Page 14 of The Last Gargoyle's Christmas Wish
Grady wiped away the crumbs with the back of his hand against his mouth. “I was wondering, how old are you exactly?” Grady reached forward and grabbed a tart.
“Exactly?” A rumbling laugh escaped Uzoth. When had he last laughed? “I do not count the years. I do not think I’d be able to if I tried. But I flew through the skies long before Anorra was built.” Uzoth gazed into the fire. “Gargoyles were called from the stone into being by the powers of the Great Sorceress Rassala.” It had been an age since Uzoth spoke of this, years and years, too many to count.
“What happened to her?” Grady asked.
“It is a tale of betrayal. She died, slain by a blade wielded by her own daughter.” Uzoth turned and stared into Grady’s intense grey eyes. “Our purpose was to defend her, her kingdom, and those who served her. We had done so for many years. But we had not been created to protect her from her own. And so she died. And our purpose died with her.”
The fire danced along the logs.
“After that, we flew over the lands, we split from one another, searching for those to watch over and protect. Searching for a purpose. For a time, we would find those to guard. But most creatures will die of illness or old age if not from the sword. And we are not all-powerful, especially when we are not together.” Uzoth’s jaw tensed as all his failures over the years washed through him. “It is difficult to watch over others when I am alone.”
A log split and embers skittered in the fireplace.
“And several years ago you came here?”
Uzoth nodded.
“Where are the rest of the gargoyles?” Grady took a sip of his tea.
“Even with the magic of the fountain, the lack of purpose wore away at the souls of myself and my brethren,” Uzoth said. “We do not sleep. But we go into a sort of stasis, where our eyes remain open and we watch and wait. Sometimes, though, without a reason to live, we sink deeper and deeper into despair. Our hearts slow. Our blood stops pumping. Eventually, we turn completely to stone. We become nothing more than statues on top of buildings, staring down with unseeing eyes.”
“Fuck,” Grady whispered. “How many gargoyles are left?”
Uzoth stared down at his hands that held the small teacup. “I believe I am the last. I have not seen a living gargoyle in many years.”
Flashes of memories of statues he’d come across over the years flickered through his mind. His brethren. His kin. They would protect and watch no more.
“I’m so sorry.” Then Grady reached over and gripped Uzoth’s wrist, his skin warm, soft, and so alive. Uzoth felt the steady pulse of Grady’s heartbeat through the touch.
If Uzoth could weep, he imagined he would. Weep for the loss of a reason to exist, weep for the loss of his brethren, weep for the simple touch after so many years without.
Uzoth lifted his gaze. “I wish to convey my thanks to you, Grady.”
“For what?”
Uzoth did not speak for a moment, considering his words. He wanted to get them right. “I have been alone for a long time. I have gotten used to the loneliness of existence. I wish to thank you for your companionship and for speaking with me. I had not truly talked with anyone in many years until you came along.”
Grady squeezed his wrist, and despite the gentleness of the touch, that small pressure almost brought Uzoth to his knees.
“I am honoured to be your friend, Uzoth.”
Friend.
The word stuttered in Uzoth’s chest.
Friend.
Uzoth had a friend. His heart beat a little faster in his chest.
CHAPTER 9
Where the fuck was Briar?
Blood rushed through Grady’s veins. He strode through the streets, gaze flicking around for any signs of his younger brother.
When Grady had turned up at the Christmas markets, he’d noticed the lack of baked goods Briarshouldhave brought with him.
“Where’s Briar?” Grady had asked. But his siblings hadn’t seen their brother.
