by K J Taylor
But they didn’t go away. And in just a few short days, they became unbearable. What had been an ache in the joints spread through every bone in his spine, legs, and shoulders, then to the muscles. He began to have headaches as well and could barely sleep at night.
Not one to complain, Kullervo kept quiet about it. But before long, he had developed a limp that got worse as the pains did. His eyes became hollow with exhaustion, and he went off his food. Senneck must have noticed, but she said nothing, and only began to watch him more closely whenever they were on the ground.
Travelling inconspicuously meant they took an indirect route to the coast, and the journey took longer than it might have done. Kullervo suffered wordlessly through it, until finally Senneck reached the harbour town called Abertawe. There was a small griffiner tower there, but she ignored it and went straight to the docks, where Skarok and Inva had already boarded the ship that would take them to Maijan.
Inva came to meet them alone, arriving just as Kullervo dismounted.
He slid clumsily off Senneck’s back and toppled sideways onto the ground.
Inva, forgetting protocol, ran to help him up. “My lord!”
Grey-faced and sweating, Kullervo clasped her hand and let himself be pulled upright. “Thanks . . .”
He looked so ghastly that even Inva finally forgot her reserve. “What happened to you? You are ill . . .” She glanced quickly at the impassive Senneck.
“I’m all right,” Kullervo croaked.
“You are not well,” Inva said immediately. “You are very ill. How long have you been like this?”
“A while,” said Kullervo. “I’ll get better . . .” He tried to stand up properly but failed, reaching out pathetically for Senneck to support him. She was there at once, putting her head under his arm.
Inva hesitated. “You must go home,” she said at last.
“He will not,” Senneck interrupted. “Take us to the ship now.”
Inva bowed low to her. “Sacred one, your human will not survive the journey.”
“He is not ill,” said Senneck. “He will recover.”
“I will,” said Kullervo, before Inva could protest. “Please take us to the ship. I need to lie down for a bit. I’ll be fine.”
“But—” Inva began.
Kullervo pulled himself up. “I’ll get better if Senneck says I will,” he said, with so much certainty that it was obvious nothing could change his mind.
Inva’s lifelong training in obedience won through, and she nodded politely and led the pair of them down the pier to where a ship was moored. Three griffins waited on the deck—two females and Skarok, who came to his human at once.
“So the two weaklings have arrived at last,” he sneered at Senneck and Kullervo. “And I see the human has finally sickened. Watch carefully, human, before the old one decides to be rid of you. But only if she thinks she can do better than you.”
Kullervo didn’t seem to notice the insults. Senneck only fixed Skarok with a long, slow stare. Skarok faced it for a few moments, but when Senneck moved closer, he hastily backed away.
Senneck huffed in a satisfied kind of way and let Inva show her belowdecks to the cargo-hold, which had been partly converted into a block of stalls where she and her fellow griffins could nest. Senneck chose one, and Kullervo went in with her. Inva began to tell him how there was a cabin higher up for him, but he curled up in the straw by Senneck’s side and promptly went to sleep.
Inva quietly retreated, leaving Senneck to rearrange the nesting material before settling down close to her human. She was nearly as tired as he was and soon went to sleep as well, with her head resting on her talons close to his face.
She woke up refreshed. Looking around contentedly, she saw that Kullervo was awake. His eyes were on her face. Griffin-coloured, but human. Now they were red-rimmed and staring.
“Senneck?” he whispered.
She moved her head closer to him. “Yes?”
“Am I dying?”
Senneck’s breath ruffled his hair. “No. You are growing.”
“But it hurts,” Kullervo’s face was full of fear. “Even changing doesn’t hurt this much. Not for so long. What am I going to do?”
“I told you,” said Senneck. “You are growing. You will not die. You are becoming stronger.”
Kullervo relaxed a little. “I don’t feel stronger . . .” He stilled. “How do you know? Do you know what this is?”
“Yes.” Senneck clicked her beak. “This is my fault.”
“No it isn’t,” Kullervo said at once. “You’d never hurt me.”
“I am not,” said Senneck. “The pain is necessary. I did not think this would happen, but it should not hurt you.”
“What?” Kullervo lifted himself onto his elbows. “What did you do?”
“You use magic like a griffin, but you are not one,” said Senneck. “As I taught you how to control your power, I soon realised from what you told me that your gland is not properly developed. It is undersized and weak, and this explains the crude way you have been using magic and why it comes so erratically. Therefore, I decided that I would feed you magic from my own gland and so encourage yours to grow.”
Kullervo looked blank. “But when did you do that? And wouldn’t that hurt you?”
“I absorbed some of the power the fool Oeka was using,” said Senneck. “Extra energy, stored in my gland. During our journey, when you were asleep, I passed it into you.” She opened her beak wide to demonstrate.
Kullervo rubbed his head. “Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have minded.”
“It had to be done when you were asleep, without your knowledge,” said Senneck. “If not, you would have resisted despite yourself. I can tell you now because the process is complete.”
“Then will I get better now?”
“In time,” said Senneck. “I did not know it would cause you this much pain.”
“Why has it, then?” said Kullervo. “Why does my back hurt? My legs? You said the gland is in my throat, and that doesn’t hurt at all!”
“Your gland is growing,” said Senneck, in a clipped, efficient kind of way. “As I expected. But it has not contained all the energy I gave it. Your body is growing as well, to match it. It will continue to grow for a time—I do not know how long it will do this, but the hardest part is over. You will have the journey to Maijan to grow, then recover.”
“You mean I’m going to get bigger?”
“It is all benefit,” Senneck said blandly. “You will become larger and stronger, and will not need so much protection. When the pains begin to decrease, I suggest you exercise and encourage your muscles to thicken. There will never be a better time.”
Kullervo gave a hesitant, broken-toothed smile. “I hope I don’t get too big. I don’t want to scare people.”
Senneck chirped. “You have so much of a griffin about you, but you have the heart of a human.”
“Sorry.”
“If you did not have that, you would not be my human,” said Senneck. She nibbled gently at his hair. “Rest now. Better times are coming for you.”
Saeddryn was also on a journey. But hers was a journey alone.
The day after Caedmon and his followers arrived at Skenfrith, she had set out in secret. Nobody except she, Caedmon, and Shar knew where she was going. The half-breed couldn’t know she was coming.
The move to Skenfrith had been easy enough. On their arrival, the rebels went straight to the governor’s tower and crowded into the building. The governor, knowing she and her guards were outnumbered, immediately surrendered control of the city to Caedmon. With some persuasion from him and Saeddryn, she had even agreed to join their cause. Loyalty to the half-breed, it seemed, didn’t take much to break.
Saeddryn had set out for Malvern on foot. She had no griffin to carry her, and horses panicked at the
sight of her. Besides, she preferred it this way.
The odd thing was that she could still feel tiredness, and pain, and even hunger. She even felt the urge to sleep at night. During the tedious walking that took up the first day, she wondered about that. She was immortal now, so why did she still have mortal concerns like that?
She thought of Arenadd. When she had first known him, he had slept and eaten like an ordinary human. But over time that had changed. When she lived in the Eyrie close by him, she had seen it happen—had watched him drift further and further away from the mortal world. It was common knowledge that he ate almost nothing, and she had heard the servants whisper that his bed was never slept in. But he never seemed to weaken from it.
Was it progressive, she wondered? Had he grown that way naturally the longer he spent as an immortal?
Saeddryn tried to remember the last time she had eaten. Two days ago? Three? She wasn’t sure. She felt vaguely hungry now but nowhere near as much as she should have if it had been that long.
I shouldn’t need to eat, she thought. The dark power keeps me moving now, not food.
As an experiment, she didn’t eat any of the food she had brought that day, and when she stopped at nightfall, she went without dinner.
The hunger hadn’t grown any stronger.
Odd.
She didn’t feel like sleeping now and decided to pray instead. It made her sad to think of the Temple she had loved and where she would have gone to pray if she could. If the half-breed hadn’t destroyed it. If she were still alive and living in Malvern, and all these terrible things had never happened.
Grim-faced, Saeddryn wandered around the gully where she had stopped, picking up the largest rocks she could find. She brought them back to where she had left her bag, and when she had thirteen of them, she picked up her sickle and cleared a spot on the ground, scraping away grass and debris to expose a rough circle of earth.
She put the sickle aside and brought the stones, arranging them around the edges of the circle until she had made a ring just big enough for her to fit inside.
Picking up the sickle again, she stood at the centre of the ring and blessed each stone, touching them with the tip of the blade and murmuring the sacred words.
She imagined she could feel the Night God’s grace fill the circle. An attentive silence filled the air.
Saeddryn held out a hand and pressed the sickle blade into the palm. “With this Northern blood, I nourish an’ call to ye.”
Red drops splashed onto the earth between the stones. Saeddryn put the sickle down and knelt, looking straight up at the moon and mouthing a prayer.
Nothing happened, and she suddenly started feeling stupid. Why was she doing this, following rituals as if she were still High Priestess, as if she hadn’t spoken to the Night God face-to-face? As if she hadn’t become the new sacred warrior?
She stood up, brushing her hands on her clothes without noticing the blood. “Master, I am yer servant an’ will not hesitate. I’m on my way now t’start it. Just tell me if I’m doing it right. Please.”
You are. The reply came at once, whispering in her ear.
Saeddryn turned quickly, but there was no sign of anyone. “Master?”
I am here. Speak.
Awe gripped her. “I did it! I didn’t think—could Arenadd do this? Talk to ye any time?”
Yes. But he never did.
“Why not? Didn’t he trust ye?”
No. He had no faith. He made one true prayer in his life, and that was all. He raged, he screamed, he threatened, but he did not reach out with love as you have. And so I never replied.
“One true prayer,” Saeddryn repeated to herself. “I wonder when that was?”
It was on the night before his death, said the Night God. He prayed for me to save him.
“But ye didn’t,” said Saeddryn, unable to stop herself.
His time had come. Do not be afraid, Saeddryn. You are on the right path. Do you have another question to ask?
“Not really,” said Saeddryn. “Just wanted reassurance, I s’pose. Why do I still get hungry?” She added the question without really thinking.
Habit, said the Night God. Your mind expects you to be hungry, and so you are. You may eat, or ignore it. Neither will hurt you. Rest now.
The voice faded away.
Saeddryn stayed in the circle a while longer, meditating in silence. She didn’t have anything more to ask, but being in the circle made her feel better.
And, as she sat there, she came up with a plan. It would delay the half-breed’s death, but it would make the meaning of that death far more complete, and the more Saeddryn thought about it, the more satisfied she felt. After all, she reminded herself, being the Night God’s avatar meant having more than just the power to kill. And this was something she had done before, many times.
Alone in the moonlight, Saeddryn began to smile. Yes, that was it. That was exactly it. She would go to Malvern, and she would make herself known in the city. She would talk to people, spread the word, pass on the Night God’s message. She would win the people to Caedmon’s side; and then she would kill the half-breed.
By the time Caedmon arrived with his followers, the city would already be weakened from within. She would tell everyone it had been his idea. It would work perfectly.
Saeddryn couldn’t contain herself any longer. She stood up and lifted her bag onto her back. She left the stone circle where it was but picked up her sickle and tucked it into her belt before setting out again. Sleep could wait. She didn’t need it any more anyway. And besides, this was the night, and she was strongest now.
Why make the Night God’s business wait? It was the only purpose she had left.
She would not disappoint her master.
Yorath left the library with his books under his arm and his mind buzzing. In all his life, he had never seen anything as amazing as what he had seen that day, and even now he still couldn’t quite grasp the reality of it.
Yorath’s world was books and teaching, and he had never had much experience with griffins. To him, they were big, dangerous, and mysterious animals, not meant for ordinary people like himself to understand. He had never seen one use magic, either—not up close, anyway. But most griffins rarely did use their gifts. As far as Yorath could tell, it was a last resort for most of them.
But now the wonder of what Oeka had done and shown him had thrown Yorath’s mind into disarray. So much power, all in one place. A griffin that spoke to him without even using words, a griffin that could reveal the past in the blink of an eye. Yorath had never imagined that wonders like it could exist, and now it had all been shown to him in less than a day.
As his initial fear began to die away, excitement replaced it. Oeka’s judgment had been absolutely correct: he had indeed seen her power as an opportunity to uncover the past. Yorath had always been fascinated by history, and there would never be a better chance to record it than now. If only Oeka had stayed . . .
But she had stayed, hadn’t she? Her body was still here, wasn’t it? And she must still be in it somewhere. It only made sense.
Impulsively, Yorath changed his route down inside the tower. Everyone knew that Oeka had locked herself away under the Eyrie, and Yorath had guessed that meant she was in the crypt. It was supposed to be off-limits, but he had bribed his way down there once, wanting to see the carvings on the tombs. If Oeka was in there now, and he could get to her . . .
As Yorath climbed down the stairs to the ground floor of the tower, he tensed expectantly—waiting for the horrible disorientation he had felt here before to come back. But nothing happened, and when he reached the bottom without any ill-effects he started to relax. He had passed through here once before, while Oeka was working her magic, and had never forgotten the overwhelming confusion and dizziness that had struck him. It had taken almost an entire day for the headache to wear
off afterward.
But he felt fine now.
Oeka really had finished, then. Thank goodness.
Feeling much safer now, he pulled aside the tapestry that hid the door to the crypt passage. The door hung open, so he took a torch off the wall and stepped boldly down into the gloom.
“Oh dear gods!”
He scarcely even noticed the cry escape from him. For a moment he stood there, staring in horror, before the stench hit him, and he reeled away and out of the passage.
He took a few moments to recover, and when he felt brave enough, he looked again.
He retched.
There were bodies in the passageway. At least—he dared to look closer—at least three of them, lying slumped against the walls.
In the end, only the thought that one of them might be alive and needing help made him enter that passage. Gritting his teeth, he stooped to examine them, but he didn’t need to check pulses to know they were beyond help. Three people, a woman and two men, huddled and pathetic in death and all of them smelling faintly of decay. Yorath saw the contorted shapes of their hands and limbs, and the memory of what he had felt before flashed across his brain. These people had been stupid enough to push through that and try to get closer, and they had died for it.
Yorath might have turned back then, but the pure stubbornness he had inherited from his father won through. The magic had gone now. It was safe here. And he had to take this opportunity in case it disappeared. History was more important. History, and preserving it.
Moving slowly, picking his way past the corpses, he moved down the corridor and stepped into the crypt. The air was clearer here, at least, and there was still no sign of danger. And there she was, right there in the middle of the floor . . .
