Sunny - Mona Lisa Darkening

I was surprised at her clear and accurate surmise of what she so possessively still thought of as "her men." I had wondered, for a moment, if she had deluded herself to the strength of their feelings for her.

I am not one to dodge the truth.

Her calmness, I realized with greater respect, was based on her sureness in Miles, that he would protect her, and that Gilford, Demetrius, and Rupert would follow his lead.

We pushed through the crowd and were suddenly standing before the grand palace. More bull dheus, tall and brutish-looking, stood guard at the entrance. A few came to our assistance, keeping back the large crowd that had followed us.

Stepping inside the palace was like entering a completely different world of beautiful, savage splendor that was both civilized and primitive. Live-sized statues of half-animal, half-man creatures stood in the corners of the grand entryway in all sorts of different poses, their faces terrified, twisted in pain. But it was the statue of the gargoyle in the center that drew the eye most strongly. His strong face, his large powerful body with wings just starting to unfold, was rendered in perfect, lifelike detail. But all else was far from perfect, I saw, as we walked down the wide hallway. There was dust and dirt everywhere. Bits of filth and neglect evident among the opulent luxury of the palace. The gaudy was mixed among the tasteful. Fine paintings hanging next to primitive pagan artwork, evidencing the varying tastes of the different warlords that had conquered and ruled this city-state. I wondered which most accurately reflected the current ruler, the gaudy or the tasteful. But whatever his taste in art, the untidy condition of the palace itself spoke poorly of the present sovereign.

At our approach, the looming doors at the far end of the hallway opened, and we stepped into a room so big, it made you feel small and insignificant. A red carpet rolled out like a flat tongue for a very long distance, leading to a raised dais. We were in the throne room. And upon the throne sat something I saw through Mona Louisa's eyes but didn't fully see or perceive, because it did not sit so much as slouch in the chair, still and unmoving, like one of the statues we had passed. For a moment, I thought it was simply that, a statue, until it stirred, stretched, and sat up, taking lazy notice of our presence.

A gargoyle. But one so unlike the one that had tried to rescue me. As frightening as my first glimpse of a real gargoyle had been, I was immensely glad that I had seen Ghemin's father first. Otherwise I would have thought that the deformed monstrosity before me now was the truth of their kind. Only the color of his skin — a dark charcoal gray — and the black horns — thick and wide and fully developed — were the same. All else was vastly and completely different. The purple robe and fine silk garments only served to highlight the ugliness of the wearer. Lumps and bumps inches thick, not the thin surface crust visible on the bull dheus, covered every inch of that gray skin like a repulsively warty exterior. He was hideously ugly. As if coral had floated out of the sea, adhered itself to the surface of his skin, then died there, giving up all the beauty and life it had possessed in the sea, leaving behind only crumbled skeletal remains.

The creature's eyes alighted upon me — upon Mona Louisa, actually — and I felt the caress of those dark eyes stroke across our skin. As dead as the rest of him looked, his eyes were stunningly alive, dark and intense, gleaming with intelligence and cold calculation. A perfect match for Mona Louisa, those eyes, I would have said before… before I'd gotten to know her more intimately than I ever could have imagined. I'd called her the Ice Queen for her cool cunning, for her cold and heartless beauty. But she was me I now. We shared the same body, felt one another's thoughts. I did not want her to be a match in any way with that repulsive grotesquerie sitting upon the throne, looking at us like a tasty dessert that had just been brought before him.

"Ah, wonderful," the gargoyle said in a deep rumble, rising to his feet, looming tall as a tree over us, as they lined the prisoners up before him. "Fresh dead you bring me. Enough of them to spare you my touch." He lumbered heavily over to stand before them, looking like something out of a nightmare, a creature horrific enough to frighten even the most calloused warrior or hardened criminal.

All he did was stretch out a finger and touch the first man. But that one touch was horrible enough. The surface of that thick barnacle growth on his skin crumbled, melted off him and moved like visible black sludge down his hand, onto the skin of the prisoner he touched.

The gargoyle moved his touch onto the next prisoner before the first man realized what had been done to him. Looking down at his hands, seeing the dark bumpy growth coating his skin, he gave a horrified screech.

"Unless you wish more of my touch," the gargoyle said with sinister menace, turning back with raised finger, "cease that noise!"

The scream shut off abruptly, and painful, throbbing silence filled the chamber.

Mona Louisa looked at Miles and wondered if he had betrayed her in the worst possible way. If he had chosen this terrible way to repay her for his death.

He shook his head, a slight bare movement. Just the men, he mouthed silently.

The roped line of prisoners swayed to the left, away from the gargoyle and his poisoning touch. No screams, no squeaks of sound. But they could not help that instinctive move away from his reaching hand.

Instead of just the bare touch of one finger, the gargoyle grabbed the next cowering man with both hands. Grabbed him and lifted him back into place, jerking the rest of the roped prisoners upright once more. With the greater contact, a darker, heavier layer of sludge moved off the gargoyle onto the prisoner he held, smearing the prisoner with an even thicker layer of crust than the previous man. The second prisoner stared at his changed hands, the defiled skin, and opened his mouth in a silent scream.

"That's right," the gargoyle said in a voice so deep that it resonated in the chamber. "Do not move, do not scream, unless you wish me to share a harder touch with you."

The next man in line bore the gargoyle's touch with a trembling but straight body. The rest stayed stoically still. Or as still as their shivering, shaking bodies allowed them. One touch, and a thin layer of dark sludge covered Juan, and then Charles.

With each layer shed, the gargoyle's skin became smoother, less ugly. When he finished touching the last prisoner, the gargoyle had only a thin surface bumpiness remaining. Even more startling than the smoothing of his skin was the lightening of his spirit, as if the deformity had burdened mind and soul, as well as body. He was lighter, freer in his steps, graceful now in his movement. Turning, he strode lithely to the beginning of the line. To Pietrus. Stopping before the bull dheu, I saw then what I had not seen before: the uncanny resemblance of the bull dheus to the gargoyle, their maker. Their bigger, bulkier build. The darker color of their skin. The broadening of their features. Even the little horns sprouting on top of their head. He was slowly transforming them, making them take on his more powerful build and features bit by bit, blending it with their own.

The gargoyle gazed at Pietrus's smooth face. "What interesting thing did you find out there in the desert, my hunt captain?" he asked in a deceptively idle voice.

"We captured these prisoners and a Monère Queen, Lord Gordane."

"A Queen, most interesting. But tell me, what else did you encounter in your hunting raid today?"

Pietrus swallowed hard before answering. "A small child like yourself, my lord."

"A young gargoyle." He smiled. The scary sight made Pietrus blink nervously. "That's right. You can use the proper name in front of me. You found a young gargoyle and you touched it, obviously."