The Chalice and the Gargoyles
by Drew Alexander Ross
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
part 2
Bartholomew and Thomas walked on their four limbs over to the trembling priest in the corner of the room. His inability to look them in the eyes betrayed the fear that his faith and position were supposed to dispel from the masses. The lack of courage from this man of the cloth culminated in a pitiful, sour stench of urine.
Bartholomew stepped across the trickle on the floor that puddled in front of the priest.
“Unfit for the position he holds,” Thomas spat. “How can you fear when you have God?”
“He’s lost his faith,” Bartholomew stated.
The priest glanced up at the gargoyles. It was a brief glance, like a child peeking behind his hands at a monster in the dark. His eyes blinked rapidly, turning gears in his head in an attempt to process what they saw. A spark of realization stilled his body. It was the shock of recognition. Father Dooley lowered his hands. “You’re the gargoyles from the church,” the priest gasped.
“We are the gargoyles that guard the church,” Thomas replied.
“I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand?” Bartholomew asked.
The priest looked around the room. His bedroom had a simple layout but with rich designs. The bed was kingsized with a canopy and silk sheets. A tall dresser that was as old as the Gothic house itself was near the window. Antiques, including bedsides tables and rugs, decorated the room to round out the homey feel.
Father Dooley took in all of this and then turned back to the gargoyles. He shifted on his knees and felt the damp nightgown drag across his lap. A flush crept up his cheeks. “Why are you here?” the priest asked. “Am I dreaming? May I get a change of clothes?”
“You stay where you belong. Sitting in your own cowardice,” Thomas snapped.
Father Dooley recoiled and raised his hands halfway to his face. He regained some composure and folded his hands over his lap. “What do you want?”
“The chalice,” Bartholomew responded.
The gargoyles stepped forward, closing the gap on the priest and giving him nowhere to run. Father Dooley’s dumbstruck face looked more surprised than if a cross had fallen out of the sky and smacked his face. He stared palely at the gargoyles.
Bartholomew knew then that they had come to the wrong place. “You didn’t steal it.”
“Steal... Steal the chalice?” Father Dooley gasped. “No! Never.”
Thomas met Bartholomew’s gaze. “He’s stolen something.”
“I... I... steal from the offering basket.” Father Dooley cast his gaze down on the floor at his own puddle of piss.
“Are you going to stop?” Thomas asked.
“Yes,” Father Dooley stifled a sob.
“Who else could get into the church without breaking in?” Bartholomew asked before the priest lost his composure.
“I don’t know who would steal from a church, but...” Father Dooley stopped mid-sentence, realizing what he said. He coughed before he continued. “But most thieves these days would be able to break in without raising the alarm. It could be anyone.”
Thomas scowled. Bartholomew glanced at his brother before turning back to the priest. “Does anyone else have a key to the church?”
“Yes,” Father Dooley responded, “the janitor. But he seems like the type that wouldn’t see the difference between the chalice and a pint glass.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
The priest shook his head. “He’s a drunken slob, but he does the minimum to keep his job. He gave a P.O. box instead of an address.”
“Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.”
The priest’s gaze fell. Bartholomew and Thomas turned to leave. They prowled across the floor toward the hole in the house where the window used to be.
“Wait!”
The gargoyles stopped.
“I’m sorry for what I did,” Father Dooley said. “Do you think God will forgive me?”
“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just; He forgives us our sins and cleanses us from all unrighteousness,” Thomas stated.
“Thank you.”
“Remember, priest,” Bartholomew added, “the kingdom of heaven is within. You let yourself down as much as you disappointed God. Do better.”
Bartholomew and Thomas unfurled their wings and took off into the dark sky.
* * *
The town below was still. In a village of around five thousand inhabitants, things could be quiet in the early hours of a Monday morning. Maybe one window out of every twenty houses had a light on inside. The small High Street of the town had a few shop windows with dimmed lights and signs in their doors proclaiming they were closed for business and would open again in the morning.
Bartholomew and Thomas descended toward the string of shops in the center of town. They landed on the roof of one of the biggest buildings in the village. A bronze rooster on the chimney of the Cock and Bull Pub cocked its head at the gigantic gargoyles that swooped down and clambered to a stop on the roof. It let out a loud crow of distress.
“Oh, be quiet, you disgrace of a bird!” Thomas spat at the rooster.
It clucked twice and brought its head back to face the road.
“Wish it were a bull. Maybe it would have something more intelligent to say.”
Bartholomew cocked a stone eyebrow at Thomas.
“Maybe not,” Thomas conceded. “Do you think anyone could help us find the janitor?”
“I don’t know anymore,” Bartholomew answered.
Thomas stared at his oldest friend and furrowed his brow.
Bartholomew trudged over to the side of the pub and looked out at High Street. It used to be the main road, where they held the Stevonshire market every year. The village bustled from sun up to sundown. People exchanged news, gossip, and tidings from afar. The silence that stretched over the nights now didn’t change much during the day. Automobiles and the occasional transaction between humans permeated the atmosphere, but there weren’t many other signs of life.
“What’s on your mind, Bartholomew?”
“Everything has changed, Thomas,” Bartholomew appealed to the other gargoyle. “Where do we go from here? I failed to protect the church once. Anah’s base and your injuries are a reminder of that failing. I don’t want to see what another failure looks like.”
“You didn’t fail the church then. And you didn’t fail me,” Thomas stated. “All this dwelling in the past won’t get us anywhere right now.”
“We don’t know this village anymore. It isn’t like it used to be. Even a hundred years ago, we could go out at night without worry of being destroyed. All we need now is a young man to come to the church with his friends and finish what those other boys started all those years ago.” Bartholomew, his face contorted in pain, pointed at Thomas’s wing.
“Worrying about a future that hasn’t happened, too?” Thomas chided.
“Gahhh!” Bartholomew roared and stalked away from Thomas. He walked over to the edge of the pub and let out another air-shattering roar.
“Don’t even want to wait till morning, do you?”
Bartholomew swung back around to face Thomas. “Why should I? I should just wait here for the morning light to freeze me. I can watch and laugh inside while the stupid humans try to figure out how I got here.”
“That won’t help us find the chalice, will it?”
“There’s nothing we can do, Thomas! Can’t you see that?” Bartholomew raged. “The Almighty should strike our kind down in one almighty flash of lightning. We’re no use to him anymore. Our life’s purpose was replaced by a gadget at the door.”
“One that didn’t work.”
“And neither do we.”
“Not going on like this, we don’t.”
“Gahhh! Curse you and your never-ending optimism. You were always the grouchy one!”
“We balance each other out quite nicely when we need to, brother.”
“Where is that getting us, eh?” Bartholomew asked. “What good is continuing when you have no purpose anymore?”
“Have faith, brother.”
“We failed, Thomas!” Bartholomew shouted. “We don’t deserve to have faith!”
“Will you lot shut your gobs!”
Bartholomew and Thomas stared at each other wide-eyed. It was still a few hours until daylight, but the shout came from the street below. They had definitely been loud, but the residential streets were a few blocks away. Who would be up on High Street at this time? The gargoyles walked over to the edge of the roof to find out.
A grungy man stood up on a bench outside the pub. He wore a heavy, patched coat and dirty navy-blue khakis. His eyes were the bloodshot red of a dying sun. A stream of spittle congealed on the crease of his chin as he wavered on the bench and squinted at Bartholomew and Thomas on the roof of the pub.
“Who’s that?” The man stumbled.
He brought a hand up as if to shield his vision from the sun to get a clearer sight of what he was looking at. His raised hand clutched a wooden cup.
Bartholomew and Thomas stared down at the man. Fangs were on full display with both of their mouths completely open in surprise.
“Whaz this?”
The man stared at the cup and furrowed his brow. He stared at it for a moment, not sure what he was looking at. He gazed at the cup, then peered up at the gargoyles. He didn’t bring his hand up to shield his vision this time. Bartholomew and Thomas regained their senses as well. They raised their wings and swooped to the ground.
“Eeeeeeeeekk!” The man threw his hands up for cover, and the chalice went flying.
Thomas lunged to retrieve the chalice and broke the pavement as he landed. His outstretched fingers were inches short of the falling chalice. The wooden cup bounced once on the pavement and settled with a dead, hollow note. A long crack split the chalice in two.
“No...” Thomas’s word fell flat in the night.
Bartholomew stared at the chalice. The drunken man sobered briefly as his eyes sharpened in awareness of what happened. The stillness of the night permeated the street, and none of the three figures present made a sound. A breeze swept past the shops and rattled the remains of the chalice.
“What did you do?” Bartholomew towered over the man.
“Nuthin’,” the man replied. “You were the ones tha’ made me drop da thing.”
Thomas slowly got to his feet and collected the two pieces of the chalice. He locked eyes with the man and let out a ROAR.
The drunk cowered. After the echoes of the roar faded into the night, the man glanced at the two gargoyles.
“Are you the janitor at the church?” Bartholomew asked.
“How’d you know tha’?”
Silence permeated the air while Bartholomew and Thomas met each other’s gaze. Thomas let out a deep sigh, and they turned away from the janitor. “Don’t come back unless you’re looking for absolution.”
Bartholomew beckoned to Thomas, and the two crouched in preparation of taking flight.
“Don’t need it.”
Thomas twisted his head back to the janitor. “What did you say?”
“Said I don’t need it.”
Thomas took a step forward toward the drunken janitor. Bartholomew’s eyes went blank for a moment, but he was able to reach out an arm in time to stop Thomas from confronting the man. Bartholomew turned his attention to the janitor after he felt the fight fade from his brother.
“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.”
“Exactly,” the janitor stated. “Now bugger off.”
Thomas made another move toward the janitor, but Bartholomew shook his head. Thomas met Bartholomew’s eyes and let the tension subside. Bartholomew beckoned his brother, and the two took to the sky.
* * *
“What happened back there, Bartholomew?”
Thomas and Bartholomew worked their wings powerfully to gain elevation before straightening them out and gliding through the night. Thomas wobbled in the air occasionally, but Bartholomew slowed his pace to stay even with his brother.
“Would you say that man was surprised to see us?”
“Initially, yes,” Thomas replied, “but he seemed to accept the situation fairly quickly, even given his state... What does that mean?”
“It means he was expecting us,” Bartholomew said. “Maybe he didn’t know exactly what would happen, but he was prepared.”
“He didn’t seem to be a spiritual man,” Thomas mused. “Or a knowledgable one.”
Bartholomew continued in silence. The darkness was starting to lift. A slight shimmer on the skyline changed the blackness of the night into a dark navy blue. The sun would be up in less than an hour. They didn’t have much time.
“We failed, Bartholomew...”
Bartholomew twisted his neck and saw his brother’s labored flight. Thomas didn’t look over at Bartholomew. His gaze was fixed ahead. They flew over the residential buildings as they made their way back across the village.
“I thought you said don’t worry about the past.”
“I told you that because you were moping about something that wasn’t your fault,” Thomas stated. “We didn’t fail then, but I failed this time. I should have caught the chalice.”
Thomas’s head bowed and stared at the pieces of the chalice clutched in his hands.
“I don’t think it’s that simple, Thomas.”
“What do you mean?”
“Wait,” Bartholomew replied. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
* * *
Copyright © 2021 by Drew Alexander Ross
