Gargoyle

Light! It had been so long. The moss was scraped from one eye, and through the growth over his ears, he heard a voice close by.

“Aearry.” It said unintelligibly. “Kumavalucathiss.”

Fingers took the moss from one ear, then started on the side of his face. A moment later, there was another voice.

“Kool.” It said, just as cryptically as the first. “Wahsit?”

“Iyduna. Buhits gottafaess.”

“Wau.” Moving into view, the fingers became parts of hands, attached to arms. The geometry of them made him realise he was lying on his side. What had happened to him?

“Isa Gargoyle.” The second voice stated. That was a word he recognised. Gargoyle. They knew what he was. Were they here to return him to his post?

“Koool!” The first voice sounded awed.  “Buhits lyindahn. Leztandimup.”

Fingers began prying under his face, straining, levering. Despite their size, and his, the Gargoyle was being lifted.

“Itsevy.” The second voice complained.

“Werneerlithur.” The first encouraged. Another moment, then gravity took hold, and the Gargoyle rocked to his feet.

Quickly, the remainder of the moss was cleaned from his face.

The view he was used to hadn't changed - two hills to the north, trees and fields between - but something must have happened to the abbey.

“Thisusgrate” The second voice was panting slightly.

“Itsabitskery.” The first commented.

With unobscured eyes, he saw his rescuers were two young boys, strangely dressed, about twelve or thirteen. Different from the people who had lived at the abbey. They chattered like children always had, though, and words were beginning to form from the gibberish.

“It aintskerry. It's kool.”

“Whaddu we do now?”

What do we do now? Did these children not know what to do with him? Perhaps there was nothing left for him to do. How much time had passed? Was the abbey still standing? If it wasn’t, what was his purpose? What was he supposed to do?

“Lezgoend find Philip.” The second voice said. “Eelneva believe this.”

Their laughter faded as they ran off. Soon, all was silent again.

Unobserved, the Gargoyle slowly began to stretch his stony wings. They creaked as they unfurled, but aside from the noises they seemed okay. His legs weren't as healthy. Weather and roots had done their work, and as he stood, his rear right leg crumbled under the strain. Carefully, he shifted his weight to his three remaining legs, and shuffled in a circle to look behind him.

There was the abbey, lying in ruins, nothing but stub walls and holes where doors used to soar. His plinth, cracked and buried next to him, barely recognisable any more. His protectorate, reduced to a handful of stones. Nothing he could have done to prevent it. Was there any point in staying?

He gave an experimental flap. The years had not been as kind to his wings as he had first thought – they were chipped and cracked, the moss making them stiff and unwieldy – but he thought they would hold him. He removed the worst of the greenery with his beak, then looked around one last time. The two boys were not returning.

He crouched and spread his wings as far as they would go. With all the strength of his damaged legs he leapt upwards, then beat his wings so that their tips nearly met under his body. Another beat and he was gaining height – now above the ruins, now the trees, now the birds. Inactive for who knew how long, he still remembered how to work with the wind. A twist of one wing, and he was circling, seeing the world anew.

There was the sea to the south and east, and nothing but grass to the west. He knew the two hills to the north, but now, from his height, he saw towers that glinted like silver. Stone had never shone like that, nor risen so high. Those were buildings that needed a Gargoyle. That’s where he would go and make his home, so high that the people on the ground would never notice him.

Voices drifted up from below.

“Sowersis Gargoyle then?” The newcomer demanded as the three small figures ran through the ruins.

“Itwos just over ere.” The owner of the second voice replied.

“Werisit?” The boy who had first found him sounded confused.

“Itwos just ere!” The second voice objected. “Look, atswer it was lying.”

“Itaint there now.” The new voice sounded bored. “You avinmeon?”

“Someone mustavaddit.” The first voice growled. “It was right ere.”

Above, the Gargoyle beat his wings, propelling himself north. The movement made him ache, and he felt stone crumbling from the stump of his leg.

"Ey. Stop throwin stones at me."

"Werent me! Look, itzthat bird."

Spotted, the Gargoyle opened his beak and cried. His voice was fluid, bubbly, an echo of the rain he had once channelled.

“Wah is it?”

“Dunno. Loogat it go!”

They watched in silence. Then one boy grabbed a handful of moss and threw it at another. The three of them ran off riotously. The Gargoyle cried once more, a thank you for his freedom, as he flapped towards his new home.