Gift of Griffins

by V. M. Escalada

  As she pushed her hands deeper into her sleeves, something shifted under her shirt. At first, she only remembered Tel’s military plaque, and had to fight down an urge to Flash it, to touch at least part of him. She raised her hand but instead of the plaque, she felt a lump under the cloth. Her breath caught in her throat. The jewel. The soul stone. Blood and bones of griffins.

  Hurriedly, she pulled out the little silk bag that held her jewel, emptying it out into her hand. It caught at the light, glinting and sending out sparkling flashes of color. Ker had never seen this effect before, and for a moment she smiled in delight. She looked up, but neither Deilih nor the other griffins showed any reaction. Ker triggered her Talent, and the jewel’s pattern of facets leaped into prominence, forming a hemisphere over and around her. Focusing, she nudged the pattern to another configuration, changing the form of the jewel “at rest” to a lacier effect, and then to something more resembling a spider’s web. For the first time, she saw the net charged with other colors, overpainting the jewel’s natural red.

  Finally, she closed her fist on the jewel and stopped Flashing. Breathing heavily, she looked around again. This time she saw what she recognized as delight in the way Weimerk stood, with wings slightly arched, and eyes half-closed. She could almost hear him purring.

  “Well?” she asked. “Is that the proof you were looking for?”

  “It is.” There could have been a tone of satisfaction in Deilih’s voice. “We are satisfied that you hold more than one Gift, and that you will play a continuing role in the Prophecy. You may rest here, and food will be provided. One of us will return you to your home when you are ready to leave.”

  “No. I. Will. Return. My. Kerida.” Weimerk was upset again. “I. Must. Return. Also.”

  “You will remain here. You are the last hatchling from the eggs left in the Serpents Teeth. You are too valuable to us to return.”

  “I. Am. Awake. I. Hold. The. Same. Memories. And. Knowledge. As. Any. Griffin. Like any of you, I may do as I wish.”

  “You are a hatchling. You have the memories and the knowledge, but you lack the experience to use them. You will remain.”

  Weimerk’s wings drooped lower than Ker had ever seen them. She didn’t need to look at Deilih to know who had won. Ker clenched her fist over the jewel. It was bad enough to be separated from Weimerk, a close and loving friend, but to return to Farama with a strange griffin, who wouldn’t even be staying? After all this, there were no griffins coming to help them, and she’d managed to lose them the one griffin they had.

  “No.” Weimerk trembled enough that the feathers on his wings seemed to vibrate. “Kerida is mine. I will not give her care to another.”

  “You are too valuable to us, hatchling. You must remain.”

  “No. I am part of the Prophecy. I am the griffin spoken of in the Second Sign. I must stay with Kerida.” He was clearly still angry, but Weimerk seemed to have finally mastered his speech.

  “The Second Sign concerns one who will speak to griffins, and here she stands. Your part in this has been played. We will send another to return the Talent to her place.”

  “Wait.” Ker grabbed Weimerk’s wing tip. He looked as if he was ready to launch himself, but whether into the air or at the larger griffin she couldn’t tell. “Can we come to a compromise? Let Weimerk take me back to my friends. Then he’ll come back to you.”

  “No,” Weimerk said.

  “Listen,” she said, tugging on a feather that had been ruffled out of place. “There’s nothing we can do.” She glanced around. Griffins and more griffins as far as the eye could see. “We can’t afford to alienate them, even if they’re not going to help us. But please don’t make me go back on some strange griffin.” Weimerk shook his head, and Ker thought she could hear him growling. Finally, he nodded.

  “Very well. We will allow it. Do not think to remain with the Second Sign, hatchling. Should you tarry, others will come to remove you.”

  Weimerk’s tail lashed, but he bowed his head.

  “Once the Second Sign is rested, you may go.” Deilih turned her great head to look directly at Ker. “We shall meet again if the Prophecy is fulfilled.” The colors rose up, and the valley with all its griffins faded away.

  “Not if I get a vote,” Ker muttered.

  * * *

  Bakura kept her eyes tight shut, unsure what had awakened her. Once she would have expected visions, but though she waited, nothing came. Nothing had come since her netting. Perhaps nothing would ever come again.

  She pushed the thought away and opened her eyes to find her bedchamber in complete darkness. Surely, she had left a candle burning, a candle long enough to last through what little remained of the night once she had finally settled herself to sleep. Baku sat up and rubbed at her eyes. Where was her—oh, yes—she had asked to be alone in this room. That was one of the reasons it had taken her so long to fall asleep.

  “Yes?” Just in time she remembered to speak in the new language. “Is someone there?”

  Jerek: Is someone there? Can you hear me?

  If it had just been the first sentence, she might have thought it an echo of her own question, but she certainly had not said the second part.

  “Yes, I can hear you,” she said. “What—who are you?”

  Jerek: Not so loud. You can just think the words. I’m Jerek Brightwing. Who are you?

  And who or what was a Jerek Brightwing? Baku pressed her lips together. She had heard of mages speaking to one another through the medium of their soul stones, but this seemed to be something of another order. Provided it was happening at all. Should she answer? She was sure her brother, and her brother’s advisers, would counsel against it. She smiled.

  Bakura: I am Bakura Kar Luyn, Princess Imperial of Halia.

  Jerek: You’re what? Where are you?

  Bakura: Farama the Capital, where are you? If this was not a dream, could it be some kind of hoax? Perhaps one of the Shekayrin, who sought in some way to influence or even frighten her. She needed to find out.

  Jerek sat up in bed. He glanced toward the door, but Wynn lay fast asleep, curled up like a cat on her mat. This Far-thinking was astonishing enough without having someone raising an alarm. He was sure Kerida would want him to keep this to himself. Still, it wouldn’t be a great idea to let this Bakura know where he was.

  Jerek: If you don’t mind, I won’t tell you where I am just now. He took a breath and decided to take a chance. I wouldn’t want my father to find me.

  Bakura: Who is your father?

  Jerek: Dern Firoxi. This time the princess paused for so long that Jerek wondered if the connection had stopped as unexpectedly as it had begun.

  Bakura: I do not know of any son. There was clear skepticism in her voice. Jerek could almost feel her frowning.

  Jerek: He denied me. He told everyone I was only his stepson. He hoped she didn’t hear any bitterness in his voice. He hoped he’d come to terms with his father’s abandonment. He wanted to be sure that nothing stood between him and the seat of the Luqs.

  Bakura: This is the man to whom I am married? Someone who would deny his own child?

  Jerek: It’s politics, he said, rubbing at his forehead. Married? He threw off his blankets.

  Bakura: Of course, you are right. I know such things occur. My own brother, the Sky Emperor, has sent me here to save my life. Perhaps your father sought to do the same with you?

  Jerek: I tell you what. Why don’t you ask him? He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. How does sending you here save your life?

  Another long pause, but this time Jerek knew to be patient.

  Bakura: Ah, what harm can a voice in my head do me? You may as well be told. I have the taint. When this is discovered in the women of Halia, they are most often put to death. My brother sent me away, so that my magic should not be discovered. So that he would not have to kill me.r />
  Jerek: Aren’t you in danger here? What if the Shekayrin find out?

  Bakura: I have been netted by a Shekayrin so that my magic is checked and does not reveal itself.

  Jerek: You don’t think what we’re doing right now is pretty revealing?

  Bakura: How is it that we do this at all? I have no soul stone, and this is not a magic that can be done without one.

  Jerek: We call this Far-thinking, and Feelers do it here without jewels. Your magic—we call it a Gift—must be more like a Feeler’s than a mage’s. And what was her—their—range? If the princess really was in Farama the Capital, that was farther away than any Far-thinker he’d ever heard of.

  Bakura: Much good may it do me. Her tone was bitter now. It will not help me in my present predicament.

  Jerek: Which is what, exactly? He sat up again. Could he help her in some way?

  Bakura: You mean in addition to marrying a strange man who is nothing more than a pawn of the Shekayrin? I am sorry to speak so of your father. You are silent; I have offended you.

  Jerek: No, I was just wondering if there was any way I could help you? Another long silence followed. Jerek thought he understood. She was angry, bitter, and frightened. He knew what that felt like. She probably didn’t even know what she really wanted. Are you still there?

  Baku: No one has ever asked me this. I am given only help for which I did not ask.

  Jerek: Aren’t you a grown-up? I mean, you’re married.

  Baku: A “grown-up?” I have almost fourteen years. A female may be given in marriage with thirteen years in Halia.

  Jerek: Well, not here! You have to be seventeen at the very least. Jerek hoped he didn’t sound as shocked as he felt.

  Baku: Still, I am married. The documents have been signed by representatives of both sides. A contract between the Princess Imperial of Halia and the Luqs of Farama.

  Jerek: Ah, well, actually, I’m the Luqs of Farama. The legal one, anyway. An invading enemy made my father Luqs, and that doesn’t count. I was acclaimed by the Battle Wings. That makes me the real Luqs. Another long pause.

  Baku: The contract contains no names, neither mine nor your father’s. It is often done this way when there is a journey or time between the couple. Thus, the contract could apply even if the principals were changed.

  Jerek: Then you could be married to me?

  Baku: Yes.

  Jerek: And if you were, would your people follow you?

  Baku: The traditionalists in the army might very well. It is a question of blood. Among the Horsemen, bloodlines are of extreme importance. Even now, because of my bloodline, I would have importance for the children I will bear. In addition to this, they would follow the Voice of the Emperor.

  Jerek? Which is who, exactly? Jerek listened to her explanation with growing astonishment. That was a piece of magic nobody here in Farama had ever heard of—except maybe Luca Pa’narion. The Inquisitor seemed to know everything. He realized with a start that Bakura had stopped talking. I think I see a way we can help each other.

  * * *

  “It has come to my attention that you have not yet visited your wife.”

  Dern Firoxi placed his fork neatly to the side of his plate before looking up. He’d noticed his clothes seemed looser, and while his appetite had decreased, he knew he still had to eat. “I thought I’d give her more time to get adjusted. She seems frightened.”

  Pollik Kvar raised an eyebrow. “Women are generally frightened by their marital duties. At least to begin with. I suggest you visit her this evening.”

  Dern smiled. “I suppose it can do no harm.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Bakura Kar Luyn rose from her chair and smoothed down her dress, and her overveil. She looked taller than she had in the audience room, but she was still shorter than a Faraman woman would be. Dern wondered if they fed their women differently, over in Halia.

  Perhaps she just hadn’t finished growing.

  “You’re taller than I expected,” he said aloud. “I didn’t really notice when we were in the audience chamber.”

  “You are darker than I expected, lord Luqs. But I am told that many races make up the Faraman Polity. To me, everyone’s face seems very pointed.”

  Dern nodded and looked around. “Are your rooms comfortable?”

  “Indeed. It was kind of you to visit me here. My ladies have prepared refreshment.” She gestured to a low table, where a steaming jug of spiced wine sat keeping warm over a candle, waiting to be poured into the cups provided. There were bowls of dried flowers and herbs scenting the rooms with a subtle, calming aroma.

  Dern nodded again, hooked his thumb in his belt, stared around the room. He’d never been here before. No need to, of course, the Luqs had his own rooms. The view from the window was interesting. An interior courtyard like his, but not the same one.

  “My lord Luqs?” Her quiet accented voice made him recall where he was.

  “I’m sorry. Did you speak?”

  “Shall my ladies stay?”

  “Stay?” By the Mother, these people had some odd customs. What were the ladies expected to do? “By no means. They may go.” The older maid, clearly Halian from her dress, scuttled out of the room as if dogs were trying to bite her. The Faraman woman walked more sedately, but tight-lipped, shooting him a sharp glance as she passed him on her way out the door. He felt a flare of anger that died away as quickly as it came. She wasn’t important enough to bother with.

  He stood watching the door for several minutes after it had closed behind the ladies. Finally, he turned to the princess, clasped his hands behind his back, and smiled, lifting his eyebrows. The princess waited, but when he didn’t approach her, she spoke.

  “Would you help with my veil, my lord? It is difficult to remove by oneself. In fact, the overveil is not meant to be lifted off by the wearer at all.”

  “Who does it, then?” He took the lacy thing by its lower edge and folded it back over the princess’ head,

  She looked at him with lowered brows. “One’s maid, usually.”

  “Or your husband, is that it? No one explained this to me.”

  “The Shekayrin would not trouble to, and the army officers would not think to.” She folded the veil carefully and laid it over the back of a chair. “From now on, it is permitted that I go without the veil in your presence, even when my maids are in the room.”

  “This is the first time I’ve seen you without it,” he said. He cleared his throat.

  The princess lifted her chin. “I have seen you already, of course. Do you sing? Your voice shows signs of it.”

  “No, do you?”

  “In Halia, women may play instruments, but we are not taught to sing. My women tell me that before the Shekayrin came to Farama, both men and women played and sang, equally.”

  “Before the Shekayrin came . . .” Dern realized that he had no idea how he was going to end that sentence. He looked around again. Nothing in the room had changed. “Do you think you’ll be able to stop wearing the veils entirely?”

  The princess drew in her brows. “I think that would depend on how many Halians there are about me. It will seem very strange, very wrong, to many of our people. To see your women with their faces uncovered is strange and unsettling. To see one of our women—that would surely be worse.”

  “Your Faraman is very good.”

  “The Shekayrin who traveled with me saw to it.”

  “Of course.” He looked around again. “Here in Farama we usually don’t sit down until our hostess asks us to.”

  “Ah, forgive me. This has been explained to me, but there are many customs, strange and foreign, for me to learn. In Halia, a man would not wait for a woman’s permission to do anything.” She waved at an armed chair halfway between where he stood and where she was. After giving her a short bow, he took
the seat.

  “It’s not a man/woman issue here,” he said. “It’s more a guest/host issue. What’s courteous for one is courteous for all.”

  “I see.” Baku lowered herself into her own chair. “But I believe it may be like the veiling. Only time will tell whether we modify our ideas to yours, or you to ours.”

  His brows lifted again, as if he hadn’t expected such words from her. “You’re right, of course. Things that seem ridiculous at first can quickly grow familiar, and the reverse is also true.”

  She got to her feet. “I have not offered you any refreshment,” she said.

  “Listen.” Firoxi cleared his throat and raised his eyes to her face. “Listen, I’m sorry, and with every respect to your customs, but I can’t.” He swallowed. “I can’t have sex with you.”

  She lowered herself back into her seat. “You cannot seal the marriage?” Her voice was so faint he couldn’t tell if she was offended or relieved.

  “It’s nothing personal, I assure you.” Now that he’d made his position clear, he was finding it easier to speak. “But here in Farama, adults don’t have sex with children, and to me you’re still a child. We don’t do such things.”

  She frowned again, then nodded. “I am the Princess Imperial. I have been given in marriage. Do you not do ‘such things’ in Farama?”

  “Alliances, of course, but not formally until the participants are at least fifteen. And the marriage isn’t expected to be sealed until they’re both at least seventeen. We wait until we can be sure neither one has Talent.”

  “That neither is a witch.” She swallowed.

  “Yes. Here we believe men can be witches as well.”

  “So I have heard.”

  “And you see that to me you’re still a child?” He cleared his throat again.

  She nodded again, her eyes lowered. Had she ever looked him in the face? “I do see. It shall be as you wish, my lord. Only, what shall we tell the Poppy Shekayrin?” Her skin was so clear he couldn’t tell if she’d turned paler.