Carved in Stone, page 22
part #1 of Gargoyles Series
Teryn smiled, an endearingly human smile that made her stomach twist in confusion. "Perhaps the fact that he outran a speeding train and very nearly did battle with one of his own brethren in order to protect you?"
He nodded at Nathan, a gesture Rachel was sure meant something, and backed out of the room.
Nathan walked to the window, his fingers shoved in the pockets of his jeans. "Are you all right?"
"Besides being held against my will in a stone fortress by a bunch of men who aren't human and nearly having my mind raped, you mean?"
He turned around. She stepped quickly back. Her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she sat to keep from falling. Better to be sitting, anyway. Makes her look calm, she thought. Keeps him from seeing that her knees were shaking.
"I mean, did he hurt you?"
"No, he didn't hurt me. At least he was honest about what he intended to do, and why." She looked up at Nathan, grieving for the innocence of yesterday. "What you did, lying to me, using me. That hurt."
"I only wanted to protect you."
"Bullshit." She pushed herself off the bed, walked right up to him, stood toe to toe. Fear razed her nerves like a butter knife scraped over dry toast, but it didn't stop her. Didn't paralyze her. If he was going to kill her, he could have done it a hundred times already.
Which made her wonder what the last week had been about. "You were protecting yourself, weren't you? Your secrets."
"There's a reason for those secrets, Rachel. Because some things people are better off not knowing."
"Like the fact that there're a bunch of vigilante bogeymen running around in Chicago and God knows where else, slaughtering people in the name of justice?"
"Is that what you think we do?"
"I've overheard a few conversations in this place. Are you telling me I misunderstood?"
He flinched. "I suppose some might see us that way."
"How do you see it?"
"I see a species on the edge of extinction. An ancient civilization struggling to survive in a modern world, and failing." He strode to the window, stared off into the distance, and shook his head. "A bunch of dinosaurs that can't go on living the way they are, and can't just lie down and die, either, even if they wanted to."
Her breath caught on his last few words. "Are you telling me you're… immortal?"
He turned, shoved his hands in his pockets, and rattled change while he considered her. "No. We're born just like everybody else, die just like everybody else—a good bit younger, actually. Our life expectancy isn't very long." He shrugged. "Occupational hazard when you're out rounding up the scum of the city every night. It's just that when we die, if we've been good little Gargoyles and produced a son and heir, we're born again. And die again, and are born again and so on, ad nauseam."
"You reincarnate?"
His smile didn't reach his eyes as he strolled around the little room, hands still in his pockets. "Even cats get to die after nine lives. Me? I'm on number fourteen."
She plunked down on the bed, chin in her hands to think, and shook her head at the enormity of it. Fourteen lives?
"You don't believe me?" he asked. "You wanted the truth. I'm giving it to you. I'll give it all to you, if you're ready to hear it."
"As opposed to the truth you gave me yesterday. Or the one you'll give me tomorrow. How do I know what to believe, Nathan?"
"Fine. Don't believe it. Just think of it as a story." He sat down beside her on the bed, not close enough to touch, but still too close. Too overwhelming, with his whetstone scent and the heat that always seemed to emanate from him. "The story of how monsters came to walk the world."
Teryn disapproved of eavesdropping, but he stayed by Rachel's door a while to make sure there would be no more bloodshed, then, satisfied, lit a candle to carry and crept down the stone stairs to the basement.
In the vault room, where the ancient volumes of his people's history, passed down from generation to generation, lifetime to lifetime within Les Gargouillen, were hermetically stored, Teryn carried a heavy manuscript to the desk. After flipping on the small lamp, he put on his reading glasses and began to turn the pages carefully, slowly scanning for the text Nathan had asked him to look for amidst the fading illustrations and scrolling, hand-penned letters.
He had a vague memory of the passage, something he'd seen years ago when he'd first become interested in the centuries-old illuminated manuscripts. Something he'd come across when he'd begun helping Nathan search for a way to reverse the curse that made Les Gargouillen what they were, and then forgotten. Or at least partially forgotten.
Something about a woman with the power of a Gargoyle.
Though he was several generations removed from the original Gargouillen of Rouen, Nathan described the scene of their transformation into beasts to Rachel from memory. Rouen was the foundation of Gargoyle history, not to be forgotten by any of his kind. The images were passed to each new soul in much the same way Nathan had tried to plant images in Rachel's mind, and were now part of his continuing consciousness, recoverable in each new life into which he was born.
With his eyes closed, the pictures formed in his mind now, a simple time, green land, kind people, days that passed much slower than they seemed to now. "It was about the turn of the millennium," he said, and opened one eye to check her understanding. "The first one."
She stared at her hands, twining in her lap, and he closed his eyes and settled back into the story.
"The people of Rouen were pagans. They worshipped the god of the hunt, and the forest. But Christianity was sweeping the land. Still, the people of Rouen held fast to their beliefs. At least until a dragon took up residence on a nearby mountain. La Gargouille raped and pillaged the town, burning the fields before harvest and swallowing ships from the port."
He could smell the acrid smoke. Hear the screams, and he knew Rachel picked up at least some of the impressions whether she wanted to or not. She shuddered so hard the bed shook.
"The villagers tried everything to get rid of the dragon, but the more they fought, the more destruction La Gargouille rained down on them. Until one day a priest named Romanus showed up. He said he would slay the dragon if the townspeople would promise to be baptized and build a Christian church. The people held out a while, but eventually were so desperate they agreed." He snorted. "They figured the white-haired old fool didn't have a chance, anyway, and maybe the meat on his bones would placate La Gargouille for a few days."
Rachel lifted her head. She was as caught in the story now as he; it was in her eyes, sparkling green and misty. "I take it he wasn't quite the fool everyone thought he was."
"No." Nathan fought the attraction he felt for her. The need to reach out and brush his knuckles across her soft cheek. To tell the story under cover of darkness, his body curled around hers.
He cleared his throat. "On the night he was to do the deed—kill the dragon—Romanus called the men of Rouen into the forest on the hill above town. They didn't realize they were standing in a pentagram inside a circle until it was too late."
A furrow formed on the bridge of her nose.
"Ritual symbols," he explained. "The bastard crusaded for Christianity, but he used my people's own pagan magic against them, and it was powerful magic."
Nathan's heart beat in time with the drums echoing in his head. The chanting. He couldn't make out the words, or didn't know their meaning if he did, but their rhythm was seductive.
E Unri almasama
E Unri almasama
Calli, Calli, Callio
Somara altwunia paximi
"He lit fires at the four cardinal directions of the circle and burned incense." Nathan's voice was rough, smoky.
His blood percolated in his veins as he relived the damnation of his forefathers and all their descendants.
"It was a clear night, but lightning flashed in the sky. A gale wind picked up and bent even the old trees double. Limbs cracked and popped."
E Unri almasama
A sweat broke out on Nathan's forehead. He didn't realize he'd fisted the bedcovers in his hands until his fingers cramped. By force of will, he uncurled his fingers and smoothed the comforter. "Some of the men cowered, but others rushed the edge of the circle, only to be thrown back by an unseen hand."
E Unri almasama
The leaves on the trees curled and died. They swirled in the wind now, brown and withered, rattling like bones. The cloying incense and the smoke stole Nathan's breath, burned his throat and eyes. "Romanus stood on the north side of the circle and raised a chalice. Blood ran down both sides of his mouth as he drank, and the warmth of the earth, the power, soaked through the leather soles of his boots, coursed up his legs."
Calli, Calli, Callio
He didn't intentionally project the image, but the force of the memory was too strong to contain. Its energy rippled in the air around him and Rachel. Between them. He felt her gasp at its strength. Felt it probe and prick and slither into her mind until she lived the nightmare he lived.
"He moved to the south, and the east, and the west, and each time he drank, the heat grew more intense until the men were breathing fire and snorting ash."
He couldn't speak above a whisper when he tried to continue, the hot air rushing in his ears, hot blood pumping in his veins. His muscles bulged and his skin thickened. His bones began to reshape.
Nathan didn't care; he was mindless to the pain, caught in the dream, the memory.
"Romanus called to the beasts of the forest," Nathan croaked. "And they came to the edge of the circle, enthralled by the light and power. He called the life from them; he called their souls, and then even as the animals fell dead in the trees, the men began to writhe. Their bodies stretched and bent. Their organs shifted. Their teeth broke through their jaws and their fingers merged into misshapen clubs, and then hooves. Some dropped to all fours and others fell to their bellies, their spines dissolving as they coiled like snakes."
He choked, swallowed dryly, and gathered his breath to continue. "The men took the beasts' souls inside them, in all manner of configurations, species combined, breeds merged. Then when Romanus drank the last bit of blood from his cup, the hillside exploded. Fire rained from the sky. The ground opened up in great crevices that swallowed some of the men. Charred tree trunks crashed, killing others.
"When it ended, those who were left looked down at themselves, at what they'd become, and knew they'd been tricked. The bastard Romanus had betrayed them."
Somara altwunia paximi
"What happened to them?" Rachel asked, as breathless as he.
He looked up, coming back to himself a bit, saw her red, watery eyes, and knew his must look as bad. "The dragon Gargouille appeared on the crest of the hill about then, angry at being woken by all the noise and shaking, and the men, overcome with revulsion at what they'd become, what Romanus had made them, filled with rage, terrified, and ashamed, they stormed the hill and tore the dragon apart with their teeth and horns and claws while the women and children of the village watched in horror."
"Le Combat de Rouen," she said. "The tapestry at the museum."
He inclined his head. "Le Combat de Rouen."
"My god."
"Even that wasn't the end of Romanus's treachery. He'd gotten what he wanted—La Gargouille was dead, and the people of Rouen were obligated to honor their promise and convert to Christianity. But Romanus was too enthralled with his new pets to give them up. He added to the spell he'd cast, telling them that they should forever be protectors of the human race, the way they'd protected the women and children of Rouen from the dragon. He proclaimed that they would always carry these beasts inside them, slumbering until they were needed. And that they should go forth and propagate. Produce sons that would be like them—guardians."
Rachel sat silently, taking it all in. At least she hadn't run away.
He took that as a sign he should finish the story. "For many years we were revered by humans. We kept them safe. Shielded them from the dangers of a dark time. They brought us their daughters to mate with, so that we could produce sons—it was considered an honor for a virgin to give herself to a Gargoyle, bear him a son before seeking her marriage to a human. They even carved our images into the walls of their buildings as signs that they were protected. Evil dare not lurk there. But as the centuries went by, they just… forgot. People evolved, they wrote laws and hired police to protect them. They didn't need us anymore, and we faded into legend."
He strolled to the window, looked out at the heavy stone walls. "Just grotesque statues hanging high above their streets. Interesting artifacts of a time long passed."
She drew in a shuddering breath, pulled her shoulders up, and shook her head as if to clear it. Seeming just to realize he held her hand in his, she pulled out of his grasp.
"We didn't choose what we are, Rachel, none of us, not even the Old Ones, the original Gargoyles of Rouen. We were cursed. Betrayed." He shrugged. "We've lived with it the best we know how."
Rachel rose, crossed her arms over her middle as she paced. "You can't really expect me to believe that."
"It's the truth. You saw it. You felt it."
"I also saw us making love in a forest when we were really on a couch in a vacant house. I felt…" She left the sentence dangling, a flush rising on her neck. "Who's to say this isn't another of your parlor tricks?"
Nathan's world fell from beneath him. He felt as if he were falling. Floating. He stared at her for a full second before the sensation passed, then he threw his head back and laughed, the first full belly laugh he'd enjoyed in several lifetimes.
Furrows plowed across her forehead. "What's so funny?"
"You." He swiped the back of his hand across his eyes to dry the tears of laughter. "You're the first human to hear that story in centuries, maybe the first human ever, and you—" Another chuckle rumbled up his gullet. "You don't believe it."
"That's funny?"
"It's ironic. Do you know the lengths we've gone to in order to keep our secrets? All this time we could have blabbed to anybody. What difference would it have made? If you, who actually believe in monsters, don't believe what I've told you, what do you think are the chances anyone else would?"
She still didn't seem to see the humor in the situation. Her silence dampened his own amusement. His smile fell flat.
"I didn't say I don't believe you, exactly," she said, "I just…"
"Don't trust me," he finished for her. Her lack of denial confirmed his suspicion. "Fine. You don't trust me, don't trust what you see in your mind, maybe you'll trust what you see with your own eyes."
Sighing, he opened the door and motioned her out. She made no move to join him.
"Where?" she asked.
"I can't prove to you how we came to be. But at least I can show you what we are now. Who we are. If you have the courage to see."
* * *
Chapter Twenty-two
Rachel walked out of her room in stuttering steps, Nathan behind her, guiding her along with a hand in the small of her back. Her legs were as stiff as tree trunks. Her feet felt like cement blocks.
She'd been searching for monsters most of her life, and now that she'd found them, she was afraid to look.
"This way." Nathan turned her right, led her downstairs to a hallway lined with doors, and stopped outside the last room. Rachel stopped behind him, her heart turning cartwheels in her chest. Not knowing what to expect, what horrors she might see, she fixed her gaze in the center of his broad back.
"St. Michael's was a struggling church and seminary in the late 1800s. When the philanthropist who funded it decided to move west in 1898, it stood empty until my congregation purchased it in 1905. We've added on some since then, but the original structure is intact. The two towers here serve as dormitories. The older boys are in the north tower. The younger ones, ten or eleven years old and down, are here in the south tower. The ground floor of each tower is made up of a half-dozen classrooms." He checked over his shoulder, as if to make sure she hadn't vanished. Or died of fright. "There was a time when it would have been brimming with boys, but we only have eighteen students now. Most of the rooms upstairs are empty."
"Why so few children?"
His face darkened. "Let's just say the villagers aren't bringing us their virgins any longer."
He stepped to the side. Rachel automatically locked her eyes shut and clamped her teeth down on her lower lip. Her breath froze in her lungs, then puffed out of her in a soft explosion of air when she saw what lay inside the room.
No torture chambers. No savage beasts tearing each other apart with terrible claws. No glowing, feral eyes.
It was a schoolroom, full of boys ranging from five or six years old to ten or so. The stoop-shouldered man with gray hair and a goatee in the front of the room spun a globe on a table. "Who can tell me how many oceans there are in the world?"
A boy in the second row shot his hand into the air.
"Charles?"
"Five!"
"Correct. Five. Now, Paul, can you name one?"
A sleepy-eyed child in back straightened. "Umm, the Pacific?"
"Very good." The teacher turned to write Pacific Ocean on the chalkboard in round, even letters. A blond-haired kid with a cowlick quickly pulled out a paper football. The boy in the desk next to him made a goal with his fingers and Cowlick flicked it through. They smiled and high-fived each other across the aisle before the teacher turned back to the class.
Grinning, Nathan gave them a thumbs-up, and then nudged her past the door.
"You shouldn't encourage them," she said.
"Boys will be boys." He cast her a sideways look. "Human or otherwise."
The words plunked into her consciousness like stones into a pond. She should have realized the boys were like Nathan. Of course they were.
