Copyright © 2017 Shannon McGee
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Cover Art and Map © 2017 Sandara Tang
Formatting and Editing by Polgarus Studio
First Printing, 2017
ISBN: 0999470817
ISBN-13: 978-0999470817
This book is for anyone whose story is just beginning.
(This book is for everyone.)
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
About the Author
The wind outside was howling. Though the sun had only just sunk below the horizon, I could already tell it was going to be a cold night. We had been expecting the late summer heat to break for days now, and it seemed it had finally done so in earnest.
In even lines beside me were the product of my evening’s work: three and a half pairs of boots. They gleamed dark and wet in the dim firelight. The beeswax and suet concoction didn’t smell the best when it was heated, but now I was pleased I’d gotten it done. If it rained tonight my family would not have to worry about soaked feet or rotten boots.
I was scrubbing the last inch of the final boot with the weatherproofing mixture when a particularly ferocious gust struck the side of the house. I glanced up as the panes of glass behind me rattled, and was startled to find how dark the room had become while I focused on my task. Shadows gathered in the corners of the room, and the kitchen off to my left was entirely black.
To my right my mother’s knitting needles continued to clack steadily, as she worked. The sound was soothing, and the garment she was working on was a skirt for me—one that was the creamy color of undyed wool. Like me, she’d been so engrossed in her work she hadn’t noticed the fire dying.
Setting the finished boot next to its mate with a sigh, I rose to put more wood on the fire. Behind me the needles slowed. Mother shifted in her rocking chair, causing it to creak.
“When did it get so dark?” Her gentle voice held amusement at her own forgetfulness.
I grinned, scanning the stack for a piece of wood that would do. Some of them were still a little damp—the result of being left outside when the morning fog rolled in. “While you were working on my skirt. It looks nice, by the way.”
“No, it isn’t half bad, is it?”
“Not at all. The boots are all done.”
“That’s wonderful dear,” she said absently. “You know Thomas was at the baker’s when I went into town today.”
I froze, my hand midway to a log. Her tone seemed casual, but I knew better. My bare toes flexed and dug anxiously into the warm stone surrounding the fireplace. I crouched to thrust the rough piece of wood onto the fire before responding.
“Was he?” I asked absently. If it seemed as though I couldn’t have cared less perhaps she would take the hint.
She hummed a yes, that was almost drowned out as the fire flared higher. Fueled by the rush of air that shifting pieces of wood had caused, it began to greedily gutter and flick around the dry log. The wood crackled, and blackened quickly and I added one more piece as I waited for Mother’s next reply. There was no way that would be all there was to it.
“He asked after you.”
I didn’t look at her. “That was kind of him.”
“He’s a nice boy. Handsome too.”
“He is.” I agreed.
“His mother invited us out for one last summer picnic, before it gets too chilly for them.”
I pushed myself into a standing position. “I think I’m going to go open my hearth.”
“You could wear your new skirt!” She called after me as I fled down the hallway, towards my bedroom. “We could all go!”
I waved backward at her, but I could only manage a noncommittal noise of agreement for a reply. It was a blessing she couldn’t see the disgruntled expression on my face.
There were three doors at the end of the hallway. Instead of opening mine to the right side, I pushed into the one straight ahead. Instantly my eyes were drawn to a quick movement at the end of the room. My brother Michael stood there, appearing almost guilty with his shoulder high, and his movements crisp. He had just shut his small window, and when he turned to face me there was a startled quality to his features that so closely resembled my own.
Michael was my twin and we shared many characteristics: from our round freckled noses and gray-green eyes to our braided blonde hair. Our biggest difference came in our builds. I was strong enough to do any chore that needed done on the farm, but he had a head on me in height and was a tad bulkier. His frame nearly blocked the window behind him. His eyes were wide as he stared at me.
“Did you have that open long?” I asked, rubbing my arms. “It’s freezing in here.”
“No. Not too long.”
“Then why’s it so cold?”
“I know I’ve asked you to knock before you barge in. So, you must have a good reason for doing it anyway,” Michael said mildly. “What’s the matter?”
“Mother,” I said by way of explanation.
His expression relaxed, and he smoothed a few errant strands of hair that stuck up at odd angles on his head. “Who has she suggested now?”
“Thomas,” I said, crossing my eyes as I spoke. “She wants us to go on a picnic.”
Michael grunted. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the wall behind him. “Nai thinks you should take up with him too, right?”
Nai was the best friend I had, besides my brother. She had been hinting that Thomas liked me, though she hadn’t said it outright yet. All of which Michael knew because I had already told him. Instead of answering him, I settle on a more articulate scowl.
Unimpressed, Michael turned back to the window, locking it and speaking as he did so. “Well, you don’t fancy him, right? Like the others they’ve suggested? Just tell them so.”
It was what he would have done. Michael had no problem telling Mother and Father what he thought of their matchmaking. Or even me, when I made my own rare attempts. I hated to disappoint our parents though. Perhaps because Michael was so obstinate, I wanted them to feel as though their efforts weren’t going unappreciated. There was nothing wrong with them wanting us to be happily settled, and I wanted to please them. It wasn’t their fault Michael and I couldn’t find anyone in town who pleased us.
Using my foot, I carefully nudging aside a few pieces of clothing with a toe. Somewhere under the mess that was his floor there was a loose board. Michael usually kept some sort of treat in there—a maple candy would cheer me up. He cleared his throat, causing me to pause.
“I don’t have anything in there right now.”
I crouched to find it anyway. “Are you sure?”
In a few long strides, he had come to stand on top of t
he proper board before I could lift it. He was so close that his shadow covered me entirely. “I’m sure. And I’d like it if you asked from now on, if you want to get into it.”
“Why? You never cared before.”
“Well, I do now.”
“Don’t come in my room without knocking,” I groused mockingly. “Don’t take from my candy stores without asking.” With the lamp squarely behind him he was just a dark silhouette. I flopped back on my bottom, to better see his face. He wasn’t laughing.
“I mean it, Taryn.”
“Fine,” I said, knowing I didn’t truly have a leg to stand on. “I suppose it is yours. I’d want you to ask if you wanted to go into any of my drawers.”
A smile twitched his lips. “Thanks ever so for being so understanding. Listen, I’d love to provide a safe haven for you, but I have sheep watch in the morning. I was hoping to turn in early.”
I gazed up at him, my expression exaggeratedly forlorn. “Where is the familial sympathy?”
“In the family room.”
I threw my hands in the air. “As you like! I’ll go to my own room and hide there, and I definitely won’t pray to the gods that mother has found a new prospect for you, or that she gives you the same treatment I’ve just gotten.”
Michael grabbed me by my upraised hands, and pulled me to my feet. He was grinning widely now. “I’m sure it wasn’t so bad, and you needn’t bother the gods with it. It would happen even if you wished against it. That’s why I do my mending in my own room, when I can.”
“I don’t mind spending time with her,” I said. “I just wish she’d stop suggesting boys who are so…” I blew a raspberry with my tongue.
A sympathetic hand patted my shoulder. “She’ll figure that out sooner than later.”
“So you say,” I muttered.
“So I do,” he agreed, ushering me out the door.
“Well I—”
I had barely crossed the threshold when the door shut behind me with a firm click. I stumbled forward, and rubbed my hip which the doorknob had pushed into. It seemed he had been serious about wanting to go to bed. I’d have thought he’d want to keep the door open long enough for the heat from the rest of the house to warm his room. At the very least, he could have waited until I moved away before shutting it.
Unlike Michael, I didn’t exactly want to be alone, but I wasn’t about to return to the family room. Mother would be out there for another hour or so. Father would be in from the barn soon too, and then it would be two against one. With a last sulky bang of my fist on the door behind me, I retired to my own room.
The floor was icy, but at least I wouldn’t have to start a fire from scratch. My fire was the same one that lit the room where I had worked on the boots. Both sides of the hearth were equipped with heavy iron doors. When one side was unoccupied, that door could be shut to direct the heat of the flames to the other room. I opened it now, before hurriedly hopping into bed.
I really didn’t mind Mother’s matchmaking. At least, not in the way Michael did. He took personal offense to any attempt at ferreting out a match for him. I would have been grateful if Mother could put her finger on what mine was. Sure as the gods knew all, I certainly couldn’t figure out what it was. It wasn’t tall boys, or short boys. It wasn’t blond haired boys or brunets. I’d gone on outings with boys who liked hunting and ones who like cooking. They had all felt like something was missing.
Truth be told, I’d have been happier spending the rest of my life with Nai and not having to worry about boys at all. I’d mentioned that to her before and she had thought it was good for a laugh. It didn’t seem so silly to me. What was the point of raising boys and girls so differently and then expecting them to find a partner who could relate to them? It seemed cruel. It would be far easier to find a girl who understood me than a boy. However, I hadn’t mentioned it to her again after that. The last thing my parents needed were rumors that I wasn’t interested in any of the young men in town at all. It was better to let them hope.
It would have been nice to have discussed these thoughts with Michael. He had heard them from me before, but bouncing ideas off my twin until an issue was resolved was as natural to me as breathing. It was as though we shared a burden, once I told it to him. But it seemed he wasn’t in the mood to commiserate with me tonight.
At least Mother wasn’t one to set aside time to harp on the matches she had in mind. She preferred finding convenient moments in conversation to mention them. All I had to do was avoid spending too much time with her until she came up with a new one, and hope that one suited me better. That would be simple enough.
I hadn’t intended to turn in early, but wood chopping had been amongst the day’s activities, so I was a little tired. I wiggled deeper into my mattress, trying to get more comfortable. Sleep was what I needed. Things were almost always better after a night’s rest.
Outside crickets sang a harmony to the wind, and inside the heat from the fire had had time to seep across the room, and cocoon me pleasantly. Despite my disquiet, it wasn’t long before I had slipped off to the court of sleep where Slarrow, the god of dreams and prophets, reigned.
I must have been more exhausted than I had thought. It wasn’t until late the next morning that I teetered on the edge of wakefulness. I only knew I wasn’t entirely asleep because I had already woken twice.
The first time had been due to noises outside. It had sounded as though a flock of wild geese had landed in the yard. They had quieted quickly though, and I had soon returned to sleep with little trouble.
The second time I had woken had been when Mother attempted to rouse me before she left for town. The good daughter in me could still hear and wished to heed her exasperated cries of “Taryn! Up! I’ll not tell you again!” But only dimly, and that had not stopped me from doing my best to dive back into my dream as soon as I heard the door shut behind her.
It had been almost an hour since then, and I had finally drifted back into a sort of twilight state, grasping at the tendrils of the dream which I was bobbing in and out of. Naturally, it was then that a watery beam of sunlight chose to pierce my eyelids. I screwed my eyes shut tighter, trying to block it out, but it seemed no other clouds had lined up to take the errant one’s place. The battle for sleep had been lost. The dream had been amazing, but it came back to me only foggily now, in the way most dreams did when I fully woke.
There had been a vast darkness, so rich and deep that I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face. I had sat in it as a small prick of light began to shine in the distance. The form at the center of the light had called out to me, its voice sounding like the eerie moan of a loon, echoing across the empty darkness. I could still feel the warmth from the light on my face. It and the heat rolling off it had grown more intense and I had known without clearly seeing it, in the way I always knew things in dreams, that it was a phoenix in the midst of a molt. A great fire had been spreading around it, eating up the darkness.
Bird wings beat noisily outside, and I scowled as the dream slipped further away. I knew it was past time to rise and ready myself for the day, but the air outside my bed was cold. My coverlet, on the other hand, was thick, and cozy. I took a deep breath and tried to slip back into my dream once more. Had I actually seen the phoenix amidst the flames? Did phoenixes sound like loons, or had that been a real one, calling to its mate outside my window?
The next sound that came from the yard outside cut sharply through the morning calm, making me jump. It was a yowl, very unlike that of loons, dream phoenixes, or even geese. The strangled noise sounded somewhere between the harsh cry of a crow, and the hiss of a cat.
Hoisting myself upright in my bed, I rubbed eyes still bleary with sleep. When I could see clearly, I lifted a rough brown curtain to peek through my bedroom window. A smile bloomed across my lips.
“It’s about time,” I murmured.
Outside, a small flock of lesser gryphons had settled themselves on the cold earth of the yard. There had been a
few sightings of their ilk in town throughout the past week —presumably scouts for their flocks— but this was the first full flock of lesser gryphons I had seen around the house this season.
Most of these gryphons had their wings tucked against their cat-like bodies as they pecked and rooted through the grass, but not all. I leaned closer to the cold glass, barely containing a loud chortle as one runtish specimen with the brown coloration of a sparrow, flared his wings out and sprung upon a neighbor of the same variety. Chirping furiously, the two tumbled end over end, locked together in battle.
Their antics caused them to knock into a larger member of the group with the black head of a crow. He let out another caw like the one I had heard before. When that did not deter them, he sprang back and swatted, black tail twitching like mad. One sparrow-gryphon fled back the way it had come without further hesitation, while the other fluffed its feathers and fur, and hissed in return.
It dawned on me that it had been the noises of their arrival that had woken me the first time. If only mother had told me! Had I known it was gryphons I would not have tried to get back to sleep. I loved when they migrated south off the mountains, as it marked the true beginning of autumn in my home country of Somerlarth.
The offended crow-gryphon had stalked stiffly away from the rest of his flockmates. He preened busily, as if pretending to ignore them, a leg stuck straight in the air as he ran a wicked sharp beak through the soft white fur of his underbelly.
Bored since his playmate had been scared off, the other sparrow-gryphon that had offended him took a few strides before leaping into the air and out of sight. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I watched it go. Even after years of seeing them they still could make my breath catch as they flew overhead.
Lesser gryphons were magic, in a place that had so little. As far north as I lived, I could only ever hope to see a creature like a phoenix in my dreams or in sketches. They hated the cold. As to the other kinds of magic—the type some people possessed—that wasn’t any more common. Most anyone with any sort of magical gift to speak of went south, to the capital. That was where the school for mage-craft was. Few made the choice to return to the harsh life of the far north once their training was complete.
Of Gryphons and Other Monsters (Taryn's Journey Book 1) Page 1
