“Help me…”
Gilda opened her eyes, finding herself flying over the castle. No, not flying, floating. Her wings were spread, but they weren’t moving. The thick clouds obscured the moonlight, but she could see perfectly where she was going.
Down.
Down through the castle’s collapsed roof. Down through the floor. What was down there? She had to know. She had to find out.
Two heavy double doors opened, leading Gilda further down.
“Help me,” the voice said again. “Please help me. No, don’t! Get off me! Help! Help! Hel-”
Gilda bolted upright in her bed, drenched in cold sweat.
A bad dream, nothing more, she thought after a while, head in talons as her heartbeat calmed down.
It had been a full week since the funeral, and still Gilda found herself obsessing over the castle’s potential secrets. Every other waking moment, the chub’s queries echoed in her mind, as if they were begging her to provide the answers her mother wouldn’t give.
What she couldn’t understand was why. Why had that kid’s question rattled her so? As the mother had said, with Griffon culture’s propensity towards hoarding wealth, anything noteworthy would have long since been plundered.
“Stupid castle…” Gilda grumbled as she kicked off the covers. “This is so lame. Why do I have to play archaeologist?”
Rolling out of bed, she headed down the stairs. This idea had attached itself to her mind like a parasite, and she could think of only one way to get rid of it. She reasoned that the dead of night was the best time to explore, when no Griffon would pester her about it.
She didn’t bother locking the door behind her. She had nothing worth taking, and besides, she didn’t plan on being away long. The old ruins were just a short flight away, as dull and decrepit as ever, granting her entry through the rubble of a demolished wall. The safety rails were barely a token barrier to entry, as no one cared enough to go there.
Gilda focused on exploring the main atrium first, the most immediately accessible area. She didn’t know much about Griffonstone’s history beyond the basics, but the little she did know made this the best place to search for old grave sites. From the rusted pieces of long-abandoned church organs, to the shattered tiles of the mosaic floor, this had to be a place of worship back in the kingdom’s prime – though to whom or what, she had no idea.
The full moon and the stars granted her some visibility, but with all the years of accumulated dirt, dust and eroded stone, Gilda knew she’d never find anything without a better light source. She considered finding materials for a makeshift torch, but a long yawn escaping her beak shut down that idea.
Wha the buck am I doing? She chastised herself. This is so lame. I’m never gonna find anything. I should just go back to bed.
Gilda was just about to turn around when a small sound caught her ear. At first, she dismissed it as falling rubble, but the sound persisted – a constant, almost rhythmic tapping.
“Hello?” she called out. “Is anybody here?”
No answer… save for the continued tapping just within hearing range.
Groaning, she fumbled around for a loose piece of wood, sparking two stones against it to strike up a flame. If she didn’t find out where this noise was coming from, she knew it’d keep bugging her for ages.
Closing her eyes for a moment, Gilda tried to focus on the direction the sound was coming from. It was faint, barely audible even in the late night mountain silence, but if she was right, then it would be echoing from somewhere behind her. Sure enough, the closer she got to the atrium’s rear, the louder the sound was, but no sight of its origins still.
Unless…
No, that was silly. Grandpa Gruff was always regaling her with historical folktales from Griffonstone’s glory days, and not a single one mentioned any passages below the castle itself. Even the infamous dungeons were constructed inside the highest towers, watched over day and night by Griffon guards.
Yet, the sound persisted. It had to be coming from somewhere. Perhaps it was just an insect or some other mundane thing after all?
“Help!”
Gilda jumped back a foot, wings flaring. What in Tartarus was going on here? If this was some kind of prank, it sure was elaborate; she didn’t know whether to be angry or impressed.
“Help me, please!” the voice cried out again. Somehow, she knew she’d heard this voice before, a high-pitched cry strained with terrified desperation. Perhaps in years past, Gilda would’ve been content to dismiss it and move on, but she was a different gryphon now. She couldn’t stand idly by while some creature, much less a child, remained trapped in such a hazardous place.
“I hear ya, kiddo,” she said, scraping away what rubble she could while listening for the voice's source. “I’ll getcha out.”
“Thank the Princesses!” the child said, their strained voice relaxing a little. “The doors are stuck. Please, can you get me out?”
“I will if I can find it. How the heck did you get in there?”
“The doors are below the busted pedestal. I’ll tell you everything, I promise, just please, get me out of here!”
Wedging her torch between the crack of a ruined pillar, Gilda set to work heaving each piece of shattered marble and chiselled stone out of the way. Indeed, the more she uncovered, the more she realised how easy the trapdoor was to miss. Despite centuries of fading from lack of maintenance, the metal edges still retained the same off-white colour as the mosaic marble it was built into. Whoever its architect was, they must have taken the doors’ secret to their grave.
It took no small effort to clear the rubble, but when she finally revealed the trapdoor in full, Gilda came face to face with yet another obstacle. There were no handles to open the doors with, instead relying on tiny hooks pressed into shallow-cut grooves within the door’s face. How a child had managed to get these things open was just another mystery to add to her growing pile of frustrations.
“Sit tight, kiddo. I'm almost done.”
Cracking her knuckles, Gilda dug her sharp talons into the trapdoor’s mechanism, pinching the top as she wriggled the metal hooks back and forth. At last, she heard a click. Wrenching it backwards with all her might, she kicked up a thick cloud of dust as she yanked the left door open.
GIlda barely had time to stop coughing when the trapped child leapt from their confines to hug her tight about her neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” they gushed, nuzzling her face into Gilda’s chest feathers.
Now Gilda understood why the kid’s voice had sounded so familiar. “Oh, goodness! You’re the griffon who gave a speech at Grandpa Gruff’s funeral, aren’t you? You’re my hero! Your name is Gilda, right?”
“No, that name belongs to another griff who looks and sounds exactly like me,” Gilda droned sarcastically. “Now, enough with the mushy stuff. You’ve got some serious explaining to do, kiddo.”
Her lips quivering, Gwendoline’s wide eyes moistened with tears. “I’m so, so sorry, Miss Gilda!” she bawled, her voice cracking.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Gilda’s stalwart expression remained unchanged. She wasn’t stupid. She’d been young once, pulling the same old weepy-eyed trick on adults twice her age in an attempt to leverage their sympathies. The other thing she’d learnt was how rarely it worked. “Get your sob stories out of your system and gimme the facts already – before I have to drag you home.”
“It wasn’t my idea, I swear!” Gwendoline protested. “It was my friend, a Pegasus filly from the School of Friendship. She’s still in there, we have to help her. Please!”
“Woah, woah, woah, time out.” Gilda narrowed her eyes at the griffon child. “Am I supposed to believe a filly came all the way from the School of Friendship, just so they could dare you to explore some crummy old ruins? That’s the best excuse you can come up with?”
“It’s the truth! Really! We just wanted a quick look. We thought we could use it for a book report. We didn’t mean to get trapped inside!”
“And where is this Pegasus filly now? Shouldn’t she still be with you?”
“She would, but…” Gwendoline averted her gaze, crossing her hind paws. “Honey Twist went deeper into the crypts, trying to find another way out. I know it sounds like I’m making her up, but she’s still down there, I know she is! Please, I know I’m asking a lot, but I can’t leave her down there. It’s not what Princess Twilight would want.”
Gilda rolled her eyes, grumbling out a disgruntled sigh. This kid just had to invoke the name of Twilight Sparkle to tug on her heartstrings yet again. As much as she wanted to say no and deliver the chub directly to her parents, there was still that small itch of curiosity, tantalisingly close from being satiated. If this was an excuse, carefully woven to make Gwendoline look innocent, then what would she have to gain through such lies?
“Fine,” Gilda said. “But you’re coming with me. When we get out of here, I’d better get a full explanation from you both, ‘cause if you wanna avoid grounding, I’m not the one you’ll have to convince.”
“I swear on the four princesses, everything I’ve told you is true!” Dropping to her knees, Gwendoline bowed herself low, so low that she was practically bathing her headfeathers in the gravel. “I’ll tell mom everything. I don’t care how long I’m grounded for. Just, please, save my friend. Save Honey Twist!”
“Then get your sorry butt in gear and show me the way. If these crypts are as big as you say they are, then we’re gonna need to find her quick. No telling for how long she’ll be lost down there.”
Gwendoline took the advice in her stride, and then some. Gilda barely had time to grab her torch before the kid had gone scurrying off back down the stairs. How had her dream become so prophetic? Was Princess Luna trying to guide her into doing more good deeds? If so, this was an oddly specific encouragement.
Gilda let out a frustrated sigh. She had a feeling this was going to be a long night.