This week’s #StoryPromptOfTheWeek was taken way back in 2016 at Cragside. At least, I think that’s where I took it. It was a while ago. I don’t think this statue (which on reflection may have been made of a very grey wood rather than stone) was the inspiration for Malachite. Certainly in my mind Malachite has always looked quite different — a more solid build and a far better posture. I may also have already created Malachite by the time I saw this chap. It was all so very long ago and there are so many characters living in my head now that I think it’s perhaps forgivable that I don’t recall.
Morag trotted past the stone figure with scarcely a glance. He’d been there as long as she could remember, and she’d been playing in these woods all her life. She’d asked her parents about him, of course. He’d been there as long as they could remember, too, and they were really old.
Despite her familiarity she didn’t ignore the statue. That would be rude, and she had no patience for that kind of behaviour. It wasn’t like she was going to stop for a conversation. She knew it was a statue and not really a person.
“Good morning, Gregor,” she said. She didn’t know why she called him Gregor. However the name had instantly felt like it fitted. She had been calling him that for years.
“Good morning, Morag,” said a deep gravelly voice.
Morag froze mid-step. “Who’s there?” she asked. Sudden anger clouded her face. One of the village boys was playing a joke. She was sure of it. “Baryn, is that you? You’d better stop it right now or you’re going to get a beating when I catch you.”
“But Morag, it’s me, Gregor,” said the voice.
She clenched her fists so tight they shook and turned to face her tormentor. Her arms went slack. The statue had turned to face her.
“Let’s try this again, shall we? Good morning, Morag. I’m Gregor. It’s good to finally meet you.”
“Uh, yeah. Good morning, Gregor.” Morag dropped into a hurried curtsey. “Umm. How are you?” Morag grimaced at her utter lameness. An old statue comes to life and that’s what she asks it.
Gregor smiled. “Well, thank you.” His smile faded. “I suspect that will not last long, however. It would be best if you hurried home.”
“What? No!” Morag stamped her foot like a petulant toddler. She closed her eyes and took a moment to steady herself. That was no way to behave. It was beneath her. “You’ve only just… awakened. I know nothing about you. Please. I’ve got so much to ask.”
Gregor looked over his shoulder into the woods. “The fact of my awakening is why you must go. I was placed here as a guardian. That I am now animate means that it is no longer safe here.”
“I’ve been in these woods my whole life. There’s no danger here.”
“Things change,” said Gregor.
Morag laughed. “I’ve come here every day for years. Nothing’s changed.”
Gregor shot her a stern look.
Morag laughed again. “Nothing else, I mean.”
The sound of her laughter echoed strangely back through the woods. She would never admit it, but she was beginning to worry that Gregor might be right.
“Please, go home,” said Gregor. “Quickly before they— Too late. They’re here.”
Gregor turned to the north, where the surrounding woodland was most dense. He held his staff in front of him like it was a shield. The undergrowth rustled ominously and branches swayed as if in a strong wind, though the air was still. Trees bent as though something large was pressing through them, or swinging among their branches. Among their shadows, Morag could make out nothing.
Creatures lumbered out of the gloom. Some huge as the oldest trees, some smaller than Morag herself. Nightmare creatures made from twisted sinews of braided shadow bound by burning strands of pure hate. Morag tried to scream, but the sound died in her throat.
Roaring their fury, the beasts charged. Morag’s heart paused its beat, awaiting the outcome.
Moments later the monsters slammed into a faint white barrier half way between the treeline and Gregor. Sorcerous power streamed from the stone wizard’s staff.
He turned his head to Morag. “Go. Now. I can hold them off, but not forever. To the west and south there are more of my kind. Gather them and bring them here. Pray that I can hold them until you return.”
“What happened to going home?” Morag felt like she was shouting, but the sound barely escaped her.
“Too late,” said Gregor. He sounded strained. “Hurry. We must stop them before they overrun your world.”
Morag ran.
Brandon Lim 