Last Stand of the Blood Land

by Andrew Carpenter

  A moment later Tulma sped past, harrying the attacker with her snapping beak. The smaller griffins were more mobile but Ignatius could tell from the draft that sucked him in, tumbling him in the air, that his griffins were hardly a quarter the size of his attacker. With wings fueled by adrenalin he fought his way back to the mountain, scrambling up to regain the ground he had lost. He searched frantically for a kudzu pod for himself, Taragon’s warning that he could have the griffins but not the plant nowhere in his mind. Talons the size of short swords reached for him while he reached into a crevice. His fingers strained to reach the black seedpod, its white spots calling out to him with the red glow of the kudzu inside. One of his griffins, he could not tell which, slammed into the bigger catbird. Its grasp deflected, the animal let out an ear splitting screech and wheeled away from the rock to attack the smaller griffin.

  Awash in the wake of the bird’s wings Ignatius tucked the pulsating seedpod into the pouch on his belt and deflected the rear claws of the animal with his bracer as its fur covered paw struck out at him blindly. One of the claws caught in the thick leather, jerking him from the rock. He had the cargo he needed but used his wings as brakes to pull himself back for a second pod. The Cherub had resolved to calm his thoughts toward Sage but he had still conceived not to return to her empty handed. He dashed across the rock face, hands and feet working in unison with his wings to make him a moving target. Behind him the airborne battle raged, two wolves of the sky trying to keep a grizzly at bay.

  With koona buzzing around him he found three males before finally spotting a female plant. Snatching up the second spotted pod he looked up in time to see the feather covered face of the griffin approaching, Currar and Tulma trying to match pace in it’s wake. He jumped towards the saber beak, a move that gave pause to the predator who was unaccustomed to such aggressive prey. His fingers running through the white feathers he pivoted, catching his hands on the nape of the griffin’s neck where the mane of plumes gave way to fur. His body swung around and his grip, powerfully strong after so much time grasping a sword, held him fast to the infuriated animal.

  It thrust itself skyward, towards the safety of a realm where it was king. Ignatius slid on its back where blood from claw, talon, and beak wounds marked the prowess of his pride. The animal screamed and shook, hurtling over the mountain peak where it collided with the rays of the setting sun. He felt the cold and gasped for air as they ascended to an altitude that only an Angel could match. His grip tightened and for a brief instant his eyes beheld the peaks of the western range and the desert that stretched beyond them to the west into infinity, orange and purple hues of the fiery sunset bouncing off the snowcapped peaks and painting the clouds that covered their lower ranges. Then the catbird was diving, its tale flicking at him as it rolled and twisted. Finally it reached up with its hind leg as if to scratch its front shoulder, forcing the unwelcome rider to shift his weight from one side to the other until a twist of its powerful wings sent him sliding off into the wide-open air. Currar and Tulma joined him as he righted himself, flapping with all his might to stay aloft and out of the predators killing grasp.

  Its confidence shaken by such hostile, coordinated prey, the griffin turned its massive bulk westward toward the desert and pumped its wings in retreat from the Cherub who had taken its back if only for a moment. Ignatius led the way in pursuit of the creature, his pride gliding down after it while he struggled to catch his breath in the cold air. The griffins did not struggle, their grand wings, though small compared to their larger cousin, and bird lungs were quite at home here above the mountains. As they descended he watched the course of what was now their prey where it faded from view on a mountain peak that commanded a view of the wide open, sand covered wasteland to the west. I know where you live and I’m coming for you.

  He tried to cover as much of the distance by gliding as he could, traveling in minutes what would have taken hours without the altitude he had received in his brief ride on the griffin’s back. Soon he felt his breath returning, the freezing high altitude air replaced by warm desert breezes wafting into the drier pine forest where he landed. That night he slept in a thick tangle of brush where he could not be ambushed, confident in the senses of his guards that felt more than ever like part of his family.

  Ignatius noticed the smell of the wildflowers and ponderosa pine before he opened his eyes. Here, on the other side of the mountain’s watershed the climate was unlike any he had experienced. Bordering the desert to the west made these mountains drier, small cactus mixing in between the aspens and larger pines. Wildflowers dotted the glade where he had slept with purple, orange, and yellow hues coming to life around him in the rising morning light. The scents, the new plants and birds, the feel of the air; it was all made vibrant by its contrast with the wet, muted forests the Cherubim called home. Kneeling down he dug through the pine needles in between the flowers at the base of a pine. The soil was rocky but he managed to extract enough to pack the kudzu pods with life giving earth where they sat in his pouch, ensuring they would begin to grow and that they would not fall out in the trials to come.

  Moving away from the scrub oak where he had concealed himself from any hunting griffins he moved towards the sounds of Currar and Tulma, checking the trees and skies obsessively while he moved. Deer in the Blood Lands had learned to look skyward, adapting over the centuries to the presence of griffins and mountain lions striking from above. The Cherubim added to this vertical threat vector but the winged warriors had never themselves learned to look up. If I succeed the South will need to learn to scan the skies for danger.

  He found his griffins lounging on a pile of boulders surrounding a thin, trickling arroyo. A pile of feathers surrounded each of them, pluckings from the turkeys they had snatched from the cover of the scrub oaks. Perhaps I was not as safe as I felt last night. He moved between them, pulling the birds from their beaks with a swift, firm confidence that was familiar to the animals. They eyed him with respect as he fed the meat that was rightfully theirs back to them, asserting his dominance. He knew how to control his pride the same way the South knew how to control a nation and the freedom loving Cherub still felt a little twinge of remorse for his actions with his present companions and for what he had planned for their larger cousins. Even with animals manipulation is selfish.

  Still, he needed them and he felt their affection for him despite the dependence he had cultivated on their behalf. Watching them eat he was astonished to feel the pair of kudzu growing, shifting slightly in his pouch. Soon I’ll be eating kudzu pods. He resolved not to become as dependent on the plant as the Nymphs. With that though in his mind he played with the griffins for a minute, tousling and wrestling with his little family. They sniffed his feathers; playful swats battering him with claws withdrawn. They were full-grown and allowed him to land on top, even the previously dominant Timna rolling onto her back in a sign of submission. Despite enjoying the physical bond these sessions built he always ended them while they were still going well. The war trained griffins were still only a few generations removed from their wild ancestors and months spent establishing trust could be undone in an instant if he needed to pull out his own claws to control them.

  They set off in the direction of the mountain where he had watched his attacker flee, knowing there would be a nest there where the social animals reared their cubs. Timna had yet to lay an egg but he knew Currar had planted his seed; the noise of their coupling had awoken the entire village that winter. Her widening sides told him that the time would be soon and he believed the larger griffins would be the same.

  Trusting to the others to alert him to any threats from above, Ignatius kept his eyes on the novelty of the new environment while his mind tried to craft a plan for bringing one or more of the giant griffins into his pride. His fight with them had taught him that they could be ridden, that greater numbers and agility could overcome them. Still, he knew there would be no way to take their food by force, to wrestle with them as he did the smal
ler breed. The Cherub pulled his long brown locks over his shoulder to examine the feathers that adorned his mane. With his wings and the mix of griffin, Angel, raven, and Cherubim feathers in his hair, plus the scent of Currar and Tulma on his body, he was confident the griffins would accept him as one of their own. What worried him was finding a way to bend them to his will. If he could not become their alpha he would loose Currar and Tulma and his trip across the mountains wouldn’t yield the weapon he needed to turn the tide against Galatia’s phalanxes.

  The sight of Donus’ feathers told him the answer. He whistled, running up a tree to meet Currar where the male landed comfortably on a branch, tail twitching. He rummaged in the saddlebag, pulling out his claws. He attached his wingblades and scabbards between his shoulders. He shook his head when he felt the weight of the twin, black bladed katanas. For the past year they had been such a part of him that he never noticed their burden. It had taken this solitary journey into the wilderness to remind him that he did not always need to live with the weight of battle resting on his shoulders. When he added Donus’ daggers to his own, completing his six shot arsenal of death, he nodded slightly at the lesson of willingness his red winged friend had taught him. He had to be willing to kill the alpha, to cut the others that opposed him should they try to challenge him, to steal their young, if that was what it took to get them to follow him. For the giant griffins, he would be the Southlander even though he came from the east. They will join my pride to fight by my side or they will die.

  As the day wore on they began to pass signs of the giant griffins everywhere. Elk, bear, deer, and sheep carcasses, picked clean to the bone, dotted the forest below. Claw marks ran up and down the trees, leaving black scars on the aspens. Game was plentiful here, hemmed into the area by the impassible and uninhabitable mountains on one side and the sand desert on the other. The trickling streams and frothing springs further concentrated the herds of undulates and predators that relied on them. Of the predators the giant griffins were king; Ignatius could see no sign of villages of hunters that might challenge their dominance.

  When he began to ascend the lonely mountain, a solitary butte that loomed out of the forest on the very edge of the desert, he spotted the first of them. It was smaller, perhaps a third the size of the attacker they had fought off the day before. Freezing where he stood, exposed on a boulder, he presumed it must be a female. He could see Currar where he had frozen as well, his yellow eyes locked on the giant predator circling above. Ignatius did not move under cover, preferring to face them one at a time if he could, but after a few moments the animal drifted up and away on a powerful thermal generated by the desert sun warming the flat, rocky top of the narrow butte. He knew he would find their nest at the top where they could take advantage of the regular updrafts as well as the view of the surrounding territory. That is where I would be.

  He refreshed himself with water and the last of his kudzu pods, pausing to wrap the vines that had grown out of his dirt filled pouch around his belt. Four koona had emerged when the seedpod had cracked open, the offspring of the beetle that had pollinated the plant the summer before. They had followed him closely, buzzing near where he held the pods, and he had picked up their cocoons when they had broken away to regrow. The cocoons would ensure that he always had more of the insects to replace the seedpods he ate after one of their number climbed inside.

  Looking away from the insects he whistled Currar and Tulma in close. They moved together, pushing up the steep, rocky, slope, one eye always on the sky. The sound of a rattlesnake, something unheard of in the east, brought his attention down to the trail for a moment. He moved towards it, unaware of the purpose of the animal’s rattle. Timna sniffed at the serpent before backing away instinctually. The animal struck at Ignatius but the Cherub was faster, drawing his dagger and slicing the fang filled head from the snake before it could hit his flesh. Far from upsetting him the moment gave him confidence in his abilities and he put any thoughts of failure, thoughts that might lead to a deadly lack of willingness, out of his mind. Currar tried to eat the wriggling body of the snake but, not wanting them to go after fanged snakes in the future, he pushed the griffin away.

  Cresting the top of the butte the trio moved slowly and cautiously across a field of bones and excrement towards a ring of boulders at the center of the flat topped mountain. The boulders were interwoven with logs and branches the way a bird’s nest would be interwoven with grass and twigs. Sitting on the edge of the nest he spotted two of the giant griffins and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up when he realized they could see him as well. Currar and Tulma tensed, their long tails pointing straight back and their claws extending. Up on the nest the giant catbirds cocked their heads and snapped their tails, their own claws extending. Then came the screams, like that of a eagle at first with short chirps and screeches, turning into a long call more similar to that of a red tailed hawk. Currar and Tulma called back but their cries were drowned out by a chorus of calls from within the massive nest and around the mountaintop where the rest of the pride was sunning themselves. Three smaller females, still twice the size of Baasha, the grizzly Ignatius had ridden into battle, joined the two on the rim of the nest and dropped down from the limb to approach the strangers cautiously. Jumping up and flying over the nest with enormous flaps of their white wings four males joined the three, their bulk outmatching the females buy a hundred pounds or more.

  Ignatius stood his ground as they approach and whistled low to his pride trying to calm them. They were tense, unsure, and looked to his posture for guidance on whether they should fight or take flight. This is the third option. He thought of Oberon for a moment, a flash of anger and uncertainty flaring like a new log on a bed of coals. The chief didn’t want him here, risking himself on a mad hope that he could overcome these monsters. He took a deep breath through his nose instinctually, returning to the place of contentment he had achieved while sitting next to the lake in the mist. His body relaxed and his mind followed, the unwillingness drifting away like a cloud, replaced by commitment without attachment. Currar and Tulma responded to the peace of his continence, tails wagging now, claws retracting.

  Ignatius flapped his wings playfully, removing any fear or aggression from his stance and simply looked the approaching giants in the eye. It was then that the alpha appeared, dropping out of the sky like a meteor. His pride looked to their chief in the same way Ignatius’ followers had looked to him but the griffin displayed nothing but aggression. His hind claws carved furrows in the rocky soil and his front talons paced back and forth, pounding powerfully into the ground. His wings flared and batted angrily, his tail sticking straight into the air. The Cherub had been awed when he first encountered the Giants on the edge of his forest home but this griffin dwarfed even a fully armored knight. He stood eight feet high at the shoulder and the wings required to carry his muscular frame were exponentially longer than those of Currar and Tulma. An Angel would have seemed a better match for him but even Metatron, colossal though the Angel was, would have still seemed small in front of this beast. Ignatius’ six foot, trail lean frame, seemed childlike in comparison.

  Still he stood his ground, something prey would not do, and the dozen giant griffins that had now gathered did not approach. Their alpha, however, recognized the smell of the three intruders from his attack on them on the cliff side where the kudzu grew. He paced the empty ground between the groups waiting for a sign of submission or aggression. Ignatius gave neither, wondering if he would have to kill this alpha the way he had killed Donus. Those that are willing to do anything to keep their power can only be dealt with in one way. Such a small rival did not intimidate the big male griffin and Ignatius recognized what this meant but, his mind emptying, he was at peace with it.

  He drew a sword and stepped forward, Currar and Tulma understanding that they had no part in what was about to take place. They sat on their haunches, as did the giants of the pride across from them, dozens of golden eyes behind emotionle
ss curved beaks watching the fight for dominance unfold. The alpha screamed, stepping forward with wings spread wide in an attempt to cow his rival. When this did not work the animal advanced, his bulk looming over the little Cherub. Ignatius began to circle calmly, his mind accepting that this was part of the war. I do not have a third way when it comes to this. There was no time to think of an alternative plan to the one he had received from the part of his mind that understood Donus all too well.

  When his circling feet began to take him around his opponent Ignatius saw the alpha’s mindset change to match his own. The giant griffin would not allow this strange little un-submissive griffin with only two legs to approach his pride. He was finished with the posturing and intimidation that prevented conflict within his family from turning to violence. He jumped up and flew into the air, preparing to pounce. The Cherub looked up at the perfect predator, huge and graceful as he was deadly, and didn’t allow his appreciation of the gift that their size and wings represented for his people to stay his sword. He stepped to the side and jumped up around the outstretched claw. He struck at the talon with his wing blade but, as he had suspected, found it to be as tough as armor. His sword struck higher up the front limb, slicing deeply into the muscles that were protected only by the griffin’s fur.

  The animal screamed in pain, rearing onto his hind legs as blood squirted from its limb, spilling onto Ignatius’ wings and turning them dark red. The Cherub had made a poor shot at deer once as a youth and had had to track it through the woods for an hour while it bled out. He had learned his lesson from that incident and so pressed his attack, cognizant of the eyes of the rest of the pride where they watched the contest.