Adel's Purr

By Sui Lynn

Elements of Love: Book One

In a world recovering from a war that devastated humanity, Evan Halvard struggles to control a power he doesn't understand. Evan is a stone mason. He can give life to stone to create and awaken living gargoyles. When he receives a message that a large gargoyle is about to be demolished by the Church, Evan rushes to save it.

After centuries of sleep, the gargoyle has no interest in a present he can’t relate to. Yet, through the haze of his hibernation, a voice calls to him. He awakens restrained by those he swore to protect. Evan and Adel must work to understand the power connecting them and escape the evil hunting Evan, before the Church destroys Adel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
• Release date: Jan 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781627983747

Book preview

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Chapter 1

Gargoyle Lore

As written by the scribes and entombed in the Church Archives:

GARGOYLES ARE carved from a single piece of natural stone. Cannot be made of stone composite or molded. Their original form is carved. Their spirit is called to life by an Earth Elemental they call their Maker. They become living stone: stone by day and living, breathing flesh and blood by night.

May 14, 2215—just before sunset….

THE MODERN-day equivalent of a hermit, Evan Halvard lived by himself on a couple of acres of forested land in the mountains, far enough away from civilization that people couldn’t bother him. He liked to tell his friends he lived close enough to town to do business easily, yet far enough up in the mountains that people had to be determined in order to find him. The arrangement served him well, keeping most of the unwanted interruptions away and giving him a modicum of privacy.

Spring felt cool this year up in the mountains, but as Evan stood in his garden tilling the soil, nature spoke to him of green and growing things. Winter’s last bite of the season had come and gone. The tender seeds he planted would flourish. Most people would find the soil cold and painful, but Evan loved the feeling of the earth beneath his feet and between his toes. He’d told his father many times how, if he stood barefoot in the soil, the ground would speak to him, but no matter how many times Evan’s father had humored him, Evan seemed to be the only one who heard the earth whispering.

Evan stood and rested an arm on his hoe, smiling to himself as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a large, leather hair tie. He pulled back his unruly dark-brown dreadlocks and tied them out of the way at the back of his neck. He pulled off his T-shirt and wiped it across his face and chest, absorbing the sheen of sweat forming on his light-mocha skin. Evan worked as a stonemason and was accustomed to physical labor: repairing walls, laying brick, and pretty much anything that dealt with rock. Standing in the last rays of the setting sun bent over a hoe, prepping the soil for seeds, didn’t count as work but was a labor of love.

Evan smiled as he thought of how his father, Peter Stein, would’ve scolded him for doing what Peter would have considered women’s work. To his father, men were hunters and women were supposed to tend to the plants. Evan couldn’t help his love of nature. He loved caring for green things almost as much as he loved his stonework. Spring, his favorite time of year, spoke of awakenings, beginnings, and plantings. It was the personification of life. Since he had no intention of ever marrying a woman—he’d discovered long ago he was not attracted to females—he had to do his own planting to supplement his meals. He preferred to be as self-sufficient as possible.

Besides, women were few and far between, and breeding females were even less available, as they were monopolized by the Church’s breeding program. Children were raised by the fathers or in fosterling homes if the father was incapable of caring for his offspring. The condition in these homes meant little to the Church as long as the population increased. Men whose seed was genetically predisposed toward female children were paid well for their sperm donations, as the female population of the earth was very small—one in every four children born was female. The hardest part was one out of every four females born was infertile, and others often had a hard time carrying their pregnancies to full term. It was an ever-declining cycle that the Church was attempting to fight at every turn, trying to prevent humanity’s extinction.

Some believed the human race was in the autumn of its existence. It had had a great and glorious run and now fought a losing battle to hold on to its existence, like a tree in fall trying to hold on to its leaves against the ever-persistent draw of gravity. A battle the tree couldn’t win. They believed humanity would pass into the annals of the extinct, like the dinosaur, just as inevitably as gravity.

Evan didn’t believe that. Mankind might be in a population decline and trying to resurrect itself from a destruction the likes of which nature could not have created, but Evan hoped it was not the end. Maybe this season of mankind wasn’t fall, but winter, and soon it would be the spring and a new beginning. He certainly hoped so.

If the death of millions of people in the great war—two thirds of the world’s population—couldn’t be considered the autumn of mankind and the horrible years after the beginning of winter, Evan didn’t know what could. In most of the places around the world, they were still rediscovering old technologies and relearning how to use them, all under the careful supervision of the Church, which determined the technologies that were safe to relearn and what had led to the evil downfall. All part of the perpetual winter of mankind. A winter Evan wanted to see come to an end.

He loved spring. The green things around him were connections to the earth, and they gave him a sense of peace and security he felt from nothing else. The earth’s awakening, as the frost of winter receded and things came back from that deathlike sleep, gave new life to Evan as well.

Evan watched the sun drop below the pine-covered horizon of his home in the Black Hills of South Dakota. The last rays of direct sunlight disappeared into dusk, signaling the beginning of night and the time when his closest friend awoke. He felt the familiar tingle at his throat and reached up to stroke the stone necklace, caressing warm scales instead of rock. A tiny, rumbling purr began against his collarbone.

Evening, Cela. Evan felt the little dragon unwrap himself from around his neck, stretch, and coo merrily.

As Evan stretched work-stiffened muscles, his awareness of the tiny points of consciousness that belonged to the minds of his other awakening friends grew. They were gargoyles, similar in some ways to Cela. He could feel their approach as they made their way from various daytime perches to venture into the night. He always knew when he was in the presence of gargoyles, even during the daytime. He could easily distinguish between living stone and statues. He’d been fifteen and an apprentice to his father the first time it happened: he’d discovered Cela. Well, he hadn’t really discovered Cela; he had awoken the dragon. He’d unknowingly called to the gargoyle’s sleeping soul, bequeathed to the statue by the artist who’d sculpted the dragon with loving care. And so Evan had given the statue life, awakening the gargoyle as living stone.

Ten years earlier at a cemetery jobsite….

"HEY, DAD, what’s that?" Evan asked.

What’s what? Peter asked, looking at his son, then following his gaze. Oh, you mean the dragon statue. That’s a gargoyle, a guardian, and a pretty small one at that. They used to adorn many structures. Our ancestors believed they’d guard our souls from the evil in the night. You don’t see them much anymore. The hunters from the Abbey, under orders from the Bishop’s Service and their deputies, have smashed most of them. I guess it’s so small they must’ve overlooked that one. Peter looked at the little gargoyle.

What a beautiful dragon.

Yeah, and dangerous, just like their mythical counterparts. Just having statues that look like gargoyles on our property could bring the Inquisition to our door. They believe gargoyles depict mankind’s violent nature and are proof of his inherent evil. They believe they represent evil, or in the worst cases, are personifications of the Devil.

But, Dad, how can anything so beautiful be evil? Evan asked.

Sorry, son, I never did understand their logic. I just know not to question the Church. Few survive the Inquisition, and those who do are never the same. Come on, let’s get to work. Peter and Evan went back to working on the crumbling stonework walls, repairing the damage done by time and nature.

Dad?

What?

What are gargoyles like?

Peter smiled at his son. Evan had always been inquisitive, and a little thing like the Church disliking something was incentive for him to ask questions. Well, let me see. My father used to tell tales of gargoyles from before the war. Before modernization, gargoyles were the nighttime protectors of the people. They kept people safe from evil.

Really? Were they super strong and super fast? Evan asked.

Peter chuckled. Not that I remember him ever saying. They could fly, though. They could sleep for years in hibernation and then, when called at night, would awaken and protect the people.

Are they born?

No. Gargoyles are carved by artisans, like all statues. But there are special people in the world who have extraordinary powers. They are known as Elementals. Only a specific type of person can call the spirit to life and change a carved statue into living stone. Only a specific Elemental, an Earth Elemental, can make a statue into a gargoyle.

That’s so cool! Do you know any Elementals?

Maybe…. Hand me the mortar. Peter held out his left hand so his son could pass him the bucket. Get the supports ready.

Okay. Can they be killed?

Can who be killed? Peter asked, studying the rock wall before him as he plastered cracks in the mortar. Evan shored up the broken wall, getting it ready for repair.

Gargoyles.

They are immortal, but they can be killed. If the stone form is broken, then they can never awaken again. That’s how the Church eliminated most of them—destroying them while they were vulnerable and unable to defend themselves. They can also be killed when they are flesh and blood, at night. Peter moved to where Evan had finished bracing the wall and had begun to add new rocks, placing them and then mortaring them into position. Good… good. Keep at it. I’m going around to work on the other side.

So they don’t run around as hard rock, but they move at night?

Not from what your grandfather said. They turn to regular flesh and blood at night. They hunt and eat, just like any other beast, although he did say some of the older ones could talk. But I’ve never seen any larger than the little dragon you found earlier.

Peter stood and stretched. As father and son completed their work, the sun set over the horizon, leaving everything bathed in the half-shadow world of twilight.

Come on, Evan. Let’s get home before it gets too dark. Peter patted his son on the shoulder and grinned. Your mom will have dinner ready and waiting for us.

Okay, sounds good, Evan replied, a little distracted. Dad, can I go check out the dragon statue? It’d be a real shame if something so small and fragile got damaged. Evan frowned, thinking in horror of someone intentionally smashing the little statue.

Sure, go on. No one’s around, and I don’t think anyone here’ll report you for being interested in a gargoyle. Just keep the thing to yourself. I don’t want to know what you do with it. I’m going to the truck. I know nothing. Peter smiled warmly at his son.

Thanks, Dad. Evan took off at a run to find the little gargoyle statue before his father changed his mind. He found the mausoleum easily; there was only the one crypt in the small cemetery. He looked up to where the gargoyle should’ve been perched, but the spot was now empty. No dragon roosted over the door.

I could’ve sworn— Evan mumbled to himself, looking around to see if he’d somehow gotten the location wrong. No, the gargoyle had to be here. Evan walked around the perimeter of the structure, looking for the little statue.

What could’ve happened to it? He and his dad were the only ones in the cemetery. Then he caught sight of a reddish glimmer high up in a nearby tree. Evan frowned and looked a bit closer. The glimmer blinked and the red glow flashed.

It’s okay, I won’t hurt you. You can’t stay here. You’re not safe. Evan spoke softly, trying to coax the little creature from the tree. Come on, little one, Dad’s waiting for us. He extended his hands to the small gargoyle. My name’s Evan Halvard. Dad says my name means ‘rock defender’ in the old language. I won’t hurt you. Evan crooned and babbled, remembering being told animals didn’t understand what you said, but your tone of voice could either soothe or incite them. He had no idea if the same applied to creatures of living stone.

Evan heard a couple of cheeps and whistles, which sounded vaguely birdlike, and the little gargoyle appeared, hanging on the central bark of the tree.

There you are! Aren’t you cute? Come down. We have to go home. You can’t stay here. There’s no one to protect you.

Evan watched patiently as the little gargoyle crept slowly closer to him. He looked like a dragon in miniature. He had four legs, tiny wings and a little spade tail, and sharp-looking little teeth and claws. How cute! He had shiny red scales that glinted in the light of the moon despite his dirty-brown appearance when Evan had first seen him perched on the mausoleum. Now his eyes glowed bright red, like rubies on fire.

Please, we don’t have a lot of time, little friend, Evan said urgently, trying to coax the dragon. Hesitantly at first, the creature crept down the tree toward him. Evan wrapped his arm with his jacket, fearful of the damage those sharp talons could do, and offered it as a perch. Here you go.

The small creature jumped from the tree and landed on Evan’s arm with ease. He chirped and whistled, tipping his head to look at Evan with his fire-filled eyes. Evan scratched under his chin and above his eye ridges. The dragon began to purr. He ran the length of Evan’s arm and ducked under his long brown dreadlocks, curling his tail around Evan’s neck. In his peripheral vision, Evan nervously eyed the gargoyle’s talons. One misplaced talon could slice open his throat like butter. Yet the small beast moved with care and placed his claws gently, seeming to realize the harm they could inflict. He clung to Evan’s T-shirt, blanketed by his hair, apparently content to curl against Evan’s warm skin.

Well, I guess that’s as good a place as any. Evan petted the dragon while he headed for the truck and his father.

Did you find it? asked his father, staring directly at the little dragon curled around his son’s neck.

Nope, no statues.

Peter laughed. By the way, cool necklace.

Thanks. I think so, too.

The little dragon didn’t move or make a peep as he peered from beneath Evan’s hair.

Just don’t let your mother see it.

Present day….

EVAN LISTENED to Cela, his little dragon gargoyle, croon and sing into the night as the others came running to gather about his feet. Evan found harmony and a gentle peace in the nature surrounding him. These were his friends, the ones he had been waiting to awaken throughout the day. The ones who gave his life meaning. The ones he risked his life for in an effort to keep their species from being exterminated. When they joined him, his loneliness faded, and until the rising sun, he would not be alone.

The path of Evan’s life had been decided that day, ten years ago, with the rescue of his closest friend. And Cela had remained with him every day since. His life, set in stone like the rocks he worked with, turned against the authorities and a belief system he couldn’t support. He would be criminal in the eyes of the Church if they knew about him. Evan Halvard became a rescuer of living stone, or, as his father had explained in one of his many lessons, gargoyles.

Before his death, Peter, who had adopted Evan as his own son when he’d been orphaned by the death of his biological father, Dustin, encouraged Evan to follow his heart. He and Dustin were half-brothers, born of the same mother, Patience, in the Church’s breeding program. Even though they had different fathers, they had grown up together in a fosterling home. The two of them were very close and had similar beliefs and eventually were recruited to the same resistance movement. When Dustin was killed by the Inquisition, Peter had chosen to raise Evan, as he hoped his brother would’ve wanted, educating him but allowing the boy to make his own choices. Yet he resolutely refused to assist Evan in anything remotely like what he and Dustin had been involved in, saying the Church had cured him of his rebellious tendencies long ago.

The brands on Peter’s arms attested to his punishment at the hands of the Inquisition, punishment that had killed Dustin, his wounds having become septic while serving his sentence in the reform camps. The brands appeared as two crosses on Peter’s forearms, seared far into the flesh, almost to the bone. The muscles had healed around the burns, leaving him with much less strength in his arms than he’d had in his youth. Yet he’d survived and excelled at his work. Upon his death, he’d bequeathed Evan a lodge in a remote part of the forest, away from prying eyes. It had become a sanctuary for Evan and his gargoyles.

Evan remembered the first time he’d entered the cabin, the day he’d buried his father. He had been struck by the state of it. His father obviously hadn’t been there for many years, as nothing had disturbed the thick layer of dust that covered everything like a shroud. On the kitchen table sat a cracked, leather-bound book, a diary. Evan ran a hand over the cover, revealing an embossed