CALEDON RISING - PART TWO
by Brian McCrary (fenris@phnx.uswest.net)

DISCLAIMER -- As everyone knows, Gargoyles and its various characters are the
property of Buena Vista television and the Almighty Mouse.  This story and any
subsequent stories I might write with these characters are for my own pleasure and
the enjoyment of others, and not for profit -- so don’t sue me.  Any additional
characters to the Gargoyles universe that may appear herein are my own creations,
so please don’t borrow them without my permission.  Now, on with the show!


***

Monday started out in the pits, and went downhill from there.
First of all, it was morning, and Elisa *hated* working the morning shift.  Not
only did it put a serious cramp in her romantic life, but day shift was DULL.  The real
hardcases, the ones Elisa enjoyed putting behind bars, didn’t crawl out from under
their rocks until the sun went down.
To make matters worse, someone had finally figured out that all the gargoyle
sightings were reported at night.  Matt and the Gargoyle Task Force had all been
transferred to the night shift, which meant that now that she was finally used to
having a partner, she’d lost him, at least for the moment.
Topping it all off was a major traffic snarl-up that trapped Elisa on the Loop
for two hours.  By the time she finally checked in at the precinct she was hours late,
hot, stressed and cranky.
Elisa had no sooner sat down at her desk than a voice behind her spoke.
“Maza.   My office.   NOW.”
“Uh-oh, Detective,” said Morgan as the captain disappeared behind her door,
“sounds like the Captain’s on the warpath again.”
“Gee, what was your first clue?” Elisa snapped back sarcastically.  Seeing the
look on Morgan’s face she relented.  “Sorry; bad morning.”
“MAZA!!”
“Coming, Captain,” Elisa called back, rising hurriedly.

“Close the door behind you.”
Elisa turned and faced Captain Chavez.  Though technically under someone
else’s jurisdiction while on day shift, she knew that as far as anyone was concerned
(the Captain included) she was still one of Chavez’s detectives, and would be for the
foreseeable future.  She felt a moment of apprehension; Maria Chavez tended to take
a very personal interest in whatever one of *her* detectives became involved with,
whether it had anything to do with police work or not.  On more than one occasion
she had been heard to remark: “You may only be on duty eight hours a day, but
you’re a police officer for twenty-four.  Everything you do, on or off duty, affects how
well you can do your job.”
“What am I supposed to do with you, Maza?” the captain said suddenly, a
deadpan expression on her face.
“I don’t understand, Captain.  What’s wrong?”
“You’re one of my best detectives; you have the highest conviction-to-arrest
ratio of anyone in the precinct, you have a knack for being in the right place at the
right time, and you have fewer complaints logged against you than any three officers
combined.  Until now.”
Captain Chavez leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, massaging her
temples at the same time.  “I’ve been fielding phone calls all morning from division
headquarters, from the Chief of Police, from the Mayor’s office, and from anyone
else who thinks its their job to mind our business.”
“What, about me?” Elisa asked, shocked.
“About your social life; about your date Saturday night, to be specific.”  She
pushed over the Monday morning edition of the ‘Daily Tattler’.  On the society page
was a grainy picture of Colin MacDonald and Elisa sitting in the box at the opera,
with David and Fox Xanatos in the background.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Elisa muttered, glaring at the photo.  “So I
went to the opera; what’s the big deal?”
“The ‘big deal’, as you put it, is that you were at the opera with two of the
wealthiest men in the world, and the Powers That Be didn’t send you there.”  Chavez
held up her hand.  “I know it doesn’t make any sense; when has politics *ever* made
any sense?” the captain grimaced.  “As it was ‘explained’ to me, your purpose in
attending all these functions lately was to drum up support for the current
administration by demonstrating its openness and diversity.  As long as you were seen
and not heard, you were doing your job.  Now, however, you are obviously in a
position to be seen *and* heard, and they’re nervous about what you might have to
say.”
“But that’s crazy!  Yeah, I went to the opera with them, but that’s all there
was to it.  You know me, Captain, I could care less about politics.  The most politically
sensitive thing we talked about all evening was whether or not the Knicks would make
it to the playoffs this year.”  Elisa clenched her fists.  “I’m getting sick and tired of
these games!  All I ever wanted was to do my job; it’s important, and I’m damned
good at it.  Is that too much to ask?”
Captain Chavez raised her hand placatingly.  “Easy, Elisa.  I didn’t say I
agreed with them; I just wanted to be sure you understood the potential difficulties
you might run into.”  Maria sighed.  “As far as I’m concerned, what you do with your
free time and who you choose to spend it with is your concern and no one else’s.  Just
be aware there are some people who don’t see it that way, and some of them may
decide to be difficult about it.”
“Terrific,” Elisa groaned.  “As if I don’t have enough to worry about.” 
Captain Chavez chuckled.  “I’ll say one thing for you, Maza; life’s never dull
when you’re around.”
The detective laughed ruefully.  “You have no idea, Captain.”  She shook her
head.  “For what it’s worth, I don’t think there’s going to be much of a problem; the
way things ended up Saturday night, I don’t expect to be seeing Mister Colin
MacDonald again anytime soon.”
Captain Chavez was about to comment further when a knock came at the
door, followed almost immediately by Sergeant Morgan opening it a crack and
sticking his head in.  “Sorry to interrupt, Captain; Detective Maza, there’s a woman
here who says she has to speak to you, and no one else will do.”
“Go ahead, Maza,” the captain said.  “I’ve said what I needed to.  Just try to
keep it in mind before you put you foot well and truly in it?”
“I will, Captain,” Elisa promised.  “C’mon, Morgan, let’s see who it is that
can’t do without me.”

Once she was seated at her desk Elisa nodded at Morgan, who went to the
front desk to guide her visitor to her.  She spent the time while she waited going over
her notes on one of the cases she still had pending; a series of break-ins at the docks
with few suspects and fewer leads. 
“Excuse me, Detective?”
Elisa looked up at the young woman standing next to her desk.  She was
dressed in a smart business suit that she recognized as coming from one of the most
expensive designers in Europe, her hair done up in a style that was both feminine and
practical.  The few pieces of jewelry she wore were expensively done in a celtic motif,
reminiscent of some of the Scottish pieces she had seen in Xanatos’ collection.  She
focused on her visitor’s face, and with a start recognized the woman who had set the
whole recent chain of events into motion.  “Yes, miss ... ?”
“MacDonald, Caitrin MacDonald,” the young woman replied.  At Elisa’s
unspoken question she continued, “Colin MacDonald is my uncle.”
“I ... see,” Elisa replied. She gestured to the currently unoccupied chair across
from her.  “Please be seated, Miss MacDonald.  How can I help you?”
“I’m here to offer you two apologies, Detective Maza,” the young woman said
as she sat down, “the first being from my uncle, for the ‘terrible rudeness’, as he put
it, that he showed you at the end of your date Saturday night.  One of the downsides
of being the head of a major corporation is that his time is not always his own.  He
sent me to ask you if he could try and make it up to you on another occasion.”
“Why didn’t he come himself, if he was that concerned?”
“To be frank,” Caitrin chuckled, “he was afraid you’d be too mad at him to
hear him out.  He told me what happened, and I can understand his nervousness; I
know *I’d* be put out is someone did that to me!”
“All right, I can see where it might not be his fault; you can tell him ‘apology
accepted’.”
“He’ll be very relieved,” Caitrin assured her.
“I believe you mentioned two apologies,” Elisa pointed out.  “What was the
second one about?”
Caitrin paused before answering.  “Is there somewhere we could speak in
private, detective?” she asked.
Elisa thought for a moment, studying the young woman seated across from
her, weighing what she knew against what she suspected, then made up her mind. 
“Come with me.” 
A few minutes later they stood amid the ruins of the clocktower.  “This is the
most private place you’re going to find in a police station,” Elisa told her.  “Now,
what did you want to say to me?”
“So this is where it happened,” Caitrin breathed, confirming at least one of
Elisa’s suspicions.  “And you came up here as if you’d been here before,” she
continued, as if her own questions had been answered.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Elisa hedged. 
“I think more ‘maybe’ than ‘maybe not’,” Caitrin retorted with a smile, some
of the tension going out of her.  “Relax, detective, my Uncle and I are not the enemy;
far from it.”
“The apology ... ?” Elisa prompted.
“You have to understand, Detective Maza, my uncle is an honorable man, and
would never deceive or hurt anyone unless he had an overriding moral obligation to
do so.”
Understanding dawned on Elisa.  “So what you’re saying is, all the romance,
the flowers and poetry, inviting me to the opera--”
“Was an act.  Well, maybe not entirely; he does enjoy your company, but my
uncle *is* already involved with someone else, someone he is quite serious about,
someone,” Caitrin laughed, “who isn’t keen on the idea of sharing, if you know what I
mean.”
“I think I have an idea,” Elisa replied, thinking of Goliath.  “So why the dog-
and-pony show?”
“‘Dog-and-Pony’?  Oh, why did he ask you out?”  Caitrin shrugged.  “My
uncle is convinced you have certain information, information that is connected to one
of the main reasons Caledon Rising moved to Manhattan.  Unfortunately, my uncle is
also overfond of intricate plots; gamesmanship for the sake of the game itself.”
“That seems to be par for the course for multi-billionaires,” Elisa muttered.
“Yes, doesn’t it?” Caitrin’s eyes narrowed.  “You don’t seem to be terribly
upset by the idea, detective.  Could it be that both you and my uncle had the same
idea?”  She laughed delightedly when Elisa squirmed.  “Oh, that’s wonderful!  Of
course, Uncle Colin will be crushed; he was quite certain he had swept you off your
feet.”
“I don’t ‘sweep’ that easily,” Elisa said dryly.
“Yes, I can see that now,” Caitrin said, looking at the detective speculatively. 
“Detective Maza --”
“Call me Elisa, Miss MacDonald,” she said on impulse; her uncle’s games
aside, she decided she liked this young woman.
“Oh, thank you!  And you have to call me Caitrin.  All those ‘detectives’ were
getting to be a bit much, weren’t they?”  She paused, then seemed to come to a
decision.
“Elisa, I’m going to ask you a couple of questions; if you know what my uncle
thinks you know, they’ll mean something to you.  If not, there’s nothing in the
questions that will give anything away.”
Elisa crossed her arms.  “Fire away.”
“Does the name ‘Goliath’ mean anything to you?”
Elisa started, then forced herself to relax.  “Sure; the Bible, old testament. 
Champion of the Philistines, killed by a rock from David’s sling.”  She shrugged. 
“What of it?”
Caitrin bit her lip.  “You’re careful; I like that, and so will my uncle.  All right,
second question; have you ever heard the phrase, ‘The sleepers shall awaken when
the castle rises above the clouds’?”
Elisa’s eyes widened.  “Where did you hear that?” she demanded.
“I can’t tell you that -- it’s not my secret to tell,” Caitrin answered. 
“However, I can promise to introduce you to someone who *can* answer your
question, and a great many others besides.”
“Where and when?”
“Tonight, at Stirling Tower, say, 9:00.  You can come alone or bring a friend,
so long as the friend is someone you would trust with the answers to the questions I
asked you.”
“And where will you be waiting?  Stirling Tower’s a pretty big place,” Elisa
pointed out.
“I’ll be in my uncle’s offices on the top floor; you can reach them either from
the lobby or from the helipad on the roof, whichever way is most convenient,” Caitrin
replied with an innocent expression.
Elisa studied the other woman’s face.  For someone who’d said very little,
she’d managed to say a great deal, enough to make sure a certain detective would
keep their appointment -- and bring a friend along, as well. 

***

“And I say again, Caitrin, you had NO RIGHT to do this without discussing it
with us first!”
“Tell me the truth, Uncle, are you mad because I didn’t ask permission, or
because my idea worked?”
It was now 4:00 in the afternoon, and the argument had been raging for hours. 
After the first couple of rounds the staff of Caledon Rising decided discretion was the
safest course of action and carefully avoided the inner offices and the tumult they
contained.

Colin stood behind his desk, his weight leaning forward on his clenched fists
where they pressed against the hardwood surface.  His sun-darkened complexion was
flushed with anger, his brows drawn together in a thundercloud of displeasure.
Caitrin stood across from him, her posture rigid with fury and righteous
indignation.  She had known her uncle would be upset, but she had not expected him
to completely refuse to acknowledge that, at least by her own standards, she had
behaved within reason.
“I’m waiting for an answer, uncle,” she continued, seething. 
“I am angry because you jeopardized our whole purpose for being here
without cause; I had the situation well in hand without yuir interference!”
“So *that’s* it!” Caitrin said triumphantly.  “Yuir ego is bruised because
Elisa didn’t fall for yuir act and swoon at yuir feet!”  She crossed her arms, a look of
vindication on her face.  “I told her you’d be upset when you found out, but I thought
I was joking!”
Colin huffed defensively.  “That’s neither here nor there,” he shot back. 
“Even if she didn’t ‘fall for me’, Detective Maza would have told me what we needed
to know eventually.”
“Uncle, Elisa wouldn’t be in a position to know what we think she does without
being cautious,” Caitrin pointed out.  “It might have been months, if ever, before you
got your answers.  Months we can’t afford to wait.”
Colin sighed.  As much as he hated to admit it, Caitrin had scored a hit with
her remark about his bruised ego.  He had secretly been quite pleased with the
success of his stratagem, and to find out the detective was turning the tables on him
was a deflating blow.
“All right, niece, what’s done is done,” he said at last.  “Mind you, I’m still
angry you didn’t discuss your plans first, but I can’t argue with success.”  He glanced
at his watch.  “We still have several hours before she’s supposed to be here.  You’re
positive she’s going to come?”
“Oh, she’s coming,” Caitrin affirmed.  “In fact I wouldn’t be at all surprised if
she brought someone with her,” she smiled.

***

Elisa waited as the last edge of the sun dropped below the horizon.  All
afternoon she had replayed the conversation with Caitrin MacDonald over and over
in her head, searching for clues and hints she might have missed.  It was obvious from
the young woman’s words that she knew far more than the average curiosity seeker
about the gargoyles living in Manhattan, and the fact that she had confronted Elisa
with that knowledge meant that she and her uncle at least suspected that the detective
was involved with them as well.  Her concerns were no longer merely a matter of
cop’s intuition; they had been confirmed and heightened, and Elisa had no choice but
to follow up on them.
Her attention was caught by the familiar sounds of nightfall atop the ramparts
of Castle Wyvern; the crackling of suddenly fragile stone skin, the shifting of winged
beings rising from their sleep, the multi-throated roar of the clan as it greeted
another night.
“Hi, Goliath,” she greeted her lover as he stepped down from his perch.
“Elisa,” he smiled, wrapping her in his wings against the evening’s chill.  “It is
good to see you, beloved.”  A small frown crossed his face.  “But did you not tell me
you would not be coming tonight?”
“Yeah, that was the plan,” she agreed, “but you know what they say about ‘the
best-laid plans’ ...”
“Aye, lass,” Hudson answered as he landed next to them on the tower.  “That
young Burns lad had the right of it when he said they ‘gang aft agley’.”  Hudson’s
scottish accent lent the words a certain rightness that they lacked when anyone not of
the highlands attempted to pronounce them.
“Well they’ve gone ‘agley’, that’s for sure,” Elisa grimaced.
“What is wrong, Elisa?” Goliath asked, concern in his voice.
“This involves all the clan, big guy,” she replied, glancing past his shoulder at
Stirling Tower in the distance, “and I’d rather only go over it once.”  She laughed
with a slightly bitter edge.  “I can’t *believe* I’m about to say this; we’d better ask
Xanatos to be there, too.  It’s a safe bet this will involve him as well.”

“So that’s where we stand,” Elisa concluded, trying to gauge everyone’s
reaction.
The clan had gathered in what the Trio had dubbed the ‘rumpus room’, a
largish chamber where the gargoyles could entertain on the rare occasions they had
guests.  Most recently the mutates had dropped by for a night of what Elisa had
laughingly referred to as ‘male bonding’, a marathon session of pool, darts and
poker.  Fox had shanghaied Angela and Maggie and had spent the time helping the
two winged women broaden their wardrobes with the aid of a team of skilled (and
extremely well paid) designers and seamstresses from one of New York’s most
exclusive fashion houses.  Elisa had stopped by after her shift and been shocked
almost to speechlessness by the sight of Xanatos and her brother companionably
playing pool, each smoking one of the tycoon’s contraband Cuban cigars.
The mood in the room this night was completely different; old memories died
hard, and the tension was thick enough that the Xanatoses, while present, still stood
separate from the clan.  David Xanatos was clearly intrigued by her story, which was
as much reaction as he ever displayed under most conditions.  Of the gargoyles,
Goliath and Hudson showed the most concern, while the Trio’s and Angela’s
reactions ranged from mild confusion to intense curiosity.
David Xanatos spoke first.  “Since the banquet I’ve had my researchers
gathering information on Caledon Rising, and some interesting anomalies have
cropped up.  First of all, all the public shares of their company are non-voting stock;
total control of the company remains in the hands of the MacDonald family and the
board of directors.  Apparently none of the stockholders object since the company
pays above-average dividends.  Second, the board members themselves are reclusive
almost to the point of invisibility.  I have names and positions, but with the exception
of a couple of board members who are MacDonalds, not a single photograph.” 
“Elisa is correct,” Goliath said at last.  “There are too many questions with too
few answers.  Elisa and I will keep her appointment with Caitrin MacDonald, the rest
of the clan will remain here until we return.”  He turned to the young techno-
gargoyle perched on one of the barstools that lined the wetbar.  “Lexington, Elisa and
I will need two of your ... ‘transponders’, so we can summon the clan if there is
trouble.”
“No problem,” the young gargoyle replied.  “I have some that are tuned to the
castle’s security system, so we can monitor them from here.”  He dropped from the
stool and ran out the door, moving on all fours to increase his speed.
Goliath then turned to their former enemy.  “Xanatos, Caledon Rising’s plans
may affect you as well.  Can the clan count on your assistance if it is needed?
A pained look crossed the multibillionaire’s face.  “You have to ask that,
Goliath?  I thought we had moved past our old feud by now; of course you can count
on my help.”
Goliath sighed.  “You are right; my question was unworthy.”  He smiled
wryly.  “But as you yourself have said in the past, ‘old habits die hard’.”  A chuckle
ran around the room.
Elisa glanced at her watch.  “Goliath, we need to get moving if we’re going to
keep that appointment.”
Lexington reappeared in the doorway.  “Here are the transponders,” he said,
handing each of them a small device the size of a dime.  “All you have to do to activate
them is press the switch on the back; the monitors here in the castle will pick up the
signal and we’ll come running.”
Elisa turned it over in her hand.  “Any chance they can block the signal?”
“Naw,” Lexington replied.  “I got the idea for these from that movie, ‘Dante’s
Peak’.  They operate on an ultra-low frequency carrier wave.  The transmission
should go right through whatever shielding they might have like a hot knife through
butter.”

Goliath circled Stirling Tower, Elisa cradled in his arms.  Their departure
from the Eyrie Building had been delayed briefly when Xanatos presented each of
them with a last-minute gift, and Elisa shifted slightly as she leaned against the
unfamiliar tunic that stretched across her lover’s chest.
“I know that loincloth is familiar, Goliath,” Xanatos had remarked, “but do
you have any objections to wearing something else?”  He held out a bundle of black
cloth to the gargoyle leader and a smaller one to the detective.
“What is the purpose of this clothing?” Goliath had asked suspiciously.  “Just
because we are no longer enemies does not grant you the right to dictate the way we
dress.”
Xanatos laughed.  “You never will trust me completely, will you, Goliath?”
“It is not your motives I mistrust, Xanatos, it is your nature.”  He shook out
the bundle of cloth and looked in distaste at the sleeveless tunic that unfolded.  “You
can no more cease attempting to control your surroundings than we can ignore our
need to protect.”
“Well, this time you’re mistaken,” Xanatos replied.  He gestured at the tunic
and the tee shirt now in Elisa’s hands.  “These are made out of a fabric developed by
my research labs as a lightweight, undetectable body armor.  It has the same feel and
weight as a poly-cotton knit, but any sudden application of kinetic force, like say from
a bullet, and the weave instantly locks and spreads the impact across the fabric.  It
doesn’t provide any protection against blunt force, so a blow from a fist or a club is
just as effective as ever, which is why we’re not marketing it yet, but it should stop
anything a projectile or particle beam weapon can throw at it.”  He smiled one of his
typical, slightly superior smiles.  “If things do go sour at the meeting it might just
make the difference.”
Elisa looked from the shirt to Xanatos as Goliath started struggling into the
tunic, muttering in Gaelic as he worked his wings through the slits in the back.  Of all
the clan, she was the one who still harbored the most mixed feelings about the tycoon. 
“I want your word, Xanatos,” she said as she started removing her jacket, “you’ll
start supplying this stuff to the police department immediately, without waiting for
further improvements.”  Goliath shielded her with one wing as she shucked her own
tee shirt and slipped on the one Xanatos had provided.  “There are a lot of
undercover cops who have to go into dangerous situations every day without any
protection; if this material really works as you claim it could save a lot of lives.”
Xanatos nodded.  “I suppose I hadn’t thought about it that way; agreed,
detective.”
Now, as Goliath maneuvered to land on Stirling Tower’s helipad, Elisa mused
over the changes the last few months had wrought in all their relationships.  Aside
from the truly bizarre sensation of no longer regarding Xanatos as her family’s blood
enemy, she had to admit the most profound change was in her relationship with
Goliath.  Neither of them talked too much about it; it was still too new, too fragile an
experience, having someone in their lives who made them feel complete. 
Elisa’s own past romantic history, a series of brief liaisons in college that had
ranged from minor disappointments to one shuddering nightmare, had left her so
wary of involvement that since joining the police force there had been no one at all. 
She supposed it was the complete unlikelihood of their love that had allowed Goliath
to slip unnoticed past the walls she had erected around her heart; her brief attraction
to Jason Canmore had made her realize those walls had crumbled, and who was
responsible for their fall.  She knew Goliath carried his own fears, his own demons,
and his willingness to face down those fears to be with her made her love him all the
more.
As they landed on the helipad, Elisa silently swore to herself that whatever
mystery waited inside Stirling Tower’s walls, she would not allow it to hurt her
beloved or her clan, no matter what Colin MacDonald might have planned to the
contrary.

Caitrin stood up as the helipad’s silent alarm began flashing on her uncle’s
desk console.  She switched through the circuits until the screen displayed the image
from the concealed camera in the stairwell from the roof.  “I told you she’d come,”
she said delightedly to her uncle who was still seated behind his desk.  Then a second
figure appeared on the screen, causing her to gasp and Colin to jerk forward sharply. 
“I don’t believe it!  *He* came, too!” she exclaimed.
“You’re sure?” Colin demanded.
“See for yourself, uncle,” she said triumphantly, gesturing at the screen.  “I’d
recognize that face anywhere.”  Colin squinted at the monitor and grunted as Goliath
passed under one of the stairwell lights.
“Don’t forget, uncle, you promised I could talk to them first,” Caitrin
reminded the executive.
“We remember, sweetling,” a throaty voice replied from the shadows by the
windows.  “But we will remain close by in case you have need of us.”  Colin nodded
and took the other’s arm, disappearing with her into the boardroom as a knock
sounded on the office doors.
Caitrin reached across her uncle’s desk, deactivating the monitor screen as
she did so.  The depression of a second button caused the office door to swing open
and admit Elisa and Goliath.
“I knew you’d come, Elisa,” Caitrin said as she approached the detective, “but
I didn’t dare hope you would bring him, too!” she added, smiling up at the startled
gargoyle.  “Oh, Goliath,” she laughed, “if you could just see the expression on your
face!”  Impulsively she threw her arms around him and gave him a quick hug, letting
go when she felt him stiffen.
Elisa was rapidly losing her patience.  None of her preconceptions of the
meeting had included the overly friendly reactions of the young woman, and the light
shining in her eyes as she gazed up at Goliath’s bemused expression set her teeth on
edge.  “That’s all very well, Caitrin,” she said with a warning in her voice, “but you
promised me some answers if I came.”  She paused and possessively linked her arm in
Goliath’s.  “You could start by explaining how you know about the big guy, here.”
Caitrin looked from Elisa to Goliath with dawning understanding.  “Oooops,”
she said self-consciously.  “Don’t worry, Elisa, I’m not interested in poaching on your
turf -- not that he isn’t quite a catch!”  She chuckled as both Elisa and Goliath
blushed.
“Caitrin, your explanation ... ?” Elisa asked again, trying to regain the control
of the situation she had somehow lost.
“Oh, of course,” she agreed.  “How do I know about Goliath?”  Caitrin
shrugged.  “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know about Goliath and the
Sleepers of Castle Wyvern.  I grew up on stories of Clan Wyvern, the attack of the
Vikings, the betrayal of the clan, and the curse of the Magus.”
“But who told you these things?” Goliath pressed.  “How is it you knew these
things as a child, while we were still trapped in stone sleep?”
“Because, Goliath,” a new voice added, “while some gargoyles protect, others
remember.”
Elisa and Goliath turned towards the door that had opened in the far wall of
the office.  Colin MacDonald stepped through, his hands conspicuously empty, and
behind him --
“Demona --!” Goliath roared and started to lunge forward, only to stop as the
female gargoyle stepped fully into the light.
True, she had Demona’s coloring and general build, but the resemblance
stopped there.  In place of the rogue gargoyle’s flaming locks was a rich mane of
golden blond hair, gathered into a thick braid that dropped to her waist.  A small,
spiral horn arched backward from each brow, curving behind her ears.  Her eyes
were a startling violet, open and friendly yet brimming with intelligence.  Her face
was more oval and less pointed than Demona’s, with high cheekbones and an
aristocratic nose that was raised haughtily into the air.
“I am called Aislinn,” she said in that same throaty contralto, “Aislinn
MacDraigh on those occasions when the human world requires a longer, more
conventional name.”  She linked her arm with Colin in a unconscious mirror of
Elisa’s and Goliath’s earlier pose.  “Colin MacDonald is my mate,” she added
unnecessarily, her eyes flickering as she looked at the detective.
There was an awkward pause as the two couples gazed at each other.  Finally,
Caitrin coughed politely, drawing everyone’s attention to herself.  “I promised you
answers, Elisa,” she said, “and someone to give them to you.  Well, here she is; ask
your questions.”
“Perhaps it would be better if I asked the questions,” Goliath said before Elisa
could speak.  She glared at him for a moment, then nodded.  He turned his attention
to Aislinn and Colin.  “You have told us your name, Aislinn, but that tells us nothing
of where you come from, or how you know so much of my clan.”
“The answer is simple, Goliath, though it will be long in the telling.  The
reason we know so much of your clan is that we are descended from your clan -- from
survivors of the massacre at Castle Wyvern.”

***

“What!?!  Are ye sure, lad?  It’s no’ a trick to throw us off our guard?”
Hudson demanded.
“I am as sure as I can be, Hudson, given the many strange elements involved,”
Goliath replied, resting his hand on the shocked elder gargoyle’s shoulder.  “There
were indeed other survivors of the destruction of our clan.”
“But who were they, and where were they when the Vikings attacked?”
Brooklyn demanded.
“If you will all be patient, I will relay the tale to you as it was told to Elisa and
myself, though there are still many elements in it that are confusing to me,
descriptions of places and events that occurred while we slept....”

***

Aislinn’s Story
“You remember, Goliath, the night of the betrayal, when the captain of the
guard and your mate persuaded you to harry the Vikings away from the castle.  You
and the Elder flew off to accomplish your mission, confident you needed no assistance
and expecting the rest of the clan to stay behind.
“What you did not know is that the leader of a small group of younger
gargoyles, of the same hatching as three who were trapped in stone sleep with you,
overheard your conversation and, being adventurous, decided to help you.   After you
departed he gathered his friends, six in all, three unmated pairs, and attempted to
follow you.  But though he knew the general direction in which you pursued the
Vikings, they were unable to overtake you before dawn caught them, far from the
castle.
“They spent the day in a grove of trees by a loch high in the mountains.  The
young leader knew they had disobeyed orders by leaving the castle, and knew it was
likely to be the last time they had the opportunity to do any exploring for some time
to come.  His was a forceful personality, and he easily persuaded his friends to stay
with him.  For several nights they wandered the highlands, away from any human
habitation.  They hunted the high forests and fished in the lochs, reveling in the
freedom of being away from their elders.
“Finally the call of clan overcame their rebelliousness and they returned to the
castle.  To their horror they discovered what had happened in their absence; the
castle sacked, the clan shattered, the rookery empty, the few survivors locked in stone
sleep.  Grief-stricken, they searched the area, trying to find someone who could tell
them what had happened.
Two nights later they stumbled across one of the princess’s foresters, now
living on his own in the woods.  A taciturn man with little use for his own kind, he had
always gotten along well with the gargoyles.  He gave them the details of the fall of
Castle Wyvern and the betrayal of the clan, the curse of the Magus, and the
departure of the princess with the clan’s eggs.  The one thing he could not tell them
was where to find the princess and her precious cargo.
“It was at this point that the young leader, now the leader of all that was left of
Clan Wyvern, made the decision that would shape the destiny of his clan.
““We are too few,” he told his siblings, “and the humans too untrustworthy. 
If we are to survive we must find a place far from the humans’ hate and fear. 
Gargoyles protect, but first and foremost we must protect ourselves.”
“And so it was that the remnants of Clan Wyvern began seeking a new home. 
They traveled through the wild portions of the countryside, avoiding the humans,
following the coastline.  Along the way they encountered other gargoyles, alone and in
pairs, survivors of the destruction of other clans.  They joined with Clan Wyvern,
happy to be with others of their own kind.
“It was one of these new clan members who suggested a possible destination to
the young leader.  He was an elderly gargoyle, even more so than the elder who slept
at Castle Wyvern.  A hermit monk had named him Odysseus for, like the figure from
Greek legend, he had lost hearth and home and wandered the world for years on end.
“He told the leader of a mountain range on one of the islands, a place of high
valleys and sheer cliffs, shunned by the humans as being of ill repute.  Odysseus had
lived there for a time, and he knew of caves deep in the mountains that would shelter
a clan, with room to thrive and grow.
“So it was that the wanderers came to what are now known as the Coulin Hills
on the Isle of Skye, and the remnants of Clan Wyvern became the Hidden Clan. 
“The life was harsh at first, but with time and effort the caves became as snug
a home as any a clan had ever known.  Care was taken to conceal the entrances to the
caves from chance discovery by wandering humans.  Game was nurtured in the high
valleys to ensure a food supply that did not risk exposure.
“Time passed; the months became years, the years decades, the decades
centuries.  The first leader passed away after seeing his clan grown strong and secure,
and his successors kept the clan law; trust no human with the knowledge of their
existence.
“As the years passed the humans on Skye became more plentiful, though still
in no great numbers.  They became a concern to the clan, so scouts were selected
from the cleverest of the gargoyles to observe the humans in secret, and warn the
clan if danger approached.
“One of the scouts discovered a group of humans living in seclusion from the
rest of their kind, in a small village artfully concealed in the woods at the base of the
mountains that sheltered the clan.  Their behavior made it clear that they too feared
discovery by the other humans, and there was much discussion within the clan as
whether or not to contact these apparent outcasts.  In the end the old injunction
prevailed, though the scouts continued to watch the village in secret.
“Then, in what humans reckon as the 1600s, a great change rocked the Isle of
Skye.  Armed bands appeared in the countryside, searching the island from one end
to the other.  The scouts listened from concealment and discovered that the invaders
were ‘witchhunters’ seeking out ‘minions of the devil’ who were supposed to be
hiding on the island.  At the first the clan was concerned that their presence had
somehow been discovered, but soon they realized that the true object of the search
was the hidden village.
“The clan observed as the searchers came closer and closer to the concealed
humans, hoping that the village would somehow be overlooked.  Then one night the
scouts reported that the witchhunters had gathered together and were preparing to
attack the village while it slept.
“After centuries of slumber the gargoyles’ instinct to protect was once again
aroused.  The able-bodied of the clan descended from their home, falling upon the
invaders in the midst of their sack of the village.
“Not one witchhunter was left alive.
“After the battle, the humans who had survived the witchhunters’ attack came
forward.  They greeted the gargoyles who had saved them with openness and
friendship, and helped tend the wounds of those who had been injured while
defending them.
“The gargoyles discovered that the villagers were descended from the ancient
druids, and had lived in seclusion since the time of the Romans.  They kept the
ancient ways and practiced the old skills, their magics being those that helped them
tune in to the rhythms of the natural world. 
“The druids, for their part, knew the gargoyle race from of old, and were
overjoyed that they had not vanished from the Earth.  The village leader, an elderly
druid named Aurlianus, approached the leader of the gargoyles and presented him
with a medallion of intricately worked bronze.
““This talisman,” he told the leader, “has been passed down from one
archdruid to the next for over two thousand years.  It is the focus for what remains of
our powers, and is our pledge to you that those powers will never be raised against
you." 
“The gargoyles watched as the villagers returned to their shattered homes to
begin rebuilding their lives, and a heated argument broke out amongst the clan. 
Finally the leader ended the discussion with a gesture, once again approaching the old
druid where he sat watching his people try to save their possessions from still burning
fires.
““Elder,” he said to the druid leader, “your village is in ruins, winter is
approaching, and while this foe has been destroyed, others may come.”  He gestured
to the waiting gargoyles.  “Our clan offers its protection; we know of a secluded
valley, far better concealed than this, where you may rebuild your village.  My people
will aid you in this, and through the harsh months to come.  Do you accept?”
“Aurlianus looked up at the gargoyle leader and asked, “Why do you tender
your aid to us?  The threat to your clan has been destroyed; we are few in number
and would seem to have little to offer.  What do you gain?”
““We gain our true selves; too long have we denied our nature.  Gargoyles
protect, and we offer that protection to you.”  The leader smiled bitterly.  “That you
are small in number and no threat to us makes this possible; my clan’s memory is
long, and there are those among us who would not risk any betrayal by humans.”  He
crossed his arms and looked down at the druid.  “Again I ask; do you accept?”
“Aurlianus grasped his staff and rose to his feet.  “If we accept, then we must
in turn be allowed to help you; there are many skills which we possess that we can
teach your clan, secrets the Romans hounded us for, secrets these new hunters would
kill us for knowing.  It would be good to have students again, students we can trust
not to abuse our knowledge.”
“The leader looked around at his clan, and what he saw must have made up his
mind.  “This must be discussed by the full clan, but I am confident they will follow my
advice, and learn what you have to teach.  Now, one last time I ask you; do you accept
our protection?”
“The old druid smiled, extending his hand.  The two leaders clasped forearms
and sealed the pact amid the ruins of the old village.  Immediately the gargoyles
moved forward and began aiding in the salvage efforts, using their greater strength
to good effect. The two leaders, human and gargoyle, watched as their respective
peoples worked side by side without nervousness or hesitation.
“Aurlianus turned to the gargoyle and asked, “Tell me, Leader, have you a
name, or do you follow the old ways of your kind?”
“The leader was surprised by the question, but answered truthfully.  “Names
are a human custom; we have had no need for observing it before now.”
“Aurlianus smiled at the leader’s response.  “It is a skill to be envied, to know
yourselves so well you have no need of labels to define you.  However, my people have
no such skills.  Would you object to being given a name to make it easier for them to
talk to you?”
“The leader nodded.  “One of the great heroes of our clan was given a name
by a human friend; it would be an honor to follow his example.”
““Then I shall call you Comnhall, for you are strong in battle like the wolf, yet
like the wolf you care for and defend your own.”
“The years passed, and the gargoyles and villagers grew closer together.  
With the gargoyles’ aid the villagers thrived, building snug homes and growing the
few crops they needed to supplement what they gathered from the wild.  Their
numbers, always restricted by their hard life, grew apace, though never beyond what
their home could easily support.  Alone in their time the druids understood the
dangers of overpopulation and took steps to ensure they did not overburden the land.
“The gargoyles, in turn, revived old skills that had been lost with the deaths of
so many elders, setting up looms and a smithy, and a scriptorium where their
knowledge could be preserved.  The druids taught them the tricks of working with
stone and they worked with a will, engineering even safer dwellings in the mountain
caves.  Within fifty years the gargoyles and humans had merged into one clan, with no
one caring whether one was birthed or hatched from an egg.
“The next major change in the fortunes of the clan occurred in the year 1747. 
For the fifty years leading up to that time the highlands had been disturbed by unrest
as repeated attempts to restore the Stewarts to the throne of England failed. 
“Most of this was noted only in passing by the Hidden Clan, rumors recorded
by the scouts listening in secret to tavern gossip.  However, the failed attempt of
Bonnie Prince Charlie was to become another matter entirely.
“Word reached the clan of the destruction of the Jacobite army at Culloden,
and the subsequent actions of Butcher Campbell as he sought to root out any and all
sympathizers to the Jacobite cause.  Refugees began to pass through the Isle of Skye,
with stepped up British patrols chasing them.
“The clan decided to take extra precautions to avoid any involvement with the
refugees or their pursuers, lest it lead to the clan’s discovery.  All traces of the
entrance to the villagers’ valley were erased or camouflaged; any activity that might
possibly draw attention to themselves was curtailed.  The number of scouts was
reduced to the bare minimum that would give the clan some warning in case of
disaster, the rest of the clan withdrawing to the caves until the unrest should die
down.
“It was in the early spring of 1747 that the first of the MacDonalds came to
the clan’s attention.
“His name was Jaime MacDonald; he appears nowhere in the histories of the
uprising of 1745, for he was only a minor captain of horse, however important he
eventually became to the clan.
“He had been wounded and left for dead in the final, mad charge against the
British artillery at Culloden.  Regaining consciousness when a scavenger started
pulling at his boots, he throttled the man to silence his frightened shouts, then donned
his rags to hide his uniform.  Any qualms he might have felt about slaying the
scavenger were squashed when he found the man’s stash of loot; jewelry, buttons, a
handful of coins, and a signet ring still on the finger the scavenger had severed to
remove it from its owner.
“Jaime had overheard soldiers talking in the Jacobite camp, as soldiers of all
times are wont to do, about their fortunes and what they should do if Bonnie Prince
Charlie failed.  Most seemed to agree that fleeing the British Isles was the only option
open to them, but there was disagreement as to the best method by which to escape. 
Jaime noted that the older soldiers, the ones with the most experience, favored
making their way to the Isle of Skye and setting sail from there.  So it was he turned
his steps in that direction, hiding by day in the brush or under a haystack, traveling at
night when there was less chance of discovery.
“Eventually, after many a narrow escape, he made it to Skye, and there his
luck failed him.  A farmer loyal to the English Crown spotted the remains of his
uniform under the rags and reported him to a patrol.  They pursued him cross-
country, cornering him at the edge of a cliff overlooking one of the island’s lochs. 
When he refused to drop his weapons the patrol shot him and he fell into the dark,
peat-filled water.  The patrol, satisfied they had put paid to one more rebel, returned
to their barracks.
“It was approaching midnight when Jaime dragged himself from the water
onto the bank of a small stream that fed the loch from the hills above.  He knew his
injuries were far more severe than they had been after Culloden; one bullet had
passed through his shoulder, another his leg, while a third shot had grazed his skull,
blurring his vision and making it difficult to concentrate.  Still, he knew he had to
keep moving in case the patrol returned, so he began dragging himself up into the
hills, following the course of the stream.
“Two nights later he was close to death, feverish from his wounds, weakened
by loss of blood, and chilled to the bone by immersion in the cold mountain stream. 
He crawled away from the water and curled up in some brush, trying to keep warm. 
It was here that one of the scouts found him.
“Her name was Brigit; after the gargoyles and druids merged into one family
the practice of using names gradually spread through the whole clan, with only a few
of the oldest gargoyles resisting the change.  She was young for a scout, barely 36
years old, or 18 in human terms.  Her ability to move silently across any terrain, her
keen hearing and sharp eyesight, but most of all her caution, had earned her the rank
at an unheard of age.
“She was following the stream, it being one of the last paths, however tortuous,
by which one might reach the valley on foot.  She almost glided past the marks on the
bank of the stream, but a river rock turned unnaturally in its bed caught her eye. 
Landing, she found Jaime’s trail and followed it where he lay curled in the
undergrowth.
“The combining of the gargoyles and the druids into one clan had a side effect
neither leader had anticipated; as the children of both groups grew to maturity
together, they lost their awareness that they were of different races, and, on occasion,
a youth from one group would look on a youth from the other, and find them fair.
“So it was now with Brigit; she looked upon the face of Jaime MacDonald,
battered and fevered and gaunt with hunger, and something in her heart responded. 
She knew he was a stranger, knew he represented a possible danger to her clan, but
with a flicker of the strange foreknowledge her people occasionally possessed, she
knew the human before her would be her mate.
“Brigit lifted the unconscious form of the young highlander in her arms and,
using a nearby outcropping of rock, launched herself into the air.  Her fear for
Jaime’s fading life warred with her training, but in the end caution prevailed and
none of the British patrols out that night caught a glimpse of her.
“Arriving back at the village Brigit landed before the home of the Archdruid
and pounded on his door, her wing curled protectively around Jaime as she
supported him with her other arm.  When the village elder opened his door she
forced herself inside and deposited her burden on the soft pallet that was kept ready
for the times when a patient needed the Archdruid’s help.
“Aurlianus (for each archdruid bore the name of the first, as far back as
memory stretched) looked in surprise at the face of the man on the cot, then turned to
the young gargoyle.  “Child,” he asked, “what have you done, bringing this stranger
into our midst?”
““You must save him, Archdruid,” Brigit pleaded with him.  “His life will be
important to the clan; I have Seen it.”
“Aurlianus heard the emphasis in her voice, and his demeanor changed from
annoyance and fear to deadly seriousness.  “What have you Seen, girl, tell me the
truth,” he demanded.
““Only that somehow, his future and ours are linked together, and ... and that
someday he will be my mate,” she finished with a rush.
““Then I will do what I can,” Aurlianus replied.  “Go now, and tell your elders
what has transpired.  Tell them the stranger is unconscious, and will remain so until it
is decided what to do with him.”  Brigit gestured helplessly towards the fevered figure
on the cot, and the old druid smiled.  “Do not fear, child, you will not lose him,” he
reassured her.  “The Fates have not yet cut the thread of his life, and we will weave it
strong once again.  He will be here when you return.”
“The furor when Brigit made her report was beyond belief.  Some of the
elders went so far as to call for her expulsion from the clan.  Others supported her
choice, reasoning that as a scout she was supposed to make such decisions without
clearing them with the rest of the clan first.  Finally Efydd, the leader of the
gargoyles, made his decision.  The large bronze male stood, calling for the attention
of the clan elders.
““Brigit’s decision to bring the outsider to the village will be supported by the
clan,” he said, silencing the ensuing outbursts with a glare.  “The Archdruid also
supports this decision.  We must trust those who are our eyes and ears beyond our
sanctuary, or else we should not send them out at all.”
“He then called Brigit forward.  “That is not to say we do not have
reservations about this stranger.  After Aurlianus makes him well he will be watched,
his heart weighed.  If your Sight was true then he will join the clan and be welcome
among us.  But if it is not,” Efydd said warningly, “he will not leave these mountains
alive.”
“So Jaime MacDonald came to live among the Hidden Clan, and as Brigit’s
Sight had foretold, he came to love the young gargoyle who had saved his life, and
became her mate.  Jaime in turn helped the clan to see they could not hide away
forever, that the humans would discover them eventually unless they took steps to
prevent it, steps that would have to be taken in the human’s world.
“The day came that Jaime MacDonald walked out of the hills that shelter the
Hidden Clan, and at his side walked the son that Brigit had borne him -- but that is
another tale.
“With the knowledge of ancient treasure troves hidden by the druids at the
time of the Romans, Jaime laid the foundations for what would someday become
Caledon Rising.  Merchant ships and trading ventures were funded, investments were
made, secret partnerships formed.  The business empire known as Caledon Rising is
only one facet of the Hidden Clan.  Part of our wealth has been funneled into the
creation of wilderness sanctuaries, places where humans will never dig up the ground
and pollute the waters -- places that now hold colonies of the Hidden Clan.
“We have come far from the sack of Castle Wyvern, but never did we forget
our roots.  The druids and those of the gargoyles with the talent searched for a way to
break the spell, but none ever thought to simply fulfill the curse’s words:  ‘The
sleepers shall awake when the castle rises above the clouds.’  When Xanatos
purchased Castle Wyvern, it caught the clan by surprise.  Once the process had
begun we dared not interfere lest the opportunity be lost.
“When rumors began to circulate about gargoyles in New York, the Hidden
Clan rejoiced, but there was also dissension.  You were from a thousand years in our
past and no one knew how you would respond to the changes that have befallen Clan
Wyvern.
“So, following ancient tradition, the Hidden Clan sent scouts to observe you. 
Some work for Xanacorp Enterprises, some are in the police force -- one is even on
the Gargoyle Task Force.  They reported back to us, and plans were being made to
contact you, when something came to our attention that made it imperative to
advance our timetables, hence the ‘move’ of Caledon Rising to New York.”

***

Goliath finally paused in his recital and looked around at his clan’s stunned
faces.  Hudson seemed to be having the hardest time dealing with all the information,
with Broadway running a close second.  Both Brooklyn’s and Lexington’s eyes were
shining at the possibilities, while Angela’s wistful smile made her father suspect she
was still thinking about Brigit and Jaime.
At last Hudson shook himself out of his daze and looked up at his clan leader. 
“So, lad, finish the tale; what was so bloody important that they had to scrap all their
carefully set up games?”  Hudson grimaced.  “I dinna think I care for the sound of it,
myself.  Gargoyles acting as twisty and sneaky as Xanatos?  It isna natural.”
Goliath chuckled.  “I tend to agree with you, old friend, which is no doubt why
they were so hesitant about contacting us.  But as to the real reason why they are
here, they would not give me an explanation.  They said they needed to talk to the
whole clan, and Xanatos as well; whatever it is threatens all of us.”
“Didn’t they give you any kind of a hint, Goliath?” Lexington asked.
“Only one, but it was such as to guarantee my complete attention.  As Elisa
and I were leaving, Colin MacDonald whispered one word to me:  THAILOG.”

END OF PART TWO
Send any comments to: fenris@phnx.uswest.net

Continue to the Next Story in this Series