I present the short story: Greeley Greeley thought herself rather normal, unlike the boisterous ones who strived to prove their capabilities. From her castle perch, she savored the scents of the afternoon air. Greeley watched the village people below with a frozen smile. From her perspective, eight levels above the cobblestone, they lost much of their ominous potentials. They seemed so harmless. Greeley knew better. At any time someone with malice in their heart could try to enter the castle. People sought many things inside her domain: treasure to plunder, information and scandal to be bought and sold, enemies to send forth to the nether worlds. Greeley assumed her duties to prevent these calamities. Her watch began at sundown. She looked forward to this time with heady anticipation. “Leave the sky, my friend,” she said to the sun. “Set me free.” The sun painted the sky a myriad of colors as it slowly descended. Cool evening air drifted across Greeley’s hard skin and made the thought of moving again quite delightful. Already her muscles quivered and twitched with a force of their own. The crimson twilight bathed her in macabre colors, giving her details that caused observers to avert their eyes. Pigeons moved away out of respect. They knew Greeley well, and none would alight to soil her form. Others of Greeley’s kind who teased the little tower creatures were not so fortunate. A vicious circle of torment and defilement looped through the ages. The sun morphed into a red-gold mushroom and withdrew, like a sleeping genie, beyond the edge of the world. Greeley hissed and drew inward the cool air of dusk. With a creak, she turned her head and looked to the right. Arniman looked at her from his perch and flashed a toothy smile. They quickly surveyed the avenues below for anyone who could detect movement. Occupied with their mundane lives, the townsfolk paid no heed to the castle towers. All was clear. This was a starry, half-moon night. A night of thieves and murderers. The full moon illuminated with too much light. Only the inexperienced used the full moon. The human guards were always wary and prepared for action. The abundant energy during such times made everyone anxious. Eves with no moon made the terrain inhospitable for felons who hunted people and their treasures. It is the half-moon that leaves ample light for humans to see, but not enough to banish the shadows. The shadows are the allies of spies and those whose foul tasks require the gloom. Greeley and Arniman shook like freshly bathed dogs, hopped off their perches and climbed out of sight. Castle guards didn’t patrol the towers where Greeley and Arniman rested. Any invasion or misfortune would come from below. “I feel this could be the eve for awards,” Arniman said softly. “Last night there was talk of an attempt on the life of the princess.” “No.” “Aye. I eavesdropped on the scullery maids. One said agents from the county across the firth tried to make the deed appear as an attempt from a member of the royal house of Edinburgh.” “Why?” “Oh Greeley, must you be so naïve? When two factions fight, they leave an opportunity for a third to conquer. That would mean--” “New masters.” Greeley frowned. “These are well satisfactory. They have few prisoners in the dungeons and well-fed citizens.” “New masters could redesign or rebuild the castle. The last time that happened many of our kind were destroyed or transported to guard a cathedral.” Arniman hissed with distaste. “Can you imagine something as dull and wretched? Two moons ago I spoke with one who had earned the award of bravery. She flew over and spoke of the doldrums and the hypocrisy.” “What else did you talk about?” “This and that.” Arniman said with a toothy grin. “Jealous, maybe?” “Hardly. You know what the elders say, ‘as long as it doesn’t interfere with your duties.’ You know the stories of tragedy when our kind was neglectful.” Arniman stared at the stones and nodded. “Come, Arniman. The night beckons. Your friend will visit, but not this eve.” Arniman jerked his head up, smiling again. He clicked his claws on the tower and bounded away to the southern walls. Greeley ventured to the north, where the castle bordered the forest. She arched her toes so her talons wouldn’t make sounds. An owl watched from its perch on a flagstaff. Despite Greeley’s stout weight, only the bats heard her footfalls. She ran to the edge of the tower, and with the agility of a lizard scampered down the wall of ancient granite blocks. Greeley passed the window of her favorite, an adolescent prince, and sensed the chamber was empty. He was probably feasting with other members of the realm. She would check on him later. Her almond-shaped eyes scanned the forest. She listened intently. Nothing could be heard. This was wrong. When the blooded creatures and insects were quiet, there was good reason. Someone was in the forest who didn’t belong. The ridge along her back bristled. She watched and listened from atop a notched wall. In the distance could be heard the quiet snort of a horse. Nothing else. Mayhem approached. Greeley sensed tension in the air. No leaves shuffled. Not a twig snapped. These were violators experienced in the dark arts that earn payment behind closed doors. Greeley curled her lips, exposing gray fangs. Clomping sounds behind her rang through the silence; two of the castle guard. One individual had lively, eager steps, the other, slow and plodding. Greeley, a mere forty years old, learned well what her elders taught: “Know your domain, know your charges, know your duties.” She could identify all of the castle guards by their footsteps. Many, she even knew by name. Movement below seized her attention. Eight cloaked shadows crept up and flattened against the wall. Greeley rapped the stone with her knuckles. The guards’ footfalls stopped. “What was that?” asked the young guard. “I know not,” the elder said. “Old places flex like living beings.” “When did they put that one there?” The young guard looked at Greeley. “You haven’t noticed? They’re everywhere. Pay it no heed.” “What made the sound? Spirits?” “Bah. If there be spirits about the castle, they’d haunt the dungeons or living chambers, not the outer walls. Ignorant pup.” “I’m not. I can read.” “Reading, bah. Causes too much trouble if you ask me. Other people’s inked thoughts on parchment? It does naught but corrupt the mind when not censored properly. I’ve not the worry.” The two guards walked on. Greeley could hear their voices rise and fall as they argued the issue. She didn’t understand reading and didn’t care. There were those below who would bring grief to the castle. Suddenly, there was a whistling sound and a small hook padded in rags flew over the wall. Greeley scrambled and grabbed the hook before it could hold and threw it into the dark. A moment later it flew back. She caught it again and thought about pulling off the rags. If she did, the tearing sound might attract the guards. She’d forgotten which position she took at the wall’s edge and didn’t recall where to return. Greeley couldn’t risk too much attention. Her ancient lineage was one of stealth. Only to children could her identity be exposed. Then only with kindness, for her kind obeyed an unwavering command to never torment the innocent. Greeley bit through the rope and let it fall. Pulling back, she pitched the hook far into the night. Moments later, tree branches cracked under the impact. No one would find that implement this eve. Whispered curses below delighted her. With muffled sounds, two more hooks flew over the wall. Before she could react, they were pulled against the wall and drawn taut. As she started for them, footsteps echoed. Greeley looked around and ran to an inward wall. She climbed and perched on the roof, her little tail twitching. The guards walked from the tower and continued with little attention to their duties. A glower masked Greeley’s face. She snapped a chip from a roof tile and tossed it behind them. They stopped. “Cursed rats. Will they never return to the forest?” The guards continued without investigation. “How can they be so complacent with news of danger about?” Greeley hissed. Before she could hop down, two figures, then a third, pulled themselves over the wall. One of them moved the hooks to corners in the darker shadows. They advanced to the tower. “They’re going to the sleeping chambers!” Greeley said to herself. When the men disappeared inside, she leaped across the wall from block to block like a kangaroo until she reached the tower. She almost jumped down and started inside, but stopped cold. One of the assassins remained on guard. In the shadows she saw him holding a long, narrow dagger. Her night vision, far superior to any cat, allowed him to be clearly visible. He waited silently in the dark. Greeley scratched at the stone, hoping to draw his attention. The figure turned instantly in her direction and pointed the blade. He stared intently, and then relaxed. She spoke in a low, silky voice, “come hither, Gentle Sir. I await thee.” The figure crouched down and approached, his blade wanting a foul deed. “Fair maiden,” he said softly. “Where are you?” “Here.” The assassin moved like a stalking tiger. Greeley knew in the darkness he wouldn’t be able to discern her true form. She stepped down into the doorway and stood erect. The assassin stopped as her short, stocky form stepped from the shadows. “You’re but a child,” he snarled. “You have the sweet voice of a wench. Tis’ a pity, yours will be a short life.” He leaped at her with dagger plunging. Greeley backhanded the knife away and grabbed the man by the throat. Only gurgles emerged. He gripped her stony wrist with both hands and tried in vain to twist away. They stumbled into the dim moonlight. The assassin’s eyes became the size of saucers when he viewed his captor clearly. His mouth opened wide in an airless scream and he fought wildly. Greeley reveled in his terror. She pulled him close, and in a sensuous voice said, “dost thee revel in the world of horror? One shouldn’t live where one cannot tolerate the environment. You’re dead, assassin.” With her free hand she grabbed his abdomen. Her talons dug inward. The assassin’s eyes rolled upward as he jerked in reflex spasms. Greeley walked him backwards and pushed him over the wall. A soft “whompth” told of the landing. Greeley ran to the wall and hopped onto the ledge, flicking her hand and sending a rain of blood across the stone. Moving with the speed of a sprinting man, she climbed to the castle roof. Counting the windows and familiar stones, she halted above the prince’s chamber. The other assassins would have to move slow and silent, giving her time to plan. She climbed down the wall. Looking through a neighboring window, she saw a nursemaid asleep in a padded chair. The infant princess slept nearby in her royal crib. Greeley looked around and let loose a sputtering hiss. It wouldn’t awaken the people, but it would alert others. Agonizing moments passed. She crawled over and looked into the prince’s window. Finally, an answering hiss. A form appeared above. “Arniman! Get down here.” Sensing the urgency, Arniman moved with the agility of a spider. “What is it?” “Killers! They’re inside. We must do something.” He looked around. “The others are at the far side of the castle. There’s a squabble near the front gates. It must be a diversion. Have you tried to alert the guards?” “Yes. They didn’t follow my hints.” “You’ll have to work on that.” “Later. Scold me later. This is an emergency. Dare we risk going within?” “Not through the outer doors.” Arniman scratched his chin. “There’s not enough time! We must enter through that window.” “There? The prince may awaken! If we are spotted--” “Then we knock him unconscious. They’ll not believe him. We must protect our castle. Let’s go.” “He’s too old; he is in adolescence.” “We cannot dally.” Arniman moved to the window and looked inside. The prince slept soundly. The experience of stealth-life aided the two in opening the window silently. As they entered, Greeley pulled the curtains shut, banishing the light. She crept silently to the prince and watched for a moment. She had never been so close to him. His soft features looked so innocent. She tenderly stroked his hair. “What are you doing?” Greeley turned and bared her fangs at Arniman. From beside the prince, she pulled a pillow and propped it so light from the opening door would be minimized. Arniman slowly opened the door and peeked out. He ducked back and said, “No one. I’ll go down the hall and put out the candles. You go as far as you can towards the intruders. Run back as soon as you find them.” Their gray forms blended with the growing darkness. Each candle extinguished meant a better chance for a counter-attack. Greeley progressed only a dozen paces when she heard pattering steps on the carpet. The assassins! She pinched out a nearby candle and ran back. Her footfalls sounded like gentle drum beats. A creaking sound behind her echoed through the hall. Greeley instantly flattened against a wall near a tapestry. Not daring to move, she saw the prince rub his eyes with small fists. He squinted in the darkness. “Who is there?” he called with uncertainty. Greeley saw Arniman behind the prince, also against the wall. Down the hall, one assassin whispered to the other, “Two prizes to take. We’ll be well paid for this.” They straightened and walked boldly through the hall. “Fear not, Your Highness, it is only your sentries. A draft extinguished the candles. We are getting torches to relight them.” “Very well. Do be quick about it. My sister may take a fright.” “As you wish, Sire.” The prince closed his door. The assassins picked up their pace. Each pulled a dagger and approached the chambers. “I’ll take the boy, you take the princess. Remember, leave the knife. It bears the family crest that will begin the war.” The assassins grabbed the latches and slowly opened the doors. Greeley and Arniman dashed simultaneously, tackling the men. The prince jumped out of his bed, pulled a velvet cord and yelled, “Guards! Guards! To my chambers!” The muscular assassin wrestled Greeley to the floor. He pulled his hand free and drove the dagger into her chest. The blade struck and halted with a flurry of sparks that illuminated her for a brief moment. “Ye Gods! A demon from hell!” shrieked the man. He scrambled back, kicking furiously. Greeley jumped and landed on top of the killer, knocking his breath away. There was a piercing scream from the other room. A baby screeched. There were sounds of a similar struggle. Bodies falling to the floor. Greeley clenched her fist and plunged it into the assassin’s throat, crushing his larynx. The man relaxed instantly and went still. From down the hall came the sounds of many running boots. Greeley slammed the door and bolted it. In the dark, the prince retreated. He put his hands out, attempting to feel his way around or protect himself. He was shaking. “Who, who is there?” “A friend, Your Highness.” “A lady?” Greeley smiled, despite the situation. “In a manner of speaking. Promise me this, Your Highness; do not open the door until I am gone. Please, Sire. It is for your protection as well as mine.” “But you saved my life. You’re not one of my guards. Tell me who you are.” “My name is Greeley. As long as you and your family reside within this castle, I will protect you.” The sound of heavy boots drew close. “Please, Your Highness. I must go.” Greeley saw Arniman at the window. He pulled it open. “Is the prince safe?” “Yes.” “Then what are you waiting for? Leave! Before we are discovered. Get out now!” He dashed out of sight. Greeley ran to the window. She glanced back at the prince, and then climbed out of the chamber. Behind, there was frantic, rapid thumping at the door. Guards calling the prince’s name. Greeley and Arniman climbed with swiftness that surprised even them and dashed to their perches. Below, the prince looked out from his window. Greeley couldn’t tell if he saw her or not. Guards scrambled all about the castle searching for the accomplices of the assassins--and the individuals who saved the royal children. The following evening, word spread among Greeley and Arniman’s brethren about their deeds. The next moonless night, the Council of Elders met. With pride, they discussed the heroic act, voted and presented Greeley and Arniman with the award that all of their kind strive to earn. Greeley was beside herself with joy. For one so young, to receive the award was a tale that would be retold for ages. Arniman was also grateful. He could now visit the focus of his attentions at the cathedral. Two weeks later, the prince and the king walked along the tower. They stepped up to the wall and surveyed the town below. “Father, we have been up here many times,” the prince said as he pointed to the forms on the perches. “I do not recall seeing wings on those two. Did the royal sculptors recently do that? They look like new additions.” “Not that I’m aware of.” He touched the new stone, still warm from the sun. “Legend has it that if they do a great deed, they are awarded wings.” The king smiled. “Maybe they were the ones who saved you and your sister. Frightful looking things, aren’t they?” The prince smiled at his father. “Yes, but isn’t that the purpose of a gargoyle?” End ###
Posted on: Tue, 28 Jan 2014 03:29:55 +0000
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