Cloudfyre Falling - A dark fairy tale

by A. L. Brooks

  ‘Hawkmoth, please, where do we seek?’

  ‘I am not certain,’ came his reply, as his form faded amidst the howling sands.

  His sudden vanishing alarmed Gargaron. ‘Hawkmoth?! I cannot see you! Where be you! Tell me!’ He stumbled, fell, his fleshy arms catching his fall. ‘Hawkmoth?!’

  He felt his strength failing him. He felt the pain in his body elevate. He did not know it, but there were parts of his body where his bones were exposed. Beneath his arms the flesh had burnt away to expose his ribs. The rear part of one leg had had its meat burnt off, the bones below his knee were open to the elements, and now brown with grit, and the skin and muscle around it black with decay. His hair were all but singed away. Mostly he were numbed by it all, mostly his consciousness washed in and out of some bizarre dream world.

  He were not sure now if Hawkmoth had ever been leading him. Perhaps the sorcerer’s body too had been somewhere near that of Melai’s and Locke’s. Perhaps Gargaron had merely been trailing some aimless wraith.

  He picked himself up, determined to press on. He told himself that if Hawkmoth were there, the sorcerer would not leave him.

  6

  The sand flurries howled and raged. And came in waves of varying intensity. And every now and then they would dull enough for Gargaron to gather a clearer picture of the way ahead. He saw more desert and naught else… and yet he saw him, the wandering figure of Hawkmoth getting further and further ahead.

  ‘Hawkmoth!’ he tried to call with his dry, rasping voice. ‘Hawkmoth, do you hear me? Wait!’

  But on went the sorcerer and on came the swirling sands, concealing him again from Gargaron’s view.

  In his mind Gargaron began to hear a song his dear daughter used to sing. ‘Oh, on the sweet fields of Sorollayn, I see the maids, oh, on the sweet fields of barley, comes my sweetheart.’ He heard himself singing it. Dust and grit peppered his tongue. He spat out what he could. But he sang and hummed and closed his eyes against the storm and pressed forward, mindless, wandering, wandering, one step and another step and another in front of the other.

  ‘You have work here yet,’ came the voices of something above him. ‘You have work here yet.’

  He stopped and peeled open his eyes so slightly, and squinting, he gazed into the heavens. It were a maelstrom of dust and dirt and nothing more. But here he spied Hawkmoth again before him. He had almost stumbled into him.

  Hawkmoth were poised there, pointing to some point that Gargaron could not see.

  ‘What be it?’ Gargaron asked him, trying to be heard above the winds. ‘What be it, tell me?’

  ‘Can’t you see it? Just over there. Go forward now, time is almost done. I know now that you did not come to help me stop the war with the witches. It were I who were meant to help you. It is why the Dark Ones left us alone. That we helped you, to a lesser or greater extent, to get you to this point. Go now. Your guardian angel be there to take you the rest of the way.’

  ‘Guardian angel?’

  ‘Cahssi were right. You be the earthchild. I read the paintings on the cave wall wrongly. I thought they were instructions on destroying the death bell. I thought destroying the Empty Tower would give life back to our world. But I know now that all must die. For only then will life once more flourish. When the earthchild grants it so.’

  Gargaron blinked at him. ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘The earthchild theory tells of a starman who came to Cloudfyre from a distant world called Earth and brought life here. And so that one’s spirit lives on, to bring life to where life has been extinguished… You will give us a world renewed, giant. Of grass and trees and fresh, clear skies. And of laughter of people living out their lives. And of the joyous sound of children and animals, large and small, getting about their days.’

  Gargaron looked but could see nothing for the storm.

  ‘Life be an enigma,’ Hawkmoth said, his voice growing weaker. ‘Fleeting. It be but smoke on the breeze. And those who come after us would do well to be mindful of this fact. Lamps glow and lamps go out. Such is the way of things on a lonely world floating amidst a cold universe. And we who float upon it are all there be. Travel safe my friend.’ And with that he moved no more, standing there, his body solidifying, his eyes turning dark blue and then to black. His skin became stone. His arm still pointing, his other arm clasping his staff out from his side. And no sooner had he become rock, than he began to erode.

  Gargaron stumbled back, watching it happen.

  ‘Hawkmoth? What be the matter? Hawkmoth, can you hear me?!’

  But Hawkmoth Lifegiver spoke no more.

  Gargaron could only watch as the sorcerer’s form slowly lost detail, like a river stone rubbed smooth over a vast passage of time.

  7

  Gargaron knew he were dreaming. For as Hawkmoth eroded away, he gazed toward the spot where the sorcerer had been pointing, and what stood there made no sense.

  A horse. With two heads.

  Gargaron watched the mirage, waiting for it to slide away, to fall apart under the howling grit. He looked back at the sorcerer. But Hawkmoth were quickly featureless. Naught but a shape approximating his original form. A round lump of a head, no face, rounded shoulders, no clothes, a narrowing torso, arms and legs withering away to thin cords, his hands gone, his arms ending in rounded nubs, his staff now but dust on the air. And yet part of Hawkmoth’s arm, what had become of it, were still pointing.

  In the distance, the two-headed horse still stood there. As if waiting for him.

  Gargaron regarded it at length, waiting for it to vanish. But vanish it did not. Compelled now, he took his tired legs and trudged toward it, hunched against the biting gusts. Dream or not he would see himself to this apparition, if only to reach out and touch it, to prove it were not real.

  Once or twice he looked back at what used to be Hawkmoth, but there were little left of the sorcerer now save a spire of sand-stone, growing ever thinner and less defined. But more and more Gargaron were drawn on by the sight of the horse, for the nearer he pushed to it, the more substantial grew. Intrigued, he willed himself forward, curiosity feeding his determination. His consciousness faded to grey here and there, and each time his senses returned he stood, hunched for a moment or two regaining his bearings. Yet always the horse stood there, waiting. Until finally Gargaron reached it, and the horse were right there, close enough to touch.

  ‘Grimah,’ he croaked. ‘Grimah? Be it you, my friend?’

  The horse nuzzled him with its two noses and made a soft noise at his ear as if to confirm his identity. He kept nuzzling him, as if encouraging him to climb upon his back. Distantly Gargaron got the notion, but it seemed an insurmountable task. He felt so heavy, so tired, so burdened. But somehow, aided by the horse’s strength, he managed to drag himself upon into saddle. There he slumped forward panting, clinging to Grimah’s mane so that he would not slide off and tumble back into the dirt. He did not like his chances of getting back to his feet if that happened, let alone climbing back again onto the steed.

  Soon he were aware of movement, of the horse carrying him away. And once more Gargaron slept…

  EARTHCHILD

  1

  GARGARON had no awareness of the passage of time. While he slept, Grimah carried him diligently across this desolate part of Godrik’s Vale. While he slept, Cloudfyre underwent its final transformation before its Fall. Dark Ones and Harbingers and Juggernauts, billions upon billions of them, spread out across the world, setting alight the forests, hammering down all signs of habitation and civilisation, reducing all of it to rubble and dust. They took to the oceans annihilating the last of the sea-dwellers and their cities. They took to the skies, dealing death and destruction and cleansing wherever it were needed. The destruction and annihilation went on and on until Cloudfyre began to rumble and shake, until Cloudfyre called back her children and thus the Dark Ones, the Harbingers, the Juggernauts, returned to Cloudfyre’s deep womb where they would again sleep soundly for ten thousand y
ears before their next emergence.

  When Gargaron awoke he were first taken by the searing blue skies. Were he floating? It certainly felt as such. The sky were all about him. Above and below. And yet, yet he felt solid ground beneath his bare feet. He looked down and saw his blistered toes and his reflection. He barely recognised himself. His hair were mostly gone, as if burnt free. He had lost considerable weight. His clothes were shredded. His limbs hung with chunks of flesh. And in parts, his bones were exposed.

  But here were his reflection nonetheless.

  He looked up and around. Grimah were nowhere to be seen, making him think that the horse really had been some dream of delirium. And yet, the imprint of horse’s hooves in the crystalline white earth lead off into the endless distance. Other than that, here were a featureless landscape, utterly white save the reflection of the vast blue sky and the wispy white clouds upon it, reflected perfectly, like a mirror.

  It were absolutely beautiful in its isolation, in its silence. Gargaron turned slowly about. There were a clarity to his mind that he had not known since before his foray into Vol Mothaak. A lucidity. But the sudden memory of the tower stung him. Locke and Melai. And Hawkmoth. All of them dead. A lump filled his throat. Guilt and sadness for friends lost. And for a while he could not shed the memory of dear Melai. He had promised to take her back to Thoonsk. He sighed heavily. ‘I am sorry, Melai. I pray you forgive me where ever you be.’

  He were alone. That thought were like a crushing weight. And there were some sense, some deep part of him, an intuition, that told him he were but the last thing alive. Not only on Godrik’s Vale, but on all of Cloudfyre. That the laughter, the voices, the cries, the tweets, the howls of Cloudfyre’s millions upon millions of living things had been silenced. And he were all that remained.

  He completed one full rotation, his eyes scanning the horizon in all directions for any tiny landmark that he might strive for. For there seemed no feature to this landscape but its endless floor of white and the blue sky and clouds reflected upon it.

  Yet, he saw something. Indeed it almost startled him. A tiny ethereal being standing there twenty yards from him.

  2

  Its sudden, unexpected presence made him jump. He grunted, alarmed, his hand moving instinctively for his sword or hammer, both of which he seemed to have lost. He did not move. He simply stood gazing back at this tiny little being.

  It did naught but stand and watch him in return. A sad expression were on its face. Like that of a child who has lost its mother.

  It be some ghost, Gargaron decided. By appearances it were not a substantial being. He could see through its form the reflected clouds off the white salt flats, could see through its head the blue sky. It were much like those watery mirages seen at a distance on steaming hot afternoons.

  Gargaron felt thirst beginning to bite him. He realised he were not only without his weapons but were without his rucksack. But a gourd he found tied to his belt. It were not his own he realised as he unclipped it. He recognised it as Hawkmoth’s. He frowned. Had the sorcerer given over his precious water to him? Gargaron felt its weight. It had a heaviness about it. Full.

  He unstoppered it and brought it to his cracked lips. As cool water sluiced over his tongue and he drank, he had to fight all his will not to up end the entire contents down his throat. But it were evident he were a long, long way from fresh water on this strange land. What he had must be rationed.

  He took two or three hearty gulps then forced himself to stopper the vessel. He clipped the gourd back to his belt. And once again his eyes went to the tiny being standing there. Gargaron blinked at it. Then considered his gourd. He took it from his belt and offered it. ‘Forgive me. I have quite forgotten my manners. Be you thirsty?’

  The being made no response.

  ‘Water,’ Gargaron said. ‘That be all it is. I offer you some.’

  Again, no response.

  Gargaron placed the gourd upon the flat white salt beneath his feet. And took himself back from it.

  ‘Drink,’ he told the being. ‘I mean you no harm. If you be thirsty then, please, drink.’

  Still, the being made no move, no reply, as if it did not understand.

  3

  Gargaron looked around. So what now? he thought. The suns were full, the light off the salt flats bright and glaring. Once more he caught sight of Grimah’s hoof prints leading away from him. He scanned again the horizon for any sight of some landmark he may have missed, turning fully about as he had already done.

  As before, there were no visible feature to be seen.

  What to do? What be my purpose? ‘Do you know why I am here?’ he asked the wee one. It failed to speak. ‘Do you have others like yourself here somewhere?’ There might have been a tribe of them watching him, all half invisible. Unless they moved he would probably not spy them. Perhaps Grimah had gone on, trailing a scent of fresh water.

  ‘Are there others like you?’ he asked. ‘Would you take me to them? I mean you and your kind no harm. Honestly.’

  Again the thing simply stood there eyeing him before looking around again, as if worried about its surroundings, as if it had never seen such a land before. Its expressions intrigued Gargaron. The creature seemed as lost and unsure about this place as he did.

  Eventually it were pure necessity that gave Gargaron purpose. The salt pans were growing hotter the longer the day advanced. The gourd would not hold water forever. Sooner or later Gargaron’s thirst would see to that. He pointed for the benefit of the being. ‘I need to trail my steed. You may come with me if you want.’

  Again, no reply.

  Gargaron nodded. ‘Right then, please yourself, but if I stay here I shall perish.’

  No hint of understanding from the being.

  Gargaron sighed. With that he started off.

  4

  The creature did not follow. Gargaron were gone twenty feet when he looked around and saw the thing still standing on the spot. When he had gone fifty feet the little being were almost swallowed up by the white and blue and the perfect mirrored reflections.

  Gargaron knew it were wasted energy worrying himself about it.

  He concentrated on Grimah’s hoof prints, following their meandering trail northways. They seemed never ending. He began to wonder how long ago Grimah had passed this way. It may have been days. Or, for all he knew, weeks had passed.

  Hours trickled by as he trudged this mysterious land. Exhausted, hot, sweating. He halted his march and allowed himself some small sips, trying his best to ignore his raging thirst. He felt his lips were blistered from the suns. He took some moments looking about, hoping perhaps the distance he had covered might have delivered him closer to some new landmark previously lost beyond the horizon. But there were none. He longed for his spyglass. He reattached his gourd and were about to set off again when he got the fright of his life. The small being stood there, watching him.

  It stood closer than it had earlier, as if it now viewed Gargaron as a remote threat rather than an imminent one. As it eyed him, he heard words in his mind. I do not know what I am. Do I belong to you?

  Gargaron frowned, eyeing it carefully. ‘Be this you I can hear?’ No reply. ‘I have not seen your like before.’

  The creature watched him.

  The ground beneath them both shook right about then. Gargaron looked down with some consternation. Then searched the sky for a yellow discolouration. He feared a shockwave. But minutes passed, none came.

  ‘If you hear me and understand me,’ Gargaron said, ‘then listen. I have a steed. I need find him.’ He pointed to the hoof tracks as though this were sufficient explanation. ‘He will carry us from his place. If I do not find him then I shall perish here, for I will soon be out of water.’ He shook his gourd; it felt as though it held mere drips now. ‘If you hear me, if you wish to come with me, then come, I shall offer you my protection. If you choose to stay here then I am sorry but I cannot stay.’

  He regarded the little being for some
moments. It did not move. No further voice came from it. It simply watched him with those big transparent eyes.

  ‘So be it,’ Gargaron said sorrowfully and with that he set off again.

  5

  The creature trailed him this time. Keeping back some two dozen feet. Gargaron glanced at it once or twice over his shoulder, happy for the company, silent though it were.

  Another hour passed. Gargaron’s thirst grew. He wanted so much to throw away his gourd so that he might not be further tempted to drink the last of its contents. Though if he did, he would be without any means of hydration. The irony were not lost on him. It caused him to laugh. As he did he looked around at the little being, hoping to share the moment. But the creature simply gazed up at him, expressionless.

  Gargaron quieted himself and took up his gourd and again offered it to the being. ‘I give this to you. Please accept it before it sends me insane.’

  The little being looked perplexed. And when Gargaron stepped toward it, offering up the gourd, the little one took a step backwards.

  ‘I mean you no harm, honestly. And even if I did, I have not the strength. So, please, accept this water before I put my hospitality aside and drink it myself.’

  The being would not come forward to receive the gourd. It irritated Gargaron. He placed it atop the salt crust and ambled slowly backwards. ‘Please. Have it.’

  Again the being seemed confused, as if it did not recognise such an object. It occurred to Gargaron that this creature stood before him without water nor provisions and yet looked quite unperturbed, quite unstressed.

  She be a ghost then, Gargaron convinced himself. She be that and nothing more.

  He stepped forward and bent down to fetch the gourd, his hand on his hip to assist him in his effort. He felt like a giant three times his age. He straightened slowly, unstoppered the gourd, lifted it, arched his back and neck, upended it into his mouth, and this time left not a drop…