Title : Foriegn Skies : Where Heaven and Earth Meet Author : Marie Noire Summary : You knew it had to happen... a Hunchback/Gargoyles cross-over. Quasimodo befriends a young female gargoyle. --------- Prologue : Rural France, 1462 A loud series of crashes, the familiar roars of the adults in threat, human yells. Eve looked up in surprise, distracted from the game she had been playing with her brother. This time of night, the old church was normally quiet to the point of restless boredom… what was going on outside? Eve rose to go find out, but Adam pulled on her wing. “Evie! Don’t go out there!” he pleaded, his eyes wide. “I want to know what’s going on… I’ll be right back.” She insisted tugging on her wing to release it. She didn’t get any further. Before an argument could erupt, their mother ran in, her face paled and tear-stained… and very frightened. “Adam! Eve! Come quickly!” she cried, scooping the two hatchlings up bfore either could say a word. “I’ve got to hide you before he comes!” “Who, mother?” Eve asked, curious even in the face of great danger. “Never mind!” mother hissed as she carried them into another room and, spotting a large banquet table with a long cover, shoved Adam under it. “Stay here until I come back for you, understand?” she asked him, rubbing her brow ridges over his. “Yes, mama.” He whispered, his eyes filling with tears as he briefly embraced both his mother and sister before darting under the table to hide from the unseen and as yet unknown threat. “Adam!” screamed Eve as she was pulled away by her mother and carried to another room, this one crowded with dusty old furniture from the days when the church served a congregation. After a pause to look around, mother found an old armoire and pushed the young gargoyle into it. “No!” Eve cried as mother tried to shut the doors completely. “I’m scared, mother!” Mother rubbed her brow ridges gently. “Eve, please… stay in here until I come for you and stay absolutely quiet.” “But, mama!” “Stay here!” Eve watched through the crack in the door as her mother turned and bounded out of the room, heading back to the sounds of a fight. Heavy dresses and cloaks coated with thick layers of dust nearly pushed Eve out of the wardrobe, so she busied herself with wedging between them to stay hidden, trying to take her mind from the dangerous battle above. There, she stayed, quaking with fright as the battle sounds ebbed and flowed, gradually moving closer. She hadn’t heard her mother’s familiar roar in sometime… nor that of Pierre or David. The clash of swords had stopped and now only the heavy footsteps of the phantom danger filled her ears. He was in the hallway outside! Eve heard rummaging in the room where Adam hid… a struggle. Adam’s young roar, still high-pitched and the yell of a human male, the sound of several hits and something taking off from the window. An eerie silence followed, during which Eve could only hear her pounding heart and panicked breathing. Had Adam escaped? Or was that take-off noise only one of the pigeons or ravens? Who was this creature stalking them? What had he done with the adults? Where was her mother? Footsteps eased into the room and Eve held her breath; afraid to peek at the enemy and unable not to. She squinted in the dust, straining to see out of the crack in the doors… here was her enemy. A human male, the largest she’d ever seen before, prowled about the room, almost beast-like in his concentration on his quarry. Strangely, he wore a black mask with three red slashes across the face, mimicking the slash marks of gargoyle talons. A bloody sword in one hand and the other clenched in intense focus, Eve knew this creature from the stories the elders had told her of why they no longer lived among humans. This was the Hunter. A human who harbored some deep grudge against all gargoyles, enough to pass this hatred down among generations from father to son, the entire family born to do nothing but destroy gargoyles. And he was here… less than ten feet away from her his sword wet with the blood of her clan and his senses attuned to find her and do the same. She backed into the darkness of the wardrobe, eyes wide with fear… not only of the Hunter, but of the lightness streaming in from the window. Dawn was only minutes off! She would be helpless against the Hunter and be smashed to bits! The Hunter turned towards her and Eve was certain he could hear the thundering of her heart. She ducked behind the cloaks, wrapping her wings over her head, still staring at the blank face of hatred on this most dangerous of predators. The last thing she saw before the dawn took her was a black-clad hand reaching for the handle of the wardrobe door. ***** Eve looked out over her path, a gentle breeze caressing her face and hair like a lover, filling her senses with the headiness of the new spring on the horizon. The sun had barely set and a tendrils of sunlight still painted the western sky with pink, orange, and violet. Above her the first stars had already started their nightly journey across the French sky. She jumped down from the concealed cliff that had served as her refuge for the past day. Ever since leaving her abbey home, she had wandered from roost to roost, never staying in one resting place for more than one night. She had become more of a gypsy than most gypsies were; traveling as far as she could every night and hiding away in obscure caves and tall sturdy trees during the day. At first, she had searched for more gargoyles, certain that in all of France, there had to be another clan like hers. But she had never found one. Remnants were left behind; faces of broken stone, a rusted sword, shattered egg shells... the Hunter had been thorough in his destruction. Not since her mother had tearfully hidden her in that armoire had she seen the face of another living gargoyle. She’d seen dead ones, wept over the still form of her brother and railed at Heaven for each new bloody body or crumpled statue she found. It was plain to her now, that she was the last gargoyle in France. Perhaps others existed in other countries; Germany, perhaps... or England. But she spoke no language other than French and could not glide all the way to foreign countries. Now she searched only for the Hunter. If he still hunted in France, she would find him. Questions had plagued her for twenty years, since she had first awoken the night following her day in the armoire. She had seen the Hunter coming for her... why hadn’t he smashed her to pieces, as he had done to countless other gargoyles, old and young? How had she survived? Better yet, why had she survived? Why, out of her entire clan... indeed out of all of the clans in France, had she been chosen to live on beyond the Hunter’s wrath? As a frightened hatchling with no clan to care for her, she had fled into the night, desperately crying for her mother. Weeks passed, during which she found herself more and more lost, both in spirit and body. Finally, one early morning, she had collapsed on top of a wall surrounding a small building. Among the still, lifeless forms of man-sculpted gargoyles, she had fallen... grateful for the dawn that stole her pain for a short while. When she awoke next, it was to the kind face of a monk. The monks of the abbey had cared for her, never once fearing her or her fearsome talons and fangs. She alone protected them from thieves and marauders intent on stealing the abbey’s small bit of wealth... they in turn protected and taught her. The half-dozen monks had become her family, her clan... but she had to leave them behind on this quest of hers. They never questioned her if they suspected her vengeful motives, but they had reminded her that the abbey was always open to her, as was any house of God in France. She briefly toyed with the pendant around her neck, a silver crucifix on a rough leather cord, its intersection bearing the seal of the Brothers of the Blessed Sacrament. That talisman would gain instant sanctuary within any Catholic establishment, Brother Francis had assured her. In the distance, the towers of Notre Dame Cathedral peeked through the mist, moonlight glinting off of them dully. Eve stood and stretched her wings out, proud of their now-adult span, and leapt from her perch, catching the night updraft and speeding off towards the great city of Paris. ***** Quasimodo sighed as he looked out over the city, his city. It had been months since his Master’s siege on the cathedral, weeks since Esmerelda and Phoebus had left to chase down adventure and fortune with the gypsies. Spring was coming and the remaining gypsies were preparing to go North to England. Only Clopin’s small band would remain behind to entertain Paris through the joyous times of Spring and Summer. There would be more baby pigeons along soon, but that hardly constituted friendships. The acclaim of months past had lessened to general acceptance; but while it was nice to be able to go and wander the streets without being attacked… he still wasn’t quite comfortable among the masses, his insecurities nagging at the back of his head like the beginnings of a headache. Not that anyone had been cruel to him; but every so often he would catch an open-mouthed stare or an urgent whisper of “That’s him!”. It had been at least a week and a half since he had ventured from the cathedral. Clopin’s group had barely missed him and the idea of talking to his stone friends suddenly seemed childish at last. The three discarded statues no longer served him as friends, not now that he knew what the real thing was like. Truth be told, he was lonelier now than he ever had been before. Even a visit from his master would’ve been a welcome change. The square was dark by the time he roused himself to get up from his perch and head back inside to escape the slight chill in the air. He sighed and headed over to his precious bells, waiting for the moon to hit the right spot in the sky. The position that told him to set them in motion, into song. Yells from below drew his attention away from the waning allure of Big Marie’s golden side, shouts of alarm and anger. Without quite knowing why he bothered, Quasimodo returned to the balcony edge and looked out. What he saw surprised even him. A fair-sized group of peasants were running towards the cathedral, each brandishing a weapon of some sort. Above them, swooping upwards on large leathery wings was a creature he couldn’t identify. It zoomed past his eyes so fast that he barely had time to register the fact that it was real and not some figment of his imagination. “The cathedral! It’s hiding in the cathedral!” a voice yelled from below. “Kill it!” another called. Whatever it was, the citizens thought it was dangerous. Quasi headed for the doorway that led down to the sanctuary. He had to tell the archdeacon that a bizarre and possibly treacherous creature had taken refuge in the towers above. He would call the guard and… And what? They would storm into the tower and capture the creature regardless of whether it was really harmful or not. They would kill it! All because the peasants thought it was dangerous… But what if it wasn’t? After all… they once thought Quasimodo had been dangerous as well. He glanced at the other door leading upwards, contemplating it for a second before heading up its narrow stairs. He slowed his normally frenzied pace in favor of a more silent one, creeping up the stairs on soft steps. The wind picked up as he neared the top doorway and he suddenly wished he brought a weapon of some kind. He peeked out, looking around the roof cautiously. Nothing. However, there was area behind the small tower housing his doorway. He took a deep breath and craned his neck around to try and see. There he saw a long caramel-colored tail curled slightly in a relaxed position. Nearby was one of the creature’s feet, long and graced with three sharp talons in the front and a spur of some sort on the heel. Once he could hear over the rapid thunder of his heart, the soft sound of sob-tinged breathing reached him. Crying? He licked his dry lips and took a deep breath “Hello? Are you all right?” A gasp followed by some scrambling sounds. He ventured out of his safe doorway and peeked around the side of the tower to see the creature more fully. He had been comforted by the human-sounding noises and now was aware only of the fact that this poor being needed help. She stared up at him with a mixture of fear and hostility, her raven-black hair tangled over her eyes. Her brows were thicker than a person’s and bore impressions that looked like modified horns. Her fingers ended in talons as sharp as those on her feet. Her wings were large and bat-like and were currently folded over her head to shield her from both his gaze and the rain that had just started pelting from the sky. Other than that… she looked like a dark-skinned girl. “Do… do you need help?” he asked raising his hands to show that he held no weapons. She looked him up and down, obviously trying to decide whether or not he was sincere. “I… my wing… a lucky shot…” A quick glance at the favored wing showed Quasi that one of the peasants had fair aim with a bow and arrow. A wide gap in the flesh against one of the “fingers” in her wing bled freely, staining the lighter flesh red. A closer look revealed that she was also covered in bruises and minor cuts. She apparently had been on the ground when the villagers found her… it was a small miracle she’d been able to fly away at all. “You… you can talk? Why fly to the cathedral?” he asked, still wary. “I can have sanctuary here… at least I should be able to…” she fished at the cord around her neck, drawing forth the crucifix. “May I?” Quasimodo asked softly. She nodded slowly and reluctantly removed the necklace to place it in his hand. Quasimodo looked at it carefully. He didn’t recognize the seal, but it was obviously from some monastery in France. If she had such promise of sanctuary on her, she was plainly not the dangerous demon that the peasants thought she was. He handed it back. “What monastery is that from?” he asked. “The Brothers of the Blessed Sacrament… in Auvergne.” She supplied, rising to her feet unsteadily after slipping the necklace back to its rightful place. “Auvergne? That’s pretty far away.” He commented. They were interrupted by the sound of hurrying footsteps coming up the stairs. With due speed, the archdeacon appeared, rather breathless from his climb. “Quasimodo, what-? Oh my…” his eyes widened as he saw the young creature behind Quasimodo. She caped her wings gracefully and held her head high, looking at the archdeacon steadily. “Father… I ask for sanctuary… if you’ll let me.” That said, she held out the crucifix for inspection. “God be praised… I thought there were no gargoyles left in France.” The archdeacon whispered, taking the small gargoyle’s hand. “You’d be almost correct with that statement.” She sighed. “I fear I may be the last.” “Gargoyle?” Quasimodo repeated. “You mean, like the statues?” “The statues we call gargoyles are merely stone approximations of the real thing.” The archdeacon indicated her with a hand before turning to her again. “Do you have a name, child?” “I am called Eve.” She nodded. “Thank you for allowing me to stay here… oftentimes, churches are the only places where I can safely roost for the day.” “You are welcome here, Eve… and may have free range over the cathedral, although I would avoid the main sanctuary during peak times.” The archdeacon said kindly. “Quasimodo will show you where you can stay… right, Quasimodo?” “Yes, of course, father.” Quasimodo nodded quickly, eager to spend more time with this creature called a gargoyle. (To Be Continued)   Back to Notre Dame de Paris Fiction