“You mean a goose?”
“Gooses! They lay eggs in nests, near water, I have seen them. Griffin eggs are the size of maybe two or three of their eggs. The shell is soft. And the mama right away puts it in her pocket. The egg goes on growing there. The baby inside it goes on growing. It takes a long time, but Mama says it’s no trouble. The egg takes food from inside the pocket, too. The skin kind of sticks to the shell and lets the food go through and it goes on like that for as many years as we have claws on our front feet!”
“Counting the little one that sticks out behind?”
“Yes. That is how many?”
“Ten. So it takes ten years to hatch.”
“Yes. Or a little more. But finally the baby breaks the egg from inside. That big one over there, it’s about ready to break. The mama pulls the pieces of the shell and the insides of the egg out of her pocket, because most of the egg is other stuff that makes food and air for us to breathe. We’re not very big when we hatch out, just big enough to climb in and out, and we don’t have any feathers or fur. So we stay in the pocket most of the time after we hatch, to stay warm until we grow our fur. When we first come out, the mamas give us meat, more and more as our fur grows on us.”
“Did your mother tell you to tell us all that?”
“Yes. My mama and Dawn-song’s mama. And they said you would give me a name. I think that’s nice, having a name. We never did that.”
Willum and Needly shared a glance, both of them feeling the weight of these lives settle heavily on them. What was it Willum had said? Name something, you’re responsible for it. Needly adopted an oracular posture and intoned: “I name you ‘Amber-ears.’ ” The word echoed in the cavern . . . eers, eers, eers.
Willum repeated the phrase and the name, matching the tone of voice. The little one frolicked around them, repeating the name. “Ammereers. Ammereers. Amber-ears.” They stared as the ears rose and spread above her head like the wings of a bird, shining, long and tufted. “Amber-ears,” she caroled delightedly. “Amber-ears.”
Willum asked the air: “Is there anything else we’re supposed to know?”
“I need a name,” said the other little one. “Does my mama have a name?”
Needly answered. “Yes. Your mother is Silver-shanks, and you are ‘Snow-foot.’ ”
“Snow-foot,” the little one said, examining her feet. They were white. She ran out her claws, as a cat does when it stretches. They were silvery white, metallic. “Snow-foot.”
Dawn-song had joined them. “We have to take care of three eggs. Mama said this big egg is almost ready to hatch. That’s usually when a mama finishes the nest she’s been building somewhere safe and warm. From then on, the mamas can sometimes leave it for a little while, while they hunt. Sometimes big animals fight back, and the baby in the pocket might get kicked or gored, so they leave the baby for a little while they find food.”
Willum frowned as he asked, “Dawn-song, do you and Amber-ears have big enough pockets for the two little eggs to fit in?”
Needly turned toward him. His face was a little flushed, as though he were embarrassed. He went on doggedly. “The eggs aren’t very big at all. Would it be it be all right for you to . . . tend the eggs in your pockets?”
The two little ones stared at each other, turning the idea over and over. At last Dawn-song said tentatively, “Willum, Mama told me a long-ago story, about a Griffin who had sister babies, and the older one took care of the egg.”
“Is it unusual for a Griffin to have both a half-grown girl child and an egg?” asked Needly.
Amber-ears cried, “Oh, yes! Yes! What she said about the long-ago! Yes, it made me remember! In the long-ago, before Despos got so big and before he killed the other fathers, Mama said there were more eggs then, more young, no one was breaking them, killing them! There were big . . . sister babies, yes. And big—what is a he-sister?”
“He-sister? You mean a brother?” Willum asked
“Bro-therz. Brothers, yes. Brother children. Brothers even helping mothers bring food for children, brother ones protecting the little ones!”
Needly turned to stare at Willum, several layers of thought going on at once. How sensible of him to have thought of that! And how helpful! With a two-thousand-year life-span, a three-hundred-year childhood, and babies needing to be fed fresh meat . . . mothers would need all the help they could get!
Willum nodded, his mouth set. “Well then, that’s all three of the babies named and two of the eggs provided for.” He took Needly’s hand, an icy little hand. The air coming through the cave entrance was cold. Her lips were almost blue, and he drew her toward the fire in the back corner of the cave. “What about the biggest egg, Needly?”
She collapsed near the fire. “We’ll just have to bring it over here and keep the fire going.” As Willum went back to get the egg, rolling it across the cavern floor toward her, she held out her hands to the flame as she asked, “Dawn-song, how are we to nourish the eggs properly? Our skins won’t provide food. Nor yours, probably.”
“Mama said it will only be for a little while, Needly. The mamas have all flown back to their nests. When they get there, they will try to find prey nearby that they can kill and take back to their nests. When Despos comes looking to see their pockets and their nests are empty, there will be meat there, and he will eat it. When he eats, he is sleepier, not so likely to hurt things. When he has seen all the nests, he will fly north, east, where the island is said to be.”
Willum said, “That’s what’s ’sposed to happen. Yeah.”
Dawn-song said, “While that happens, we will keep the two smaller eggs warm in our pockets, and the biggest one can go here, near the fire. We can keep all of them moist on the outside by wiping them with water. Sometimes, if mamas have to go far away, hunting when the egg is very big, she will leave it behind and the egg dries out. That keeps the inside of it safe until she gets back. It doesn’t let any moisture out that way. But then, when she comes back, she has to moisten it and get it soft again so it can go back in the pocket. Usually, a mama licks it all over. As soon as Despos goes away, the mamas will come back and get their eggs or their children. It won’t be long.”
Despos going away seemed to be the final word on the matter. With one quick glance Willum and Needly shared hope that Despos would indeed go before he killed anything else. Following the instructions Sun-wings had given them, Willum went to cover the carcass left outside. The house-skin she had mentioned was there: Sun-wings had robbed someone of a tent, ropes and pegs dangling from it. He examined it for bloodstains, finding none. At least it had not been taken forcibly while occupied. And it would serve the purpose Sun-wings had intended for it. He tugged the tent across the buffalo carcass and laid some branches atop the pile. From above, it should look only like a pile of debris at the foot of the cliff that loomed above them. The cave entry was shadowed by an overhang. It was not a bad place to be—under the circumstances!
They had already brought in water and a sizable supply of firewood; the fire had been placed in the most sheltered corner, and the smoke was leaking into a little recess and away through a fissure at its top. It was almost like a fireplace, Needly thought as she pulled the mattresses where they could gather near the warmth. Everything above them was forested. The smoke would indeed appear to come from a hunter’s camp, like all those they had seen from the top of the pass.
They laid the three mattresses in a triangle, one corner of the triangle quite near the low and shadowed recess where the fire burned. The big egg went at that corner, taking up the end of one small mattress. When they had wiped the egg with warm water, they covered it with a blanket, and Willum pointed out the other end of that mattress and announced that it was his place. The larger mattress came next, Needly on the end next to Willum and Dawnsong at the other. The other small mattress held Snow-�
�foot and Amber-ears. Willum stood, considering the arrangement, and asked Needly, “Y’think it’ll work?”
From her place next to Dawn-song she murmured, “From what I’ve heard them say, Willum, all the Griffins in the world are here, on this side of the world, this continent and the one to the south: Grandma called them Normery Cah and Sowmery Cah. The Griffins were designed to live among mountains, and they’ve stayed in this range for hundreds of years—it goes way up into the northlands—or the one to the south that lies all along the western sea. They need companionship, just as we do, but remaining together has made them easy prey for Despos. He’s too big. He’s too powerful. He’s too . . . Grandma used a word . . . ‘paranoid.’ It’s a kind of insanity! It means he’s always afraid something, everything is trying to kill him, so he kills everything before it has a chance.
“When they’re sure he’s really gone, the egg mothers will come back here for their eggs; Sun-wings, Golden-throat, and Silver-shanks will come for their little ones and they will go south and then turn westward to fly island by island to Tingawa. That’s the way Xulai said they had to go so they won’t need to fly too far in each step. It’s hard to fly a long way carrying the little ones.”
Willum murmured, “It’d be good to send a message to Xulai; she put paper and a pen in the things she sent. She has ways to talk to the people in Tingawa and she c’d let’m know the Griffins are comin’. And we might be able to help. We might be able to cut up that tent out there and make a harness so they could carry the little ones easier.” He yawned gapingly. “I tell you one thing, Needly. Whoever made those Griffins didn’t know much about keepin’ a healthy flock or herd. Even my grandpa—and Grandma allus said he was no wizard—but even he knew you have to breed out some. Y’can’t have only one he-critter for a flock. One at a time’s all right, otherwise they fight, but you got to switch between ’em. She says that’s why men get the wanderlust, so they’ll go breed out some, and it’s why some families fade away to nothin’. Royal people in olden times, like. They got all family-proud and they died off from inbreedin’. You gotta watch it, Needly. You do.”
He nodded to himself in confirmation, then, with a determined expression, strode across the cave and just outside, to the carcass. After an arduous session of slicing around bone and sinew accompanied by half-swallowed curses, he returned with a large, bloody chunk off which he and Needly carefully cut small shreds and fed them raw to the three Griffin babies until the young ones said enough. Then they salted and roasted bits for themselves, talking about salt and did Griffins eat salt? And where did they find it? Saltgosh, they decided. At night, when no one was watching.
This matter talked out, the young ones began to think of possible names for the three not yet hatched. Both Willum and Needly were indignant that the babies already hatched had not been named before! “Like they were just things,” whispered Needly. “Like they didn’t matter!” They and the little ones agreed, however, that babies not yet hatched could not be named as yet. It could be done far better after the Namer knew at the very least whether they were male or female.
“Male or female?” whispered Willum, recognizing the possibility for the first time. “Oh, Needly, what if . . . ?”
“Shh” She put her hand across his mouth. “Don’t even think about it. And not a word, Not until . . . you know. Later.”
They could go without sleep no longer. Willum took off his boots and lay with his head and shoulders near Needly’s, his own stockinged feet beneath the blanket that covered the largest egg. The warm air flowing past it was keeping it warm. It moved, and he could feel each tremor with his toes. Blanketed, Dawn-song lay aslant on the larger mattress, leaving a triangular space next to her belly where Needly lay, her back against the little Griffin’s pocket. From there she could whisper to Willum and feel the touch of his hand as well as feeling the egg inside Dawn-song’s pocket as it shifted and stirred. Little Snow-foot and Amber-ears were cuddled together like kittens, Amber-ears’ pocket against Snow-foot’s warm belly, both well covered.
Three baby Griffins, three Griffin eggs, all of them warm, and those that needed feeding had been fed. Thank heaven Xulai had been liberal with the blankets. One way or another, as Grandma used to say. Whatever needs doing, we will do! One way or another!
Chapter 8
Unnatural Beasts
THE GRIFFIN NEEDLY AND WILLUM IDENTIFIED AS SILVER-SHANKS returned at dawn. Though Xulai had told Needly that she thought no reptile genes had been included in the Griffin heritage, everything about this particular Griffin evoked the image and idea of serpents. Only moments before she landed outside the cave, they heard her screaming from the height and Needly thought of snakes. She reminded herself that snakes were voiceless, that they certainly did not scream. Nonetheless, her involuntary mental picture at the cave entrance moments later was that she confronted the fanged strike of a snake.
She and Willum came hand in hand no farther into the cave entrance than needed for Silver-shanks to see them as she went on shrieking: “Despos went to the nests . . . lusting for killing . . . for blood . . . for tearing and rending . . . Despos wanted something to kill . . . no eggs made him more angry . . . there were no young . . .
“No one was near enough except your . . . friend.” The word became a foulness, spit from the beast’s mouth with particular emphasis. “He would kill her. Aha.” The laugh was exultant. “Aha, she was not quick enough!”
“What happened?” Needly asked from a dry, trembling mouth, feeling the blood drain from her face.
“He hit her. Oh, he hit her with his talons. She went down, down. I went to see. She is still alive.” Silver-shanks preened, her crest rising, her claws extending as she gloated. “Not for long, perhaps.”
Needly felt Willum’s hand clench in anger. She squeezed it with all her strength, saying silently, Be still, Willum. Be still. Needly felt as he did; she wanted to hit at the creature, call an avalanche down on her. Anything to stop that voice. She swallowed the impulse, contained it, concentrated all her anger, all her hatred into a point of fire, as Grandma had taught her to do. “Where is she?”
“There!” The Griffin shrugged toward the southeast. “She cannot fly. She cannot walk. Despos, he did not kill her. Enough she was down. He found rising air, he circled in it upward and upward, until he was the size of a bird! I am here to get my child now. The others are coming.”
“Won’t you help us get to Sun-wings?” Needly asked calmly, calmly. “Can’t you take us to her?”
“I am not going that way,” Silver-shanks snarled.
“It wouldn’t take long to take us, and her child.”
“I have my child to carry. I will not try to carry two mankinds or a Griffin cub.”
Needly swallowed deeply. “Did you bring Sun-wings any food?”
“She’s not a hatchling!” Silver-shanks sneered. “Let her look to herself!”
The words slipped out before Needly could stop them. “So you do not really care for one another. And yet you let her help you with Despos? Does that not seem to require that you help her?”
“What is this help? This require! Griffins feed selves. Griffins feed hatchlings! If Griffin cannot kill, Griffin dies.” Though her great beak did not have the expression lips would have given her, the tissue around it and between the eyes was capable of movement. Silver-shanks emitted scorn, dislike . . . actual hostility. Needly remembered Sunwings’ words all at once: “hostility,” “envy.” This was one of the other kind she had spoken of.
Needly’s body was momentarily paralyzed, but her mind was rushing wildly: Sun-wings understood “help.” Silver-shanks did not. Sun-wings spoke fluently; Silver-shanks seemed to resent speaking at all, or, perhaps, resented speaking to humans. Which one of them was typical of Griffins, or was there such a thing as “typical”? As with humans, one would have to evaluat
e Griffins as individuals. Humans were both good and evil. Humans had created both good and evil things. But generally each separate kind of creature had been one or the other, not both! Now it seemed that Griffins were likely to be as variable as . . . as human beings? As variable as Gralf from Grandma!
Adding to her immediate dismay was the struggle inside her own body. It had always belonged to her, done what it was required to do, been what it was expected to be. Now . . . now it had become a container for strange new feelings, unfamiliar new intentions!
She took a deep breath and did what Grandma would have told her to do, if she had been here. Analyze. How did it feel? If it had color, what color would it be? What part of her felt it the most?
It felt as though there were something new inside her, an actual physical thing that started inside the top of her skull and reached, stretched—yes, it had a definite feeling of effort, that stretching—reached all the way down to the bottoms of her feet. It was taut as a bowstring! Something tight that hummed and was hot! A red-hot something vibrating inside her! Even in Tuckwhip she had been this angry only a few times: When Grandma was killed. When Gralf announced that he had sold her. Everything went up in flames . . . as though the world were on fire!
She shut her eyes, breathed deeply, spoke to herself in Grandma’s voice: “Derail it, now!” Her mouth began the recital of meaningless syllables, amaba, bamaba, camaba, damaba, eamaba, famaba, gamaba . . . Grandma had called them “derailing words.” Of course, Grandma had then had to explain what rails had been, and used for what, and how “being on rails” could describe a mental state, and why “derailing” was sometimes a bad thing and sometimes an extremely good idea because rails went only where they went. One could not choose a route, and if one did not want to go where these particular rails were going, one needed to derail. Hamaba, iamaba, jamaba, the red fading, kamaba, lamaba . . . cooling the fiery orange-red to softer scarlet, then to rose, to pink, a quiet, gently intimate pink. Thus one could move one’s concentration away from fury into a more . . . controllable state.
Fish Tails Page 37
