Mark Del Franco: Uncertain Allies

I shouldered through the roof door without stopping, stumbling into bright sun and roaring wind. A jumble of parapets and support buttresses, odd turrets, deep roof valleys, and steep gables spread out before me. The shield dome had parted at the top of the building, and essence-fire was reaching the roof. Guild agents wheeled overhead, trying to contain the damage. I clambered over a low wall and made my way toward the original section of high-peaked slate and verdigris copper.

The conference-room tower was toward the middle of the Guildhouse, rising above older setbacks. Smoke and fire billowed from lower areas near Park Square. The roof vibrated with stress as the essence supporting the more whimsical additions weakened.

The original main tower was about fifty feet away, a broad expanse of pavers surrounded by decorative turrets. I climbed a low parapet. Jumping with the spear such a short distance probably wouldn’t hurt too much, but it would hurt. Below me, a series of buttresses like splayed fingers joined the next roof. Heights didn’t bother me—even a threehundred-foot drop. The age of the buttresses without essence support was another matter.

I set my foot on the top of the nearest one, seamed stones barely a foot wide. It felt firm. I kept the spear ready for an emergency jump, took a deep breath, and stepped from the parapet. Wind tugged at me as I struggled to keep my balance. Someone fired at me, and I lost my footing. I slammed on my back and grabbed the edge as I rolled. The spear flew free, disappearing into the fires below. I swung my leg up and pulled myself back. Elf-shot arced from a nearby tower. I hugged the stone and shinnied down the rest of the way, taking cover under the cornice of the main building. The buttresses swayed and cracked. The conference tower leaned away from me, glass shattering from its windows. Without the help of the faith stone, the Guildhouse was held together with little more than spit and glue.

I climbed the cornice, worrying my fingers in the gaps in the bare strips of stone, and pulled myself over onto the flat expanse of pavers. As I caught my breath, I reached my hand up and said the command for the spear. “Ithbar.”

With a jolt, the spear appeared in my hand. I leaned on it to get to my feet. Teleporting was tearing my body apart. My joints ached, and muscles burned with exhaustion. Small blood vessels beneath my skin had ruptured, leaving deep red traceries of veins on my arms, probably my face, too.

“Took you long enough,” a voice said.

I spun. In the static of essence swirling about, I hadn’t sensed Joe at all. He perched next to an ornate chimney pot that belched black smoke. I relaxed and leaned on the spear. “I got sidetracked. Where’ve you been?”

“Well, last night I was at a party. Can you believe they ran out of seaweed?”

“How’d you know where to find me?” I asked.

“Banjo said it’s a day for roofs and that he saw me with some naked guy,” he said.

“I hope it wasn’t me, ’cause I’m kinda in the mood to keep my clothes on,” I said.

“Well, when everything started falling apart, I figured this roof might be the one he was talking about and at least would have an interesting view. Then I found this guy.” He fluttered up from the chimney pot. Behind him sat a gargoyle, a chubby naked figure of a man, overly endowed. With a single eye beneath a short spiral horn, he stared with disinterest at the sky. I had named him Virgil long ago when he first appeared outside my Guildhouse office window.

“You can’t stay here, Joe. Vize is on his way,” I said.

“The last time I left you alone with Vize, he almost killed you.”

“Well, this time I’m returning the favor, only I intend to accomplish the goal,” I said.

Joe tilted his head with a wry smile. “It’s going to be one of those days, isn’t it?”

Touch the sky.

The words formed in my mind with a dry rasp, like the opening of an ancient vault. Gargoyles didn’t talk much, and when they did, the conversation was cryptic. I hadn’t figured out what Virgil meant in any of the times he had spoken to me in the past. The common thread in all our interactions was trouble. Something about catastrophe brought him to my side to murmur dire warnings I never understood. Like now, with every gargoyle long gone from the Guildhouse, he alone remained on the roof, the very roof I stood on, the one that Vize and Donor were heading for. How Virgil could predict such a thing had to have an explanation, but one was never forthcoming. Instead, I tried my own gibberish, treating his words like riddles.

“The roof touches the sky,” I said.

“Poetic-y,” said Joe.

Hearts like stone. We shall stand and turn the tide in the hour of need.

The faith stone was shaped like a heart, and the current hour had a lot of need going on. If he was talking about the other gargoyles, they were all hanging out elsewhere. That wasn’t going to help me. “Who’s standing, Virgil?”

The circle meets and brings release. The light burns through the dark.

Joe fluttered up and coughed as a downdraft of smoke hit him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I gestured at the gargoyle. “Virgil. He’s being ominous again.”

Joe pulled a long face at Virgil, then turned to me with one eye closed. “You never told me these guys talked to you.”

“Virgil does. He’s had some good advice,” I said.

Joe’s eyes went wide. “No wonder you’re so screwed up, Connor. The ’goyles are crazy. They’ve been repeating themselves for a hunnerd years, all stones and hearts and circles.”

“You hear them?”

“ ’ Course. We flits all can. Flits ignore them like sane people. They have no brains”—he glanced down—“or clothes.”

The words “flits” and “sane” are not often used in the same sentence. Regardless, hearing Joe say that saddened me. I never understood Virgil, and now had an inkling why. If the gargoyles were repeating themselves over and over for years, they were likely nothing more than old recording wards, fanciful ones, but still recording stones. I thought they were sentient. It took the fun out of being one of the few people that heard them.

The tattered shield dome dimmed more around us, the essence prickling off my skin. Guild agents continued their defense above, unaware that the real enemy was trying to escape, not enter the building. Essence-fire was getting through, damaging the towers and supports. More turrets went down in a roar of wood and stone.

A door at the opposite end of the flat roof slammed open. Vize stepped out, intent on the chaos above. I didn’t wait for him to talk or make a move. The time for conversation was over, the moment I had always known was coming had arrived. I aimed and threw the spear at him. I aimed to kill. It blazed across the roof, a sliver of white that dimmed the air around it.

Vize sensed it. I expected that. We sensed the same things the same way. I understood that now, but why was a question for another time. Vize shifted his attention to the spear and held out his hand. I expected that, too. He had seen the move work for me. Before he reacted, I let the darkness shoot out from my chest, intent on the essence trail left by the spear. A heartbeat later, I yanked the spear back and watched as the darkness slammed into Vize. It splintered into sinuous lines as it struck an essence barrier.

Donor staggered next to Vize, his body shield hardened, a thick wall of green essence that pushed back against the darkness. He thrust his hand down, a bolt of emerald elf-shot spiking into the roof. Essence spiraled from the point of contact, rippling the pavers. The wave knocked me off my feet, blasting apart the parapet behind me. I clung to the crumbled opening, the darkness snapping back with a painful recoil.