Teachers making cell phone calls in the middle of the school day didn’t set a very good example, so it was unlikely Sam’s mom would attempt to reach him. Just in case she tried, Sam laid some groundwork by telling her he hadn’t slept all night because of his stomach issues, so he’d be getting his rest during the day. Of course, if she really needed to get in touch, she could text him. There was still the chance Ettie would stop home between jobs and check on him. If that happened, the jig would be up several hours earlier than planned. Sam tried to keep a positive outlook.
According to an Internet encyclopedia Sam visited in his nightly research, Death Valley had earned its ominous moniker after a group of pioneers became stranded there during the winter of 1849 and were convinced they were going to die. The valley has the distinction of being the hottest, driest, and lowest spot in North America. It was named a National Monument in 1933 and officially became a National Park in 1994. Besides getting familiar with the area’s history, Sam finished reading Knox’s book on gryphons. So when the bus finally reached the gas station, he felt more than ready for whatever might lie ahead. He was well informed and well rested, having drifted off to sleep moments after departing. Yet nothing could prepare him for the surreal feeling of stepping into a real-life version of his own dreamscape. He had been there and yet he hadn’t all at the same time.
The bus driver pulled to the side of the highway several yards before the station. Sam stepped off the bus, took a moment to get his bearings, and then surveyed the scene. Gas station: check. Rocky outcropping: check. This was definitely the place.
“The bathrooms are clean and the snacks aren’t too spendy,” said the old woman. “If you play the lottery, it’s the luckiest place to buy a ticket in the state.”
“I try not to gamble,” Sam replied. “It’s hard, you know, with my condition and all. They always think I have a fake ID. It’s not worth the trouble.”
“You poor thing,” she offered with the utmost empathy. Sam felt a little bad about lying to this complete stranger, as well as to his mother, but he saw these momentary ethical lapses as absolutely necessary to ensure the success of his mission.
The bus driver reminded the passengers to be back on the bus in thirty minutes, no exceptions. If you hadn’t boarded after a half hour, you’d be unceremoniously left behind. Sam didn’t pay him much mind, since he had no intention of completing the trip to Vegas. He headed inside the gas station to use the restroom and have a look around.
The owner had displayed photographs of himself with all the station’s lottery winners. The winnings from tickets sold at this location totaled over $120 million, including the most recent Powerball jackpot of $97 million. Sam grabbed a package of cookies and ambled up to the counter. The clerk’s name tag read “Milad.” He appeared to be in his late teens and thoroughly unhappy with his choice of employment. As Milad rang up the sale on the register, Sam decided to engage in some subtle probing.
“Pretty lucky place,” Sam said.
“I haven’t won anything,” Milad replied with more than a hint of bitterness.
“Sorry to hear that,” Sam offered. Having established a line of communication, he got down to business. “Random question, but have you ever seen anything unusual around here? Like say out on those rocks?” He pointed to the outcropping.
“Unusual like what?” asked the clerk, his irritation growing.
“Like an animal. Sort of a strange animal,” added Sam. The clerk stared back at him blankly. “Here.” He retrieved the book from his backpack and showed Milad the image on the cover. “An animal like this.”
“You’re asking me if I’ve ever seen one of these…”
“Gryphons,” Sam finished his sentence. “Yes. Have you?”
Milad widened his eyes. “Yeah. Tons of them. Out in those hills.”
Sam’s excitement could not be contained. “Really?”
“Of course not. Those aren’t real. What do you think I am? Stupid? Get lost!”
Sam was suddenly being moved aside as another customer squeezed in front of Milad. The clerk’s rebuke had rattled Sam. His rational side reawoke to rub his face in it. See, I told you, his inner voice taunted. This is crazy. But he was already here, already committed to the plan, and it was time to see it through. He stuffed the cookies into his backpack, exited the station, and started toward destiny.
Sam ran-walked most of the way and chalked up his surprising endurance to those loathsome squat thrusts in PE. He took just a brief moment to catch his breath at the base of the outcropping before he began his ascent. The rocks felt grittier, the air drier. There was clearly more at stake for Sam here than in his dreamworld. Most obvious was that falling could prove fatal. After all, this was not something he could wake up from. No alarm or shower aria would help him escape reality. And what of the gryphon? What if it appeared? What would Sam do then? It wasn’t exactly a cuddly little kitten. If it existed, the accounts in the books were likely true, and that meant the creature was dangerous. Although Sam had made sure he wasn’t wearing any gold that day, this simple precaution might not prevent the gryphon from seeing him as some kind of pint-sized plunderer. These thoughts weighed heavily on Sam, and his frayed nerves were a constant reminder that any outcome—good or bad—was possible.
Sam scaled the pile of rocks in the same manner as in his dream. He even avoided the loose rock he slipped on during his nocturnal climbs. He pulled himself onto the plateau and brushed himself off. It was as stark as he remembered it, but the wind blew with a slight whistle from this height. Sam could see a few cars speeding down Highway 190, trucks fueling up at the station, and the bus still pulled up alongside the roadway. He turned back toward the empty plateau and scanned the skies in the hopes of spotting something, anything, that might silence the skeptical voice in his head. He wondered if he needed to re-create the exact moment from his dream when the gryphon appeared. Perhaps there was a secret signal that coincidentally was the effort Sam undertook to wake himself up, a unique combination of actions that summoned gryphons.
As Sam prepared to follow through, his attention was caught by a glint on the horizon. He didn’t know what it was, but it was headed right for him. It started as a speck against the expansive blue sky, approaching from the other side of the valley. It grew larger as it grew closer, and Sam stood transfixed. He squinted to try to enhance his vision. The speck was soon large enough to make out. It was a gryphon.
* * *
SL001-180-30
SUBJ: Hartwicke, Gladys
SOURCE: WS, BG
DATE: ********
Gladys Hartwicke was nosy. She had always been nosy. Of course, she considered that an unflattering label for those who simply “cared much too much” about family, friends, and complete strangers. The Bay Area native came from a family of four sisters and two brothers, yet she never felt the desire to start a family of her own. As a result, she treated her many nieces and nephews as if they were hers. She lavished gifts upon them and was keenly interested in whatever they were up to in their lives. No detail was too minute, and she had a knack for questioning people until they were too exhausted to answer. But this was the price you paid to have Gladys in your life.
The roots of her penchant for making everyone else’s business her own could be traced back to grade school. She was the student who made certain everyone was seated and quiet before class began. And heaven forbid there were students lingering outside the classroom. Gladys made it a point to inform them of the consequences for being tardy. Yet she was also the student who always offered others help when she knew they were struggling in a particular subject. In other words, she made it her responsibility to ensure everyone followed the same rules and were taken care of when needed. Buried beneath her well-intentioned, albeit meddlesome, nature was a generous heart. She really did care. So it was no surprise when Gladys Hartwicke alerted the bus driver that a certain diminutive passenger had gone missing.
* * *
“The young
man who boarded behind me, he hasn’t gotten back on yet,” Gladys said to the driver when he finished reminding the other passengers of the bus’s imminent departure. “I saw him walking into that desert,” she added.
“Young man? You mean the boy you’re traveling with?” asked the driver.
“He isn’t traveling with me and he isn’t a boy.” She leaned in and whispered, “He has a condition. He’s actually nineteen. Isn’t that just awful?”
The driver shrugged. “The bus leaves in five minutes. He’s either on it or he’s not.”
“Well, you can’t just leave him here.”
“Actually, I can. I got a schedule to keep. Or I get docked. There’ll be another bus coming through here in a few hours.”
“I’m sure he just lost track of time. These young people today, you know they don’t wear watches anymore. They have those phones and gadgets, and out here they never work right,” Gladys explained. “I can go and get him. I just need ten minutes.”
“The bus leaves in five, ma’am,” the driver reminded her.
“Please?” Gladys begged. Pleading with her eyes.
“I guess I can pad in another five,” the driver offered reluctantly. “But not a second later—”
Gladys was already on her way. She borrowed a sightseeing couple’s binoculars and spotted the “young man” heading toward a large pile of rocks in the distance. She returned the binoculars and headed after him.
Her seatmate had been asleep most of the trip, so she hadn’t even been able to coax out a name. The best she could do was yell “Young man!” to try to grab his attention. Unfortunately, the hot, dry air coupled with her aged lungs made it difficult to get much volume. She was simply going to have to catch up with him. Gladys calculated she had at least fifteen minutes for the retrieval—she was counting on the driver not being so heartless as to leave once he spotted them making their way back. It was a gamble, but Gladys was a gambler.
By the time Gladys reached the rocks, the target of her pursuit had already climbed to the plateau above. Exhausted and out of breath, Gladys knew she was unable to follow him to the top, but if she only got high enough, he might hear her call out. Fueling her initiative was the frightening thought she’d had on the way to the outcropping: What if this mysterious passenger had been lying about his illness? What if he really was just a kid? The notion both terrified and motivated her. His safety suddenly became her responsibility, and that was a mission Gladys Hartwicke was born to accept.
—
The flapping of the creature’s massive wings sent up a swirling column of dust that blanketed the plateau and rose hundreds of feet into the air. In Death Valley, these whirlwinds of dirt were often called sand augers—twisting, dust-filled tornados that fed off the desert floor as they moved across the landscape. Sam had forgotten about this part of the dream and closed his eyes and covered his mouth a moment too late. When he heard the wings slow and felt the haze begin to settle, he cautiously opened his eyes. They instantly stung from the dissipating cloud of dust, and he coughed as particles of desert sand forced their way into his throat. But it was all suddenly worth it—the stinging, the coughing, the lying, the possible grounding for eternity—for what he saw standing before him was truly extraordinary. Phylassos had returned.
How do you break the ice with a centuries-old legendary creature? Sam had considered a few possibilities. First off, he could simply say something. The question was, what, exactly? “Fancy meeting you here.” “I’m your biggest fan.” “Please don’t kill me.” The options were endless. And even if he could narrow the list down to the perfect opening line, would the gryphon understand him? Did it speak English? Did it speak at all? Idea number two was to wait for the gryphon to make the first move. Sam crossed that one off the list pretty quickly, since that could involve making Sam its next meal. The most promising option was to give the gryphon a gift. An offering to build its trust and establish Sam’s good intentions. Sam reached into his backpack and pulled out the only thing he had to offer: the package of cookies he had purchased from the gas station.
Sam extended his arm toward the gryphon, his sugary offering held loosely in the palm of his hand, as if he were feeding a small pet. The gryphon eyed Sam with a blend of curiosity, incredulity, and trepidation. That is to say, it looked confused. Sam couldn’t help but notice the real-world gryphon was even more magnificent than its dreamworld counterpart. The dream, though realistic, still possessed an otherworldly feel. There was an oversaturation of color and light that didn’t exist here in this desert. As Sam stared up at the creature now towering above him, he could truly appreciate how regal the gryphon was. It exuded an almost “angelic” presence and energy that was unlike anything Sam had felt before. Its piercing green eyes sparkled under true sunlight, and Sam could sense the powerful intelligence that lay behind them. He found it difficult to stay focused with his eyes so eager to wander. They darted from the gryphon’s delicately feathered wings to its intimidating and fearsome-looking claws to the majestic crest that framed its head. Its pure white feathers bristled in a softly whistling desert breeze.
After a few anxious moments of the creature shifting its gaze from Sam to Sam’s gift, Sam concluded that it was not going to take the bait. So he tossed the entire package toward the gryphon and stepped back. The creature leaned cautiously toward the gift without breaking its gaze. It sniffed at the package, then flipped it over with its formidable beak. It finally took its eyes off Sam for a moment, then suddenly turned back to him.
“Too many preservatives,” growled the gryphon in a deep, almost whispery voice. The creature snatched up the package in its beak and hurled it back at Sam. “Not healthy for either of us.”
It could speak! Of course it could, Sam thought. The book said gryphons were highly intelligent. Still, hearing the creature vocalize for the first time took Sam by surprise. He was speechless.
“But I thank you for the gesture. It was very thoughtful,” added the gryphon.
“Are you Phylassos?” Sam blurted out practically all at once. The gryphon’s eyes widened at the mention of this name. And Sam could have sworn he saw a smile creep across the creature’s face.
“At my age, one would think I had seen all the tricks the universe had to play,” the gryphon replied. “Yet here you are, standing on this rock in this desert at this very moment, knowing my name, and I do not know yours.”
“I’m Sam London. You were in my dream.”
“You were in my dream,” said Phylassos with what Sam could officially declare to be a smile. “A dream so vivid I have journeyed to this place many times in the hopes it would hold the answers to my many questions.”
“You mean, you don’t know—”
“—why you and I have been brought together?” Phylassos interrupted. “I’m afraid I do not. But I trust a higher power is at work in these unusual events. There is a reason this meeting is occurring, Sam London, but knowing the universe as I do, I suspect that reason may not make itself known to us for some time.”
Phylassos stepped toward Sam and leaned down so he was only a foot from his face. “But I must implore you not to speak of this to anyone. Do you understand?” Sam nodded. “No one is to be trusted, because not everyone is what they seem,” the gryphon added in a measured and foreboding tone. “Tell me, Mr. London, what do you know of the gryphon’s claw?”
The answer was easy: nothing. Sam had only seen gryphon claws in illustrations—except the four that were currently sitting in front of him, of course. Sam was just about to respond when his attention was caught by a distinct rustling noise that could only be generated by one thing: falling rocks. And it was coming from right below them. The gryphon had straightened instantly at the sound and moved silently to the edge of the plateau. Its mighty paws didn’t touch the desert floor but floated a few inches above the surface—a feat accomplished with the gentle flapping of its wings. The beast peered over the edge to glimpse their unexpected guest.
; It was Gladys Hartwicke.
—
Gladys didn’t know what she was looking at. She had never seen anything like it. She was standing on a boulder several feet below the top of the outcropping, having slid a few feet after grabbing a loose rock. She had already ventured much farther than she expected to, but she could have sworn she heard voices—two voices, as a matter of fact—coming from the plateau, and she was determined to find out who the strange young man was talking to. The answer was looming over her, but she was too terrified to even contemplate it. As the creature’s gaze narrowed, Gladys felt an overwhelming sense of dread. Her siblings always warned her that “caring too much” for people would one day get the better of her. Apparently, that day had come.
Sam’s would-be rescuer did what anyone would likely do in the same situation: she screamed. If only she could have found that same magnitude of breath earlier as she was calling out for the “young man,” Gladys might have avoided this moment. Her scream was surprisingly loud, and given the landscape and the stillness of the air, it had no trouble traveling across the desert floor and echoing throughout the valley. She continued her panicked cry even as she stumbled to the ground and quickly scrambled back up to race to the station. She would later claim it was pure adrenaline that propelled her across the valley and sustained her perpetual shriek. And as Gladys Hartwicke ran for her life she made this solemn pledge: if by some miracle she survived this day, she would from this time forward mind her own business.
—
Phylassos looked back at Sam. “You were followed,” he said with unease. Upon seeing Gladys, Sam realized his plan had required a little more planning.
Guardians of the Gryphon's Claw Page 3
