Graham the Gargoyle Omnibus: Graham the Gargoyle

By Brian Clopper

This omnibus collects all three books in the Graham the Gargoyle series, a story which soars to new heights of magical imagination!

 

Graham's Grief

On top of worrying about his First Flight test at the end of the week, our young gargoyle hero must contend with a bully who is out to humiliate him at every turn, as well as having to deal with the sadness of his grandfather's imminent crossing over to Earth. Find out why so much of Graham's success hinges on him overcoming his fear of flying.

 

Flenn's Folly

Graham, Ot, and Flenn must uncover what sinister magic is turning the woodland animals into statues and its connection to the Flying Mummy. Our friends are also determined to find out why the trolls in the nearby village are fading away. And all this while Blord is once again terrorizing Graham's life.

Ot's Ordeal

 

Graham, Ot, Flenn, and Blord attend an elite school for the children of magical ambassadors who must regularly convene in the big city of New Asgard. But an evil lurks on the school grounds, one they can only defeat by working together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Clopper
• Release date: Jun 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393394389

Book preview

Prologue

THE SETTING: The MAGICAL REALM of CASCADE

When mortal belief in magic began to die out, the magical and mythological creatures of Earth found their life forces fading. Rather than face apathy and extinction, they banded together and migrated to another dimension where their combined powers could sustain them, a magical haven called Cascade. There they thrived, and a multi-mystical society was born.

Chapter 1

Terra Squirma

Graham Groodle tugged at the mukka root with both hands, his coarse skin giving him added grip. His brow, rimmed with horns, furrowed as he wrestled with the stubborn plant. Despite a downpour last night, the soil was still hard. If he wanted mukka root stew tonight, he’d need all his strength in his lean physique.

He bit his bottom lip as he strained. His tiny wings fluttered, adding little to his exertion.

His friend Ot Gleeblehut, a short stout troll, as if there were any other type, worked two rows down and almost had his basket filled. The troll yanked another root out of the ground, sending his spiky sprout of white hair atop his head springing back rather comically.

Two more to go, the troll chimed in. His bright yellow skin was speckled with mud.

Easy for you. That part of the garden looks much looser. I got the drier patch, Graham said. He wrapped his fingers tighter and pulled. The root slipped free too easily, and he knocked the back of one hand against his small chin tusks. The left tusk broke the skin. Graham stashed the root in his basket and sucked on his injury.

Ot laughed. That’s one way to keep your chin up.

His friend loved spouting off colorful sayings, a trait he inherited from his dad. Graham had not made many trips to the nearby village but enough to know that the troll father and son were close, much closer than he and his own father.

He crawled forward, pleased to find the ground much wetter. His clawed toes sunk into the moist soil. He found the suction created by the mud comforting. He liked staying close to the ground. It made him feel safe. Being mired in such fertile soil helped him forget what was coming up on Friday.

In four days he would have to take his First Flight. As a Level Five student, it was a rite of passage, required by all gargoyles halfway through the year in order to graduate. He was not ready to take to the air. He had done little preparation beyond the basic wing exercises. Why should he? He already knew his puny wings would let him down. While others his age used the launch platforms at school and around the village to practice their take-offs and landings, he had avoided all of them except one. Not that he had used that platform as it was designed. It had become more of place of solitude, somewhere he could get away from the pressure of being the son of one of the more outspoken council members.

He pictured himself tumbling out of the sky rather than soaring deep into the clouds. He’d splash into the Isis River for sure, another First Flight failure. What did he need with taking to the air? He was doing fine here on terra firma. Just looking up at the sky made his stomach feel light and queasy.

He reached down to pluck another mukka root out of the row. The lumpy pink vegetable was one of the main crops of the neighboring clan of trolls. The other gargoyles avoided the trolls, claiming they were dirty and stupid. They detested how Ot’s people clung to the ground and embraced the earth with such passion. Graham didn’t believe any of it, which was why he was spending this evening helping his friend. While the rest of his classmates worked away on their homework or practiced yet another flight, he was here harvesting roots for Ot’s family and his own.

Graham eased out four more roots and placed them in his basket, dripping mud on his legs. Only need two more and my basket’s full. How are you doing? He stretched, flapping his tiny wings ever so slightly.

The troll paused in his labors and wiped at his broad torso, cleaning off a small portion of earthen splatter. Yes, but I’m half as muddy as you are. Perhaps you should consider more finesse in your uprooting. Looks like a dip in the waterfall might be in order for at least one of us.

He snickered. He knew Ot loved visiting the waterfall just a forest or two away but not because the troll was a meticulous bather. Trolls as a whole liked being close to Mother Earth. They enjoyed a little dirt on their skin. If they went to the waterfall, Ot, at the most, would simply dip his feet in and not much else. The dirtier he arrived home, the prouder his parents would be. Graham wished his own parents felt that way. He wiped at a large clump of mud, its dark coloration a sharp contrast to his own bright orange complexion.

Ot stood and slapped his palms together, spraying his gray vest with mud. Supposed to rain again tomorrow. Want to go mud sliding?

He sighed. Maybe.

C’mon, since when do you not jump at the chance to get good and dirty?

Graham scooped up an extra moist lump of mud and tossed it at Ot. The troll, moving surprisingly fast for someone so stubby and plump, dodged the mud pie. My goodness, your aim is terrible today. That’s the fourth time you’ve missed me.

Graham rolled his eyes and worked on the last root before him. The plant’s purple leaves stood upright and were very large, a sure sign that he was about to unearth a succulent root. We can do one more basket, but then I have to go. Grandfather wants to tell me something important tonight.

His friend nodded, his smile withering into a more serious expression. Is it about his crossing over?

Graham kicked his basket over as he stood. He trudged over to his friend, knowing the tips of his tiny horns along his brow were probably tinged red from his anger. Who told you that? Who?

Ot didn’t back away. He kept on his knees but maintained his stable pose. Your sister. Flenn was at the waterfall the other day and she just started blathering on about all sorts of things: the weather, merry cones, sagbottom root, lava beetles, how your father was growing frustrated with the council. I tuned her out. Honest, I did. Except . . . Ot’s eyes darted from side to side.

Except?

Well, she started to cry. I felt sorry for her. Then she let it all out. She told me about how gargoyles age, about the ritual of crossing over.

She’s just a blabbermouth. Flenn was a Level Three student. She wasn’t supposed to know any of that, but his parents had filled them both in since they were about to experience it with their grandfather. It must have been too much for his sister. She had blurted it all out to Ot. That was better than telling her classmates before they learned about it officially in Level Four. Don’t listen to her.

He threw up his hands and stomped back to his basket. He picked it up and flung the carefully collected mukka roots onto the ground. Graham was about to hurl the basket into a nearby patch of bushes when his friend spoke softly, almost as if his voice would shatter the fragile air around them.

Is it true?

He sat down on a nearby rock and drew his knees close to his chest. His voice was shaky. It’s true. As we age, our bodies calcify, slowly turn to stone. Grandfather is close. He can still move about but is now bedridden. He’s saving his strength for the crossing. He must be flexible enough to climb a mortal church . . .

So he really does have to return to Earth? Ot’s face wrinkled in fear.

Yes, it’s tradition. Gargoyles are very particular about following all the rules laid out by previous generations. Once atop a church steeple or roof ledge, we allow our bodies to harden completely and become guardian statues. Our presence on a church is supposed to scare away evil spirits. Graham picked at a patch of dried mud on his forearm.

Why didn’t you tell me before?

Graham sighed. My sister and I just found out last week. I didn’t want to worry you.

Why would that worry me? Both of Ot’s long tapered ears bent downward. You’re not turning to stone anytime soon, are you? The troll looked intently at him, perhaps afraid that if he looked away, Graham would indeed turn to stone.

No, that can’t happen. I’m too young. I have a lot of life ahead of me. Graham’s voice tapered off as he spouted a quote often offered to him by his grandfather. He paused and looked up at his friend. Graham trailed off. He’s the only one who. . .

What?

At that moment, a large mud pie hit Ot square in the back of his head. Graham and his friend spun around to see their worst nightmare approaching. Blord the village bully and his gargoyle band of thugs stepped into the garden, situating themselves on the driest patch of earth. Reginald and Skynrd were always at Blord’s side. Reginald was tall and gangly while Skynrd barely surpassed Graham in height. What the small gargoyle lacked in stature he more than made up for in his weight and mouthiness.

Skynrd said, Looks like we interrupted a little moment, huh?

Blord ignored his lackey’s comment. He crossed his sizeable arms and glared at Graham. His fellow gargoyles imitated his menacing pose less successfully. I figured I’d find you rolling around in the filth with your little troll friend, Graham. The bully beat his immense wings with vigor.

Blord was Graham’s nemesis. The gargoyle stood nearly three heads taller than him. While both were in the same class, Blord outclassed Graham in every way physically. The squat horns that framed the gargoyle’s jaw on either side came to sharp points, something Blord worked hard to maintain. While he had never cut any of his classmates with them, Graham always feared he would be on the receiving end of them one day.

Blord, just go away. I don’t want this right now.

The bully feigned surprise. Want what? Surely you’d rather hang out with me instead of some oafish troll runt. Blord pointed to the ground and nodded at his companions. They instinctively knew what he wanted from them. Or they had already discussed how this encounter would unfold, Graham thought.

The two gargoyles edged over to a moist patch, leaned down, and scooped up handfuls of mud. They patted them into projectiles. Graham noticed Blord did not dirty his own hands.

Graham said, Ot is a friend, more than you’ll ever be.

Blord’s eyes narrowed. You should keep to your kind, Graham.

He’s not done anything to you.

Blord smirked. He enrolled at our school thanks to your father’s influence. Now everyone has to put up with a filthy troll roaming the halls. You let one in, more will come.

Graham knew many gargoyles resented Ot’s presence at school. The troll had only been at the gargoyle school for a month now, about the only request Graham had made of his father that had ever been delivered on. While most tolerated Ot, a few wanted him gone. So far Graham had shielded the troll from most of the animosity. He’s not a threat. We can learn about his people through him. There’s more to Cascade than just our village.

Blord flared his nostrils. Ready.

Reginald and Skynrd hoisted their mud pies over their heads, angling themselves so they could launch their projectiles at Ot only.

Don’t do this. He’s never done anything to you. Graham stepped in front of the troll and crossed his own arms. The effect was far less impressive than Blord’s guarded stance. He now blocked them from pelting his friend with more mud. It was one thing when he threw a handful of mud at Ot. There was no malice behind it. Go home.

Blord glared. Aim.

Reginald extended his free hand, offering an upright thumb to help him properly sight his target. Skynrd did the same but closed one eye to make even more of a show of his preparation.

You’re going to regret this, Graham said, attempting to sound strong and confident, not squeaky. He didn’t think he had succeeded. His voice still sounded nervous and twittery.

Fire! Blord roared. The bully beat his wings in joy as his gang bombarded Graham and his troll friend with volley after volley of muddy missiles. Let the mud fly! Ha-ha!

Chapter 2

Mudslinging Mayhem

Graham did his best to protect Ot from the worst of the mud. He had his back to the barrage, and his shoulders and puny wings were bearing the brunt of the attack. If only his frail wings were larger like Blord’s wings, he could shield them completely from the mud bath. Instead, his tiny wings fluttered like helpless leaves caught in the wind.

The mud slid off his back as the slow tug of gravity worked its bitter magic. He would’ve enjoyed a rowdy mud fight with his friend, but this was clearly not the case. There was cruel intent behind each throw. Several shots had stung, especially those thrown by Skynrd who whooped and hollered every time he hit his target.

Despite Graham’s urgings, Ot refused to cower. While Graham was a decent shield, a few got through. The troll stood and endured several mud pies across his broad jaw, and one or two splattered against his thick forearms.

You need to step clear. I’m who they want to hit. Ot looked at Graham with a mix of sadness and determination.

A clump of mud smacked into the central ridge of small horns running along the top of Graham’s head. Some slid down onto his cheeks. He didn’t give the bullies the satisfaction of wiping himself clean in front of them.

Get over here. Duck down closer and let me get hit, Graham said.

Ot frowned. No, let me face them.

Graham smiled. It’s better we stand up to them together. Huddle close and maybe they’ll stop if they see we’re not reacting.

You sure we shouldn’t just run off? Ot said, taking a step toward him.

Reginald was now throwing his mud with a more severe arc. Many of his tosses were getting closer to Ot. A clever way to get around Graham. Although, he was surprised neither gargoyle had spread out and attacked them from the sides. They seemed to prefer hanging close to each other. Probably so they could gloat without shouting back and forth across the field.

C’mon, get over. At least we can make ourselves a smaller target together.

That worked. The troll scampered over and slid to his knees at Graham’s feet. Ot smiled up at him, and Graham leaned over to shield his friend even more.

Ot said, You know I don’t mind getting dirty.

I know, but this is different.

Four mud pies pelted Graham’s legs in rapid succession, splattering mud across Ot’s chest. You’re such a pal! You don’t have to do this.

Graham shook his head. It’s not right. As much as he says this is about you coming to our school, it isn’t. Blord has it in for me. You’re just a bonus.

Behind them, Skynrd tried to get their attention. C’mon, you losers. Show us you’re not going to just sit there and hug each other. Fight back.

Ot said, That’s what they want.

I know. We just have to wait them out.

Let them keep at it. Ot gripped Graham’s ankle and squeezed it reassuringly. Eventually, they’ll get bored and go away.

Another mud pie smacked Graham in the neck. I’m not so sure. They can be pretty persistent. Bullies are like that. A mud pie hit his tiny upright tail. Maybe I should fight back.

The squeeter hive is already disturbed. Don’t stir it up further. Ot’s tiny eyes beamed with sincerity. Another bit of wisdom from the troll’s father.

As much as Graham loved his friend, he found the troll’s peace-loving temperament annoying. When have your dad’s words ever gotten you out of a real life problem?

Ot said, All the time. He knows his stuff.

Graham shifted his weight. Hunching over his friend was becoming uncomfortable. My legs will cramp up if I stay like this much longer.

Then get out of the way, Ot said.

Graham frowned as he stretched out his left leg. His friend was right. Ignoring Blord and his cronies was their best option. It wasn’t like his hero, the Flying Mummy, was about to happen on the scene and save the day. Graham settled in for a long wait. If he kept flexing his legs once and a while, he could prevent his muscles from tightening.

He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, a feat he excelled at in school and at home. Graham imagined himself flying Ot to safety. He pictured them soaring above the clouds. He smiled as they glided close to a large cloud and Ot reached down, attempting to gather up the cloud stuff as if it were cotton candy. If only his wings were bigger, stronger. His grandfather’s words echoed in his mind. You will fly the highest of them all on your First Flight, little one. His grandfather always said it with such faith and conviction.

Graham’s pleasant daydreaming was interrupted by a horrible racket. Blord now joined in the battle, except he was slinging insults rather than mud. I should’ve known you’d just huddle together and do nothing. You’re a coward, Graham. Your little sister has more guts than you do.

Graham squeezed his eyes shut even tighter.

Heck, even her wings are bigger than yours, and she’s just a Level Three. Blord chuckled.

He can only hurt you if you let him, Ot whispered.

A large mud pie impacted against Graham’s lower back. That one will surely leave a bruise.

"Yeah, well, it’s hard not to feel bad," Graham said to Ot.

C’mon. Show some spine. Scoop up some mud and return fire. Where’s your courage? Face us! Blord snorted in disgust.

Two wads of mud smacked Graham’s back.

He’s getting desperate. He’s grasping at straws, Ot said.

Graham really didn’t need to hear any more of the fatherly wisdom Ot was offering, even if it was more colorful than how his own dad phrased his counsel. Enough, he growled. Just ease up on the advice.

The troll shrugged. Just trying to be a friend.

Graham regretted his outburst immediately. Sorry, Ot. I’m just frustrated. Why does Blord always have it in for me?

Of course he already knew the answer to that and so did Blord. Your daddy is all high and mighty on the council. A shame to see his son isn’t up to the challenge. What would he think seeing you doing nothing?

Graham snickered to himself. If Blord was trying to rile him up by tossing out how disappointed his father would be in him, he was way off base. Graham had been living with that hardship almost since he could crawl.

Ot was thinking the same. Boy, is he fishing. Not like he’s going to hurt you with any of that, huh?

The troll knew more than anyone but Flenn how hard the gargoyle’s dad was on him. Oddly, Graham’s friendship with Ot was one of the few instances where the quick-to-judge adult almost approved of his conduct.

A large mud pie hit his ear. He ignored it like the others.

Blord’s next insult hit its mark. Maybe you’re just turning to stone like your grandfather. I hear it happens to people who sit around and do nothing.

Graham spun around, his blood boiling. Reginald and Skynrd both froze with mud pies held high as he sank his hands into the mud to scoop up a clump of his own. He felt a stone sliding around between his fingers, but it barely registered in his fury. Don’t EVER talk about my grandfather!

Blord sneered and was about to tease him further when, with all his strength, Graham fired the mud pie at him.

The mud pie smacked the bully in his flat nose with a wet thud. Blord hunched over, clawing at his nose. By nobz! By nobz! Moo mwittle mweep. Moo mit by nobz mith a mock!

Blord sprang at Graham, his huge wings outstretched but offering him very little lift. Margghhh!

Graham backpedaled, tripping over Ot and slipping back in the mud. He tried to dodge the bully. Instead, his right leg shot up, dangled in the air, and tripped the angry gargoyle. Blord went airborne for a brief moment, flapping his impressive wings in an effort to avoid landing in a long muddy stretch of the garden. Despite their impressive size, his wings didn’t help. The bully dropped to the ground, sliding a good six feet through the mud.

All was quiet and still for a time. Graham and Ot gawked in disbelief. Blord’s friends rushed to his side. Neither tried to help the bully up. Blord rested in the mud, covered from head to tail in the extra moist earth.

This can’t be good, Ot whispered.

Blord slowly stood. Ignoring the mud dripping from him, the bully marched up to Graham. He loomed over him, his eyes manic. A trickle of blood flowed from Blord’s injured nose, mixing with the mud decorating his face. The bully took in two deep breaths.

I challenge you. His voice was filled with hate.

Graham felt like a mouse with its tail stuck in a trap.

You and me are going to race. Blord grunted. A race over Mount Prometheus. Dawn tomorrow. Meet us at Parsons’ Plateau. Be there or else. He flicked Graham’s wings with his fat finger.

Blord turned and walked out of the field and into the woods. Reginald and Skynrd trailed behind him. Graham and Ot watched in silence until the threesome disappeared.

Ot spoke first. That’s one angry squeeter.

Chapter 3

Family Volcano

The early morning sky greeted Graham with glorious pinks and oranges playing across the horizon. Dawn had arrived. He glanced out his window, staring at Mount Prometheus in the distance. He was late. He imagined Blord and his crew already at Parsons’ Plateau, picking on his troll friend. Ot was an early riser and always early for anything. He had probably gotten there even before the bullies to case the place. On their way home from the mukka field last night, the troll had warned Graham to be prepared for any pranks or traps. Ot was certain Blord would have something up his sleeve in regards to the race.

Graham washed his face in the oval basin in the bathroom he shared with Flenn. The wash cloth he used on his face was properly hung, a sure sign his sister had tidied up and was already at the table, more than likely studying for a pop quiz. He dabbed some scented powder under his wings to lessen the smell of mukka root and soil. He had taken a quick dunk in Rigby’s Pond on the way home last night, removing the most apparent mud from his body. He stole a look at his teeth. They looked fine. He’d skip them today.

He dashed out of the bathroom and entered the kitchen to see his sister and mother busy working on Flenn’s science project. The oversized volcano took up the entire table. The pair was putting the final painted touches on the oversized landform. Flenn was infinitely proud of her handiwork.

His mom turned to him and said, You’re up awfully early. What dragged you out of bed?

I have to run a few errands with Ot. Don’t worry, I won’t be late for school, Graham said in rapid-fire fashion as he made for the front door. His mother liked how he championed Ot’s people by befriending the troll. It had been her idea to let Ot come to school with him. She knew how much he needed a friend, any friend. Maybe his little lie would get him out of staying for breakfast.

No breakfast this morning? his mom said, arching the rounded cluster of horns at the apex of her brow.

Can’t. Got too much to do. Graham was almost out the door when he heard his sister’s grating voice.

He doesn’t like my volcano, Mom, Flenn said, adding a pouting face to punctuate her statement.

Being young and her skin a slightly paler orange than his, Flenn worked her cuteness to maximum effect. For everyone else, her wide eyes and small mouth were hard to resist. She had no horns or spurs protruding from her chin or forehead yet so she looked much younger than she was. She was a late bloomer in that department. In regards to her wings, she was ahead of Graham. She had the strongest wings in her class and could already take slight hops and extended glides from any launch platform. Thankfully, she never did this in front of him, a consideration he deeply appreciated.

Graham, you don’t have a minute or two to see what Flenn has worked so hard on these last few days? It was a question but came out more like a motherly suggestion. She’s turning it in early today for bonus points.

Of course she is. He rolled his eyes out of sight of his mother. A minute in little sister land was more like an hour.

Your errands with Ot can wait. You can give your sister some time, can’t you?

Yes, Mom. He strolled over to the kitchen table but didn’t sit.

Flenn’s face switched from sad to happy in a flash. She produced a stack of note cards from behind the volcano, out of sight from Graham up until now. I can practice my presentation with you.

Graham kicked out a chair and slumped into it. He flopped both arms up on the table edge and laid his chin down in defeat. There was no way he was getting to the plateau anytime soon. Once his sister got started, it was hard to cut her off. Go ahead. Dazzle me with the facts you dug up.

Flenn shuffled her note cards, tapped them neatly on the table to straighten them up, and then looked out at her audience of one. She cleared her throat and began. Good morning, class. As you know, we have been studying the geology of Cascade. Miss Brennan defines geology as the study of the earth and the forces that shape it. Since we no longer live on Earth anymore, we study Cascade’s geology.

He tried desperately to find a spot on the wall to occupy his attention while Flenn droned on. His sister meant well, but she had too many questions and way too many answers no matter the subject. He couldn’t even count how many times he had been cornered and subjected to every minute detail about a particular native plant or animal she had researched. Just the other day she had pelted him with at least thirty facts about mosses found in the area. Mosses! Their parents called her need to broadcast her knowledge endearing. Graham called it torture.

Graham shifted in his seat. Their mother shot him a look.

Volcanoes happen on Earth and on Cascade. I have made a model of Mount Prometheus. She gestured toward the project. It’s an active volcano that we live next to. Flenn paused and looked up from her note cards. This would be where I uncover the volcano to show the class.

It’s very nice, Graham mumbled, forcing himself to examine the landform.

Flenn took his response and scrutiny as a sign to continue. Mount Prometheus is a cinder cone volcano. Lava doesn’t spurt out of it. When it erupts, cinder and ash explode outward. That’s why it sometimes has a dark cloud of smoke coming out of it. The council isn’t worried about it as it’s such a small volcano and not much of a threat. It’s close but not too close.

Graham needed at least ten minutes to make it to the plateau.

That’s excellent, dear. Their mother clapped her hands enthusiastically.

Flenn smiled. I have more.

Graham looked at his mom for any sign he could excuse himself. With a simple nod, she directed him to return his attention to Flenn.

This next section is where I pull down the class map and point out Cascade’s eight other volcanoes. I have their heights, what type they are, and whether they are active, dormant, or extinct. Mom said I shouldn’t mention how the Skeleton King has his kingdom deep beneath Mount Crag. She thinks that might scare some of my classmates. I can see Loula Stimmons getting a little freaked out by that. Flenn looked eagerly at Graham. Should I tell you all about the other volcanoes even though we don’t have a map here?

Graham hopped out of his seat. Mom, I really have to go. I won’t be able to get everything done before school if I stay any longer.

She walked over to Flenn and gave her a big hug. You are so smart. I think you’ve filled your brother’s head to capacity. I bet his teacher won’t be able to fill it any further.

Flenn giggled and embraced her, dropping her note cards to the ground.

Their mom bent to pick up the cards. She looked at Graham. You can go, but your sister is going to share the rest with you at dinner tonight, okay?

Graham grabbed his satchel from its hook and streaked toward the front door. Great, thanks.

His mother strode over to the door and held it open. Be sure you’re on time for school.

I will. Promise. Graham ran out the door and down the front path, taking the worn stones two at a time. His grandfather called them flying stones if one could take them three at a time. Graham could some of the time. To be fair, he usually could only leap over two of the well-spaced stepping stones, but that was better than nothing. He slipped past the open gate and down the path leading to the village.

He stopped in his tracks at a line of taffy trees, then slowly turned around and walked back to the house. He reentered and ambled over to his sister who was securing her note cards with a stretchy length of wa-wa vine. He gave her a quick hug. Your volcano looks really nice, almost like the real thing.

Flenn hugged him back, holding onto him longer than he did her. Thanks.

Graham smiled and pulled free of his sister’s grip. He was out the door and on his way not to school but to deal with his own volcano. Graham followed the main path to the village until he could no longer see his house. After he was sure his mother wouldn’t spot his minor detour, he took off, heading toward Parsons’ Plateau.

Chapter 4

Parsons’ Plateau

As he wound through the dense forest, Graham thought about his destination. His grandfather had told him all about Malcolm Parsons when Graham was only a Level Four student, and he had loved the tale. Often he would ask his grandfather to retell it to see if he would change the story. He never did. It always felt as if his grandfather had known Parsons, something his grandfather never admitted to nor denied.

Graham had visited the plateau numerous times as it was adjacent to his favorite brumbleberry patch. Often he would grab handfuls of the sweet berries and sit with Ot to look out at all of northern Cascade. While he could not see the spires of New Asgard, he could spy the cliffs of Highborn, the mountainous region where most of Cascade’s deities had elected to reside.

Parsons’ Plateau’s origins lay amongst the first gargoyle settlers. Malcolm Parsons, filled with renewed hope, had come to Cascade with his family in the Great Migration. In the mortal world, he had fallen on hard times, incurring debt from too many harsh growing seasons and not enough crops brought to harvest. Cascade offered him a fresh start. He immediately fell in love with his new home and settled into farming a very fertile patch of land on the outskirts of the gargoyle village. He claimed his proximity to Mount Prometheus gave him an advantage. His crops grew well in the rich soil near the volcano. While other gargoyles stayed close together, building next to each other to form the gargoyle village Graham called home, Malcolm and his family were allowed to settle farther afield. Perhaps if his melons and sulk beans had not been so tasty, the council would have had him reside in the village proper, but they never asked him to do this.

Graham’s people were very insular, shunning most of the other races once they had moved out of the First Valley. The council prided themselves on the fact that their village was so self-sufficient.

Parsons, however, sold his crops to more than just other gargoyles. He traded with the trolls and some even whispered how the simple farmer had formed a truce with several harpy families and counted the vile bird creatures as loyal customers.

As long as Parsons made his crops available to his fellow gargoyles, the council overlooked his boldness.

As the years passed, Parsons became more involved in the gargoyle government. Much to the surprise of many, he eventually won a seat on the council. The farmer was fiercely loyal to his new home. He proposed ending the tradition of crossing over to Earth, pointing out that as humans had abandoned belief in all things magical, so should the citizens of Cascade cut ties with the fickle mortals. This viewpoint was not welcome in the halls of the council. Parsons was voted out unanimously for daring to speak against tradition. The council could overlook his friendly overtures with other magical races but not his outspokenness in regards to the sacred ritual of crossing over.

Parsons spent the rest of his life minding his farm and family, blessing each morning with a warm, soulful moment of silence. As far as he was concerned, Cascade was his home and always would be.

When he grew old enough to feel his bones and muscles harden, Malcolm Parsons did not cross over.

Instead, he climbed to the highest point overlooking the village and the volcano next door, a nearby plateau, and extended his stony limbs to the sky. As his life left him, he paid his loving respects to his new home. Some said Malcolm chose to face away from the village as a sign of contempt, but his grandfather had a more fitting theory, one that Graham could find no flaw in. He believed Parsons arranged his body to welcome the rising sun so he could eternally greet each morning with outstretched arms and wings, and a wide smile of contentment.

While Parsons’ final act was joyful for him, it was anything but for his fellow gargoyles, especially the council. They made Parsons’ Plateau off limits, a no man’s land. It became forbidden, an empty final home for one who would dare to speak out against tradition.

As his grandfather was quick to point out, barring a child from visiting a particular spot was just asking for trouble. The curiosity of the young had a habit of getting the best of them. Parsons’ Plateau became a favorite hangout for the young. The children thought they were fooling the adults with their secret hideout and gathering place, but the council knew of their trespass. The council also knew it was useless to patrol the site, a waste of resources. So it became an unspoken fixture of any child’s village life.

The children had a private hideout, and the adults acted none the wiser.

And Malcolm Parsons, he had a home with frequent guests.

Chapter 5

Smoke and Mirrors and Pepper

Graham arrived at the plateau out of breath. Connecting the upright landform to the lush precipice he now stood on was a rope bridge. He was sure Ot had traveled across it. As to whether Blord and his friends had, Graham had no idea. All three along with the troll were already on the plateau. Blord had Ot by his vest and was attempting to hang him on one of the outstretched arms of the Malcolm Parsons statue. Skynrd and Reginald were emptying out his troll friend’s knapsack, sending his papers into the air.

Ot was putting up a good fight, landing a few blows to Blord’s forearms but not anywhere else. His tiny arms just didn’t have enough reach. Blord soon had him hooked on Parsons’ left arm.

Graham raced across the bridge, making sure to avoid the yawning hole halfway across. He had always hoped to mend that section but had never gotten around to it. He had seen some Level Twos out on the plateau and wouldn’t want any of them falling through the bridge. Those that young couldn’t fly at all. Not that he was any better with his wings. Instead of taking flight to avoid the open air, he hugged the rope handhold on his left and swung across. He sprinted the rest of the way and approached his trapped friend, intentionally keeping his back to Blord.

Graham gulped in breaths as he tried to regain his now haggard composure. He also avoided looking over the edge of the plateau, knowing a glimpse of the two-hundred-foot drop would only spur a fit of dizziness. The diameter of the landform was only about fifty feet. Parsons’ statue stood about ten feet from the northern edge. The older gargoyle’s face was drenched in sunlight. Graham always liked the farmer’s inviting smile.

He couldn’t unhook the troll by himself. Ot’s vest was looped onto the arm all the way down to the statue’s shoulder. Knowing this, he turned to face Blord. The bully was covered in what appeared to be ash. Black grit coated his neck, shoulders, and most of his chest. Only a little was smudged across his face. He looked like an overcooked steak.

Get him down, Graham said.

Blord turned his back to Graham and strolled over to the edge of the plateau facing Mount Prometheus. He spread wide his wings, allowing them to catch the stiff breeze that was a fixture of Parsons’ Plateau. He allowed his body to be buffeted, completely comfortable with the prospect that a strong gust could blow him off. Blord had been flying since he was a Level Four, a fact he never let Graham forget. However, while the bully could take to the air, he wasn’t known for his endurance. His bulk worked against him there. He could fly, just not for long. Maybe Graham could use that to his advantage.

The air swirled around Graham, reminding him that the atmosphere around the volcano was filled with warm pockets. Maybe he would get lucky and stumble upon a toasty updraft to send him aloft. He certainly couldn’t depend on his own airworthiness.

Blord clapped his hands together and spun about. You’re late. You missed it. I already did my part of the race.

What are you talking about?

Blord gestured at the black grit coating him. I flew over the volcano already. Can’t you tell? This is ash. I’m quite anxious to scrub it off, but Reginald said you’d demand evidence of my flight.

Reginald gave a knowing nod as he flung one of Ot’s notebooks over the edge.

But a race means we do it together! Graham looked at Ot to back him up. His friend’s eyes were welling up.

Blord continued, ignoring Graham’s protest, Skynrd has my time, don’t you?

The portly gargoyle waddled up next to his boss. Yep, he did it in four minutes. Pretty impressive if you ask me, which you just did. He smirked and nodded at Blord.

Blord sneered. I would’ve done it in three if not for that blasted harpy. Filthy creature tried to knock me out of the sky. Whose territory does she think this is?

Graham knew Blord hated dirt and was curious why the gargoyle would tolerate all the ash covering him. The fact that he had a run-in with one of the realm’s foulest creatures, a harpy, also must’ve greatly upset the bully. Harpies, half giant bird and half savage human, were not only disgusting, they were also ruthless and prone to doing just what Blord claimed. That part of his story rang true.

How’d you get the ash on you?

Misjudged a little and got blown into a patch of volcanic discharge. Blord put his hands on his hips. Are you going to fly or what?

Get Ot down, Graham repeated.

I’ll get him down once you honor the challenge. One lap over Mount Prometheus and back is all I’m asking. You don’t even have to dive-bomb the crater like I did. Surely the son of someone so high-placed in the council can do such a simple task. Blord strutted over to Ot and slapped at the troll’s dangling feet. The troll sneezed.

Graham said, I’ll do it. Just let me talk to Ot alone a minute.

Ot sneezed two more times.

Fine. But don’t think of chickening out. Blord stepped away from the troll.

As soon as the bully had put some distance between himself and Ot, the troll stopped sneezing.

Graham hastened over to his friend. Sorry I was late. Flenn and Mom cornered me this morning and—

He’s lying, Ot said, glaring at Blord, who was now over at the edge tossing rocks at an unfortunate bird who had glided too close.

Huh?

Blord never flew over the volcano, Ot said.

How do you know? Did you get here first?

Ot shook his head. No, they were already here. Blord had that so-called ash on him when I arrived. He claimed that he had already run his part of the race then, too. Ot shot a distasteful look at the bully.

Well, how did he get himself covered in ash if he didn’t fly over it?

That’s not ash. Ot rubbed his nose, attempting to stifle a sneeze.

What is it?

I think it’s pepper. They must have covered him in it. It looks like ash, but it sure doesn’t smell like it.

I can’t tell. My sniffer isn’t as good as yours. Compared to the poor sense of smell gargoyles had, trolls were bloodhounds, capable of detecting even the slightest pesky odor. Graham had watched Ot ferret out a blossom possum in a field of clampum grass with his gifted nose. Are you sure?

I think so. His story sounds fishy, don’t you think?

Graham nodded. This changed everything. He wouldn’t have to race. He wouldn’t have to trust his wings. He allowed the hint of a smile to play across his face.

Blord was now kicking clumps of moss into the air. You two need to hurry this up. I don’t have all day.

You don’t have to fly. Just tell him he lied. Ot looked over at Blord.

That won’t work. I need more proof that he’s tricking us. Besides, they won’t let you down unless I fly. Graham slumped his shoulders, and his tiny wings pathetically took on a defeated appearance. And I can’t get you down by myself.

Graham stepped toward the bully.

Blord rubbed his hands together. Now you’re talking. Let’s get this over and be done with. I am going to love seeing you drop like a stone, Graham. No way you’re gonna be able to make it.

Graham inched his way to the plateau edge leading to Mount Prometheus, kicking free gravel that tumbled over the precipice. He tried to calm his shaking legs. In the relative distance, Mount Prometheus rumbled, billowing darkness into the morning air.

I changed my mind. You gotta fly through one of those ash clouds like I did, Blord said.

Graham didn’t look up to answer. His eyes were focused on the edge of the sheer drop. He tried to keep his dizziness in check, but felt his body sway slightly. I’ll do it, but you have to promise to get Ot down after.

Blord held up one hand and placed his other on his opposite shoulder. I swear to do that. Take to the air, loser.

Graham pulled his gaze from the drop before him and stared out at the sky. The clouds were light and fluffy, the breeze strong and filled with a slight sulfurous smell that was probably overwhelming his troll friend. He fought the nausea rising in his stomach. Here he was, about to face his biggest fear, flying. He had never succeeded in any serious take-offs from any of the launch platforms, certainly not the highest one at the school which was nothing compared to the height that he now faced. His wings weren’t up to the task. Everyone else in his class had more developed wings. Theirs were all wider, bigger, and stronger. He was not even close to being ready for his First Flight at the end of the week, much less this.

Graham slowly exhaled, attempting to calm himself. His grandfather believed in him completely. His grandfather had all the faith in the world in his abilities. His father did not.

He heard his father’s voice in his head. You’ll never fly if you don’t trust your wings.

Graham closed his eyes, wishing he were back home still listening to his sister drone on about her volcano project.

C’mon, get it over with, Blord blurted out. You don’t have anything to worry about. Just keep your eyes peeled for any geysers of lava. Those things shoot at least fifty feet high. I had to dodge three of them, and one almost gave me a magma bath on my return flight.

Graham shook his head, not believing what he had just heard. He opened his eyes and glared at the bully. What did you say?

The lava, you gotta watch out for it. Blord growled, Wouldn’t want itty-bitty Graham to catch fire.

Graham looked over at Ot. The troll, despite hanging there most uncomfortably, was smiling from ear to ear.

The bully had messed up, blathered on too much. Graham had caught him. He walked over to the bully. The challenge is a lie. You’re a liar! You’re trying to trick me.

Blord’s stern expression slipped into panic before twisting into inflated anger. What are you getting at? Are you backing out of the challenge? He pointed at Ot strung up on the statue.

Graham stood his ground. You just said lava came out of Mount Prometheus. That’s wrong!

Blord nervously shifted his eyes over to Reginald and Skynrd. Both waved their fists at Graham. What? Blord said incredulously.

Graham stabbed a finger at the bully, drawing it up just short so he wouldn’t actually touch the gargoyle’s hide. You never flew over that volcano. Lava doesn’t come out of it, only cinder and ash. Any four-year-old could tell you it’s a cinder cone volcano and thus doesn’t produce lava. Graham smiled. Actually, it had been an eight-year-old who had informed him. He owed his sister in a big way.

Blord took a step back. Okay, maybe I exaggerated a bit about the lava, but get a look at all this ash covering me. He stuck out his blackened chest.

My friend seems to think you covered yourself in pepper.

Blord scowled at the still-dangling troll.

I’m not flying for a liar! Graham crossed his arms and marched over to his friend. He paused for a moment to inspect the face of Malcolm Parsons. Had the rock-hard gargoyle winked at him, or had it been a trick of the light? Now either you fly over the volcano with me or you help me get Ot down.

Blord marched over to Graham and leaned down to stare coldly at him. No one gets away with calling me a liar. You’re gonna regret this, just you wait. Blord ran a finger across his blackened chest, gathering a healthy dollop of the alleged pepper. He smudged a crude letter C on Graham’s chest. It still doesn’t change the fact that you’re a coward and always will be. I can’t wait for Friday. I’m gonna love watching your first and final flight, pipsqueak.

Graham stepped away from the bully.

Blord snorted at Graham and then fled, crossing the rope bridge with ease. Although, he did fly over the gap in the bridge with far more show than was necessary. Skynrd and Reginald did the same, but with a good deal of fumbling and cursing, especially when the Skynrd got his foot stuck for a second.

Graham shouted, Hey, wait! You have to get Ot down!

Light tapping on his shoulder caused Graham to whirl around. Ot was no longer hanging on the statue. His stubby feet were now safely planted on the ground. Not a problem. I’m already down.

How’d you do that?

Ot scampered over to his satchel and began salvaging the few school materials the bullies hadn’t tossed off the plateau. Not sure. They certainly didn’t do it. He looked at the statue of Malcolm Parsons. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Parsons lowered me himself. Is that even possible?

No way! He . . . it’s been solid stone for over twenty years. It’s impossible for a gargoyle to do that. Graham’s eyes widened as he too scoped out the statue.

The farmer’s arms were still reaching for the clouds, and his face was upturned toward the rising sun.

Can they do that? Ot asked.

I don’t know. No one’s ever mentioned it before.

Ot shrugged. Yeah, um, well, maybe a good stiff breeze knocked me free. Let’s just go with that.

We’d better get going. Mom’ll kill me if I’m late for school. Graham marched toward the bridge.

Ot cinched his knapsack and chased after him. Wait, I want to check something. The troll streaked his thumb through the dusty C Blord had marked Graham with. The troll sniffed his now blackened thumb and plopped it in his wide mouth. He sucked on it briefly, then sneezed.

Graham stared at his friend expectantly.

Ot clapped Graham on the back. Yep, just as I suspected—pepper! The troll grinned and licked his lips. Now I’m super hungry.

Chapter 6

Looking Up

Graham was happy to see Blord absent. Maybe he had embarrassed the bully too much to show his face in class. Reginald and Skynrd were there, lurking over by the launch platform. Without their leader, the bullies hadn’t badgered him at all. Not even when Graham had passed out papers earlier that morning. Usually Reginald tried to trip him as he walked past, but today the gargoyle didn’t have it in him. His morning had gone well.

Recess was usually a time for him and Ot to get together, but not today. Many of the papers Ot had lost at the plateau were notes. The responsible troll had asked to stay in for recess and recopy the notes, claiming his mother had thrown them away rather than cite the truth.

Most of his classmates were taking turns flinging themselves off the launch platform, last-minute practice for Friday’s First Flight. Graham steered well clear.

As he passed by the wooden play set the council had just built for the school, a gargoyle with light blue skin called out to him from atop the higher set of bars. Her name was Melan and she was a Level Four student. In Graham’s mind she was the prettiest girl in school outside of his teacher, Mrs. Kluptnoff. That explained why he had never spoken to her before. He was surprised she was even addressing him. Blue-skinned gargoyles were a minority and stuck together. Most in his village had bright orange skin like Graham. He thought of Malcolm Parsons and how his hardened skin was a dull gray. All of us end up the same in the end.

Hey, Groodle. Come over here. She grinned as she hung upside down from a thick crossbeam. Younger gargoyles climbed around her, busy with a game of tag.

She knows my name. Of course, she tossed out my last name. Not an altogether warm and inviting conversation starter.

Graham approached the play set. Yes?

I’m Melan. Someone told me you have a really good seat at the banquet Wednesday night. She somersaulted free from her perch and glided through the air, using her ample wings to good effect. She wouldn’t have any trouble with her First Flight in a year.

I do. His father had managed to get him a spot at the main table, one of the perks of being the son of a council member. Not that Graham went around advertising that. It was just the opposite. His father’s prominent role in the gargoyle government had always been thrown back at him, an open invitation for numerous insults centered around him being privileged and high-minded. Of course, most of those rumors could be traced back to Blord, his nemesis.

You’re sitting next to the guest of honor, is that right? Her eyes softened and her small fingers grazed his upper arm.

He trembled slightly, but answered, Yes. I get to spend time with the realm’s number one hero.

That’s so cool, she said. She looked down at the ground and rolled her head around playfully. You think you could get me a seat next to you?

Graham did a double take. His day was looking thoroughly on the upswing. No Blord, and now the cutest girl around was asking him for a favor.

Well, I don’t know what I can do.

She batted her eyes. Could you at least ask? For me? She took in a quick breath. Actually, it’s for my little brother. He’s a big fan of the Flying Mummy. If you could come through for him, I’d be so grateful.

Graham felt his mouth moving, but no words exited his lips. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. If his father said no, he’d at least get the credit for trying. O-okay.

Melan swatted him gently across the chin. That’s awesome. Let me know what he decides. I’m sure he’ll see the merits in letting little Caleb meet his idol. She raced over to the nearest launch platform. Thanks, Graham.

He watched her climb the ladder to the highest section. She got in line behind four other gargoyles, her blue coloring standing out in the sea of orange clustered around her. She waved at him and smiled.

He waved back, doing his best to keep his own smile contained and not at all reflective of how giddy he was truly feeling inside. She knows my name.

Chapter 7

Warm Heart, Warmer Wisdom

Graham listened carefully to the rest of Flenn’s volcano presentation at dinner. Thanks to her, he had outwitted his enemy and had a Blord-free day at school. He was happy. As soon as his sister finished her presentation, he stood and clapped proudly for her.

That was excellent, Flenn! You’re a volcano expert, Graham offered.

He’s right. You are quite the authority on all things volcanic, dear. Their mother looked surprised at Graham’s enthusiasm but didn’t see fit to press the matter.

Thanks. Miss Brennan wants me to share it with the Level Two students on Friday. I can’t wait. She neatly stretched a wa-wa vine around her note cards and returned them gently to her backpack.

What’s for dessert, Mom? Graham asked as he spooned the last of his second helping of mukka root stew into his mouth. He hoped she had made his favorite, brumbleberry muffins. His grandfather said the berries helped with wing growth, and Graham needed all the help he could get in that department.

Now, now, you know we don’t have dessert until your father gets home. She stole a glance at the clock above the kitchen window. I didn’t think he had any meetings tonight, but maybe I’m wrong. He should be home soon. In the meantime, someone under this roof hasn’t had any of my delicious stew. Anyone want to feed him? She motioned with her head to the hall containing their bedrooms.

I’ll do it! Graham rushed to the kitchen and fetched a bowl before his sister could swallow her mouthful and volunteer. Even though he undertook this task most nights, he was still quite possessive of it. He valued the time he spent with his favorite family member. He ladled a sizable helping of stew into the bowl and darted down the hall.

Their mother shouted at him as he entered the second bedroom on the left. He already has a drink, but he might need a refill.

Okay, Mom. Thanks. Graham closed the door behind him and approached the immense bed situated under the room’s only window. The curtains were pulled shut, and the only light came from a will-o’-wisp dancing about in a large antique globe.

Ragged breathing came from the bed’s sole occupant.

Graham climbed up on the stool placed at the side of the bed, being careful to not spill any of the hot liquid on himself or the elderly gargoyle stretched out before him. Grandfather, I brought you stew. A glass sat on the side table, still filled with water. How are you feeling?

The aged gargoyle turned his head and slowly adjusted himself so he was sitting up in bed. He moved stiffly. The bed creaked its protest under the shifting weight of the hardened gargoyle. I’m doing just fine.

It wouldn’t be much longer. Warm