Anton Strout

Stannis

The first thing the creature noticed upon waking was the cool wetness against his stone skin where he perched. It wasn’t the kind of liquid coolness he was used to, not like the falling rain that had slowly left its mark on his substantial frame for just more than a century now, but rather something . . . bubbly.

Without moving from his ledge, he cast his eyes toward the unique prickling sensation he felt along the curve of his right calf. A young human woman with dark hair down to her shoulders and blue eyes was frantically scrubbing away at the flexed muscle using a bristly brush that she kept dipping into a bucket of soapy water. She was dressed in a black T-shirt and what he would normally think of as men’s overalls, but who knew if that was right anymore? The world was constantly changing. The creature longed to move from his position but didn’t dare for fear of discovery. That would be breaking one of the rules.

Not sure what to do, he turned his attention to the sight that had greeted him tens of thousands of times—the soft orange glow of a sun that was once again vanishing beyond the horizon. Much of his view had altered through the years as newer buildings rose with the world’s progress. But bits of the horizon were still available to him. As the dregs of daylight slowly gave way to the blue-black of the nighttime sky, the stiffness in his body left him, which made holding his position even more difficult while this woman continued to scrub away at him.

Suddenly, the dark haired woman spoke.

“You can move if you like,” she said. “It’s all right. I know what you are.”

It was only after a moment that the creature realized she was actually talking to him. It felt unfamiliar; no one had spoken directly to him for countless years. When he was certain he wasn’t imagining it, he stretched himself up to his full height and stepped off the ledge and onto the roof proper. The woman gasped and the smile faltered on her face.

He cocked his head.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t really prepared . . . you must be at least seven feet tall . . . and those wings!”

He expanded his stone wings to their full ten-foot span. They had been carved to look like those of a bat.

“I understand,” he said. “Your kind looks incredibly frail to me in comparison.”

The woman raised a hand to cover her mouth as she laughed. “I guess you don’t get many of our kind up here . . .”

His face saddened for a moment.

“I’ve known one or two of you in my time,” he said. He paused. “What were you doing to me?” He flexed his neck as he bent to examine his leg. The stone there was covered in markings he couldn’t identify, but they definitely hadn’t been there the night before.

“Trying to wash you,” she said, holding up the brush she had been using and waving it at him. “Usually no one’s allowed up on the roof of our building, but I was pissed off at my family about some stuff I’d rather not get into, and so I came up. The locks had been broken, and it looks as though you’ve been the victim of vandalism. Someone tagged you.”

“Tagged?”

“You know, spray painted with graffiti,” she said.

He stared with blank eyes.

“On second thought, no, I guess it’s quite possible you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

The creature shook his head. “Graffiti,” he said after a moment. “That word I am familiar with. Tagged, however, I am not. But I shall add this colloquialism to my knowledge.”

He bent his still wet leg so the woman could reach it again.

“You may continue,” he said. “And thank you.”

The woman stepped toward him, this time with more caution than before, and started scrubbing again. “I couldn’t stand to see you marked up like this. It offends my artistic sensibility.” She dipped the brush into the soapy water. “Have you a name?”

Stannis cocked his head at her again. “Stannis.” Even though he was used to the deep sound of his voice, his own name sounded funny on his lips, He hadn’t said it in years. “And you are . . .”

“I am a sculptor,” she said. She scrubbed his side now, harder this time. The tag was slowly fading from it. “Does that hurt at all?”

“Hurt?” Stannis laughed at the mere thought of it, the bass of his rocky voice booming out. “No. It does not hurt. I’m afraid it would take far more than that to cause me pain.”

The woman stopped scrubbing, dipped the brush back into the bucket and when she started up again, scrubbed with even more force. The tag was almost gone, a mere ghost of the vandalism.

“By the way,” she said after several more moments, “I’m Alexandra.”

The creature looked down at her, watching the fragile arms of the woman working their way back and forth against his stone skin.

She dropped the brush and reached down and picked something up off the roof. It was a well-worn and ancient moleskin notebook. She brandished it like a weapon and then placed it gently on the ledge before she retrieved her brush and fell back to scrubbing. “So tell me about my great-great grandfather.”

“There is much for you to learn,” the human he had come to know as Alexander said to him. “But before there is learning, there are rules, no? And for such a learned occasion, I thought it best to dress properly.”

Stannis, who had only recently been taught that his name was Stannis, nodded. He looked the human over in the dim light cast from the lantern. There had been times the dark-haired fellow with the kind eyes had shown up in workman’s coveralls that were spattered with mortar and bits of stone, but today Alexander was dressed in a three-button frock coat and pinstriped dress pants. For once, his hair was combed and free of the rock dust that most stone masons usually sported.

“Now then,” Alexander said, making an arcane gesture with his hand, “always protect the family. That is the first of all rules. Do you understand?”

Stannis felt a tingling sensation wash over him. “I understand.”

“I know the very concept of family is new to you,” Alexander said, patting him on one of his solid shoulders in a collegial way, “but I’ve shown you the photographs of those closest to me—my kin. And there will also be the kin to come.”

He turned from Stannis and moved along the edge of the roof where a massive block of solid stone sat on the ledge.

“Don’t worry,” he continued. “You will not be alone in this task. But before I fashion another, first we must continue your education.”

“Always protect the family,” Stannis said, repeating the first rule.

“Good,” Alexander said. He shuffled to a chair he had set up across from his creation. A moleskin journal lay on the cushion and he grabbed it, flipping it open.

“Second,” he said, gesturing again, “always return here before sun up. Trust your instincts. You will feel the pull of the building calling to you, and you must always return here before the light of day transforms you to solid stone.”

Stannis nodded again as the sensation hit him. He had already experienced the phenomenon the man was describing during one of the few flights he had taken while testing the limits of his new body. There had, of course, been nights in his first few weeks of his creation when random thought began to form in his fledgling mind, and he had begun to explore the world as a child would have.

“Always return before the light of day,” he repeated.

Alexander smiled at him.

“And last,” Alexander said, “do your best to keep yourself hidden from humanity.”

Stannis stood quietly for a moment, going over the rules in what little mind he had developed. His look darkened, and the man noticed.

“What is it, Stannis? What’s wrong?”

When Stannis found the correct words, he asked, “Why?”

“Why?” the man asked with a laugh. “Why what?”

Stannis could feel something unsettling stirring in the rock of his chest. “Why must I hide away from those like you, and why does your family need protecting?”

The man’s eyes lit up. “Excellent! Excellent questions! You’re learning, as I hoped you would. Your natural curiosity drives you!”

Alexander walk to the other side of the rooftop and gestured for Stannis to follow. The large stone figure moved away from the ledge and strode after his creator, the roof shaking from his weight as he walked.

Alexander waited for him at the far edge of the building. “Our ever growing Manhattan!” Alexander said, as he reached up and put his hand on Stannis’ shoulder. “Each day a new invention of some kind comes into being, like parts of this very building we’re standing on. Look to the horizon . . . nothing stands taller than we! And why? Because of the creative minds of the Otis Elevator Company. After just a few short years, the landscape of this island has already started to take on a whole new look.”

The wrinkles around Alexander’s eyes becoming more pronounced. “Everyone thought Brooklyn was going to be the big city around here, what with all its room to grow. ‘Manhattan’s only an island,’ they said! Well, now that Manhattan can build up . . .”

For several moments, the two of them stood in silence watching the city with all its tiny lights burning in the windows of other lesser buildings. Finally, Alexander turned away and headed back to their original spot. He sat in his chair and resumed flipping through his notebook. Stannis, however, took a few more minutes to take in the expanding skyline, and then returned to his perch.

“Everything in this city is happening so fast,” Alexander said, weariness in his voice now. “I can barely keep up with all the orders coming in for more unique stonework pieces. I’ve no time anymore to look after my family. God only knows what the future holds for them. The higher we build toward the heavens, the more I worry about the dangers that still roam the ground. Who knows what lies ahead for my children?”

He fell silent for a time as he read through his notebook.

“You, my friend,” Alexander said when he looked up minutes later, “are my legacy. You can stand sentinel for the ages, keeping my kin from harm as long as they reside in this city, this building.”

“I understand,” Stannis said.

The kindness in Alexander’s eyes flickered for a moment. “No,” he said, “I don’t think you do . . . but I think that you will.”

“So you’re really a gargoyle.” Alexandra’s voice was tinged with wonder. She pushed a hank of hair behind her ear and continued flipping through the worn moleskin notebook. “I saw this cartoon about gargoyles when I was a kid, but I didn’t think they actually, you know . . . existed.”

“Gargoyle,” Stannis repeated with a shudder. “Such a crass name. I prefer the term ‘grotesque.’ ”

“That sounds a lot worse, actually,” she said with a frown.

Stannis looked surprised. “Really?”

The girl nodded. “By modern standards, yeah.”

“The stonemason hated the word gargoyle,” Stannis said. “I remember that being the layperson’s term for what I was. My creator preferred to call me his chimera or his grotesque.”

The girl’s eyes widened and she sat down on the ledge.

“So you really did know my great-great grandfather, didn’t you? He was your creator?”

Stannis nodded.

She gave a low whistle. “That was more than a hundred years ago.” She ran hand down the worn, pock-marked stone of his arm. “Looks like you’ve had your fair share of acid rain or something. You’ve got a little bit of erosion going on there.”

Stannis pulled away. Even with his years of vigilance in the city, he had little familiarity with humans touching him. He reached up and felt along the same area where a few of the spots on his arm were worn down.

“I’m not even sure if my creator could have predicted how swiftly the modern world would wear on a grotesque such as I.”

“Still,” she said, “the underlying carving is exquisite.”

Stannis grinned. “Thank you. A love of stonework runs in your family, I see.”

“Not really,” Alexandra said. “Except for me, I suppose. When my parents told me about our past, something about that time period and my great-great grandfather’s craftsmanship just spoke to me. How well did you know him?”

“As well as any large hunk of stone can know its maker, I suppose,” Stannis said.

Alexandra laughed. “You’ve got quite the sense of humor, you know, all things considered.”

“Your great-great grandfather carved me with the capacity to learn all things,” Stannis added.

“You said there were rules.” She flipped through the notebook again, searching.

“Yes,” Stannis said. “Always protect the family. Always return to the building before daylight and always keep hidden from humanity.”

“Well, two out of three ain’t bad,” she said, holding up two fingers.

“There were more to come.” Stannis looked to the large block of half-carved stone on the ledge next to him. “But . . .”

Alexandra gently closed the notebook, set it down, and slid over to the block Stannis had indicated.

“It’s broken,” she said.

Stannis shook his head. “Not broken,” he said with great sadness. “Never finished.”

“Too bad,” she said, looking sad herself. “I would have loved to have seen whatever my great-great-grandfather saw when he started carving it. He never got around to finishing it?”

Stannis shrugged, causing his wings to flap.

“What happened? Do you remember?”

“One night your great-great grandfather stopped coming to the roof.”

Alexandra turned away from the block.

“He died late one summer from what I’ve been told,” she said.

“Your kind die so soon,” Stannis said.

“I suppose we do.” Alexandra stood and started toward the far side of the roof.

“Those wings,” she said as she crossed, “they’re not just ornamental, are they?”

Stannis cocked his head.

“They work, right? You can fly?”

Stannis nodded.

Alexandra stopped at the edge of the roof and stepped up onto the ledge.

“Good,” she said, and jumped.

Before she was out of sight, Stannis heard the words of his maker in his head, screaming one of the rules at him. Always protect the family.

With a speed that was inhuman, Stannis charged across the roof and dove over the side. The girl was already far below, but he flapped his wings and closed the distance. The wind rushed past him, reminding him it had been years since he had taken flight and he felt a wave of pleasure in it. Stannis reached out, remembering how fragile these humans were, and carefully grabbed for her.

His arm caught her by one wrist, and before he could begin flying back to the top of the roof, she pulled herself around him like a scared little girl, clutching both arms around his neck as he felt the drumming of her heart against his chest.

As Stannis flew straight up into the nighttime sky, Alexandra stopped shaking.

“Your wings,” she said, “they’re so quiet, but they’re made of stone. I thought they’d make some kind of noise or something.”

Stannis said nothing but continued to fly higher, feeling the great-great grandchild of his maker tightening her grip on him. Once they were higher than any of the surrounding buildings, he swooped down through the concrete and metal canyons, angling back and forth through the gaps in the buildings, and then circling until his own building came back into sight. When he landed, Stannis set Alexandra down and stepped away from her.

“I do not engage in games, child.”

“Relax,” she said, still breathless. “I just had to see it for myself, if everything my great-great grandfather wrote in his book was true.”

Stannis stood, unmoving.

“Relax,” she repeated. “Stonework’s not the only thing of his I took an interest in.”

Alexandra consulted the notebook. “I think the first thing I’ll do is add a new rule.”

“Only the maker can do that,” Stannis said with a shake of his head.

“Always protect the family. And since I’m part of ‘the family,’ I think I know a little bit about what’s in our best interest. Besides, times change, and so should the rules with them.”

Stannis considered this, and then cracked a smile. “So you will bend the rules, Alexandra, but not break them.”

“Yeah.” She made a gesture that Stannis remembered from his maker and even felt the same sensation as back then. “I think the first change I’m going to make is that you also always protect her.”

“Her?” Stannis asked, somewhat confused.

Alexandra crossed to the large unfinished block. She put her hands on it and felt the curves of the raw stone that had been left there.

“I mean her, your unfinished companion here.”

“But only the maker . . .”

Alexandra held up the notebook.

“Everything I need is right here.”

Stannis felt a strange pain wash across his chest, different from the magic he had felt a second ago. He stumbled, sitting hard on the ledge next to the block.

“You okay?” Alexandra asked.

“I’m . . . fine,” Stannis said. “I just . . . have never felt anything quite like this before.”

Alexandra smiled. “I think its called hope.”

He looked up at her. “You would do this for me?”

Alexandra nodded.

“Why?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”

“I may need to come up here to get away from my family sometimes,” she said, “but they are family, and we do have such a thing as honor and respect, especially when it comes to finishing a job. Believe me, I wish I were as lucky as you. I’d kill if someone could just magically concoct me a suitable companion through this life. How could I deny you that when it’s in my power to give? After all, you’ve given so much of yourself watching over us all these years.”

“I’m simply performing my only function in this world,” Stannis replied. The pain in his chest faded and warmed into something else, perhaps this ‘hope’ Alexandra was talking about. “That’s what I was made for.”

“I see my great-great grandfather taught you modesty as well,” Alexandra said. “Listen, I’m very protective of my family, and you’re a part of that—my family. I may be a century late, but I am my great- great grandfather’s namesake, after all, and a sculptor. Maybe this is what I was made for, too.”

Stannis again wondered about the all too brief life of these creatures. He would continue holding up his end of the rules, and after so many years, he would happily welcome the new family members.

Alexandra threw him the soapy brush and handed him the bucket. “Let’s get to work. I can’t begin to carve her until she’s all cleaned up. She’s covered in bird shit.”