Page 6 of Rock Hard Alien

Georgie

The ground was hurtling towards me. Cold wind rushed past me, stinging my eyes, tearing at my hair.

Of all the thoughts to have before you die, 'I can't believe the idiot dropped me' shouldn't have been one of them. He'd let go of me less than fifty metres from Wallace Monument. So close, yet so far. And I was about to end up smashed to bits before I could even find out why the Guardian had come to life, grabbed me and flown me high into the air.

The theory that I was dreaming, or in a coma after falling off the ladder, was increasing in probability.

I had a second or two to live. Then it would be over.

I closed my eyes and waited for the impact.

Strong, hard arms wrapped around me and pulled me up. The flapping of wings drowned out the wind. I dared to open my eyes a tiny bit. The Guardian's face was a mask of pain and exhaustion. His wings moved unsteadily, one noticeably weaker than the other. But he'd caught me. And we were close to the ground now, maybe twenty metres from the cliff's edge where two benches offered a view over Stirling and the river Forth. I'd sat on those benches many a time with a book and a thermos flask of tea.

The Guardian's breathing was hot and fast against my ear. When he'd first snatched me off the castle wall, his grip had been gentle yet secure and strong. Now, it had become desperate. He was pressing me against his bare chest, and I felt like I was being crushed against stone. I'd think about how he felt both like hard rock and warm skin once I had my feet on solid ground again.

“The landing might be rough!” He was out of breath and every word was laced with exhaustion.

I steeled myself for a crash. The grassy clifftop was surrounded by tall trees, leaving only a small place safe to land on. I was tempted to close my eyes again.

“Almost there.”

A few more beats of his leathery wings, then the grass rushed to meet us. We avoided the closest bench by a hair's width, but before I could be relieved, we tumbled onto the ground in a mess of limbs.

It hurt. As much as I'd been looking forward to this flight ending, I had hoped for the landing to be less painful.

The Guardian groaned. He'd taken the brunt of the impact. I was mostly still on top of him, my head resting on his chest, his arms cradled protectively around me.

“Are you hurt?” I asked carefully.

He groaned again. That didn't sound good. I'd planned to tell him exactly what I thought of him abducting me, but that could wait. I pushed his arms off me and scrambled to my feet. My back hurt a bit, my trousers had green stains from the grass, but everything seemed to be intact. A few bruises at most. Considering we'd almost crashed into a cliff face, I'd fared pretty well.

But not the Guardian. He wasn't moving. His wings were still spread out across the grass. His eyes were closed.

I knelt by his side. “What's hurting? How can I help?”

I realised a second later that I had no idea how to give first aid to a gargoyle. He'd felt softer than he looked, but he was made of stone. Wasn't he? I didn't know what to think anymore.

Until this morning, everything had been simple. Stone was stone. It didn't move. Gargoyles were carved from unmoving stone by craftsmen and women. They didn't come to life. And they certainly didn't jump off their perch and kidnap stonemasons.

“I will be fine.” His voice reminded me of a boulder grinding over rocks. “Just a moment.”

I peered around the small clearing. I knew dog walkers and students from the university liked to come here, not to mention the tourists flocking to the Wallace Monument. I could see the tip of it through the trees, reaching high into the sky. The top had been built to resemble a royal crown, elegant yet imposing. You could see the tower from miles away, built on a rocky cliff-lined hill called the Abbey Craig. Down below were the fields where William Wallace himself had fought the English. It was a beautiful spot, but today I couldn't appreciate it. Not when I had an injured gargoyle next to me. If he even was a gargoyle.

“What are you?” I blurted before I could collect my thoughts.

“Who.”

“What?”

“Who are you. That's the polite thing to ask.” His lips moved into something like a smile, exposing two sharp fangs. “My name is Cairn. I am of the Grey Warrior Caste, the finest in all of Spiris. And I have been waiting for you for a very long time.”

Most of that didn't make any sense. Yes, the words were words and they fit together in one way or another, but I had no idea what a warrior caste was or why he'd waited for me.

“Sorry, but that's not what I meant,” I said. “I'm not going to ask you what you are again but - no, that's exactly what I'm asking. You're not human. You're not a grotesque. Unless you're telling me that stone statues can come alive. I don't believe in magic.”

“Neither do I.” He did a chortling sort of laugh. I could hear the pain underneath it. “I am not a statue. I'm a living being, just like you and your kind. And until I crash-landed on this planet, I was as agile as any gharrgoil warrior. Something in this atmosphere caused me to petrify.”

“A what warrior?”