CHAPTER ELEVEN
SCALING NEW HEIGHTS
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper.
He had not expected them to arrive at the footsteps of a church. Graham took a moment to look around. The gray building was impressively tall, rising at least five stories, seven if one counted the steeple. Making its presence even more striking was the fact that it sat at the top of a large rocky hill, overlooking a tiny English village below.
Graham lay sprawled over his grandfather, whose expression betrayed shock and fear. A light drizzle punctuated the scene.
“Graham, what are you doing here?”
He quickly pulled himself off his grandfather, checking to make sure the contents of his backpack had not spilled out. “I’m here to help you.”
His grandfather rose to his knees. “Let’s get you in from this rain first. We’ll talk about your foolishness inside.”
Graham noticed the incredible effort it took his grandfather to stand up, fine dust and grit from his hardened joints mixed with the patches of rainwater that raced down the old gargoyle’s body.
“No, let me help you.”
His grandfather, too weak to argue, nodded. Graham looped the elderly gargoyle’s rock hard left arm over his shoulder, amazed at how cold and rough his grandfather’s skin had become.
Graham held the door open with his free hand as they struggled to enter the church. He helped his stiff grandfather to the nearest pew. Satisfied he was safely seated, Graham returned to close the church door, locking it behind him.
“Why’d you lock a church door?”
“I didn’t want any humans to stumble across us. Isn’t that right? We don’t want them to see us walking around, do we?” Graham flapped his tiny wings, accidentally spraying the hymnal resting in a neat ledge in front of him.
“Yes, that’s so true. You’ll have to excuse me. As my body hardens, so too do my wits.” His grandfather smiled painfully.
**********
Outside, the rain had picked up as the third person to pass through the gate arrived on Earth. Still holding the parchment, he retreated to the shelter provided by a maintenance shed next to the ornate church. He knew where Graham and his grandfather would be heading, the rooftop. He just had to figure out how to get there first.
**********
His grandfather’s whisper echoed in the stark church. “There should be a stairwell or ladder leading to the steeple somewhere. Check up by the front.”
Graham marched up to the front. His wide eyes played over the décor of the country church. He had studied about Earth churches when he was a Level Three. He had remembered asking the teacher why they needed to know so much about Earth churches. His teacher had avoided answering, simply moving on to the next raised hand.
The young gargoyle stopped to admire the large pipes of the organ. Centered on the wall in front of him perched a gold cross. At the altar below, fresh flowers sat in pots framing the portrait of what Graham imagined to be Mary. His grandfather’s coughing stirred him from his distractions. He didn’t have much time. He knew he couldn’t get his grandfather up to the roof by himself. His grandfather needed to have some mobility left. The more he wasted time, the stiffer the aged gargoyle grew.
Graham made a beeline towards the solid oak door to the left of the organ and elevated choir pews he had spotted earlier. Trying the knob, he found it unlocked. He pulled it open to reveal purple carpeted steps winding upwards. “I found it, Grandfather.”
“Check to see that it leads to the roof.” His grandfather winced. “Hurry.”
Graham raced up the steps, bumping into the curved walls several times in his haste. After ascending over 50 steps, he arrived at a stained glass door depicting the parting of the Red Sea. He peered out the relatively clear glass near the top to see that the door led to the steeple. A discreetly small bell stood against the brisk rain that pelted the open steeple and its contents.
Graham raced back down to his grandfather. The very weak gargoyle had managed to reach the pulpit and was crawling up towards the oak door frame Graham stood in.
“Grandfather, I’m sorry.”
He motioned for his grandson to be quiet. “You have broken many rules coming with me.” His eyes danced wildly. “I’m so glad you came.”
Graham smiled as he dropped his backpack to better help his grandfather up the stairs.
“It’s gonna take us a while to get up all those stairs, Grandfather.”
“That’s fine. It’ll give you time to explain to me how you intend to get back to Cascade.” He grunted as his grandson helped pull his impossibly hard and heavy body up past the first few steps.
**********
The rain-soaked native of Cascade had found a rickety ladder in the maintenance shed. He had propped it up against the church and was beginnijng to make his way upwards. Lightning sprang to life around him as he shoved the parchment containing the return spell inside his vest. With one slippery hand after another, he climbed, his thoughts dwelling on what he would say to the foolish gargoyle when he reached the roof.
**********
“I did have the return spell, but Blord took it from me when I was showing Ot. He was going to tell Father I had stolen it.”
“Which you had.” His grandfather’s breathing had settled into a disturbing rasp.
“Yeah, but it was for a good cause. I wanted to help you.”
Instead, you’ve made things worse for yourself. What kind of life do you think you will have on Earth? You’re many years away from your own hardening. You can’t just climb a church and live happily ever after. You climb a church to say goodbye. You have too much life left in you.”
“I’ll manage,” he said weakly.
“I don’t want you to manage. Life is not about getting by. Life is about living. If you stay on Earth, all you’ll do is run from life.”
Graham noticed that a gritty film was beginning to cover his grandfather’s eyes. “Can you still see?”
“Barely. My time draws close. When the eyes go, you know you’re near the final moments.”
Graham pushed his grandfather even harder. “It’s happening too fast. There’s so much I want to say to you.”
“Grandson, it would be nice to have the time to exchange last thoughts, but we can’t.” His grandfather summoned the strength to propel himself forward unassisted. He landed at the top of the stairs on his crumbling knees. The impact had badly damaged his stone joints. “Words are fleeting glimpses into our true feelings. I will know how you feel about me forever. Nothing you will say can add or subtract the gift you have given me.”
Graham allowed a tear to escape as he opened the steeple door to see someone had beaten them to the roof.
He inhaled sharply. The person rushing towards them, backlit by the probing, hungry lightning, was clearly very upset.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Chapter Ten
CHAPTER TEN
CROSSING OVER
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
His father had not returned from his visit with Blord’s parents. His mother seemed distressed that Graham was in more trouble. Dinner was eaten in silence, except for Flenn, who had enough conversation in her to make up for the rest of the family’s tight lips.
“We have to make an invention, Mom. We’re studying great inventors, both magical and physical. I’m gonna do a physical invention. I remember what Dad said about messing with spells and stuff,” said Flenn, letting her voice die down momentarily.
Switching topics, Flenn continued on with her monologue, “I think I want to rearrange my room. Will you help me, Mom? I want to put my bed next to the window. We’re studying astronomy next and I want to get a head start. Can we do it tonight?”
Her mother nodded as she slowly chewed her food.
Graham spoke before his sister had a chance to start up her one-sided conversation, “May I be excused? I want to visit Grandfather.”
His mother’s features softened. “Oh, don’t do that. Grandfather asked for no visitors tonight. He’s not feeling well at all. It’s a miracle he’s held on this long.”
Graham nodded. He placed his dishes in the sink and retreated to his bedroom. He pushed his stool next to the window and retrieved a book from his bookcase. He flipped to page 67 and halfheartedly read THE GIANT’S FOOTFALL. It was a fictional tale featuring The Flying Mummy as he faced off against an evil giant determined to steal the beauty of Aphrodite. Graham had already read it twice, but was reading it a third time out of boredom. The next volume in The Flying Mummy series wasn’t due out for another month. Graham was eager to spend his hard-earned allowance on that volume, titled DRAGON TALES FROM TWO CITIES.
Graham found he wasn’t too worried about his father. If he was lucky, his father would arrive home with no one to shout and snarl at. If things worked out right, Graham would be long gone, following his grandfather into a new world where bullies maybe didn’t loom so large.
Around page 116, his mother knocked and entered his room. She announced it was bedtime and extinguished his will o’ wisp lantern. Graham slipped into his bed and kissed his mother sincerely on the forehead. It would be the last time he would see her.
“Good night, Mom.”
“G’night, Dear.” She hastened to the door, stopping to straighten the crooked picture frame that held his Flying Mummy limited edition poster.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
Graham inhaled slowly. He exhaled quickly, rushing his words out at nearly the same speed. “I love you.”
She winked. “I love you too, Graham.”
The moment the door shut, Graham unearthed himself from his covers and reached under his bed. Earlier in the evening, he had packed his backpack full of all the necessities he could think of. He unzipped the pack and double-checked his inventory. Four bags of blumbleberry cookies, a scarf, a will o’ wisp mini-lantern, his favorite Flying Mummy comic book and a pocketknife stared back at him, looking surprisingly inadequate for the earthly mission he was about to undertake.
Graham was about to go through his closet one more time to comb for more essentials to pack when he heard his grandfather’s door creak open. The young gargoyle slung the backpack over his shoulder and scrambled to the window. After what seemed like an eternity, he spied his mother opening the front door. Hunched over in what appeared to be terrible pain, Graham witnessed his grandfather walking for the first time in weeks. The steps he took reminded Graham of a baby’s first uncertain steps, clumsy and untested. Graham’s mom helped her father-in-law down the walkway, kissing and hugging him with finality at the path’s end.
He watched as his grandfather, painstakingly slow, stumbled into the woods leading to the portal. He waited for his mother to retreat to the house and turn off the porch light, before he squeezed out his window and raced after the aged gargoyle.
He caught up to him in less than a minute. Graham was careful to hang back and not use his mini-lantern to light his path for fear his slow-moving grandfather would look back and spot him.
His grandfather never once looked back. He shambled through the woods, pausing once and a while at a tree or rock outcropping to catch his breath.
Finally, after what felt like hours to Graham, they arrived at the portal clearing. It was exactly like Graham remembered from his class field trip when he was a Level Four student. The portal was a large, flat stone that was smooth as glass, except for etched spell symbols decorating its edges. An eight-foot red obelisk rose up next to the portal rock. At its top, a simple pottery jar sat in its rightful perch.
Graham watched as his grandfather crept onto the portal rock. He kneeled facing the red monument, bowing his head in respect. Graham watched all this with his grandfather’s back to him. Burning tears streamed down the young gargoyle’s face. He wondered if his grandfather wept as well. The clearing was quiet for a long time, as even the chirping of the noisy lava beetles was nonexistent.
The silence was broken by his grandfather, who had started singing the spell that would summon the gate. Graham tried to listen carefully, hoping in vain he could use the same spell to get home. About midway through, he gave up. He would not be able to remember all of what spilled forth from his grandfather’s lips. Instead, he closed his eyes, listening to the tender richness of his grandfather’s voice. He thought of the time they had spent together over the past two nights and of all the heartfelt stories his grandfather had shared with him almost nightly. Except for tonight, thought Graham.
Graham opened his eyes as the last of the spell faded into the night air. His grandfather still kneeled on the portal rock. Nothing had happened. Maybe he couldn’t remember the spell. Maybe the old gargoyle’s tongue had become rock hard, preventing him from completing the spell. Graham was about to burst out of his hiding place and call out to his grandfather when he noticed something.
His eyes darted to the red monument holding the plain jar. The jar was slowly rising into the air. It hovered above the obelisk momentarily before it started floating towards the portal rock. Just as it reached the point above his grandfather, the jar began to tilt.
Graham watched as fine grains of rich earth spilled downward. Well, not exactly straight down. The earth flowed around his grandfather, building a gently sloping arch overtop him. Graham was amazed at how much earth was contained in the small jar. He reasoned a cornucopia spell must have been used to enchant the jar to hold so much dirt.
Once the arch had filled in completely, it began to glow a vibrant orange. Graham inched out of his hiding place. If his grandfather turned around, he would spot Graham. The young gargoyle stepped closer to the portal rock. He had no idea how long the gate would stay open and didn’t want to be left behind.
The space inside the arch containing his grandfather filled with rolling bolts of green and yellow energy. The hardening gargoyle labored to raise his arms. Graham dared to take a step onto the portal rock. Suddenly, the whole clearing was engulfed in a blinding light issuing from the arch. This was it. The gate was here. Graham leaped forward as his grandfather disappeared into thin air. Graham felt the energy pushing him from all around. He closed his eyes and made a wish.
From the shadows of a nearby yula tree, the lone figure that had been trailing Graham stepped up onto the portal rock. The gate was still active. The figure cursed the air around him as he stepped into the gate, his left hand clutching desperately to a rolled piece of parchment.
Three visitors had entered the clearing. None were left behind when the arch collapsed in on itself and the dirt rose purposefully into the air, funneling into the pottery jar as it had done for decades after each act of crossing over. The pottery jar returned to its spot in the red obelisk, making a satisfying click as it slid back into place. Slowly, all around the clearing, a droning chorus of lava beetles took up with song.
CROSSING OVER
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
His father had not returned from his visit with Blord’s parents. His mother seemed distressed that Graham was in more trouble. Dinner was eaten in silence, except for Flenn, who had enough conversation in her to make up for the rest of the family’s tight lips.
“We have to make an invention, Mom. We’re studying great inventors, both magical and physical. I’m gonna do a physical invention. I remember what Dad said about messing with spells and stuff,” said Flenn, letting her voice die down momentarily.
Switching topics, Flenn continued on with her monologue, “I think I want to rearrange my room. Will you help me, Mom? I want to put my bed next to the window. We’re studying astronomy next and I want to get a head start. Can we do it tonight?”
Her mother nodded as she slowly chewed her food.
Graham spoke before his sister had a chance to start up her one-sided conversation, “May I be excused? I want to visit Grandfather.”
His mother’s features softened. “Oh, don’t do that. Grandfather asked for no visitors tonight. He’s not feeling well at all. It’s a miracle he’s held on this long.”
Graham nodded. He placed his dishes in the sink and retreated to his bedroom. He pushed his stool next to the window and retrieved a book from his bookcase. He flipped to page 67 and halfheartedly read THE GIANT’S FOOTFALL. It was a fictional tale featuring The Flying Mummy as he faced off against an evil giant determined to steal the beauty of Aphrodite. Graham had already read it twice, but was reading it a third time out of boredom. The next volume in The Flying Mummy series wasn’t due out for another month. Graham was eager to spend his hard-earned allowance on that volume, titled DRAGON TALES FROM TWO CITIES.
Graham found he wasn’t too worried about his father. If he was lucky, his father would arrive home with no one to shout and snarl at. If things worked out right, Graham would be long gone, following his grandfather into a new world where bullies maybe didn’t loom so large.
Around page 116, his mother knocked and entered his room. She announced it was bedtime and extinguished his will o’ wisp lantern. Graham slipped into his bed and kissed his mother sincerely on the forehead. It would be the last time he would see her.
“Good night, Mom.”
“G’night, Dear.” She hastened to the door, stopping to straighten the crooked picture frame that held his Flying Mummy limited edition poster.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
Graham inhaled slowly. He exhaled quickly, rushing his words out at nearly the same speed. “I love you.”
She winked. “I love you too, Graham.”
The moment the door shut, Graham unearthed himself from his covers and reached under his bed. Earlier in the evening, he had packed his backpack full of all the necessities he could think of. He unzipped the pack and double-checked his inventory. Four bags of blumbleberry cookies, a scarf, a will o’ wisp mini-lantern, his favorite Flying Mummy comic book and a pocketknife stared back at him, looking surprisingly inadequate for the earthly mission he was about to undertake.
Graham was about to go through his closet one more time to comb for more essentials to pack when he heard his grandfather’s door creak open. The young gargoyle slung the backpack over his shoulder and scrambled to the window. After what seemed like an eternity, he spied his mother opening the front door. Hunched over in what appeared to be terrible pain, Graham witnessed his grandfather walking for the first time in weeks. The steps he took reminded Graham of a baby’s first uncertain steps, clumsy and untested. Graham’s mom helped her father-in-law down the walkway, kissing and hugging him with finality at the path’s end.
He watched as his grandfather, painstakingly slow, stumbled into the woods leading to the portal. He waited for his mother to retreat to the house and turn off the porch light, before he squeezed out his window and raced after the aged gargoyle.
He caught up to him in less than a minute. Graham was careful to hang back and not use his mini-lantern to light his path for fear his slow-moving grandfather would look back and spot him.
His grandfather never once looked back. He shambled through the woods, pausing once and a while at a tree or rock outcropping to catch his breath.
Finally, after what felt like hours to Graham, they arrived at the portal clearing. It was exactly like Graham remembered from his class field trip when he was a Level Four student. The portal was a large, flat stone that was smooth as glass, except for etched spell symbols decorating its edges. An eight-foot red obelisk rose up next to the portal rock. At its top, a simple pottery jar sat in its rightful perch.
Graham watched as his grandfather crept onto the portal rock. He kneeled facing the red monument, bowing his head in respect. Graham watched all this with his grandfather’s back to him. Burning tears streamed down the young gargoyle’s face. He wondered if his grandfather wept as well. The clearing was quiet for a long time, as even the chirping of the noisy lava beetles was nonexistent.
The silence was broken by his grandfather, who had started singing the spell that would summon the gate. Graham tried to listen carefully, hoping in vain he could use the same spell to get home. About midway through, he gave up. He would not be able to remember all of what spilled forth from his grandfather’s lips. Instead, he closed his eyes, listening to the tender richness of his grandfather’s voice. He thought of the time they had spent together over the past two nights and of all the heartfelt stories his grandfather had shared with him almost nightly. Except for tonight, thought Graham.
Graham opened his eyes as the last of the spell faded into the night air. His grandfather still kneeled on the portal rock. Nothing had happened. Maybe he couldn’t remember the spell. Maybe the old gargoyle’s tongue had become rock hard, preventing him from completing the spell. Graham was about to burst out of his hiding place and call out to his grandfather when he noticed something.
His eyes darted to the red monument holding the plain jar. The jar was slowly rising into the air. It hovered above the obelisk momentarily before it started floating towards the portal rock. Just as it reached the point above his grandfather, the jar began to tilt.
Graham watched as fine grains of rich earth spilled downward. Well, not exactly straight down. The earth flowed around his grandfather, building a gently sloping arch overtop him. Graham was amazed at how much earth was contained in the small jar. He reasoned a cornucopia spell must have been used to enchant the jar to hold so much dirt.
Once the arch had filled in completely, it began to glow a vibrant orange. Graham inched out of his hiding place. If his grandfather turned around, he would spot Graham. The young gargoyle stepped closer to the portal rock. He had no idea how long the gate would stay open and didn’t want to be left behind.
The space inside the arch containing his grandfather filled with rolling bolts of green and yellow energy. The hardening gargoyle labored to raise his arms. Graham dared to take a step onto the portal rock. Suddenly, the whole clearing was engulfed in a blinding light issuing from the arch. This was it. The gate was here. Graham leaped forward as his grandfather disappeared into thin air. Graham felt the energy pushing him from all around. He closed his eyes and made a wish.
From the shadows of a nearby yula tree, the lone figure that had been trailing Graham stepped up onto the portal rock. The gate was still active. The figure cursed the air around him as he stepped into the gate, his left hand clutching desperately to a rolled piece of parchment.
Three visitors had entered the clearing. None were left behind when the arch collapsed in on itself and the dirt rose purposefully into the air, funneling into the pottery jar as it had done for decades after each act of crossing over. The pottery jar returned to its spot in the red obelisk, making a satisfying click as it slid back into place. Slowly, all around the clearing, a droning chorus of lava beetles took up with song.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Chapter Nine
CHAPTER NINE
YOUTHFUL CONSPIRING
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Thursday started with happy thoughts and inched towards despair as the day wore on. Graham’s wondrous night visit with The Flying Mummy and his grandfather had helped him to push all the stress of his young life to the back of his mind. Graham’s love for his grandfather had grown by leaps and bounds after hearing how he had come to the aid of The Flying Mummy, saving the pharaoh from a very distasteful honeymoon that would most assuredly have lead to the undead’s death. Medusa was apparently destined to always be a bridesmaid and never a bride.
School was survivable. Graham hung out with Ot as usual. They spent the majority of the day avoiding Blord, who was making it painfully known to all within earshot that he was The Flying Mummy’s #1 buddy. For Graham, the bully’s dinner with the mummified hero paled in comparison to the story the mummy had weaved for him. He had never felt closer to his grandfather. This made him happy, but it also filled his heart with sorrow. He related the night’s events to Ot over lunch.
“He’s crossing over tonight. I wish he could tell me, but I understand why he doesn’t.” Graham took a slurp of his gryphon’s milk and nibbled on the blumbleberry jam and nut sandwich his mother had prepared for him.
“Why doesn’t he want to tell you? I don’t get it.” Ot chowed down on his mukka root yogurt, allowing a satisfying dribble to seep out the corner of his mouth before licking his face clean with his huge tongue.
“He wants my last memory of him to be last night. I understand why. It was the best night, but I have to say good-bye to him. I owe him that much.”
“How are you gonna do that?”
Graham leaned in closer to his friend and spoke in hushed tones, “I know he’ll leave after he thinks I’m in bed. I can see the front door from my window. When he sneaks out, I will too and follow him. I already know where the portal to Earth is.”
Ot listened intently, spellbound by his friend’s soulful determination.
“He’ll summon the gate energies and step through, and I’ll dash in behind him.”
“Oh my.” Ot’s eyes grew to the size of ping-pong balls.
“When he climbs the church, I’ll help him make sure he gets in the right place. He’s really stony now, and I’m not sure he can manage it by himself.”
“How will you get back? Won’t you be trapped on Earth?”
Graham reached into his lunch bag and pulled out a rolled piece of parchment. He removed the wa-wa vine and unfurled the paper. In elegant calligraphy, four verses of a rhyming spell rested in a flowery border depicting different gargoyles making the journey back to Earth. “I stole this from my dad’s study. It’s a portal spell. I can use it to create a portal back to Cascade. Pretty cool, huh?”
At that moment, Blord stepped up to their table and snatched the parchment out of Graham’s hands. “You are so in trouble, Graham. I was just strolling by, minding my own business, when I heard you mention you stole this from your dad!!” Blord examined the paper. “Oh, dear, it says here this is council property. I imagine my dad should return this to your dad right away.”
Graham reached for the parchment. “Stay out of my business.”
“A thief in the village, even if he’s the council chairman’s son, is everybody’s business. I’m taking this home to my dad tonight.” Blord cackled hideously.
Graham went numb.
Blord walked off, his final taunting comment laced with venom. “I told you I’d get you back, Graham. This is only the beginning!”
Graham swallowed hard. How could his life get any worse?
“You have to get that back, Graham!” Ot said.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m still going. Who cares if I don’t have a way to get back. It’s not like there’s anything but trouble for me here.” Graham shot his friend a cold, defeated look and walked out of the lunch room.
Ot whimpered, “You have me. Buddies stick together.”
Graham didn’t hear this. He had already left.
YOUTHFUL CONSPIRING
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Thursday started with happy thoughts and inched towards despair as the day wore on. Graham’s wondrous night visit with The Flying Mummy and his grandfather had helped him to push all the stress of his young life to the back of his mind. Graham’s love for his grandfather had grown by leaps and bounds after hearing how he had come to the aid of The Flying Mummy, saving the pharaoh from a very distasteful honeymoon that would most assuredly have lead to the undead’s death. Medusa was apparently destined to always be a bridesmaid and never a bride.
School was survivable. Graham hung out with Ot as usual. They spent the majority of the day avoiding Blord, who was making it painfully known to all within earshot that he was The Flying Mummy’s #1 buddy. For Graham, the bully’s dinner with the mummified hero paled in comparison to the story the mummy had weaved for him. He had never felt closer to his grandfather. This made him happy, but it also filled his heart with sorrow. He related the night’s events to Ot over lunch.
“He’s crossing over tonight. I wish he could tell me, but I understand why he doesn’t.” Graham took a slurp of his gryphon’s milk and nibbled on the blumbleberry jam and nut sandwich his mother had prepared for him.
“Why doesn’t he want to tell you? I don’t get it.” Ot chowed down on his mukka root yogurt, allowing a satisfying dribble to seep out the corner of his mouth before licking his face clean with his huge tongue.
“He wants my last memory of him to be last night. I understand why. It was the best night, but I have to say good-bye to him. I owe him that much.”
“How are you gonna do that?”
Graham leaned in closer to his friend and spoke in hushed tones, “I know he’ll leave after he thinks I’m in bed. I can see the front door from my window. When he sneaks out, I will too and follow him. I already know where the portal to Earth is.”
Ot listened intently, spellbound by his friend’s soulful determination.
“He’ll summon the gate energies and step through, and I’ll dash in behind him.”
“Oh my.” Ot’s eyes grew to the size of ping-pong balls.
“When he climbs the church, I’ll help him make sure he gets in the right place. He’s really stony now, and I’m not sure he can manage it by himself.”
“How will you get back? Won’t you be trapped on Earth?”
Graham reached into his lunch bag and pulled out a rolled piece of parchment. He removed the wa-wa vine and unfurled the paper. In elegant calligraphy, four verses of a rhyming spell rested in a flowery border depicting different gargoyles making the journey back to Earth. “I stole this from my dad’s study. It’s a portal spell. I can use it to create a portal back to Cascade. Pretty cool, huh?”
At that moment, Blord stepped up to their table and snatched the parchment out of Graham’s hands. “You are so in trouble, Graham. I was just strolling by, minding my own business, when I heard you mention you stole this from your dad!!” Blord examined the paper. “Oh, dear, it says here this is council property. I imagine my dad should return this to your dad right away.”
Graham reached for the parchment. “Stay out of my business.”
“A thief in the village, even if he’s the council chairman’s son, is everybody’s business. I’m taking this home to my dad tonight.” Blord cackled hideously.
Graham went numb.
Blord walked off, his final taunting comment laced with venom. “I told you I’d get you back, Graham. This is only the beginning!”
Graham swallowed hard. How could his life get any worse?
“You have to get that back, Graham!” Ot said.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m still going. Who cares if I don’t have a way to get back. It’s not like there’s anything but trouble for me here.” Graham shot his friend a cold, defeated look and walked out of the lunch room.
Ot whimpered, “You have me. Buddies stick together.”
Graham didn’t hear this. He had already left.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FLYING MUMMY
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Wednesday, the day of the celebration, arrived with much dread for Graham. School was closed as all in the village prepared for the afternoon parade and evening banquet— all except for one very sad and lonely gargoyle.
Graham sat in his room pouring over his scrapbook of newspaper clippings. Pasted on each page were articles, interviews and photos depicting the adventures and deeds of The Eternity Guard. They had been lovingly cut out of Cascade’s leading newspaper, The Oracle. The Eternity Guard were the official protectors of the realm and highly admired by all citizens of Cascade, especially the young.
Graham thumbed through the pages with a mixture of wonder and frustration. He glanced over the clipping detailing The Eternity Guard’s clash with The Night Clans. He chuckled as he reread the profile on Mang the Lava Man, leader of the Guard. Articles on The Night of the Scorpions, The Poseidon Adventure and The Goblin Gauntlet were all highlighted in yellow, indicating an adventure where his hero, The Flying Mummy, had single-handedly outwitted the villains in question.
Now, his opportunity to meet the pharaoh had been taken away. To make matters worse, Flenn had told him she had overheard their dad telling their mother that he had invited Blord to take Graham’s seat next to the guest of honor that night. After all, his father had said, it was the least he could do to set things right with the boy’s parents. Leave it to his father to look for any way to keep everyone happy, everyone except his son.
Graham shut the scrapbook and returned it to its place of honor under his bed. He had been confined to his room all day while his mother, father and sister had been dashing about the village preparing their wardrobe and confectionary contribution to the banquet with great delight.
He wasn’t even allowed to visit with his grandfather. This had not set well with the old gargoyle, who had raised his voice at Graham’s father over the matter. The pepper accusation did not make sense. Grandfather had scoffed at the notion that his grandson would do such a thing and dismissed Blord’s family as mean-spirited and diabolical. Graham, despite being stuck in his room, had heard their heated conversation and wondered just what “diabolical” meant. The word had certainly upset Graham’s father enough to end their discussion and slam the door on his own elderly father.
Graham hopped on his bed. His schoolwork was done, and he had no desire to read. A nap might take his mind off his punishment and make the day and night go faster. Besides, he was tired. Yesterday evening, after being grounded, he had stayed up half the night, exercising his wings the way his grandfather had taught him. His wings were sore now, and Graham doubted he had done much to help him in his first flight on Friday.
Graham wrestled briefly with his blanket before drifting off to sleep.
**********
He awakened in darkness. Graham scrambled out of bed and peeked out his window. Judging from the height of the two full moons in the night sky, he had apparently slept well past dusk. In the village below, the Spindwiff Tavern was still lit. That was the only building large enough to house everyone under its roof and was the choice spot for the banquet. Cries of excitement and joy wafted up through the cool night air from the tavern. Evidently, the banquet was well under way.
Graham dropped his head in sadness as he returned to his bed. He was about to pull the covers over his head when a slip of paper stuck to his door caught his eye. He rolled slowly out of bed and ambled over to read it.
Honey,
Your father, Flenn and I are at the banquet. Grandfather is in his room. He had his dinner already, but would like to read you a bedtime story. It took some arguing, but your father said it would be okay. I left some blumbleberry cookies on the oven. Fetch yourself some gryphon’s milk and visit your grandfather at 10:00 sharp. Don’t ask me why the time is important. Your grandfather was rather mysterious about that. Anyway, take care and we’ll see you in the morning.
Love,
Mom
P.S. Flenn is going to try to get The Flying Mummy’s autograph for you.
Graham smiled. He glanced up at the clock mounted above his desk. The time read 10:05. He was late. Graham folded the note in half and slid it under his pillow. Then, he dashed to the kitchen, grabbed a handful of cookies and two cup of gryphon’s milk, and made his way back to his grandfather’s room.
He was about to open the already ajar door, when he heard hushed voices. Graham peeked inside. He could see his grandfather sitting up in bed, looking even more tired and stiffer than usual. He was talking to someone else who was standing over by the window. Graham could not see who it was.
“...don’t think I can. I know it’ll disappoint the boy, but I’m gonna have to cross over tomorrow night.” His grandfather’s eyes were limp with sadness as he looked at the unseen visitor.
A deep, gravelly voice that had almost an ageless quality replied, “You should tell him. He has a right to know.”
“No, he has enough to worry about with his first flight. I would rather tonight be my last time together with him. You will make it so memorable for him.” Graham’s grandfather choked out the last sentence.
“I suspect you are the one in his heart, not me.”
Graham’s eyes started welling up. His grandfather was going to cross over without telling him. How dare he? Graham was about to barge in and tell the aged gargoyle there was no way he would let him cross over, no way he need ever leave, but was frozen in place by what his grandfather said next.
“It is the honorable thing to do. You must see that.”
“I do, but sometimes the honorable way is not the right way when it comes to a youngster’s heart.” The hidden visitor stepped into view. Distinguished bandages covered him from head to toe. An elegant headpiece complete with his trademark serpent crown adorned his head.
Graham stumbled backwards, shocked at the visitor’s identity. The Flying Mummy was in his home! The Flying Mummy was friends with his grandfather?! Before Graham had time to ponder this striking twist of events, The Flying Mummy was reaching for the door.
“He’s late. How about I go retrieve the boy?”
Graham had just enough time to see his grandfather nod before the door opened. He backpedaled towards the kitchen. Perhaps he could pretend he was returning from the kitchen. It would not be proper if his grandfather found out his grandson was a snoop. Graham clung tightly to the blumbleberry cookies and milk as he attempted to look his most convincing.
The Flying Mummy stepped into the hall and peered in Graham’s direction.
The young gargoyle stammered genuinely, “It’s you!”
The Flying Mummy chuckled, his laugh velvety and smooth. “I should hope so. The last time I checked, I was me. You haven’t heard of any plots to replace me with an evil twin, have you, Graham?”
The boy smiled and nervously extended his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
The pharaoh bowed gracefully, before extending his hand. “The honor is all mine,
grandson to Gortle the Great!”
Graham raised his eyebrow. “Who’s that?”
He heard faint laughter erupt from his grandfather’s room. “That would be me, Graham.
Although, I think great is stretching it a bit. Come in.”
“You know The Flying Mummy, Grandfather?’
“Our paths crossed once.”
“You had an adventure with him?” Graham beamed with pride.
“Heh-heh, more like a misadventure. Come sit up here with me. We have a special guest storyteller tonight. I hope that’s okay with you?”
Graham nodded, spilling some of the gryphon’s milk on the bedspread.
The Flying Mummy entered the room and held up his arm majestically. “Tonight’s story is 100% true. It is a tale of a man most heroic. It is an epic where I am a secondary character, a sidekick, to The Great Gortle!”
Graham smiled and burrowed closer to his grandfather.
The mummy continued, “I call this dangerous tale of valor, I Was The Groom of Medusa. Thank goodness my best man had enough sense to go blind at just the right moment.”
Graham’s grandfather’s eyes twinkled lovingly and knowingly at his grandson.
Amidst squeals of delight and joy, The Flying Mummy spun his elaborate and heroic yarn.
THE FLYING MUMMY
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Wednesday, the day of the celebration, arrived with much dread for Graham. School was closed as all in the village prepared for the afternoon parade and evening banquet— all except for one very sad and lonely gargoyle.
Graham sat in his room pouring over his scrapbook of newspaper clippings. Pasted on each page were articles, interviews and photos depicting the adventures and deeds of The Eternity Guard. They had been lovingly cut out of Cascade’s leading newspaper, The Oracle. The Eternity Guard were the official protectors of the realm and highly admired by all citizens of Cascade, especially the young.
Graham thumbed through the pages with a mixture of wonder and frustration. He glanced over the clipping detailing The Eternity Guard’s clash with The Night Clans. He chuckled as he reread the profile on Mang the Lava Man, leader of the Guard. Articles on The Night of the Scorpions, The Poseidon Adventure and The Goblin Gauntlet were all highlighted in yellow, indicating an adventure where his hero, The Flying Mummy, had single-handedly outwitted the villains in question.
Now, his opportunity to meet the pharaoh had been taken away. To make matters worse, Flenn had told him she had overheard their dad telling their mother that he had invited Blord to take Graham’s seat next to the guest of honor that night. After all, his father had said, it was the least he could do to set things right with the boy’s parents. Leave it to his father to look for any way to keep everyone happy, everyone except his son.
Graham shut the scrapbook and returned it to its place of honor under his bed. He had been confined to his room all day while his mother, father and sister had been dashing about the village preparing their wardrobe and confectionary contribution to the banquet with great delight.
He wasn’t even allowed to visit with his grandfather. This had not set well with the old gargoyle, who had raised his voice at Graham’s father over the matter. The pepper accusation did not make sense. Grandfather had scoffed at the notion that his grandson would do such a thing and dismissed Blord’s family as mean-spirited and diabolical. Graham, despite being stuck in his room, had heard their heated conversation and wondered just what “diabolical” meant. The word had certainly upset Graham’s father enough to end their discussion and slam the door on his own elderly father.
Graham hopped on his bed. His schoolwork was done, and he had no desire to read. A nap might take his mind off his punishment and make the day and night go faster. Besides, he was tired. Yesterday evening, after being grounded, he had stayed up half the night, exercising his wings the way his grandfather had taught him. His wings were sore now, and Graham doubted he had done much to help him in his first flight on Friday.
Graham wrestled briefly with his blanket before drifting off to sleep.
**********
He awakened in darkness. Graham scrambled out of bed and peeked out his window. Judging from the height of the two full moons in the night sky, he had apparently slept well past dusk. In the village below, the Spindwiff Tavern was still lit. That was the only building large enough to house everyone under its roof and was the choice spot for the banquet. Cries of excitement and joy wafted up through the cool night air from the tavern. Evidently, the banquet was well under way.
Graham dropped his head in sadness as he returned to his bed. He was about to pull the covers over his head when a slip of paper stuck to his door caught his eye. He rolled slowly out of bed and ambled over to read it.
Honey,
Your father, Flenn and I are at the banquet. Grandfather is in his room. He had his dinner already, but would like to read you a bedtime story. It took some arguing, but your father said it would be okay. I left some blumbleberry cookies on the oven. Fetch yourself some gryphon’s milk and visit your grandfather at 10:00 sharp. Don’t ask me why the time is important. Your grandfather was rather mysterious about that. Anyway, take care and we’ll see you in the morning.
Love,
Mom
P.S. Flenn is going to try to get The Flying Mummy’s autograph for you.
Graham smiled. He glanced up at the clock mounted above his desk. The time read 10:05. He was late. Graham folded the note in half and slid it under his pillow. Then, he dashed to the kitchen, grabbed a handful of cookies and two cup of gryphon’s milk, and made his way back to his grandfather’s room.
He was about to open the already ajar door, when he heard hushed voices. Graham peeked inside. He could see his grandfather sitting up in bed, looking even more tired and stiffer than usual. He was talking to someone else who was standing over by the window. Graham could not see who it was.
“...don’t think I can. I know it’ll disappoint the boy, but I’m gonna have to cross over tomorrow night.” His grandfather’s eyes were limp with sadness as he looked at the unseen visitor.
A deep, gravelly voice that had almost an ageless quality replied, “You should tell him. He has a right to know.”
“No, he has enough to worry about with his first flight. I would rather tonight be my last time together with him. You will make it so memorable for him.” Graham’s grandfather choked out the last sentence.
“I suspect you are the one in his heart, not me.”
Graham’s eyes started welling up. His grandfather was going to cross over without telling him. How dare he? Graham was about to barge in and tell the aged gargoyle there was no way he would let him cross over, no way he need ever leave, but was frozen in place by what his grandfather said next.
“It is the honorable thing to do. You must see that.”
“I do, but sometimes the honorable way is not the right way when it comes to a youngster’s heart.” The hidden visitor stepped into view. Distinguished bandages covered him from head to toe. An elegant headpiece complete with his trademark serpent crown adorned his head.
Graham stumbled backwards, shocked at the visitor’s identity. The Flying Mummy was in his home! The Flying Mummy was friends with his grandfather?! Before Graham had time to ponder this striking twist of events, The Flying Mummy was reaching for the door.
“He’s late. How about I go retrieve the boy?”
Graham had just enough time to see his grandfather nod before the door opened. He backpedaled towards the kitchen. Perhaps he could pretend he was returning from the kitchen. It would not be proper if his grandfather found out his grandson was a snoop. Graham clung tightly to the blumbleberry cookies and milk as he attempted to look his most convincing.
The Flying Mummy stepped into the hall and peered in Graham’s direction.
The young gargoyle stammered genuinely, “It’s you!”
The Flying Mummy chuckled, his laugh velvety and smooth. “I should hope so. The last time I checked, I was me. You haven’t heard of any plots to replace me with an evil twin, have you, Graham?”
The boy smiled and nervously extended his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
The pharaoh bowed gracefully, before extending his hand. “The honor is all mine,
grandson to Gortle the Great!”
Graham raised his eyebrow. “Who’s that?”
He heard faint laughter erupt from his grandfather’s room. “That would be me, Graham.
Although, I think great is stretching it a bit. Come in.”
“You know The Flying Mummy, Grandfather?’
“Our paths crossed once.”
“You had an adventure with him?” Graham beamed with pride.
“Heh-heh, more like a misadventure. Come sit up here with me. We have a special guest storyteller tonight. I hope that’s okay with you?”
Graham nodded, spilling some of the gryphon’s milk on the bedspread.
The Flying Mummy entered the room and held up his arm majestically. “Tonight’s story is 100% true. It is a tale of a man most heroic. It is an epic where I am a secondary character, a sidekick, to The Great Gortle!”
Graham smiled and burrowed closer to his grandfather.
The mummy continued, “I call this dangerous tale of valor, I Was The Groom of Medusa. Thank goodness my best man had enough sense to go blind at just the right moment.”
Graham’s grandfather’s eyes twinkled lovingly and knowingly at his grandson.
Amidst squeals of delight and joy, The Flying Mummy spun his elaborate and heroic yarn.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
GROUNDED
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
His father’s voice was thunderous. “Graham Wilson Groodle, get in here right now!”
Graham stopped playing with his Flying Mummy action figure and bolted to the door. His father had evidently come home and was not too happy. Graham realized he had forgotten to remove his grandfather’s empty soup bowl from the bedroom. That must be why his father was upset.
He entered the living room, his Flying Mummy toy dangling at his side. “I’m sorry, Father. I forgot to take his dishes to the—-” Graham stopped. His father was not holding the empty soup bowl, but rather a large towel covered in black grit.
“Do I look like I’m holding a bowl in my hands?” His father was the only one standing. His mother was seated on the couch, while Flenn was nowhere to be seen, probably pressed against her bedroom door, dying to catch a hint of what her older brother had done this time. Graham took this as a bad sign. The crime was serious if he couldn’t be punished in front of his sister.
“No.” Graham, upon closer inspection, realized the towel was covered in pepper.
“I ran into Blord’s father tonight. Actually, that’s not true. He stormed into our council meeting, waving this all about.” He thrust the towel at his son.
“Uh,…” Graham was uncertain what he had done wrong.
“Blord never went to school today, and you’re to blame.”
His mom spoke faintly, “Now Dear, don’t rush to conclusions. We haven’t heard Graham’s side.”
His father continued, choosing to ignore his wife’s comment. “Do you have any idea of the embarrassment you’ve caused me?”
“Dad, I don’t know what’s wrong. I didn’t do anything!”
“I hardly call ambushing a classmate on his way to school nothing. What were you thinking, dumping pepper onto Blord from a tree? He’s bigger than you. If anything, he’s supposed to be the one bullying you around.”
Graham clenched his tiny fists. “That’s not true!! Blord’s lying! He covered himself in pepper!”
“Why on earth would he do that?”
Graham hesitated. He didn’t want to tell his father what had happened on Parsons’ Plateau. His grandfather may find it okay to visit it, but his father, the chairman of the council, would not. He was a man who upheld tradition, no exceptions. Graham didn’t know how to explain his innocence without further angering his father. He wrinkled his face awkwardly, knowing a lie now would only make matters worse. “He wouldn’t. I did it. He was teasing Ot and…”
“You defended a troll over your own kind?” His father didn’t dislike Graham’s friendship with Ot, but he didn’t encourage it either.
“Dad…?”
“Regardless of whether or not Blord was teasing your friend, your actions were wrong. You are grounded for the parade and banquet tomorrow. If you can’t do the right thing, I see no reason why you should meet a hero who does.”
Graham felt his heart crumble. He let the doll fall out of his hands. The First Flight celebration was more important to him than his actual first flight. The council had invited The Eternity Guard’s coolest member, The Flying Mummy, to attend, and the pharaoh had accepted. His father had even arranged for Graham to sit next to the mummy at the banquet after the parade. Meeting his idol meant the world to the young gargoyle.
“Dad, you can’t!”
“You will also write a letter of apology to Blord and his father.” His father paused, uncertain what to say next. He finally blurted out, “Now, go to your room. And no dessert tonight.”
Graham raced to his room, shut the door and wrapped himself in his covers. Tears flowed from his tightly shut eyes.
In the living room, his mother picked up his fallen toy and gingerly placed it on the kitchen table.
His father tossed the soiled towel in the trash and went about warming up his dinner.
GROUNDED
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
His father’s voice was thunderous. “Graham Wilson Groodle, get in here right now!”
Graham stopped playing with his Flying Mummy action figure and bolted to the door. His father had evidently come home and was not too happy. Graham realized he had forgotten to remove his grandfather’s empty soup bowl from the bedroom. That must be why his father was upset.
He entered the living room, his Flying Mummy toy dangling at his side. “I’m sorry, Father. I forgot to take his dishes to the—-” Graham stopped. His father was not holding the empty soup bowl, but rather a large towel covered in black grit.
“Do I look like I’m holding a bowl in my hands?” His father was the only one standing. His mother was seated on the couch, while Flenn was nowhere to be seen, probably pressed against her bedroom door, dying to catch a hint of what her older brother had done this time. Graham took this as a bad sign. The crime was serious if he couldn’t be punished in front of his sister.
“No.” Graham, upon closer inspection, realized the towel was covered in pepper.
“I ran into Blord’s father tonight. Actually, that’s not true. He stormed into our council meeting, waving this all about.” He thrust the towel at his son.
“Uh,…” Graham was uncertain what he had done wrong.
“Blord never went to school today, and you’re to blame.”
His mom spoke faintly, “Now Dear, don’t rush to conclusions. We haven’t heard Graham’s side.”
His father continued, choosing to ignore his wife’s comment. “Do you have any idea of the embarrassment you’ve caused me?”
“Dad, I don’t know what’s wrong. I didn’t do anything!”
“I hardly call ambushing a classmate on his way to school nothing. What were you thinking, dumping pepper onto Blord from a tree? He’s bigger than you. If anything, he’s supposed to be the one bullying you around.”
Graham clenched his tiny fists. “That’s not true!! Blord’s lying! He covered himself in pepper!”
“Why on earth would he do that?”
Graham hesitated. He didn’t want to tell his father what had happened on Parsons’ Plateau. His grandfather may find it okay to visit it, but his father, the chairman of the council, would not. He was a man who upheld tradition, no exceptions. Graham didn’t know how to explain his innocence without further angering his father. He wrinkled his face awkwardly, knowing a lie now would only make matters worse. “He wouldn’t. I did it. He was teasing Ot and…”
“You defended a troll over your own kind?” His father didn’t dislike Graham’s friendship with Ot, but he didn’t encourage it either.
“Dad…?”
“Regardless of whether or not Blord was teasing your friend, your actions were wrong. You are grounded for the parade and banquet tomorrow. If you can’t do the right thing, I see no reason why you should meet a hero who does.”
Graham felt his heart crumble. He let the doll fall out of his hands. The First Flight celebration was more important to him than his actual first flight. The council had invited The Eternity Guard’s coolest member, The Flying Mummy, to attend, and the pharaoh had accepted. His father had even arranged for Graham to sit next to the mummy at the banquet after the parade. Meeting his idol meant the world to the young gargoyle.
“Dad, you can’t!”
“You will also write a letter of apology to Blord and his father.” His father paused, uncertain what to say next. He finally blurted out, “Now, go to your room. And no dessert tonight.”
Graham raced to his room, shut the door and wrapped himself in his covers. Tears flowed from his tightly shut eyes.
In the living room, his mother picked up his fallen toy and gingerly placed it on the kitchen table.
His father tossed the soiled towel in the trash and went about warming up his dinner.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
WARM HEART PLUS
WARMER WISDOM
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Graham made sure he listened carefully to the rest of his sister’s volcano presentation that night at dinner. Thanks to Flenn, Graham had outwitted his enemy. The gargoyle was happy. What was even nicer, the bully, after their encounter at Parsons’ Plateau, had stayed home, allowing Graham a school day free of teasing and torment. As soon as his sister finished her presentation, Graham stood up and clapped proudly for her.
“That was excellent, Flenn! You are a volcano expert!” said Graham.
“Graham’s right. You know quite a bit about volcanoes.” Graham’s mom looked surprised at her son’s enthusiasm.
“Thanks. Miss Brennan wants me to share it with the Level One students on Friday. I can’t wait.” Flenn neatly slapped a stretchy wa-wa vine around her note cards and returned them gently, like she was transporting a baby to her backpack.
“What’s for dessert, Mom?” Graham asked as he finished his second helping of mukka root stew. He hoped she had made blumbleberry muffins. They were the young gargoyle’s favorite. His grandfather said blumbleberries helped with wing growth, and Graham needed all the help he could get.
“Now, now, you know we don’t have dessert until your father gets home. I didn’t think he had a council meeting tonight, but I might be wrong. He should be home soon. Besides, someone under this roof hasn’t been fed yet, has he?” His mom motioned with her head to the hall containing their bedrooms.
“I’ll do it!” Graham rushed to the kitchen to fetch a bowl before his sister could swallow her next mouthful and volunteer. Even though it was his job, Graham still was quite possessive of it. He valued the time he got to spend with his favorite family member. He ladled a sizeable helping of stew into the bowl and darted down the hall.
His mom shouted back to him as he entered the second bedroom on the left, “He already has a drink, but he might need a refill.”
“Okay, Mom. Thanks.” Graham closed the door behind him and approached the immense bed before him.
Ragged breathing came from the bed’s sole occupant.
“Grandfather, I brought you dinner.” Graham climbed up on the stool next to the bed, careful not to spill the hot stew on himself or the elderly gargoyle stretched out before him. “How are you feeling?”
The aged gargoyle turned his head and slowly adjusted himself so he was sitting up in bed. Graham noticed how stiffly his grandfather moved. The bed creaked its protest under the weight of the hardening gargoyle. Deeply warm eyes stared at Graham from hollow sockets framed with neatly arranged wrinkles. The gargoyle’s most distinguishing feature was not the white horns that jutted downward from his jaw creating the appearance of a wise beard. The gentle smile that spread across grandfather’s face at the sight of his grandson lit up the room. “I’m doing just fine.”
“You look good,” Graham said, smiling weakly. He hated lying. His grandfather did not look well. It was obvious that he had hardened more than the day before. His skin looked as coarse as sandpaper, and slight cracks at his joints were beginning to paint an unsettling picture. “You should eat.”
“Thank you.” His grandfather slowly pulled the bowl of stew from Graham and placed it on his stomach, balancing it with one hand while fumbling with the spoon with his other. Graham noticed that the fingers looked the most like stone. As the weathered hand closed around the spoon, Graham thought he saw dust escape from the cracks and crannies forming at the joints.
“Your day was good?” asked his grandfather.
“It was nice. Ot and I got top marks on the geometry quiz today.”
“That’s good to hear. Anything else happen of note?”
“Well,…” Graham wanted to tell his grandfather about what happened with Blord and the volcano. He wanted to share how he and Ot had outwitted the bully. He wanted to, but didn’t. “Did you know Malcolm Parsons?”
His grandfather slid the spoon out of his mouth and deposited it back in the bowl. He returned the bowl to his lap and licked his lips, a task that seemed more a chore than a pleasure. “Once. Your grandmother and I met him once.”
“Oh.” Graham had hoped he would share more details about their encounter.
His grandfather sighed. “We bought rhinecorn from him. He grew the sweetest crops of them all. He was kind, thoughtful and honorable. Why do you bring him up?”
Graham fidgeted. Here he was, about to sprinkle another lie into the conversation. “Um, well, I went over to Parsons’ Plateau this morning to see the, uh, morning sky. After hearing so much about volcanoes from Flenn, I also wanted to get a better look at Mount Prometheus.” Almost as an afterthought, he said, “His statue is pretty neat.”
His grandfather said nothing.
Graham looked down at the quilt covering the bed, uncertain what to say next.
“You want to know how I feel about what he did?” asked his grandfather.
“Um, yes.” Graham shifted in his seat.
His grandfather blinked once, then began, “Crossing over is a very personal journey. Climbing to the top of a church and declaring yourself its protector is deeply honorable.” He paused to catch his breath. “Many will tell you Malcolm Parsons knew nothing of honor, that his decision to stay in Cascade was selfish.”
His grandfather’s words seemed to linger in the air. He was a very wise man. Graham leaned forward and inhaled slightly, hoping wisdom was contagious.
“Malcolm was honoring his new home. In a way, he is the most noble protector of us all. From his final resting spot atop the plateau, he greets each day with hope and wards off the everyday evil that attempts to enter our village.”
“Was it wrong for me to go there?”
His grandfather chuckled. “No. It shows you have courage, that you seek your own answers.” His grandfather resumed eating his stew. “Any more questions?”
The young gargoyle nodded. “Are you scared about crossing over? Is that why you haven’t gone yet?”
His grandfather smiled. “Graham, I’m not afraid. I’m waiting till the last possible moment in the hopes that I will see my only grandson do his family proud and take to the air. I want to watch you touch the clouds for the first time on Friday. That’s why I’m waiting to cross over.”
Graham hopped on the bed and gave his grandfather a tender hug. The aged gargoyle smelled of flint and sandstone. “What if I can’t fly? What if my wings are too small? I don’t think I have enough courage. All the other kids keep telling me they have the courage to fly and I don’t.” A tear escaped from Graham and splashed onto his grandfather’s chest. For a comforting instant, Graham imagined the tear having magical powers and turning the stony body into its younger, less hardened former self.
His grandfather pulled him closer and whispered, “Courage lies not in the saying, but in the doing. Anyone can talk about having courage, but you never know you have it until the moment it is required of you.”
Graham sniffled, attempting to hold back his worry and frustration.
“Unless, of course, they have a very wise grandfather who can spot courage in a fine, young gargoyle from a mile away.”
Graham giggled. “Grandfather?”
“Yes?”
“Do you mind if I stay in your bed for a little while longer?”
“Not at all.” The elderly gargoyle hugged his grandson. For Graham, the world seemed a little more understandable and a little less complex and terrifying.
WARM HEART PLUS
WARMER WISDOM
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Graham made sure he listened carefully to the rest of his sister’s volcano presentation that night at dinner. Thanks to Flenn, Graham had outwitted his enemy. The gargoyle was happy. What was even nicer, the bully, after their encounter at Parsons’ Plateau, had stayed home, allowing Graham a school day free of teasing and torment. As soon as his sister finished her presentation, Graham stood up and clapped proudly for her.
“That was excellent, Flenn! You are a volcano expert!” said Graham.
“Graham’s right. You know quite a bit about volcanoes.” Graham’s mom looked surprised at her son’s enthusiasm.
“Thanks. Miss Brennan wants me to share it with the Level One students on Friday. I can’t wait.” Flenn neatly slapped a stretchy wa-wa vine around her note cards and returned them gently, like she was transporting a baby to her backpack.
“What’s for dessert, Mom?” Graham asked as he finished his second helping of mukka root stew. He hoped she had made blumbleberry muffins. They were the young gargoyle’s favorite. His grandfather said blumbleberries helped with wing growth, and Graham needed all the help he could get.
“Now, now, you know we don’t have dessert until your father gets home. I didn’t think he had a council meeting tonight, but I might be wrong. He should be home soon. Besides, someone under this roof hasn’t been fed yet, has he?” His mom motioned with her head to the hall containing their bedrooms.
“I’ll do it!” Graham rushed to the kitchen to fetch a bowl before his sister could swallow her next mouthful and volunteer. Even though it was his job, Graham still was quite possessive of it. He valued the time he got to spend with his favorite family member. He ladled a sizeable helping of stew into the bowl and darted down the hall.
His mom shouted back to him as he entered the second bedroom on the left, “He already has a drink, but he might need a refill.”
“Okay, Mom. Thanks.” Graham closed the door behind him and approached the immense bed before him.
Ragged breathing came from the bed’s sole occupant.
“Grandfather, I brought you dinner.” Graham climbed up on the stool next to the bed, careful not to spill the hot stew on himself or the elderly gargoyle stretched out before him. “How are you feeling?”
The aged gargoyle turned his head and slowly adjusted himself so he was sitting up in bed. Graham noticed how stiffly his grandfather moved. The bed creaked its protest under the weight of the hardening gargoyle. Deeply warm eyes stared at Graham from hollow sockets framed with neatly arranged wrinkles. The gargoyle’s most distinguishing feature was not the white horns that jutted downward from his jaw creating the appearance of a wise beard. The gentle smile that spread across grandfather’s face at the sight of his grandson lit up the room. “I’m doing just fine.”
“You look good,” Graham said, smiling weakly. He hated lying. His grandfather did not look well. It was obvious that he had hardened more than the day before. His skin looked as coarse as sandpaper, and slight cracks at his joints were beginning to paint an unsettling picture. “You should eat.”
“Thank you.” His grandfather slowly pulled the bowl of stew from Graham and placed it on his stomach, balancing it with one hand while fumbling with the spoon with his other. Graham noticed that the fingers looked the most like stone. As the weathered hand closed around the spoon, Graham thought he saw dust escape from the cracks and crannies forming at the joints.
“Your day was good?” asked his grandfather.
“It was nice. Ot and I got top marks on the geometry quiz today.”
“That’s good to hear. Anything else happen of note?”
“Well,…” Graham wanted to tell his grandfather about what happened with Blord and the volcano. He wanted to share how he and Ot had outwitted the bully. He wanted to, but didn’t. “Did you know Malcolm Parsons?”
His grandfather slid the spoon out of his mouth and deposited it back in the bowl. He returned the bowl to his lap and licked his lips, a task that seemed more a chore than a pleasure. “Once. Your grandmother and I met him once.”
“Oh.” Graham had hoped he would share more details about their encounter.
His grandfather sighed. “We bought rhinecorn from him. He grew the sweetest crops of them all. He was kind, thoughtful and honorable. Why do you bring him up?”
Graham fidgeted. Here he was, about to sprinkle another lie into the conversation. “Um, well, I went over to Parsons’ Plateau this morning to see the, uh, morning sky. After hearing so much about volcanoes from Flenn, I also wanted to get a better look at Mount Prometheus.” Almost as an afterthought, he said, “His statue is pretty neat.”
His grandfather said nothing.
Graham looked down at the quilt covering the bed, uncertain what to say next.
“You want to know how I feel about what he did?” asked his grandfather.
“Um, yes.” Graham shifted in his seat.
His grandfather blinked once, then began, “Crossing over is a very personal journey. Climbing to the top of a church and declaring yourself its protector is deeply honorable.” He paused to catch his breath. “Many will tell you Malcolm Parsons knew nothing of honor, that his decision to stay in Cascade was selfish.”
His grandfather’s words seemed to linger in the air. He was a very wise man. Graham leaned forward and inhaled slightly, hoping wisdom was contagious.
“Malcolm was honoring his new home. In a way, he is the most noble protector of us all. From his final resting spot atop the plateau, he greets each day with hope and wards off the everyday evil that attempts to enter our village.”
“Was it wrong for me to go there?”
His grandfather chuckled. “No. It shows you have courage, that you seek your own answers.” His grandfather resumed eating his stew. “Any more questions?”
The young gargoyle nodded. “Are you scared about crossing over? Is that why you haven’t gone yet?”
His grandfather smiled. “Graham, I’m not afraid. I’m waiting till the last possible moment in the hopes that I will see my only grandson do his family proud and take to the air. I want to watch you touch the clouds for the first time on Friday. That’s why I’m waiting to cross over.”
Graham hopped on the bed and gave his grandfather a tender hug. The aged gargoyle smelled of flint and sandstone. “What if I can’t fly? What if my wings are too small? I don’t think I have enough courage. All the other kids keep telling me they have the courage to fly and I don’t.” A tear escaped from Graham and splashed onto his grandfather’s chest. For a comforting instant, Graham imagined the tear having magical powers and turning the stony body into its younger, less hardened former self.
His grandfather pulled him closer and whispered, “Courage lies not in the saying, but in the doing. Anyone can talk about having courage, but you never know you have it until the moment it is required of you.”
Graham sniffled, attempting to hold back his worry and frustration.
“Unless, of course, they have a very wise grandfather who can spot courage in a fine, young gargoyle from a mile away.”
Graham giggled. “Grandfather?”
“Yes?”
“Do you mind if I stay in your bed for a little while longer?”
“Not at all.” The elderly gargoyle hugged his grandson. For Graham, the world seemed a little more understandable and a little less complex and terrifying.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
SMOKE AND MIRRORS AND PEPPER
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Graham arrived at Parsons’ Plateau out of breath and just in time to see Blord and his gang lifting up Ot. They were attempting to hang the little troll by his tunic on the outstretched arms of Malcolm Parsons’ statue. Ot was putting up a good fight, but his tiny arms were no match for the long limbs of his attackers. They soon had him hooked on Parsons’ left arm. Blord’s laughter filled the air.
Graham raced up to the scene, his eyes dedicated totally to his friend. Ot was not crying, but looked close to it. Graham, realizing he couldn’t get Ot down on his own, turned to face Blord. He noticed the bully was covered in what appeared to be ash. He looked like an overcooked steak.
“Get him down,” said Graham.
Blord turned his back and strolled over to the edge of the plateau facing Mount Prometheus. He spread open his wings, allowing them to catch the stiff breeze that was a fixture of Parsons’ Plateau. “You were late. I already did my part of the race.”
“What are you talking about?”
Blord turned around and offered his blackened body as evidence. “I flew over Mount Prometheus already. Can’t you tell? This is ash. I’m quite anxious to scrub it off me, so hurry up!”
“But a race means we do it together!” Graham looked up at Ot to back him up. The troll’s eyes were welling up.
Blord continued, ignoring Graham’s comment, “Riff has my time, don’t you, Riff?”
A thin gargoyle with very long, twisted horns spoke up, “Yep, he did it in four minutes exactly.”
Blord smiled, “I would’ve done it in three if that blasted harpy had minded her own business. Filthy creatures.” He started to brush off the ash, but then stopped, thinking better of it.
Graham knew Blord hated dirt and was curious why the gargoyle would tolerate all the ash covering him. The fact that he had a run in with the realm’s dirtiest creatures, a harpy, also must’ve greatly upset the bully. The harpies, half-giant bird/half savage woman, were not only disgusting, they were wickedly nasty.
“Get my friend down,” said Graham.
“We’ll get him down once you honor the challenge. One lap over Mount Prometheus and back is all we’re asking. Surely the son of the council chairman can do that simple task.”
Blord strutted over to Ot and slapped at the troll’s dangling feet. Ot started to sneeze.
Graham said, “I’ll do it. Just let me talk to Ot alone for a minute.”
“Very well. Just don’t think of chickening out.” As soon as Blord moved away from Ot, the troll’s sneezing stopped.
Graham hastened over to his friend. “I’m sorry I was late. Flenn and Mom cornered me this morn-”
“He’s lying,” said Ot, glaring at Blord and his gang, who were over at the plateau edge tossing rocks at an unfortunate bird who had glided too close.
“Huh?”
“Blord never flew over Mount Prometheus,” said Ot.
“How do you know? Did you get here first?”
“No, they were already here. Blord had the so-called ash on him when I arrived. He
claimed that he had already run his part of the race then too.” Ot shot a distasteful look at the bully.
“Well, where did he get covered in ash if he didn’t fly over the volcano?”
“It’s not ash.” Ot rubbed his nose, attempting to hold back a sneeze.
“What is it?”
“I think it’s pepper. They must have covered him in crushed pepper. It looks like ash, but it sure doesn’t smell like it.”
“I can’t tell. My sniffer barely works.” Compared to the poor sense of smell gargoyles had, trolls were magical bloodhounds, capable of detecting even the slightest pesky odor. “Are you sure?”
“I think so. His story sounds awfully fishy, don’t you think?”
Graham nodded. This changed everything. He wouldn’t have to race. He wouldn’t have to fly. He allowed the hint of a smile to play across his face.
“You don’t have to fly. Just tell him he lied.” Ot looked over at Blord. The large gargoyle was getting impatient and had taken to kicking large clumps of dirt into the morning sky.
“That won’t work. I need more proof that he is tricking us. Besides, they won’t let you down unless I fly.” Graham slumped his shoulders, and his tiny wings pathetically took on a defeated appearance at this action.
He started stepping towards the other gargoyles.
“Let’s get this over with,” said Blord.
Graham inched over to the plateau edge facing Mount Prometheus, kicking loose gravel over the side as his legs began to shake. In the relative distance, Prometheus rumbled, billowing darkness into the morning air.
“You gotta fly through the ash clouds. That’s what I did,” said Blord.
Graham didn’t look up to answer. He was too focused on the taunting drop. “I’ll do it, but you have to promise you’ll get Ot down after.”
Blord clapped his hands together. “I promise. Now, take to the air.”
Graham looked away from the long drop down to stare out at the sky. The clouds were light and fluffy all around him, the breeze strong and confident. Graham, however, was fighting the queasiness that was rising in his stomach. Here he was, about to face his biggest fear, flying. He had never even attempted to fly from the school’s tree jump where everyone else his age practiced. He didn’t trust his wings. Everyone else’s wings were more developed, wider, bigger, stronger. He was not ready for his first flight at the end of the week and was definitely not ready for this.
Graham slowly exhaled, attempting to calm himself down. His grandfather declared Graham would grow to become a great flyer. His grandfather believed in him completely. His father did not.
His father’s voice echoed in the young gargoyle’s head, “You’ll never fly if you don’t trust your wings.”
Graham closed his eyes, wishing he were back home still listening to his sister drone on about volcanoes.
“C’mon, get it over with. You don’t have anything to worry about. Just remember to keep your eyes open for any lava eruptions. I almost took a magma bath on my flight,” blurted out Blord.
Graham shook his head, not believing what he had just heard. “What did you say?” He turned to face the gargoyle, his back to his worst fear for the moment.
“The lava, you gotta watch out for it. Wouldn’t want little itty-bitty Graham to catch fire.”
Graham looked over at Ot. The troll, despite being very uncomfortable, was smiling.
Graham walked over to the bully. “The challenge is a lie. You’re a liar! You played a trick!”
Blord’s expression shifted into panic for a moment before twisting into inflated anger. “What do ya mean? You trying to back out of a challenge?”
Graham stood his ground. “You just said there was lava coming out of that volcano. That’s wrong!”
Blord nervously shifted his eyes over to his gang, who waved their fists at Graham.
“What?” Blord said incredulously.
“You never flew over the volcano. Lava doesn’t come out of Mount Prometheus, only cinder and ash. Any four-year-old could tell you it’s a cinder cone volcano.” Graham smiled. Actually, it had been an eight-year-old who had informed him of the volcano’s nature. He owed his sister in a big way.
“Okay, maybe I exaggerated a bit about the lava, but get a load of all this ash covering me,” said Blord, sticking out his darkened chest.
“My friend seems to think you just covered yourself in pepper.”
Blord glared at the still dangling troll.
“I’m not flying for a liar!” Graham stepped over to his friend, pausing for a moment to stare at the face of Malcolm Parsons. Had the rock-hard gargoyle just winked at him? Probably just a trick of the light, thought Graham. “Now help me get Ot down.”
Blord marched over to Graham and leaned down to stare coldly at him. “No one gets away with calling me a liar. You’re gonna regret this, Graham, just you wait.” Blord rubbed a healthy dollop of his blackened coat onto his finger. He smudged a crude letter C on Graham’s chest. “It still doesn’t change the fact that you’re a coward and always will be. See you on Friday for your first and final flight, pipsqueak.”
Graham stepped away from the bully as Blord joined his friends. They marched off Parsons’ Plateau together, grumbling up a storm.
Graham shouted, “Hey, wait! You gotta get Ot down!”
Graham was interrupted by a light tapping on his shoulder. He whirled around to see Ot behind him, his two stubby feet safely planted on the ground. “Not a problem. I’m down already.”
“How’d you?”
“Not sure. They certainly didn’t do it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Malcolm Parsons lowered me down himself.” Ot stared back at the statue.
“No way! He...it’s been solid stone for over twenty years! It’s impossible for a gargoyle to do that!” Graham’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, um, probably just a good stiff breeze knocked me loose. Let’s just say that.”
“We’d better get going. Mom’ll kill me if I’m late for school,” said Graham.
“Wait, I wanna check something.” Ot rubbed his thumb against the dusty “C” Blord had
smeared on Graham. The troll sniffed his now darkened thumb, then plopped it in his wide mouth. He sucked on it briefly, then sneezed.
Graham stared at his friend expectantly.
“Yep, just as I thought—pepper!” Ot smiled. “Now I’m really hungry.”
The two close friends made their way off Parsons’ Plateau and headed to school, the morning sky growing ever more inviting and warm above them.
SMOKE AND MIRRORS AND PEPPER
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Graham arrived at Parsons’ Plateau out of breath and just in time to see Blord and his gang lifting up Ot. They were attempting to hang the little troll by his tunic on the outstretched arms of Malcolm Parsons’ statue. Ot was putting up a good fight, but his tiny arms were no match for the long limbs of his attackers. They soon had him hooked on Parsons’ left arm. Blord’s laughter filled the air.
Graham raced up to the scene, his eyes dedicated totally to his friend. Ot was not crying, but looked close to it. Graham, realizing he couldn’t get Ot down on his own, turned to face Blord. He noticed the bully was covered in what appeared to be ash. He looked like an overcooked steak.
“Get him down,” said Graham.
Blord turned his back and strolled over to the edge of the plateau facing Mount Prometheus. He spread open his wings, allowing them to catch the stiff breeze that was a fixture of Parsons’ Plateau. “You were late. I already did my part of the race.”
“What are you talking about?”
Blord turned around and offered his blackened body as evidence. “I flew over Mount Prometheus already. Can’t you tell? This is ash. I’m quite anxious to scrub it off me, so hurry up!”
“But a race means we do it together!” Graham looked up at Ot to back him up. The troll’s eyes were welling up.
Blord continued, ignoring Graham’s comment, “Riff has my time, don’t you, Riff?”
A thin gargoyle with very long, twisted horns spoke up, “Yep, he did it in four minutes exactly.”
Blord smiled, “I would’ve done it in three if that blasted harpy had minded her own business. Filthy creatures.” He started to brush off the ash, but then stopped, thinking better of it.
Graham knew Blord hated dirt and was curious why the gargoyle would tolerate all the ash covering him. The fact that he had a run in with the realm’s dirtiest creatures, a harpy, also must’ve greatly upset the bully. The harpies, half-giant bird/half savage woman, were not only disgusting, they were wickedly nasty.
“Get my friend down,” said Graham.
“We’ll get him down once you honor the challenge. One lap over Mount Prometheus and back is all we’re asking. Surely the son of the council chairman can do that simple task.”
Blord strutted over to Ot and slapped at the troll’s dangling feet. Ot started to sneeze.
Graham said, “I’ll do it. Just let me talk to Ot alone for a minute.”
“Very well. Just don’t think of chickening out.” As soon as Blord moved away from Ot, the troll’s sneezing stopped.
Graham hastened over to his friend. “I’m sorry I was late. Flenn and Mom cornered me this morn-”
“He’s lying,” said Ot, glaring at Blord and his gang, who were over at the plateau edge tossing rocks at an unfortunate bird who had glided too close.
“Huh?”
“Blord never flew over Mount Prometheus,” said Ot.
“How do you know? Did you get here first?”
“No, they were already here. Blord had the so-called ash on him when I arrived. He
claimed that he had already run his part of the race then too.” Ot shot a distasteful look at the bully.
“Well, where did he get covered in ash if he didn’t fly over the volcano?”
“It’s not ash.” Ot rubbed his nose, attempting to hold back a sneeze.
“What is it?”
“I think it’s pepper. They must have covered him in crushed pepper. It looks like ash, but it sure doesn’t smell like it.”
“I can’t tell. My sniffer barely works.” Compared to the poor sense of smell gargoyles had, trolls were magical bloodhounds, capable of detecting even the slightest pesky odor. “Are you sure?”
“I think so. His story sounds awfully fishy, don’t you think?”
Graham nodded. This changed everything. He wouldn’t have to race. He wouldn’t have to fly. He allowed the hint of a smile to play across his face.
“You don’t have to fly. Just tell him he lied.” Ot looked over at Blord. The large gargoyle was getting impatient and had taken to kicking large clumps of dirt into the morning sky.
“That won’t work. I need more proof that he is tricking us. Besides, they won’t let you down unless I fly.” Graham slumped his shoulders, and his tiny wings pathetically took on a defeated appearance at this action.
He started stepping towards the other gargoyles.
“Let’s get this over with,” said Blord.
Graham inched over to the plateau edge facing Mount Prometheus, kicking loose gravel over the side as his legs began to shake. In the relative distance, Prometheus rumbled, billowing darkness into the morning air.
“You gotta fly through the ash clouds. That’s what I did,” said Blord.
Graham didn’t look up to answer. He was too focused on the taunting drop. “I’ll do it, but you have to promise you’ll get Ot down after.”
Blord clapped his hands together. “I promise. Now, take to the air.”
Graham looked away from the long drop down to stare out at the sky. The clouds were light and fluffy all around him, the breeze strong and confident. Graham, however, was fighting the queasiness that was rising in his stomach. Here he was, about to face his biggest fear, flying. He had never even attempted to fly from the school’s tree jump where everyone else his age practiced. He didn’t trust his wings. Everyone else’s wings were more developed, wider, bigger, stronger. He was not ready for his first flight at the end of the week and was definitely not ready for this.
Graham slowly exhaled, attempting to calm himself down. His grandfather declared Graham would grow to become a great flyer. His grandfather believed in him completely. His father did not.
His father’s voice echoed in the young gargoyle’s head, “You’ll never fly if you don’t trust your wings.”
Graham closed his eyes, wishing he were back home still listening to his sister drone on about volcanoes.
“C’mon, get it over with. You don’t have anything to worry about. Just remember to keep your eyes open for any lava eruptions. I almost took a magma bath on my flight,” blurted out Blord.
Graham shook his head, not believing what he had just heard. “What did you say?” He turned to face the gargoyle, his back to his worst fear for the moment.
“The lava, you gotta watch out for it. Wouldn’t want little itty-bitty Graham to catch fire.”
Graham looked over at Ot. The troll, despite being very uncomfortable, was smiling.
Graham walked over to the bully. “The challenge is a lie. You’re a liar! You played a trick!”
Blord’s expression shifted into panic for a moment before twisting into inflated anger. “What do ya mean? You trying to back out of a challenge?”
Graham stood his ground. “You just said there was lava coming out of that volcano. That’s wrong!”
Blord nervously shifted his eyes over to his gang, who waved their fists at Graham.
“What?” Blord said incredulously.
“You never flew over the volcano. Lava doesn’t come out of Mount Prometheus, only cinder and ash. Any four-year-old could tell you it’s a cinder cone volcano.” Graham smiled. Actually, it had been an eight-year-old who had informed him of the volcano’s nature. He owed his sister in a big way.
“Okay, maybe I exaggerated a bit about the lava, but get a load of all this ash covering me,” said Blord, sticking out his darkened chest.
“My friend seems to think you just covered yourself in pepper.”
Blord glared at the still dangling troll.
“I’m not flying for a liar!” Graham stepped over to his friend, pausing for a moment to stare at the face of Malcolm Parsons. Had the rock-hard gargoyle just winked at him? Probably just a trick of the light, thought Graham. “Now help me get Ot down.”
Blord marched over to Graham and leaned down to stare coldly at him. “No one gets away with calling me a liar. You’re gonna regret this, Graham, just you wait.” Blord rubbed a healthy dollop of his blackened coat onto his finger. He smudged a crude letter C on Graham’s chest. “It still doesn’t change the fact that you’re a coward and always will be. See you on Friday for your first and final flight, pipsqueak.”
Graham stepped away from the bully as Blord joined his friends. They marched off Parsons’ Plateau together, grumbling up a storm.
Graham shouted, “Hey, wait! You gotta get Ot down!”
Graham was interrupted by a light tapping on his shoulder. He whirled around to see Ot behind him, his two stubby feet safely planted on the ground. “Not a problem. I’m down already.”
“How’d you?”
“Not sure. They certainly didn’t do it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Malcolm Parsons lowered me down himself.” Ot stared back at the statue.
“No way! He...it’s been solid stone for over twenty years! It’s impossible for a gargoyle to do that!” Graham’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, um, probably just a good stiff breeze knocked me loose. Let’s just say that.”
“We’d better get going. Mom’ll kill me if I’m late for school,” said Graham.
“Wait, I wanna check something.” Ot rubbed his thumb against the dusty “C” Blord had
smeared on Graham. The troll sniffed his now darkened thumb, then plopped it in his wide mouth. He sucked on it briefly, then sneezed.
Graham stared at his friend expectantly.
“Yep, just as I thought—pepper!” Ot smiled. “Now I’m really hungry.”
The two close friends made their way off Parsons’ Plateau and headed to school, the morning sky growing ever more inviting and warm above them.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
PARSONS’ PLATEAU
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Parsons’ Plateau’s origins lie amongst the first gargoyle settlers. Malcolm Parsons, filled with renewed hope, had come to Cascade with his family. In the mortal world, he had been an honest gargoyle who had fallen on hard times. Cascade offered him a fresh start. He immediately fell in love with his new home and settled into farming a very fertile patch of land.
As the years passed, Parsons became involved in the gargoyle government, rising to co-chairman of the council. Parsons was fiercely loyal to his new home. He proposed ending the tradition of crossing over to Earth, pointing out that as humans had abandoned belief in all things magical, so should the citizens of Cascade cut all ties with the fickle mortals. This viewpoint was not welcome in the halls of the council. Parsons was voted out unanimously for daring to speak against tradition.
Parsons spent the rest of his life minding his farm and family, blessing each morning with a warm, soulful moment of silence. As far as he was concerned, Cascade was his home and always would be.
When he grew old enough to feel his bones and muscles begin to harden, Malcolm Parsons did not cross over.
Instead, he climbed to the highest point overlooking the village, a nearby plateau, and stretched his stony limbs to the sky. As his life left him, he paid his loving respects to his home. Malcolm Parsons’ stone body didn’t face the village in contempt. No, he faced the rising sun, eternally greeting each morning with outstretched arms, wings and a wide smile of contentment.
While Parsons’ final act was joyful for him, it was anything but for his fellow gargoyles. The council voted Parsons’ Plateau be avoided by all citizens. It became a forbidden zone, an empty final home for one who would dare speak out against tradition.
Of course, try telling a child not to visit a particular spot, and their curiosity will get the best of them. Parsons’ Plateau became a favorable hangout for the young. The children thought it their little secret, but the council knew of their hideout. The council knew the effort of patrolling the plateau would be a lost cause, and it became an unspoken part of village life.
The children had a private hideout, and the adults acted none the wiser.
And Malcom Parsons, he had a home with frequent guests.
PARSONS’ PLATEAU
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Parsons’ Plateau’s origins lie amongst the first gargoyle settlers. Malcolm Parsons, filled with renewed hope, had come to Cascade with his family. In the mortal world, he had been an honest gargoyle who had fallen on hard times. Cascade offered him a fresh start. He immediately fell in love with his new home and settled into farming a very fertile patch of land.
As the years passed, Parsons became involved in the gargoyle government, rising to co-chairman of the council. Parsons was fiercely loyal to his new home. He proposed ending the tradition of crossing over to Earth, pointing out that as humans had abandoned belief in all things magical, so should the citizens of Cascade cut all ties with the fickle mortals. This viewpoint was not welcome in the halls of the council. Parsons was voted out unanimously for daring to speak against tradition.
Parsons spent the rest of his life minding his farm and family, blessing each morning with a warm, soulful moment of silence. As far as he was concerned, Cascade was his home and always would be.
When he grew old enough to feel his bones and muscles begin to harden, Malcolm Parsons did not cross over.
Instead, he climbed to the highest point overlooking the village, a nearby plateau, and stretched his stony limbs to the sky. As his life left him, he paid his loving respects to his home. Malcolm Parsons’ stone body didn’t face the village in contempt. No, he faced the rising sun, eternally greeting each morning with outstretched arms, wings and a wide smile of contentment.
While Parsons’ final act was joyful for him, it was anything but for his fellow gargoyles. The council voted Parsons’ Plateau be avoided by all citizens. It became a forbidden zone, an empty final home for one who would dare speak out against tradition.
Of course, try telling a child not to visit a particular spot, and their curiosity will get the best of them. Parsons’ Plateau became a favorable hangout for the young. The children thought it their little secret, but the council knew of their hideout. The council knew the effort of patrolling the plateau would be a lost cause, and it became an unspoken part of village life.
The children had a private hideout, and the adults acted none the wiser.
And Malcom Parsons, he had a home with frequent guests.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
FAMILY VOLCANO
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
The early morning sky greeted Graham with glorious pinks and oranges playing across the horizon. Dawn had arrived. Graham glanced out his window, staring intently at Mount Prometheus in the distance. He was late. He imagined Blord and his gang already at Parsons’ Plateau, picking on his troll friend. Ot was very on time and had probably arrived earlier than the bullies. He hurriedly washed his face, hands and wings, looped his satchel for school over his shoulder and stole a look at his teeth before dashing out of his room.
He entered the kitchen to see his sister and mother were busy working on Flenn’s science project at the kitchen table. They were putting the final painted touches on her volcano.
His mom turned to him and said, “You’re up awfully early. What dragged you out of bed?”
“I have to run a few errands for Grandfather. Don’t worry, I won’t be late for school,” Graham said in rapid-fire fashion as he made a beeline for the front door.
“No breakfast this morning?” his mom said, arching her rim of horns.
“Can’t. Got too much to do.” Graham was almost out the door when he heard his sister’s grating voice.
“He doesn’t like my volcano, Mom,” Flenn said, adding a pouting face at the end to punctuate her statement.
“Graham, you don’t have a minute to see what your sister has worked so hard on these last few days?” It was a question, but came out more like a motherly suggestion.
Graham rolled his eyes. A minute in little sisterland was more like an hour. “Yes, Mom.” He strolled over to the kitchen table.
Flenn’s face switched from sad to happy in a flash. She wrestled with a pile of note cards sitting behind the volcano, out of sight from Graham up until now. “I can practice my presentation with him.”
Graham slumped in his chair, flopped both arms up on the table and laid his chin down in defeat.
“Go ahead,” he said, trying desperately to find a spot on the wall to occupy his time while his sister droned on. Flenn meant well and was a great little sister, but she had too many questions and way too many answers. Graham’s parents called it endearing. Graham called it torture.
Flenn shuffled her note cards, tapped them neatly on the table to straighten them up and then looked out at her audience. She cleared her throat and began. “Good morning, class. As you know, we have been studying the geology of Cascade. Miss Brennan defined geology as the study of the earth and the forces that shape it. Since we don’t live on Earth anymore, we study Cascade’s geology.”
Graham shifted in his seat. His mother shot him a look.
“Volcanoes happen on Earth and volcanoes happen on Cascade as well. I have made a model of Mount Prometheus. It’s an active volcano that we live next to.” Flenn paused and looked up from her note cards. “This would be the time when I uncover the volcano to show the class,” she said matter-of-factly.
“It’s very nice,” mumbled Graham, focusing his attention on the freshly painted volcano.
Flenn took his response as a sign to continue. “Mount Prometheus is a cinder cone volcano. Lava doesn’t flow out of it. When it erupts, cinder and ash spurt out. That’s why it seems to always have a dark cloud of smoke coming out of it. The council isn’t worried about it, as it’s such a small volcano and hasn’t been too explosive.”
“That’s excellent, Dear.” Graham’s mom clapped enthusiastically.
Flenn smiled. “I have more.”
Graham looked at his mom for any sign he could excuse himself. She smiled at him and directed him to return his attention to his sister.
“This next section is where I pull down the class map and point out Cascade’s eight other known volcanoes. I have their heights, what type they are and whether they are active, dormant or extinct. Should I share that, even though I don’t have the map here?” Flenn looked eagerly at Graham.
“Mom, I really have to go. I won’t be able to finish my errands if I stay any longer.”
His mother walked over to Flenn and gave her a big hug. She turned to Graham and said, “You can go, but your sister is going to share the rest with the family at dinner tonight, okay?”
Graham jumped out of his chair and headed towards the door. “Great, thanks.”
“Don’t be late for school,” his mom said.
“I won’t.” Graham was out the door and on the front walk when he stopped in his tracks. He slowly turned around and walked back into the house. He ambled over to his sister and gave her a quick hug. “Your volcano looks really nice, almost like the real thing.”
Flenn gave him a great big hug in return. “Thanks.”
Graham smiled at his sister and then was out the door. He had his own volcano to deal with.
Graham took the main path that led to the village. After he was sure he was out of his mother’s eyesight, he took off into the woods, heading towards Parsons’ Plateau.
FAMILY VOLCANO
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
The early morning sky greeted Graham with glorious pinks and oranges playing across the horizon. Dawn had arrived. Graham glanced out his window, staring intently at Mount Prometheus in the distance. He was late. He imagined Blord and his gang already at Parsons’ Plateau, picking on his troll friend. Ot was very on time and had probably arrived earlier than the bullies. He hurriedly washed his face, hands and wings, looped his satchel for school over his shoulder and stole a look at his teeth before dashing out of his room.
He entered the kitchen to see his sister and mother were busy working on Flenn’s science project at the kitchen table. They were putting the final painted touches on her volcano.
His mom turned to him and said, “You’re up awfully early. What dragged you out of bed?”
“I have to run a few errands for Grandfather. Don’t worry, I won’t be late for school,” Graham said in rapid-fire fashion as he made a beeline for the front door.
“No breakfast this morning?” his mom said, arching her rim of horns.
“Can’t. Got too much to do.” Graham was almost out the door when he heard his sister’s grating voice.
“He doesn’t like my volcano, Mom,” Flenn said, adding a pouting face at the end to punctuate her statement.
“Graham, you don’t have a minute to see what your sister has worked so hard on these last few days?” It was a question, but came out more like a motherly suggestion.
Graham rolled his eyes. A minute in little sisterland was more like an hour. “Yes, Mom.” He strolled over to the kitchen table.
Flenn’s face switched from sad to happy in a flash. She wrestled with a pile of note cards sitting behind the volcano, out of sight from Graham up until now. “I can practice my presentation with him.”
Graham slumped in his chair, flopped both arms up on the table and laid his chin down in defeat.
“Go ahead,” he said, trying desperately to find a spot on the wall to occupy his time while his sister droned on. Flenn meant well and was a great little sister, but she had too many questions and way too many answers. Graham’s parents called it endearing. Graham called it torture.
Flenn shuffled her note cards, tapped them neatly on the table to straighten them up and then looked out at her audience. She cleared her throat and began. “Good morning, class. As you know, we have been studying the geology of Cascade. Miss Brennan defined geology as the study of the earth and the forces that shape it. Since we don’t live on Earth anymore, we study Cascade’s geology.”
Graham shifted in his seat. His mother shot him a look.
“Volcanoes happen on Earth and volcanoes happen on Cascade as well. I have made a model of Mount Prometheus. It’s an active volcano that we live next to.” Flenn paused and looked up from her note cards. “This would be the time when I uncover the volcano to show the class,” she said matter-of-factly.
“It’s very nice,” mumbled Graham, focusing his attention on the freshly painted volcano.
Flenn took his response as a sign to continue. “Mount Prometheus is a cinder cone volcano. Lava doesn’t flow out of it. When it erupts, cinder and ash spurt out. That’s why it seems to always have a dark cloud of smoke coming out of it. The council isn’t worried about it, as it’s such a small volcano and hasn’t been too explosive.”
“That’s excellent, Dear.” Graham’s mom clapped enthusiastically.
Flenn smiled. “I have more.”
Graham looked at his mom for any sign he could excuse himself. She smiled at him and directed him to return his attention to his sister.
“This next section is where I pull down the class map and point out Cascade’s eight other known volcanoes. I have their heights, what type they are and whether they are active, dormant or extinct. Should I share that, even though I don’t have the map here?” Flenn looked eagerly at Graham.
“Mom, I really have to go. I won’t be able to finish my errands if I stay any longer.”
His mother walked over to Flenn and gave her a big hug. She turned to Graham and said, “You can go, but your sister is going to share the rest with the family at dinner tonight, okay?”
Graham jumped out of his chair and headed towards the door. “Great, thanks.”
“Don’t be late for school,” his mom said.
“I won’t.” Graham was out the door and on the front walk when he stopped in his tracks. He slowly turned around and walked back into the house. He ambled over to his sister and gave her a quick hug. “Your volcano looks really nice, almost like the real thing.”
Flenn gave him a great big hug in return. “Thanks.”
Graham smiled at his sister and then was out the door. He had his own volcano to deal with.
Graham took the main path that led to the village. After he was sure he was out of his mother’s eyesight, he took off into the woods, heading towards Parsons’ Plateau.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Sketchbook 1
Here's a shot of a character I did for an unpublished mini-comic. The character was The Crooked Fin and was a rip-snortin' monster epic with wacky overtones.
Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
MUDSLINGING MAYHEM
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Graham tried his best to protect Ot from the worst of the attack. If only his frail wings were larger like Blord’s wings, he could’ve shielded them completely from the mud bath they were enduring. Instead, his tiny wings fluttered like helpless leaves caught in the wind. Graham could feel every impact. He could feel the mud sliding off as the slow tug of gravity worked its bitter magic. He would’ve enjoyed a mud battle with his friend, but this was clearly not the case. There was cruel intent behind each throw. Graham had to do something, but didn’t know what. He looked down to check on the troll.
Ot was hunched over and smiling. “You are such a pal! You don’t have to keep the mud off me. I don’t mind.”
Graham shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right. Blord has it in for me, not you. I just don’t know what to do next.”
“Just let them continue. They’ll eventually get bored and go away.”
“I’m not so sure of that. They can be pretty persistent. Bullies are like that.” The gargoyle felt a rather large mudpie hit him square in the back of his head. “Maybe I should fight back.”
“The hornet’s nest is already disturbed. Don’t stir it up further.” Ot’s tiny eyes beamed with sincerity.
Graham loved his friend, but found his peace-loving temperament annoying. “Those are your dad’s words, aren’t they?”
Ot shrugged. “Can I help it if he gives good advice?”
Graham shifted his weight. Hunching over his friend was starting to become an uncomfortable task. “My legs will cramp up if I stay in this position much longer.”
“Then move,” Ot said.
Graham frowned as he stretched out his left leg in an effort to avoid a muscle cramp. His friend was right. Ignoring the bullies was the best option. Graham settled in for a long wait. As long as he flexed his legs once in a while, he could prevent his muscles from tightening.
He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, a feat he excelled at in school and at home. Graham imagined himself flying his friend off to safety. He pictured them skimming above the clouds. He smiled as Ot reached down, attempting to gather up the cloud stuff as if it were cotton candy. If only his wings were bigger, stronger. His grandfather’s words echoed in his mind. “You will fly the highest of them all, little one.” His grandfather always said it with such faith and conviction.
Graham’s pleasant daydreaming was interrupted by a horrible racket. Blord had joined the battle, except he was slinging insults rather than mud.
“I should’ve known you’d just huddle together and do nothing. You’re a coward, Graham. Your little sister has more guts than you do.”
Graham squeezed his eyes shut even tighter.
“Heck, her wings are even bigger than yours,” Blord chuckled.
“He can only hurt you if you let him,” whispered Ot.
“Yeah, well, it’s hard not to feel bad,” Graham replied.
Blord’s next insult found its mark. “Maybe you’re just turning to stone like your grandfather. I hear it happens to people who sit around and do nothing.”
Graham’s blood boiled. He spun around, scooping up a large clump of mud at the same time.
Blord’s gang stopped hurling mudpies, shocked that Graham had turned to face them.
Graham wrapped his fingers around the mud he held. Surprisingly, he felt a stone sliding around in the mud. “You don’t talk about my grandfather!!”
With all his strength, the tiny-winged gargoyle fired the mudpie containing the stone at the biggest target of the bunch, Blord.
The mud slapped into the gargoyle’s nose with a wet thud. Blord hunched over, clutching his nose. “By Nobz! By Nobz! Moo little mweep. You mit by nobz mith a mock!”
Blord rushed at Graham, his huge arms outstretched. “Margghhh!”
Graham slipped in the mud as he attempted to avoid the bully. Instead, his right leg shot up, dangled in the air and tripped the angry gargoyle. Blord went airborne for a brief moment, flapping his wings to avoid landing in the mud fields. Despite their immense size, Blord’s wings did not help him. He smashed back down to the ground, sliding a good five yards through the mud.
All was quiet and still for a time. Graham and Ot gawked in disbelief. Blord’s gang hovered in a semicircle, uncertain what to do next. Their leader rested in the mud, covered from head to tail in the extra moist earth.
“This can’t be good,” whispered Ot.
Blord slowly rose to his feet. Ignoring the mud dripping from him, the bully strutted over to Graham. He loomed over the tiny gargoyle by a good three feet. Graham could see a trickle of blood from Blord’s nose mixing with the mud decorating his face.
“I challenge you.” Blord’s voice was filled with hate.
Graham felt like a mouse with its tail stuck in a trap.
“I challenge you to a race.” Blord exhaled, his breath pushing away the very air around him. “A race over Mount Prometheus. Dawn tomorrow. Be there or else.”
Blord turned and walked away with his gang trailing behind him. Graham and Ot watched in silence until the bullies disappeared into the nearby woods.
Ot spoke first, “That’s one angry hornet, Graham.”
Graham slowly nodded.
MUDSLINGING MAYHEM
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Graham tried his best to protect Ot from the worst of the attack. If only his frail wings were larger like Blord’s wings, he could’ve shielded them completely from the mud bath they were enduring. Instead, his tiny wings fluttered like helpless leaves caught in the wind. Graham could feel every impact. He could feel the mud sliding off as the slow tug of gravity worked its bitter magic. He would’ve enjoyed a mud battle with his friend, but this was clearly not the case. There was cruel intent behind each throw. Graham had to do something, but didn’t know what. He looked down to check on the troll.
Ot was hunched over and smiling. “You are such a pal! You don’t have to keep the mud off me. I don’t mind.”
Graham shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right. Blord has it in for me, not you. I just don’t know what to do next.”
“Just let them continue. They’ll eventually get bored and go away.”
“I’m not so sure of that. They can be pretty persistent. Bullies are like that.” The gargoyle felt a rather large mudpie hit him square in the back of his head. “Maybe I should fight back.”
“The hornet’s nest is already disturbed. Don’t stir it up further.” Ot’s tiny eyes beamed with sincerity.
Graham loved his friend, but found his peace-loving temperament annoying. “Those are your dad’s words, aren’t they?”
Ot shrugged. “Can I help it if he gives good advice?”
Graham shifted his weight. Hunching over his friend was starting to become an uncomfortable task. “My legs will cramp up if I stay in this position much longer.”
“Then move,” Ot said.
Graham frowned as he stretched out his left leg in an effort to avoid a muscle cramp. His friend was right. Ignoring the bullies was the best option. Graham settled in for a long wait. As long as he flexed his legs once in a while, he could prevent his muscles from tightening.
He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, a feat he excelled at in school and at home. Graham imagined himself flying his friend off to safety. He pictured them skimming above the clouds. He smiled as Ot reached down, attempting to gather up the cloud stuff as if it were cotton candy. If only his wings were bigger, stronger. His grandfather’s words echoed in his mind. “You will fly the highest of them all, little one.” His grandfather always said it with such faith and conviction.
Graham’s pleasant daydreaming was interrupted by a horrible racket. Blord had joined the battle, except he was slinging insults rather than mud.
“I should’ve known you’d just huddle together and do nothing. You’re a coward, Graham. Your little sister has more guts than you do.”
Graham squeezed his eyes shut even tighter.
“Heck, her wings are even bigger than yours,” Blord chuckled.
“He can only hurt you if you let him,” whispered Ot.
“Yeah, well, it’s hard not to feel bad,” Graham replied.
Blord’s next insult found its mark. “Maybe you’re just turning to stone like your grandfather. I hear it happens to people who sit around and do nothing.”
Graham’s blood boiled. He spun around, scooping up a large clump of mud at the same time.
Blord’s gang stopped hurling mudpies, shocked that Graham had turned to face them.
Graham wrapped his fingers around the mud he held. Surprisingly, he felt a stone sliding around in the mud. “You don’t talk about my grandfather!!”
With all his strength, the tiny-winged gargoyle fired the mudpie containing the stone at the biggest target of the bunch, Blord.
The mud slapped into the gargoyle’s nose with a wet thud. Blord hunched over, clutching his nose. “By Nobz! By Nobz! Moo little mweep. You mit by nobz mith a mock!”
Blord rushed at Graham, his huge arms outstretched. “Margghhh!”
Graham slipped in the mud as he attempted to avoid the bully. Instead, his right leg shot up, dangled in the air and tripped the angry gargoyle. Blord went airborne for a brief moment, flapping his wings to avoid landing in the mud fields. Despite their immense size, Blord’s wings did not help him. He smashed back down to the ground, sliding a good five yards through the mud.
All was quiet and still for a time. Graham and Ot gawked in disbelief. Blord’s gang hovered in a semicircle, uncertain what to do next. Their leader rested in the mud, covered from head to tail in the extra moist earth.
“This can’t be good,” whispered Ot.
Blord slowly rose to his feet. Ignoring the mud dripping from him, the bully strutted over to Graham. He loomed over the tiny gargoyle by a good three feet. Graham could see a trickle of blood from Blord’s nose mixing with the mud decorating his face.
“I challenge you.” Blord’s voice was filled with hate.
Graham felt like a mouse with its tail stuck in a trap.
“I challenge you to a race.” Blord exhaled, his breath pushing away the very air around him. “A race over Mount Prometheus. Dawn tomorrow. Be there or else.”
Blord turned and walked away with his gang trailing behind him. Graham and Ot watched in silence until the bullies disappeared into the nearby woods.
Ot spoke first, “That’s one angry hornet, Graham.”
Graham slowly nodded.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Graham Pic
Here's a pic of Graham from a cover of Far-Fetchers. Far-Fetchers was a comic project that only appeared in ashcan form.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
TERRA SQUIRMA
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
The mud was comforting. Graham adored how it tried to hold his feet prisoner with each step. The squishy suction playfully reminded him that the stable ground did not stray too far from his feet. It helped him forget that his first flight was fast approaching. He was dreading the arrival of Friday, only four days away. Graham was not ready to take to the air. His puny wings did not fill him with confidence. He pictured himself tumbling off the mountain, rather than soaring deep into the clouds. Besides, he was doing just fine on the ground. Terra firma felt so stable. Just looking up at the sky made his stomach feel light and queasy.
The young gargoyle reached down to pluck several more mukka roots out of the mud fields. The lumpy, pink vegetable was the main crop of the clan of trolls who lived next to Graham’s village. The other gargoyles avoided the trolls, claiming they were dirty and stupid. Graham didn’t believe that. His best friend was a troll. Graham glanced behind him to see his friend, Ot, working feverishly to catch up to him.
“My basket’s almost full, Ot. How are you doing?” asked Graham, pausing a moment to stretch. His tiny wings flapped ever so slightly.
The troll looked up and smiled. “Yes, but I’m half as muddy as you are. Perhaps you should consider less splattering. Looks like a dip in the waterfall might be called for.”
Graham scooped up an extra moist clump of mud and tossed it at Ot. The troll, moving surprisingly fast for someone so stubby and plump, dodged the mud pie. “My goodness, your aim is terrible today. That’s the fifth time you’ve missed me.”
Graham rolled his eyes and resumed plucking the roots from the sloppy ground. One of these days, he’d manage to hit his target, he thought as he wrapped his fingers around a particularly stubborn mukka root. “I have time for one more basket, then I have to get home. Grandfather has something important to tell me.”
Ot nodded, his smile withering into a more serious expression. “Is it about his crossing over? Is it time?”
Graham dropped his basket and trudged over to his friend, the tiny rim of horns along the gargoyle’s brow curled upward in anger. “Who told you about that? Who?”
“Your sister, Flenn. She was at the waterfall and she just started blathering on about all sorts of things, the weather, the flowers, how your father was growing frustrated with the council. I tuned her out. Honest, I did. Except…” Ot’s eyes darted from side to side.
“Except?”
“Well, she started to cry. I felt sorry for her. She started telling me about your grandfather, about how gargoyles age, about the ritual of crossing over.”
“She is such a blabbermouth.” Graham threw up his hands and stomped back to his basket. He picked it up and flung the carefully collected mukka roots onto the ground. Graham was about to hurl the basket into a nearby patch of trees when his friend spoke softly, almost as if his voice would shatter the fragile air around them.
“Is it true?”
Graham sat down on a nearby rock and exhaled sharply. His voice was slightly shaken when he spoke, “It’s true. As gargoyles age, our bodies calcify, slowly turn to stone. Grandfather can still move about, but is bedridden. He is saving his strength for the crossing. He must have enough flexibility to climb a mortal church and…”
“So he really does have to return to Earth?” Ot’s face wrinkled in fright.
“Yes, it is tradition. Our bodies harden and we become guardian statues. Our presence on a church is supposed to scare away evil spirits.” Graham picked at a patch of dried mud on his orange skin.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“My sister and I just found out last week. I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Why would that worry me? You’re not turning to stone anytime soon, are you?” Ot looked intently at his friend, afraid if he looked away the gargoyle would indeed turn to stone.
“No, that’s not it.” Graham paused and looked up at his friend. The gargoyle’s eyes were watery. “He’s the only one who…”
“What?”
At that moment, Ot was hit from behind by a very large mudpie. Graham and his friend looked up to see their worst nightmare approaching. Blord the village bully and his gargoyle band of misfits were zeroing in on them.
“I figured I’d find you rolling around in the mud with your troll friend, Graham,” spat Blord, as he beat his immense wings with vigor.
“Blord, just go away. I don’t want this right now.”
“Want what? Surely you’d rather hang out with me instead of some oafish runt.” Blord gestured for his fellow gargoyles to arm themselves. The boys swept up large palmfuls of mud. Graham noticed that Blord did not dirty his own hands with a mud projectile.
“Ot is a friend.”
Blord’s eyes narrowed. “Ready.”
“Don’t involve him.” Graham stepped in front of the troll and crossed his arms. He was now blocking them from pelting his friend with more mud.
Blord’s eyes flared in anger. “Aim.”
The gargoyles held their mud-filled hands high.
“You’re going to regret this,” Graham bellowed, attempting to sound strong and confident, not squeaky. Graham didn’t think he had succeeded. His voice still sounded nervous and twittery.
“Fire!” Blord beat his wings in joy as his gang bombarded the young gargoyle and his troll friend with volley after volley of mud missiles. “Let the mud fly! Ha-Ha!”
TERRA SQUIRMA
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
The mud was comforting. Graham adored how it tried to hold his feet prisoner with each step. The squishy suction playfully reminded him that the stable ground did not stray too far from his feet. It helped him forget that his first flight was fast approaching. He was dreading the arrival of Friday, only four days away. Graham was not ready to take to the air. His puny wings did not fill him with confidence. He pictured himself tumbling off the mountain, rather than soaring deep into the clouds. Besides, he was doing just fine on the ground. Terra firma felt so stable. Just looking up at the sky made his stomach feel light and queasy.
The young gargoyle reached down to pluck several more mukka roots out of the mud fields. The lumpy, pink vegetable was the main crop of the clan of trolls who lived next to Graham’s village. The other gargoyles avoided the trolls, claiming they were dirty and stupid. Graham didn’t believe that. His best friend was a troll. Graham glanced behind him to see his friend, Ot, working feverishly to catch up to him.
“My basket’s almost full, Ot. How are you doing?” asked Graham, pausing a moment to stretch. His tiny wings flapped ever so slightly.
The troll looked up and smiled. “Yes, but I’m half as muddy as you are. Perhaps you should consider less splattering. Looks like a dip in the waterfall might be called for.”
Graham scooped up an extra moist clump of mud and tossed it at Ot. The troll, moving surprisingly fast for someone so stubby and plump, dodged the mud pie. “My goodness, your aim is terrible today. That’s the fifth time you’ve missed me.”
Graham rolled his eyes and resumed plucking the roots from the sloppy ground. One of these days, he’d manage to hit his target, he thought as he wrapped his fingers around a particularly stubborn mukka root. “I have time for one more basket, then I have to get home. Grandfather has something important to tell me.”
Ot nodded, his smile withering into a more serious expression. “Is it about his crossing over? Is it time?”
Graham dropped his basket and trudged over to his friend, the tiny rim of horns along the gargoyle’s brow curled upward in anger. “Who told you about that? Who?”
“Your sister, Flenn. She was at the waterfall and she just started blathering on about all sorts of things, the weather, the flowers, how your father was growing frustrated with the council. I tuned her out. Honest, I did. Except…” Ot’s eyes darted from side to side.
“Except?”
“Well, she started to cry. I felt sorry for her. She started telling me about your grandfather, about how gargoyles age, about the ritual of crossing over.”
“She is such a blabbermouth.” Graham threw up his hands and stomped back to his basket. He picked it up and flung the carefully collected mukka roots onto the ground. Graham was about to hurl the basket into a nearby patch of trees when his friend spoke softly, almost as if his voice would shatter the fragile air around them.
“Is it true?”
Graham sat down on a nearby rock and exhaled sharply. His voice was slightly shaken when he spoke, “It’s true. As gargoyles age, our bodies calcify, slowly turn to stone. Grandfather can still move about, but is bedridden. He is saving his strength for the crossing. He must have enough flexibility to climb a mortal church and…”
“So he really does have to return to Earth?” Ot’s face wrinkled in fright.
“Yes, it is tradition. Our bodies harden and we become guardian statues. Our presence on a church is supposed to scare away evil spirits.” Graham picked at a patch of dried mud on his orange skin.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“My sister and I just found out last week. I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Why would that worry me? You’re not turning to stone anytime soon, are you?” Ot looked intently at his friend, afraid if he looked away the gargoyle would indeed turn to stone.
“No, that’s not it.” Graham paused and looked up at his friend. The gargoyle’s eyes were watery. “He’s the only one who…”
“What?”
At that moment, Ot was hit from behind by a very large mudpie. Graham and his friend looked up to see their worst nightmare approaching. Blord the village bully and his gargoyle band of misfits were zeroing in on them.
“I figured I’d find you rolling around in the mud with your troll friend, Graham,” spat Blord, as he beat his immense wings with vigor.
“Blord, just go away. I don’t want this right now.”
“Want what? Surely you’d rather hang out with me instead of some oafish runt.” Blord gestured for his fellow gargoyles to arm themselves. The boys swept up large palmfuls of mud. Graham noticed that Blord did not dirty his own hands with a mud projectile.
“Ot is a friend.”
Blord’s eyes narrowed. “Ready.”
“Don’t involve him.” Graham stepped in front of the troll and crossed his arms. He was now blocking them from pelting his friend with more mud.
Blord’s eyes flared in anger. “Aim.”
The gargoyles held their mud-filled hands high.
“You’re going to regret this,” Graham bellowed, attempting to sound strong and confident, not squeaky. Graham didn’t think he had succeeded. His voice still sounded nervous and twittery.
“Fire!” Blord beat his wings in joy as his gang bombarded the young gargoyle and his troll friend with volley after volley of mud missiles. “Let the mud fly! Ha-Ha!”
Opening
This is a blog for those who appreciate misunderstood monsters. Welcome to the twice weekly blog (updates Monday and Friday) of Brian Clopper. I am a published comic book artist who is taking the plunge into serializing my Cascade novels. These novels tell the stories of the denizens of Cascade, a patchwork world of magic and myth. Graham the Gargoyle is the first novel and was originally published by myself for sale at conventions. The first printing is sold out. Rather than reprint it again myself, I thought I'd try to grow my audience by placing my projects online. Look for Norton the Vampire, my second Cascade novel, to be serialized at this site next. After that, it's all new material made exclusive for this site.
THE SETTING:
The MAGICAL REALM
of CASCADE*
When mortal belief in magic began to die out, the magical and mythological creatures of Earth found their life forces fading. Rather than face apathy and extinction, they banded together and migrated to another dimension where their combined powers could sustain them, a magical haven called Cascade. There they thrived, and a multimystical society was born.
THE SETTING:
The MAGICAL REALM
of CASCADE*
When mortal belief in magic began to die out, the magical and mythological creatures of Earth found their life forces fading. Rather than face apathy and extinction, they banded together and migrated to another dimension where their combined powers could sustain them, a magical haven called Cascade. There they thrived, and a multimystical society was born.
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