Chapter 22

As Grim walked behind Dorian, he wondered whether the Gargoyle’s allegiances lie with the forces of darkness or not. Many things crossed his mind.

Should he double back to Madam Malkim’s? Should he bolt and run to the closest building? Should he scream blindly for help through the sewers, flailing his arms about like a village idiot?

Grim slowed as he fingered the pocket watch. He wished his dads were there.

Dorian waited. “I didn’t do it,” he muttered, sidestepping a rat that flowed out of one of the pipes.

Grim was unsure of whether to believe him or not. “Then who did?”

The Gargoyle shook his head. “I don’t know. And if I find out who did this to Valeria, I will turn them to stone myself.” His voice seethed with anger.

“I guess you’re relieved to be free,” Grim muttered.

Dorian hung his head. “Sort of, but not much is worth living for without Valeria.”

“Huh?”

The Gargoyle had a sad grin on his gray face. “I see ― you didn’t know. Valeria has been my companion for over a year. Our bond is for life. Our relationship was a secret.”

“Valeria? I thought she’d go Banshee at any moment. She’s so…”

“Rigid?” Dorian said, and laughed. “She’s actually a lot of fun once you get to know her. It’s all for show. Eevenellin’s the same. She was keeping our secret.”

“You mean Eevenellin didn’t turn Valeria to stone either? And she didn’t cause the Scourge?”

That left only one person.

Dorian guffawed. “You’re joking, right? Eevenellin may seem a bit rough, but that’s just a ploy. She’s really very nice, and one of my closest friends. She kept me informed of what’s going on while I was locked up. We’re trying to figure out who did this. We think that Valeria knew something, but she was turned to stone to keep her silent. It looks as if she was angered when she was petrified. She was half way to Banshee by the looks of it.”

“Does it have anything to do with Festrel?” Grim asked.

The Gargoyle shook his head. “I don’t know. But if it was that little brat, I’ll hunt him down myself. I don’t care whose son he is.”

He marched faster then, and Grim followed, now unsure of everything.

 

They strode along darkened passageways, sometimes surfacing in abandoned stone buildings, but most of the time marching through tunnel after tunnel. The smell worsened as they went deeper. And somewhere Grim lost track of time. There was no sign of night or day, no indication of how long they had been walking, searching through the catacombs. Strangely they found entire city blocks under the ground, some abandoned, and some were still populated by the oddest of folk — most with sinth parts making up most of their bodies, if not all. It was in one of these blocks, where the sky above them was made of stone, that they found a small inn in which to rest. It was called The Blackwater and running next to it was a large sewage pipe filled with its namesake.

Dorian had money given to him by Aunt Patrice, but he handed the coins to Grim to pay the innkeeper. Gargoyles, he explained, are not well-liked and if the innkeeper knew what he was she might turn them away. He placed his hood over his head and followed Grim. The pear-shaped innkeeper did not seem to take any notice and saw them to a room, all the while clearing her nose in a rather filthy hanky every couple of minutes.

They woke to a simple breakfast and hit the waste-strewn underground tunnels once more. They slowed their pace as a heavy fog drifted into the tunnels. It inundated them with a strangely warm touch and ghostly white figures that wailed as they swept by.

“Careful,” muttered Dorian. “There are Mirages in the fog.”

“Mirages?”

“Those things,” he said, and swiped at one of the phantoms as it got too close.

Grim squinted into the mist, trying to keep straight. He lost sight of Dorian ahead of him and slowed as he nearly tripped. Grim stopped. A faint voice called from the distance.

“Grim!”

He could swear it was Poppa’s voice. Then a second voice joined the first.

“Grim, where are you? We’ve come for you!”

It was Dad. Grim turned towards the sound of their voices. His parents had come!

Again Pop’s voice called to him.

“Grim! Follow my voice, Grim!”

Three of the pale apparitions flew past, wailing. Grim inched forward and listened for his parents again.

They were coming to find him. They would take him home.

Another voice called in addition to his parents.

“Grim! Grim where are you? Follow the sound of my voice. You are in great peril, Grim!”

It reminded Grim of Veerasin’s foretelling. He was in great peril; he needed to reach his parents.

“Grim!”

The Mirages brushed against his skin ― cold to the touch. Grim ran forward, stumbling through the fog.

Faster!

He had to reach his parents.

One of the Mirages nearly knocked him over, wailing as it flew past. Grim’s feet squished through the sewers.

“Pop!” he called. “Dad!”

There was a growl behind him and Grim saw red eyes in the fog. He tried to run, but he struggled to lift his legs.

“Grim!”

Another roar behind him. Something was coming for him.

“Pop! Dad!”

“Grim!”

The red eyes were closer. There was nowhere to run. He grabbed a rock from under his foot.

The Mirages swept in again.

Grim gritted his teeth. It was not going to take him without a fight.

“Grim!”

He readied the stone.

The phantom creatures breezed past him again.

“Grim!”

The creature inched closer.

He had a clean shot.

“Grim!”

He hurled the rock and it struck the creature. It dropped to the ground and the glow of its red eyes dimmed.

“Grim,” it whispered, and Grim blinked. He knew that voice.

It was Dorian.

“Oh, no!”

Then one of the Mirages knocked Grim into the water. He strained to pull himself up and reach Dorian. The Gargoyle pulled his hand from his bleeding forehead with a groan.

“I’m so sorry,” Grim said. “I didn’t know it was you.”

The blood that seeped from Dorian’s wound was almost black.

“Are you hurt badly?”

“Not too bad,” he said.

Grim tore a strip of cloth from his shirt. He wrapped it around Dorian’s head.

“Thank you,” Dorian said. “That’ll do.”

Grim pulled him up.

Dorian snorted. “I’ll be fine, really. I’m just glad I found you. We have to get out of here.”

“But I heard my parents calling me,” Grim said. “They’ve come to take me home.”

Dorian shook his head and growled at one of the Mirages that swept in close. He swiped at it with his claws.

“No. Those are the Mirages you hear. They play upon your greatest desires and lure you further into the dark. If they catch us, they’ll feed on our souls and leave our bodies in a dreamless slumber forever.”

“But,―”

Four Mirages glided towards them, screaming in hunger and anticipation. Grim ducked as they flew past. He helped Dorian to stand.

The Mirages knocked them over once more and Dorian spread his wings. His eyes glowed red and he growled in rage.

One of the creatures dropped into the water with a splash. It had been turned to stone. The others screamed and fled into the fog. Again Grim remembered Veerasin’s prediction. He tried to recall what else the woman had seen. There was something about fire and burning.

They stumbled through the mist, and eventually it began to thin.

Grim felt like a fool.

How could he have believed his parents would have come for him in a place like this?

Grim and Dorian hit another inn in one of the underground city blocks. It had no name. This one was not as cozy as the last, but it had a warm fire for Grim to warm his feet and they were able to bathe. Dorian sat just beside him, hooded, in the common room. He rubbed his head from time to time.

There were a number of races in the room, some Grundels, a handful of Druids, and a few Wysps, all of them were sinth. The room was also filled with a lot of grimy, rather untidy-looking humans.

Grim didn’t like the look of any of them and thought it best they have their food sent to their rooms instead. As they departed, the dusty air tickled Grim’s nose. He sneezed and tripped on a wooden stool. The silver pocket watch clanked on the ground and rolled away from him. Grim bolted after it and a hooded man with shiny black shoes sat up in his chair. He did not try to pick it up, he just bent forward and seemed to sniff the air as Grim got close to him. Grim scooped it off the floor and departed while the man and his two greasy-looking companions watched them leave.

The following morning the three men were in the common room again, eyeing Grim and Dorian with suspicion. The two took their dried fruit and left with it rather than remain any longer at the inn. Grim felt the men’s eyes watching them as they departed and he sensed trouble brewing, thick and bubbling like Master Galan’s scurvy potion.

They set out to a crisp morning. The underground tunnels had a deep chill, like winter lurked around the corner. And it wasn’t long before misfortune followed them. All three men from the inn walked behind them. Dorian put his hood back up.

“Stay close to me. If we bolt, they’ll chase us.”

Grim gulped down the knot in his throat.

They continued walking, slipping into alleys and other side tunnels, trying to lose them. It was no use. The three men always seemed to find them again.

Grim glanced back. The hooded one was holding a black walking stick. He pulled back the hood and Grim gasped.

Marveleous Thingrom!

And he knew exactly who Grim was as well. Grim could tell by the wicked gleam in his eyes and the way he rubbed his arm.

The men ran towards them, sudden and swift.

“Dorian!” Grim shouted.

He bolted past the Gargoyle and heard him grunt as he noticed what lay behind them. Dorian caught up quickly.

“Into this alley!” Dorian bellowed.

Grim’s heart raced in his chest as the men chased them. He glanced back to see one of them firing off a ball of flame from his blaster. It whizzed towards them.

Grim screamed out. “Left!”

The two veered and the fire struck the building to the right.

They ran hard. The men were closing the distance between them and Grim could hear their grunts and mutterings behind them.

He looked back, and again one of the men was firing off another shot.

The two of them swerved and stumbled into a city park with dark trees, overgrown shrubs and a sky of clay and stone. A single lamppost shone in the distance, faintly illuminating a small clearing just ahead of them. Grim nearly leapt with joy. The space was filled with colorful mushrooms. He stopped at the edge and put out his hand to stop Dorian.

“Why are you stopping?”

“Look around you,” Grim said.

The Gargoyle looked about and shook his head.

“I don’t understand.”

“Good,” he said, “then maybe they won’t either. Follow me.”

Grim quickly dodged through the patch towards an area filled with blue mushrooms at the far end. He stepped around them, careful not to agitate them. Once he was on other side, Grim pulled out the little woman with the umbrella and Dorian stood beside him.

“What are you doing? Do you know how to use that thing?”

“Nope, but they don’t know that,” he said.

Dorian extended his wings.

“Can you turn them to stone?” Grim asked.

Dorian grinned. “Nope, but they don’t know that.”

“Why not?”

“Only once in a day’s cycle. I used it on that Mirage. But maybe I can immobilize one of them for a few minutes.”

Grim nodded, just as the men ran up to the far edge of the clearing.

Marveleous Thingrom paused and called out. “You will not get away this time, boy. There is no one here to protect you.” He rubbed his arm where Grim had injured him so long ago with the dagger. “My attempt to ambush your parents failed and I have been an outcast since my failure. I must find a way to absolve myself. And I will see to it that you pay dearly for what you did to me. I need only return with your head in a bag to be forgiven. The rest of you I will feed to the Syndrone.”

Grim gulped down the knot in his throat, but lowered his head in a mock offering. “Then my head awaits!”

Thingrom growled and the men bolted towards them, rage and hatred in their eyes. Each of them had their weapons bared and Thingrom flicked a switch on his walking stick. It changed into a blaster.

They ran hard, trampling the red and orange mushrooms. The reds writhed and then exploded as they were trampled. It was enough to disturb the blue ones. As the three men  trampled upon them, their blasters raised and aimed, the blue mushrooms sprayed them with a cloud of noxious gas that dropped the men into the muddied ground. Thingrom fell a foot from where Grim stood. Grim pulled back from the edge of the patch, careful not to inhale any of the gas.

When the air cleared, Dorian patted him on the shoulder and laughed.

“Astounding!” he said. “I’d forgotten about those mushrooms. I learned that rhyme when I was young.”

Grim blushed. “Well I just learned it, so it’s pretty new to me.”

“Nice,” he said.

Grim looked back to where the men had fallen and noticed the hand of Marveleous Thingrom. His fingers clutched a little figure of a man with an umbrella. And it was pulsing with a tainted, black hue.

“Dorian —”

A well-dressed gentleman appeared under the lamppost wearing a tall black coat with matching top hat. One of his eyes was covered with a black patch. He cast no shadow upon the ground and despite the fact that the trees were shifting in the faint breeze, the man’s cape did not budge. The man disappeared, only to reappear three feet in front of them. Grim sucked in his breath. As he exhaled he could see it. The air was winter cold.

The man eyed them both and removed his hat. His face was pale, and a thin black goatee circled his mouth. His one black eye focused briefly on Dorian.

“What are doing here, Gargoyle?”

“That isn’t any of your business,” Dorian said.

“I am Sinistral, Master of the Darksworn. You will speak with respect.”

“Jinn,” Dorian whispered to Grim.

Grim clutched the little figurine. He fiddled with the umbrella.

Nothing happened.

The pale-faced man looked at what sat in his hands. “Interesting device.”

Grim balled up the fear in his throat and swallowed it down. He flicked the umbrella a little faster.

Sinistral gritted his gleaming white teeth. Black flames danced at the tips of his pale hands and before Grim could even blink, he hurled fire at the two of them. Grim winced and braced for the impact, but Dorian hastily flipped three switches and pushed a button on his rod. It produced a metal shield. The fire hit hard against it.

Then the shield folded up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Sinistral’s malicious eye twinkled with glee.

“I still have sinth but it’s dead,” Dorian muttered. “Step back!”

The Gargoyle’s wings unfurled, leathery and bat-like and his eyes glowed an angry red. Dorian growled in rage.

“I don’t think so,” the Jinn hissed. With sudden, swift movements, he picked them both up by the collars and threw them backwards, sending them scooting along the ground.

Sinistral marched forward and towered over Grim. Grim scrambled for the little figurine hoping it might help, but it was yards away. Sinistral blocked his path, snatching Grim’s hand in his pale one. Black flames licked at Grim’s skin and he screamed.

“There is no escape for you.”

Grim closed his eyes, knowing now that Veerasin’s foretelling had come to pass. He waited for the pain, waited for the burning fire, and the end.