Guardians of a Giant's Treasure

by M. D. Grimm

  The consistency of routine had him lathering on the lotion in a mechanical way, and he was able to keep from dwelling on the unevenness and blotchy look of his skin; the way his arm and thigh were thinner on the left side than his right, the way his veins stuck out more. William closed his eyes and treated his face. He washed his hands afterward and then slipped into bed, wearing only boxers. Sighing, he flicked off the light.

  He hoped he didn’t dream tonight.

  ***

  The guy who wrote this journal was crazy. William frowned as he once again read the pages he’d just translated. The man had truly believed he was a sorcerer and could bring stone beings to life. He thought he’d brought stone gargoyles to life. They were alive during the night and stone by day. Hadn’t there been an animated show on TV years ago with that same premise?

  Shaking his head, William set down the pages and stared out the window into the darkness beyond. Night was always dark and absolute in the Black Forest except for the moon that sometimes glowed in the sky. Instead of sitting with his own gargoyles, William had opted to spend a few more hours translating. The eerie part about what he’d just read was it didn’t read like one insane. Not that he knew for sure what a crazy person’s journal would read like, but the narrator sounded elated and at peace for the first time in his life.

  William also couldn’t shake the creepy similarities between the narrator’s life and his own. And he spoke of two gargoyles, not just one.

  Leaning over the table, William spent the rest of the night translating the last few pages of the journal. There were large gaps in time between each entry, and the joy in the man’s words kept growing and expanding. Though he didn’t blatantly state the intimate relationship between him and the gargoyles, William could read between the lines. His face grew hot and he felt like a dirty voyeur. But he couldn’t stop, so fascinated was he.

  Then it ended. Just like that. With several blank pages left, the entries stopped. Frustrated, William dragged a hand through his hair.

  “Dammit.”

  He remembered his most recent dream and couldn’t stop but wonder if that had been the end of the journal’s narrator.

  With gritty eyes, he glanced at the clock and groaned aloud. Four-thirty in the morning. No sleep for him. Sighing heavily, he carefully gathered all the papers and journal before neatly stacking them in the drawer of the nightstand. He stiffly stood and walked to the bathroom for a long, hot shower.

  ***

  “Will that be all, Father?” William asked as he set up the large-print Bible and Father Adler’s notes on the podium. He wasn’t religious and rarely stayed for services. Father Adler never made a fuss about it, and William was grateful. He also never went to confession—he doubted a thousand Hail Marys would make up for the blood he’d shed. It would be a hollow gesture, to his way of thinking.

  “Yes, my son. You’ve been a great help, as always.”

  William smiled at the priest’s strong voice, one that still carried far into the back pews when the church was crowded with parishioners. It was a good community that had welcomed him. Perhaps not with open arms, but with cautious smiles. Since he didn’t cause trouble and Father Adler praised him in front of witnesses, William felt like he’d been adopted into the village. Not many looked him in the eye or did more than say hello on their way to someplace else, but William decided that was for the best. He had nothing to say to them, either.

  He grew his hair longer than he used to, simply so he could drape most of it over the scarred portion of his face. Hair no longer grew there, and he had no money for medical procedures to make him more palatable to the human eye.

  William helped Father Adler to the podium with his good arm before walking down the aisle to open the church doors.

  “The choir should be arriving soon, William. Could you make sure the song sheets are on their seats?”

  “Already done, Father.”

  “The prayer books should be—”

  “In the pews, Father.”

  “The candles—”

  “Have been lit, except for those the parishioners will light for Quinn Buchanan.”

  Mr. Buchanan had passed away last night in his sleep. He’d been ninety-three and a grumpy old cuss, but he’d been part of the town nonetheless and would be honored and prayed for.

  “The collection tin—”

  “Ruth will see that it’s passed around.”

  Father Adler huffed but smiled, his wrinkled face becoming more creased. “I don’t know why I bother even speaking, William. You seem to read my mind.”

  William chuckled as he opened the church doors. “Don’t be silly, Father. How many Sundays have I done this?”

  “Oh!” Father Adler raised a hand in the air. “I forgot! How could I forget? And how could you not remember to tell me? It’s your birthday today, isn’t it?”

  William walked back down the aisle to the priest and resisted a wince. “Yes, Father. You have a good memory, yourself.”

  “You don’t sound pleased.”

  William shrugged. He stepped up next to Father Adler and patted his shoulder. The choir began to filter into the church, their white robes brushing around their legs as they walked.

  “Birthdays just don’t mean what they used to, Father.”

  Father Adler covered William’s hand with his own and gave him a patient smile.

  “You have seen and been through much, William. That alone makes this day very special. You’re alive to celebrate it. Life should never be taken for granted.”

  Unable to answer, William nodded before walking across the platform to the back of the church. He glanced back once to see the townsfolk begin to enter. Some glanced at him and smiled briefly before looking away.

  He didn’t bother to sigh. Quasimodo, indeed.

  ***

  That night, William made his way up the bell tower. The Harvest Moon glowed brightly, lending a certain cheer to the night sky. The rich orange color was cheery and contrasted sharply with the menace of the Black Forest and its reputation.

  William reached the top of the tower and stepped onto the balcony. He took a deep breath of the fresh air and smiled as he looked over at the gargoyles.

  Only… they weren’t there.

  William froze, unable to comprehend the truth in front of his eyes. Where his stone friends had once stood, now were empty spaces. Breath catching in his throat, William finally managed to stumble forward to investigate, to find anything explaining what he wanted to refuse to believe. It didn’t take him long to find large chunks of stone scattered over the balcony. He nearly tripped over a few before he crouched awkwardly and picked up one large piece. He couldn’t say which gargoyle it had belonged to, or what part of the body, and it was all he could do to keep from crying. His throat tightened as he fought against the tears.

  Who could have done this? How? When? Only a few hours ago he’d been in the courtyard beneath the bell tower, raking leaves and caring for the few bushes and trees offering a bit of life in the house of stone. Had it happened during dinner? But who would dare cause such sacrilege? As far as William knew, the entire community took pride in their church—the architecture, beauty, and history it offered. Had a pack of delinquents broken in and done this?

  William shook his head. No. He always kept the bell tower locked, and he hadn’t seen any indication of a break-in. And even the youths had respect for the church and especially Father Adler.

  A shadow fell over the moon. William jerked up his head and narrowed his eyes. Standing slowly, he leaned against the railing and scanned the skies. It had been a large shadow. Or were the night and eerie moon playing tricks on him? It was probably just a bird.

  Another shadow flittered and William jerked back. That was no bird. Gripping the railing tightly, William managed to watch the progression of the shadow as it dipped low, turned sharply, then landed in the courtyard below. Even as his mind reeled at a potential answer to what that thing was, another similar figure followed
the path of the first and landed next to it. Then, as one, the shadowy figures turned their heads and looked up at him. Their eyes glowed under the light of the moon.

  A strangled cry escaped William as he backed away from the edge. This couldn’t possibly be happening! It was inconceivable!

  The words of a man long-dead echoed in his mind. A self-proclaimed sorcerer had confessed to creating creatures of night.

  Before he could decide what in God’s name to do, he heard the distinctive sound of flapping wings—big wings—and the two figures shot up from below. They hovered for a moment, then perched on the balcony railing. Two pairs of eyes still glowed, staring at him. Large wings dominated their backs, resting on muscular shoulders. William knew those masterfully carved faces, now illuminated by the moonlight. He realized with a start that he’d been right—they were brothers, perhaps even twins. They were nearly identical, but he managed to see the subtle differences in the shape of their faces, the measurements of their bodies. And their bodies…if he hadn’t been scared out of his mind, he might have admired the strength, the lean muscle before him. As well as the fact that they were both generously endowed. As statues, that had somehow stayed hidden. But now it was all laid out before his eyes.

  Some rational, calculating part of his brain took in all these details. The rest of his brain, however, was screaming at him to run. Even as the one to his left lifted a hand, as if trying to touch him, William spun around and fled. He nearly tripped down the stairs but managed to use the wall to stay upright. All he could think about was escaping.

  But as he exited the tower and ran across the courtyard as fast as his lame leg could manage, trying to gain safety inside the church, the two shadows—gargoyles—followed him. One landed right in front of him, causing him to stop short, panting. Then the other landed behind him, preventing him from running in the other direction. He turned to the side to keep both in his sight.

  The one to his right stood while the one to his left stayed crouched. “I told you he would not recognize us, brother.”

  William started. They could talk. In modern German. How was that possible? If these creatures were truly the ones created by the sorcerer, wouldn’t they speak the same language as him?

  Jesus, God, why the hell was he searching for rational explanations when clearly all universal sense had been tossed out the window? William turned his entire attention to the right gargoyle, knowing he gaped.

  “And I told you we must give him some time,” the left gargoyle said. His tone indicated an ongoing argument. “He is not the same man he was then.”

  Their voices were strong, deep, and smooth—like polished granite.

  “I can see that,” the right gargoyle snapped. “Though outwardly he looks the same. Even his scars.”

  William focused on breathing. In and out. In and out.

  “We’ve frightened him,” the left gargoyle said, his tone a reprimand.

  The right gargoyle growled, and William felt it all the way to his bones. It was a genuine growl any beast of the dark would make. Despite all his combat training, this was far beyond his skill or comprehension.

  The left gargoyle slowly lifted his arm, turning his hand palm up in an obvious gesture of nonaggression. He’d also yet to stand.

  “We mean you no harm, Wilhelm. We would never wish you harm. We are here to protect you. We are meant to protect you.”

  “Protect?” William said, his voice a croak, also speaking in German. He cleared his throat. “Why would you call me Wilhelm?”

  The right gargoyle seemed to scoff and turned away slightly, his arms crossed over his chest. He folded his wings behind his back, and only then did William notice the long tail and clawed feet. These truly were the stone gargoyles he’d been conversing with ever since he’d arrived. But as William continued to watch the right gargoyle, he sensed hurt. How could he have possibly hurt a gargoyle?

  “It was your name then.”

  William blinked at the sudden English with a slight accent. He turned his attention back to the left gargoyle. “‘Then’? I don’t understand.”

  He then remembered that Wilhelm was the German equivalent of William.

  The gargoyle sighed. “My name is Castor. My brother is Pollux. We were created a very long time ago by a sorcerer. His name was Wilhelm.”

  William was surprised he didn’t fall on his ass in utter shock. Castor and Pollux. Brothers of Greek mythology. William vaguely remembered the tale but couldn’t push his mind past the realization the stone gargoyles were real and the sorcerer hadn’t been insane. Could these gargoyles really be the same as the ones mentioned in the journal? How could they not? Just how many living, breathing gargoyles were flapping around in the world? Oh God. Oh God.

  His mind whipped through the gargoyles’ words and what they seemed to allude to. He remembered his vivid dreams, his possessiveness over the journal, his bond with the gargoyles when they’d been merely stone. His very name.

  William closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. He forced himself to take a deep breath, then opened his eyes and really looked at the gargoyles. He now noticed the difference in the coloring of the brothers, thanks to the moon’s help. Castor had white hair falling to his shoulders and large blue eyes full of gentleness and compassion. His skin also seemed to shimmer whenever he moved, the tint silvery. William then regarded Pollux. His skin was also silvery and shimmery, but his hair was black, and his eyes were an exotic green of violence and aggression, but not toward him. Odd. How could he sense these things?

  The longer he remained in their presence, the stronger the idea that he knew them grew. They seemed familiar. Just as the journal had. Just as his vivid dreams had. Their looks and their voices. The way they spoke to each other. It all seemed like déjà vu. Painful déjà vu.

  “What does this sorcerer have to do with me?” William asked after a long moment of silence, needing confirmation to his suspicions.

  “He has everything to do with you!” Pollux stomped over to him. Before William could react, Pollux gripped his arms and their faces were mere inches from the other. William kept careful watch of those horns. “How can you not remember?”

  “Pollux!” Castor leapt over to his brother and jerked him away from William, who stumbled back as his weak leg gave out. He fell to the ground, trembling.

  “We must have patience with him, brother.” Castor cupped Pollux’s face as they stared at each other. “If he has no memory of his previous life, no memory of us, think what this must be like for him! We were stone until tonight.”

  Pollux closed his eyes and once again, William sensed his pain. But this time it was doubled because as Pollux leaned into Castor briefly, William felt hurt inside Castor as well. He was causing them pain, and he felt like an asshole. But what could he do about it?

  “Tell me,” he said, hearing the strain in his own voice. He sat up, knowing his legs wouldn’t hold him if he tried to stand. “Tell me what you know. I don’t remember living before, being a sorcerer. But you two. I—” He shook his head. He couldn’t find the words to describe what he felt for them. All he could say was, “You seem familiar to me.”

  Pollux pulled away from Castor, his gaze fiery again. But Castor smiled and William could have sworn he’d seen that look before. Castor took a step toward him before crouching, his wings folding in front of him like a cloak. Pollux continued standing, scowling. That look also seemed familiar.

  “We were created by a sorcerer, a very long time ago,” Castor said. “He made us because he received no love from his fellow humans. He was scarred by fire, you see. Many ran away from him, cursing him a devil. He turned to witchcraft. He created my brother and me to love him, protect him. We are his family.”

  “Are?”

  Castor nodded. “You are he reborn. We are your family. We love you.”

  William’s breath hitched. He hadn’t heard those words in a very long time. “But—”

  “Your scars,” Pollux said, interrupting. �
��Your scars are his scars. Fire seems to have touched you as well. You think they’re ugly just as he did. You are wrong, both times.”

  William shook his head, unable to respond.

  “He received his scars when he saved his younger siblings from a fire set to their home,” Castor said. “His parents perished and he was blamed. His siblings were sent to relatives but he was cast out.” For the first time, Castor looked angry. “He was made to fend for himself while still a young lad. Healers took pity on him, but he continued to live in such pain. As do you.”

  “I—”

  Castor set his hand on William’s knee. Long-fingered and tipped with delicate claws, Castor’s hand was warm and William felt the touch acutely.

  “We heard you,” Castor said softly. William met his eyes. Nearly fell into them. “We were as stone but still alive. We heard you.”

  William swallowed hard. Well, he supposed that explained their knowledge of modern languages. “But why? Why now? Why were you stone before and not now?”

  “We will be stone again come dawn,” Pollux said. “But then freed when night blankets the world once more. It is what we are. It is how you made us.”

  “I didn’t….”

  “As for us being stone until now,” Castor said hesitantly. He glanced over his shoulder at Pollux, as if for permission. Pollux looked annoyed but gave a sharp nod. Castor turned back to William. “One day, at the edge of sunset, our sorcerer was…killed.” He drew in a breath and it was obvious he struggled to speak. “The townspeople were convinced the sorcerer had raised demons—us—and hounded him. He died and we couldn’t save him. We stayed as stone through countless nights, trapped, but still hearing the world around us.”

  “But why would he—?” William said.

  “He feared the damage we would cause if we were set loose,” Pollux said. “If we were freed from the shackles he put on us at our conception.”