Light! For the first time in so many years. The thick covering of moss was scraped away from one eye, and through the green packing around his ears, he heard a high, excited voice close by.
“Aearry.” It said unintelligibly. “Kumavalucathiss.”
Whatever was scraping the moss away managed to free part of one ear, and began work on one side of his face. A moment later, there was another voice.
“Kool.” It said, just as cryptically as the first. “Wahsit?”
“Iyduna. Buhits gottafaess.”
“Wau.” The moss was moving faster now, and after another moment he could see two pairs of small hands. Children’s hands. And he was lying on the ground – what had happened to him?
“Isa Gargoyle.” The second voice stated. Now there was a word he recognised. Gargoyle. At least they knew what he was. Perhaps they would be able to return him to his post.
“Koool!” The first voice sounded awed. “Buhits lyindahn. Leztandimup.”
The small hands scrabbled around the other side of his face, which he realised was pressed into the ground.
“Itsevy.” The second voice complained, straining against the weight. But despite their size, the Gargoyle was easing slowly off the ground.
“Werneerlithur.” The first encouraged. With a final shove, the Gargoyle’s centre of gravity passed tipping point, and he rocked dramatically to his feet.
The hands began cleaning the moss from the rest of his face, and it wasn’t long before he could look around himself properly.
The abbey was gone. He checked again carefully – he appeared to be facing the right direction, towards the two hills to the north, but there was no building. Maybe it was behind him.
“Thisusgrate” The second voice said, panting slightly.
“Itsabitskery.” The first commented.
Now he was upright, he could see that his rescuers were two young boys, maybe about twelve or thirteen, both strange-looking in their tight, faded clothes. They had the same skin and hair colour of the people who used to live at the abbey, but were clearly not the same kind of people. Therefore the only reasonable explanation was that he had been lying covered in moss for a lot longer than he realised, and these were simply the descendants of the people he knew. And that would also explain why he thought they were talking gibberish – it was simply a dialect he had not heard before. Now he knew to listen more carefully, he could recognise some words.
The thought that followed directly on from that was that these children would not know what to do with him. And the thought that followed that was that perhaps there was nothing left for him to do. How much time had passed? Was the abbey still standing? If it wasn’t, what was his purpose? What was he supposed to do?
“Lezgoend find Philip.” The second voice said. “Eelneva believe this.”
With wide grins, the two boys turned and ran off, glancing back over their shoulders often until they were completely out of sight.
After waiting for while longer, listening intently for any other movement, he slowly began to stretch his stony wings. He moaned as they creaked and cracked, but aside from the noises they seemed alright. Ponderously, he raised himself on his three remaining legs, and shuffled in a circle to look behind him.
There was the abbey, lying in ruins. The high walls he remembered were reduced to stubs, barely higher than himself. The great double doors that used to greet nobility, and even royalty, were completely gone, with only an unremarkable gap in the stub walls to show it had ever existed. And lying next to him, barely recognisable through the moss, was his perch. The stone plinth was cracked and completely useless to him, but he knew it like he knew himself. He had spent a hundred years sitting on it, after all. He remembered watching as the rich and prosperous approached along the grassy path, he remembered the creaking of the great doors as they were hauled open. He had protected it – he hadn’t been the only one, but another look around showed he was the only one remaining. Protector of a ruin, now. Was there any point in staying? A pile of stones hardly needed looking after.
He gave a few experimental flaps of his wings. The years had not been as kind to them as he had first thought – they were chipped and cracked, and the moss made them feel stiff and unwieldy – but he thought they would hold him. He spent a long time removing the worst of the greenery with his beak, then looked around one last time. The two boys were not returning yet, and there was no one else to comment on the sudden flight of a lump of stone. He felt a hint of amusement at the thought of the children arriving back to find their prize Gargoyle had disappeared, and was glad he would not have to witness whatever plans they had for him.
He crouched and spread his wings as far as they would go. With all the strength left in his stony legs he leapt upwards, then beat his wings so that their tips nearly met each other under his body. Another beat and he was gaining height – within moments he was above the ruins, then above the few trees that still grew here, and finally up with the birds. How many hundreds of years had it been since he had last flown? But he remembered it as though it were yesterday, and once he had gained the height he needed he looked around, choosing a direction. There was the sea to the south and east, and nothing but grass to the west. But to the north, past the two hills he had stared at for so long, rose huge, glinting buildings. Were they made of glass, or metal? Surely stone could not shine like that. The people who lived here must be rich indeed to afford such buildings. Buildings like that needed watching over. That’s where he would go and make his home, up where the people on the ground would not notice him.
But before he left, he took another look around. Over in the east was a small town, not too far away, and between it and the abbey were three small shapes running across the grass towards him. Maybe he would wait here a bit longer.
“Sowersis Gargoyle then?” The voice of the newcomer drifted up to him as the boys ran through the ruins and came to a halt.
“Itwos just over ere.” The owner of the second voice he remembered from earlier gestured and looked around.
“Werisit?” The boy who had found him first sounded confused.
“Itwos just ere!” The second voice objected. “Look, atswer it was lying.”
“Itaint there now.” The new voice sounded bored. “You avinmeon?”
“Someone mustavaddit.” The first voice growled. “It was right ere.”
Up above, the Gargoyle chuckled to himself. The boys were beginning to search the rest of the ruins in desperation, and their new friend didn’t look impressed. But he knew his wings would not hold him forever – with a flap and a creak of stone he turned himself in the air, and began his journey to the city, and his new life.
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