Cloudfyre Falling - A dark fairy tale

by A. L. Brooks

  ‘Right then, Grimah,’ he called. ‘Come again now. Nice and slow. I have you.’

  Grimah, trusting Gargaron, walked two further paces… and here’s when their skywalk collapsed.

  The strut against the ravine wall buckled; the other struts held for a sunflare but would not absorb the sudden weight. The skywalk bent sideways.

  And took Grimah with it.

  Gargaron braced himself, gripping the rope, and leaning back. But when the rope took the horse’s weight, it hauled Gargaron over the lip of the bridge.

  9

  Melai leapt into the air, half expecting to see Gargaron go plummeting to his death, following Grimah down onto those spiny stone stacks far below.

  But when she reached him, she saw him hanging to life from the rope.

  Forty feet below him Grimah dangled, squealing in pain, the rope coiled tight below the armpits of his forelegs, digging into his skin, constricting his ribs. And back there on the northwun side of the ravine, gripping the far end of the rope, Hawkmoth and Locke hefted and grunted and tried to keep their boots grounded against rock and gravel and grass.

  Melai swooped down and braced herself against a builder’s rung on the pylon, holding Gargaron with her tiny hands. ‘Don’t you fall!’ she scolded him. ‘Don’t you dare fall?’

  Hanging there, he looked across at her, smiling. ‘I shan’t. If I can help it.’

  He looked around for something to grab onto. The bridge itself were over twenty feet above him; below him, the remains of their footbridge had smashed and disintegrated, strewn around rock stacks and rapids. Gargaron’s hands, his knuckles white as bone, were beginning to slip. He considered the builder’s rung, the rung put in place during construction in order to aid workers to scale pylon from ground up; but just looking at it he knew his fingers were too thick to gain sufficient purchase; it would’ve been like a bog troll trying to get its huge fingers through the handle of a tiny tea cup.

  ‘Pull!’ Melai screeched. ‘Hawkmoth, Locke, pull damn you, he’s slipping.’

  ‘Should have tied myself on,’ Gargaron grunted, grimacing, the pain in his hands ratcheting up.

  ‘Shoosh,’ Melai told him. ‘Shoosh now. Concentrate all your strength. I order you.’

  Back on the southwun lip of the ravine, Razor, watching this, were in obvious distress, trotting back and forth, making noise, fretting.

  Melai would not let Gargaron go, she had one arm wrapped around his sword belt, the other clasped to the small rung. She feared if she let him go, he’d fall, that even her tiny effort were helping to keep him there.

  She gazed down at Grimah, who kicked occasionally; the rope were digging into his flesh, his forelegs jutting up awkwardly. Gargaron tried looking down. ‘Be Grimah fine?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ But for how much longer she could not tell. She looked back in the direction of sorcerer and crabman, although she could not see them for the pylon and the bridge. She called out again. ‘Haul them up!’ she yelled. ‘Gargaron may not hold much longer!’

  There were a dilemma in giant’s mind. If Locke, Hawkmoth and Zebra were having trouble pulling him and Grimah to safety, well, ought he to just let go, fall away to whatever fate awaited him at ravine’s rocky base and have Grimah saved?

  You have work here first.

  Or… there were his knife. He could have Melai cut the rope beneath him.

  No. How would he live with himself to have his steed plummet to death?

  He grimaced, and grunted.

  ‘Hold on,’ Melai told him sternly. ‘I do not care how much you’re hurting. Do you think your Veleyal would have you giving up on her if your holding on meant her life? No, she would not. So hold on damn you.’

  ‘Melai. I fear it be me or Grimah.’

  Again Melai yelled to the others. ‘What be wrong with you pair? Pull before you have death on your hands!’

  Though Gargaron had a new thought then. One that might save him and Grimah both. Shimmy down the rope, climb passed Grimah, reach rope’s end and survey how far the drop to the river from there might be. If it were not too great he might perhaps survive the fall. If he were unlucky he may break a leg on rocks. Maybe both legs if things did not entirely go his way. Perhaps some ribs. At worst his back. But surely the sorcerer would have some nifty remedies to put him back together.

  He opened his mouth to ask Melai if she could catch sight of rope’s end, to tell him if she could gauge how far the drop were to the river rapids. But suddenly the rope yanked upwards five feet and the sudden jolt made Gargaron slip down the rope’s length, friction burning his fingers, dragging off skin.

  He had barely a moment to appreciate what were happening when again without warning, the rope hauled upwards. With all his remaining strength, Gargaron clung to it and he were drawn headfirst into the chin of the bridge, catching him beneath the overhang, the sound of the dragging rope zinging against edge of bridge harsh against his ears.

  Gargaron kicked himself free of the overhang and were pulled up rough and unceremoniously onto the stone bridge. Still the rope did not stop, continuing to slide up and over the edge, beginning to fray now, almost smoking.

  Up came Grimah snorting. Despite his burning fingers, Gargaron grabbed hold of his steed’s front legs and put his weight behind his efforts, dragging horse up onto the bridge. Once Grimah were safely on the span, Gargaron dropped to his back and lay there panting.

  10

  Melai fluttered up and landed beside the giant. He gazed at her, looking relieved. She reached out and held him, her small face against his huge, rough, unshaven cheek. He put his enormous arms around her, like a father clasping a wee babe. ‘Thank you, Melai,’ he murmured. And then he laughed through sheer relief. ‘I were about to fall. No doubt about it. You gave me the strength I needed.’

  As Gargaron lay there catching his breath, Grimah bent low nuzzling his neck, leaving a thick wet slick of slobber across his neck and chin. That both he and horse were safe, Gargaron were too relieved to care, and simply laughed, rolled his face to the side and gently warded his steed’s mouth from his neck. ‘Grimah,’ he said laughing. ‘I am glad to see you too, but hurry and fetch yourself to yonder bank before this bridge should tumble beneath us.’

  11

  Attention turned now to the problem of getting Razor across. Though Gargaron felt his first duty were to bid sorcerer and crabman his thanks. As he and Melai made their way to the northwun side of the ravine he did just that.

  ‘Thank us not,’ Hawkmoth told him. ‘It were the serpent who pulled you to safety.’

  Gargaron eyed Zebra, where Locke were unhitching the rope from around its wide girth. Gargaron stepped over to the snake beast, and reached his large hand out to it. She let him scratch her scaly neck. ‘Thank you, Zebra,’ he said. ‘I shall fetch you more of those apples you like once we are done here.’

  ‘Oh? What be this about apples?’ Locke asked with a suspicious grin. ‘As far as I know, Zebra enjoys no such thing.’

  Gargaron clapped the crabman on his shoulder. ‘Mine and Zebra’s little secret, I’m afraid.’

  12

  Hawkmoth strode along the stone bridge, communicating with Razor via hand signals.

  ‘Are you talking with him?’ Melai enquired intrigued, as she flew up behind him.

  ‘Aye, and he is being stubborn,’ came Hawkmoth’s reply. ‘I tell him to head for Choner’s Crossing, to find us at Sanctuary. He will be two days catching us up if he leaves now. But the stubborn brute won’t have it. He claims there be monsters on their way.’

  Melai frowned. ‘Monsters?’ She looked back at the deserted trail as it wound up into cloudy mountain slopes.

  ‘Aye,’ Hawkmoth said.

  ‘From which direction?’ Gargaron asked.

  ‘From over there,’ Hawkmoth said pointing.

  Behind Razor there were but the garetrain lingering like a spectre in the mists.

  ‘Let me fly the rope to Razor,’ Melai said. ‘I could tie i
t around him. He can leap from edge of the ravine. You lot can reel him up.’

  ‘Aye, an action I have considered,’ Hawkmoth said. ‘Though my fear be that he may swing headlong into the pylon. I would not want him to snap a leg.’

  ‘We must try,’ Melai demanded, flying off and grabbing the rope from Locke.

  Though as she did, Razor grew more and more skittish, bolting back and forth along the ravine’s edge. And here Melai heard something… Some noise from beyond the garetrain. She stopped flying and now turned and gazed southways.

  ‘Something comes,’ she called out to Hawkmoth. ‘I hear it now.’

  ‘Are you certain?’ Hawkmoth back.

  ‘Aye.’

  Gargaron heard it now. A howling. A wailing. Something lost to the fog beyond the garetrain.

  ‘Hawkmoth,’ Gargaron called to the sorcerer. ‘Do you hear it?’

  Hawkmoth had reached the spot where both the stone bridge and the skywalk had dropped into the ravine—between he and his faithful steed lay a hundred foot gulf. ‘I do,’ Hawkmoth murmured to himself. ‘Though I know not what it be.’

  13

  From the mists trundled a colossal brute. A Hillcrusher, Gargaron realised. One of the docile giants from the distant southwun reaches. A being of such bulk and height, Gargaron himself might well have been but a mere boy.

  Pursuing it were Harbingers. Dark Ones.

  The Hillcrusher failed to notice the ravine. Perhaps blinded by fear, it surged toward it with complete ignorance. Taking much of the cloddy grass bank with it, it fell howling, scrabbling its limbs desperately in the air for something to grab on to.

  It smashed headfirst against one of the rock pinnacles, crushing it, but another pinnacle punctured its torso, thumping through its ribs in an explosion of meat and blood.

  Impaled there it died painfully, pitifully, crying like a babe for its mother.

  If not for the Dark Ones, Melai would have sent it an arrow of Dreamnight, to quicken its passing. But the Dark Ones veered toward Razor. Thus Melai let loose a volley of arrows to defend the steed and Hawkmoth signaled his horse into evasive action.

  ‘Yes, call him away,’ Melai asked. ‘Give me a clear shot.’

  ‘I am not calling him away,’ Hawkmoth called back. ‘I have ordered him to make a jump for the bridge.’

  ‘Jump?’ Melai asked. ‘He can jump so far?’

  ‘No,’ was Hawkmoth’s simple answer.

  Razor were already galloping toward ravine’s edge, the Dark Ones hot on his tail.

  Melai flew out into the gulf above where their skywalk had hung and began firing her arrows at the Dark Ones. Her first few volleys did nothing, swallowed into the dark forms of her targets without effect. She then blew holes in the ground before them.

  This slowed them but failed to stop them.

  Hawkmoth conjured spells; there were too many Harbingers to take down individually using fire bursts from his staff, and summoning a concussive force to blow them all to bits would have curtailed Razor’s charge. Thus from his staff came a wave that could’ve been naught but a simple sheet of water. It swept from Rashel’s gaping mouth, flying rapidly across air between bridge and the far ground and struck just as the charging creatures leapt for the steed.

  The Harbingers piled headfirst into this strange sheet of “water”. It stopped them instantly, like a fly stuck to web. And afforded Razor crucial sunflares, galloping toward Ravine’s edge, too fast now to pull away from the jump.

  Hawkmoth knew Razor had not the leap in his legs to reach the bridge. Nor could his steed hope to fly without wings. With the Hillcrusher still wailing and dying down there beside river, its guts spilled out and streaming like worms down the rapids, Hawkmoth knelt and concentrated his mind.

  Razor leapt before Hawkmoth had pulled his intended enchantment from his staff. And plummeted fast toward the stone pinnacles.

  14

  Hawkmoth did not flinch. And would not be distracted as he channeled his thoughts, waking Lancsh and Rashel both. Slowly over the ravine where the skywalk had stretched, where the original span of the bridge once sat, a glowing ball of light appeared and hovered there. And as Razor fell toward his death the aura of light grew rapidly.

  Gargaron and Locke watched from the far side of ravine and Melai soared upwards and away from the anomaly. The aura were distant but Gargaron believed he saw a ghostly apparition of the old bridge, he believed he saw Razor back there upon the southwun side, galloping toward ravine’s edge and galloping out across bridge, while another Razor continued falling toward rapids.

  Then in a burst of light, as of something thrusting through a wall of fire, Razor appeared, suddenly racing across the bridge toward them. And the Razor hurtling toward rapids and rock became suddenly a wispy thing of nothingness, crashing about the stone stacks with all the solidness of river silt. And then like pipe smoke, what remained of it flurried about the rocks and vanished upon the air.

  15

  The Dark Ones broke free of their “web”, and came scrambling after the steed. But here, just before he collapsed, Hawkmoth terminated his spell. The ghost bridge faded to nothing, the aura vanished with it and as the Dark Ones plummeted into the canyon, the green mists twirled and spiraled in their wake.

  With that, Hawkmoth tipped face first onto bridge’s surface. And from there, he did not move.

  TALES OF CHIANAY

  1

  SNOW fell amidst the mountain mists as they climbed their way through tracks of slate shale. It were not easy going, but Gargaron guessed the sorcerers who claimed the Bonewreckers as their own were a private lot and did not enjoy visitors; thus they had not bothered building roads nor even cared for maintaining these treacherous tracks—anything that would discourage outsiders were most likely welcome.

  Withered old trees grew from sheer mountain slopes and layers of moss clung to stones. The colours up here were predominantly grey. And not since they had left the craggy foothills had any of them glimpsed the sky, for the skies, and mountain peaks for that matter, remained constantly choked and hidden beyond thick drifts of fog and cloud.

  Hours after leaving the ravine, the stony path leveled out at a large clearing. Anywhere beyond fifty feet in any direction were swallowed by mists. And as Gargaron surveyed the area it were quickly evident that numerous paths sprouted off in any number of directions. There were also a thick drift of snow carpeting the ground here; in all likelihood the track to Sanctuary were hidden beneath.

  Gargaron called for his company to a halt. As both steeds pulled up, as Locke tugged back on his reins and brought the hissing Zebra to a standstill, Gargaron sighed. ‘Melai? Once more, I beg of you.’

  She were seated atop Grimah’s shoulders, huddled beneath a thick blanket. And as she had done for much of this trek into the mountains, she shivered, and her teeth clattered. She did not wish to be away from the relative warmth of her blanket. But knew she had no choice.

  She shrugged off her covers, fluttered her chilled wings and flew across to Razor’s shoulders.

  By this stage of their journey through these labyrinthine mountain passes Hawkmoth had remained in some sort of unconscious state. He’d been that way for almost five hours now. It seemed like days ago that Gargaron had fetched the sorcerer off the bridge and carried him to safe ground, where he had lain him down amidst the grass. There they had spent most of an hour attempting to rouse him. Talking to him, feeding him drips of tea and other tonics through his lips. When he failed to awaken, both Melai and Gargaron had tried their individual techniques at mind delving, hoping to discern what the matter were. Melai’s method left the usual nick of blood in her subject’s forehead but both’d had no luck in learning the nature of the matter.

  Yet, it were Melai who realised she could “see” the route they were to take through the Bonewreckers.

  ‘Our route?’ Locke had asked her. ‘You see it?’

  ‘Yes. I believe so. From some part of Hawkmoth’s mind. I believe it be the wa
y to this Sanctuary.’

  It were thus group decision to heap sorcerer up into Razor’s saddle, belt him in lest he slide off, and continue their trek.

  Now here they were at yet another junction, with Melai as she had done at numerous junctions behind them, digging her thumb into Hawkmoth’s forehead.

  This time however there came no mental pictures.

  She withdrew her thumb, looking puzzled. ‘This time I see nothing. It is blank.’

  Gargaron feared the worst. That the sorcerer had passed on. He pulled Grimah alongside Razor, slipped off his woolen glove, reached out and touched the sorcerer’s cheek and neck. It were cold, but from climate not from death he discovered for when he ran his hand down collar of sorcerer’s thick robes he felt a warmth on his chest.

  ‘He has perished,’ Melai told him. ‘But his mind be no longer there.’

  2

  Locke built a camp fire, lighting it with Gargaron’s vial of Helfire. And Gargaron hefted Hawkmoth from his steed, laying him upon his own bedroll and layering him in blankets.

  They sat around fire, huddled. Even Melai. None spoke. Each of them lost to his own thoughts. Each of them sullen and tired. Though you would not have known it with Locke. For he marveled at the quiet falling snow, and at the ever drifting fog banks. ‘Beautiful,’ he would murmur. ‘So beautiful.’

  Melai barely heard him. Her focus were on the fire. She could at last appreciated Gargaron’s claims that a fire could be a central point for social gatherings, and a marvelous source of warmth. She would not have believed it had she not found herself in such a relentlessly chilled region of Godrik’s Vale. She had never felt so bitterly cold. But this fire were chasing that infernal chill from her bones, as if someone were lovingly caressing it from her limbs.