that by the time we gathered at our destination we would prove such a formidable force that my old Order would have no choice but relinquish Mama Vekh to us.

  ‘However, my problem were that I did not have enough zeppelin’s to fetch you all to me, so I began to search for faster ground routes, alternative paths, shortcuts, that might have you reach Sanctuary in greater haste. Other than consulting my maps, the swiftest way to uncover such information were to begin dispatching reconnaissance drones. One of these I sent to Appleford town, to this terminus of which you speak, Gargaron. I must say, the news it returned to me were none too encouraging.’

  ‘What were its report?’ Gargaron asked intrigued.

  ‘The terminus lies intact. The garetrains undestroyed. But the place is overrun by something.’

  ‘What sort of something?’ Locke asked, a gleam in his eye, as if he were in some mood for a stoush.

  Hawkmoth sipped his tea, steam drifting about his face. ‘My drone could not describe it. Only that there be some presence there.’

  ‘Dark Ones?’ Gargaron asked.

  Hawkmoth shrugged. ‘Possibly.’

  ‘So, tell me your concerns,’ Gargaron said. ‘Be this spot too dangerous for us?’

  ‘Where ever we traipse be dangerous these days.’

  Locke eyed the sorcerer closely. ‘You claim the garetrains lie undestroyed.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘And if we get them running, our journey to the Bonewreckers may be cut in half.’

  ‘Again, aye. Though if we get there and find some foul beast in our path then we will have wasted two days travel. One day getting there, and a day rerouting to our original path.’

  Locke considered his. ‘A fair gamble then.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Gargaron, folding away his map. ‘And if there be something in this terminus waiting for us, then we shall simply have to make a meal of it before it does us.’

  ‘I second that,’ Locke said smiling wide.

  ‘Me too,’ Melai said.

  Hawkmoth drained the rest of his tea. ‘Right then,’ he said with a sigh. ‘To Appleford we ride.’

  THE MENACE AT APPLEFOR
D

  1

  IT were a long day in saddle and much ground did they cover. Close to five hundred leagues by Hawkmoth’s calculations. Gargaron slept through much of it, dozing in his saddle. He had not planned on it, but had found his head nodding not long after they had left their overnight camp. And not far on, he had succumbed entirely to the tug of exhaustion. He were awoken at midday by Melai to allow him to quench any thirst and see to any hunger but he sipped little and nibbled less and were off to sleep again.

  ‘He slept not a wink last night,’ Hawkmoth reported, ‘and he is likely still healing internally from his burns.’

  So they left him in slumber, slumped forward against Grimah’s broad shoulders, snoring into the horses necks, drooling. Melai sat at first upon the steed’s rump but the constant side-to-side movement irked her. So she climbed up onto Gargaron himself and settled herself there upon his back.

  Late afternoon they crested a hill (marked on Gargaron’s map as Devil’s Knee) that were strewn with a hundred mountainous boulders, and Hawkmoth called for his company to a halt.

  2

  Roused by the sudden cessation of movement, Gargaron opened his eyes. Naturally, he attempted to tap into his Nightface, to pick up on what it had recently observed. But there were darkness there.

  He remembered that his Nightface were gone for good.

  Yawning, he pushed himself up into his saddle, displacing Melai who were seated upon his shoulders. She leapt from her perch and flapped into the air. ‘Oh, the sleeping mountain awakes!’ she said and the others turned their attention on him.

  Gargaron looked around, a little bleary eyed, a little disoriented. ‘Where be we?’

  It were a sunny afternoon, although, westways, monstrous storm clouds hurried eastways’n’north across darkening skies, threatening to blot out Melus and Gohor. Devil’s Knee hill and its immediate surrounds were silent. Just wind dragging its chilled fingers through the long grasses and enormous boulders. As had become the norm, no sound of bugs, nor ornithens.