Gargoyle Rising

by Meraki P. Lyhne

  “What vexes your mind, little one?”

  “Huh?” Meino looked up, remembering he’d asked a question. Had he overheard the answer? “Nothing, just... I don’t know.”

  “I heard Ms. Theresa and Ms. Alvilda say that Mr. Talbot and his protégé Vibeke will be coming in about a week. My existence is being kept a secret even within the Order—at least until more is known.” Burkhart looked out over the grounds again, and Meino could see two sets of headlights approaching. “They are afraid to raise hope about the spell being located again.”

  “I get it.” And he did. He just wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. Rich people who had specialized in a field for most of their lives were going to sit around and stare at him and ask him questions. He was going to sound like some uneducated blue-collar worker questioned about... he couldn’t even find an analogy. Something he knew absolutely nothing about. Maybe Mozart trying to get help from a tone-deaf.

  “I sense a form of nervousness in you, Meino. Is something wrong?”

  Meino looked up into the steadfast yet lively green marble eyes.

  “I’m afraid I’ll disappoint them after all they’ve gone through to get my stuff here. Then again, it is my stuff they want.”

  Burkhart turned to face Meino fully and drew him in closer with his wing. “Since I still don’t fully understand all the different emotions you can feel, even at the same time sometimes, then I think that this one is an insecurity that has no real foundation. Yes, your books are important to the Order, but so are their history and your ability to read it.”

  “A, b, c. Reading isn’t hard.”

  “No, it’s not.” Burkhart chuckled. “But creating the energy to activate the spell is not a focus most humans have. So few, in fact, that the Order moves to guide each individual who can.”

  That took Meino aback, but the arrival of the two trucks got his attention as the sound of the heavy vehicles driving onto the frozen gravel crackled below. One of them was an eighteen-wheeler dragging a container, and Meino stared with bated breath while he wished for the Charger to be in there enough to almost see it in his mind’s eye.

  “Your Charger has arrived,” Burkhart said. Meino turned and hugged him tightly. Burkhart chuckled. “Shall we fly down there?”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  Burkhart held onto Meino and kicked off from the roof. Once over the ledge, Meino could see three people milling about, one of them stopping to peer into the sky. Burkhart landed in front of that person, and Meino saw that it was a young boy. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen, if that much.

  David came to stand behind the boy and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “That was quite the haul, but we got it all—both your car, your tools, furniture, and we emptied out the storage room.”

  “Everything went smoothly?” Meino asked.

  “With my wife around...” David shrugged. “Yeah.”

  The lack of smile worried Meino. “You ran into trouble?”

  “We did. I’ll tell you about it once we’ve unloaded some of this.”

  “Please tell me that those dirtbags didn’t trash my car at the garage.”

  The beeping of a truck backing up cut through the cold night and David’s answer, but the man was shaking his head, looking relieved, and Meino took that as a good sign. They stayed quiet until Kevin had backed the truck with the container around the castle. The thought of his Charger in a garage again put Meino somewhat at ease. But the boy’s attention didn’t escape him. The boy stared agape up at Burkhart.

  “This is the surprise I told you about,” David said, pointing to Burkhart.

  “Wow. A real live Gargoyle,” the boy said, and the awe in his voice made Meino smile.

  “This is our son, Daniel.”

  “But my spy name is Gualdo.”

  “Gualdo?” Meino asked.

  “Yeah. That’s where we’d spent the holiday when my real parents died.”

  “Oh... sorry.” Meino shot a glance in David’s direction, but the man kept a smile on his face, rubbing the boy’s shoulders.

  “So, you prefer Gualdo?” Burkhart asked. The boy nodded. “Well, hello, Gualdo, I’m Burkhart.” The Gargoyle’s huge hand all but swallowed up the boy’s as they shook hands. “Would you like to fly with me?”

  “Can I?” Gualdo whipped around to stare imploringly at David.

  “Yes. I trust Burkhart to take good care of you.”

  “But you might want a thicker jacket. It gets cold up there,” Meino said.

  The boy set off in a sprint toward the remaining truck and climbed in. He re-emerged a few seconds later and sped back to them while fighting his arms into the sleeves of a down jacket. Burkhart picked the boy up, stepped back, and kicked off. Meino went to stand next to David, and they watched and listened as Gualdo howled from joy.

  “So the spy, Gualdo?” Meino asked.

  “Yeah, he chose that name a few months after Stephanie brought him home.”

  “Thought you said she wasn’t the nurturing type?”

  “She isn’t, that’s my job.” David smiled as he stared into the air. “She’s his mentor. The boy has some skills, and she’s training him to become an operative in the Order.”

  “Wow.” Meino couldn’t imagine a boy being trained like that, but the little guy was obviously fearless. Even David jumped as Burkhart and Gualdo came into view, speeding toward the ground. Burkhart banked a meter above it to rise into the sky again—the excited screams from Gualdo dimming as they rose.

  “He’ll never fly me,” David stated to Meino’s amusement. “Maybe we should go see how Kevin is coming with the Charger?”

  “Let’s!” Meino pocketed his hands, and they began the walk around the castle. They had a fair distance to walk to get to the garage with an adjoining workshop.

  Kevin was still sitting in the truck, and he jumped out as they approached. “Where are our helpers?”

  “Flying around up there.” David pointed into the air, and another woohoo sounded along with the heavy thud of wings.

  Kevin shook his head, grinning. “Let’s unload your baby. Ms. Theresa and I agreed to leave your tools in the container and leave the whole container, but let’s secure the car against the cold.”

  “Heated garage?” Meino asked, feeling giddy at the prospect. Kevin opened the back, and Meino saw that someone had put wheels on the car. From the edge, he could see that they hadn’t bothered with brake cylinders. At least there was no engine in the car, so the three of them could hold the weight.

  They got in position, and David and Kevin knocked the brake blocks away from the wheels. They then pulled until the car was on the slopes and leaned their weight against the frame to slow it down as gravity took over in aiding them to unload.

  “I’d really like the engine inside, too.”

  “That one weighs a mother!” Kevin said.

  A heavy thud sounded outside, and seconds later Gualdo skipped through the garage door, trailing Burkhart.

  “I’m strong. I can lift the baby’s engine.” Burkhart turned and left again. Meino followed, wondering if a Gargoyle could really lift an engine alone. Burkhart stepped up into the container and grabbed the straps secured to the block. He then lifted the engine as if it weighed nothing more than an unmanageable six-pack of beer. Meino dragged the pallet across the floor of the container to carry it inside. He placed it, and Burkhart set the engine down on the pallet.

  “Wow. Thanks.”

  “Would you mind helping with the boxes of books in the other truck, because they weigh about a ton, too,” Gualdo asked.

  Burkhart grinned and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Lead the way, young Gualdo.”

  The boy beamed and went ahead with Burkhart while Meino caressed the Charger, happy to see it again. He then turned out the lights and closed the garage door, thinking it irrelevant to look for a padlock. He had the best security system ever—a roof full of Gargoyl
es.

  Halfway through carrying the boxes full of books, Meino had to take his jacket off, or he’d overheat. Luckily, they had help from Jenny and Ethan, too. A few hours later, they all sat in the dining hall, drinking a cold beer, and the boxes stood stacked by the walls of the long room.

  “It is an impressive collection, Meino,” Ms. Theresa said.

  “Yeah, I’d forgotten how many there were.” Meino got up and peeped under the lid of one of the boxes. “I haven’t even looked in many of them.”

  “And the ones you had in your backpack?”

  “Two of them were books I just grabbed from the last box I moved, and the one with the spell in was one Dad had brought to the crypt a few times as our spell book. I never knew it was real, but back then it did seem real.”

  “The wonders of a child’s mind. Imagination is one to be nurtured,” Ms. Alvilda said.

  Meino took a seat again and drank from his beer. “What are your plans for the books?”

  “Our plans?” Ms. Alvilda asked. “Dear boy, they are yours. We have no intentions of making plans for your property. We have suggestions and favors to ask, but we do not find ourselves in any position to tell you what to do with them.”

  “But you’re very interested in them, I can see that.”

  “We are, but not as interested as we are in guiding you in how to use them for the benefit of others.”

  “Me? What do you mean, use them?” Meino asked. Burkhart made a guttural sound. Meino looked at him, finding him smiling. “What?”

  “My human doesn’t know, and I decided I was the wrong one to enlighten him.” Burkhart put his hand on Meino’s.

  “Tell me what?”

  “You’re a wizard, Meino,” Ms. Theresa said.

  Meino gaped.

  “And if you continue this particular Harry Potter quote, then I’ll be off to bed, early,” Jenny said before pitching her voice high and mimicking him. “Me a—a wizard? No, I—I can’t be. I’m just... Meino... Just Meino.”

  Meino scoffed, shaking his head. Trust that woman to take the wind out of the sails. “Okay, I won’t quote Harry Potter. What’s a wizard?”

  “Only a wizard or someone supernatural could use that spell. Neither I nor Ms. Alvilda are capable of breathing life into a Gargoyle,” Ms. Theresa explained.

  Meino snapped his head around to look at Burkhart, and the calmness on his face made the latest epic-level news sink in without tripping Meino out of it. “You knew?”

  “Of course, I did. So did your father, being one himself.”

  “My dad, too?”

  “It is hereditary,” Ms. Theresa said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “We have wizards in the Order. Mr. Talbot and his protégé Vibeke are wizards as well. Only wizards are allowed to have more than one protégé, as you are so rare.”

  Meino remembered the name Talbot coming up several times as one who would look through the books. “How did you know my dad was a wizard, too?” Meino asked, looking at Burkhart.

  “Because only wizards can feel the life in our stone form. He had come by the crypt many times over many years before he brought you, and he spoke to us. We could not reply, but it never stopped him from speaking to us.”

  “What did he say?” Meino asked almost in a whisper.

  Burkhart chuckled. “One day, he came into the crypt with a flask of something and a cigar. He sat down, lit the cigar, and held the flask up in a toast. To my son, he said. I’ll introduce you when he comes of age. Then he drank from the flask. He spoke of how big you were while he smoked his cigar. How scared he was at becoming a dad, and how much he admired your mother.”

  Meino figured his dad had never shared any of that with Meino because Meino at the time had only been a child. “So he always knew of you.”

  “Of course. He had been introduced to us when he turned fourteen by his father. Your grandfather was introduced to us too, but not by a wizard. He read a letter out loud from his father, your great-grandfather, explaining why he didn’t introduce his son himself. Your family has guarded us since your great-grandfather brought us to the crypt.”

  “Oh, God.” Meino’s brain decided to connect some dots from his childhood, and a lesson in the garage came to mind. It had been the day his dad had brought home the Charger. Immovable objects aren’t always dead, Meino, and it’s okay to care for things, too. Like this old thing. If we listen carefully, if we open our hearts to love, then we can sometimes hear life where others don’t. His dad had put his ear to the chassis of the old beat up piece of junk with a smile on his face. Meino had thought him silly but done the same. We can give her life again, but we have to love her to do that.

  And Meino had loved the car ever since.

  “Is my car alive, too?”

  Burkhart laughed loudly, while Ms. Alvilda and Ms. Theresa managed a more controlled and hearty laughter. Jenny looked more curious about the answer.

  “I will suspect your father attempted to teach you an important lesson about those you were to guard but merely chose a love you already shared with him,” Ms. Alvilda said. “Your love for cars. It is a common tool used when teaching children. That and stories.”

  “And your father had plenty of those, always with the same storyline,” Burkhart reminded Meino.

  “I remember. He told a tale of a father and son mage, traveling lands with... fire breathers.” Meino looked at Burkhart when the name for the ones hunting them finally fit in his memories. “They were dragons in the story, hoarding treasures of magic and not gold. Other dragons looked for gold, but they weren’t our enemies. The stories were symbolic?”

  “And to train your imagination. It is what aids your magic,” Ms. Alvilda said.

  “You mean I can perform magic?”

  “Yes,” Ms. Theresa said. “I opened my home to you and Burkhart because it is above a nexus. Here, you are most powerful, and here you can more easily connect with the forces your kind can tap into. We brought you here to begin the training your father couldn’t finish.”

  “So, Mr. Talbot and Vibeke will help train me while they look in my books?”

  “Only of you allow it,” Ms. Alvilda said, motioning toward the boxes. “I would, however, urge you to go through them in your own time. Who knows what your father and maybe even grandfather left for you in there.”

  Meino looked at the stacks, his fingers practically itching to get to it.

  “You are more than welcome to use this long table to sort your books on.” Ms. Theresa brushed her hands over the surface of the dark stained, heavy dining table. “I have another more moderate dining room we can dine in while you use this one.”

  “Thank you.”

  Meino and Burkhart stayed in the dining room while the others went to bed or, in Jenny and Ethan’s case, left to give them some privacy to discover what was in the boxes. Meino started at an end of the table and at the end of the row of boxes. As he emptied a box and superficially looked over the content, Burkhart placed a full box for him to go through.

  After four boxes and filling half the table, Meino picked up a bunch of letters tied together with a blue ribbon. The bundle had his name on it and the year of his dad’s death.

  “They’re for me,” Meino said, turning the stack. By a loose count of the folds, it held at least fifteen letters. He untied the stack and looked through them, finding the bottom one to be dated May twenty-sixth the year of his birth. He unfolded it, and his heart skipped a beat at the words, Happy birthday, my son.

  “Are you okay, little one?” Burkhart asked, placing his heavy hand on Meino’s shoulder.

  “It’s from my dad. It’s a birthday letter from my dad.” Meino skimmed the first handwritten paragraph, and suddenly it felt so private and precious—too precious to be read while standing in a cooling dining hall of a castle in the early morning hours. “Let’s stop for today and go to our room. I want to read these on the pelt in front of the f
ireplace.”

  “Yes, let us retire, then.”

  Meino kept his gaze on the stack of letters and shuffled through them loosely as they made their way to their room—he didn’t even acknowledge the ghost speeding across the library.

  Once back in their room, Burkhart poked the fire which the staff kept burning all day. Meino sat, and as usual, he leaned against Burkhart for both warmth and coziness. He then picked up the letter from the day he was born and read it.

  Happy birthday, my son.

  I finally got to meet you today. I’ve been looking forward to that and to writing this first letter to you.

  From the day your mother and I knew we were expecting you, I began redecorating your room. I had no idea whether you were going to be a girl or a boy, so picking out furniture and colors had to wait. Your mother would sit in the corner of the room with the bare walls and no carpet. She sat in an old rocking chair, cradling her growing belly, and sang to you. I don’t know if your mother knows this, but I would stand outside to give her private time with you while my heart swelled with love for her, and my eagerness to meet you grew. I was so nervous at becoming a dad, and as I write this letter to you, I still am. Becoming a father is both scary and wonderful at the same time. One day, you will understand, I hope.

  I know for sure your mother doesn’t know of one of the reasons for my fear. You see, I already know that you will be special. It is in my bloodline, yet I never told her. I’m not keeping this from her because I don’t trust her, but because with the knowledge comes a burden. A responsibility. It is a legacy I will tell you about as you grow, and one I will include you in fully once you come of age. Once you read this letter, you will know all about it.

  Every year on your birthday, I will write you a letter like this one. Hopefully, one day, you will see that they are not just the ramblings of a proud father, but the chronicles of all I teach you and all you must remember. They are meant as guides and so that you may more easily remember what an adult mind might have trouble remembering from your childhood years.