The Girl, the Gypsy & the Gargoyle Page 10

  “Laurel! Look out!”

  She was looking, she thought dumbly. A layer of rocks peeled off and plummeted toward her. Her feet moved, trying to run, but the rockslide tripped her. She fell, banging her right hip. Around her, stones rumbled and rock dust billowed.

  Somehow, she held on to her jewel; the Hallvard would not make her turn loose of it, for she was sure that this was his doing somehow. He knew what was valuable here, just like she did. Jassy was the fool, grabbing at those pebbles.

  “Laurel! Where are you?”

  She coughed and breathed deeply. But rock dust filled her lungs, not air. She coughed again, struggling, gasping, suddenly desperate for air. Then, she actually got a breath. The rock dust was already subsiding and she could barely see that the rockslide–at least most of it–had fallen on her left-hand side.

  “Here.”

  Jassy was beside her instantly, jerking her up and away from the rubble. “What are you doing?” He glared, yelled, “When I saw that rock sliding–” Suddenly, he sat down hard, put his head between his knees and breathed hard and fast until he could look up with a chalk-white face and say, “I thought you were gone.”

  “And you were worried you would never get out of this stone world.” With her hand, she fanned at the rock dust. Flippant—a response to her fear a moment earlier—she said, “Don’t worry, nothing can kill me. I’ll live forever.”

  Then, looking around, she realized that she wasn’t okay; something had changed. Before the rockslide, the jewels had looked like pebbles, and that had been wrong. They still looked the same, they were just pebbles, but it didn’t bother her any longer. It was like the world had been flip-flopping around, and it had finally straightened up. That it was upside down didn’t matter, as long as it was going to stay this way. The curse had completely taken hold and everything was reversed.

  TWENTY

  THE TROLL’S EYE: CRUDE IS FINE, UGLY IS BEAUTIFUL, AND BAD IS GOOD

  “I am fine,” she told him. Jassy didn’t need to know. She checked her legs, running a hand up and down each leg, transferring the jewel from right to left hand as she did it. Her yellow skirt was ripped on the left side, her right leg was bruised, but miraculously, nothing was broken. “I’m fine.”

  “Then, sit. Right there,” Jassy said.

  Why was his voice so cheerful? She realized, that in her new reality, it meant he was angry. “Don’t move while I finish weighing the bags,” he ordered. “Then, we’ll leave.”

  Laurel sat, suddenly tired and content to do nothing.

  Jassy picked his way through the rubble back to where his torch was stuck upright in a pile of black stones beside the Troll’s scale. He picked up one canvas bag and set it on the scale. It tipped toward the bag—it was too heavy—so Jassy took out one stone. Reluctantly, he hefted it in his hand, and then tossed it aside. The scale balanced now and he tied it shut and quickly repeated the process with the other bag.

  Laurel put her hand right beside her skirt and hid it from Jassy’s view. Then she opened her fist: the Troll’s Eye twinkled brightly and she smiled. Not even a rockslide could take it away from her, she thought smugly. Let Jassy take both those bags of ugly rocks, she had the one true treasure. She closed her fist and jammed it into her pocket.

  With her free hand, Laurel pushed herself up and took a tentative step. Nothing hurt, so she took another step and finally climbed over and through the rocks toward Jassy.

  “Ready?” she called.

  He held out the bag. “Did you find any jewels to add to your bag?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad we can only take two bags.” Jassy looked ruefully around the chamber. “Do you think we could ever come back for more?”

  For this pile of junk? Laurel rolled her eyes.

  “You’re right, it’s too dangerous.”

  Laurel picked up the torch and let Jassy carry both bags. As she sidled past the bear-like Hallvard, she felt his eyes on her again. She forced herself to turn loose of the Troll’s Eye in her pocket and to grip the torch with both hands.

  The Hallvard’s yellow eyes bored into her.

  No! The bags of jewels were for the cathedral and her father. But the Troll’s Eye was hers. She glared back at the Hallvard and whispered, “It’s mine.”

  Suddenly the cave was filled with the Hallvard’s growl, a melodious sound to Laurel. But she knew enough to be scared: He was solid stone, yet he growled.

  Laurel turned and fled. Through the long corridors, she raced. She vaguely knew that Jassy was following, but even if he wasn’t, she wouldn’t slow down. They had to get back to the Troll’s Eye doorway as fast as possible.

  Laurel pounded toward the cave entrance, ready to dash out toward their fire in the meadow. But she stopped short at the sight of water cascading across the cave’s entrance. It fell in sheets from the mosses around the opening. She leaned over, trying to catch her breath and heard Jassy thud up beside her.

  A streak of lightning lit up the meadow, followed by a clap of thunder.

  Jassy waved a hand at the scene. “The sky was almost clear when we came in.”

  “What can we do?”

  From the depths came another deep growl.

  She flinched.

  “Laurel, what did you say to the Hallvard?”

  “Nothing.” Her voice was tight.

  “He’s not supposed to be angry. We each took one bag of jewels each. I weighed them, and they are only a Troll’s Weight each. We followed the rules.”

  “And where’d we get those rules? You think that Master Gimpel told us everything? We were fools to trust him.”

  Jassy’s eyes narrowed, “We have to trust him. And he warned us, once we step outside this cave, we can’t return any jewels.” He handed Laurel one bag of jewels. “If you have anything else, put it in the bag now.”

  She shook her head; she would not let him see her Troll’s Eye.

  Jassy’s mouth was tight. “Okay. We have no choice. Rain or not, dark or not, we must go because the Troll’s Eye closes in two days. Leave the torch, it’s worthless. I have more linen and pitch in my pack if we need it later.” He held out his hand.

  Laurel sighed, suddenly weary at the sight of his gargoyle’s claw, but took it anyway. Clutching her Troll’s Eye in her other hand, she let Jassy pull her through the watery doorway and out of the cave.

  Laurel and Jassy exited the treasure cave and immediately a warm rain hit her face, a gentle wind tugged at her clothes. Her hair was instantly soaked, dripping, but the water running over her face, down her neck was pleasant.

  But Jassy tugged at her and, as they ran, she realized the curse was making everything backwards. The wind was probably cold—yes, she was shivering. And Jassy’s clothes were billowing behind him; the wind was probably whipping about. It was scarier than if she felt the wind and cold rain.

  Running, Jassy kept one hand on the cliff to keep his bearings.

  Laurel strained against the darkness. “Is that our fire? Over there.” She turned Jassy around to see and had to guide his face with her hand until he was looking the right direction.

  Jassy nodded and pulled her along toward the fire. But even as they ran, the fire dwindled. Laurel longed for the mason’s workshop and her father’s deep voice rumbling on about the cathedral. She wanted to show her Christ child to Master Benoit and the other stone masons and carvers, to show them that she had worked hard all winter while they were back home with their families.

  Instead, their campfire was only dim embers when they reached it, and even those coals were sputtering in the rain. Hurriedly, they gathered their utensils and repacked. Laurel pulled out her cloak and threw it over her shoulders. For a moment, it was cold, uncomfortable; but the rain soon soaked it, making it light and warm. Yet she stood miserable, shivering.

  It wasn’t often she was ashamed of what she did. She spent lonely hours in the woods searching for herbs, dried them, and readied them for tending the sick. When townsmen called on h
er, she offered what she could to those with fevers, boils, broken bones or aching teeth. Even in this quest, she had come for her father. And for her love of the cathedral. And yes, for selfish reasons, too. She wanted to be a stone carver. She didn’t want to leave the only home she had ever known.

  But she hadn’t come for the love of money. Never!

  Yet, the whole trip felt dingy, now, like she had planned to steal. No! She hadn’t planned anything. But, the heavy bag pleased her, the knowledge of the jewels it contained pleased her. And her Troll’s Eye in her pocket absolutely delighted her. She was ashamed.

  She bowed her head and held her hands out to the warm rain, hoping it would cleanse her. Jassy was watching and she stepped away from his gaze, out of the firelight. The grasses were slick, though, and she tripped and fell into a muddy puddle.

  Jassy held out a gargoyle hand—he always looked deformed to her now.

  She hesitated, not wanting to get him dirty, too.

  But he grabbed her and heaved her up. “Let’s get to the trees and make a shelter under some bushes.”

  “No!” Laurel exploded. “I want to get out of here. We need to run all the way back. Now.”

  Jassy soothed, “We’ll be fine, we have two days to get back. And I’m too tired to go much farther on such a dark and stormy night.”

  Laurel wanted desperately to get the mud off her cloak, her clothes, herself. She pulled her hands away and wiped them on her skirt, leaving a dark streak of mud—which looked beautiful, even in the dim firelight. Which aggravated her even more. She grunted in frustration and Jassy turned to look at her.

  “I’m worried,” Laurel said. “The Gargoyle Man told me that when he does a sculpture, he just lets out what he sees in the rock. His gargoyles are so realistic. What if he tries to trap people in his rocks, so he can carve them?”

  “That’s crazy!” Jassy just shook his head and turned toward the tree line.

  * * *

  Water dripped from leaves, twigs, and grass blades. It ran into tiny rivulets that joined larger trickles that rushed into streams that hadn’t been there the day before. Dozens of streams, which had been re-born in the night’s storm, now tumbled toward the only river that ran through the valley. As dawn broke, water was on the move everywhere, rushing to join a stream: tumbling, gurgling, sweeping away everything that stood in its path in the mad jubilant march to join the river.

  And with the dawning, the Hallvard came.

  The first rays of light released him from his nocturnal stone. He growled softly and shambled up the corridor of the treasure cave. The rain had washed away any scent or tracks of the thieves, but he didn’t need them anyway. The tiny thief had taken an extra jewel, which would draw him like a lodestone.

  The great beast came out into the wet, washed meadow. He stood on his hind legs and looked around, as if getting his bearings. He raised his muzzle to the sky and roared once. And then, again. He dropped to all fours and loped across the meadow and into the woods beyond. He would not rest until he had all the jewels safely back in the cave.

  * * *

  Laurel yawned and stretched. Then she jerked straight upright. It was almost dawn; the sky was starting to lighten.

  Nearby, Jassy yawned and asked sleepily, “What?”

  “It’s morning. That’s all.”

  Standing up, every muscle ached. She refused to look at her hands and clothes: she knew they were dirty, but was afraid that if she looked she would see a bright yellow tunic and skirt with a spotless black cape.

  Jassy was sitting up now, untying the string of his jewel sack. He blinked sleepily at her. “Did we dream all that last night?” He shook a few stones into his hand and Laurel stopped to watch.

  Jassy’s hand held only pebbles.

  Laurel’s hand brushed her skirt pocket. Ah, yes, her stone, the only real jewel. She smiled to herself.

  Jassy stood now and stretched. “You look mean and scruffy today,” he said good-naturedly. “There’s mud on your face and your hair is a mess. Let’s get cleaned up and on the road.”

  Laurel nodded agreement, already anxious to get going. Taking a comb from her pack, she went toward the noisy clanging of a nearby stream. She splashed water on her face, feeling her eyes, cheekbones and forehead. She sighed in relief to feel only her own skin and familiar curves. She and Jassy were both here in the stone world, together, and it didn’t matter that she alone had looked through the Troll’s Eye. They would make it out together. She shook water from her face and repeated to herself: Two in, two out.

  Glancing back to be sure Jassy wasn’t close, she pulled out her stone and swished it in the water, washing it. Then she held it up to admire its glitter. The first rays of dawn filtered through the trees to be caught up in the stone and make it gleam.

  That’s when she heard the first roar. It was a pleasant sound that echoed off the hills. But that didn’t fool her; she was getting used to the reversals caused by the curse and knew that this roar, no matter how pleasant it sounded, was a grave thing.

  Snatching back her hand, she stuffed the stone in her pocket and called, “Jassy.”

  “Laurel! Let’s go.”

  And then, the second roar.

  She crashed through the bushes toward Jassy’s voice. She hadn’t combed her hair or taken a drink or eaten, but that didn’t matter.

  When Laurel finally saw Jassy, she stopped short, suddenly overcome with shame and loneliness and worry. “The Hallvard?” she asked.

  Jassy grabbed up her pack and threw it at her. “Yes, he’s coming, but we’ll make it.” Turning, he grabbed up his pack and pulled out a hunk of bread. “Eat as you go. The Hallvard is still a long ways away, but we need to go now. The rain washed away our scent and tracks. I think if we get across the river quickly, we’ll lose him. Just walk. Don’t think about the Hallvard.”

  Laurel took the bread, and nodded and followed Jassy down the trail.

  But of course, she couldn’t stop thinking about the Hallvard. His yellow eyes watching her. She crowded Jassy, urging him to go faster until they were trotting at an even pace.

  Even the curse couldn’t hide her weariness: Laurel ached all over, especially the heel of her left foot where a blister was rubbing. It irritated her that her damp, wrinkled clothes felt like silk, that her dirty hair felt glossy, that her travel bread tasted like spiced cake. They splashed through puddles, puddles that felt warm but should feel cold. She knew that it was all wrong, but even that didn’t matter. Instead, there was only a fear that grew with each step.

  Her heart throbbed, keeping time with her pounding steps. Pushing her: Go faster. Go! Go! Go!

  TWENTY-ONE

  IN WHICH THE GIRL AND THE GYPSY RUN

  Go! Go! Go! Laurel ran and as she ran, she remembered other times, other memories of when she had raced here or there: she remembered the priest’s surprise when she toddled down the aisle of the cathedral, laughing at the colored lights from the windows and trying to catch that light in her hands; she looked back to laugh at her father as he chased her up the steps of the bell tower, or up and down the scaffolding for the east tower; she looked into the quarry and raced down the steep, steep path to leap into the quarry master’s arms; she watched herself walk through the city gates, and then break into a run as she wondered if Jassy would be waiting for her, watching the path to see if she would come and visit the Gypsy cave. She didn’t know why these images haunted her as she ran; she just ran and let them wash over and through her. And when the memories finally faded, she felt like a lifetime had passed. The memories left her exhausted. And she was surprised to find the sun high overhead, to find that half the day had passed. And she was still running.

  * * *

  “How far have we come?” Laurel panted. She leaned against a tree trunk and clutched the stitch in her side. Her pack lay at her feet.

  “Not sure,” Jassy said. He was trying to catch his breath, too. “Halfway through the woods? We still have to cross the river, and then it
’s half a day’s walk up the hillside.”

  It irritated her that his linen shirt and grey britches looked spotless when she knew they were muddy. Even his spotless pack had to be soaked from running under wet branches. “I haven’t heard anything behind us for a while.”

  Laurel’s yellow skirt was likely splotched with red mud, too. Her blister had popped—no way the curse could change that feeling—and a new one was forming, but she had run on anyway.

  Jassy blinked up at the sky. “So hot and muggy.”

  The clearing was ringed with yellow and pink flowering bushes which sent a cloying fragrance into the air that dragged at Laurel. She didn’t ask if Jassy saw the flowers, smelled them. What was the point?

  “Maybe we lost the Hallvard,” Jassy said hopefully.

  A deafening roar startled them.

  “Oh! He’s close.” Laurel’s heart pounded. She grabbed her jewel bag and backed away from the path.

  With another roar, the Hallvard burst into the clearing. Laurel barely recognized the stone statue from the night before. The stern countenance had been transformed into an angelic smile, and he moved with ponderous, awkward steps. Mentally, she translated: a savage snarl and quick, graceful movements.

  “Jassy! Do something!”

  “What?”

  The Hallvard stopped and rose on his hind legs. He shook his shaggy muzzle from side to side. He stopped. His nose pointed straight at Laurel.

  Laurel jumped behind Jassy.

  Jassy pushed her away. “What’s going on?”

  Laurel hid her bag behind her back. “It’s mine.”

  The Hallvard dropped onto all fours and paced forward.

  Laurel and Jassy retreated until her back hit the bushes at the edge of the clearing.

  “You’re a bear keeper. You should know what to do.”

  “It’s not a bear; it’s a Hallvard.”