The crunching of snow underneath the Elder One's feet was the only sound that broke
the silence of the night. His cloaked form moved quickly despite the mid-calf depth of the hard
snow.by Amy K. Cyrway
***DISCLAIMER: Gargoyles aren't mine. Rather, this is a piece of fiction with no intent on infringement of any kind against the giants of Disney and Buena Vista. In fact, many of the creatures are from my own twisted imagination. Kade Saeri, though holding a small part of this fic, is legally mine. The timeline takes place about sixty years before the beginning of "Awakening" and goes up to that point. This is the first installment of "Scriptae Caligorum" which follows the Family of Darkness, not just Caligo. It will be a random series, sprinkled amongst others, with the untold stories of not only Caligo, but Brooklyn, Cashe, Luach, Kat, Sierra, and other offspring of Darkness throughout the millennia and multiverses. MATURE SITUATIONS in this one...not so much as much swearing...this is the Dark Ages, after all...but mature themes...some steamy scenes in this one...if it made the Porn Kings (i.e. the Outklaws) say "Wow", you know it's a little deep. Some cases against religion, but I try to keep it as unoffensive as possible. (Then again, I did receive an email from a parent whose child read my work and expressed that Caligo's origins were heresy and that I should change them. Right. I'M THE BLASPHAMOUS PAGAN!!! *LOL* Their gonna hate what’s gonna happen next.)
Thanx go out to Mercedes, Blitz, Sombrero, (my main editors and brainstormers) Stormy, Whitbourne, Strider, Joel (my self-proclaimed biggest fan!) and anyone else who reads my fic! Thanx!
***NOTE: There is an instance that overlaps an incident happening in "Gliding On The Winds of Time: First Breath". For those who are first time readers of my fanfic, I’ll try to be as generic and explanitory as possible. After all, I read Dylan Blacquiere’s "Immortal Beloved" which has ties into his six-part series "Shadowplay" set before it. Big mistake. (PS: Now Dylan’s one of my favourite authors, published or not, right before *emphasis: before* Michael Moorcock. BTW: Thanx, Whitless! I’m addicted to GBS because of you!!!) Also, This is a new update, yes. Thanx to Mary Pletsch, Dylan's wonderful girlfriend (whom we have a running gag with our cars in the subject heading of all our emails) had caught a maniacal cackle that I had inserted that for Blitz. It has since then been deleted. (Thank god.) You can now read my fic without thinking I've been possessed by a newbie. Thank you and have a nice night.
The Gargoyles Cyrway-verse Chronology:
***
Wyvern, Scotland
circa late winter 947 CE
The crunching of snow underneath the Elder One's feet was the only sound that broke
the silence of the night. His cloaked form moved quickly despite the mid-calf depth of the hard
snow.
On his back was strapped an odd sword, never seen before in Scotland.
His sharp ears caught a noise suddenly, his storm grey eyes narrowing as he lifted his shadowed head. The noise was similar to his own footfalls through the crusty white.
Too light to be horses, he thought, and unless they were rather heavyset, they were too heavy to be humans.
Shifting his sword from his back to around his waist for a quicker draw, he drew his hood further over his face and called out.
"Savete, mei amici!" he shouted. "I seem to be a little lost, and am looking for some assistance--"
"A 'little' lost, friend?" a harsh, human voice retorted. "You speak like a damned Roman!"
"I am not Roman, I assure you," the Elder One stated coolly. "Nor am I from anywhere else. I am a historian, a wander. I am looking for shelter for the day."
"You are a fool to travel at night with all the thieves and blasted Vikings around," another, more high-pitched, voice remarked.
"I do it through necessity."
"A fugitive, then?" the first voice questioned.
"No; just prefer to use the cover of night." His hand rested on the hilt of his long, thin blade. "Come out so I may see you."
"Gladly," the first man remarked, jumping from behind a tree, wielding a club. His companion, a rather stout woman, followed, swinging a small hatchet.
Robbers?!
Deftly, the Elder One stepped back, unsheathing the sword and holding it in defense.
"I only asked a simple question," he stated. "I'm not really in a mood to kill tonight."
"Oh, someone's going to die tonight, and it ain't going to be us!" the woman shouted, taking a swing. The cloaked figure parried with the dull side of the sword and brought the pommel sharply down onto her temple, rendering her unconscious before she even hit the snow.
Her companion whistled.
"That's some weapon you've got there," he smirked. "That should fetch a pretty sum at the black market."
"It's not for sale," the Elder One snarled, and the robber gasped as two burning white embers glowed underneath the hood.
"What are you?" he whispered, getting over his initial fear.
"You ass!" someone hissed from the dense forest. "That's one of those bloody gargoyles they have over at Wyvern Castle!"
The Elder One's head perked up at the last comment, his hood falling from his inhuman face.
"Other gargoyles...?" he whispered, his eyes wide as they reverted to their normal storm grey.
The standing robber stepped back, dropping his club.
"Get away, demon!" he shouted. "Leave these woods!"
"You have no say in when I leave," the Elder One growled, snatching the grubby man's robe and hoisting him up to meet him at eye level. "You've insulted me, and for that, I should take your life."
Leave me be, demon!" the human whimpered.
Suddenly, the other humans in the robber village received the epiphany to attack all at once to save their friend. At least fifty others streamed out of the forest, carrying various weapons from makeshift pitchforks to fine Roman gladiuses.
With a roar, the Elder One cast off his cloak and stood to his full seven foot height, throwing the first man at the charging mob. Posed to strike, he narrowed his eyes.
"Cowards!" he snarled. "Attack me with an army?"
With that fresh on their minds, he roared again.
Though somehow it seemed magnified...
The approaching force of thieves halted dead in their tracks as creatures from the sky divebombed them mercilessly.
Other gargoyles!
The Elder One laughed, joining his "children" in the battle--
--though they were not fighting.
Rather, it was apparent their plan was to scare the robbers off.
He growled as the humans ran terrified back into the woods.
"They are getting away," he snarled.
"They learned their lesson," a stocky light brown young male, about forty or fifty, retorted. Curiously, the Elder One noted, as all the others wore traditional loincloths and tunics, this one wore light leather armour and breeches. At his side was a short scabbardless sword.
"Still...no matter. I am thankful for your aide." He nodded. "I am also overjoyed to know there are other gargoyles in the world."
"Do you not have a clan?" An older violet female with raven locks questioned. He answered her inquiry with a simple shake of the head, his plaited mane of jet falling off his shoulder.
"I had never had a clan," he retorted, "and probably never will. I am simply a wanderer; searching for knowledge."
"Then why don't ye stay with us for a while," the young male suggested. "We can at least give ye a home for a bit."
"Actually, that isn't such a bad idea, friend." He recovered his cloak from the snowy ground and draped it back around his broad shoulders. "I've been traveling for weeks."
"Where have you've been?" a curious red female whispered, staring deep into his eyes. "To England? Or maybe Ireland?"
The group of gargoyles trudged through the deep snow back toward the castle atop of the cliff overlooking the North Sea as the Elder One answered all their questions.
"Further, " he stated. "I've been to Rome, Africa, and to far-away Nippon."
"Why travel so far from yer castle?" The brown male demanded.
"I've no castle, lad, nor a clan, as I've said before," he explained. "And it leaves me to explore the vast world."
"How have you come to become clanless?" A large light grey male questioned.
"I never had a clan. I wasn't abandoned, nor banished. I've always been alone. Simple as that. You seem to think it is a foreign concept." The Elder One yawned. "Ah, it will be good to rest my tired bones. I do appreciate your hospitality." He then directed his gaze back to the stocky male. "Tell me, who is your leader?"
"I am," the brown male retorted.
"But…"the Elder One smirked. "But you are barely an adult!"
"Our previous leader was killed three years ago," he explained, "and he had not named a second."
"The lad took over for the Leader during the battle," the violet female remarked. "He made sure there were no other casualties in our clan and brought us victory over the Vikings. We all decided he should be his successor."
"That’s quite a feat, lad," Caligo whistled. "Surely you would have been named second regardless."
"Possibly," the young Leader nodded as they entered the gates. The humans residing within the walls seemed to back off as the clan walked through the crowd. The Elder One’s keen sixth sense picked up awe and fear, respect and hatred, each emotion different with each human. Young hatchlings gathered around the group, rifling questions left and right about their trip.
One, however, a small azure female with flaming red hair, stared up at the Elder One, her bright green eyes studying his beaked face.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"The humans I have encountered in my travels have come to call me ‘Caligo’," he remarked. "A title, a name…"
"We do not have names," she remarked, walking along side him.
"Gargoyles were not creatures to be named," he smiled. "They exist. That is all they need to be. I only have a name so that humans could talk to me without calling me simply ‘gargoyle.’" He laughed somewhat.
"What’s in your pouch?" she questioned.
"My journal," he answered, "along with some maps and quills and other little souveniers from my travels."
"Where did you get the sword? I’ve never seen one like that."
"Come on, bairn," the violet female took her by the hand. "I think you’ve asked too many questions as it is."
"No, not at all," the gargoyle called by humans as Caligo held his hand up. "She is welcome to ask anything she wishes to. It is her duty as a child to learn all she may."
"Please, rookery mother?" the child pleaded.
The violet woman sighed.
"If you do not see any harm in it," she retorted. "Though you must be tired from your trip…"
"I am a historian," he stated. "And what better way to keep history alive than to pass it on to our young?"
The rookery mother only smiled and nodded, rejoining the rest of the children as the azure female stayed at the Elder One’s side.
"Where did you get that kind of sword? I’ve never seen one like that." she repeated.
He laughed, sitting down on a step to the battlements as she unsheathed his blade, holding it, sharp edge up.
"I received this from a swordsmaster in Nippon," he explained. "I spent some time training the art of swordfighting there."
"It only has one edge," she observed.
"It only needs one edge. It is not made for hacking, like the gladiuses and Viking short swords. Instead, it’s meant for slicing." He swung his arm suddenly, swiping a melon on a nearby food cart. It seemed intact, but only for a second. It slid apart, the top half finally toppling over into his waiting hand. "It is meant for precision, for accuracy." Cleaning it with a rag from his pouch, he deftly sheathed it.
"Do you know how to read?" she whispered, almost ashamed.
"And write," he winked. "Why do you ask?"
"I would like to learn to read," she whispered. "The Elders say we don't need to know it, but I want to learn."
He smiled broadly.
"Of course," he retorted. "But if your Elders wish you not to learn--"
"I know a place..." she hissed. "It's a secret place in the castle I found while exploring. We could do it there."
He regarded the child, no older than ten human years old, with thoughtful eyes.
"Then we shall," he remarked.
The girl laughed, jumping up and running back to her clutch, tackling a lavender male full force. The two wrestled for a bit, then resumed to a game some of the other children were engaged in.
The beaked male sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.
His childhood was literally aeons ago. Not that he didn't remember it, he did. The problem was that he never played with his clutch. They all were like vicious animals with incredible intelligence; survival of the fittest, and the smartest.
Why, he hadn't seen any other Elder One in millennia, save his wayward twin sister.
"Tell me about your travels, please."
He pulled his eyes away from the children and diverted his attention to the crimson female in front of him.
"My travels?" he laughed. "Where would like me to start?"
"The beginning is always a good start."
He laughed heartfully.
"My beginning is long."
"I haven't watch tonight," she retorted. "I can listen till dawn."
His smile widened.
"Let me start off by saying I'm much older than I seem." He sighed. "I've spent many a day in foreign places, learning their culture and languages."
"Where have you been?" she demanded with a giggle.
"Well, the first place I recall off the top of my mind was the Nile. That's a river in Egypt, in northern Africa. Ah, that was interesting...though they thought I was Anubis at times...then there was Rome in her heightened glory...what a remarkable and beautiful language they had..."
"How does it sound?" she whispered, staring him with her hazel eyes.
"Somewhat like," he took a breath, meeting her eyes, suddenly finding himself lost within their depths. "'Pulcha fillia es.' That is simple Latin, though--"
"What does it mean?" she breathed. Suddenly the Elder One felt something he hadn't experienced in ages. something deeper than lust, though at first he thought that. However, if he thought about it...
...she had a beauty to her that stuck out further than these other clanswomen. Something a little more exotic than the rather jagged warrior women surrounding her. She had a softness that was a rarity amongst the clan.
"'You are a beautiful woman,'" he mouthed, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. She gasped somewhat, her eyes wide.
"You've not known me two hours," she muttered.
"then why do I feel I have all my life?" he demanded. "And that, my lady, is a very long time."
She sighed, unsure what to say.
And, keeping the silence, she walked off.
"It seems," he rumbled softy, "that you did not have as much time as you thought, mei deae."
***
Early Spring 948 CE
And indeed did Caligo make himself at home, when after a couple of weeks he had become part of the clan rather than a traveller looking for shelter.
The child proved to be an exceptionally quick learner. She not only learned the Latin fundamentals, but the first declanation of verbs and sentence structure in only a few weeks, and was reading simple Latin and Gaelic by the end of two months when spring began to emerge. Though that was a priority on Caligo’s mind, it was only second to the crimson woman whom he fallen for.
They had dared to venture out to the battlements to continue their studies when some of the prince’s sons found the small room. A few of the clan, including the rookery mother, had noticed his instructions, but had said nothing to anyone.
Until the lavender boy had joined his rookery sister one night.
"Magistrar," she beckoned one night. "Is it all right if my brother learns as well? Someday he’ll be a great leader, and if he knew how to read and write, it would make him even greater."
The boy blushed somewhat.
The Elder One laughed somewhat, ruffling the boy’s deep brown hair.
"Do you want to learn?" he asked. "Your sister knows first hand that I’m a strict teacher."
"Yes, sir," he whispered, somewhat in awe.
"Well, then," he smirked somewhat, pulling out a small blank journal and a lead stick. "This is the last one I have…they’re expensive, boy, even for humans. Take good care of them and respect them, for knowledge is power. What you are about to learn will put you at an advantage over not only your clan but also most humans."
The girl smiled somewhat at her brother as she pulled her own book, identical to her brother’s save that it was a quarter-full, and sat down on the step above Caligo, awaiting her lesson.
The large gargoyle regarded the two eager children with a fatherly pride as he gave the girl her lesson out of his own, much larger, journal. Then to the boy, he took his book and wrote the Roman alphabet on the first page.
"You need to know these letters before anything else," he instructed. "I want you to copy them until you know them cold so you won’t need the model. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," the boy nodded, holding the lead with his entire hand.
"No, boy, like this," the Elder One corrected, holding his own expensive quill with his thumb and forefinger, with the third as support. "You’ll find it much easier to maneuver your lead."
The boy nodded again, correcting his blunder clumbsily.
The adult watched over his two students, answering questions they had and giving advice when needed, but let them work silently.
He heard a cough nearby, and saw the crimson female glancing up at him, her plaited white hair swaying a bit in the warming breeze.
"I see you’ve taken another student under your wing," she observed. "The Leader isn’t happy about you teaching them, but he’s a tolerant sort."
"The Leader can learn as well, if he wishes," the grey male remarked. "I welcome the chance to spread knowledge."
"The Leader is into preserving the old ways. He objects to the fact that you have a name."
"Of all gargoyles, I would have thought he’d be young enough to be open to change."
"Again, he is tolerant. He hadn’t much of a childhood, and was forced to become an adult early. Still, he’s wise beyond his years."
"I see that in his eyes," he nodded in agreement. "Are you familiar with Christianity? Some of the peasants on the countryside in England are illiterate because they think knowledge is the Forbidden Fruit. Not to know is their salvation."
"I am familiar with that." She nodded with a sigh, her braid swinging onto her shoulder. "There are some men who come to the castle, preaching of their God."
"Interesting that only their men of God are allowed to know," the male smirked. "Unfortunately, some believe gargoyles shouldn’t possess knowledge."
"We are creatures of action," she protested softly.
"Are you sure?" he raised an eye ridge with a sardonic smirk.
She wasn’t sure of what to say after that.
"We possess intelligence, and the capability to learn. And that is what I do."
She nodded somewhat, coming up behind the boy and sitting on the step next to the Elder One.
"I wish to know of the world outside Scotland," she revealed. "I do not need to read and write; only to know about the world."
He nodded with a smile.
And told his three pupils of the Pyramids of Egypt, the toriis of Nippon, the dark men of Africa, the Greek deities, amongst other tales, as the two children worked a little more than half-heartedly in their books.
The rookery mother glanced up at the four as she passed by and shook her head, though a smile touched her face.
The clan, in her opinion, needed Scholars.
After the lessons were over, the children ran off, their books and leads safely in their belt pouches, to play with their brothers and sisters.
The crimson female, however, hovered a bit more, unsure of what to say. In that night alone, her perspective of the world had increased ten-fold.
"Would you join me in a walk, mei deae?" he bowed somewhat.
"’Mei deae?’ What is that?" she asked as she took his outstretched hand.
"Nothing, really," he shrugged. "I guess something to separate you from the rest of the clan."
"Like a name?"
"More like a title, like Leader. Though it is more of a personal title…"
"Ah…" she nodded as they hopped off the battlement and glided down to the outside of the castle. There they walked along the cliff’s edge, hand in hand, unaware of what was budding between the two.
"I was not originally part of the clan," she spoke first after a long silence. "I was brought here by some kind-hearted traders from London when I was young, no older than the hatchlings. My clan was destroyed by those who claimed to preach for the Christianity you talked of earlier. We didn’t have names either." She pushed back a stray strand of snow white that escaped her braid from her face. "I was raised here, though, and this clan accepted me, even though I was different in my ways. For instance," she blushed, "I enjoy cooked meat. The clan thought of it as a human concept. Now some have tried it and eat it regularly."
"Not the Leader."
"Oh, the Leader was the first to try it, and accept it. He’s tight on our customs, but some are meant to change. He sees that."
"And how does the others feel about being led by a child?"
"As I said, he is beyond his years. The elders were the ones who named him Leader."
"I see."
"Please, tell me about you. Not the places you’ve been; that’s for around the hatchlings. I want to know about you."
"Ack." He coughed, then turned to face her, his stormy grey eyes serious and brooding. "My past is dark, and for me to tell you, you’d have to swear you won’t say a word about it to anyone."
She cocked her head to one side, studying his face. Her hazel eyes shown with confusion.
Curiosity overwhelmed her, however, and nodded.
"I swear what you say will not leave this spot," she whispered solemnly.
"Swear on your children."
"Excuse me?"
"I will explain it if you agree. Swear on your children."
"I swear on the children I will bring into this world, and those they bare."
His face suddenly lifted its somber guise.
"Your voice rings with sincerity, mei deae. Very well. Have you ever heard of the Elder Ones?"
"No, I haven’t." She shook her head.
"Long ago, when the world was young and scarred from battles between Law and Chaos, repentant demons or fallen angels created through Balanced love or rape the Elder Ones, the first gargoyles, creatures with flaws and abilities of their parents. From their angelic mothers, the need to protect. From their demonic fathers, the aversion to the light, so deep that they petrified to stone every sunrise.
"Mea deae," he took her hands. "I am one of the last of the Elder Ones."
She stared up at him, silently pleading him to continue. If she believed or disbelieved his words, she showed no sign. His words had hooked her into continuing to listen.
"We were forced to wander the new Earth, unable to reproduce amongst ourselves. Then the Fae ventured from their plane of Elswher, healing the scarred world and bringing life onto her, allowing it to evolve on its own rate. However, one fae, Gaea, who became in Greek mythology the Earth Mother and known to the Celts as Queen Mab, took pity on our damned race. She created mortal versions of us from the bones of our dead and blessed them with the ability to reproduce. These Younger Ones flourished beautifully."
"And what of the Elder Ones?" she asked like a child.
"Some became overcome with fits of insanity and destroyed themselves, or attacked others in jealousy or madness. Most are dead; it is only myself and my sister who exist now, at least to my knowledge, and she is now falling into the same trap as our brethen." He shook his head sadly. "The reason why I asked you to swear on your children is that you have a precious gift we Elder Ones were denied. We loved children; in the early days, we were the rookery mothers, the teachers of the way, the caretakers of clan’s children. When the humans came, they seemed to be able to take care of themselves, and we were no longer needed. Maybe the lack of children drove us insane. No one truly knows."
The crimson woman stared, transfixed in his words, her hazel eyes unblinking.
"That is why you took to the children so fast," she whispered. He nodded slowly.
"I’ve missed teaching," he remarked. "And the clans are becoming few and far between since the coming of man."
"I see," she nodded slowly.
"I’m thankful of your Leader to invite me into the clan. Indirectly, he had made me happy by giving me back the chance to teach."
She glanced away, unable to say much. The smell of early heather was in the air as she stared out to sea.
"I’ve known you only two months," she whispered.
His eyes widened, wondering what she was talking about.
"You’ve managed to teach me that there was more than this isle. You willingly give knowledge that others could use to overpower." Pivoting again, she met his eyes once more. "If you were any other gargoyle, I would think you were a storyteller at best, a madman at worst. But I feel truth in your words." She stepped closer toward him. "Why must I feel this way toward you? I’ve only known you two months….
"I remember what you said to me that first night. I also remember turning from you without an explanation. I was afraid you were only leading me on, like other males in the clan. I’ve never been popular amongst the males; it seems they want strong females with their minds focused in the present." She shrugged somewhat. "I tend to be a dreamer."
"Dreaming is a fine thing, though," he whispered, cupping her sharp chin in his large hand and baring deep into her eyes.
They stood on the cliff as the North Sea crashed below, the tide just going out.
"Tell me," she breathed, her voice soft, almost drowned out by the crashing waves, "what does 'mei deae' mean?"
"My Goddess," he answered truthfully as he lowered his face toward her's, his mane of jet black flowing like tendrils around them. She was trembling somewhat, anticipating his next move with barely contained eagerness.
He did not know how much time had passed.
Finally, he brought the top of his beak across her neck and up to her cheek, then ultimately pressed his eye ridges against her's, staring once again into her deep hazel eyes.
"Caligo is the name the humans gave me." He paused, penetrating her soul with his gaze, as if searching for something lost.
My true name is Daedin," he finally whispered, "and I am madly in love with you."
"Daedin..." she hissed dreamily, finding the word held power even with her voice. "What does it mean?"
"'Shadow Spirit' in the fae's native tongue," he remarked. "And now you hold this me in your power, mei deae, for you know my true name."
"Daedin..." she repeated. "Daedin..."
And he silenced her with a deep and passionate kiss originating from the bottom of his soul.
She accepted it willingly, hungrily, her hands running through his thick hair, down his face to his neck and shoulders, then under his arms and wings to his back.
He growled somewhat with a smile as her fingers danced across the sensitive spot between his wings. Pulling her closer still, her breath coming in quick gasps against his wide chest, he once again met her eyes, both pairs taking a on a light of passion.
"I desire you, mei deae," he growled. "I desire your body and your love. Never in my life has this feeling been so strong."
"Nor has it mine, Daedin," she agreed as he picked her up gently, hopping off the cliff. Spreading his wings, he glided below to the natural caverns created from aeons of pounding waters. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her head into his shoulder.
"I...I am afraid of the sea..." she trembled.
"Then we can return to the castle--"
"No!" She shouted, a little too forcefully. "I don't want to return there...not yet..."
"Then I vow to you I shall not let the sea harm you..." he landed softly in a cave, more of a large hole in the rock rather than a true cavern, and, then setting her down gently, he turned and faced the roaring ocean.
"HEAR ME NOW, GREAT POISIDEN!" He bellowed. "I AM THE ELDER ONE MAN CALLS CALIGO, THE DARKNESS. I SHALL TAKE MEA DEAE AS MY MATE, AND YOU WILL NOT STRIKE FEAR INTO HER HEART NO MORE! IS THAT CLEAR?"
As if the sea could respond, the waves seemed to have quieted their loud shouting, though it was most definitely from the receding tide.
"I think he understands," he returned to the crimson woman, taking her hands once more. She giggled somewhat, touched by his action. Her fears seemed to waiver around him.
Then, abruptly, he engulfed her with his wings, nuzzling her neck with his beak once more, occasionally stealing kisses as her heightened scent caught his nostrils.
"Tell me what you want," he whispered. "And I will give it to you. I will give you the world, if you wish."
"I only want you, Daedin," she whispered in his ear. "Now and always."
"Then you shall have me," he agreed, taking his shoulder guard and sword from his back and setting them on the ground beside them. He then took it upon himself to liberate her of the tunic she wore as she reached down and worked with his belt.
There, in the rock of the cliff on where Wyvern sat, the two became one, though neither were aware of the life that would spring up from her womb as a product of that union. Neither were aware that one day, the child would be cursed to sleep during the night for a thousand years, only to wake up in a time a place as alien as another world, or that he would one day lead a clan of not just gargoyles but humans, fae, and a menagerie of other creatures in a war of impossible odds against them.
That night, only they existed in each other's arms, making gentle, tender love to one another.
A few months later, when his mate had revealed to him of her pregnancy, he took her again to the cavern, their cavern.
"We have been blessed!" he shouted out across the roaring waters, announcing only to the natural world. "An Elder One has finally been blessed with a child!"
Though the rejoicing couple was not aware of it, across the mists into Avalon, the Weird Sisters talked amongst themselves, remembering a prophecy.
And somewhere in the bowels of the earth, a Duke of Hell, a demoness known only as Nox, wailed in fear.
A Champion Eternal was nigh.
And the Family of Darkness was to begin its reign.
***
circa 557 CE
Ten years had passed since he had arrived into the clan. It started out as a temporary fix, but then he became to be known as Magistrar, the Teacher.
His students grew rapidly in front of him. His first student, the clever little redhead, had grown into a beautiful young female, still learning from him. The lavender male, though not as studious as the female (whom, he noticed a budding relationship between the two), was more into actual reading than writing, and read fluently in Latin, Gaelic, and English. The clever one topped him with Homeric Greek, Gaulish, German, and Ancient Egyptian.
The Leader had also grown, becoming more and more of a powerful form to reckon with, but an excellent ambassador with the humans. He had become close friends with Malcolm, the eldest son of Prince MacKenzie, who sadly died earlier that year, and Conner, a stout young man on his way up the ranks of the Guards.
And, though it upset the elders of the clan somewhat, the Leader had appointed the Elder One his second. Though proven himself in battle as well as in the castle, there were still some that feared him.
As he stared up into the sky one night, pointing out constellations to his mate, who laid next to him in the sweet grass, he could not help but to think about the egg in the rookery. Ten years ago, they first made love, conceiving the child within. Now, they waited anxiously for it to hatch.
"I bet it will be a beautiful female," he whispered in her ear, "almost identical to her mother."
"The children are raised with the entire clan as their parents, Daedin," she hissed, almost regrettably. "You know that.
"But," she added with a little rebellious tone to her voice, "I think it’s going to be a strong male, like his father. Maybe even become Leader one day, perhaps?"
"Perhaps," the Elder One nodded. "Who knows?"
Who knew, indeed?
***
The next night
There was a lot of activity with the coming of Prince Conall of Moray. Not only that, Prince Malcolm and Connor had returned from their hunting trip with a Pict woman and a female gargoyle, both donning strange clothes. The Elder One pondered watched with growing interest as the Leader talked to the tan female who wore a black tunic of some sort, with Roman letters spelling out "Metallica" on her front.
Metallica? What was that?
He never got a chance to ask when he as well as most of the clan heard hoovebeats heading into the gates.
"The Vikings are advancing!" two scouts shouted similtaniously. "Conner! Captain! The Vikings!"
The Captain of the Guards, a tall, powerful man standing almost a full head taller than Conner, shouted an order to Conner, who bolted into the keep to alert the Prince.
Meanwhile, the Leader was running around, gathering his own troops, barking his own orders.
"You!" he pointed to Caligo. "Watch the rookery!"
"What?!" The Elder One snarled. "I’m a warrior, not a hatchling-sister!"
"Ye’re also our Scholar," the Leader retorted, a little more softly. "We’ve plenty of warriors to scare off the curs ourselves."
The azure female joined the two, her breath coming in short gasps.
"The rookery watch has been informed, Leader," she heaved. "Including the newcomer, there’s ten."
"Then I can join you on the battlefield--"
"No!" The Leader snarled. "If the Vikings manage to get through, they might strike the rookery! Use your skills there!"
The Elder One growled, but only nodded, bolting toward the rookery, where he met his mate and eight others.
Nine, including the strange newcomer, her wings mantled over her narrow shoulders. Her build was more of an aristocratic human female than a gargoyle.
"You are the adopted clansmen?" the crimson woman questioned her.
"I reckon so," she grinned, trying to appear relaxed. "The Leader asked me to join rookery watch. I hope you don’t mind."
"Of course not," his mate shook his head as they entered the damp dark warmth of the rookery.
"She wears odd clothes," the black female whispered to the Elder One. "And she’s so frail!"
"Do you recognise her kind from your travels, Scholar?" the teal male, her mate, questioned.
He shook his head.
"Not even in Nippon," he answered. "But she appears to be Scottish stock, as small as she is. Maybe she is of mixed breed."
"What do you mean?" the teal male asked.
"She might have fae or human blood in her..."
"What gargoyle in it’s right mind--" the black female cringed, her lip curling up a bit.
"Why don’t we ask her herself?" The Elder One’s corner of his mouth twitched upward just as he passed one of the eggs—
--which had a large crack blemishing the surface.
He cursed on his mother’s name and alerted the others.
"One of the eggs...!" he barely finished his statement when the designated rookery mother of the clutch, a dark green female, fell to her knees, examining the egg.
"But it’s too early!" the teal male protested.
"It's a little premature, yes, but that's not rare enough to endanger our little one," the kneeling gargoyle retorted. "I spent time with the rookery mother of the last batch. She taught me what to do." Returning her attention to the egg, she cooned, "Come out, little one, Come out and meet your family."
There was a soft crack as a little red talon poked through the fissure. Its feet followed, kicking away at its imprisonments.
The green female pulled away the bits of shell gently and, smiling broadly, performed the necessary mid-wifery, wrapped the hatchling in some clean sheets, and announced, "It’s a male!"
The Elder One peered over the new rookery mother’s shoulder and beamed proudly.
"Well, mei deae," he hissed in her ear. "It appears you have won the bet."
She looked upon the child and smiled as she added. "He has your beak."
"He has your eyes."
The new gargoyle knelt beside the green female and grinned warmly.
But suddenly both the rookery mother’s and the newcomer’s faces fell.
"I don’t think he’ll make it," the rookery mother whispered. "He doesn’t know how to breath."
Caligo’s eyes widened, mouthing "What?" as his mate let loose a wail, burying her head into his chest. His mind raced. He should have known. An Elder One was never blessed. He was cursed into an existence of infinite loneliness without children.
Deep within Hell, Nox laughed, her cruel voice bouncing off her confinements.
Suddenly, after a short pause, the newcomer dove, placing the hatchling on the ground and blew into his nose. Putting her ear to his face, she listened for something. Her face fell even further. Obviously, if she heard something, it wasn’t what she wanted to hear as she placed her fingers on his neck.
"Dammit, kid, breathe!" She repeated the strange procedure, and when she felt his neck again, she let out a tiny groan.
"Shit! Everyone, give me room!" She flung her hands out, startling all who surrounded her. They watched as she breathed into his nose again, pressing onto his chest with two fingers quickly afterwards, counting as she did. When she reached fifteen, she hissed, "Breathe!" and blew two more breaths. She did the same thing another round.
"What is she doing?" The teal male demanded quietly.
"I do not know..." the Elder One shook his head, holding his mate tightly.
"A magic spell, perhaps?" the rookery mother whispered.
"I’ve never trusted magic," the black female hissed.
"But she’s trying to save the child’s life," the crimson female protested, fighting tears. "It’s more than what we could do..."
Abruptly, the newcomer stopped counting, her eyes taking on a bright silver glow as she and the baby took a breath together.
The light in her eyes died as she picked up the child, and, walking tiredly toward the red and grey gargoyle, held him out carefully to them.
The Elder One hesitated only a second, taking hold of his son.
His son...!
Their son...!
A child of an Elder One! Was it possible?
And here was the proof, staring around with wonder-filled hazel eyes at his new surroundings, curious.
"Mei deae," he hissed, as she stared into eyes that mirrored her own, then she passed the hatchling to the rookery mother, and all around, until it returned to the newcomer’s arms.
"I’m glad to be of service," she whispered just as the Elder One approached her. She handed him the child once more.
Staring into the hazel eyes of his son, then back into the emerald green eyes of the female, he shook his head, emotions he didn’t know he had welled up inside.
"I don’t know what to say," he whispered, "except that you’ve done your clan proud."
And, with a smile, she fainted from fatigue.
"My friend," the Elder One nodded to the teal male. "I think we’ve just found out where she’s from."
"Elswher?" the crimson female whispered, only for Caligo to hear.
"Possibly."
***
Hell
Nox screamed once more.
"Who is that?" she demanded the dark figure in the corner, playing with an eight-sided Rubik’s cube.
"Does it matter, Nox?" he smirked. "You can’t touch her; she isn’t yours to harm."
"You are, though--"
"Not when I serve Balance, Nox. The Grey Lords would wage war on you if you strike me."
"You are a tricky one, soothsayer," Nox crossed her black arms over her naked chest, flexing her wings. "So thus begins Familiae Caligorum."
"Thus begins the Family of Darkness."
"Tell me," Nox crossed the room in two strides and leaned into the soothsayer’s face. "Who controls Familiae Caligorum?"
"All...and none. The Grey Lords have hold of some, just as Law holds the Champion Eternal and others, just as Chaos holds the rest. But their destinies are their own...or are they?" The figure shrugged. "Not even the Creator knows."
"You are mad," she snarled.
"As a hatter."
She growled.
"I’ll have to kill the boy."
"You can’t kill him," the soothsayer smirked. "He’s the Champion Eternal. Touch him, and the Lords of Order will have your ass sauteed in butter."
"Can I do anything to prevent my loss?!" she screamed, overturning a shelf of ancient tomes, most not even writ in this universe, in a fit of rage.
"Prophecy is prophecy, Nox," the madman shrugged. "You can’t prevent it without creating paradoxes and dimensional tears."
"Do I really care what happens? We are talking about my survival!"
"You said the same when you raped the archangel Gabriel, remember?"
"You bastard!" she raised her hand to hit the smaller creature, who only grinned crazily.
"Go ahead; watch the Grey Lords just retaliate against Chaos," he retorted.
"You win for now, freak," she snarled, uprighting the book shelf.
***
975 CE
Sadly, he did not know why, the newcomer did not stay. She and her friend had disappeared with the Phoenix Gate to points unknown.
However, as the rookery became alive with children, Caligo soon pushed the incident to the back of his mind, preparing to instruct the new additions to the clan.
But, sadly, he had lost his prize pupil. The clever one, the red-head female, had learned all she could about languages, and went on to the Archimage for more tutoring. He was happy that she wished to learn more, but for some reason, the Archimage left a bad taste in his mouth every time they crossed paths.
But the Leader had forbid the Elder One to teach his own child.
Was he afraid to corrupt the hatchling with thoughts against the way? Give him a name? Treat him better than the other children? He had vowed to uphold the ways of the clan.
And he would never back down from his word.
But the Leader didn’t think so.
He had instructed the clever one to teach the boy the languages the Elder One taught her. She agreed when the time would come.
So as much as it pained him, the Elder One watched his son grow from a distance.
The years seemed to meld into one another as the boy and his clutch grew older. Before the Elder One knew it, ten years had passed. It was apparent the clutch was beginning to separate into the usual cliques: the popular ones, the adventurous ones, the quiet ones, until three remained, including his son.
This he had called the Trio, and the name stuck with the rest of the clan.
Besides the lank copper male, there was the large, stocky fellow (whom the Elder One knew as the Leader’s son), and a small, web-winged male whose true mother was the clutch’s rookery mother. Though personality-wise, the three were as different as their appearances: his own son was as curious as his mother, with (the Elder One smiled with pride) the stubbornness and wit of his father, the stocky fellow was laid-back and lazy, while the small boy was clever with his hands and could fix just about anything that was broken.
However, when the little web-winged one and the stocky fellow were often ridiculed by their brothers and sisters (they were the most outrageously different, the last of the web-wings and the fat boy), the Elder One’s son would defend his friends’ honor.
Maybe because of the fact he was the oldest caused the others to heed his order to back down. Maybe it was because they all know he should have died at birth, but a fae breathed life into him.
Or maybe his mate was right, and he would someday become Leader.
The Elder One smiled somewhat, regarding the Leader’s words.
One night, the Elder One realised why time seemed to be flying.
It was his immortality that he could see the drastic changes brought on the aging of mortal gargoyles.
The boys were no older than thirty when word of a third wave of Vikings were landing south of Wyvern, on English shores, and marching up the line, raping and pillaging up the coast as they went.
Finally, one night, Caligo led seven of his clansmen to meet and scare off the curs.
And that was the last the clan heard of the Scholar, the gargoyle who was gentle and kind toward the children of the clan, but terrifying in battle, like a vengeful demon.
At least, that was how the only surviving Viking of that raid, whose son, Hakon III, would follow in his footsteps in 994 CE and succeed, described it to a passing caravan on their way to do some trading with the northern kingdom. Hakon II was brought to Prince Malcolm as his ten year old daughter, Princess Katherine, and the aging Leader, watched on.
Hakon accounted with a madman’s tongue how he and his men were attacked by a group of gargoyles. The gargoyles were not easily overpowered, the Vikings loosing half their men in the battle, but soon, they all lay dead.
(There were other gargoyles who listened on, and a few of them raised their heads and wailed a song of mourning of their lost mates and brothers and sisters.)
There was one, however, whose blood flowed of shadows, whose eyes burned like the pits of Hell, who would not stay dead, no matter how many times the men struck it. Its sword, he explained, flashed like lightning as it sliced down his men with very little bloodshed.
And suddenly, the Leader knew as the mad Viking explained the dai-katana of Caligo.
Conner, now Captain of the Guards, happily went through with Malcolm’s order to put to the babbling Viking out of his misery.
The Leader, however, brooded as he exited the castle through the gates, walking down to the edge of the cliff.
"What did you know of your mate, sister?" he asked the grieving crimson female, staring out to sea. She was showing signs of age as well as he; she was only ten years his younger.
"He took away my fear of the waters, Leader," she whispered, not totally coherent. "He taught me of the world outside this island." She shook her head, standing. "If the Vikings ever come close to Wyvern again, I swear, I will destroy them all…"
"I wouldn’t be too hasty in yer wishes, sister," he warned, giving her a shoulder to cry on. "We all will seek our vengeance."
"They took my mate from me," she whispered. "They took him away."
He hugged her once more before turning to the forest a mile away.
He needed to think deeply.
Come to think of it, he had never really seen the Scholar age. He seemed almost ageless, remaining as strong and healthy as any adult gargoyle in his prime.
Once he was out of earshot of the castle, he drew his sword.
"Caligo, whatever ye be!" he shouted. "If ye ever show yer face in this clan ever again, I swear, I’ll kill ye where ye stand!"
"Do you truly mean that, Leader?" A shadowy voice surrounded him, with no origin. "I’ve avenged the death of my clansmen by destroying their murderers. Isn’t that enough?"
"Seven of my brothers and sisters are dead because of ye!"
"Because of me? Leader, you were the one who sent us out—"
"You were to scout. Watch them. Make sure they did not come near the castle."
"And we did that."
"At the cost of the clansmen’s lives!" the Leader shouted. "The Viking told us of how you attacked them!"
"When is a Viking’s word taken over your clan’s?" the voice grew cold and hard, and the shadows in the forest grew darker.
"Since when they explained a demon that could be no one else be ye!"
"That…" he sighed with the wind, "…is a half-truth, Leader."
And suddenly, the shadows met in front of the brown gargoyle, forming a gargoyle shape, and solidifying into the tall, beaked male.
The Leader stepped back, shocked.
"What kind of sorcery…?" he swore.
"My demonic heritage brings me this ability, Leader," Caligo explained, almost ashamed. "As my angelic parents taught of defending the weak. I am an Elder One, my Leader, and probably one of the last."
The Leader, his blue eyes wide in fear, only nodded, unsure of how to respond.
"I will take my leave of the clan now, Leader," Caligo finally bowed his head, "for it appears I am no longer needed, or wanted, for that matter."
Dumbfounded, the Leader watched as the other gargoyle melted back into the shadows and vanished.
Sheathing his sword, the Leader trekked back to the castle, leaving his findings in the with the shadows where they belonged.
***
994 CE
The clever one yawned as the two adolescents studiously worked on their Latin. Though both were equal in their skills, the little webbed one was more of a hands-on learner, whereas the beaked male could learn just by seeing. They had conquered the Scot Gaelic and English, but when it came to Latin, both were slacking. She grew impatient with their fumbling the third declanation verbs and finally dismissed them to join the third of the Trio, who waited patiently for his brothers to finish up with the "meaningless scribbles".
Her mate, now the Leader, called Goliath by the humans for his large size, came up behind her and wrapped his strong lavender arms around her waists.
"Were we ever that eager to escape the lessons?" she questioned with a smile.
"You weren’t," he chuckled.
"I’m not the teacher the Scholar was," she shook her head. "I’m too impatient."
Conner, the Captain of the Guards, suddenly galloped through the gates on his large horse, shouting.
Vikings, led by Hakon’s son, were arriving from the north and sweeping down.
Goliath patted her arm as he went to alert the rest of the clan.
His Angel of the Night, however, joined Conner as one of the lieutenants ran to tell the news to Princess Katherine and the Magus. Malcolm had passed on, leaving his daughter in charge of the castle, a rare feat for a woman in that day and age, but the Princess was no ordinary woman.
"I grow tired of this…" Conner grumbled to the azure gargoyle.
"As do I," she agreed.
"Your clan was here first long before the castle was built; it is because of us the Vikings attack." Conner shook his head.
"You’ve always been a friend to us, Captain," she squeezed his shoulder in friendship.
"Though most of these new men and refuges from the north are afraid of your kind," the man shook his head again. "They don’t want to accept that you are here to protect, not to harm them. Ack, I wish Malcolm was still here…Katherine’s a good girl, just her upbringing wasn’t the best, not without her mother dying early and all…" he sighed. "I will make it up to you and your clan, lass, I swear it."
And thus brought the downfall of Castle Wyvern, as the Vikings attacked, then driven back, only to attack again the next morning, when the castle was defenseless.
Seven survived the massacre.
Goliath.
The old Leader.
The Trio.
Their garg-mutt.
And Goliath’s mate, the second-in-command who hid from the massacre she knew was inevitable.
And there was one other, as he returned to the pillaged castle a week after the horrid event.
Staring at the rubble that once was the mighty Clan Wyvern, he noticed the six statues still intact, but stone during the night.
Kneeling down to inspect a pile of rocks a few feet from the intact gargoyles, frozen in stone.
Half of a face still was able to be recognised…sharp-featured, its eyes now truly sightless, as the one surviving horn gracefully curving over the head.
And, with a ferocious howl, Caligo dropped what was left of his beloved mate, sank to his knees, and sobbed for the first and probably last time in his long life.
And then he touched the shoulder of his cursed son imprisoned in stone, and left the only home he truly had.
***
Nox cackled as she viewed the deliciously dreary scene.
"The Familiae Caligorum," she smirked. "Gone."
"Are you so sure, Nox?" The shadowed figure grinned. "I believe the curse was under the condition that they would remain stone until the castle rose into the clouds."
"The Lords of Law cannot interfere with human magic, soothsayer."
"But Man can. And will."
"Madness…"
"Anyway, there is another at this time."
"What?"
"One of the eggs in the rookery…in their haste, the Vikings left the rookery intact. Caligo’s mate whelped again, just after he left the clan."
Nox’s scream of frustration resonated the air around them.
"Temper, temper, Nox," he tsked. "You’re going to give yourself an ulser."
"Are you here only to torture me?"
"Not only." He shrugged. "Remember the girl? The one who saved Caligo’s son’s life? She was from the future. In fact, it was his mate."
"How can that be?"
"Castle." The soothsayer flipped his thumb upward. "Clouds. Rich man with time to kill. Gotta love the Illuminati."
"Enough of your riddles!" she ordered. "I grow tired of them."
"Really?" he smirked. "And I was just getting started.
~FINI~
I liked this idea. I really do. Kind of a whacked-out point of view. Anyway, after "No
Mouth" crashed, I had to find something to do while OCR (Optical Character Recognition;
thank God for dead-tree editions) scanning it. So now "No Mouth" is on its way on
getting finished, and the next "Cold Vengeance" was put on hold for lack of interest in
my part. "Equinox " is getting long, but I think I’ll hold it for another couple of
months. "Shout at the Devil" is coming slow. As for the next "Scriptae
Caligorum"…I dunno…who would you guys want to know about more? My version of
Brooklyn? Or how about Luc? Maybe Sierra? Or Kat? Cashe, the mysterious gargoyle in the
Poloroid from "Masquerade"? And who the hell’s the soothsayer?! There’s a big
hint in "No Mouth", but, hey, I haven’t posted it yet! :P
Do you have an idea of a perfect candidate for the Familiae Caligorum, or a storyline for
"Scriptae Caligorum"? I’m always open to suggestions, and, nice Q that I am, I will
accredit ideas if I use them! (And no, Whitbourne is not a candidate…It’s bad enough Cal
fathered a gargoyle with Denis Leary’s attitude toward life, I don’t think he wants a drunk Newf
as a son/grandson/great-grandson/whatever. Anyway, I don’t think Dylan would appreciate me
torturing Whitless…well…witless. Cheers to you, bro, for putting up with my crap!)
--Black Blade "My Cosmic Song Goes On For Eternity"
Pics: Caligo and Clone Wars Brooklyn were done by Amy K. Cyrway
Luach was done by Alison Wilgus =)