On the Subject of Griffons

by Lindsey Byrd

  Blue like the fables of the old Mer Sea, where even sailors feared to go, and so clear she could see all the way to the bottom. She could see the fish swimming. There were turtles walking on the shore. A beaver was paddling along toward the center of the lake, unbothered by their appearance. The ground beneath them shifted from a thick forest undergrowth to creamy rich sands. Kera slid off her horse; her feet sank into the soft earth and it felt wonderful.

  She pulled her son down and held him to her body. She approached the water and knelt by the shore, lowering him so his fevered skin could touch the lapping waves. He shifted in her arms, squirming so he could get a good look at the water. Aiden reached for it and she eased him closer, watching as his fingers sank beneath the surface. He giggled a touch, raising his fever-bright eyes to look at her face. Perfection.

  Kera tilted her head up, but there was no great flap of wings in the sky. There was no sign of a half-lion, half-eagle creature diving through clouds or soaring over treetops. As far as the woods were concerned, there was nothing here but silence. Silence and the strange, beautiful lake. Narrow enough that she could see both sides of it at once, but stretching out so far that she couldn’t see its end. It went on for miles. She tried to imagine miles of crystal-blue water and picturesque serenity.

  “We should keep looking,” Aurora said, and Kera agreed. She filled their canteens, then climbed back on her horse with Aiden. They followed the shoreline, looking in every direction for a sign that they had come to the right place.

  Hours passed.

  There was no sign.

  By the time night arrived, Kera couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Aurora used to feel when she would stare into windows and watch the wealthy dancing inside. She could see what she wanted, it was right before her, but she couldn’t grasp it. She couldn’t reach the peace and joy and happiness that were just standing there out of touch.

  Maybe we’re cursed . . .

  They settled for the evening, preparing their circle and pulling their saddles from their horses. Even as darkness descended around them, there were no ghosts here. There were no death marches or wraiths. The woods were silent.

  They were quieter, even, than Mount Maladh with all its insulated walls. It felt almost unnatural after so long on the road. Unnatural, but pleasant and safe. Safe enough that Kera managed to convince Aurora to get some rest. She could keep first watch. She wasn’t even tired. Tension had taken over her body. Each muscle was locked in and held firm. Breathing was a chore. The children were exhausted and sleeping in moments, but the mere thought of shutting her eyes and missing something sent pinpricks down Kera’s spine.

  “You’ve been strange since the march,” Aurora said.

  “I’m fine.” Kera kissed Aurora’s brow and tucked the younger woman to her side. It felt natural. Like an extension of herself. “Get some rest.”

  The griffons had to be here. They had to be. They couldn’t have come this far to be let down.

  Aurora nodded against her breast, and fell asleep.

  The moon cast a pleasant light over them.

  It was ghostly white, illuminating the ground so it sparkled. Luminescent insects glowed as they buzzed about the air. They looked like fairies, and Kera rather hoped they weren’t, because if Aurora hated ghosts, she would hate fairies.

  At one point or another, Kera shifted and helped lower Aurora so she was curled up next to Faith on the ground. Then she checked on Aiden. His skin still burned hot beneath her touch. He’d lost even more weight since they’d left Mount Maladh. His cheeks, once coated in a soft layer of baby fat, now had skin stretched tight around his bones. She could feel his ribs on his chest. His flesh was paper thin.

  “We’re going to find the griffons,” Kera told her sleeping child. “They’re here somewhere. We’re not leaving until we find them, and save you both.” They’d come so far. There had to be something here. Even if she hadn’t seen it yet, she knew. The gods weren’t cruel enough to make them fail now.

  Gritting her teeth, she wrapped Najah’s blankets tighter around him, then checked on Faith at his side. The teenager was twitching in her sleep, kicking like she was trying to run away. Her body was whip thin, her clothes draping over her so much they seemed to sag. Kera ran a hand through Faith’s hair, hoping to soothe her, but her fingers snagged as they did. And, to her horror, when she pulled her hand back, a tight clump of hair came with it. Nausea bubbled up Kera’s throat. Pushing backward, she threw herself to her feet.

  Tears pressed against her eyes, and she walked to the outer rim of their circle, desperately trying to dislodge Faith’s curls from her fingers. Faith hadn’t even woken when her hair came free. She’d just moaned piteously and jerked and twitched, eyelids fluttering as if she were battling some nightmarish fiend trapped within her mind.

  The nausea swam up Kera’s throat. She coughed, gagging as anxiety teetered into hysteria. They needed to find the griffons. They had to find the griffons. Neither child would last much longer. Faith least of all.

  Swallowing again and again, Kera barely managed to keep the sick within her body. She couldn’t look back at the kids, too scared that if she did, one would be dead and they really would have been here too late.

  Something shuffled in the trees. Kera’s head snapped toward it in an instant. She couldn’t see anything in the dark, but she cast her ears outward in hopes of picking up the size and location of the creature. The rustling continued, steadily, rhythmically. An unnaturally perfect beat that sounded like the soft roll of a drum. Kera walked to the edge of their fire line, and peered out into the gloom.

  The rustling continued but her ears identified the sound. Footfalls. There were footfalls in the woods, and each one resonated with a deep bass from the hollow of the earth. Kera’s heart sped in response, a snare echoing the bass but driving it faster at the same time. The measure reached the end of its line and it looped about endlessly. There was no rest, no pause to catch a breath, just an endless repeat as the phrase played twenty notes in fast succession, each one louder than the one that came before. It built in a crescendo in her head, but Aurora slept on and the children didn’t stir. The woods stayed quiet, and the cacophony was hers alone. But it was impossible to ignore. It drowned the sound of everything else around her. The tide whooshed along in tandem. Follow it.

  There was a shape in the darkness. Massive. Tall. It walked forward with slow steps. A shadow navigating the underbrush. The bass drum kept on, like a metronome guiding her heart. She counted the beats. One, two, three, four, five, six, one, two, three, four, five, six.

  Follow it, follow it, follow it.

  It was not a wraith. Something tall spread off the back of the shadow, but it wasn’t a shroud. Kera stepped forward. Her toes edged the fire line. She felt it warming her body and licking against her skin. Wings. Those were wings.

  Kera crossed over the line.

  The flames traced up her legs, but she wasn’t burnt. She walked without pause, following the figure as it slipped through the trees. Its front was held high and noble; the back swished and swayed with each padding step.

  It moved leisurely, emerging from the woods and following the lines of the lake with a kind of grace that Kera had never seen in another animal. John was right. Beast seemed like the wrong word. It was too beautiful to be called a beast.

  Follow it, follow it, follow it.

  A massive tail swished from the left to the right with each step forward. Its wings were folded along its spine. Together, she and the griffon walked farther from the camp. The occasional feather slipped from the wings and fluttered to the ground. Kera saw slight bits of hardness left behind on the soft sand beneath her feet. Shavings from the talons? Her heart clenched in her chest. Her fingers twitched at her sides, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t. They weren’t given freely. Even as castoffs, they weren’t hers to take.

  She followed it until the griffon stopped. It turned toward the lake and folded its front legs to kneel at the waters
ide. It lapped a few sips from the lake. Kera’s breath caught in her throat, wheezing out a noise she hadn’t meant to make. It was an accidental slide of a bow over strings, a squeaking screeching thing that couldn’t be described as anything except utterly off-key.

  The griffon’s head rose. Its front legs unfolded and it stood. It turned toward her, great wings spreading and arching so that the whole span could be seen from the crest of the arch down to the end of its primary and secondary feathers. The face was more owl than eagle, with wide piercing eyes, though its body was certainly feline.

  The griffon sat, letting its rump plop to the ground with a noisy thud. Its tail curled around its talons, and it looked Kera straight in the eye. “Welcome, Lady Montgomery. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  All things considered, Kera was grateful that she knew griffons could speak before today. Not that she had believed John, but it helped. She managed to bite her tongue in time to keep from proclaiming, You can talk! in all its rude and affronting glory. Instead, she stared at the griffon and felt as though the breath was knocked from her lungs, and she wanted nothing more than to organize her mind into compartments that made some semblance of sense, but nothing was working and her mind was a mess and—

  “You should breathe,” she was advised.

  Yes. Breathing was important.

  Open mouth. Expand lungs. Hold for at least five seconds. Let it out. She felt dizzy, but the breathing was helping. Good. At least . . . griffons were polite? This one was, in any case. Kera didn’t think it was a good practice to make an assumption on an entire species off the representation of one griffon—that was an unrealistic sample. Besides being bad science, it was also rude. Aurora would tell her she was being rude. She would be right too.

  Still.

  This one was making a good impression.

  “You can relax,” she was instructed. And just how was the griffon speaking? Exactly? Because its—Hers? The voice sounded feminine?—beak wasn’t moving and it/she was still sitting there and—and— “We can hear your thoughts,” the griffon told her.

  And John clearly missed that in his research, because Kera felt very ill-prepared indeed. Also. The griffon was laughing at her now. There were clicking chuckles filling Kera’s mind, and the griffon’s shoulders were shaking. The wings were fluffing out. Its eyes squinted, feathers puffing as the beak opened just a touch.

  “In his defense,” the griffon told her. “He was a child when we met.”

  “You’re the same one,” Kera gasped. She felt dull and dim-witted. Everything was rushing about in her head, and if it was true that the griffon could hear her thoughts, then the beast must know how rude she was being. But if this griffon was the same one that John knew—

  “We are.” Oh. Kera was staring again. “Our name is Raslidor . . . and you may consider us whatever gender you wish. We are not constrained.” Kera had no idea what that meant, but she nodded anyway. “Welcome to our home.”

  “Our . . . we?” Kera looked around, but she saw no other griffons.

  Raslidor stood. She—no . . . Raslidor kept saying we so . . . they?— walked toward Kera, and Kera kept still and did her best not to flinch. She didn’t even feel her muscles tightening from fear or stress. The moon shone down around them, and Kera dedicated herself to memorizing the griffon’s appearance.

  Raslidor’s feathers were a tawny brown, dappled with black flecks that grew more pervasive around their face. There was a narrow ring of white feathers around Raslidor’s eyes that framed and accented the glowing yellow of their irises with sharp acuity. A lighter brown dipped off from the corners, followed by darker hues that skittered like pepper grains down their body. Their beak curved low in front of their face. It was black, hooked, and savage. Yet Raslidor’s face didn’t hold even a trace of violence or potential will to attack. Their body language remained neutral.

  The tufts of feathers that curved like ears off the top of their head were various shades of brown. The feline hindquarters slid into the avian front with tufts of fluff that seemed to be . . . everywhere. Kera couldn’t tell where the feathers ended and the fur began, but the process seemed gradual. Her examination led her eyes toward a curled tail that was far fluffier than Kera had imagined, less lion and more . . . house cat. While well-groomed, the tail was perhaps the most surprising part of the whole appearance.

  “We are one,” Raslidor said. “All of us, all of our kind. We are one. We share one thought. We speak one language. We listen to one voice.”

  “You mate for life,” Kera offered up, flushing as she realized how inappropriate it was to say. But she didn’t know what else to add. She couldn’t help but stumble about in a desperate attempt to show she had at least some intelligence. She felt so insignificant in front of Raslidor.

  But Raslidor didn’t seem offended, and instead nodded their great head. “Physically we mate with one of ourselves, but our souls and minds share many partners. We are never alone. We never wish to be alone. We are one. Our children and our families are ourselves.”

  John had either been too young to understand, or had willfully left such complexities from the book. His drawings had been far more accurate than his reporting of their social structure. “He was a good boy,” Raslidor told Kera. “We were sorry to see him go.”

  “You know he’s dead?” Kera asked. She felt as though she were caught in the middle of a song. There was sheet music she could read just fine if the tempo stayed slow, but the metronome kept ticking faster and she wasn’t skilled enough to keep up.

  “We know everything.”

  Everything. How could one being know everything?

  “The same way we know your thoughts. We listen. We think. We analyze and decide.” Raslidor lowered their head. They pressed what Kera assumed was their brow against her hand. It took her a moment to respond, but she did. She lifted her fingers up and slid them through the feathers, letting them coil along the tufts and slide across the skull.

  Each feather was soft, softer than any bird she’d ever felt. Slight edges of fur lined each feather, so fine that she couldn’t see them on the smaller feathers. The larger ones were more obvious. Her fingertip traced an edge. Softer than a baby’s skin, more gentle than any fabric. “We’ve been listening to you for a while,” Raslidor continued. “Since you left home.”

  “How?” Kera asked, still stroking her hand through the down. Some of the feathers were crooked on top of each other. She fixed them, nudging them into place until they lay flat.

  When Raslidor responded, their answer was no less vague. “We listened, and we waited.” Perhaps there was no better explanation. Perhaps it was a paradigm Raslidor had no interest in elaborating on. “Your son and daughter are sick.”

  Faith was not her daughter. Kera said as much as she finished fixing the feathers. Her hands wanted to travel more, to keep feeling the amazing body beneath her touch. “Blood does not combine a family. We are not blood to many of our kin, but that does not mean we are not kin.”

  Kera let that thought circulate in her brain for a moment. Then, with a deep breath, she stepped back so she could meet Raslidor’s eyes. “Can you help them?” she asked with all the hope in her heart. She trembled as she asked it. Adrenaline flooded her bloodstream and left her dizzy once the words took shape in the air.

  “Yes.”

  It was almost too easy. “Will you help them?” Kera clarified, just to be certain. Raslidor’s shoulders rose and fell with gentle jitters, their beak opened to make that strange clicking noise. They were laughing.

  “Yes.”

  Too easy. The laughter paused. Raslidor’s head tilted to the side, considering.

  “Why?” Kera asked. If merely asking was all it took . . . then why did no one believe the griffons would help? Why had each person they’d met tried to turn them away?

  It couldn’t be as simple as asking.

  Raslidor stretched out their legs. Their back arched, wings spreading as far as they would go. Sixteen feet?
Twenty? Kera had never been good at judging distance before, and it was a greater span than what she imagined they would be.

  She was almost disappointed when the wings folded back into their seated position, settling once more. Raslidor lifted their talons next, one by one like fingers rapping on a writing desk. They lifted up and curled down, squeezing sand beneath their claws. “We choose to help because of who you are.”

  Kera didn’t understand. “The . . . Widow Montgomery?” Lady Montgomery was how Raslidor had greeted her, but the griffon shook their head and continued curling their talons into the sand.

  “That is a name, a title, it is not who you are.” Raslidor’s voice was calming and gentle. It penetrated through Kera’s skull with soft reassurances and pervasive intent. “You are many things, but you are not merely a name. You are not a Leona, not a Montgomery, you are you. And who you are is infinitely more important than what your name is. Just as we are more than our name.”

  “How do you know who I am?” Kera asked.

  This time, when Raslidor sighed it was a whole-body affair. Their wings slid a little from their back. “We listened.”

  “You keep saying that—”

  “You thought of us, in your home. When you held John’s book. You thought of us.” She didn’t know it was them, though. She’d been thinking of griffons as a whole. She had done so their whole journey. She’d followed the paths that led her here, but she hadn’t imagined Raslidor specifically. “It matters little,” they told her. “We are one. And intent, Lady Montgomery, is everything.”

  Najah had said the same. She’d given them crystals and told them that the intent alone made them work. Only by gifting such an item with the intent to wish well could the gems protect them. “She was not wrong. Intent defines all life. Some thoughts are passing, some are meaningless, but intent . . . that is all that matters.”