~
At sunset on the next new moon he decided that the best way to do it was simply to blurt it out. Feeling no courage whatsoever, he said to his father, “Father, I am leaving! I must find a way to avenge Atdaholyn’s death, for I vowed long ago I would avenge him if someone hurt him. I must fly the warmer currents, and find a wise gryphon, human or elf, who knows how to make this elf-mage suffer the same fate as my cousin. I must avenge Atdaholyn’s death, for I vowed long ago to protect him, and if I could not do that, to avenge him.”
“Cub, I beg you to reconsider this! Why throw away your life on a futile quest for vengeance? We have found a new eyrie; the elf-mage does not know where we are. Your uncle has no doubt found an eyrie further to the west. You have your whole life ahead of you. Please don’t throw it away on a futile venture, doomed to fail! Only in cubs’ tales and foolish myths and legends do gryphons find a way to avenge injustice – in reality, those who attempt such foolhardy action end up on the funeral pyre, their ashes ascending to the sky. Please, my cub, do not take this flight-path. Find a gryphon-wife instead and start your own eyrie – you are nearly of age. You have much joy and contentment ahead of you if you will only avert yourself from this unwise course of action. It was a foolish vow. Let Ellulianaen take vengeance. It is not ours to take. So says the gryphon-lore.”
“Let Ellulianaen take vengeance? He was the one that let it happen!” cried Hwedolyn. “I hate Ellulianaen! The Gryphon-King doesn’t care for us, or he wouldn’t have let Atdaholyn die! Why would he hurt the elf-mage, if he let him hurt Atdaholyn in the first place? If Ellulianaen exists, then he is no better than the elf-mage, he is a tormenter, who tortures his creatures. You simply accept the injustice that was done to us, to me. My cousin was killed, and I made a solemn vow to avenge him. Is a gryphon not bound to his word? In any case, that elf-mage will be somewhere in the wide world doing terrible harm to innocent creatures, gryphons or humans or elves, who deserve no more than Atdaholyn did. Someone must know how to send this elf-mage to the underworld of mist, or turn him into a cypress that will live for thousands of years, or inflict some other well-deserved fate upon him. That elf-mage is an evil creature, and should be extinguished, or if that cannot be, for some mortals say that elves can never die, then he should be put into a dungeon or a place where he can do no further harm to anyone. Don’t talk to me about Ellulianaen.”
Then his mother Tiawéflyn spoke, “Please, Hwedolyn, my cub, you are grieving me terribly. Don’t you realise that your cousin is in the heavens now, flying alongside the Gryphon-King? He is in a better place, now. But we don’t want to lose you. Do not leave us, do not grieve your father and me or worry us like this! Was it not enough grief for us to lose your cousin? Perhaps you may die as well, and then we will have no descendants to remember our names, and nobody will remember Milélyn and Thwyrlyn, either.”
And Halomlyn and Tiawéflyn both wept. But Hwedolyn’s jaw was set, his beak was closed, and his brow wore a stubborn set.
“Do not leave me, my cub!” said Halomlyn, his square jaw shaking ungryphonfully, “You are not yet of age, and though I will not use force to compel you, nevertheless, as your father I command you not to go. Do not fulfil a vow that has no further use, for your cousin is dead! He’s dead!”
Hwedolyn had tried to forget, he had tried to let go of these thoughts of vengeance upon the elf-mage which had become like a maniacal obsession, but the vow had taken root in Hwedolyn’s soul, it kept him awake into the small hours of the night when young gryphons ought to sleep, it hardened his heart to his mother’s fears and his father’s commands, and his faith in Ellulianaen had been shaken to the core. His heart was bitter and nothing could change it.
So, later that night he told them that he loved them, but that he must leave. His mother began to sob disconsolately while his father tenderly covered her with his wings, weeping silently himself, his shoulders rounded and his beak hanging open with grief as he watched as Hwedolyn ascended onto the breeze and made his new home upon the unstable currents of the air that blow this way or that without meaning or purpose.
Slowly Hwedolyn disappeared over the distant horizon and they wondered if they would ever see him again.
Halomlyn said stodgily, “We must let him go.”
In the silence that followed, Tiawéflyn said, “He is not yet an adult gryphon. He reminds me so of his grandfather! Oh, that he should have inherited my father’s stubbornness, it could only ever mean trouble.”
“Yes,” replied Halomlyn, squaring his jaw, “but he is not a dishonest gryphon. And it is said that Ellulianaen protects the singlehearted. Ah, I hope that the King of the Gryphons will protect him, even though Hwedolyn has abandoned Him. We must hope against hope that he will return to us unscathed. Surely it would be too much grief to lose Hwedolyn as well! I blame myself for this, for my counsel was ill all along!” And they both wept bitterly as the new moon rose, dark, inscrutable, like a gaping hole in the heavens.
As Hwedolyn glided on the warm currents in the black sky that night he felt lonelier and more forlorn by the minute. His vow was the only thing that prevented him from returning to his father’s eyrie. He had no idea how he would avenge his cousin’s death, and every league further from home made him even more uncertain about his future.
He flew on for countless leagues and only alighted on the earth just before dawn, for he had espied a small cave atop a hill in the Ioslirae forest. He flew down and hid in the cave as dawn lit the sky and the morning birds began to sing. A flock of bats flew out as he crawled farther in. The cramped space was far too tight for a gryphon, but stayed there, fearing that a wanderer in the forest might see his tail protruding from the mouth of the cave if he was any closer to the entrance.
As the day passed, the tips of his wings went numb, for they were bent in at an unnatural angle between the cramped walls of the cave. Thankfully a small stream went past him from which he could drink at will, but its icy water froze his talons, and by evening his stomach was grumbling. The thought of a goat stew with some golden mead to wash it down almost made him turn around and fly back to his parents’ eyrie right at that moment, but pride made him stay where he was. He was in that cave for that day and night and the next day, finding a slightly more comfortable position by turning around to face the entrance, though his wingtips were sore and his talons went numb.
But as the third night fell a stray, lonely mountain sheep wandered into the cavern, and Hwedolyn felt such an affinity with its forlornness that for a short while he did not attack it, but watched it bleating and even considered picking it up and flying it back to its flock. But when he grasped it with a talon the sheep went into such a frenzied panic that the gryphon broke its neck out of pity, and then ravenously ate it, though its flesh was tough and wiry. Perhaps it been wandering alone in the forest for many days.
Hwedolyn had never eaten raw meat before, and it was no great pleasure. Afterwards he washed his beak in the stream again and again, for despite washing it he still did not feel clean.
Misery overshadowed him for a while, but then an even more disturbing humour took hold: he began to feel comfortable in his melancholic mood. Dark thoughts crowded around, doubts and despairs, whispering, counselling desolation, and he decided that he would never move again or leave the cave.
A guttural voice from behind him in the darkness of the cave jolted him out of his doom-laden reverie, saying, “Thuun bijes staung anes min hohl thelehondyr!”
Hwedolyn craned his neck to see who or what had spoken, and saw a dwarf standing behind him, wearing a green hat made of moss, shaped like the roof of a peasant hut, and a cloak.
In the darkness Hwedolyn could not tell the colour of the cloak, but he could see the detail of the beautiful brooch that held it in place, and the dwarf’s bearded face, as ugly as a twisted mandrake root, and his eyes beneath his brow that bore the heavy stamp of earth and cave, ground and rock, dirt and stone. On his shoulder he carried a hammer, and there was a bag at
tached to his belt that clinked and tinkled.
Hwedolyn was not absolutely sure what the dwarf had said, but it sounded like a rare Northerniaen dialect for “You’re standing in my doorway.” Gryphons have a facility for languages, and Hwedolyn said, “Halyfaemir, trogvt,” which he guessed might be a polite way of saying, “Excuse me, dwarf!” in the same language.
The dwarf replied, “Ha! Thuun sprekanung anes orfoe zungom, krupfenen,” which Hwedolyn was sure meant, “Ha! You speak in a strange tongue, gryphon!” The dwarf followed it with, “Bij’n altriktig – ” “That’s alright,” with a frown that said it wasn’t.
“What are you here in my cave for, lion-eagle?” asked the dwarf in the same tongue, and Hwedolyn replied, “I am on a quest;” or at least, that is what he thought he said, for still he wasn’t certain of the dialect.
The dwarf asked, “What kind of quest, gryphon?”
Hwedolyn replied, “A quest to keep a vow to avenge my cousin’s killer.”
“A weighty quest indeed!” replied the dwarf. “I’d wager few could stand against a gryphon, although he be not quite of adult age. You seek an enemy of power and might, no doubt, for I can think of none who’d have the strength to kill your kin, save perhaps a doughty dwarf-warrior.”
Hwedolyn said, “I believe it was an elf-mage, a Chancellor, who killed my cousin. I do not know the villain’s name.”
The dwarf nodded. “So, a Chancellor can kill a gryphon. Whether a Chancellor could kill a dwarf-warrior I do not know!” The dwarf scratched the ground with his hammer. He looked up at Hwedolyn. “Ever have the elves subjugated others.”
“Indeed,” replied Hwedolyn, “But I have no idea how to defeat a Chancellor! That is the knowledge I need to fulfil my quest.”
“And who would possibly know the answer to that?” said the dwarf.
“Not a dwarf,” said Hwedolyn rather rudely.
The dwarf said, “Many are the secrets hidden in the bowels of the earth, many are the treasures that the veins of the earth reveal, and many are the things that dwarves know. Some say gryphons guard gold. Hast thou any gold, gryphon?” he asked, changing the subject rather unexpectedly.
“No,” said Hwedolyn. “But I know of a town where the sons of men mine platinum, palladium, and quartz, five days’ flight from here, though it might be longer for a dwarf on foot.”
The dwarf said, “If you promise to take me to the town wherein these mines are, I will take you to one who knows the answers to many secrets, gryphon; a wise dwarf, who has mined the Underearth to find things that men and elves know not!”
“Indeed, dwarf. I will happily show you where the town of Hathion Kathuiolké is; when my quest is over, but not before.”
“Hmmm. We shall see about that, gryphon!”
And Hwedolyn thought that meant that the dwarf had not agreed with the bargain, but the dwarf walked to the rear of the cave and cried out, “Pfathvanumae thelehond!” then grasped a piece of stone and pulled it away from the wall.
There was a loud scraping sound and a crack opened in the back of the cave that let forth a gentle blue light. Hwedolyn saw that the dwarf was opening a mighty stone door which by some strange magic had been hidden from his sight. Hwedolyn turned about carefully in the cave, and found that, with the door open, the rear of the cavern was actually large enough to move through. The door revealed stone steps that led down into the depths of a tunnel and a kind of moss or lichen growing on the walls gave forth a dim blue light that lit their way.
But Hwedolyn stopped, and wondered – should he trust this dwarf? He was clambering into a cramped space where he could not fly away, where there might be many dwarves; a place where they could perhaps attack him in great numbers with their hammers and he would be unable to fight them. In fact, gryphons never feel at ease under the earth, for while they do not mind caves on high mountainsides as eyries, they do not particularly like underground tunnels and caverns in the bowels of the earth, and that might have had a little to do with Hwedolyn’s hesitation also, though he probably would not have liked to admit it.
The dwarf began to walk down the steps, then stopped and stared at Hwedolyn, who stood frozen in the doorway.
Laughing grimly, the dwarf said, “Perhaps you think you should not trust me? You alone can decide, friend-gryphon. Do you come into the caverns with the dwarf? Fear not, when treasure’s in the bargain, a dwarf can be trusted. Only fear if a dwarf should discover that you have swindled him out of gold – then fear the blunt edge of his hammer! But this is my home you are coming into, wherein the rules of hospitality apply. Or perhaps you are afraid of the underearth?”
Hwedolyn said, “Gryphons fear nothing, dwarf!” and followed him down many, many stone steps. It took a very long time, but finally they came out into a grand hallway lit by the gentle blue light that seemed to suffuse the very air. And diamonds were twinkling in the ceiling like stars, and the floors were paved with gold and silver stones, arranged in elaborate knot-work patterns entangled with delicate designs and intricate images of dragons and elves and dwarves and men.
As they walked along, the sound of running water came closer with each of Hwedolyn’s talon-step. And they emerged into an enormous chamber with massive pillars stretching up to the high ceiling of the cavern, like the arms of titans holding up the roof of the world. Covering the floors and the walls here also were patterns with a peculiar symmetry that complemented the natural beauty of the chamber: rivulets of water running down from cliffs and crags at the top in delicate waterfalls to a limpid pool at the bottom; stalagmites and stalactites adorning the ceilings and floors; and intertwined veins of quartz and silver and gold and diamonds set with precious rubies, sapphires and topaz, running in lines, circles and strange spirals across the walls and ceiling of the cave.
In the centre of the hall stood four thrones facing away from one another, one north, one west, one south, and one east. The thrones had more splendid decorations than anything else in the chamber. The dwarf walked over to the throne that faced north and said, “Behold the workmanship of my brother-dwarves.”
And upon the backrest of the throne, among more knot-work patterns of silver and precious stones, a verse was written in runes of gold:
Fyra mihahondmis thaers haldad an fjarren pastoe
Fyra fostanemis thaere geved trogvtes og manthuul
Vejung rovanees nikkeung kmreung thaer myshleoe
Danondes og fesilveis isnaevrum makled an ilduul
Nikke drakenes ie ormes nikke thhondaena valfafeyr
Nikke Maagmund ie Viisas maagenes nikke kupureaena chovanrfane
Trogvtes thaer bij hjovdom vafiskes jordaees chovanrfeyr
Isnaeveul haldao an danondom jefame trilfame rovane
Fyra mihahondmis thaers haldad an fjarren pastoe
Fyra fostanemis thaere geved trogvtes og manthuul
Vejung rovanees nikkeung kmreung thaer myshleoe
Danondes og fesilveis isnaevrum makled an ilduul
Nikke drakenes ‘ie ormes nikke ‘thhondaena valfafeyr
Nikke Maagmund ‘ie Viisas-maagenes nikke kupureaena chovanrfane
Trogvtes thaer bij, hjovdom vafiskes, jordaees chovanrfeyr;
Isnaeveul haldao an danondom jefame, trilfame rovane.
The dwarf said, “This is the hall of the dwarf-kings! Let me translate the runes for you:
“Four thrones they held in a distant time,
Four crowns were given by dwarves and men –
Through endless ages they had their reign,
Gold and silver treasures they forged in the fire.
Neither dragon nor worm could destroy their kingdom
Neither Mage nor wizard-magic could break their power,
Dwarves are they, rulers beneath, whom the earth strengthens,
Treasures they hold in their hands, forevermore.”
Then the dwarf took off his felt hat and cloak and threw them over the armrest of the throne, and Hwedolyn saw that the clothes he wore beneath were princ
ely, and that he had a silver crownlet upon his head.
He said, “Behold! I am Haldar son of Manthur, the King of this underground realm. Welcome to my kingdom, gryphon.”
And he sat upon his throne and squinted at Hwedolyn and said, “It must surely have been ordained by Udvé that you should arrive here on this very night. Indeed, an auspicious evening it is that ye come to my chambers, gryphon, for, you see, I am the King of all the caverns in the Realm of Unthernurther. But I have three brothers, and their names are Fota son of Hrindaz, king of the Realm of Finthanzud; Klaer son of Aelig, king of the Realm of Minthenmor; and Hrammir son of Liothan, king of Vatrarfahond .
“Gryphon, we four meet but once every seven years; always on the first night of the thin crescent moon after the second new moon after the Midwinter Solstice. This very night my brothers are due to arrive for our septenniel meeting, and you will surely get to meet my brother Klaer son of Aelig, King of the Realm of Minthenmor; a dwarf of great wisdom. He knows all that a dwarf can know about hidden and revealed things, questions and answers, secrets and things seen in plain sight under the sun and beneath the bowels of the earth.
“Ah, but how we will feast tonight! And you shall join us, gryphon, and tell us the story of your quest, and we will surely drink mead and eat a hearty feast, and after you have eaten and drunk your fill, you shall ask Klaer to tell you how a gryphon can defeat an elf-mage. There never has been a dwarf of such wisdom as he. He could stare into the sun and tell you what kind of heart beats within it. He could tell you why water doesn’t like ice, what it is that makes a dwarf a dwarf, and why even the most intricate plans of dwarves and elves and men and gryphons often go awry.”
And Haldar clapped his hands four times, and suddenly the hall was busy with dwarves in bright raiment, hauling forth a mighty table, and stacking on it steaming plates and overflowing dishes of the finest meats, roots, and fungii of the Kingdom of Under-earth. And they prepared a great feast, and the gryphon was very glad of it, for he had eaten nothing but the single raw sheep in three days.
“Come!” said King Haldar. “Be seated for the feast. We begin presently – I am sure my brothers will be here ere long. There are thirteen courses just in the entrée, and twenty-three in the main course, so by brothers will be well-fed, even if they arrive very late indeed.”
At that very moment, there was a loud knock at the western door of the chamber, and the servant-dwarves opened the door. It was Hrammir son of Liothan, the King of Vatrarfahond, with his bodyguard and retinue – and what a welcome the dwarves gave him! King Haldar embraced his brother tenderly, and then all of the other dwarves came to greet him and his retinue. Despite the fact that King Fota and King Klaer had not arrived, King Haldar proclaimed the beginning of the feast, the mead flowed freely, and the food was plentiful.
Then Hwedolyn told his sad tale to King Haldar and King Hrammir, everything that had happened so far to do with the elf-mage’s coming and his cousin’s death, and he told them of his quest for vengeance. The king toasted Atdaholyn with his mead-horn, and the feast continued.
Soon afterwards, another knock came at the southern door, and Fota son of Hrindaz, King of the Realm of Finthanzud arrived. They welcomed him and his retinue with a mighty welcome, and the feast went on, King Haldar eagerly awaiting the arrival of his brother Klaer, son of Aelig, King of the Realm of Minthenmor, but after another hour, King Klaer had still not arrived!
King Haldar began to watch the eastern door ever more eagerly. After two more hours, King Klaer still hadn’t arrived, and King Haldar drank no more mead. After three hours, King Klaer still hadn’t arrived, and King Haldar ate no more food.
And the feast ended very abruptly, very suddenly, for after many hours King Klaer still hadn’t arrived, and King Haldar banged his hammer upon the table. “Where is King Klaer?” he bellowed. The dwarves quickly and quietly cleaned up the plates and dishes and carried the table away.
Addressing Hwedolyn, King Haldar said, “I apologise. My brother King Klaer has not arrived! This is a grievous happenstance – our meeting is the most important occasion of our rule, every seven years, and it must not be missed. It is how we manage the kingdoms of Underearth, and the disputes that arise from time to time between our peoples, and how we consolidate the power of the dwarfs in the Under-Kingdoms. I can only fear that something terrible has occurred. My other brothers and I must send out an expedition to the east and to the south, to seek news of my brother Klaer. I apologise, gryphon, for I cannot help you now as I promised. But if we ever meet again in happier times, and if I should then have found my brother alive then our bargain still stands.”
And so Hwedolyn left the hall of King Haldar to continue his quest. He walked through the great hallway and up the stone steps with the king, and many dwarves followed them out.
The gryphon promised that he would tell King Klaer that King Haldar was looking for him, and render him any assistance, should he come across him in the course of his quest. King Haldar apologised to Hwedolyn again and gave him a large bag with dried meats and mushrooms and even a barrel of mead to take with him as provisions.
So they said their farewells and King Haldar blessed the gryphon in the name of Udvé, and the gryphon blessed the King in the name of Ellulianaen, and the door to Underearth scraped shut and suddenly Hwedolyn found himself alone again in the cave. But with a full stomach, some provisions for the journey, and knowing that he had at least one friend in the wide world beyond his parents’ eyrie, his courage had returned.
A Feather on the Breath of Ellulianaen Page 22
