Mona Lisa Darkening

CHAPTER SEVEN

We finally found water. Not the clear pond we had envisioned, but a filthy, drying mud hole that glimmered oddly, as if bits of golden dust had been mixed into the wet soil. Whatever water source had been there had died, was dead like the rest of us.

Finding our way here had been simple. Just follow the footprints. The many footprints that had all led this way, to this illusive dark patch of land, of moist soil. Look, see, smell. None of our senses had lied. The water that we thirsted for was here, just not in any drinkable form. That didn't stop the newly dead from trying. They were righting over it, a dozen rough men kicking, punching, shoving each other, trying to stake out their patch of mud. Our orange-clad jailbird was there among them, scooping up handfuls of the wet mud and squeezing dark liquid drops of it into his opened mouth.

I stopped on a small rise, concealed by sparse, bristly underbrush, watching the free-for-all taking place down below. Something about the whole setup raised my hackles, prickled my uneasy. Too pat, too convenient, too exposed with all of them gathered out in the open around the only water source — what was left of it.

The sight of the men fighting over the remaining water seemed too much for my companions. Juan and Charles broke cover. Started running toward the mud hole. "Wait," I called desperately out to them. "Something's not right."

"If we wait, what's left will be gone," Charles said, stumbling after Juan. They didn't even look back. Just dived into the melee of desperate, thirsty men, scrambling for a handful of liquid mud. Many were down on their knees, lapping the watery sludge they had scooped up in their hands.

They still thought like humans, I realized. What they had all been. Acting on the belief that they would perish if they did not slurp down water, no matter how thick and muddy it was. Poor misguided creatures. Although pity quickly changed to disgust as I watched them fighting ferociously over their patch of mud. My would-be rapist was the most violent, viciously beating his neighbor, some big unfortunate guy. He pounded the man's head with his fists, kicked the guy's face, chest, and stomach as he lay unmoving in the mud. None of the other men tried to stop him, each desperately engrossed in his own mad scramble for something to drink.

Thirst, lack of water, would not kill them. What could, though, came quickly down over another rise. Eight men, I counted. Or rather, eight things. I wasn't really sure if I could call them men. They were humanoid, as in walking upright on two feet. But men? Perhaps once, but greatly changed now. They were huge, over seven feet tall, some carrying long wicked swords, others bearing whips. The weapons were bad, but not as bad as the things themselves. They were big, solid muscle, and ugly as sin. Not even their mothers could have loved these creatures. It wasn't so much the little horns pushing up through some of the men's heads, or even their mud-colored skin. It was the lumps and bumps on that skin, on their faces and hands. Hard, calcified, warty things. As if filthy slime had crawled out of old pipes and slithered over their skin. Like leprosy in reverse, only instead of eating away flesh, it built it up with barnacle like deformities.

They were hideous. Repulsive.

Patches of smooth normal skin still remained on a few of the men. But most were completely covered by the ugly growth. A growth that had thickened their faces, spread out their noses, and lumpified their ears until almost all human features were lost. Malicious smiles cracked their stony faces as they approached the oblivious, fighting men.

One of them, Juan, finally caught sight of the approaching danger and shouted warning. Some men tried to run. But by then it was too late. Whips cracked, snapping around those quick enough, strong enough, with enough wit left to try to flee, bringing them down with ruthless ease.

They moved quickly for such big, grotesque creatures, and clearly enjoyed the terror of their prey. Mr. Inmate was mean enough to struggle, to try to tight them. For his trouble, he was run through with a sword. An easy slide in and out of him with the blade. He toppled to the ground, blood spilling from his back and belly. The muddy ground eagerly soaked it up.

A few other men were mercilessly cut down by swords. That was all it took, three men sliced through with swift, easy violence, and the rest became as meek as lambs. No more struggling; no more trying to escape. They allowed themselves to be herded and roped together. Even the three who had been skewered by swords were yanked to their feet and tied up with the rest — quick, efficient, very frightening. As if they had done this same sweep and rounding up of the newly dead many times before.

I was easing back away from the rise when a shadow flew over me, freezing me into stillness. Moving with careful, deliberate slowness, I turned my head until I caught sight of something even more alien than what I had just seen. A large batlike creature flew overhead, carrying something almost as big as itself.

"An imp," one of the horned soldiers said in a deep rumbling voice.

"Aye, but what does he carry?" growled another whose horns were the most prominent among them — an entire two inches of black ivory instead of tiny, sprouting nubs. The horned soldier slung the pack he carried onto the ground and reached in, pulling out a bow and quiver of arrows.

Catching sight of them, the airborne imp gave a squeak of alarm and flapped his wings faster, trying desperately to distance himself from the danger down below.

Not a word was uttered as the horned soldier pulled back the bow with beautiful form. No bated breaths, no tension. Just a quick and easy motion as he let the arrow fly. It sang through the air and struck true, burying itself through a spread wing. With a cry, both imp and prey fell from the sky and tumbled to the ground. It was quite a fall, over fifty feet, but the impact only stunned the imp. He was on his feet almost immediately.

"Crazy bull dheus," he squawked, more disgusted than fearful. "Why'd you do that?"

Somewhere in my memory, old but not forgotten, recognition stirred. I recognized the word dheu somehow. Knew that it meant dead.

As the imp stood up, I got my first good look at the creature. It was a thin, wiry thing just over three feet tall, with a sly and cunning face and leathery skin the color of dirt. But it was natural looking, as opposed to the unnaturally distorted bull dheus. The imp had never been human, and small though it might be, no one would mistake it for anything other than an adult of its kind.

With a snort of disgust, the imp grasped the arrow with a thin, clawed hand and yanked the barbed shaft from its wing, letting out a hiss of pain. Two drops of blood fell to the ground, and then the wing began to heal. But instead of torn tissues and broken skin knitting together naturally, the way Monères healed, the broken flesh blurred and melted, formed an oozy substance that filled in the gaping hole, and slowly began to reshape itself into skin and tissue.

Four of the bull dheus, the ones with horn tips, gathered around the little imp, while the four less transformed soldiers stood guard over the captured men.

"You serve one who is powerful," said the bull dheu who had shot down the imp. He spoke simply, like a child. "What have you got there?" he asked curiously.

The imp glared up at the soldiers, then, hiding his ire, smiled cunningly and replied, "Just my youngest imp child, great master. What impressive skill you have with the bow. You must be their lord," he fawned.

"Pietrus, our lord? When bull dheus fly," snorted another.

Pietrus lifted a hand and casually backhanded the other bull dheu across the face, sending two long yellow teeth flying. The bull dheu plucked the fallen teeth up from the ground and rooted them back into his gum.

"An imp child," Pietrus grunted. "Show him to us."

" 'Tis a simple winged creature like myself. Nothing to rouse the curiosity of a great one such as yourself." Reaching down, the imp stretched out a little wing from the dazed creature to show the truth of his words. The object of their curiosity roused and flapped its wing out of the imp's hold. The imp struggled to hold it down, but the other creature pushed the imp off and staggered to his feet.

Even from far away, I could see that it was indeed a child, even though it stood nearly as tall as the imp. But it was not an imp child. What rose to his feet had smooth charcoal-gray skin, large soulful eyes, a flat pug nose, and a wide hairless head. It was adorable in a cute-ugly sort of way, like one of those kewpie dolls with their scrunched-up faces. It stood on two large feet, tipped by tiny black claws. Aside from the dark membranous wings, he looked nothing at all like the imp claiming to be his father. Whereas the imp was thin and wiry, all bones and shrunken skin, the child was plump — solid bone and mass. His face and body was round, and unlike his purported father, there were two tiny horns on the top of his head. Most startling and enchanting was the utter innocence he exuded.

A chorus of oohs came from the bull dheus as they caught sight of the young creature.

"Your child is lovely," rumbled Pietrus.

Ooo-kay. Reasoning and intelligence was obviously something the bull dheus lost in their transformation. Because anyone with eyes could see that no blood relation existed between the two creatures. Wings and small stature were the only two things they had in common. All else was completely and distinctly different.

The little creature glanced up, startled. Fear crossed his face, the emotion clear and pure, easily seen in the large liquid eyes as he looked at the huge, towering bull dheus surrounding him. Another ooh sounded from the soldiers. Utterly entranced, Pietrus bent down and reached out a large hand to touch the little thing.

The imp yanked the creature behind it, shielding the child with his scrawny body. While the child did not seem overly fond of the imp, he was clearly intimidated by the bull dheus and remained still.

"You are frightening it," cried the imp, alternating between a fulminating glare and an ingratiating smile. "You are so large while we are so small. If you would kindly give us some room."

"Leave the child, and you may go," said Pietrus.

"No!" squeaked the imp. "My master requires this humble child as a servant to serve in his castle, and will be greatly angered if I do not bring the boy to him."

"Whom do you serve?" demanded Pietrus.

"The great warlord Ludwick is my master. Ruler of the Green Hills."

"We serve Lord Gordane, Warlord Sovereign of the Desert Land. You trespass across our ground."

"Forgive me," said the imp obsequiously, hiding his ire. "I was not aware the spawning grounds of the newly damned belonged to anyone."

An unpleasant jolt went through me at hearing what he'd called this place.

The imp pulled out a large gold coin from God knows where — there certainly weren't any pockets I could see — and offered it up to Pietrus. "Here, Great Master Pietrus. I will pay you tribute passage."

Pietrus held out his hand, and the imp dropped the coin into his opened palm. "I will take the coin," he said, "and the child."

"But I paid!"

"And so you may go."

"Not without my child!" said the imp.

"He lies," said a younger bull dheu joining the group. He was less hideously deformed than the others and obviously smarter. "One can see that it is not his child. It has horns and claws on his feet while the imp does not, and their skins are completely different colors."

Pietrus examined the imp and child again, noting the pointed out differences. "It is as you say, Miles," he rumbled.

Miles? I started, and within me I felt Mona Louisa jerk as well. Miles was the name of one of her former guards — the one who had betrayed me on Mona Louisa's orders into the hands of Monère rogues. For his crime and treasonous act of trying to harm a Queen that he was supposed to be protecting, Miles had been found guilty by the High Queen's Council and personally executed by the Demon Prince. Could he possibly be the same man — handsome, cruel Miles who had died only a short month ago?

The color of his hair was impossible to discern beneath the filth, but it could have once been blond. Patches of his skin were still yet smooth, but enough of that hard bumpy growth covered his face and distorted his features to make it almost impossible to identify him. Only his eyes… his eyes were the same beautiful blue.

I swung my gaze back to study the three other bull dheus guarding the men. One had dirty matted hair, possibly red once, with green eyes. Rupert, a voice identified inside me, another of Mona Louisa's four betraying guards she had loaned me. And the other two, Demetrius, with the darkest hair, and Gilford, a brunette. I recognized them with a sort of vague horror. And that horror was echoed within me by Mona Louisa.

They had changed so completely and so quickly, in just a month's time! They had all once been handsome men, but no longer.

The spawning grounds of the newly damned…

My attention was drawn back to the first group as Pietrus swatted the imp away with a wave of his big hand; it landed in a crumpled heap several yards distant.

"If it's not an imp, what is it?" Pietrus wondered. His big hand shot out and grabbed the creature.

The child screamed. Not just with fright but with pain. The high cutting sound had me on my feet and moving toward them even before I was aware of it. Inside me, Mona Louisa screamed: No! Run away from them, you fool. Not toward them! But I could not run away. That innocent, painful cry would not let me.

While that shock of pain still sounding, bell-like, in the air, a giant shudder moved across Pietrus's body. Like a dark slurry stain, the ugly growth on his skin crawled off his flesh in a visible, flowing wave, and traveled down his connecting hand to the child. It was as if a giant scrub brush had rubbed magically over Pietrus, leaving behind a clear, undistorted image of the man he had once been. The immense size and bulkier build was still there, as well as the deeper, broader bone structure of his transformed face, but his skin was smooth, unblemished, his features sharp and clear.

The transference of the sludge was a clearly painful process for the young creature. The child convulsed, his round face twisting into a frightful knot of agony as the defilement rippled like an ugly wave over him, and disappeared inside him.

Pietrus dropped the little creature and gaped with amazement at the smooth skin of his hands. "My skin," he said with deep wonder.

"Gargoyle," whispered another bull dheu with greed and dawning realization on his face. "It's a gargoyle child," he cried, reaching out both hands toward the little child, with the full and deliberate intent of touching the little gargoyle and shedding his own filthy defilement of skin as Pietrus had done, regardless of the agonizing pain it caused the innocent creature. Eyes focused on the vulnerable child with hungry, merciless greed as they crowded in around the baby gargoyle like wolves around a young and tender lamb.

With a flurry of wings that had finally healed, the imp took to the sky, a bitter look on his wizened face as he abandoned his prize to predators far bigger than himself.

So

The young gargoyle raised his eyes to the sky. saw the imp flying away, and whimpered, shrinking down as the bull dheu reached for him. I slammed sideways into the big brawny soldier, sending him colliding with the other bull dheus, toppling them all. They had been so intent upon their prey, they hadn't seen me coming. I had a split second to tear off the lower half of my gown, use it to scoop up the little gargoyle and run.

"It's okay. It's okay," I whispered to the little gargoyle as I ran. But actually the situation was pretty dire. I didn't know if I was fast enough to outrun the bull dheus who, sure enough, were in hot pursuit. One quick glance back made me aware that whatever their size, they were pretty darn fast on their feet. Five of them were racing after me and closing the distance. The little gargoyle I carried looked as big as a five-year-old toddler but was almost twice as heavy.

I looked down into those big eyes, so wide, so innocent, and told the boy, not even sure if he was able to understand me, "I'm not fast enough to outrun them. Can you fly?"

"I don't know, I've never tried," the little gargoyle answered to my complete and utter surprise, his piping voice as clear and pure as those huge liquid eyes. The shock of hearing him speak caused me to stumble. Stupid! I caught myself and put on a burst of speed, but the sound of the others was drawing frighteningly closer.

"You're going to have to try now, okay?"

The little creature nodded.

"Just tuck yourself into a ball and roll. When you come to a stop, fly. Just fly away." With those terse instructions, I sent the little gargoyle rolling from me like a big, awkward bowling ball.

Spinning around, crouching low, I tripped my closest pursuer. He went down with a jarring crash. Unfortunately. I couldn't follow up and make sure he stayed down, I had to deal with the others. I risked a quick glance to see that the little gargoyle had come to a stop and was on his feet, flapping his wings. He was trying, but he wasn't able to fly yet. Too young or perhaps too weakened. My heart sank. It wasn't looking too good for us.

A warning shout came from one of the bull dheus who had stayed behind, the one with the darkest hair, Demetrius. He gestured up toward a flash of movement in the sky. At first I thought it was the imp returning. But the wings were much larger. I gaped at the creature coming toward us, feeling awe at the majestic sight — a gargoyle, a fully grown one, cutting across the sky with stunning speed and effortless ease.

That momentary inattention cost me. A bull dheu crashed into me and took me to the ground. His sword came whooshing down, glinting red in the sky's reflected light. I had a moment to pray, Please, Goddess, lend me strength. Then my hand latched over the hand holding the hilt, and I looked up into Miles's familiar blue eyes as we fought for control of the sword — a losing battle for me with the momentum of the downstroke already behind him.

I twisted out of the way, and the blade came slicing down, right where my head had been. Miles was strong, but one solid blow to the crotch and all that bull dheu strength of his was temporarily put on hiatus. With a sneer and a shove, I pushed him off me.

A whip cut through the air and wrapped around my neck and chest. Damn, did that lash sting! Anger at being struck — at being whipped — filled me, adding to my strength as I grabbed the leather coil and pulled. Surprise splashed across the bull dheu's face as I yanked him off his feet. He obviously hadn't expected me to be that strong. Neither had I. I kicked him in the face, chopped the back of his neck, and down he went and stayed. No others for me to grapple with. The other two, Pietrus and the bull dheu whose teeth he had knocked out, were still chasing after the gargoyle child, and about to run into bigger prey than they had expected or were even aware of.

Like silent death, the big gargoyle swooped down and gored one bull dheu with his thick horns, while delivering a powerful blow to Pietrus with a clawed hand. Both bull dheu went flying away from him like broken and bleeding dolls.

Peeling the whip off my body, I walked over to the first demon I had tripped. He was starting to rise. A kick in the face, a grinding knee into the nose, and he was down once more. A quick glance showed that Miles was still rolling on the ground, clutching his balls. The only ones standing were me, the gargoyle child, and the big scary grown-up version of him.

Wow! was all I could think as we studied each other. He — and it was definitely a he — looked like a dark, ominous thundercloud ready to erupt. Wearing only simple black trousers, he stood over seven and a half feet, taller even than the bull dheus, with a stateliness to his bearing that was at odds with the casualness of his attire. He seemed a natural, if intimidating, creature of this realm. Not something twisted, distorted, changed. The horns just starting to bud on the child were fully grown on the adult male — beautiful black ivory, thicker than my wrist, impressive as hell. So was the heavily defined musculature of his tanklike build. His wings had folded up neatly on his back, so that had I not seen them, I would never have guessed at their presence. The greater density and weight I had felt when carrying the child was clearly evident in the big, looming male before me. He was formidably large and savage-looking, from the broad square head, wide flat nose, thin lips, and smooth charcoal-gray skin, to his proud, intelligent black eyes. The blood smeared on his horns, dripping down his face, added the perfect, dramatic scary touch.

Bull dheus, no problem. I'd tackle one in the blink of an eye. But this huge, angry gargoyle standing before me was someone I never wanted to tangle with.

Finished with his quick assessment of me and my apparent lack of threat, his claws retracted, and he turned his attention to the boy. With a happy gurgling cry, the little gargoyle tottered toward the big fearsome male. He scooped the child up with a gentleness that eased the breath I'd been unconsciously holding. My body relaxed as they communicated in rolling trills, deep consonants, and quick echoing syllables that flowed together with a sliding musical cadence.

"My son, Ghemin, says that you risked yourself to help him."

It was strange to hear such a savage-looking creature speaking in so civilized a manner. What had he said? Oh yeah, something about me helping his son.

I nodded, unable to find words as I beheld these creatures of legend — gargoyle.

His gaze darted briefly behind me, and his wings snapped open like dark sails on a ship. "Come." He held a hand out to me in imperious command, cradling his son in his other arm. I went to him and almost took his hand before remembering what touch had done to the child.

"I can't," I said, snatching back my hand. "I'll hurt you."

The gargoyle looked at me with a fierce, impatient scowl. "I am full-grown. You cannot hurt me if I do not wish it. Come now, quickly."

I grabbed his hand and had a moment to marvel over the smoothness of his skin, softer than it looked. Then we were lifting into the air.

"Hang on," said the gargoyle. "Wrap your arms around my waist."

As my feet left the ground, I not only wrapped my arms around him but clamped my legs around him, too, clinging to him tighter than a monkey wrapped around a tree. And that's what he felt like, a tree — as big around as a hundred-year-old oak, and maybe even more solid. I had a moment to wonder at the great strength in those wings — none of us were lightweights, him least of all — a couple of seconds to feel the powerful flexing of his back muscles beneath my hands and realize that we were moving, but slowly, at half the speed with which he had flown in, when a warning trill sounded from Ghemin.

"Hold tight!" the gargoyle said, and tilted sharply to the right. An arrow whizzed by, dangerously close. Two more followed in quick succession. I looked down and saw Gilford, Demetrius, and Rupert shooting arrows at us. The other bull warriors whose asses we'd kicked were running back toward them, no doubt to grab their own bows from their supply sacks. The one who I was really worried about, though, was Pietrus, who had brought the imp down with one single, accurate shot. I watched Pietrus pick up his bow.

"Careful" I said. "This next arrow coming… his aim is very accurate. He'll go for your wings."

The arrow was unleashed and came at us with frightening speed. The gargoyle dipped sharply down, and it overshot us.

"Yup. he's aiming for your wings." And he had a target maybe three times bigger than what that scrawny imp had offered him, and at a much closer distance.

Another torrent of arrows flew up at us and the gargoyle turned to face them. Unfortunately, it exposed us, Ghemin and I. The gargoyle snatched an arrow out of the air just before it struck his son. A deft shift of his lower body, and I felt an arrow whiz by my right leg, missing it by an inch. Another powerful twist of his body, and another arrow whistled past my ear.

When the immediate danger passed, the gargoyle dropped the arrow he'd snatched out of the air — nothing useful to be done with it, I guess — and flapped his wings, lifting us higher with concentrated effort, not so much going forward as straight up. I understood his reasoning when we hit a strong air current that caught his wings and lifted us up fast enough, powerfully enough, to drop my stomach down to my knees, the way a fast elevator going up sometimes does. We rode the strong wind, soaring up and away in a sudden sprint of speed, increasing the distance between us and our erstwhile archers down below more and more with each passing second.

I thought we were going to make it, I really did. Then I looked down and saw that whatever Ghemin had miraculously done for Pietrus's skin had also improved his intelligence, unfortunately. With a barked order, Pietrus lined up the other bull dheus in a loose circle, with him in the center. On his count, they released their arrows simultaneously. The arrows came flying at us as a unit, in an evenly spaced pattern, making me curse, because one of them was bound to hit us. We couldn't dodge individual arrows the way we had been doing.

"Watch out!" I yelled, and then we were tumbling in the air. The big gargoyle snapped his wings shut and tucked himself around Ghemin and me, shielding us with his body. When he uncurled, there were excited shouts from down below. I opened my eyes and saw that two arrows had found their mark. One was buried in the bulky mass of his right arm. He yanked it unflinchingly out. It was the shaft sticking out of his back, that told me we were in big trouble. That and the fact that his right wing was opened and flapping weakly, and his left wing was not.

"Pull the arrow out," the gargoyle said urgently. "I cannot reach it. You must do it." He hoisted me higher up his body and I shifted around until I could clearly see that the arrow had pierced his folded wing. With no other recourse — we were plummeting at a sickening speed — I grabbed ahold of the wooden shaft and gave a fierce yank. And found that the arrowhead had gone completely through the wing to anchor into the meaty part of his back. There was a stomach-churning, slurping-sucking sound and a spattering of blood as the barbed head uprooted grudgingly out of his flesh and tore back out through his wing.

The gargoyle made no sound, though it had to have pained him terribly. With a powerful snap, his left wing unfurled. I dropped the bloody arrow and clutched him as our downward fall abruptly stopped. We were flying again but just barely. It was hard to grab air with a couple of holes through your wing, one through the outer tip, the other through the center. I watched as both jagged holes ripped wider under the shearing force of the wind and the combined burden of our weights.

As soon as the realization of what I had to do registered in my brain, I released him. The gargoyle growled. "No!" He tried to grab me with his hand, but I twisted out of reach.

"Get Ghemin out of here. I'll be fine," I said, meeting his eyes for a brief suspended instant. Then I was falling, plummeting, dropping like a stone.

It felt like the ground rushed up to meet me, and punched me silly with a giant, bludgeoning blow. We had descended far enough that I fell no more than forty feet — like jumping from the fourth floor of an apartment building. Much better than the hundred feet up we'd originally been in the air before they'd tried to make him a porcupine with arrows. Still, the hard impact of my feet hitting the ground shot a hot wave of pain up my legs, hips, and back. I rolled and tried to assess the damage during that long tumble. My legs hurt the most, as if the devil was searing them with a hot poker. Broken? Dear God, I sure hoped not. We'd see soon enough.

I finally came to a stop and uncurled. Lying flat on my back, I had a perfect view of the sky. The gargoyle looked like a giant bat, growing smaller as he flew farther away. It wasn't the most graceful thing, his flight. More jerky, less gliding ease. But he'd regained some of his height, and without my added weight burdening him, his injured wing seemed to be holding up well enough to keep father and son aloft. If the gargoyle healed as fast as the imp did, the hole in his wing might even be gone soon. They would make it if no more arrows struck them. And the chances of that lessened with each second that passed.

With a mental sigh because I hated pain, I really did, I rose to my feet. Sure enough, hot jagged pain tore through me. Son of bitch! The right leg was definitely broken — the ugly sound of bone grating against bone made that kind of obvious. The left leg felt as if it was broken, too. As if that wasn't bad enough, a sound drew my eyes up to the unwelcome sight of Miles and a whip-bearing demon heading my way. On the barren rocky land behind them, Pietrus and three others let fly another organized round of arrows up into the sky.

"Arrows!" I shouted, and watched with baited breath as the gargoyle angled abruptly upward, allowing the arrows to fly harmlessly past and start almost immediately to fall. The next synchronized volley, the three arrows arched up, peaked, and started to fall just they neared their target. At Pietrus's call, another round of arrows shot forth with barely a pause in between.

"More incoming," I yelled, but needn't have even bothered. The three arrows started to fall several yards short of their target as he flew higher and higher up into the sky.

They were safe. And I was not.

I bid them a silent farewell. Even felt a sweet moment of triumph before the bull dheu's whip whistled through the air and struck me.