| Edited by:
Pegasus and MaryK | Created: Saturday, May 25, 1996
Completed: Tuesday, December 17, 1996 Last revision: February 29, 2000 | Revised by:
Cinnamon and Dasha Ariel |
This is an original work, not associated with the Walt Disney Corporation. No copyright infringements intended. All rights to the elements of this work reserved by the author. None of this content is in anyway directly copied from any Disney publication. "Gargoyles" belongs to Walt Disney Studios.
This fanfic is rated for all audiences, and contains nothing sexual or improper of any nature. I would recommend it be rated G.
1996
The traces of magic were faint, but Christine followed them cautiously. The gargoyle girl moved with stealth, but she also managed a strange degree of grace in her step without ever knowing it. Christine was not kidding when she proclaimed skill in woodlore, she knew the tricks to moving silently through the brush and brambles of the deep mountain woods in a moonless night. She moved without a sound, tracking him.
Suddenly she turned about in the woods -- she saw something! The only light she could see was displayed on her glasses -- weaving, twisting patterns like strands of muscles and sinew, projected up against the dark loom of the forest. The image of what was around her was projected onto the display, as only magic could see it. In small blues, it displayed the fibrous lines wrapped around trees, bushes, and boulders. Except -- for all the dim blue patterns, there was also a bright green object on the display, obscured behind the branches of the trees over her head.
He kept very still. She had never found him before while he hid this far up the trees.
"Found you!" Christine announced. "Tag! You're it!"
Phantom laughed his quiet, haunting chuckle, and let himself down the trunk of the tree.
Christine watched the bright green object in the tree descend on the display.
"You stand out like a sore thumb."
"Does it show the trees and terrain at all?" Phantom inquired.
"Yes, but dimly."
"That makes sense. If the land reacts to the Fay, it must have some inherent magical properties."
"That would suggest that animals and people would have inherent magic as well." Christine observed.
"Aye. Look at yourself in the display."
Christine held up her four fingered paw before her face, so that the sensors saw her arm. In the display, a brilliant red form in the shape of her paw appeared in the display.
"Oh, whoa!" Christine exclaimed, holding the glasses back from her eyes a bit. "I'm bright red all over."
Phantom snorted. "I'm not surprised. I've been getting the feeling that you have a lot of magic in you ever since..." His voice trailed off, uncomfortably.
Christine huffed angrily. "I must stand out a mile away." she muttered. Phantom swallowed the rest of what he was going to say, and hopped down on the forest floor.
"To a Fay, yes. What you've managed to create there is a way to see with a Fay's eyes... to see magic." Phantom explained.
"Well, not see exactly. Kind of like a magic radar." Christine said. She pulled the discman-shaped device off her dagger sheath's strap, and pointing it in Phantom's direction. "It sends out bursts of magic and reads what magic is reflected back."
Christine held the device up to her eyes. She whistled. The device's tip was emitting a brilliant aura of color in the display. "It displays what it receives back through the ring, and turns it into colors on the display. The ring simply translates magic into small electrical impulses."
"That device would be far more visible to a Fay, than you are."
"Like a beacon." Christine observed. She clicked a small switch on the top edge and the aura at the tip of the device was gone. The device was black against the night of blues on her display. "There, now it isn't showing up at all... Now I'm the brightest point of magic around here."
"Is there a pattern to your magic? That's how you tell what kind of spell it is."
"Well, the trees and the shrubs all have this pattern of wavy blue lines. My hand is a whole bunch of odd sized red dots."
"If it is not 'a bunch of wavy lines' then the pattern isn't natural."
"Your saying that I'm seeing the... spell?"
"Possibly. Transformations are unusual. There are many ways to do them. I was taught three basic techniques, but there are others. Some ways do not show as anything but natural. It is possible you are seeing another spell I am not familiar with."
"Terrific." Christine sighed. "I'm under a whole lot spells. I could try and refocus the emitter behind your ring."
"Why? The emitter's energy signal is what makes the ring emit the magic pulses."
"Yes, and the energy received is then read. The patterns that come back in, are fed to the display. However, I can refocus the pulse emitter that makes the ring emit magic."
"That could be dangerous. If anything absorbs the magic, it might be affected. Random patterns of force are natural everywhere, that is why they look like wavy blue lines. A single stream could form an artificial pattern in whatever it hits."
"A spell, in other words."
"Exactly."
Christine slipped the glasses off her eyes for a moment, and adjusted two small coils near the head of the device, where Phantom's ring was soldered to it amid a cluster of small black tubes. Then she turned the emitter on again.
"There..." Christine said. "A straight line. Whoa!" she quickly replaced the glasses over her eyes. "Careful!"
The beam that it emitted was thin as thread, and totally straight. She shot it up harmlessly into the sky.
"What possible use could this be?" she wondered.
"Well, this is a bit risky, but try firing it at something."
Christine puckered her lips. She stopped the emitter for a moment, and pointed it at a rock.
"Firing number one." She turned the switch on again.
The fast stream shot out by the emitter, shown as a white line on her display. The fine blue lines surrounding the rock she has selected were blown away as the stream touched it.
"It's going so fast that it's pushing the magic out of the rock." said Christine, as she shut if off.
Looking down at the rock, she dared to run her talons across it.
It crumbled to dust.
Alarmed, Christine jumped back. "Deadly thing, ain't it?"
Phantom nodded thoughtfully. "Strange. It seems we need to slow it down to create spells."
"I can handle that."
"Not now." Phantom patted her shoulder. "That's enough for now. I have every confidence you will become a fine sorceress." he reassured her.
"Eh heh. Sorceress, right. You're hilarious, Phantom."
"It is not a laughing matter, Christine. You just turned a stone to dust."
Christine shifted uncomfortably. "What if I shot myself with the emitter? That'd disrupt the transformation, wouldn't it?"
Phantom's eyes widened as he turned to her in alarm.
"NO!" he exclaimed.
Christine raised her hands in surrender.
"I didn't DO anything!"
"Don't point that at yourself while it's firing a single beam! Do you want to turn parts of your body to dust as well?" Phantom warned with genuine concern.
"Good point. I just wanted to.... break the spell, you know?" Christine stuttered defensively.
Phantom sighed, clutching his heart. "Don't scare me like that. It is possible that we have created a very dangerous weapon here."
"Just take your ring out, if you're worried." Christine assured him. "Do you think the weapon is dangerous enough to use against the Dark Warrior?"
"Most certainly!" Phantom gloated. "This combination of science and sorcery is beyond anything they know of. However, I have only one magical ring."
"Could we use it to make more?" Christine asked. "There must be some sort of pattern we could form in another small glass or sapphire lens."
"It would require study."
"Wait a sec... why is it your magic is brighter than the natural random patterns of force? Is there a spell on you too?" Christine asked critically.
"I have always understood that it was our means of turning to stone in the day. If it is more than that, then it is not a spell I am aware of."
"Let's hope it's just that, then." Christine noted. "I'll have to find some other way to get this rotten spell off me."
"We could try your Mayan Medallion -- it may have magical properties." Phantom suggested.
"Later." Christine winced. "I'm not anxious to pull that thing out again."
Phantom sat down on one of the boulders with a concerned expression as Christine removed the glasses and turned them off. They looked at each other across the glade in the trees, under the dark night. In Phantom's arms was a bag of fruit.
"Is this stolen?' Christine inquired.
"Well, yes." Phantom apologized. "I did not want you to waste your own funds on something as daily as our meals. You must learn to live without money, Christine."
Christine muttered something about the difference between living off the land and outright theft, but was not in a keen enough a mood to speak aloud. Instead she simply sighed, selected a cantaloupe, and cut it into four or five slices with a swipe of her talons. She munched on the fruit absently for a few moments before suddenly losing interest and tossing it aside.
"It doesn't taste the same." she muttered with disgust. "I can taste it, but not like I remember. It's almost as if I can't taste anything the same way anymore."
Phantom sighed, and only nodded. Christine had noticed this problem with their first meal together. She had eaten a hare raw and fresh because it smelled sweet. It had tasted sweet. However, sweet things from before, like fruit, no longer held any sweetness for her. She knew she had to get used to it, but the ideas were so disconcerting, they hurt to consider.
Frustrated and angry, Christine stood and turned toward the path through the woods.
"I'm going to go bathe," she announced.
She left Phantom to pack away their small magic device as she stormed off through the trees, stripping her clothes as she went. Christine's only fun anymore was time spent swimming in any of the thousands of mountain rivers and lakes in these high Uintah Mountains of Northern Utah, swimming. Phantom never complained, but she suspected he was concerned with allowing her to become acquainted with herself again. Christine couldn't see any need for it. Sure, there were physical differences, but she was still Christine Shelton.
Wasn't she?
The shore of the lake was a bit rocky. It was obviously a glacial lake, a basin where a glacier had come down a mountain thousands of years ago, and stopped here leaving all the rocks it had picked up on the way right at the edge of what became a lake. The rocks were usually grey, occasionally white, none more than knee high, and all were large and smooth.
This was the only time Christine removed her modified mountain climber's outfit. She could wear it swimming easily enough, but she preferred having it dry when she got out. She tied an elastic into her hair, and jumped in. It became tangled, but she was too frustrated to care. Her talon could break it easily. The water had always been icy cold whenever she had come to the lakes before. For some reason the glacial cold was mild and enjoyable.
She was not any different, she told herself, but it was a lie.
She felt the difference constantly, and she could not escape the reality of her new shape. Her arms and legs were muscular and thick boned, something they had never been before. Her feet were visibly different, and she could not understand how she managed to walk on her toes. Her claws were one of the three most drastic changes next to her wings and tail. She could still touch and handle things as before, but branches snapped if she grasped them too tight. Her overall size had grown as well, and now her clothes were too tight.
She had not become fat, just larger in the places a woman should be... like she'd always dreamed of being. Only, now she saw no point to it. It had come at too high a price. Although her shape had grown fuller, rounder; her wings began to weigh upon her back when she took long hikes through the forest on foot.
How does one get used to having a tail? It seemed to be constantly under her feet but felt uncomfortably odd and revealing to leave it dragging behind her. When she slept the day through as stone, she wrapped it around her legs.
Yet there was another strange, haunting sensation. Every morning, just when she thought she would get to see the sunrise, she would suddenly be filled with a sensation of heat and fall instantly asleep. When she awoke, she felt trapped in immobility, and cried out as she broke through the stone shell.
Sometimes she remembered her dreams, but they never woke her any more. In her dreams she always saw herself, human again going out to movies, exploring the Internet, talking to old friends at school, arguing with Mandy; all the things she had always enjoyed. Just as she went somewhere familiar from her old life with a group of people she knew, she would suddenly cry out, as her body began to writhe into that of a gargoyle. Now, as she awoke each evening, she remembered the overwhelming sadness of all she had lost, causing her to begin to cry night after night.
Swimming, she soon learned, was much the same as gliding or flying. She could feel the movement of air and water, and tell where the current was flowing. She could adjust her wings to match it in the air. It appeared that she had, in fact, two sets of wings. She had never noticed it until Phantom had pointed it out. At first, still shocked by the whole idea of what was happening to her, she had only noticed that she HAD wings and assumed they were like his. Now she knew that she had a larger upper pair with three tiny fingers at their apex. These were the wider ones that caught the air currents. The smaller second pair allowed her to change direction in midflight. She could even glide for a while on her back. Whether in water or air, the feel of gliding was wonderful. The soft, warm sensation of it kissing and caressing her skin was far better than she had ever dreamed it would be.
Whenever she was in water, her feet gave her little or no forward motion. By lifting her wings above water and catching the wind blowing across the lake, she could use it to outdistance the fish. She almost wished she had been changed into a fish, instead of this. Perhaps a mermaid, to have at least half of herself normal...
She was only fooling herself.
There was no way she was ever going to get back what she had lost. She sometimes cursed Phantom for what he had done, being polite to these fairies and agreeing to help them... look what they'd done to her! Half floating in the water, she saw her own reflection for a moment. Her pupils were slits, crescents, as if she were a cat.
Or a snake.
Pale cream pink skin, with a touch of ink, and long braids of curly brown hair -- the only remnant of her human self. Her horns curved around her head like a crown. Inside her mouth, her teeth were all jagged and pointed, with two large barbed ones in the front, her serpent's fangs, a gift she'd been forced to keep after her last encounter with the Dark Warrior. They dripped with sweet poison, but Christine swore she would never puts her lips on anything -- to kill it or not. Her body was covered in thick pinkish-white leathery skin that felt like wearing latex stretched over her entire body. Lastly was her tail, the single example of how strange an alien she felt.
Christine sniffed, helplessly. Why couldn't she be normal again?
"Christine," she asked herself, "Are you a woman or a gargoyle?"
Her mind raced through a thousand childhood, adolescent, and adult memories. She WAS human all right! She wanted so badly to be human again. She had NEVER wished to be anything else!
Hadn't she?
Stepping out of the water, she could see that every part of her was different. Everything felt different. Everything worked different. She had been altered in a terrible way, changed, violated. She had a woman's shape, but an animal's body, wings, horns, pointed ears, a tail, and the poisonous fangs of a great serpent. She was a monster in the truest sense, trapped inside this body of stone, sweat, and tears.
A piercing cry, deep within the forest, jolted Christine out of her self-pitying mood. Phantom's cry! Two battle yells followed, loud and clear, neither of which Christine recognized.
With determination, she leapt from the water, climbed a large dead elm to launch into the air, and sped off toward the sounds of fighting. There were already four winged figures in the air, spinning and slashing at one another. Christine was ready to do something she'd always wanted to do.
She drew a deep breath, and gave her own, inhuman, screeching battle yell.
Three of the winged creatures looked up, the fourth swung his fist into the face of his captor in the seconds that he was distracted.
Phantom.
Christine dived into the midst of them, wings wide. She coasted for a moment, and caught the wind so that she hovered among them, fists ready. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" She shouted.
The attackers growled angrily. They were gargoyles, certainly. Two were males, shaped much like Phantom, the third was a reluctant female with three-fingered wings. In the darkness of the night, Christine could not make out their faces. All of them were dark colored.
The two males dived at her. Christine twitched her upper wings slightly, flipped in the air, and suddenly dived, swooping back and above the attackers. The two who had missed their attack redoubled their course to come at her again. The female came alive, and surprised her, wrapping an arm around her neck from behind. Christine's eyes glowed fiery red with a sensation of burning, in response to her blazing anger. As she turned about, and slashed at the woman. The other males came swooping in.
Where was Phantom? Christine had no time to wonder over him now. She struggled to break the female's grip before the other could touch her... but was already too late. One of the males brought down his enormous iron mace down on Christine's brow. Her body lurched as something in her face broke. She became limp, the female released her, and Christine fell down into the canopy of trees below.
Shakespeare cautiously tested the warmth of the broth to be sure it would not burn her tongue, before he touched the spoon to her lips. Her face began to come to life, and she licked sipped at the spoon greedily. Shakespeare let her drink the contents of the entire bowl. When she had finished, she relaxed onto the sheets again, almost dreamily.
Then she stirred slightly, like a girl wanting to stay in bed in the morning, moaning slightly. Her eyes opened, and swept the room. It was a humble home, filled with various nick-knacks, cultural artifacts, and photographs. The man spooning chicken broth to her appeared to be nothing but a boy, a human boy barely starting to live his third decade of life. The injured gargoyle was covered in blankets, thick woolen quilts which tickled against her skin...
She gasped, and pulled the quilt close to her neck. It was the only thing she was wearing!
Shakespeare smiled slightly, but continued to spoon the broth from the pan into the bowl, and to her lips. "Not too suddenl', now. I'm afraid you might be somewha' weak yet, lass." He had a thick Irish accent.
Like a small child, she gratefully accepted the spooned liquid. In between she took long breaths, trying to speak.
"Where... am I?"
"In m' cabin, so don't worry about anyone tryin' to hurt you. My name's Shakespeare."
"Hurt me?"
"You talk in you sleep, lass." Shakespeare noted with a smile.
"Who are you, Shakespeare?"
"I'm no one to be trifled with. Just stay calm, and you'll soon be free and on your way. You took a nasty blow to the face -- tore you up pretty good, it did. Seems to me you survived a nasty fall!"
Christine was anxious to try and sit up, but doing so caused a splitting pain in the ribs and chest, over her heart.
"Don't move, I tell ya!" Shakespeare cautioned. He touched the woman's chest over her heart on the quilt. "You've got a bone right here that runs down the middle of your chest, called yer Keel bone. Your wing attaches to it like so, and it allows ya to glide. Seems you cracked it when you hit the ground. It's gonna hurt like the dickens for a few days, but it'll knit itself in while you sleep today. Yer kind are remarkable healers, know that? Why - when I brought you here yesterday morning after I found you in the woods, I didn't know you'd wake up from your stone sleep this close to good as new. There ain'a mark on yer pretty l'l face, dearie. Judgin' by how you looked yesterday evenin', I didn't think you were gonna make it!"
"You're familiar with my kind?"
"I may not be a sorcerer or an occultist lass - but I watch the news. There's alotta talk you killed a girl. Nobody seems to notice how much you and she look alike though, dearie. Living the life of a hunted girl must be more trouble than it's worth... especially if you're guilty of killing yourself! So, why don't you tell me who you are, eh?"
The gargoyle woman nodded her head gently. "I... I don't know..."
"Say again?" Shakespeare asked, his face concerned.
"I don't remember... anything... I don't even remember who I am..."
When Phantom reemerged, the enemy thought the battle was over, and was searching the glade on foot. Phantom glided in and stood behind them with Christine's clothes, gear, and bow in hand, which he had picked up by the lake. He took the enemy gargoyles all by surprise. "Hold it!" he announced firmly, and leveled the bow at them.
"Who are you?" the taller male demanded. Phantom tightened his bow string, and he backed down. The three stood before him.
"I'm the one who's telling you to stop. Now DO IT!" he ordered. They all gathered in the center of the glade.
"Now," Phantom began to deduce, "since you did, you obviously know what a compound bow is."
"Well, du." said the smaller male.
"Yeah, duuuuu." echoed the female smartly.
"And the attitude of humans." Phantom added. They grumbled a little, as though that came a bit close to the mark. "NAMES!" Phantom demanded.
"Larry." The older male said, nudging the second.
"Curly." The younger male laughed.
"Mo." The female concluded, also laughing.
"Do NOT vex me!" Phantom's arrow struck the tree just a few inches to the left of the female's head. She jumped back, shivering. The laughter was immediately quiet. Phantom already had a second arrow nocked and drawn.
"Either you watch that picture-box too much, or you are all humans. Because you did not say you had no names as normal gargoyles do, you obviously know nothing of gargoyles."
The three shifted uncomfortably.
"I see I am correct, thank you for confirming it clearly." Phantom observed. "Who are you working for?"
"We're not working for nobody." the younger male piped up, and came rushing at Phantom. The older one tried to stop him, but it was too late. Phantom's arrow struck the younger male in the chest, who leaned forward and collapsed onto the ground.
"Don't think I'm stupid. I have no love for humans, and I saw what you did to my companion. We are on a quest, and the possibility that you may be working for the Dark Warrior is reason alone for me to kill you two. However, my companion does not like killing, and I would not show her anymore corpses than I must. Be warned, I have no fear of killing either of you."
"MY SON!" the female cried out in horror.
The other looked down at his fallen companion, his eyes glowing. "You murderous beast..." the female began. The creak of Christine's bow stopped her.
With the arrow still on the nock, he placed his claw over the bow, so that he could hold the arrow while it was still pulled back, with one claw. With the other he retrieved Christine's magical device from a nearby rock. He put on the glasses, and turned it on.
The two gargoyles tried to quietly move away, but when Phantom's arrow was pointed back at them, they knew he could still see them. They had little doubt his aim would be precise.
"You are wise not to try to escape." Phantom noted. He examined the body of the fallen gargoyle. "The spells are degrading."
"What?" the male demanded.
"The spells binding your friend are escaping back into nature, since he is no longer alive. Being dead tends to release a spell's grasp -- a part of the nature of magic." Phantom observed, checking often on his two prisoners. "The pattern was hexagonal shaped, but interspersed in odd patterns."
"Meaning?" the female inquired, one paw tipped to the side.
"I'm not sure, but the intensity is very high powered. I know that the less orderly and perfect a spell is, the less evil is in it. Good spells are closer to nature. However, this pattern is very tight, and very orderly." Phantom looked at his captives. "I would guess you were all transformed from humans, by a creature of evil."
"You will get nothing out of us, and nothing from killing us." the remaining male sneered angrily under the point of Christine's bow.
"Is not personal satisfaction something?"
"Look, BUD, We were told you two murdered Christine Shelton back in Salt Lake City. He said the police could never find justice for this crime, and he promised we could bring justice to the Shelton's. We accepted his offer."
Phantom nodded. The evil one was playing the same game their own side had. "You do realize that he never planned on changing you back?" Phantom noted. "He loves to play around with metamorphosis. My companion is proof they never intend to return you humans to your proper forms, but keep you in these so that you will always rely on them."
They shifted uncomfortably.
Phantom sighed, lowering the bow. "Very well then. If you enjoy being gargoyles, you may. I will not try to convince you."
"What do you mean? You're just going to let us go?"
"We didn't kill Christine Shelton. That woman you slashed down into the trees IS Christine Shelton - she was enlisted in the same way you were enlisted. It seems they enjoy playing a game of... (what did she call it?...) catfish?"
"Copy cats." the female corrected. Phantom nodded, and began to gather all the gear and the magic device into Christine's bag. He took the bag and the bow, and began to walk toward the lake, near where Christine had fallen. "Hey! Wait, don't leave, mister!" The female leaned down by the side of the third, fallen male.
Phantom turned around. "You do not wish to face the judgement of the man who owns you two?"
"We are not owned by anyone!" the male corrected.
"Really? How strange. We are Warriors of Light, and we are owned by three women." Phantom almost snarled, "You are fighting for warriors of dark, are you not owned by the Dark Warrior?"
"You mean when we agreed to this..."
"You gave yourself up to the evil side. I am just glad WE agreed to the right side." Phantom sighed, mostly to himself. The alien two glanced at each other, uncertainly. Phantom walked away again.
The others followed. "Hey! How do we speak to these three women?"
She was not in the trees where she had crashed. The broken branches were here. The two volunteered to search with one of the flashlights from Christine's bag. Phantom mentally noted these transformed humans were not used to trying to see much in the dark. Phantom began to search with the scanning magical device.
"Is that a night-scope?" the male inquired.
"What is that?" Phantom returned.
"Well, it's a device that uses heat to let you see in the dark."
Phantom nodded with comprehension. "Ahh. This device is similar, only it uses magic. HERE!" Phantom explained.
On the ground, the scanner was seeing a small pool of an odd assortment of red dots. The other male tested it with his fingers. It was warm, bright crimson, and sticky to the touch.
"Fresh blood." he announced.
"HER blood." Phantom corrected.
"So... where is she?" the female asked.
Phantom followed a small trail in the grass. "What are you seeing?" the other male inquired.
"Tracks. A human... carried her away." Phantom thought aloud.
"Any magic?" the female inquired.
"Yes..." Phantom observed, "Dark magic."
Days and nights had passed.
The gargoyle girl had managed to make some sense out of her hair. She stood before the mirror in the cabin, fiddling with a much overused brush with an old wooden handle.
She couldn't understand why her hair was so curly.
"You're sure gargoyles don't have naturally curly hair?" she inquired of her host, who bustled about in the next room doing unremarkable things with kitchen utensils. Things were scattered all over the split wood floor. The house was filled with strong odors.
"You're the first I've e'er met." he replied, loudly so that she could hear.
"Why do you call yourself Shakespeare?"
"Well, it's sort 'a pet name an old buddy gave me back in college. I really dinna have the heart to drop the name, I liked it so much."
"Why do you like it?"
"I dunno, ma'am. Makes me laugh, I s'pose." Shakespeare lied.
She emerged from the bathroom, dressed in tanned deer leathers, laced around the edges and up the back with dark leather strips, and without sleeves. The skirt was shorter than she would have liked, but she did not feel it mattered -- at least it fit. She settled her wings lightly down around her shoulders. Her tail came right out the split in the back of the skirt. She loved the loose, open feel of it. It allowed her to move freely. She bowed before him in it.
"How do I look?"
"Like an indian with wings and a tail." he noted without turning around. "One of my better jobs, I'd have to say. Go ahead and sit yerself down for a minute." he dried his hands on a towel, and turned to face her. "Sleep well today?"
"I dreamt again."
"You don' say?"
"I remember the forest and the fruit, and the man. I recognized him this time. I knew his face. I must know him from somewhere."
"Tell me what you know about him."
"Moderately tall with black hair -- human looking."
"Dreaming about a human man, are ya miss?"
"I don't think I means that, exactly."
He snickered good-naturedly. "Do you remember much else?"
"Not from the dream, but I think I remember a little of who I am."
"Really? What do you remember?"
"I was standing on the top of a stone wall, and I jumped off... I spread my wings... and I started to fall... another caught me..."
"What did this other look like? Do you recall?"
"He was... very dark... ebony, almost black."
"Ah, black all over, a bit glossy, tall, strong build gargoyle?"
"Yes, that's him. He put his arm under me and caught me."
"Probably a memory of your first attempt to glide, dear. Mac's told me many times how he used to love teaching the hatchlings to glide."
"Oh, you know this gargoyle?"
"Mac? First gargoyle I ever met." he lied again. "Fatherly sort -- no wonder you'd remember him. I had a dickens of a time finding the rest of you."
"There were others... blue... white... red... all gliding or standing at the wall of the castle."
"Your clan probably."
"My clan?"
"It sounds like your remembering your youthful clan. Did you see any others your age?"
"Yes... a female... my size -- she stood near me before I jumped off."
"Dark ash color, deep grey?"
"Yes..."
"That would be Liz. Both she and Mac stop by now and then. What else do you remember?"
"After he caught me, I was back on the wall. There were gargoyles all around me, some were watching the small ones... like me. My elders?"
"I'd say so, lass."
"There were... three ladies there, helping the hatchlings fly... I asked them to help me... and I..."
"What?"
The woman shuddered, as though the memory made her very uncomfortable. "They touched me,... and I turned into a human! I was so frightened, I ran, and jumped off the balustrade..."
She clasped her face in her paws, shaking her head.
"That was certainly a very strange memory. Sounded more like a nightmare. Are you sure you're remembering clearly?"
"No... nothing's clear... it's just a blur of images. I... I can't remember."
"That's alright." Shakespeare consoled her. "Come have something to eat, and when the moon's up, we can go look for Mac and Liz."
She nodded, shaken still.
"I'm only speculating at this, but if Christine were here, I'd think she'd agree that even the tightest woven spell can be broken. However, I'm hesitant to just point the beam at you." Phantom muttered.
"Why?" The male gargoyle he was examining with the magic scanner felt like Phantom was paying no attention to him at all.
"Christine turned a rock to dust with it."
"Ahh." he nodded. "Look, how long is this going to take?"
"You don't have to sit there." Phantom nodded. "However, with a wider spread, I could try to bend it somewhat."
"Can't you find just a single part of the spell that controls it, and break that?"
Phantom nodded. "All the patterns of force are equal -- that's the way most evil spells are." Phantom took the glasses off, and sat back against the rock. "Look, Christine's the brilliant one. She's the one I need if I'm going to try and break the spell."
"Just how does that thing see magic?"
"It doesn't... the ring does. I gave it to her. She just found a way to make it put what the ring sees... onto these glasses." Phantom stuttered.
The other male reached over and touched the ring set in the device.
It sparked. The dark gargoyle stepped back, startled. "That answers that question."
Phantom stood up, and began to pace the clearing. "Where is she?!!!"
"Christine?" the female inquired.
"Yes. We've been following the trail for two days, and it's done nothing but go in circles." he complained.
"Oh will you stop doing that, it's getting old." she replied.
"Why is it I have the feeling we're about to find out?" said the other male, pointing to shadows approaching from the south. With a slip of a moon rising overhead, the three could see that two figures were coming closer, and one had wings and a tail.
"Christine?" Phantom asked, a touch of hope in his voice.
"Shakespeare?" the male muttered with curiosity. The three stood side by side, facing the oncomers.
Suddenly, the gargoyle coming towards them paused. "Macaren!" came her voice. She rushed forward and embraced the dark male.
"Mal?" he asked with surprise. They embraced for a few moments, and then drew apart to look at one another. "Malcora? Is it really you? This is incredible!"
The female's expression was puzzled. "You know her, Mac?"
"Christine?" Phantom inquired.
The white female blinked at the name. "Who?"
"Christine, you know me! Phantom?" he explained with exasperation.
She shook her head. "I don't know you. My name is Malcora - Macaren and Lisonja are my rookery brother and sister."
The dark female suddenly straightened, as though shocked The sound of the name caused a change in her. She lightened and said, "Malcora! Of course, now I remember! The pale little girl who used to stand next to me when I was a hatchling!"
"Yes, the little one, I remember." Macaren reminisced. "You aren't much older... just the same I'd say."
"I'm sorry," the white one apologized, "I don't remember very much. I lost my memory a day or two ago, and it has been slow in returning."
Phantom's thoughts were reeling. If she wasn't Christine, who was she? He took up the scanner, and looked at her with it. There was that telltale pattern of small red dots of various sizes forming a pattern of force on her skin. It was Christine! He tore the glasses off.
"Who is Malcora?" Phantom countered, speculatively.
"One of the eggs born in my rookery, so was Lisonja." Macaren said. "Malcora was the best little apprentice the Mages ever had."
"When was this?"
Macaren blinked. "I don't know."
"Three hundred years ago, at a castle on an Island offshore of England, called the Isle of Man." Lisonja stated. Macaren blinked for a moment. Phantom could detect no trace in their words, yet it appeared as if Lisonja had realized that only just now.
"Oh yes, of course!"
Phantom watched them very carefully. "Who are her parents?"
"All children belong to the entire clan." Lisonja said.
"That is the gargoyle way." Macaren added.
"If you follow the traditions of the gargoyles, then why do have names?"
Lisonja and Macaren looked at each other. "I... I don't know."
Phantom turned to Christine's companion. "And you are?"
"Shakespeare."
"What do you do?"
"I work for Macaren, Lisonja, and Malcora." he replied.
"What are you?"
He laughed. "Human of course, laddie. I should think that was obvious."
Phantom put the display back on. Phantom was nearly blinded by the white light the display radiated from the silhouette of Shakespeare. "Ha!" Phantom snorted, "I've never seen a human like you before. You're almost made of the stuff..." Phantom's mind suddenly made a connection. "YOU ARE ONE OF THE FAY FOLK!" Phantom exclaimed, taking an involuntary step backward.
Shakespeare glowered at him angrily.
"A fay who lies is no good fay." Phantom muttered to himself, turning to go pick up Christine's backpack.
"You had better believe that." Shakespeare growled. A crackle of energy filled the forest, as Phantom groaned and collapsed. The other three looked on in fear.
"What else do you see?" Shakespeare inquired, coaxingly. Christine's eyelids fluttered, entranced.
"People... humans... surrounding me..."
"What are they doing?"
"They... they have tied me. They are forcing me to follow them."
Shakespeare smiled. "Now we're getting somewhere. Go on."
"I... I'm being tied to a large wood pole in the earth. My wings are tied... my wrists are chained I think... I'm too little, I can't break them..."
"This might still be a very recent memory. You were pretty weak after being imprisoned for so long, before the spell was cast." Macaren observed.
"Go on." Shakespeare instructed.
"There is a man before me, he is piling kindling around me... he's lighting it on fire!"
"The execution..." Lisonja breathed. "It's been in my nightmares for years..."
"Go on." Shakespeare coaxed.
"I'm go to be burned alive!!!..." she uttered in desperation. "Help me!!!"
"Stop and try and remember what happened."
Christine writhed in bed for a moment. Lisonja and Macaren held hands, hopefully. Suddenly, Christine stopped, and gasped.
"You!"
"Me?" Shakespeare asked.
"I see you. You... cast a spell on me... I turned to stone - at night!"
"I don't remember that." Macaren observed.
"What next?"
Christine's eyes opened. "There's nothing more."
"Don't worry, we'll keep working on it later."
"Shakespeare..." Macaren nodded.
"Yes, gargoyle?"
"Why don't I remember any of this?"
"I don't know. Malcora's sense of general knowledge is perfect, but she simply doesn't remember her own identity."
"Sounds like a spell to me." Lisonja added, suspiciously.
"Me as well." Shakespeare agreed. "For some reason, there is another spell on you all I cannot find, which is inhibiting your memory. When I awakened each of you from stone the other day, Malcora went wild and escaped. That was why I had you go and bring her back. She was talking all sorts of nonsense."
Shakespeare walked into another room. Lisonja looked deeply into Christine's eyes. They were unmoving, staring at nothing. She whispered to Macaren. "Then why do I remember being a human?"
"Shhh!" Macaren hissed, whispering. "I know... I remember having two separate youths. How was I supposed to know one was false?"
"How do we know which one was false?" Lisonja observed.
"You can't know..." Christine whispered.
Macaren and Lisonja leaned over to her. Her eyes were still entranced, but she could move her lips. "What was that?"
"You can't know... which is true... only believe..."
"Very true, Malcora." Shakespeare noted.
Macaren and Lisonja sighed, and returned to their seats, having been overheard.
"Then you wouldn't mind explaining why we're having two sets of memories, and why we can't remember parts of one?"
Shakespeare nodded. "Something's happened, I think, from while you were in stone hibernation for the last three hundred years. It's even possible you assumed the lives of humans, in spirit, in the meantime. When I was finally able to awaken you all, none of you remembered what I had done for you. At last, Malcora is beginning to remember how I saved her."
Shakespeare placed a small tiara with silver wire eyelets and with rubies set in it, onto Christine's head. The room's occupants could feel magic at work. "This should help bring it all back." he encouraged Christine. "I think Malcora 'ere is lucky. She got all that nonsense knocked out of her the other night."
"Thank you, Shakespeare." she thanked him, sweetly, without a note of sarcasm.
"Your welcome, lass." he replied, smiling.
"That other gargoyle was saying she was a human transformed by three women."
Shakespeare sputtered and laughed uproariously. "Oh Macaren, you're too good! Those three died with the rest of your clan."
"Who were they?" Lisonja inquired.
"Malcora's sorceress instructors. She was apprenticed to those three of your rookery sisters, I always helped them out." Shakespeare laughed.
Macaren and Lisonja nodded, and did not ask any more questions.
"Now, Malcora, try and remember. Think, what did your mother's face look like?"
"I... I thought we didn't have single parents?" Lisonja inquired. Shakespeare quickly shushed her with one hand raised in the air. Lisonja reserved herself to wait.
"Malcora, try and remember..."
"Too many faces..." she shook her head, eyes closed. "Wait. One sister... older than I... she's red..."
"Go on..."
The Dreamer was in darkness, surrounded by warmth. She was cramped, closed in. She fought, fought to break free! With a great kick of her feet, she brought her tiny paws through the wall closing her in.
Someone sighed, with awe and excitement.
The Dreamer pushed again, the piece of the egg broke, and fell away. She kicked her heels through the egg beneath her feet, and the claws on her fetlocks broke through. With a burst of effort, she forced the shell from her.
Gentle hands reached down, and plucked her out of her shell. She squirmed, uncomfortable at such, hot, sharp touches. A stained cotton cloth was used to wipe away the sticky film which clung to her body. The oil in it stung her newborn's skin.
She drew her first breath, one full of the tangy air of the rookery. The sharp scent of the others around her, the touches against her flesh filled her mind. She could neither see nor hear them, but somehow she knew she would with time.
The touch of the red one was always with her. She knew her scent by memory, it was familiar to her. She remembered her twin, long, and spiked horns, graceful double wings, bouncy, blond, and curly hair, and her soft, beautiful voice. She meant safety and bliss. When she hungered, she was fed. When she was tired, she slept in large, powerful arms. When she was upset, a soft song was sung, lilting melodies which soothed every ache away.
"Malcora... my little Malcora."
The great red one's heart was saddened. Dark shaped figures bore down on the Dreamer and great red one. The red one held the Dreamer closer. Would the dark shapes harm her? They knew no love. The Dreamer began to fuss, and the great one sang.
Sweet daughter do not cry
We are here with you
this night.
Stay here close beside me
let no anger reach your heart
tonight.
Fill your wings with my breath
let us glide together
and I shall never let you go.
Though the battle may rage
from dusk until dawn
Eternally by my heart
I shall hold thee close.
Malcora smiled. "That worked, Shakespeare. For a moment I remembered her -- clear as day. She was singing to me."
Shakespeare smiled. "Wonderful, lass! If you will say so, I can help you remember it all, now. Tell me you want it, ask me for it, and I'll give it to you."
"I want you to help me remember it all, Shakespeare. Please do it."
Shakespeare smiled. "With pleasure."
Macaren and Lisonja shifted for a moment in their seats -- as though a chill or draft had suddenly affected the temperature of the room. There almost seemed to be an invisible rush of energy, like the invisible torrent of a great flood, a gathering of force in Malcora's mind.
"It is done." Shakespeare said.
The Dreamer glided through the open air pathways running down the cleared trails of the forest. In her paw she grasped the human's mace. She laughed, and caught onto a tree branch. The human shouted playfully from the floor of the ravine.
"Come, Malcora. I need that."
"Catch me first!" she shouted gleefully, climbing the tree with one hand.
The human's face was saddened. "Oh, Malcora. I wish I could. I am what I am, though."
The Dreamer's heart fell. She realized she had gone too far this time. She spread her double wings, and descended to the ground. "I'm sorry, Joseph." she apologized. She gave the man back his tool.
He knelt before the pinkish white figure kneeling at his feet. "Truly, Malcora, you meant well." he encouraged her. She stood, drawing herself up to his height. "You are so beautiful and kind, Malcora. I would give anything not to leave you tonight."
"Must you go?" she begged him.
"I must. If there were some way, believe me..."
The Dreamer's head fell, and tears began to well up. She clasped her face in her paws. "They don't like me, do they, Joseph?"
"Please don't be sad, Malcora. I will always come for you. I love you, Malcora." Malcora embraced him. "I love you so much, Joseph. I wish could give you something before you go."
"My only wish is to be able to stay here with you, rather than go off an fight your kind any more."
"My people will never survive. If you go, my clan will be utterly defenseless during the day." she wept.
"I wish I could stay with you, Malcora. I would do anything to stay." Joseph answered, sighing.
The Dreamer raised one paw near him, as she had been instructed.
"To all the star of the morning, noon, and dusk -- I call upon your might. For the wisdom and strength you give, now reverse to the kindness and strength given back." she recited, from memory.
There was a glow of light which surrounded Joseph -- did he cry out? His shape and form changed, as the spell she had cast transformed him into a gargoyle.
She embraced him again, and the spell finished it's work. Joseph's breath was deep, so was his voice.
"Malcora?"
"I'm sorry Joseph..." she apologized.
"What have you done to me?!!!" he demanded. "What witchery have you wrought upon me?!!! Aaaarrrgggghhhh!"
Joseph grabbed Malcora, the smaller, by the shoulders, and threw her against the tree.
"You were supposed to be gullible! I was supposed to use you to get at your king! Bah! Now look what you've done to me!"
Malcora picked herself up from the forest floor. A powerful, dark, menacing white form bore down upon her. "Oh, stars. What have I done?" she whispered.
He hit her, and blood began to seep from the flesh near the edge of her horns. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YOU LITTLE WITCH?!!!" Joseph bellowed.
A single cry, a battle cry, echoed throughout the glade. The ashen shape of her shoulder-companion barreled through the tree boles, and knocked the great creature over. Quickly as wildfire, the Dreamer scampered to her feet and ran through the woods, her shoulder-friend beside her. "Now!" her ashen colored companion barked, and they took to the wing. Joseph, unfamiliar with the air, could only yell from behind them.
The Dreamer leaned on Lisonja, and wept again. Lisonja, though young still, felt her pain, and gently stroked the Dreamer's brown curls with her talons.
She was barred up tightly, her wrists locked securely together behind her, and chained to the wall. Her ankles were bound together by chains, so all she could do was roll around in the rotten stink of the hay in the dungeon. Rats crawled past her, hissing at her. She was left with nothing else but to hiss back at them.
The tortuous work of the jury assigned to find her guilty of Sir Joseph's metamorphosis had begun to take it's toll. She was starved, and becoming ill. She would hear her sentence on the morrow, and she awaited her death.
"Will she be of any use to us like this, sisters?"
"This is not our doing."
"Nay, but she is the cause for which time has gone wrong."
"Someday this one must stop him."
"This future is not what Lord Oberon commanded us."
"History cannot be changed."
"How may we overthrow the mortals if she lives like this?"
"It may be done -- but not in this time."
"She hath only to agree."
"Aye, sisters."
The Dreamer recognized the contemplative voice of the sisters. She looked at her three sisters with longing. "Sisters? Mentors? Have you come to set me free?"
"You allowed feeling to cloud judgement."
"Such is not a proper use of your power, little one."
"It must be put right."
"I am sorry." the Dreamer apologized, her hope failing quickly. The three sisters had left.
Malcora was again crying on Lisonja's shoulder. "What is it? What is wrong?"
"I remember..." she said.
"What do you remember?" Macaren asked, hopefully. Shakespeare was quiet and still.
"I am Malcora, daughter of Tutela. Lisonja -- you are my shoulder-friend. You loved Macaren, then. I was being executed, and Shakespeare... saved me."
"No thanks necessary, my lady." Shakespeare said. "You've already done enough for me."
Phantom couldn't puzzle it out. Something had happened to Christine, for sure. There were new patterns of magic on top of the older magic spells on her, indicating something magical had been occurring.
Lost her memory? What could that implicate? What did those two humans-turned-gargoyles have to do with this? Somehow, that fay had a lot to do with it.
"It has been so long, Malcora. I still remember the day you hatched..." Macaren thought dreamily, "you stuck your head through first, then began to clawed the shell away. I swore it had addled your brains. Perhaps I was right, see?"
Malcora laughed. "Perhaps it did, I can't tell. I remember it differently. I'm so confused..."
"You remember me?" Lisonja inquired. "From where?"
"The castle in England... what was it called? It was so long ago..."
"Yes," Macaren confirmed, "you two were always together it seemed, I could never keep you two apart!" he laughed.
"Aye. So many midnight raids on the pantry..." Malcora giggled.
For a moment Lisonja stared blankly at them, but after a few moments her eyes lightened. "Oh... I remember... yes, you hated it when we went off exploring together..."
Phantom sighed. It didn't take any newly made magic sensor for him to see that there was something magical going on here. He felt uncomfortable like this, spying, looking in through the window on them, with Christine on the inside. He'd told Christine before that he watched her, did she not remember? Listening to her speak with ease to the flat nosed black Macaren, and the small ashen colored Lisonja, Phantom guessed she remembered nothing.
"Quite an attractive group, aren't they my friend?" Shakespeare inquired. His voice was quiet, and right next to Phantom's ear. He slowly turned to find the fay in the human disguise kneeling next to Phantom by the window.
"They do not belong together." Phantom noted.
"Oh, but they do lad." Shakespeare explained. "You see, she doesn't remember you, Obscurmalo, the Weird Sisters, or her human life."
"Playing with her mind will not change the truth." Phantom conjectured.
"But I have not done anything to her mind. I simply helped her remember things that really happened."
"For your own purposes. You are still tampering with her thoughts."
"No, I am not!" he countered. "Those things happened exactly as she remembers them. Her mind is protected by the Weird Sisters, and I cannot tamper with it. So," he gloated, "I have the power to change time and the past, so I took the soul of the Christine you knew when she conceived inside her mother, and the human Christine Shelton died. I used my power to place her within the doomed fetus inside of a gargoyle mother from three hundred years ago, causing her to be born as the gargoyle she is now. She will stay this way now, for eternity if necessary."
"You... changed history? That's impossible!"
"A simple thing for my kind."
"...against Oberon's law of non-interference. History cannot be changed!"
"Stupid creature, what do you think this war is about? We won't follow Oberon's law, and will do with the mortals, such as Christine and yourself, as we please. By my changing her past, her family and friends no longer know her. Her mind will choose to lock onto the new life I've given her. It will make her forget those accursed sisters for us."
"But you are coaxing her to remember things that are wrong."
Shakespeare laughed. "But they are not wrong. They are the new truth, and her mind will block out the rest. She rejected you, and will follow my creations now, wherever I lead them. I cannot do much with you, but you are well advised to leave us... quickly."
Phantom began to consider his options. He could feel Christine's backpack over his shoulder -- the scanner right on top. If only he could get to it... "I think not. I am not allowed to leave without her."
"No! You will leave! Your blood is born gargoyle, I cannot have you interfering with our plans. The child of Christine Shelton must be human! That is the only way to prevent those wicked Seelie from spoiling our plans! Get out of here NOW, or I WILL kill you!" Shakespeare threatened. He began to raise his arms at Phantom.
"Her child? What about a child?" Phantom asked with alarm.
"Mark my words, gargoyle. Christine Shelton will one day bear a child. That child's birth will decide the battle between Oberon and Obscurmalo. If the child is human, we are victorious! However, if she follows your path, her child will be a gargoyle, and Oberon will win over us. We will kill Christine Shelton if that will stop this!"
"But why make her think she's a gargoyle?!!!" Phantom demanded.
"Because she is not! She has two lives now. The first was before where she was human. If she conceives by my creations, then I will change her back as she was -- into a human, and thus shall her child be! Purely human, and Obscurmalo will have won a decisive victory."
"If that's your battle plan, why are you telling me?"
"BECAUSE I AM NOW GOING TO KILL YOU!!!" Shakespeare yelled. The faces in the window seemed not to hear. Phantom fingered the device under the cover of the bag.
"You know," Phantom said, appearing to note it idly. "I don't think Shakespeare is your real name..."
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRGGGGHHH!" Shakespeare growled. His shape began to shimmer, and change. A wave of tremendous heat hit Phantom, and he fell backwards.
A large creature, scaled with emerald and sapphires, diamond eyes, and crystal claws, formed before Phantom. Inside it's belly an inferno of heat radiated.
A crystal dragon.
Phantom's thoughts wheeled. He'd learned of such beast in his rookery days, but nothing about defeating them. Yet, Phantom reasoned, it was not real, it was a fay in another disguise.
"I WILL HAVE MY PAYBACK FROM CHRISTINE. SHE WILL REPAY ME FOR ALL I DID FOR HER IN THIS WORLD!!!" He bellowed.
"We shall see about that!" Phantom yelled defiantly.
"You wish to defy this?!!!" the monster returned. He reached out with one of his claws, preparing to slash at the gargoyle sprawled out across the ground under the night.
Phantom found the switch, and placed the glasses on his eyes. The singular beam intercepted the enormous mass of brilliant magical energy in the display, blowing it away like sand from a high pressure garden hose.
"YYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" it bellowed in agony. "Noooooooooooo! It isn't possible! Stop! Please! Aaaauuuuugh!"
"Shrivel and rot, fay." Phantom sneered angrily. "This is for changing Christine's life without her consent."
"Hah, fool! (Ooooooooooooooooh...) That is the beauty of it... (Ooooooooooooooooh...) She asked me too..." Shakespeare moaned in agony.
Slowly the white stream emerging from the ring at the tip of the scanner became visible, and Phantom removed the glasses. Screaming, the creature was enveloped in a white light that radiated in the forest glade near the cabin. The occupants of the cabin saw it, and came rushing outside.
The stone scales of the beast became transparent, and began to break apart and shatter. Sand began to rain down from the figure, and it writhed and collapsed into nothing but a heap of sand on the forest floor.
"What have you done?!!!" Christine/Malcora demanded of Phantom. Phantom was carefully turning the scanner off. He was aware something had to be done -- soon -- before Christine learned what he had just learned. How to bring her memory back, though? How?
Malcora came charging forward, her claws in the air and eyes burning crimson. "What did you do to the one who saved my life?"
Phantom ducked under her charge, and she landed in a tangle of bushes. He searched for a moment. He could not find a small enough stone, but settled for a large tree limb. He brought it over his head, and growled at Christine with eyes aglow.
Malcora moved in such a way she expected Phantom to bring the club down on her, but instead Phantom brought it around to the side, and dashed Malcora across the side of her skull. She still needed to learn to protect her head in a fight. Malcora collapsed onto the ground with a grunt.
Macaren and Lisonja charged forward, eyes aglow. "You monster!" they accused him, "Gargoyles do not harm each other."
Phantom raised the scanner at them, his talon ready to flip the switch. "I certainly agree. Prepared to see life from the earth's perspective?"
The two ceased their charge.
"Phantom?" came Christine's weak and shaky voice.
"Christine? Are you back with me?"
"Yes..." she muttered, propping herself onto her elbows, standing, and flaying her wings behind her. She rubbed the side of her head for a moment, and then approached Phantom.
Christine slapped Phantom, hard, on the cheek, with the back of her paw. "That REALLY hurt, Phantom."
"What is your name?" Phantom asked, not shaken by her strike.
"Christine Patya Shelton, and you are going to be really sorry you hit me so hard."
Phantom dropped the tree limb. "I apologize human, but when you understand all of the circumstances, I believe you will agree I needed to help you jog your memory."
"It still smarts... you overgrown beast." she muttered. She turned to the other two dark colored gargoyles. Their eyes had returned to normal, and the were watching Christine with open mouths.
"Don't look at me that way. I didn't remember." she objected. "Look, I remember everything... the castle, mother, the two of you, Sir Joseph, Shakespeare... but that's not who I am."
"Yes you are." Phantom countered. "You were a gargoyle before you ever were human."
"What?!!!"
"Shakespeare couldn't put things in your mind because those... Weird Sisters were protecting you. So he changed your life instead. He changed you so that you were born to a gargoyle mother, and grew up in that life."
"Then the life I remember as a human is..."
"A lie." Phantom concluded. "I'm sorry, but he said you agreed to let him change your life."
Christine bit her lip. "That's right, I did. I didn't know all of what it meant, though."
"Fay are seldom blunt and forthcoming." Phantom noted.
"So Mandy, and my folks, and GT...?"
"Never knew you." Phantom answered. He thought he might be being too blunt, but it seemed like Christine wanted it. She sighed. "I'm confused also - I thought time was immutable."
"It's like a curse, to remember something that isn't true." Christine said. "Perhaps it would have been better if you hadn't made me remember."
"Then was the small boy Phantom killed one of my clan, also?" Christine inquired. The Weird Sisters glanced at each other, as if deciding the best way to explain something to a small child.
"No, the small male was not."
"You are mortal, Christine Shelton, and may not understand..."
"History cannot be changed"
"You bear the memory of two lives..."
"...a painful thing to bear..."
"Yes." Christine answered. "It is. Is there nothing we can do to sort these things out? To help my... mortal mind understand them?"
"Mortal, the things in your mind are more than your mind is capable to hold. What must be done is that a balance be struck between both time`s. You are now two people who exist as a single one."
"A paradox."
"Without us, your mind would collapse."
"How can we strike that balance?" Christine inquired.
"We fear your mortal mind incapable of such mastery at this time. For now, we shall help you grow and learn to handle both worlds in your mind at once."
"There will be times in which you will remember only Malcora, and not Christine at all. Others, you may not even remember Malcora's name."
"This is how your mind will grow, and learn all these things."
"Very well. I am your servant." Christine agreed.
"Did you see them?" Phantom inquired Christine. She walked back to the campsite glade dressed in Shakespeare's leathers, with a solemn, peaceful look on her eyes.
"Yes brother, I did. They answered my hail... this time." Christine said. "Everything is in order. They struck a balance in my mind."
"Wonderful. How much else did they tell you?"
"What else do you know, friend?"
"They said you would decide the battle between them. This may not be the time for it, but I suspect there may be more to it than that. For some reason, Oberon is supporting gargoyles, and wants you as one."
"Why would he want that?"
Phantom shifted. He was not going to lie. "He... wants you to bear a gargoyle child."
Christine leveled him with cool, dark eyes. "I understand. Many disputes between kingdoms were settled that way in my day, friend. If I take your meaning, Oberon wants a gargoyle child, but these dark ones want a human. Why do you suppose that is? Who is the father to be? Will I have a choice?"
"I've no notion." Phantom answered warily... skirting the edge of the one thing he did not wish to reveal. "But we may soon discover this." Phantom could not tell her what Shakespeare had said. Perhaps she should learn it for herself. Phantom felt confused by the whole thing... a feeling he was certain Christine shared.
"So many new questions, so few answers. I cannot shake the feeling that someone is lying to us - perhaps several someones. Does that... magical device still function?" she asked.
"It does." Phantom replied. He looked at Christine under it's glow. He was surprised to see her form no longer radiated the red light of the spell. "The transformation spell is gone. You have a normal pattern of force again."
"Of course, brother." she noted matter-of-factly, as she gathered her things to leave. "I have always been a gargoyle."
"Are you feeling alright, Christine?" Phantom inquired with concern. Christine cocked her head to one side, looking at Phantom with a puzzled expression.
"I know no Christine, my name is Malcora." She shrugged, a motion that reminded Phantom very strongly of the human Christine. "I've never felt better."