Cloudfyre Falling - A dark fairy tale

by A. L. Brooks

  ‘Oh, and what might that be?’

  ‘Cahssi spoke in my thoughts,’ he told the sorcerer. ‘Just before she were swallowed by Slüv the Vanisher. She said that when days began winding backwards, a new world would come. That I might have something to do with it.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Hawkmoth said with a distant look.

  ‘Aye. She claimed I were the earthchild.’

  Here Hawkmoth almost stumbled but regained his footing and looked keenly into the giant’s eyes. ‘Earthchild?’

  ‘Aye. Were she speaking nonsense or have you heard such a phrase?’

  For a while Hawkmoth did not speak. Instead he walked on through the woodland, using his staff as a rambling stick, tugging at his beard with his free hand.

  ‘Have you heard this phrase?’ Gargaron questioned him. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I would not concern myself with it.’

  ‘Why, what does it mean?’

  ‘It means nothing.’

  ‘No. I tell you something strange is afoot,’ Gargaron insisted. ‘Unless I have merely imagined it, I have had my wife come to me in my dreams and she has told me I have work yet to do. That may not seem so strange in and of itself but Grimah, when he left me, expressed the same words. And so too Cahssi.’

  Hawkmoth were silent. Contemplative and silent.

  ‘What be an earthchild, pray tell?’

  Hawkmoth sighed. ‘The earthchild theory be naught but a witch’s tale told on harvest eve,’ he said. ‘A child from a distant star system comes to Cloudfyre to bless the crops and suns and the rains. It is said that those who pray to the earthchild will receive great yields and fertile lands. Thus it feels as if the world has been born anew.’

  Hawkmoth would not look the giant in the eyes as he spoke this lie. For the fact that Cahssi had mentioned this phrase were enough to concern him. For he now feared he had misinterpreted entirely the paintings on the cave wall.

  THE EMPTY TOWER

  1

  LATE in the day Hawkmoth’s troupe emerged from the woodland into a substantial clearing where there sat a wide pond of silver water and upon a circular island in its middle were an enormous stone foot.

  All stopped to stare. For the foot in turn were attached to a stone leg that climbed high above Mothaak’s distant canopy. They stood craning their necks to take in the structure’s full height.

  ‘Be this it?’ Gargaron asked hushly. ‘Our Empty Tower?’

  ‘Aye,’ Hawkmoth said. ‘I feel it be so.’

  ‘As do I,’ Melai said, her voice low.

  2

  It had been with growing trepidation that they came to this point. The simple fact that they had been advancing upon the very thing that were responsible for dishing out so much death and sorrow across the Vale were lost on none of them. So the feeling that they were heading toward a sleeping juggernaut buzzed their nerves and heightened their senses and stirred their feelings for vengeance.

  ‘What sort of tower be this?’ Gargaron said with suspicion.

  ‘I could not begin to say,’ came Hawkmoth’s grave reply.

  The top of the leg culminated somewhere near the upper thigh. And clasped around its knee were what looked to be a gigantic stone hand; its wrist and arm were suspended out into sky where it ended in jagged crumbling mortar somewhere before the elbow. The fingers of the hand were splayed apart and between them there were vents, or windows, into the tower itself—what lay within were but a mystery. Yet it were what hung at the top of the tower that arrested their attention and stirred both their curiosity and fears.

  A monstrous garish face glared down at them with crazed goggling eyes. Both eyes were askew, one looking this way, the other that way. It hung there near the top of the construction, the upper thigh of the tower stuffed through its mouth and sticking out the back of its head. Subsequently its mouth were stretched wide with lips drawn back, and its rows of fangs could be seen biting into the stonework.

  ‘What be that ghastly thing?’ Melai asked without taking her sight from it. ‘It watches us, I am certain!’

  ‘None but an idiot face,’ Hawkmoth reassured her, reaching for something in his sidepack. ‘Mindless, mute, stupid. Naught but stone and mortar and paint designed as such to scare folk from this place I would guess.’

  But Melai would swear its eyes followed her, that they moved like the eyes of a shadow cat slyly watching the progress of a tasty swamp rat. ‘Where sits this infernal bell then?’

  As Hawkmoth dragged a collection of crystalline stakes from his pack he said, ‘I am guessing of course, but perhaps beyond those vents up there.’

  They studied the spaces between the fingers as Hawkmoth went about placing each stake around them, effectively cordoning off a wide grassed area of the clearing.

  ‘And who or what tolls it?’ Gargaron asked.

  ‘Perhaps that we may soon discover,’ Hawkmoth replied, going about and adjusting his stakes.

  The others watched him.

  ‘What have you there?’ Locke asked.

  ‘It be a Storm Haven, kindly provided by my old friend Skitecrow. Something developed by my Order for use in alpine expeditions. Effective against rock falls, blizzards and avalanches. Thus it should provide us shelter should this tower toll its bell.’

  ‘How does it work?’ Gargaron asked.

  ‘The onset of any shockwave ought to activate these crystals,’ Hawkmoth explained. ‘An umbrella of Deeplight will form, a powerful barrier sourced from the seas off the coast of Erohsvtta. We simply shelter beneath. And wait out the shockwaves unharmed.’ He stood there brushing down his hands, surveying his handiwork. ‘Right then. Let us inspect this tower, shall we. Oh, and keep back from the pond. There is a stench to it I do not much trust.’

  3

  The liquid in the pond were the colour of liquid silver and it lay as still as a mirror. Trees, leaves, sky, could be seen perfectly reflected upon its surface. The stink made its way into Gargaron’s lungs. He coughed it out. ‘What be that acrid stink?’ he said, his eyes watering.

  Hawkmoth had no certain answer. ‘Mercuruan. As would be my guess. It smells as such.’

  ‘Mercuruan?’ Locke said. ‘Never heard of it. Poisonous, I take it?’

  ‘Oh aye. Take a sip of Mercuruan and it shall burn holes in your throat and mouth before it even reaches your belly,’ Hawkmoth assured them. ‘Wade through it and it shall strip the flesh from your bones as easily as a butcher’s cleaver slices through meat. Thus we must exercise caution while we are here. To bring this tower down, to destroy its capacity, may require methodical planning. Though keep your eyes peeled and ears open. If anyone suspects or sees the smallest sign that the bell be about to chime, then yell out so that we might all retreat in time to this safe zone. Our mission here may take one sweep of the clock, or it may take several days. We shall set up camp within this protected area, if need be. Though we shall not leave this woodland until we have taken out the infernal bell.’

  ‘How do you propose we tackle it?’ Locke asked studying the tower. ‘Call out. Knock. See if anyone’s home?’

  Hawkmoth considered Locke’s jest, gazing up at the enormous hand grasping the tower’s midsection. ‘Aye. Why not?’

  ‘I were jesting, of course, sorcerer,’ Locke said.

  ‘I realise,’ Hawkmoth told him. ‘Though finding out who or what lies within be a good starting point.’

  ‘How might we do that?’ Gargaron asked. ‘If we cannot cross the pond?’

  The sorcerer looked thoughtful. ‘I am not certain we need to cross the pond, giant.’ He turned to Melai. ‘Dear woods nymph, how are your wings?’

  ‘In fine fettle.’

  ‘Good. Do you think then you might fly to the hand up there and report what you see beyond those windows?’

  Melai gazed up the tower’s leg, trying her best to ignore the goggling face. ‘I could, aye.’

  ‘Be mindful though, keep your distance. I suspect this Empty Tower be enchanted.’

 
‘Enchanted?’

  On the Ghartst cave paintings Hawkmoth had seen symbols of people reaching out and touching the tower, symbols of people lying dead about its base. To touch the tower might put one to sleep, he had surmised. He conveyed this to Melai.

  ‘To sleep? Or death?’ she asked.

  ‘Perhaps either. So stray nowhere near it.’

  ‘Yet close enough so that I might spy what lies within?’ she said.

  ‘Such be my idea. Though if you think it be too dangerous then let it be known and we shall find another way.’

  ‘What other way would there be?’ Melai asked. ‘None of you have wings.’

  ‘There are trees we could scale,’ he told her. ‘A spyglass from a tree may just as easily yield us what we wish to know.’

  ‘And it may not,’ Melai suggested.

  ‘We shall not know until we try it.’

  ‘None of this sounds encouraging,’ Gargaron said.

  ‘It does not,’ Melai agreed. ‘Though, if this tower houses a death bell that killed my dear sisters, then its demise be the reason I am here.’

  ‘Well said,’ Locke told her.

  For a few moments they all stood there gazing up at the windows.

  4

  ‘Right then,’ Hawkmoth said. ‘Shall we get started?’

  ‘Aye, let’s,’ said Locke eagerly. ‘We haven’t come this far just to admire the view.’

  Gargaron eyed Melai. He did not wish to express it but he felt some anxiety about what she were about to do. ‘You feel up to this?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes. I be fine.’

  He nodded. ‘Right then, be safe.’

  ‘And have your weapons at the ready,’ Hawkmoth warned. ‘Everybody. Our very presence here is bound to arouse some sort of suspicion. And once we begin our picking about the tower we might just bring the grubs out of the woodwork, so to speak.’

  ‘Let them come,’ Locke said.

  Removing his sword, Gargaron looked around, searching the woodland that surrounded them. ‘Right then,’ he said. ‘Good luck to all.’ And he extended his hand to emphasise his words with the offer of a brief hand shake to his companions. Hawkmoth took the giant’s hand before Locke reached out and placed his hand on theirs. Melai, fluttering amidst them, not to be left out, did likewise.

  ‘Friends till the end,’ Gargaron said with a smile. The others replied, ‘Friends to the end’ and Locke followed up with, ‘Now let us bring this blasted tower down and be home in time for tea.’

  At that, and he could not help himself, Gargaron found himself laughing. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘But no, you are right, Locke. Let us do this. And if we may, let us be home in time for tea.’ On impulse then, Gargaron reached wide and dragged them all to his chest and gripped them in a mighty bear hug. ‘When we are done here, you are all invited back to Hovel, where I shall personally cook and serve you up roast suckling hog, the best you will ever sample. Oh, and for you Melai, Hibiscus flowers, Golden Spore, Juniper sprouts, redmelon, and the best Spotted Blues from Summer Woods.’

  None of them could know it… but it were the last moment they would share together.

  5

  Melai lifted away toward the windows, determined to keep her eyes off the goggling face. She suspected Hawkmoth had some plan once she’d scoped out the tower’s interior. A magical explosive perhaps, thrown in through the vents. Something to take out the bell.

  As she fluttered upwards she looked down occasionally. Half way to her intended destination she became aware of an illusion…

  Her companions on the ground had grown small. It were as if she were elevated two hundred feet. Gargaron, Hawkmoth, Locke, down there gripping their weapons, looked like Mynych, the famed tiny people from myth, standing there beside a vast lake rather than a pond. The warped perspective threw her nerves. And she had to simply hover there for a moment, eyes shut, to gather herself and calm her breathing.

  What pushed her on eventually were thoughts of her dear sisters: Corlai with her long auburn hair; and Frelai the cheeky one, always laughing, always playing; Veylai the elder one who knew so much about Thoonsk and her secrets; and Yelai, the smallest and youngest and most innocent of them all and the least most ready to die. The image of them in her mind pushed her from her state of panic. ‘I will avenge you all,’ she hissed through gritted teeth and flew toward the vents.

  6

  Here the tower itself now seemed to evolve, to grow. By the time Melai had reached the stone fist it had taken on absolutely enormous proportions. Melai felt as if she were but a mere birdling flapping about the walls of some giant’s fort. And when she dared look she realised with fright that the face looming above her had eclipsed both suns. It felt to her like it were the ceiling of some vast cavern, the ceiling of the world. And those eyes, she knew, followed her every move.

  To Gargaron, Hawkmoth, and Locke, it were Melai who had grown miraculously smaller until she looked no bigger than a puny fly against a cliff face. They had all but lost her from sight. Hawkmoth had to employ his spyglass simply to keep her monitored.

  And it were while Hawkmoth, and Gargaron too, had their sights fixed on their wood nymph, Locke noticed movement in the woodland surrounding the clearing. He turned and searched the tree trunks and what he sighted caused him to back up, his blowpipe held close to his mouth.

  ‘Why, looks as if we have attracted some attention,’ he told his companions.

  Gargaron, and now Hawkmoth, saw strange feminine beings hanging upside-down from tree trunks. Beings with grey tentacled legs, each with her torso arched backwards, belly and breasts poking upwards into the air, their peculiarly long arms dangling out behind them, their heads hanging upside-down as if dead, yet their faceless visages somehow watched them.

  ‘Star angels,’ Hawkmoth said softly.

  And here these nightmare creatures began to mewl.

  7

  Melai, oblivious to the goings on below, rose finally to the level of the vents. She focused her attention on the tower’s innards. But found she could see nothing for it were too dark within. She would need to fly closer for a clearer view. Which meant being in nearer proximity to the tower. Hawkmoth’s warnings of the potential dangers of touching the construction rang out in her mind. And up this close she thought she saw hairs growing from the stone work, as if this tower were not a construction at all, but something living.

  It be sprouts of some kind, she convinced herself. Weed or vine, nothing more.

  She steeled herself to flutter forward but found herself thinking again of the leering face far above. She could not be certain, for she did not wish to look, but she felt as if the face had begun to grin at her.

  Dare to take a look within, it seemed to say. I dare it, child, oh I dare it.

  Another voice, one more familiar, entered her mind. And so real and tangible did it seem that she swung about in flight, believing that someone or something were hovering beside her. Ignore the great Face of Nothing, it said.

  There were naught hovering by her, nothing immediately above her, nor below.

  Be calm, Melai, the voice said, be calm now, dear. It be me, Hawkmoth.

  She gazed down. Way down there, apparently a hundred leagues below her, stood Hawkmoth and the others.

  Ignore the Face of Nothing, the voice spoke again like a breath upon her ears. It is of the Id, an idiot visage, a pest, a clown, reflecting and reacting to your fears. Nothing more. It cannot harm you.

  But would you dare to look, my dear?

  Confusion twisted her thoughts.

  Would you dare to look within, my sweet?

  Melai! Ignore what you hear, or what you think you hear. Concentrate on my voice.

  Still… dare to look within, my child of the swamps. I dare it, I dare it, I do.

  Melai withdrew her bow and nocked an arrow. ‘Hawkmoth,’ she said. ‘Answer me this and answer me true, so that I may know at least one of these voices I hear is yours. When we first met, I asked you a question about t
he winds of Ostamare. Tell me now the answer you gave me then.’

  Oh my dear, I shall tell you just as soon as you peer within and report on what you see.

  ‘Hawkmoth?’ she asked pleadingly, terrified, gazing down at him. ‘Hawkmoth? Do you speak to me?’

  No! But I do.

  She looked up and squealed.

  The face, without her knowing, had slid down the shaft of the tower leg and hovered there now mere yards above her head, its enormous idiot eyes flicking back and forth, alternatively watching her and focusing on events at ground level, its enormous teeth still embedded in the stonework.

  Suddenly she noticed the hand clasping the tower were no longer part of a detached wrist—an arm had grown out into the sky, buried away in the clouds. The fingers were beginning to move, flexing, as if altering their grip. In its efforts the hand slid down the tower about twenty feet, leaving the windows free. And Melai saw it then, in the hollow of the tower through its tall arched windows once concealed by those fingers. A tongue dangling out of that face. A vast, horrible wet beast, barbed with hooks and hanging from them were thousands of bodies. And at her level, she could see the dead forms of her sisters, hanging there, eyes open, staring at her.

  She squealed.

  And on that moment, for the first time in days, the Death Bell tolled.

  8

  Melai took the full brunt. The mere sound wave alone shredded her wings and tore them from her body, and away she were flung into Vol Mothaak, tumbling head over foot. Had it not been for her crushing collision against one of the great oaks, she might have flown on for a thousand leagues, lost and sunk down in the depths of the Grass Sea never to be found.

  Below, the Strom Haven talismans were blown to bits and Hawkmoth, Gargaron and Locke all succumbed to the shockwave, thrown off into the woods like mere dolls of straw caught on a cyclonic gale.

  The faceless Angels of the woods, clinging upside-down to tree trunks, remained utterly unaffected. As if, for them, the shockwave did not exist. And from their perch, they watched the intruders upon their realm sail wildly and mercilessly through the woodland.