Hatched

by Bruce Coville

  But I was still afraid.

  Besides, the newly emerged thing was wet, her fur slick and her feathers bedraggled. It was not a pretty sight, and I didn’t want to look that way myself.

  I decided to continue waiting.

  Not long after this my brother, Cyril, broke out of his egg. He appeared much as Violet had—though by this time she had dried out and was looking somewhat better.

  Again, I wondered if I should also break down the wall and come out. Again I fell asleep instead, my brain baffled and befuddled by the choices facing me. What finally woke me—the next day, as I later learned—was my mother’s voice. She had stepped up to my egg and, using what I can only call her Voice That Must Be Obeyed, she ordered, “Gerald Overflight, you come out of that egg right this minute!”

  I was still frightened of coming out. However, I was even more frightened by my mother’s voice! Reacting violently, I pecked my way out of the egg and tumbled onto the floor of my parents’ cave.

  My brother and sister looked at me as if they could not understand what I was…a look they have been giving me ever since. My father, who was perched nearby, put his right talons to his beak, pinched it, shook his head, and sighed.

  I was only moments out of the egg and already I could tell that I had screwed up badly.

  That was where Gerald ended his story. As we talked about it, he explained that at the time his siblings were too young to understand the humiliation of being “first laid but last hatched”…and also too young to remember what had happened.

  Unfortunately, a few weeks ago his mother told them the story. She did it with good intention, hoping to get them to understand that Gerald was somewhat timid by nature and that they should stop teasing him.

  The result, of course, was the opposite. With this ammunition, Gerald’s brother and sister began to humiliate him daily, making sure only to do so where their mother couldn’t hear.

  I understood this. I know all too well the secret ways of bullies. They hide themselves brilliantly. I totally get why Gerald felt it was necessary to run away from home.

  Friday, July 3

  I have good news and bad news. The good news is that there is word from Master Abelard!

  The bad news is that what I have learned is horribly distressing.

  The message arrived this afternoon while Brad and I were having a chat. We like telling each other about our worlds, and I was finding that doing so helped distract me from my worries.

  I was telling Brad about the Encyclopedia Enchantica when we saw a rat crawl up from between two of the floorboards.

  According to Brad, a rat in a barn is not that startling. He says what made this rat unusual was the roll of paper tied to its back.

  Even more unusual was that it scampered directly toward me. (Any sensible rat would have fled in terror from my mighty talons and deadly beak!)

  When it was about five feet away, it stopped, rose on its hind legs, and saluted.

  I did the only thing that seemed to make sense: I lifted my right talons and returned the salute. I heard a click and knew that Brad had taken a photo of the moment.

  The rat twisted around, pulled the scroll from its back, and placed it on the floor in front of me. Then it turned, scampered away, and disappeared through the same floorboards.

  “I am hopeful this may be from Master Abelard,” I said to Bradley. “But will it be good news, or ill?”

  “Well, why not open it and find out?” he replied.

  When I didn’t answer, he said, “Would you like me to do it for you?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, pushing the paper toward him.

  Clearly he is a sensitive boy and understood my nervousness.

  Brad reached forward and plucked the scroll from the floor.

  I watched impatiently as he unrolled it. When he was done I said, “Well, what does it say?”

  “Shall I just read it out loud?” he asked.

  I thought about it for a moment, then nodded and braced myself for whatever the message might contain.

  It was worse than I expected.

  July 3

  Dear Gerald—

  I am sorry not to have been in touch with you. I suffered a serious accident two nights ago and was unconscious for quite some time. I hope you have managed on your own. I apologize for any distress I have caused you.

  Since the accident things have gotten complicated, and far more difficult than I anticipated when you and I began this journey. To go straight to the point, I am being held in custody by the very people I was seeking when we came here!

  My dear student, the following is hard for me to write. Trust that I am truly fond of you—really, you are one of the most gifted youngsters it has been my pleasure to work with. Even so, I must now confess that I have deceived and used you.

  Specifically, I used you to carry me through the Transcendental Curtain…not for your own well-being but because I was desperate to reach the human world myself.

  Why I needed to get here is a long story and not one I want to discuss right now.

  In my own defense, I do think it was important for you to make this journey. I hope that in doing so you have gained the true treasure of confidence and independence. (Alas, it may be hard to convince the Grand Council to count that as your Tenth Hatchday acquisition.)

  Anyway, though I had personal reasons for joining you on this journey, I pray you will believe it was not my intent to abandon you after our arrival.

  Unfortunately, things have not turned out as I had anticipated.

  Not at all as I had anticipated.

  I must now ask two things of you.

  First: When the moon is at its highest point tonight, please come to the boulder that stands about three hundred yards behind the barn where you are (I hope!) safely sheltering. You will know the rock—it is just at the edge of the forest and is at least as tall as you are. If I cannot come myself, you will be met there by others on my behalf.

  Second: When you come, please bring your bag of treasures.

  Gerald, I am not nearly as good as you think I am. Even so, I hope you will believe that I did plan to remain with you to advise and guide you.

  It is a great embarrassment that I now must ask you to rescue me instead.

  You are a better student than I deserve.

  Your teacher,

  Abelard Chronicus

  From Brad’s Real Journal

  7/3

  Sweet sizzling sausages, I never thought I would see a rat salute a griffin! I was glad I had my phone with me, because that was definitely a photo op!

  When Gerald said the message was likely from his teacher, I wondered why it was so small. Then I realized (duh!) that it had to be small so the rat could carry it.

  I did wonder how a griffin could have written something on such a tiny piece of paper. But who knows what kind of magic they have at their command?

  I felt honored that Gerald allowed me to read him the message. (I offered because I could tell he was too nervous to read it himself.)

  When I was done, Gerald and I sat in silence for a while. Finally I said, “Are you going to do as your teacher asks?”

  Gerald hesitated for only a moment before saying, “I think I must.” He ducked his head and cocked it sideways, which made him look oddly like a giant-sized version of the parakeet I used to have, and said, “Will you come with me?”

  I had half hoped, half feared he would ask this. Going out in the middle of the night to help a griffin meet his teacher was about as cool a thing as I could imagine. But I also felt as if the world was stretching out in ways that my mind could barely contain.

  Would this be dangerous? I didn’t know.

  What I did know was that if I turned down his invitation and didn’t go, I would regret it for the rest of my life.

  I thought about a poem called “Ragged John” we read in English class last year. I liked it well enough that I memorized it, though I never told anyone I had done that.

  The c
losing lines are:

  If a unicorn should call to you

  Some moon-mad night, all washed in dew,

  Then here’s the prayer to whisper:

  Grant me the heart to follow.

  Gerald was no unicorn, but he was close enough for government work, as Bibi likes to say. And I might never again have such an invitation.

  Seriously, who has ever had such an invitation?!

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll come with you.”

  The look on Gerald’s face—really, he is amazingly expressive for someone with the head of an eagle—made me glad I had agreed to join him.

  At the same time, it made me wonder what we would find when we got to the boulder. Who is holding Gerald’s teacher captive?

  It has to be someone or something very powerful.

  After all, a griffin is a very powerful creature itself. And I assume this adult griffin doesn’t have Gerald’s dithering problem.

  Maybe offering to go with him wasn’t such a good idea after all!

  I wonder if it’s too late to back out.

  Sheesh! Now I’m dithering, too!

  No.

  I’ve said I would go, and honor demands that I must!

  Friday, July 3 (late evening)

  I only have a little while to make these notes before it will be too dark to write.

  Brad has returned to the farmhouse. His grandmother always expects him to come in when night falls. But he has promised to return when the moon is near its peak.

  Will he? I hope so.

  I have decided I like Brad. He seems to be about my age, in human terms, and everything I have sensed while talking to him makes me think he is someone I could be friends with.

  Plus he likes puns! How lucky am I to find someone like that?

  Friends with a human! My parents and the sibs would be appalled by the idea. But Brad is funny and kind and thoughtful, and I can tell he also wants to be brave and daring. What more could I ask for in a companion?

  Alas, with Bradley gone, I have nothing to do but wait and wonder and fret.

  Why couldn’t Master A have confided in me about his real plans and asked me if I wanted to be part of his big adventure? I have admired him so much for so long, it is terrible to think that he had shut me out like this.

  Yet he is still my teacher, and I owe him much. So I feel that I have no choice but to follow his request.

  What will we find when we go to this boulder?

  And why am I supposed to bring my treasures? They are sacred, and I must guard them with my life! Otherwise I am no true griffin!

  Will I be asked to trade them for his freedom?

  Could I do that?

  Should I?

  I think I would have to. But if I give up even one of the treasures, I don’t think I can ever—EVER!—go home again.

  Of course, I am not sure if I do want to go home again anyway.

  Stop dithering, Gerald! Brace yourself for what is to come!

  This is called “self-talk.” It is a way of trying to convince yourself you can do something.

  According to Master A it can be very effective.

  I am not entirely convinced this is true.

  From the Notebook of

  Abelard Chronicus

  July 3

  Writing that letter to Gerald was one of the most humiliating things I have done in a long life that has seen more than its share of humiliations. (I do, after all, work in academia….)

  As I contemplate what I have dragged the griffling into, I grow ever more remorseful and ever more aware of how fond I am of him, despite his overly dramatic nature.

  At the moment, I am feeling overly dramatic myself. That is because I had a visit this evening from my twin. The joy of finding Eduard again after almost three hundred years is nearly indescribable. I shall ever regret that I was off on my Wander Year when the gnomes of Batavia decided on their sudden escape to the New World.

  “I was so torn!” Eduard told me tonight when we discussed this. “I wanted to stay with the city as we made our migration, but I was distraught that you were afield and nowhere to be found. And Mother was frantic, despite the fact that she was one of the prime movers of the migration. I tried sending messages—”

  “I got them,” I told him. “As soon as the first one reached me I hurried back to Batavia. Alas, I was too late. By the time I reached the city it was already deserted. I cannot tell you how heavy my heart felt as I wandered those empty streets and recalled the words of your message. They are burned into my memory: ‘Brother! We are going to a place where we cannot be found. I cannot tell you where it is, for we ourselves do not yet know. Hurry back to my side or I fear we shall be parted forever!’ ”

  Tears stood out in Eduard’s eyes. “I should have stayed,” he murmured.

  “If you had, then Mother and Father would have been without both of us for the rest of their lives,” I replied. “No, you made the right choice.”

  After that our conversation moved to another matter, even darker than our separation.

  It turns out that, true to our twinhood, Eduard and I have this in common: We pursue unpopular topics and bring distress with our research.

  Only, what he has discovered exceeds in importance anything that I have worked on.

  New Batavia is in imminent danger of destruction. Unfortunately, no one will believe him when he tries to explain the danger!

  Friday, July 3 (night)

  The moon nears its high point (which is how I have enough light to write this).

  Where is Bradley???

  From Brad’s Real Journal

  7/4

  Holy flying Butterball turkeys, have I got a lot to write about! I’m glad I carry this pocket journal…otherwise I wouldn’t have anything to do that writing in, given where I am right now.

  Hmmm. Better back up some.

  Begin with this: I love being outdoors at night.

  More specifically, I love being outdoors at night in the Catskills. I love the black velvety darkness, marked with points of light from the fireflies. I love the wet smell of the earth and the plants. Most of all I love the sense of magic in the air.

  So I was excited (if also a bit terrified) to be going out to the boulder with Gerald last night.

  As it turned out, he was even more on edge than I was.

  In fact, he was a dithering mess.

  I was amazed that someone as mighty as a griffin could be in such a state of fuss. I almost called him out for it but managed to stop myself before I said anything too insulting or stupid.

  This morning Gerald and I spent some time comparing journals (well, he has a diary, I have a journal) because we’re sharing a room right now.

  I’m not going to repeat what he has been writing. We’ve agreed we can combine our work if we ever want to make a book out of what happened to us.

  (How cool is that? I have a griffin for a writing partner! I wonder what Dad would have thought of that. I so wish he could have met Gerald. I think he would have liked him.)

  For now I’ll just say that I wasn’t expecting what we found when we went out to the boulder last night.

  Even less was I expecting what happened next.

  I’m torn between delight and horror.

  Saturday, July 4

  When I left off, I was in the barn, waiting for Brad, wondering if he would really show up.

  I should have saved myself the fuss…a thing that is often true in my life. I had opened the loft door and was staring out at the night when a voice behind me called, “Hey, Gerald!”

  I turned and was astonished to see not Bradley but a ray of light.

  “What is that?” I yelped.

  “It’s just a flashlight,” came Brad’s voice.

  “What is a flashlight? And if it is supposed to be flashing, why is it not going on and off instead of glowing in a steady beam? What kind of magic is this?”

  “It’s not magic at all.”

  “You have light coming out of
your hand, and it’s not magic?”

  Brad laughed. “Not magic, just science. A couple of batteries and a lightbulb.”

  He might as well have said, “A couple of burblesnorts and a jiggle splat.” However, I did not want to have this conversation again, so I simply said, “Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure you would.”

  Immediately I felt shame for admitting that I had doubted him.

  “So, are we going out to try to find your teacher?” Bradley asked, ignoring my rude statement.

  “Oh yes!” I cried. “Yes. I am ready to go. But could you help me with this?” I held up the pack that contained my treasures (and my diary, which is why I am able to write this now). “It is not easy for me to strap it on by myself.”

  Strapping it on was not easy for Brad, either, partly because he had to hold his “flashlight” in one hand (or sometimes his mouth) to see what he was doing.

  “Jeez, I’m glad Bibi’s friend Herb taught me how to saddle a pony last year,” he said at one point.

  “I am NOT a pony!” I replied sharply.

  “Don’t be so touchy. You may not be a pony, but you’re as big as one. And Herb could do this with only one hand. But…oh wait! I think I’ve got it.”

  Unfortunately, this was not true. It took three more tries, as well as a lot of cussing from both of us, to get the pack in place. (The cussing turned out to be fun, but I won’t write any of it down, as that kind of language is not very dignified.)

  When we were finally ready I gestured to the loft door and said, “I’m going out that way. It will be easier than using that stupid ladder.”

  “Makes sense,” replied Brad. “I’ll go down and meet you behind the barn.”

  I leaped through the window and with only a couple of wing strokes glided to the ground. I landed gracefully, if I do say so myself.

  Moments later Brad joined me.

  “Ready?” he asked, and I could hear the tension in his voice.