The Gargoyle

~~~~~~~~~ a prompt inspired by the Writing Mistress ~~~~~

The Gargoyle 

The scratch of its claws against the metallic covering of the holy apostolic cross sent shivers through me, shivers that struck at the goodness and sanctity inside me. Yet I persisted, climbing ever upwards outside the south spire, the most outward tower of Chartres Cathedral.  Already my hands ached from the roughness of the sandstone. Scratches stung, begged for tender care, but I didn't heed them, couldn't.

That thing -- whatever it was that hell burst from its rotten breast – that monstrosity let out a sharp, sudden squawk, a squawk so terrible in nature, that to label it with the sound a bird might make didn't begin to describe its terrible nature, for that voluminous roar caused a piercing chasm that sliced through my fear and sent it to the border of utmost panic and self-doubt.

My body trembled, my teeth chattered, yet still I persisted, another rung upward toward my goal, another arm-wrenching hoist into the upper reaches of that holiest of towers where my love had been taken, wrenched from my side, her frightened scream now a ghostly echo deep inside me.

As my approach brought me nearer to the source of this great evil, the stench grew worse. All those things that could cause a body to inhale sharply, to wrinkle the nose, to gasp for a breath of fresh, pure air -- all that and more mingled like the perfume of the darkest nightmare, like the very depths of Hell itself –- the reek of an egg left too long in the sun, of phosphorous, of over-ripened cheese . . .  No, even worse than those . . . of human sewage exposed to the noonday August sun or the excrement of Earth’s foulest beasts.  .  .

I drew in gagging breaths of such vileness that my teeth gritted and bit into stinging lips. Each breath grew more loathsome than the one before. Only the direness of my need drove me onward, striving ever upward toward what I feared would be no reward, but only the kind of horror more intensely felt when a heart is plunged into the very depths of agony.

But I could not ponder such an end. Where there is hope . . . even the slimmest of that which we called a miracle. one must endure, go on, forever if need be.

My lady, sweet Sarah, she with eyes so soft of blue, so delightful in their gentle sweetness, and that smile, a smile which pricked my heart not with pain but with harmony  . . . and that peace that comes from knowing we two were destined to be as one. Ah, Sarah, for her I would endure whatever malicious vileness Hell delivered.

The thought of Sarah, of the terror I’d seen in her eyes, the sound of her scream when the monster lifted her up strove me on. My hands gripped tighter, renewed suddenly, mysteriously. One last, final thrust and then a leg foisted upward to hug the outermost curvature of the cathedral’s tiled roof. Panting, all thrust and forward movement, I heaved and strained, racking my body beyond endurance.

I'd ignored the colonnades, the double flying buttresses, the great abutments, the niches plump with holy sculptures . . . none of those things had drawn my interest, not with my lovely Sarah, my precious Sarah in danger. Nor did I concern myself with my boot when the tip of it displaced one of the sacred tiles. I didn't pause even for a moment's reflection at my sacrilege, drawing myself up higher -- enough so that I came in sight of the horrendous griffin-like monster who perched above me. A lion’s hard-muscled body, yet winged and feathered, bird-like, its monstrous size and fierceness let me know that no Earthborne creature could ever win against him in fair battle.

The creature turned its eagle head toward me, arched a curved beak, a beak hooked like a Chinese Fu Tao sword. Its eyes glared with avarice. It looked monstrously eager to rend my body. But I didn’t care, not if my beloved Sarah had been silenced forever. Was it too late?

For in its claws I saw my love, blood dripping from one arm, staining her cream-colored blouse. The very sight of that and the fact that she didn’t move, not even to open frightened eyes, stirred my blood with a rage that knew no bounds. I surged forward bent on destruction.

The vile creature screeched in warning or rather in preparation for its attack, but no answering shivers rocked my body, only the moment of calm that comes before the great confrontation whose ending can only be Death.

But, from the side of my eye, from that last farewell glance at my love, I saw that Sarah still breathed. I froze, no longer eager to cast aside my life so frivolously, not when the promise of our tomorrows might still linger.

And in that moment of deliberation, I suddenly knew what I must do. Magic can halt the attack of monsters. They say it can dissuade the evilest wizard from bespelling the world. Yet, faith, the voice of God, holds more power than even the magic of the darkest of the dark.

I had no stronghold to grasp with my feet. I still clasped the almost vertical nature of the increasingly narrow heights of the spire, yet with the sanctity of my faith, I released one hand and holding it upward, pointed my fingers toward Heaven. Then with the words of the holiest of holies, I said, ”In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I command you to release this woman and begone.”

No silvered black puff of magic or boom of successful intervention exploded into the silence, but the griffin gave a great unworldly groan, a spasm of disgust so vast that the tiles of the Cathedral rattled and chattered. Then, the great beast gave one huge wing-spanned shudder and leapt free from its spiral roost. With a thrust forward, I grabbed my love, saving her from what would have been a ghastly fall. I enclosed her with my eyes, kissed her pale cheeks, checked once more for her breath.

Alive but unconscious. Probably that was best, for our troubles had not yet ended. I needed still to remove her from this danger, to return us both to hallowed ground, to safety.

The climb down was not easy, yet my heart held a certain calmness for having Sarah in my arms. Her soft breath took away the stench, the horror, the pain of hands scratched and bleeding from the harshness of limestone. My muscles were clenched in pain, unused to such hardship, but the slow, steady beating of Sarah’s heart was my reward.

At last, I took a first step onto the ground, my body trembling, my legs threatening to fold. Only then did Sarah, my beloved Sarah, awaken. She gasped, looked about, whispered my name, gave thanks to the Lord and to me, her rescuer. Then she touched my lips with hers. Sweetness filled me, washed over me, renewed me.

A moment later, I glanced upward. The sight of the gargoyle high on its limestone post, the same beast who’d threatened all my happiness, even that couldn't steal away the purity, the peace that Sarah brought. And yes, it was the same gargoyle, that griffin of horror and unearthly stench. It peered down from a colonnade on the cathedral, but this time the beast was only stone carving -- inanimate. My words of God had reminded it that its task was no more than to carry rainwater away from the roof.

Falling to my knees, I joined my love, offering up my prayers, eternally grateful that my belief in God had converted a terrible beast from the Destroyer of Mankind to no more than a mere decorative doodad on the house of the faithful.

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Currently in its rough draft stage is my NaNo 2013 novel: The Downside of Solar Panels -- a young witch decides to install solar panels on the cottage where she lives.  But how can she achieve her goal of financial independence when a warlock, werewolves, ghosts and a neighborhood vampire keep intruding?




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