Earth- Giants, Golems, & Gargoyles, page 8
She dragged him further into the old cemetery, her wings protruding from his back. He hadn’t known how strong Nephilim—angel-human hybrids—really are, or how angry they can be. Or that severed wings dissolve at sunrise.
Cleo dropped him and looked around. Some of the statues guarding the graves had ragged stumps on their backs, too. Maybe she’d come back and visit them sometime.
She’d fit right in, she thought. Just another stone cold angel.
OUBLIETTE
A deep, windowless, stone dungeon, accessible only through the top. No ladder, no stairs. A prison for enemies of the state and queens who’ve grown too old to breed. An oubliette, my husband says, dragging me toward it. From oublier—to forget.
He’s locked everyone out so no one will witness my imprisonment. He craves control to the point of carrying the one key that opens every lock in the castle. He decides who may stay and leave, and when.
Not this time.
I strike him with my fist and he backhands me in, the hatch locking as it slams.
I open my hand. I’ve stolen his key. We’re both imprisoned now. The castle will be a fitting tomb for him.
But not for a while yet.
Oublier: he’ll remember me for the rest of his life.
PATIENCE
Gargoyles are patient, in the way of all stone, and nothing if not forgiving. They know humans think they’re merely ugly waterspouts, but gargoyles keep their peace.
Gargoyles were put on the roof to throw rainwater clear of the walls—but also to stand watch against evil spirits. They remember this, even if most humans don’t. They guard the occupants of their buildings, and have for uncounted years. Gargoyles are nothing if not faithful.
All the rain flowing through them, pouring from their deformed mouths, erodes them slowly but surely. One day they’ll blow away on the wind that precedes the storm.
The evil spirits, as patient as gargoyles, but much less forgiving, wait.
QUARRY
So romantic. Knowing I like silver, you lured me to this place of fog the colour of doves, of stones like old pearls and pewter.
A gravel pit, you call it. A quarry. How droll. And what a perfect place for our last dance.
I so enjoy the waltz of hunter and prey. And if you’ve taken a few wrong steps, well, what partner hasn’t? The bullets that did nothing but ruin my dress, the holy water that did nothing at all, and the ash stake that didn’t even come close. I know your heart was in the right place, even if you couldn’t find mine.
But we both knew it would come to this, didn’t we? Romance is all about the thrill of the chase, no?
And your dance skills have been improving.
Shall we?
REMEMBERING
Sometimes, rocks stacked up to look like men.
Or, boulders piled to serve as directional aids.
This one, constructed with a “window” through which you can see another inuksuk, and so form a sightline. They could line you up with the polar star and the mid-winter moon. Indicate the safest route home. Point to places of rest and refuge.
Always remind you of other travellers who’ve passed this way.
If you look through the windows in a certain light, they line up to a point just above the horizon, and at certain times of the moon, the wind through them has the low pitch of distant voices. Words you think you could understand if you could just get a little closer.
If you could only remember why they make you think of home.
And if only you remembered that travellers can follow navigational aids in both directions.
SISYPHUS
For the crime of talking too much, Sisyphus is sent to Hades, where every day until the end of the world he must roll a giant rock uphill. Every evening, when he reaches the top, it teeters promisingly, and then rolls back slowly to the foot of the mountain.
His punisher, the god Zeus, tells him, “But take comfort, for your task will forever be appreciated.”
Sisyphus doubts it, but now knows better than to comment.
The rock rolls up the mountain, the rock rolls down the mountain.
The moon rises, the moon sets.
TELEPHONE SERVICE
Perry would be calling soon, complimenting her breathy voice, her slight Mediterranean accent, her softly hissing laugh. He was so easy.
And right on time. “Hello, Perry.”
“Hello, Marina, how did you know it was me?”
“I always know when it’s you.”
He imagined himself a scholar, but didn’t imagine she might have caller ID. Or that he could find a real companion instead of dallying with a phone sex operator.
“I want to meet you,” he said. Again. “I know we’d be great together.”
“Meeting me . . . wouldn’t be good for you.”
“You know I can find you.” Probably, she thought sadly. A determined fool could cause all kinds of trouble. “At least tell me your real name.”
“Medusa.”
“Like the Gorgon?” He sounded pleased with himself for knowing that.
“Yes, Perry, just like that.”
She’d really hoped it wouldn’t come to this again.
USHABTI
I know the stone figurines in my office aren’t really ushabti. They represent my first wives, not their servants in the afterlife. But I like the word.
Both have a matching stone storage jar. Noreen’s is alabaster, to match her skin. Theresa’s, calcite, a soft rose the colour of her lips.
I know that removing their brains through their nostrils with a hook isn’t really the ancient Egyptian method of preserving their memories. But I like the procedure.
More than they did.
There comes a moment in every relationship when you think, “It doesn’t get any better than this.” That’s the moment you want to hold on to.
I want to hold this one.
Leanne looks radiant tonight—the happiest I’ve ever seen her. Her ushabti and jar are jade, to match her eyes.
A good marriage is all about the memories.
VARIATION
Sean Riordan lives for auctions. A rich collector of oddities: rare fish, radioactive minerals, anything Garbo. Bad loser, worse winner, every smile a variation of Gotcha.
Charming when he wants to be, but charm wears thin, and I don’t like clutter, no matter how expensive.
He phones a month after the breakup. He’s leaving town, can we get together before he goes?
I’d rather not, but I want to return the things he left at my place.
His house is almost empty. “Ditching your worldly possessions?” I ask.
He passes me a scotch-rocks. “I’ve heard you should get rid of everything that doesn’t bring you joy.”
At least his mineral collection is still here. The gold carnolite is beautiful. But the green masuyite is gone. “You’re selling your rocks, too?”
“No.”
I swallow half my drink. It glows softly in the overhead light.
Sean’s doesn’t.
He’s wearing that smile.
WARM
Ouroboros, the giant serpent who surrounded the world, was banished to the moon. He remembers he was once feared, and mourns the loss of his power, but, being a snake, he mostly just misses his favourite warm stone.
He scrapes himself across the light rocks, feeling relief like pleasure as his too-tight skin splits and peels off. He watches it shimmer and twist like a borealis as lunar winds carry it away.
It circles the Earth now as the great snake once did, and little heat escapes its scales.
As once suspected, damage to the ozone layer is mythical.
The Earth will be ready for him when he returns.
X
Ava loved exotic travel—Katmandu, Marrakesh, moonrise over the Sphinx. She adored mystery. Loved a little danger.
Loved me more.
I could never bring myself to hold her back. I promised I’d always wait for her; she promised she’d always come back to me. Said she’d never get so lost she couldn’t find her way home.
Ava loved being on the road.
This one, maybe not so much.
It’s called a corpse road, a gravel track from the church to the cemetery. Sometimes, when they’re close to houses and businesses, they’re made to intersect so the dead will lose their sense of direction and not return.
I sit here most days, beside this road like an X marking the middle of nowhere. It’s been a while.
But I promised.
And so did she.
YOU CAN ONLY BELIEVE
Grandma always said family stands with you. But my family’s gone, and this stand is my last. I have Daddy’s truck, Mama’s rifle, food I looted from a store twenty miles down the mountain, and Grandma’s hag, a smooth stone with a hole made by running water. She said a lot of stories about it are true, but you can only believe one.
It gives you the power to know when you’re being lied to? Please. When the president said the contagion was contained, everybody knew he lied.
It protects you from sickness? I doubt it. From nightmares? Nope.
It wards off the dead? Nice thought, but I know they’re lurching their way up here. I have more faith in the gun.
If you look through the hole, you’ll see a clear path to the next life?
Huh.
I’ll take it.
ZACHARY
At midnight, the small click of pebbles against my window: Zachary wishing me happy birthday. In fifty years he’s never forgotten.
The day his family moved next door to mine, we sat on the porch roof eating birthday cake and talking what I want to do when I grow up. I wanted to move to a big city and live in a beautiful apartment. Zachary wanted us to be friends forever.
We blew out the candles together.
I left town after he died in a car crash. He was hitchhiking home from college. Coming back for my birthday.
He always does.
I smile when I think of him. Even now, in my penthouse apartment, with an uncut cake, and empty chairs for glittering acquaintances who had better things to do tonight.
The small click of pebbles against my window.
Winner Takes All
Mara Malins
IT ALL STARTED with the Night of the Dragon Cards.
Three cycles ago, I combined two of the world’s strongest magical cards together in the table-top card arena and created a mythical character, the strength of which had never been seen before. Not in all the thousands of cycles of the card arena. Two extremely high-level dragons combined. As fiery as fiery can be, I remember thinking that night—with no idea of what was to come.
The beast was too strong. It should never have been created. Within minutes of the game starting, the dragon broke free from the table-top arena—tore through the protective forcefield and broke free into our world—and went on a rampage, roasting everything and anyone nearby, reducing the card room to ashes, and killing over two hundred people.
But that was just the beginning.
In hours, the dragon had destroyed the entire planet. Gavala, once a thriving trading world and hub of Confederacy activity, was reduced to flames and screams. Nothing was left untouched; no buildings remained, no humans un-burned, the forests were set alight, the seas were choked by ash. The once deliciously breathable air turned rancid, stinking of sulphur and charred flesh. The destruction was absolute.
Offworld, I’d heard the planet had been given a grim new nickname; the Unholy Smoke. Onworld, it was called nothing because everybody was dead.
Except me.
With a gas-mask and a couple of imported storage containers full of dehydrated food, I’d made the Unholy Smoke my home. I had no choice; the Confederacy had given everyone left alive—a pitiful handful compared to the millions who’d once lived here—safe passage off planet. Everyone except me. The sentence for my crimes was to live with the destruction I’d caused. There was nothing here but scorched skies and charred soil, but it was more than what I deserved after what I’d done.
I was okay with that. I wanted to be anywhere that dragon wasn’t, and the last I’d heard, it had burned up four trading planets, the monk planet Flava, and was on its way to a mining planet at the edge of the Confederacy border.
But that news was at least a month old so, really, I had no idea where the fucking thing was. I just knew it wouldn’t return to a planet that was already burned up. It had no power here. I was safe on this planet, I guess. And it wasn’t so bad actually. The days all merged into one and there wasn’t anything to do but breathe in ash and walk by burned out buildings . . . but I didn’t have to face the wives of the husbands I’d accidentally killed. Or see the hatred those children had for the killer who’d taken away one or both of their parents.
So, I walked. For three cycles now, I walked from one coast to the other, carrying just enough food for the trip. Today, I was walking up what used to be a thriving high-street with shops on either side of the road. Ash, stirred up by a gentle breeze, was blowing lazily across the cracked earth like phantom tumbleweeds. To my left was the old card house, the start of all the horror. I walked hundreds of miles every week, but for some reason, I always ended up back here. Where it all began.
Sometimes I feel like I’m in a huge card arena myself, the scorched skies overhead keeping the damage to this planet in just like the invisible shield did. There was no escape for me.
Not like the dragon.
I leaned against the remains of a stone wall and took out my canteen of water and a protein bar. How long did I stay, eating and staring at that card house? I couldn’t say. Time passes strangely here. Even the twin suns high in the sky were useless; just two dull globes of light behind the duvet of angry dust clouds still passing overhead. The clouds blocked out most of the light giving everything a strange dying purple colour. There were no days and no nights . . . just lots and lots of time.
“I thought I’d find you here,” someone said from behind me.
I hadn’t heard a voice in over three cycles. I pushed myself away from the wall so hard that my heavy boots tangled and sent me sprawling. My jaws clicked together, catching my tongue between them, and I cried out in pain. My canteen fell to the floor with a thump and water gurgled out.
From the floor, I stared up to see my old friend Poole looking down at me. Behind his gasmask, I could just about see the puckered scars of his burns running down one side of his ugly face, the angry reminders of that terrible night.
“Poole,” I greeted, standing up and brushing myself down. I could taste blood in my mouth but, wearing a mask, spitting wasn’t an option, so I swallowed it down. “What are you doing here?”
“Are you okay?” he asked, not offering a hand to help me. “That looked like it hurt.”
“I’m fine. What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing back on a ruined, wasted planet; looking for you.” He glanced around, saw the remnants of the old card house, and sighed. “You know, Tuttle always said you’d change the world. He said a pretty girl with your poise, your poker face, your determination, could blag anything, but that I’d better be careful around you.”
“He said that?”
“Yeah. And I believed him.” He paused, looking me up and down. I couldn’t read his expression. “But even he didn’t think that you’d change the world—destroy the world—for the sake of winning a wager.”
“The ultimate wager,” I said immediately. Even amidst the destruction I’d caused, I still wasn’t able to downplay just how big that card game was. Downplay the desire to win. The need. I’d played against the second-best player on the planet, Flick, and I’d wagered everything.
And lost.
Had I? That hateful voice whispered in my mind. I won the game. Flick was dead. I defeated him and remain unbeaten. I’m the ultimate card player. There is no one better than me.
“The ultimate wager,” Poole agreed, shaking his head slowly. “Was it worth it?”
I was silent for a long moment. “What do you want, Poole?”
“The Confederacy sent me.”
I blinked. “What?”
“The Confederacy sent me,” he repeated slowly, as if speaking to a child. His eyes were hard on mine, and I could read a little distrust there. It was obvious that the last three cycles had brought something out in my friend Poole that hadn’t been there before. He’d always been a hanger-on, nervous and unsure, someone easily manipulated into following my plans. Now there was something stiff in his expression. Unforgiving. A strength I’d never seen before. And, I noted, there were no red stains at the corners of his mouth. He’d always had a nasty habit of chewing salamander berries, a habit he’d obviously kicked.
Yes, something had changed in him.
Poole took another step towards me. “Tuttle . . . he works with the Confederacy now.”
“What? Your husband works for the enemy?”
“No, you’re the enemy.”
It was like a slap to the face. “Okay . . .” I said slowly.
“They know of my past relationship with you,” he continued, looking down at his hands. “They know that we used to smuggle together and, well . . . they wanted me to come and speak to you.”
I resumed my slow pace along the road, and as expected, Poole fell into step beside me. “What do they want to speak to me about?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “What do they want from me now? I haven’t left the planet—though I could. I haven’t done anything but obey them, even though it sticks in my throat, so what do they want from me?”
“What everyone wants. They want you to tame the beast, Samus. They want you to put right what you did. Only you have that power. If such a thing can be done, if that beast can be controlled by anyone, it’s you.”
My heart was hammering in my chest but I made myself appear calm. The idea of facing that dragon again . . . it brought a rash of goosebumps out along across my skin. I thought about it for a long moment, then I turned to him. “Why would I do it? I’ve been left here to die. Everyone got taken to safety except me—”
