Of Gryphons and Other Monsters (Taryn's Journey Book 1)

by Shannon McGee

  Of course, in a sense, I could hardly blame them. Even if they were the sort of person who enjoyed frosty winters, to the people of the Carpathe Mountains, myself included, the lesser gryphon migration was a reminder that their cousins were not far behind. No one enjoyed them. My smile shrank a fraction.

  Absentmindedly, I drummed my fingers against the cold glass of my window. Every one of the gryphons outside froze, hyper alert. Seven sets of dark eyes scanned the yard for the source of the noise. Flighty creatures that they were, their alarm did not last long. After a short pause, they dismissed the threat and returned to their foraging.

  It was hard to remember that these clownish pests in front of me were harbingers for the monsters in the mountains. Still, they were related, and the warning they provided was a blessing. Before long, standard gryphons would also be moving down off the high cliffs, and into the heavily forested lands that bordered civilization. If there was one thing we didn’t want to catch us by surprise, it was those beasts.

  With a last wistful look, I turned away from the spectacle outside. By this time Michael would have already been out with our family’s sheep for hours. He had taken the dawn watch, but I was to relieve him at noon. If I didn’t hurry now, I’d be late.

  I scrubbed my face and arms with the water in the basin by my dresser, wincing at the crisp air on my skin, and dressed hurriedly. The bite of the cold water reminded me that soon I wouldn’t be able to leave a pitcher overnight.

  It was strange to me that Michael had opened his window at all last night. Even with the small hearth in my room, I’d soon have to get up earlier to heat the water if I wanted to wash without pain. Michael’s room, which relied on the heat which leached through from my hearth and the one in our parent’s bedchamber, tended to be even colder.

  I dressed, and with expert efficiency, then braided my hair tightly back on both sides of my scalp. The top was twisted back as well, and I finished it off by connecting all three sections into one heavy braid that stopped a quarter of the way down my back. There was no mirror in my room; the only one in the house resided in my parent’s bedroom, but I didn’t need to look. There was only the sheep to impress on watch days.

  I took a moment to shake my blankets into some semblance of order, then all there was left to grab was my work belt from where it hung on the inside of my bedroom door. It was beautiful piece, with impressions of ivy branded into the leather. There were loops for attaching equipment, and several pockets in which I could keep anything I’d need throughout a normal watch day. Today it already held everything I’d need, besides food. I slipped it on across my chest as I made my way down the hall to the kitchen.

  Though Mother was already in town doing mending, she had left a large pot simmering over the low fire of the hearth. The rich stew within made my mouth water as I removed the lid. Dinner from last night, became the morning’s breakfast.

  Once I had eaten, I shod my feet, donned my cloak and bag, and left the house, through the door at the back of the kitchen. My clothes were a nod to the crispness of the autumn weather that met me as soon as I stepped out the door. My feet were jammed into thick tights, with wooly socks layered over them. A moss green skirt was ideal for masking the stains of sitting on the grass and dirt all day, and a knitted sweater with a high neck that had once been black but now was more of a charcoal gray would keep me toasty, so long as I stayed in the sun. Within the house the clothing had been almost oppressively warm, but now that I was outside I was grateful for them.

  At my appearance, the flock of lesser gryphons, who had migrated to this side of the house in their foraging, scattered. In a cacophony of shrieks, they ran for a short distance before leaping heavily into the air, lighting in the tall oaks and pines that grew close to the house. Their arrival displaced the sparrows who had chosen to perch there. Those birds fled to the rooftop of the house and from there they scolded me sharply.

  “I didn’t chase you out of your tree!” I called back at them, but it didn’t seem to matter. They continued to admonish me, their tiny dark eyes as serious as the town’s priest’s. I shrugged. “Suit yourself!”

  While the gryphons themselves weren’t clearly visible, I saw branches move as they climbed about the limbs. I gave those trees a wider berth. It was a fine thing to watch them through glass, and for the most part, they were too skittish to bother a human. Even so, an occasional scuffle between two of them could catch a bystander, and that was not the way I wanted to start my morning. For their part, they jeered raucously at me, but refrained from coming any closer.

  The barn was a short walk from the house, the dark stained wood barely showing through the trees that separated it and the paddock from the house. Great double doors stood at the front for when the sheep had to come inside. A smaller one served for normal entrances. Inside a flock of geese milled about, honking and beeping at me.

  Getting to the pony stalls felt like wading through a river of feathers. One goose nosed my hip with his flat bill, as though he expected me to share my packed midday meal. I shooed him. Mother would have fed them all before she left for town.

  When my pony Hale saw me making my way towards her she shifted excitedly and gave a little shake. Her shaggy slate gray coat gleamed in the morning light, and her rich brown eyes were impatient. She was clearly sore at being stuck with the geese. I couldn’t help the smile that ghosted over my lips.

  “It’s a work day,” I warned her. “We’re not going anywhere fun. We’re only going out to the field.”

  Hale whickered and nuzzled my hand as I slipped on her harness, then her blanket and saddle. She was a veteran at traversing rugged mountain country, and knew the daily routine as well as I did, but I couldn’t help but speak as though she could understand me. Sometimes I thought doing so was what gentled her towards me. Anyone else had to use extreme patience when readying her for a ride. She would swing her head to and fro and make the whole process an ordeal, but not for me.

  I mounted, and with a companionable slap on her shoulder, I set us off towards the field. The ride took close to an hour. The way there took us over the brook that separated our land from our neighbors. The boulder-laden stream was shallow at the crossing, but if you followed it down as it snaked along the property lines, it yawned wider and deeper. The icy currents in those parts were no good for swimming, but a person could load a basket of fish over the course of a morning.

  A flock of lesser gryphons had spaced themselves along the shores by the bridge. A few were hunting minnows in the shallows. As we approached, three of them began a game of chase, leaping from rock to rock. The ones that had been hunting took exception to this as it scared away their prey, and a small tussle sent several of them rolling through the shallows.

  Hale shied to the opposite side of the path when their shrill voices alerted her to their presence, and I had to keep a firm grip on her reins. She had been badly scratched last year when I accidently startled one out of the rafters of the barn and onto her back. It had fled as soon as it righted itself, but the damage had been done. She still had a small scar across her left haunch, and was now of the firm opinion that the little critters could not be trusted.

  But, it was too nice a morning for such thoughts. Before long, the scent of pine and cold eased them away. As we got farther from home and town the lesser gryphons dropped away as well. When at last I crested the final hill before our lands began my brother came into view, sitting against one of the few trees that grew on the field.

  Lying at his side, on full alert was one of our family dogs. Brooks was a shaggy beast—a Carpathian shepherd. Broad shouldered with a short muzzle, he was dark gray across his back which blended out to white on his legs, chest, nose, and around his eyes. His gentle brown eyes were already turned in my direction, soft floppy ears pricked forward in attentiveness. When he saw it was just me he settled back, and his tail gave a small wag in recognition. Brooks didn’t miss much. He was five years old, and well-versed in his role as sheep guard. His p
arents before him had been the same before they got to be too old to make the daily trip to the field.

  There were thirty sheep in his and my brother’s care, and they were mincing their way around the rocks that jutted from the grass, picking at tufts of green and brown grass. Their “bahs” sounded like crying as they talked to one another.

  Michael was apparently oblivious to their din. His nose was stuck into a thick tome that I hadn’t seen him read before, but then, he was always scrounging up something new from the gods only knew where. His brow was furrowed, and from a distance I could see his lips moving as he read. Unfortunately, being the best reader in a small mountain town could only mean so much. I knew many of the larger books he found gave him trouble.

  He looked up at the sound of Hale’s hooves. “Taryn!” He pitched his voice to carry across the hills so that he might as well have been standing next to me. “Have you got anything to eat?”

  I shook my head in amusement, riding out to meet him as he gathered his belongings into a satchel and used his crook to stand. When I was within a few feet of him I arched my eyebrows in mock disbelief. “Don’t tell me you already ate all you packed for the day?”

  He spread his arms wide. “It’s getting cold, I need an extra bit of padding between myself and the winds.”

  “If you need a bit, then I need more than a bit,” I countered, swinging off Hale in the same breath. “I’ve no food to spare for someone who is so reckless with his own rations.”

  “Miser.” He crossed his eyes at me as he gave me a side-hug.

  I hugged him back and let go when Brooks came over to nose my free hand with his cold muzzle. I knelt to stroke him from his crown to his tail, as Michael turned to scan the field a final time. From a pouch on my belt I produced a bit of jerky for the dog to gnaw at. He could hunt small game if he got hungry enough, but I couldn’t help but spoil him.

  Placing his fingers to his lips Michael whistled sharply twice, with a longer note at the end. Hale shuffled her feet, and Michael reached out to blindly ruffle her fetlock. “Not you Hale.”

  From behind a hill out to our left came the sound of the bells Michael had sewn to his own pony’s saddle. Soon Cherub came within view, heavy in her own hooves, but clearly competent in her trek over the rocky terrain. She was Hale’s half sibling, with a honey brown coat in the place of gray, and a sweet disposition rather than a waspish one. Otherwise though, she was identical to my own mount. The sheep moved slightly to let her pass, in the noisy manner that was their way, and Michael smiled softly.

  “So,” I gestured to the field, “any problems today?”

  “The sheep were calm, and I didn’t see any markings on my round this morning. Glenn stopped by though, and he says he thought he saw something that might have been a gryphon.” Michael met my incredulous look with eyes that glittered with his own restrained mirth.

  A breed apart from the lesser gryphons, standard gryphons were magic I could live without. They were more cunning than any wild cat, just as large, if not bigger, and by all accounts far deadlier. Their heads were shaped like the local birds of prey, like eagles or hawks, and in the areas surrounding the town of Nophgrin their bodies were almost always that of mountain lions. Standard gryphons were serious business, but luckily Glenn was not.

  “Oh yes, because a gryphon would really come and take one of his skinny cows.” I snorted.

  “Glenn is a lonely man who likes to have something of distinction about him.” Michael shrugged.

  “Glenn tells tales because he is bored to tears since his wife left him for being more of a braggart than the butcher,” I snapped.

  Glenn also liked to come and bother me when I was on watch in the morning. He always hovered too close, and talked for too long about nothing. I wasn’t a fan of when any of the men in town paid attention to me for too long, and least of all him. I was glad he had caught Michael this time.

  “That’s the truth. Still, it is the season, I saw some lesser gryphons on the way in. Worse than Glenn being right about there being a gryphon would be Glenn being right, and us not believing him—”

  “And losing livestock over it. Yes, I know, but you didn’t see anything?” I hugged myself as a strong gust of wind blew around us.

  Michael looked across the field, a silence stretching out lazily before his reply. “No, I didn’t see anything.”

  If left unchecked, a standard gryphon could beggar a shepherd or farmer. They were hard to kill, and known for stealing into pastures and making off with the prized ewe or cow if a shepherd wasn’t attentive. Unlike their lesser cousins, they did not fear people, but merely had a healthy respect for us.

  “The sheep seemed all right?” I persisted. I pulled my blanket off Hale’s saddle and wrapped it around my shoulders at the next gust. Cherub had reached us, and she paused to let me pat her, then nuzzled Hale in greeting, moving around Brooks with the ease of a pony accustomed to a dog being underfoot.

  “The sheep seemed fine.” He turned back to me. “Am I released from my duty?”

  I made an exaggerated bow. “You are free to roam the land beyond these fields sire, as far as your pony will take you.”

  “So, to home or to town,” he joked. Cherub only knew the two routes.

  There had been an edge to his voice, but I chose to ignore it. “If you choose the latter you can help Mother with the washing.”

  “Home,” he said firmly. He gave Brooks a scratch behind the ear and swung onto Cherub’s back.

  “Ride safely. I’ll see you this evening.” I patted his boot, and his pony jolted into motion.

  When he had started his ride back towards home I pulled my longest tether from my pack, and tied one end around Hale’s harness, and the other around a small gnarled bush. The shrub was bare but surrounded by enough grass to keep her happy.

  The field was almost entirely fenced, and generally I let her roam as Cherub did, but with how she had behaved this morning with the lesser gryphons, I decided against it. I didn’t like the idea of her getting spooked and bolting.

  With her sorted out, I claimed the post by the tree, sinking to the chilly earth with a sigh. The ground in this field was hard, full of rocks and clay and no good for farming, but the sheep liked it fine. Though it was hilly there was also nowhere I couldn’t see by climbing to the top of the tree I was leaning against. I had spent my whole life exploring the knobby boulders and twisted trees of this field. Sometimes it felt as though I lived here and not in the warm home I had left this morning.

  Brooks trotted back up the hill to lay next to me. His fuzzy body kept my left leg pleasantly warm, and I rested my arm over his back. His ears flicked back at me for a moment, but his almond eyes never left his charges.

  A strange feeling stirred in my gut after Michael had been gone for a few hours. It was a sharp pain for a moment, and then a vague sense of uneasiness. I knew what it was without having to think about it. It wasn’t common, but the two of us sometimes could tell when the other was in trouble. These days Michael was in trouble more often than he wasn’t.

  A sigh billowed from my lips. I’d be the one to pay for it, like as not. I was always the one who had to smooth things over. There was nothing I could do for it while I was in the field though. With the ease of much practice, I forced myself not to imagine what had happened.

  Father was still in the barn when I got home that evening, but Mother was in the kitchen. She was salting a few fish fillets—Father’s catches of the day. Her hair, darker than my brother’s and my own and streaked with steel-gray strands, was coming untidily out of its up-do. Strands of it framed her face and trailed down her neck.

  “Where is my dear brother?” I asked idly, as I removed my outerwear. It was hard to miss the mess across the counters when I came closer to her and the kitchen hearth. “Shouldn’t he be here helping you?”

  Mother wiped a scale-specked hand on her apron before patting my cheek. I wrinkled my nose, but allowed it. “I’m all right. He does have hi
mself shut up in his room with that new book of his. When I asked if he was hungry he grunted at me. See if you can lure him out?”

  I pursed my lips, ready to give him more than a talking to. At his door, I lifted my hand to knock but stopped. Gentle snoring could be heard before I even opened it.

  Pushing inside, I found him on his bed, sprawled on his back. His open-mouthed breathing confirmed what I had suspected. Michael had fallen asleep. I rolled my eyes, but at least that meant he hadn’t been hiding from Mother when she needed help.

  The book he had been reading in the field lay open across his chest, and his fingers still gripped it tightly. It was bound in dark leather. If there was any title pressed into the cover or spine I couldn’t see it. Not that it’d be something I’d want to borrow anyway, knowing Michael’s tastes.

  His bedside lamp still burned beside him. I shook my head. He’d use up all his oil at that rate. On tiptoes I crept across the floor to turn it off. My fingers had just brushed the glass that surrounded the tiny flame when Michael snored again. I turned to smile down at him, and my stomach lurched.

  Michael had pushed his sleeves up, either as he read or as he slept. On one forearm, clear even in the low light, were four purple shadows—fingerprints where someone had gripped him roughly.

  The next morning, I woke early. I lay in bed listening as Father left for another early fishing trip, and then to the soft stampede of hooves outside as Michael drove the sheep to the field. When Mother came to wake me, I was already dressed.

  “This is a surprise!” She beamed at me. Though the bun her hair was pulled back into was neat and tidy she absently made the movements of smoothing it back as she spoke. “Usually I have to drag you from those covers.”