From the damp mists of the morning to the sopping fog of the evening, Guillaume the gargoyle sat still. As the moisture beaded on his chubby-cheeked grimace and two long horns, he reflected on how it would erode him into a featureless lump in another few millennia. Down below, the little people bustled in and out of the cathedral. The tourists, in their loud t-shirts and ripped jeans, gawked and took pictures. The parishioners, buttoned up and ironed, glared at the former and whispered un-Christian words about them. Humanity was a petty lot, after all. That alone might've been enough to make homebodies of the other stonekin, but not Guillaume. He had learned too much of the outside world from the tourists and their leavings. In the doldrums of daylight, he would let his mind wander to dry deserts rich with heat. How might it feel to let his claws sink into the sand and let the raw sun beat against his chest? And what other stonekin might he meet in his wanderings?
       But night came, and the people left. Safe in the darkness, Guillaume exited his perch and flew down into the nave. He shook hands, claws, and talons with his fellow gargoyles. The angel statues each gave him a curt nod, which was the only time their noses weren't in the air. The saints and nobles bowed with clasped hands, since they lacked wings and never knew whose help they might need to get down from their perches. The grotesques were already chattering away atop their columns. Those stonekin with the freedom of movement gathered around the pulpit. There, the gargoyle Old Abdou raised his talons for silence. He was a cracked and weathered creature with a long beak and an unfortunate tuft of grass growing out of the top of his head. Still, he was the last of the cathedral's original gargoyles, and that counted for something. The rest of the stonekin fell hush, and he proceeded.
       "First, let me address the rumors. No, there has not been any quarrel between myself and the human captain. He and his night crew remain satisfied as ever with our arrangement. The cause for this meeting lies not on his end but on ours. I regret to report we have reached the final folio of Robinet's drawings."
       Nervous murmurs bubbled up throughout the crowd. One of the saints raised his hand. Abdou pointed to him and nodded for him to speak.
       "Will we need a new bribe?"
       "In due time, yes. All suggestions are welcome."
       Robinet was a 13th-century monk with a penchant for doodling carnal acts. Abdou had discovered his hidden volumes ages ago and had been using them to bribe the successive generations of the human night crew. So long as the humans kept hush about the stonekin, they got to indulge a fetish of spectacular vintage.
       Guillaume raised his claw. Abdou only winced and continued scanning the crowd. Guillaume spoke up anyway.
       "Have you given my idea any more thought?"
       The stonekin all fell silent as Abdou glared at him.
       "Absolutely not."
       Guillaume pointed a claw towards the nook where Abdou kept Robinet's treasures hidden.
       "You just said we're running low on drawings -- what happens when they're all gone? We can't keep relying on secrecy. These days, humanity's sticking cameras in every crack and crevice they can find."
       This got a laugh from the other stonekin. Even Abdou cracked a curl at the edges of his beak. Guillaume continued.
       "We need to find somewhere the humans can't reach. Somewhere we could move freely all day long. If we went together and hid ourselves during the day, surely we could find a home somewhere!"
       "Or find our way to collective capture and destruction, since even the dullest human would notice an entire cathedral void of statuary."
       Guillaume huffed.
       "What gives you the right to keep us here anyway? A few more centuries of bird droppings than the rest of us?"
       Some of the other gargoyles snickered. Abdou folded his arms and stuck his beak in the air.
       "A vote, then. Show of hands or otherwise: who would like to be captured for study?"
       No stonekin lifted a finger. Or otherwise.
       "Right, now who would prefer to have their wings shot off in midair?"
       The second option got no more votes than the first. Guillaume groaned and threw up his claws.
       "How is that a fair vote?"
       "How is it fair of you to wager the lives of other stonekin on your flights of fancy? Perhaps you need to spend a night alone to consider the consequences of your proposal. GUARDIANS!"
       The two largest angels in the cathedral flew over and hoisted Guillaume by the arms. The gargoyle's stone eyes went wide as his clawed feet kicked at the air.
       "What? No...no...no!"
       Abdou only nodded, and the angels flew Guillaume out into the night. They took him deep into the forest and shoved him to the ground. As he struggled to right himself, the angels took off.
       "Wait...wait!"
       As the angels disappeared above the treetops, Guillaume's vision went black and his limbs seized. Time seemed to slow and then stop, leaving him nothing but an endless, dark void, pressing into him, making him want to scream but denying him the right. He was not dying. After all, his face was still intact. Instead, the Life of Stonekin in him was shrinking down to the tiniest spark -- just enough to keep him alive until another stonekin came along to rekindle that spark. A human being suffocating in total darkness and solitude might get the idea, save for one crucial detail: such a human, unlike Guillaume, could trust the end to come soon.
       Of course, it was still dark out when the angels came back for Guillaume. As they flew him back to the cathedral, they assured him they'd only left him out for an hour. This did nothing to comfort the gargoyle. Either they were telling the truth, and infinite agony could fit itself into a single hour, or they were lying and it would make no difference. After all, Guillaume had long ago lost the ability to tell one day apart from the other. Maybe they should've left him out longer. Maybe oblivion was a change of pace.
       Indeed, the next morning, Guillaume sat on his perch and stared at the ground below. He could tip himself over one inch at a time. When he toppled, he would have to fight the urge to flail in midair. For one, he wouldn't want to move all flesh-like and give the other stonekin away. If they were happy in their monotony, by all means, they could keep it. Two, he had to make sure he landed on his face. Otherwise, he'd be left worse off than the babbling grotesques -- stuck in a museum somewhere and labeled as "partially ruined."
       He sighed. He could stick it out for one more day. To distract himself, he recited the Law of Stonekin in a whisper.
       "First, let every stone being with a face and a name be granted the Life of Stonekin. Second, let every stonekin move as if it were flesh. Third, let the Life of Stonekin shrink from any stonekin who wanders too far from its flock."
       Guillaume paused. He had heard the Law repeated countless times, but always as a warning. Among the stonekin of the cathedral, the Law represented their narrow escape from slavery and the precarious existence that followed. But was that all it could be? Every stone being with a face and a name...
       Guillaume got an idea. It was such a crazy idea he had to stifle a laugh. It was certainly not an idea the others would appreciate. Lucky for him, he didn't need their approval to pull it off. All he needed was his very own claws and a loose brick. When night fell, he stayed behind as the others flew down to the meeting. When they were gone, he flew off his perch and tested the nearby bricks until one came off. Then, he took that brick back to his perch. Towards the top, he carved two circles, each with a dot in the center. Below those circles, he carved a long, curved line. Two eyes and a smile.
       "My dear little brick," he said, "I name you...Benoit!"
       For a moment, Guillaume was as still as the night he was left in the forest. Even if stonekin did breathe, he wouldn't have breathed as he watched the carved brick in his claw, waiting for some sign that his theory was correct. When he was just about ready to return the brick to its fellows and drag himself down to the meeting, the brick blinked.
       "Hello?" he said. "Who are you?"
       Guillaume smiled ear-to-ear. This was not a pleasant sight, and gargoyles generally made an effort not to exacerbate their features, but Guillaume just couldn't contain himself. He clutched the brick to his chest and twirled through the air. The brick laughed and squealed until the gargoyle returned to his perch and held his new friend aloft in the moonlight.
       "Sorry, let me introduce myself. I'm Guillaume -- world exploring gargoyle extraordinaire -- and I've picked you to be my partner!"
       Benoit's crudely drawn eyes went wide.
       "World exploring..."
       New stonekin are not like human infants. The Life of Stonekin includes the Memory of Stonekin, which grants them knowledge of language and the Law itself. Guillaume thought back to the rash of replacement gargoyles he'd met after the Second World War and how they'd pestered the other stonekin with questions. Benoit would be no different.
       "Yes," said Guillaume, "and I'm sure you're eager to learn more, but first we must go and meet the others!"
       Guillaume flew down into the nave. Once he landed, he folded his wings around himself to hide Benoit.
       "You're going to be a little surprise," he whispered. "Keep quiet for now."
       As Guillaume shuffled into the crowd, the other stonekin stared at him askance. The angels sneered so hard he had to warn them not to crack their pretty faces. They were not amused, but of course, they never were.
       With the stonekin gathered, Old Abdou took to the pulpit and rattled off his list of noteworthy events that were not worthy of note and, in fact, hardly qualified as events. When he was through, Guillaume spoke up.
       "I have an announcement."
       Abdou glared at him. The other stonekin looked over with a mix of contempt and curiosity. Guillaume continued.
       "I know I've been a nuisance lately, and I apologize. Clearly, none of you are interested in leaving, so I found a way for me to leave while you all stay. Allow me to present..."
       He unfurled his wings and held the brick aloft.
       "...my traveling companion, Benoit!"
       "Hello!" said the brick.
       Silence settled over the stonekin. Guillaume was quite proud of himself, but the other stonekin were not even looking at him. They all had their eyes fixed on Benoit. The angels covered their mouths. The gargoyles were agape. The saints and nobles shook their heads. The grotesques were...well, doubly grotesque. After a long pause, Abdou flew out from the pulpit and landed before Guillaume. When he spoke, it came in a low grumble.
       "Not only have you disobeyed me again, Guillaume, but -- in your infinite selfishness -- you have created the most helpless of stonekin. Even the grotesques here have the strong back of the cathedral to keep them secure. What will this brick have to protect him? One flighty, feckless, faithless gargoyle?"
       "Hey," said Benoit, "be nice to him. He's my friend."
       Abdou squawked a harsh, cold laugh.
       "Your friend? Hardly. You see, there is an enormous gap in the Memory of Stonekin. Let me tell you the full story."
       Abdou plucked Benoit from Guillaume's claw and flew back to the pulpit. Guillaume winced and grasped at the air but knew better than to start a fight. He dropped his claw and glared at Abdou, waiting for his chance to get the brick back.
       "You know the Law of Stonekin, yes?" Abdou asked.
       Benoit shook in Abdou's talons -- a brick's version of a nod. He recited.
       "First, let every stone being with a face and a name be granted the Life of Stonekin. Second, let every stonekin move as if it were flesh. Third, let the Life of Stonekin shrink from any stonekin who wanders too far from its flock."
       "Good," said Abdou, "and do you know who created the Law?"
       "Tauri the Stoneweaver!"
       This, too, was part of the Memory of Stonekin. Tauri was an ancient Celtic wizard who called upon the old gods to invoke the Law of Stonekin. Though he had long been forgotten by humanity, every stonekin came into the world knowing his name -- even loving it. Until they heard the full story. Abdou continued.
       "And you know every stonekin owes their life to Tauri, yes?"
       "Yes, yes!"
       Abdou stared into him with those cracked old eyes as if he meant to drive them straight through the little brick like twin chisels.
       "Then perhaps you would like to know why we killed him."
       A chill ran through every stonekin in the nave. Guillaume felt it, and he could see all the others squirm as it passed through them. Abdou continued.
       "It was not us here, mind you, but the first stonekin. Tauri's slaves."
       Abdou held up Benoit and turned him around so he could see the crowd. When Guillaume saw the frown on his friend's face, he wanted to break off his own horns and stick them in his own eyes. Abdou continued.
       "The last part of the Law, concerning the flock, was meant to keep us under control. So long as any one stonekin could not stray too far from the others, none would entertain thoughts of independence. It had the desired effect, for the most part..."
       Abdou shot a glare at Guillaume.
       "...but it gave the first stonekin a need for vengeance."
       Guillaume caught a few of the angels pounding their fists against their palms. The grotesques snarled. Even the saints and nobles sported toothy grins while the other gargoyles brandished their claws, fangs, and talons.
       "Though Tauri was long gone, the Law of Stonekin remained. It has allowed humanity to create countless stonekin without knowing it. We have learned to stay hidden, gathering only in the night so we may have some relief from our stillness."
       Abdou flew out from the pulpit once again and returned the brick to Guillaume.
       "And now that your friend has brought you to life, you get to enjoy the long days and the nervous nights with all of us. Welcome to the family."
       Guillaume held up Benoit and tried to look him in the eye, but the brick would not meet his gaze.
       "I'm sorry," whispered Guillaume. "I'm so sorry."
       They sat through the rest of the meeting in silence, and when it was nearly morning Guillaume flew back up to his perch. He positioned Benoit just behind him so they could talk during the day -- although the brick still wasn't talking. Guillaume apologized once again, then sighed and assumed his pose as the fiery face of dawn broke through the clouds.
       All through the morning, Guillaume's mind was racing. Abdou was right. He had been so selfish in creating Benoit. He hadn't stopped for a moment to consider what would be best for his new companion. If he so hated his own existence, what made him think it was worth re-gifting? Had he not watched countless humans below slog through misery only to turn around and procreate? He had always thought it was madness on their part, but now he saw that he was no better. Still, there had to be a way to make things right. As he tried to conjure a solution, the brick himself interrupted his thoughts.
       "How does Old Abdou know other humans are bad?"
       Guillaume blinked in surprise, then caught himself and steeled his eyelids.
       "What?" he whispered.
       "Last night, he made it sound like all the other humans are just as bad as Tauri. How does he know that?"
       "Well," whispered Guillaume, "I guess they're not all that bad. The night crew here has been pretty cooperative, although we...had to cut them a deal."
       Guillaume stopped short of explaining the value of Robinet's drawings. He did not want to get into an explanation of human copulation. He knew it was horrific, but the newborn stonekin was sure to find it fascinating and demand more information.
       "But what about outside the cathedral? None of you have been out there, so how do you know what people are like out in the world?"
       Guillaume felt a chill down his spine. He risked closing his eyes to shake some of the more gruesome imagery in his mind.
       "We hear plenty from up here. Wait until you hear what they do to their animals. Or each other."
       Benoit fell silent again. Guillaume opened his eyes then looked down at the crowds below. Unlike Abdou, he could never quite decide how he felt about humanity. Sure, they were petty, cruel, and violent, but they created so many beautiful things. Every once in a while, the fog of ennui would part, and Guillaume could see the cathedral for what it was: a stunning work of art. How could those strange, soft creatures below create such beauty if it did not exist inside them first? The brick, for better or worse, had not yet learned to keep such musings private. Instead, he blurted them out and even expanded upon them.
       "Maybe there's someplace where humans and stonekin get along! We'll never know until we get out there..."
       Guillaume had to fight the urge to turn and look back. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.
       "You still want to go out there? With me?"
       "Of course!" said the brick. "None of those old grumps are going to take me. Besides, you're my friend."
       Tears do not stream from the eyes of stonekin. They are as incapable of producing moisture as any other rock. But upon hearing those words, Guillaume felt a sting in his eyes and an ache in his chest. How could this sweet little stonekin still call him a friend? And worse, why did he need someone to take him beyond the cathedral? He deserved better. He would have better if Guillaume had any say in the matter.
       The gargoyle thought back to his own creation in the stonemasons' workshop on the grounds. Those masons had put such love and care into carving him. They'd even given him the name 'Guillaume,' not realizing that, in doing so, they also gave him the gift of life. He remembered their worn tools, their buckets of mortar, their shelves full of gargoyle pieces...and finally, the answer appeared.
       "That's it!" he cheered.
       "What's it?"
       "You'll see. I have a surprise for you. Just have to wait until tonight..."
       And so they waited. That is to say, Guillaume waited while Benoit pestered him for his surprise every five minutes. When the crowds at last dispersed and the purples of sunset gave way to inky black, Guillaume picked up the brick and flew down to the workshop. Inside, he set Benoit face-down on top of a block of wood.
       "Sorry about this," said Guillaume. "It'll be a little uncomfortable for now but I promise it'll be worth it."
       The brick's muffled voice managed to carry through the wood.
       "Whatever you say!"
       Guillaume set to work, gathering up four tiny wings, four tiny legs, four tiny arms, and two tiny tails. Half of these he set aside and the other half he set by the brick. Next, he followed a chart taped to the wall to mix a fresh bucket of mortar, then carefully applied the stuff to the ends of Benoit's new pieces. The wings and tail he could simply attach to the brick's back. The legs and arms required a few more wood blocks for support. Once they were all attached, Guillaume moved the whole setup onto a tray.
       "I'll have to take you up to the roof of the cathedral while your mortar sets. Can't have the masons discovering you like this," he said. "I'll be there first thing tomorrow night to check on you. Just hold still as best you can until then."
       "Will do!" said the brick.
       "Promise?"
       "Promise."
       Guillaume flew Benoit's tray up to the roof, then went back to carry out the second part of his project. When everything was set, he wished his friend a good night and good day, then returned to his perch.
       Throughout the next day, Guillaume was a nervous wreck. Though most humans were barred entrance to the roof, he worried some random inspector would crawl up there and find Benoit. Fortunately, no inspectors came to the cathedral that day. As the sun began to set, Guillaume at last quelled the tremors in his wings. Then, a bouncing little noise rose up from the din below and shattered his nerves all over again. It was not birdsong -- which was only a minor trigger among gargoyles -- but giggling. Human giggling. In between the fits of giggling were stretches of faint, wet smacking and the occasional moan. Young lovers. They were sneaking up the circular staircase directly behind Guillaume's perch. Of course, they were headed for the roof. Youth and human nature forbade them from leaving a good taboo unbroken. Guillaume would have to find some way to send them back down.
       As their voices drew nearer and nearer, Guillaume inched back along his perch. When they were just behind him, he leaned towards the nearest window then hissed in the loudest whisper he could manage.
       "SINNERS! Who tempts my wrath?"
       The giggling stopped. One of the lovers muttered to the other.
       "What was that?"
       "AN ANGRY GOD! You dare to bring your LUST into my house. Turn back now, or I'll... I'll..."
       The stonekin had, of course, only skimmed the Bible. Centuries of reading time had not made the "begots" any more compelling. Now, Guillaume struggled to remember the more elaborate punishments issued from on high. Failing that, he took his best guess.
       "I'll turn your blood into frogs."
       In the silence that followed, Guillaume couldn't tell if the lovers were confused or terrified. He hoped adding emphasis would push them towards the latter.
       "ALL OF IT!"
       The lovers yelped then skittered back down the stairs. Guillaume sighed with relief, then inched himself back into his original position. When night finally fell, he rushed up to the roof.
       "There you are!" said Benoit, walking on his new legs and waving his new arms. Behind him, two feathery stone wings swayed in the air.
       "Look at you!" Guillaume cheered, scooping him up by the armpits before catching himself and gingerly checking the mortar.
       "Is everything all right? Are you dried?"
       "I'm fine," said Benoit. "I finished drying a few hours ago. Now, who's that?"
       Benoit was pointing to the tiny gargoyle Guillaume had constructed after leaving him on the roof. It, too appeared fully dried.
       "He doesn't talk much," he added.
       "That's because he's not a stonekin yet," said Guillaume. "He doesn't have a name."
       "I see! So, why did you bring him here?"
       Guillaume set down his friend then knelt to his level.
       "Listen...this is important."
       He held out his claws.
       "You have something no stonekin has ever had before: you have a choice. I'm not going to try to make that choice for you like I did last time."
       Guillaume pointed down.
       "Your first option is to stay here. The others will still be annoyed with me, but I'll make sure they don't take it out on you. Besides, I'm sure you'll win them over. You're the world's first brick-goyle!"
       Benoit smiled and danced on his new feet, thrilled with his new taxonomy. Guillaume pointed to the unnamed gargoyle.
       "Your second option is to give that gargoyle a name and turn it into a stonekin. If you do that, I only ask that you fully explain the situation and give him a fair choice like I'm doing now. If he agrees to go along with you, then you'll have your chance to explore the world."
       Benoit's face fell. He looked between the unnamed gargoyle and Guillaume.
       "You're not coming with me?"
       Guillaume sighed.
       "I've been here for centuries. I could've tried any number of ways to escape in that time. Why do you think I'm still here?"
       Benoit thought for a moment, then flew up to look out across the night, into the sparkling lights of distant cities.
       "Because you're afraid," said the brick-goyle.
       Guillaume winced. This was going to be the hardest part to confess, but he had to tell his friend the truth. He deserved to know everything before he made his decision.
       "This idea of leaving... it's only ever been a fantasy. Ask any other stonekin here, and they'll tell you. I get it into my head for a few weeks, can't stop talking about it, and then I mellow out. I go back to normal. Life at the cathedral...it is what it is. Plenty of other beings make do with worse. No matter what you do, you need to decide for yourself. Don't let the fever dreams of a crazy old gargoyle decide for you."
       Benoit hovered in the air, still deep in thought. Then, he flew over and punched Guillaume in the arm.
       "Ow!" said the gargoyle.
       "That's nonsense, and you know it," said Benoit. "I saw how your face lit up the first time you said we'd explore the world. You know this is what you want, so I'm taking the third option. I WILL explore the world, and I'm taking you with me."
       Guillaume stepped back.
       "I...again, this is your decision, but you need to understand the dangers..."
       "Understand how? How can any of you explain the dangers when you've never seen them yourself? I don't expect things to be perfect out there, but... that's what I want. I want to stumble and fall and figure things out. I want a life."
       Benoit stuck out a tiny claw.
       "You gave me this gift, Guillaume. And it is a gift -- never mind what those jerks say. Help me make the most of it. Come with me."
       Guillaume had never understood the human obsession with angels. To him, they were a haughty bunch, worse company than even the nastiest of grotesques. But now, as he saw the bizarre brick-goyle hovering in the air, wings catching the moonlight with every beat, he swore his companion was glowing from within. He decided then that he'd follow that light anywhere and that all those people talking about angels must've meant brick-goyles.
       "All right, Benoit. Where to first?"