But Laurel couldn’t give up now. She had scars on her face, and she had to have something to show for that. Around them, the darkness was gathering, leaving the Hallvard illuminated solely by the red light of the Troll’s Eye. As the sun set, though, the doorway was starting to close.
“Stall him until his feet turn to stone.”
“That’ll be too late!”
“No! It’s mine!” She held the Troll’s Eye in her clenched fist and shook it fiercely at the boy and the beast. “Mine.”
Jassy grabbed Laurel’s fist. She struggled, but Jassy was stronger. He wrenched the stone away and wheeled around to the Hallvard. It lunged at them, but Jassy threw the stone aside. He ducked under the beast’s arm, seized Laurel’s hand and pulled her to the Eye. Just as the ball of sun was disappearing beneath the horizon, so too, the doorway home was disappearing.
Laurel strained against Jassy’s pull, back toward the jewel. She had to get it before the Hallvard. But the beast already had it, was holding it up. The last rays of the sun caught the Troll’s Eye, and red flashes of light darted across the plateau.
And the Hallvard’s feet started turning to granite.
“He’s turning to stone, let me get my jewel!” Laurel twisted her hand away.
“No time! Two in, two out! It’s now or never!”
Jassy stepped through the Troll’s Eye and yanked Laurel with him. They were almost home.
Laurel watched him disappear, saw her own hand approach the red of the door. But that hand felt weightless, felt empty, felt wrong. It needed—demanded—the heavy weight of a Troll’s Eye.
She jerked away, letting Jassy fall into the workshop, while she whirled around, raced to the Hallvard and plucked the Troll’s Eye from his frozen, stone claws. Her thumb made tiny circles around the smooth surface of the jewel, and she smiled. She turned and darted for the doorway.
The red, glass-like door was now the size of a window. She ran full tilt and intended to leap through head first, but she banged into something as solid as a rock. Laurel shook her head and pushed at the window with her hands. She couldn’t get through it.
She saw Jassy: he was rolling on the floor of the workshop, holding his head and moaning, every sound in the workshop now echoing in the stone world, too. In panic, Laurel pounded her fist against the red glass. But the doorway was solid–and shrinking.
Laurel snatched up a rock and smashed against the red glass, but it didn’t even scratch its surface.
The Gargoyle Man came up to the Eye and bent to look through the jewel. All she saw was his eye.
And still the doorway dwindled.
The Gargoyle Man pulled back a bit so she could see his face. He smiled. “Ah, now I know what to carve from this stone.”
Laurel knelt before the tiny, tiny red window and pleaded, “Jassy! You promised. Don’t leave me alone!”
She stuffed the jewel into her pocket and grabbed the opening with both hands, straining against the stone, trying to force it open.
The Gargoyle Man just smiled and said, “Good-bye.”
And the Eye shrank.
And shrank.
Until it was just the size of an eye, the size of the original Troll’s Eye jewel.
From her pocket, Laurel pulled out her own jewel and hefted it in her hand. Even knowing the cost, it burned in her hand and her mouth curved up with pleasure at its shape, its look, its feel against her skin.
Suddenly, from one of the linden trees came a familiar chirping. The red gargoyle bird flitted to a tree closer to her. From there, he tilted his impossibly long neck and looked at her quizzically.
“Oh,” Laurel breathed. “You stayed with me. Come, sit on my shoulder.” Jassy had left her, but the gargoyle bird had stayed. She wasn’t alone.
But the bird just chirped again and waited.
She couldn’t throw away her jewel. She couldn’t. The bird flapped its wings and flew away from her. Just a few trees further, but he flew away.
Laurel knew what he wanted: she had to choose.
He was there to protect her and he had stayed with her even if Jassy hadn’t. It was the staying that mattered, not what you said. Yes, Jassy had tried to pull her with him, he had gone with her and supported her and tried to make her see that everything she did was because of the curse. She forgave him; it wasn’t his fault that he went through the doorway without her.
But he wasn’t here now. Only the gargoyle bird had truly stayed with her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
But the bird chirped and flapped away. Away to another tree further along the linden tree corridor.
Watching him, it was easier to raise her arm. Oh, they were heavy, reluctant to obey her, but she forced them to lift, while she kept her eyes on the gargoyle bird and listened to his chirping. She forced her hands to hurl the jewel away. It fell just short of the Hallvard, and he growled softly.
Suddenly, a great weight lifted. She was free of the curse of the Troll’s Eye.
Just in time!
The night wind whistled up the valley, and she felt herself changing. Her feet were heavy, as heavy as marble. Then, the gargoyle bird was circling around her, soaring around her and singing the most beautiful song she had ever heard, and she closed her eyes and flew with him and sang with him until he decided to land on her shoulder.
Ah, she was not alone.
A sob caught in her throat, but Laurel refused to cry. She wouldn’t give the Gargoyle Man a soul in agony to carve. Instead, she forced the weary muscles of her mouth to curve upward in a tranquil smile, the smile of a soul finally at peace.
The Troll’s Eye doorway gave a final wink. Nightfall came to the stone world.
And Laurel was trapped forever in the blood-red stone.
TWENTY-SIX
IN WHICH THE GIRL AND THE GYPSY REJOICE IN TWO MIRACLES
63 Years Later
The spires of the Cathedral of St. Stephen were ablaze in color, a fiery stone prayer lighting up the morning sky. Snow fell in thick clumps from the thatched roofs. A soft warm wind brought the promise of an early spring. As morning broke, a Gypsy wagon jerked to a stop in front of the cathedral. A small girl with shiny black curls tumbled out, laughing and skipping in the bright sunshine. Her laughter was carried on the wind up to the highest point of the cathedral towers.
Laurel roused herself to listen and to watch.
An old man followed the child. “Wait for me, Bridgette.”
“Grandfather Jassy, why do we stop here each spring?”
“To see an old friend.”
“The gargoyle girl. Tell me the story again.”
Jassy sat on a bench, and Bridgette sat beside him. Jassy was old now, his beard flowing white. He cleared his throat and began his story.
Jassy’s familiar voice floated up to Laurel. He came each year to visit her, and for the last six years he’d brought little Bridgette and told her the story of their trip through the Troll’s Eye.
“Don’t forget to tell her about the two miracles!” whispered Laurel. The wind caught her words and blew them toward the bench.
Jassy cocked his head to the side for a moment, as if listening to the wind whisper to him. “Laurel was trapped in the stone. We couldn’t do anything to make the Troll’s Eye open again.”
Bridgette climbed into his lap and ran soft fingers over his face and eye patch. “And your face was scarred when you went through the Troll’s Eye alone.”
“Yes, I am as ugly as that first Gargoyle Man.”
She kissed his cheek. “I don’t mind that you’re ugly. I love you, anyway.”
“The miracles! Tell her about the miracles!”
“But that’s not all the story,” Jassy continued. “Laurel was lost. We dared not tell Master Raymond where she really was. He thought she had been in the cave with Ana-Maria and Antonio and got lost on the way home. He thought wild beasts had attacked her in the forest, or someone carried her off. But one of the clerics remembered seeing her in the sa
nctuary.
“To honor her memory, they set her carving of the Christ child into a niche of the cathedral, along with a special offering box. All the money collected would go toward building the west tower. As word spread of the lost girl and her love of the cathedral, money began to come in from all over the country. Within the year, there was enough to start building the west tower. It was a miracle!” Jassy stood and took the little girl’s hand. They walked closer to the cathedral.
“So the west tower and turrets were built,” Bridgette said with satisfaction. “Tell the rest.”
“There was a second miracle. Master Raymond lived to see the whole of the west tower built. The star flowers healed him.”
“And Antonio, too.” Bridgette had heard the story so many times she knew what came next.
“Grandfather, where is Laurel now?”
Jassy stopped before the tower and looked up at the blood-red gargoyle on top of the turret. The tiny girl was shapely and comely, except for bulging eyes. One eye looked outward; the other was twisted and looked sideways. On her shoulder was a strange stone bird and on her face was a peaceful smile.
“The Gargoyle Man carved what he saw in the blood-red stone. He gave her eyes of stone to see our world. There she stands and will stand as long as the cathedral lasts. Multitudes will pass through the doors beneath her and never look up. They will never see her, but she sees them. She will see the generations come and go. And I don’t know if she weeps or laughs.”
The child smiled up at the gargoyle girl. “I think she’s laughing at us right now. She got two miracles from the Troll’s Eye.”
“Are you happy, Laurel?” Jassy whispered. His wrinkled and scarred face was wet with tears.
“Two miracles,” Laurel whispered to him. “It’s all I asked for.”
“Are you happy?” he repeated.
“I’m home,” Laurel said. “The cathedral has always been my home.”
Jassy knelt beside Bridgette and took her face in his large gentle hands. “Do you understand? The Troll’s Eye was evil. You must never look through a Troll’s Eye.”
“Isn’t the jewel gone forever?”
“It’s gone,” Jassy repeated. Then he adjusted his eye patch. “But after I die--if you find a Troll’s Eye–you must promise to never look through a Troll’s Eye.”
“I promise,” Bridgette said solemnly. Her black eyes stared quietly at the gargoyle girl.
Grandfather and granddaughter walked all around the cathedral, looking at the fantastic sculptures, at what some pilgrims called “the most spectacular gargoyles ever carved.” And then they went inside to light a candle and pray for Laurel. An hour later, they came out.
Laurel watched them climb back into the Gypsy wagon. Jassy clucked to his white horses and drove off–north for the summer.
Laurel counted the years by his visits, sixty-three, so far. He wouldn’t live very many more years. Laurel wondered if the granddaughter would come to visit her. Bridgette was so much like Jassy, so curious. She would find the Troll’s Eye when Jassy died. When the old Gargoyle Man died, Jassy had hidden the stone behind his own eye patch. The stone was too fascinating to throw away. While he lived, he could keep it hidden, but he wouldn’t live forever. Jassy was a fool to take the chance. A fool!
Would Bridgette look through the Troll’s Eye, or not?
Laurel tried to call after them. “Beware the Troll’s Eye.”
But they were long gone. Instead, the spring wind picked up her call and carried it in and out and over and around the cathedral spires until all the other gargoyles roused themselves and took up the cry: “Beware!”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award winning author DARCY PATTISON writes about fantasy worlds, the possibilities that lie in the unknown, and the incredible power of the human spirit to endure and overcome. Her previous titles for children include Wisdom, the Midway Albatross: Surviving the Japanese Tsunami for Over 60 Years, Desert Baths, Prairie Storms, The Journey of Oliver K. Woodman, Searching for Oliver K. Woodman, and 19 Girls and Me. Her stories have received recognition for excellence with starred reviews from Kirkus, BCCB, and Publisher’s Weekly. She is the 2007 recipient of the Arkansas Governor’s Arts Award for Individual Artist for her work in children’s literature.
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2014 by Darcy Pattison.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
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Printed in the United States.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013916014
The Girl, the Gypsy & the Gargoyle/Darcy Pattison.
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-62944-004-0
Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-62944-003-3
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-62944-005-7
The Girl, the Gypsy & the Gargoyle Page 13