The Girl, the Gypsy & the Gargoyle Page 12

  Nothing.

  Laurel rolled back over, unable to rise because of pain, barely able to look up. The Hallvard was frozen, his feet hard rock and as she watched, the transformation traveled up his body. His eyes hardened into brilliant yellow jewels that glittered with malice.

  The sun had set.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  IN WHICH THE GIRL AND THE GYPSY ARGUE

  Jassy pulled Laurel away from the stone Hallvard. She was faint with pain, so he pulled her arm over his shoulder and they staggered out of the box canyon. At the trail, he eased her down to lean against the cliff. Jassy tore open his pack, searching for something to staunch the flow of blood. He grabbed his spare shirt and a knife and hacked the shirt into several pieces and put one piece in Laurel’s hand. She pressed it to her face, moaning.

  Jassy quickly found wood, started a fire with his flint, filled the small pot with water from his water skin and put it on to boil. Laurel was shivering now in the hot evening air. Jassy rolled a stone near the fire and helped her move to lean against it where the fire could keep her warm.

  Now, Jassy lit a stick from the fire and held it high. He motioned for Laurel to remove the cloth. Laurel watched his face as she took it off: his eyes lit up and he grinned.

  “That bad?” she demanded, and then regretted it. Speaking made her very aware of the injury: she could feel that the Hallvard’s claws had caught her forehead, eyebrow, the corner of her right eye–which was already swollen shut, and her cheek.

  Jassy dipped another cloth into the frigid water and squeezed it out, leaving it just damp. He turned back to her and murmured. “You’ll have scars. And this will hurt.”

  At his touch, Laurel cried out and thrust him away.

  “You have to let me clean it,” he said, his voice cold and harsh.

  With her good eye, she saw that his cheek was twitching and she guessed that he was having a hard time keeping control of his emotions. There was something she should remember, though. What?

  Then, she knew. It hurt to speak, her jaw movements like stabs. “On the cross. Vine. White star flowers.”

  “You think it’s the flower the Master Gimpel mentioned?”

  Laurel barely nodded, and then closed her good eye. She heard Jassy run back into the canyon. Suddenly, she panicked, “Jassy!” Oh, the pain! She rocked back and forth, not caring if he heard her or not.

  “I’m here.” Jassy knelt beside her and put her hand on a rough flower. “What do I do with them?”

  She peeked at the flower: could petals that rough and thin be worth anything? Still, they had no other herbs to try. Speaking from one side of her mouth, she whispered. “Infusion. Boil them. Then bathe my face.”

  And while Jassy made great echoing sounds around the fire and pot, Laurel concentrated, trying to ease her pain: she thought about how much she hated the bald clerics who controlled the hated purse that controlled building of the cathedral; how much she hated the Gargoyle Man who had tricked her into looking through the hated Troll’s Eye; how she hated the Hallvard who only wanted the jewel in her pocket. She fingered the white flower that still lay in her hand, and then crammed it into her mouth and chewed slowly, letting the sweet apple-like flavor fill her mouth, concentrating on keeping her mouth marching in time to the throb of her cheek. She would fool them all. She would never give up.

  * * *

  Laurel woke to the smell of rotten fruit. She smiled to herself; Father had forgotten again to take the supper tray back down to Symon. But the smile shot pain through her face. She reached up, tentative, exploring and felt rough bandages around her head. She remembered: the Hallvard had clawed her.

  But why were they still here, sleeping, when they should be trying to get home before dawn when the Hallvard woke again?

  Laurel pushed herself upright. Every muscle hurt: her hip was bruised from the fall into the river, and her face throbbed. Only one thing felt good. Her hand crept into her pocket and found the jewel. It was safe.

  Across the fire, Jassy’s head lolled on his pack. Around his head and neck, he wore garlands of some plant, probably the green vine with the white star flowers. Laurel stood and had to hang with her head down for a minute for a dizzy spell to pass. Then she limped around the fire and shook Jassy’s shoulder.

  He woke with a start. “How long did I sleep? Are you all right?”

  “We must run,” she mumbled. With no stars or moon, it was black in this stone world, except for the red embers of the fire, impossible to tell the time.

  Jassy rubbed his eyes, and then poked at the coals and added more wood until the light flared up. Then he dished up a crude stew he had made with jerky. “Eat. You need strength for the climb.”

  Despite the putrid smell, Laurel ate greedily at first. Her jaw movement still made her face hurt, though it didn’t throb like before. Still, she stopped eating before the bowl was half empty. Jassy finished her bowl and another besides. Then he rapidly washed the pot and bowls and repacked them. Now there was only the pot with the flower infusion left to deal with.

  “Let’s change the dressing on your face.”

  Laurel didn’t like it, but knew it needed to be done.

  Jassy unwrapped the cloths and held up the torch. With a puzzled look, he said, “Better already.”

  “Will it scar?”

  “Maybe not. The flowers are working better than I expected.”

  “A miracle?”

  “A miracle,” he agreed. He replaced the dressing with fresh cloths soaked in the flower infusion. Then he soaked the rest of his cloths in the infusion, dumped out the remainder, and put the cloths back into the pot to keep them damp. Finally, his pack was ready.

  “Let’s go.” He offered his gargoyle hand to Laurel. But she lifted one of the vines that still hung around his neck. “Put these in your pack, too.”

  While he did that, she said, “Jassy, I’ve been thinking. The Hallvard is just rock now, right? Why don’t we try to break that rock apart? Push him over, drop a boulder on him, and push him off a cliff. Something. Anything.”

  “While he can’t strike back.” Jassy pulled her to her feet. “It might work.”

  Carrying the torch, they went back to the box canyon. Laurel followed slowly and wondered how she would be able to make it up the cliff path if this didn’t work. The blister on her heel was better but still chafed, her hip hurt, her face ached and she could only see from one eye. At the canyon’s opening, she leaned against the stone and watched Jassy.

  The torchlight threw a tiny Hallvard shadow against the opposite wall, making him look like a wooly lamb. Laurel shivered. How long till dawn and he woke again? If only they knew.

  Jassy motioned her forward to hold the torch. He put his shoulder behind the Hallvard’s knee and shoved. The massive form didn’t budge.

  “Too heavy,” Jassy said, panting.

  Laurel held the torch high and looked upward. “Maybe there are rocks to push over on top of him.”

  “Let’s look. But we must be quick.”

  They turned to leave the box canyon, but Laurel stopped, puzzled. “Where are the jewels?” She remembered now that the Hallvard had ripped open her bag and scattered the jewels.

  “I picked them up,” Jassy said. “When we get out, we’ll split them.”

  Laurel didn’t answer, not wanting the pain of talking again. But she was pleased. Jassy’s jewels didn’t matter except as a way to slow down the Hallvard. They had two real treasures to take back: her Troll’s Eye and the flowers to heal Antonio and Father. Two treasures and two miracles. A new cathedral and Father healed and ready to direct the construction. Then she could stay on, too, and learn to carve. She wouldn’t have to marry, wouldn’t have to leave. It was worth even a small scar on her face.

  They scrambled up the slope outside the canyon. Jassy pointed out a boulder that was a rich red like the cathedral wall and was twice his arm span. “Looks like it’s in the right position and big enough.”

  Laurel held the torc
h again so Jassy could shove the boulder. It rocked, but didn’t roll.

  “You’ll have to help,” Jassy said.

  They propped the torch against another boulder. Laurel grabbed a stick—she hoped it was a sturdy one, but couldn’t really tell—and waited until Jassy heaved again. When the boulder rocked, she shoved the stick under it. He heaved again, and Laurel wedged the stick farther under the boulder. Jassy shoved and Laurel levered with the stick, afraid it would break. But the boulder started to roll. Laurel grabbed the torch and they watched. The boulder tumbled, bouncing once, twice, off the cliff before it hit the Hallvard full in the face. An explosion boomed, echoing throughout the valley. Rock dust floated up toward Jassy and Laurel, blocking their vision for a moment.

  When it cleared, Laurel grabbed Jassy’s arm. “Look.”

  The boulder had shattered into thousands of tiny pieces, while the Hallvard stood upright and unharmed. “We can’t destroy him,” Laurel said.

  “But he can destroy us.”

  The boulder was now shattered rock, like her hopes were shattered. She wanted to scoop up the pieces and glue them back together, but there was only one thing that mattered now.

  “Run.” She said it softly, but the word echoed.

  And from below, the Hallvard growled softly in return, almost an echo.

  “Run, Jassy, run.”

  They ran. They scurried down the slope to their camp and grabbed the pack and jewel bags. A brisk wind blew down the valley and along the creek and the path. Torchlight jerked as they ran, shadows startling her and adding to her growing panic. Run, Jassy, run, she thought.

  They made progress. Not fast, but enough that Laurel’s panic started to ebb away and hope return. Then Jassy stopped: “Look.”

  The eastern sky was grey with a crimson stain that spread across the horizon.

  “Curses! Why did we sleep so long? Faster, Laurel.”

  She tried to obey, but with the coming of dawn, the curse overwhelmed her and she trotted in a dreary winter world, cold and miserable. There were no squirrels, no birds, no river music. Instead, the rocky path was full of rubble and debris, making it an impossible path to follow even if she had been uninjured.

  They climbed in spurts now, alternately running, and then plodding, for an hour before the sun rose fully and Jassy called that he saw the Hallvard’s black form silhouetted against the red rocks of the cliff. The Guardian of the treasure cave was toiling up the slope behind them. They were only a quarter of the way up the hillside, and their pace was too slow. But Laurel could go no faster.

  It was another few hours before the Hallvard was close enough that Jassy stopped to decoy him by throwing a couple jewels over the beast’s head. The jewels bounced off the cliff and into the crevasses below. The Hallvard raged, but to Laurel, his roar sounded like an accomplished opera singer. Obviously, he was angry. But he backtracked to find the jewels.

  Laurel trotted now with one hand in her pocket, cradling her treasure. She moved automatically, as if sleepwalking. “Two in, two out. Two treasures, two miracles.” She chanted the words and moved her feet.

  Jassy half-carried her over rough areas, and they pulled ahead of the Hallvard again. But through the haze of pain and self-hypnosis, Laurel could feel herself tiring. She needed to rest. Sleep. Just two minutes.

  No. Two in, two out. Two treasures, two miracles. She caressed her stone and moved her feet.

  By mid-afternoon, they were about halfway up the cliff when Laurel sagged without warning onto a flat rock and curled up to sleep.

  “Laurel, run.”

  “Two minutes,” she murmured. Then she slept.

  * * *

  Jassy shook Laurel, and she sat up instantly.

  I couldn’t have slept even five minutes, she thought. But it seemed as if a huge boulder had been lifted off her chest. She yawned and carefully stretched sore muscles. Then she saw Jassy: his face was lit up, his face so brilliant that she hardly knew him. Oh, she thought, he must be furious about something.

  “What’s this?” Her Troll’s Eye twinkled in his hand.

  Laurel blinked her good eye, and then groped in her pocket. Empty. “That’s mine!”

  “You took an extra jewel!” he accused flatly. “I was looking for a clean piece of cloth to bathe your cuts. And I found this.”

  “In the cave, everything looked like river pebbles except this one. I’m sure it’s another Troll’s Eye.”

  “Don’t you understand what you’ve done?” Jassy exploded. “You couldn’t be content with two full bags? You had to have just one more?”

  “It’s just one.” Laurel was puzzled by his anger.

  Below, the Hallvard sang in triumph.

  Jassy pointed to the beast lumbering up the path toward them. “That’s the difference. He won’t stop until he gets this jewel. I’m going to give it to him.” He hefted the red jewel and raised his arm to throw.

  Laurel heaved herself up at Jassy and knocked his arm. The jewel dropped with a thunk and rolled toward the edge of the cliff. Laurel dove after it, grabbing it before it fell over.

  “It’s mine. Do you hear me? Mine!”

  She stood before Jassy in a rage. In a strange way, she knew what she looked like: her hair was matted and stringy, her face was swathed in bandages, her clothes were filthy and her fist was clenched around the Troll’s Eye. She looked more like a gargoyle than a girl. And holding the Eye again, she felt the heaviness return. But she couldn’t give it up; she had carried it so long. She was, well, fond of the jewel. Some part of her knew that “fond” was the wrong word, but she hadn’t the strength to figure out what word she should use. Probably “obsessed.”

  “We’ll never make it,” Jassy said. His voice was emotionless, his features clear. He sat on the flat rock and crossed his legs. “We’ll wait here for the Hallvard.”

  “So now you want to give up? Well, I won’t let you. I need you: two in, two out.” Laurel jerked open the jewel bag. She shook out a handful of the worthless pebbles and flung them over the Guardian’s head.

  The beast turned doggedly to recover them.

  “See? We’ll make it. Only two more hours,” Laurel cried. “And if we only bring out this one Troll’s Eye, it will be worth it.”

  She slung her back pack over her shoulders and hobbled determinedly up the path.

  Jassy yelled after her, “You’re a fool, Laurel!” It echoed and re-echoed off the blood-red cliffs: “Fool–Laurel–fool.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  THE GIRL, THE GYPSY AND THE GARGOYLE

  Laurel and Jassy trudged uphill, now and then jogging a step or two, but too tired to do more than that.

  In some odd way, this trek up the hillside was a happy time for Laurel, maybe the happiest of her life. First, she was working for something important, trying harder than ever before, striving, straining. It wasn’t easy, like kneeling to pray was easy. Nor was it easy like tending the sick was easy when you had the right herbs and knew what to do with them. Nothing was easy here because it was hard, unknown. It was hard because everything was reversed. But part of the joy came in that difficulty. No one else was doing this thing because it was too scary, too hard. But Laurel had taken the risk, had been willing to suffer for something bigger than herself, for the cathedral and her father’s health and her own future. She was happy because this struggle was for all the right reasons.

  Of course, the knowledge that she carried a Troll’s Eye was a happy thing, too. She kept her hand in her pocket, rubbing her thumb against the stone’s cut surface. If only Jassy appreciated the jewel, it would truly be a happy moment, to share that with him.

  Barely noticing the trail, Laurel walked onward, climbing towards the way out of this stone world.

  And now the red glow of the Troll’s Eye door was guiding them. They were close, maybe thirty minutes away. But the sun was low and the Hallvard was closing in.

  * * *

  Jassy shook out the jewel bag. Empty. He threw it over the cliff
in frustration. “He’s coming fast!”

  Laurel was exhausted. They charged up the last slope–if their agonizing pace could be called charging–to the plateau with the Troll’s Eye door. They sped through the corridor formed by the linden trees. At the corridor’s end, through the hazy light of the Troll’s Eye, the Gargoyle Man appeared as a giant.

  “Master Gimpel, we’re back!” Jassy yelled.

  The mason didn’t look up from the stone on which he was working.

  With her good eye, Laurel saw the Hallvard climb up onto the plateau on the outside of the linden tree corridor. Apparently, he had abandoned the path and climbed straight up the cliff. She grabbed Jassy’s arm and pointed.

  “Run!” Jassy cried.

  They sprinted, forcing fatigued muscles to move beyond their limit. The Hallvard dropped to all fours and raced with astonishing speed. But Laurel and Jassy had a head start.

  Laurel called, triumphant, “We’ll make it!”

  Then, she caught her foot on a rock, stumbled, fell. She was up in an instant, but now the Hallvard had the edge. He reached the Troll’s Eye door first. He rose onto his hind legs to block the exit.

  Jassy called, “Laurel, do you smell that? It’s the herbs you spread on the workshop floor.”

  Almost home!

  The Hallvard roared, almost like a guffaw. The note of joy in the bellow paralyzed Laurel. The Hallvard took a step toward her.

  Jassy jumped in front of Laurel, shoving her backward and held both arms out as a shield. His voice melodic, he ordered her, “Give him the jewel.”

  “No.” She clamped her jaw and searched for something to distract the beast.

  “Laurel, now! We’ll be trapped here.”

  “No!” There had to be another way.

  “Look! The doorway is shrinking! We have no time!”