by M. M. Perry
Cassandra came to their table and picked up a piece of sausage.
“Don't you know that one? It's one of my favorites,” she waggled the sausage suggestively, “I hear the bards around here singing it all the time. That’s the bit that everyone joins in on,” she finished, popping the sausage into her mouth.
Cass looked around the table expectantly while she chewed. Everyone looked at her blankly, except for Gunnarr, who was very busy pretending to be extremely interested in the non-existent contents of his tankard.
“Oh, how can you not know that one?” Cass asked. “Well, no matter. That’ll just give us something to do once we’re on the road. I’ll teach it to everyone. I’ve even got a few new verses I’ve made up myself. Speaking of which, are we ready to go? The sun is bright and the plains await!”
“We are going through the plains then,” Callan said despondently.
“Yes. The temple of Oshia is in the Razorback Mountains, just beyond the kingdom of Chulpe,” Cass said. “We must go through the plains and many other unpleasant places to get there I'm afraid.”
“To the temple by way of Chulpe it is, then,” Callan said, continuing, mostly to himself, “they must feel rather lucky to be so close to the temple.”
“No, not exactly,” Cassandra said. “You see, you can’t get to the temple from Chulpe…”
“But you just said,” Callan interrupted her.
“You didn’t let me finish. You see the gods are very particular about people visiting their temples—or at least those temples they particularly favor. They don't want to make it too easy for people to bother them. If you started out in Chulpe, you’d have to go all the way around the Windbreak Mountains, opposite the direction we’ll be heading, and then back up to find the Temple of Oshia. No matter where you start, Oshia will always make sure its temple is as far away from you as possible.”
“Why bother even having a temple then?” Callan muttered. “It doesn’t matter, though. It could be ten times as far and I’d still make the trip. It’s not the distance that worries me… it’s what we’ll encounter on the way. Are you sure it’s safe to travel across the plains? I’ve heard... otherwise.”
“I told you I was left there as a babe, right? And I survived unscathed,” Cass said, trying to allay the king’s concerns. She grabbed a loaf of bread and tore off a large hunk.
“I figured that was just, well… you know how warriors talk. ‘I killed fifty armed men with a spoon,’ that sort of thing. You didn’t really mean it,” Callan said incredulously. “You do know how it sounds? Like the opening of some myth, as if you were the offspring of one of the Gods themselves.”
“Hmm,” Cass said around a mouthful of bread, then swallowed. “I never really thought about it that way, to tell you the truth,” Cass said honestly. “That’s just what my mother told me, for as long as I can remember. I guess I just never questioned it. But now that you mention it, it does sound a bit silly, doesn't it? I wonder why no one else has ever noticed that.”
“Because he's the only one fool enough to doubt your word,” Gunnarr said warningly.
Cass smiled down at the back of Gunnarr's head.
“Ah, come now my friend,” she said, placing her hand firmly on his shoulder. “I’m not insulted. He’s merely pointing out how the story looks to a city dweller.”
Gunnarr blushed deeply as Cass continued. “Perhaps Selina did make up the tale. I shall ask when I see her next. Regardless, what is unquestionable is that I was raised on the plains and I can tell you they are safe enough, if you know what to look out for. We’ll travel only when it’s light. So long as everyone takes care to stay close to each other, everything should go well.” She tossed the rest of the loaf back on the table. “Come now, let's gear up the horses and be off. And don’t forget to thank Mat on your way out. He’s been kind enough to fill our packs with his excellent fare.”
Cass reached over Gunnarr’s shoulder and snatched the last piece of potato from his plate. She popped it in her mouth then headed for the door. After a moment, Gunnarr pushed back from the table and stood. Callan looked up at him, uneasy with how the huge man was looming over him, and was startled to see anger on the big man's face.
“You should know,” Gunnarr said, “that Cassandra is one of the most respected of our order. She does not lie. She might not mind how you’ve insulted her, but I do. Slight her again in my presence, and we shall have to discuss it... the way warriors discuss such things.”
Gunnarr glowered at Callan menacingly until Callan looked away. Then Gunnarr walked away from the table and out the door, leaving the small party alone.
“How do... warriors discuss things?” Callan asked in a small voice.
“I believe it involves their fists, sir,” Nat said taking a bite of egg.
“Oh.” Callan’s face was ashen. “I think I shall have a little walk before we go. I’ll meet you at the stable.”
After the king left, Nat turned to Inez and whispered, “I’m a city dweller, but I believe Cass.”
Inez patted the boy’s hand.
“That’s because you haven’t yet gained one of the most important aspects of adulthood, boy.”
“What?” Nat asked.
“Cynicism. Now, we should get going before that tart gets any more ideas about my Braldashadian.”
Cassandra’s chestnut colored mare had a sleek black tail and mane and tufts of black fur on its massive hooves. Callan was sure it was the biggest horse he’d ever see, until he saw Gunnarr's stallion. Callan wouldn’t be surprised if someone told him it was the biggest horse to walk the continent of Centria. Gunnarr's horse was a smoky gray, with a slightly darker tail and mane. It was truly a majestic animal. Callan thought that next to these magnificent animals, his own mount looked like a yearling.
“Do the Braldashad ride often? With so much sea travel, if everyone on the boat brought a horse like this, well, you'd need a boat the size of a small village to carry all the weight,” Callan said marveling at the horse.
“Yes, that sounds about right,” Gunnarr said scratching his chin as he thought about it.
Callan was pleased to find the huge Braldashadian in a better temper. The thought of riding around with an angry Gunnarr behind him, or even in front of him, wasn’t particularly comforting for Callan.
“I should like to see such a ship! I’ve never had the chance to travel on the sea, just over it” Cass said. “And when you travel on the back of a griffin, you don't really get that close to the ocean. I think I’d like to feel the spray of the water on my face as I traveled from continent to continent.”
Cass mounted her horse. Nobody else made a move towards their own animals, they just stared up at her.
“What? Do I have food on my face again?” Cass asked, rubbing at her face. “I know I'm not the daintiest lady generally, but nobody should walk around with food all over their face. Is it gone?”
“You are a griffin rider,” Gunnarr said in awe.
“Oh, that,” Cass said, scratching her neck and blushing a little. “I didn’t mean to brag. Sorry.”
“It didn't sound like bragging to me,” Callan said in wonderment.
“No it didn't. It sounded like the beginning of a great story. You must tell us, my lady!” Nat said excitedly.
Inez frowned bitterly. She didn’t like how all men were fixated on the only other woman in the travelling company, and, as far as Inez was concerned, not a very pretty woman at that. Inez began to wonder if she had been too hasty in accepting Cass into their party. The warrior was blessed with unnatural charisma, a fact Inez was mulling over while she glared at Cass.
Cass smiled with an uncharacteristic shyness.
“I’m used to other warriors wishing to hear of my travels, but I’ve found most city folk aren’t usually amused by my tales. I’ll share some of them with you as we travel, if you wish.”
They all mounted their horses, each urging Cass to tell them about her time with griffins, except for Inez. She c
limbed into her wagon silently, and immediately started moving away from the pub and out onto the vast Plains of the Dead Gods. Callan was so excited about hearing from someone who’d actually ridden a griffin that he temporarily forgot about his fear of traveling the dreaded plains. He, like the rest of the party, listened raptly as Cass began.
“I was six when I saw my first griffin. They live primarily high in the mountains, but the statues of the gods make good roosting areas for the beasts, so there is a small population that lives out in the plains, towards the middle. On rare occasions, as when I was a child, you might see one even here, reeling in the sky overhead. On one such occasion, I managed to catch sight of one.
“It wasn’t until much later, when I was twelve, that I had a chance to see a griffin up close. You may not know this, but griffins are the mortal enemies of the harpies out here, and they hunt them down whenever they can. But the harpies are bright creatures, and uncanny mimics. That day, I came upon a flock of harpies feasting on a griffin’s carcass. The griffin must have been a recent mother, because one of the harpies had a very young griffin, badly injured but still alive, pinned to the ground nearby. I guessed that they planned to take the young griffin back to one of their nests. A full grown griffin would have been far too heavy for them to carry, but the whelp could easily be taken back and fed to their young. Of course, no budding warrior would pass up the chance to slay something as foul as a harpy, so I fell upon them. I slew one of them before the rest could react. By the time I’d hewn another head nearly off, the rest had taken flight. Harpies are cowardly creatures, really, attacking only when they perceive a clear advantage. They are easily rattled. Had they attacked me as a group, I’d have been hard pressed to survive.
“I’d hoped I could save the whelp, but it was badly injured and scared, lashing out at me whenever I approached. For the next few days, I came back to the poor creature. I brought it food, but it refused to eat. And no matter what I tried, despite the sad, deteriorating state of its mother’s carcass, the poor thing would not leave its parent’s side. It was very distressing for me.
“I loved to watch the griffins in the air. They are beautiful, majestic creatures. I could hardly bear the thought of this young one pining away, starving to death, or becoming prey to some other creature… maybe even the cackle of harpies that had killed its mother. Unable to forget the creature, nor to help it, I finally told my mother, Selina, about it. She was the one that proved to be the creature’s salvation. She told me that griffins raise their young communally, and if I could somehow manage to lure just one adult back to the young griffin, they would take care of the rest. Armed with that knowledge, the only problem I had was how to go about luring them back to the whelp. It turns out that getting a griffin's attention isn’t all that hard. But staying away from an angry griffin’s sharp bits, that’s a real challenge, especially when you’re trying not to hurt them.
“It was foolish really, but I was desperate to save the griffin's life. I had a superb slingshot then, and I was really quite good with it. I headed into the central plains and fairly soon managed to track a griffin back to a roost at one of the god’s statues. With a well-aimed rock, I disturbed the griffin nest. Perhaps a little too well-aimed. Never hit a griffin in its hindquarters. It makes them more than a tad irritated. Half the flock leapt into the air. They chased me for miles. One of them even managed to catch hold of me for a moment. That took forever to heal. I still have the scars.
“But as soon as I got close enough to see the baby griffin and its mother, they broke off their pursuit and flew, as if a single creature, straight to the whelp, crowding around it protectively. From what I hoped was a respectful distance away, I watched, one after another, slowly approach the youngster and gently nuzzle it. One of them even had a little something in its crop still, and fed the little one a few morsels, which it gulped down greedily. After what could have been minutes, or hours, I can’t recall because I was so transfixed, they finally flew off, the griffin that had fed the whelp gently carrying it away. I was so pleased that I had been able to help save that helpless baby that I ran all the way home to tell Selina, not even taking the time to see to my wounds.”
Cassandra paused then, as if caught up in the memory. Everybody except Inez waited with bated breath to hear what she would say next. Inez muttered something mostly unintelligible into the momentary quiet, although Callan thought it might have been “melodramatic, aren’t we?”
“Griffins are incredibly intelligent. I’ve heard more than one person drop into the pub, fresh from the city, claiming they’re dangerous beasts and looking for someone to take them out on a hunt. But the truth is they don't actually attack people unless they feel threatened. And even then, their first reaction is to avoid a confrontation with humans. Flight before fight. They don't really have any interest in us as prey. I’ve even heard stories of some tribes high in the mountains who live alongside the griffins and ride them regularly.
“That first encounter with griffins made a real impression on me. I had to see them again, to know how the whelp was settling in with its new family. I’m sure they even recognized me the first time I revisited their roost. They were standoffish, but they didn’t attack me. I made it a habit to stop by whenever I was out hunting, leaving something out for them. The first few dozen times, they wouldn’t even come down to take my offering until I was well on my way back home. But after a time a few of them would soar down to watch me leave their treats. A few months of that, and they would land within paces of me as I tossed out their share of my hunt. Finally, they even began to let me touch them. Some of them even took to grooming me. By the way, not a grooming method I can recommend very highly. It wasn’t too long after that before I was able to coax one into letting me ride him. It was exhilarating. That family, or at least their descendants, still roosts on the statue of Timta. I stop by whenever I’m out that way, always making sure to take a few bits of fresh meat with me. And they greet me warmly every time.”
“That’s a wonderful tale! Will we be going by Timta on our journey?” Nat asked.
“Yes, I suppose we shall. Although I doubt the griffins will let you ride them, they may let you pet them, so long as you’re with me,” Cass said smiling down at Nat.
“I can’t wait!” Nat said prodding his little pony along faster.
Callan looked up at one of the towering statues, searching.
“These harpies, though. They are quite dangerous, right? That much of what we poor, misinformed city folk know is true?” Callan asked.
“Oh yes, very. And tricky as well. Don’t worry, I know where they roost and I won’t take you near their nests,” Cass said looking up at the towering stone gods.
“They have very specific territories and I’m familiar with them all, which is a good thing for you. Several of the cackles are large enough that they wouldn’t hesitate to attack a group as small as ours. As I said, they are cowardly creatures, and rarely hunt in cackles of less than ten. They would pick us off, one by one, starting with whoever straggled the furthest behind,” Cass said.
“You aren’t making this trip easier with that talk,” Callan said glancing around suspiciously.
“Well,” Cass said, “they hunt mostly at night. Mostly. The griffins attack them if they leave their roosts during the day, so they take full advantage of the night. That’s why we won’t be travelling after dark. They are silent in flight, and confuse travelers by imitating the cries of babes or women in distress. It’s easy to be distracted by their cries. You don’t want to be separated from the group, alone in the dark out here.”
“And you took on a group of them when you were twelve?” Callan asked skeptically.
“Well, they were feasting and distracted. And it was day. I think one of the griffins must have flown too close to one of the harpies’ roosts, most likely the younger one, not understanding the danger. The mother was probably provoked into attacking the roost to try and save her whelp. Lucky for me, the harpies were
sluggish after their feast, so they were slow to react to my initial assault. I only managed to slay two of them, really. The rest flew away rather than risk their lives,” Cass said humbly shrugging off the accomplishment.
“It is still quite a feat,” Gunnarr said, “Few people would rush alone, right into the center of those beasts.”
“Well my good fellow, I am sure you have some tales of your own to tell. You must have defeated many great beasts out on the open seas,” Cass said looking at Gunnarr with blatant appreciation.
Gunnarr blushed and looked away, “I may have.”
Cass smiled and looked ahead, “Well, when you are ready, I think we’ll find you have plenty of stories to rival my own.”
“I have heard of other dangers in the plains, just as dire as the harpies. The spiders you mentioned... and some tales of the gods themselves,” Callan said quietly.
“The spiders, yes. Honestly, I was just teasing you about them. They actually live high up in the statues. They build vast webs to catch things flying by. And by things, I mean harpies. The griffins are too strong for the webs to hold, so the spiders don’t waste their silk during the day. But as soon as the sun begins to set, they spin like mad. By nightfall, the webs can be quite lovely when the moonlight hits them just right. They sparkle in a way,” Cass said.
“How could anyone find a spider’s web lovely,” Callan said derisively.
Cass laughed, “I guess I see them differently, since they eat harpies and I don’t care for harpies. To be sure, they’d eat me too if I stumbled into a web.”
“Can’t the harpies see the webs, too?” Nat asked looking up at the statues, searching for any telltale spider signs.
“They don’t have the best vision. They mainly rely on their sense of smell, and their hearing. They have very good hearing,” Cass explained.
“And the gods don’t mind all these things roosting in their… orifices?” Callan asked.
He shuddered at the thought of a swarm of spiders gushing from the mouth of one of the gods.
