Halls of Law
Page 14
Ganni came closer, rubbing at his top lip with the fingers of his left hand. “Does he know of the Prophecy?” He pointed his sword, but he was only using it for emphasis, like a cook might use a knife to gesture with. “Will he—is he here to help us?”
“Help. Help. Yes. Food. Help. Food.”
Now that she was standing so close, Ker could hear that each word was separated by an audible click.
“Wait.” There should be some way to get a clearer sense of what the griffin wanted to say. She needed to communicate with him directly. Serinam, her old Tutor, had told them about Flashing the injured and sick, those who were unconscious or unable to speak. Like all Flashing, it involved the five questions, so she knew how it worked in theory . . .
This was part of what she was supposed to be able to do with people, but couldn’t. Still, the griffin wasn’t a person . . . wasn’t the old bone of a tortured and murdered man. He was a newborn, scared and alone.
Tentatively, taking slow breaths to relax herself, Kerida felt for a deeper Flash. Paraste, she repeated, emphasizing that her blocks were down. At first, all she could feel was what she’d Flashed already, and then she became aware of a . . . resistance, a reluctance, as if she were trying to push herself against a current of water, or through a thick membrane, that turned hard and tough like the shell of an egg the more she pushed. She wondered if a block might feel this way, if you were Flashing it from the outside.
A chill trickle of fear ran down her spine, but she clenched her jaw and kept moving forward. Who, she thought. Who are you? What are you? Tell me. Speak to me.
Suddenly there was a dull tugging, a drifting feeling of nausea, and then her senses filled with light, and the resistance was gone. Lights, colors, flavors, odors—swirled over her until she floated on waves of brightness, nothing but space around her, like an open sky. The colors were everywhere, and came from everywhere, from inside her and, in particular, from the griffin.
<
It was like flying in a dream, swooping on great bursts of air and light, like a kite on a windy day. A barrel in a maelstrom. A wall of water, thick and smothering, suddenly disappearing, leaving them free to soar. Dual images superimposed themselves. Ker realized this was how the griffin perceived things. Depths seemed deeper. Colors sharper. She saw herself, a being made entirely of streams of colors, some she had no name for. But then she saw that a shadow surrounded her like a mist of dark fog. Before she could become afraid, a wind came and blew the fog away.
“Are. You. All. Right? Kerida! Are. You. All. Right? Are. You. Now. Now? Not. Still. Then?”
Ker drew in a deep breath. What had happened to Tel’s voice? Her lungs felt as if they’d been without air for days, but she felt lighter. She closed her hands, felt fur, and feathers. Then she knew. It was the griffin’s voice.
Each of the others in the cavern with them was a concentration of colors and swirling, dancing light. Some were close to her, their auras actually touching, brushing hers. But were there more, many more, some much farther away?
People in the tunnels, her new awareness told her. And more beyond them—and beyond them, more still. The auras would go on forever, the colors—
Ker swallowed the panic that rose in her throat. Terestre. The world around her steadied, but the colors didn’t fade.
Terestre, she said again, but nothing changed. <
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She was still standing in the rock cavern, her hands on the griffin’s back. Tel was still advancing in midstep toward her, with Ganni and the others behind him, their auras invisible again. As if nothing had happened.
Kerida swallowed and licked her lips. They had been terrifying when she’d thought she couldn’t control them, but now that the auras were gone, everything seemed duller, less interesting. Was this what “Griffin Class” meant? Certainly, none of her Tutors had ever mentioned the auras. Was it because not everyone could see them? Ker started to smile.
“Thank. You. Oh. Thank. You. Kerida. Nast. Thank. You. I. Have. Remembered. Now. All. The. When. And. Where. And. Why. That. Came. Before. The. Who. And. The. What. I. Might. Never. Have. Remembered. Without. You.”
There was still that slight click between each word, every one of them pronounced precisely, but the vocabulary had expanded, the griffin spoke faster.
“You’re welcome, uh . . .” Ker dredged through the still jumbled Flashes . . . “Weimerk.” That was the griffin’s name. “What have you remembered?”
“Everything. The. World. And. The. Gifts. And. It. Is. Thanks. To. You. Without. My. Parents. I. Might. Never. Have. Known. I. Did. Not. Know. That. Talents. Had. The. Ability. To. Awaken. Me. Awaken. Us. Griffins.” Weimerk looked around, eyes bright. Ker could almost believe he was smiling. “I. Know. How. To. Go. Home. Though—” He fixed her with one eye. “I. Could. Stay. Here.”
Tel loomed up on Ker’s free side, his brows drawn tightly together. “Ker, you’re all right?”
Weimerk tilted his head to fix an eye on Tel. For a second Ker saw him the way the griffin saw him, the yellow, blue, and green swirls of light that formed him. Then it was just Tel again. His dirty face, tired and drawn with worry, his large hands. His pale eyes.
“She. Is. More. Than. ‘All. Right. ’” The griffin shook his head, his tail lashing like an angry cat’s.
“Was I speaking to you?” Tel’s eyes slanted sideways as he spoke.
“Show a little respect, soldier boy. This is a griffin.” Ganni moved up to stand next to them. “Well, now, Weimerk, is it? There’s nothing we’d like more than you staying, of course. Your coming is a sign to us, and a welcome one, that the Prophecy’s time is here—”
“The. Prophecy?”
Ganni’s eyes narrowed, and looks were exchanged among those gathered behind him. “You don’t know the Prophecy?”
Weimerk cracked his wings. “Of. Course. I. Know. The. Prophecy.—I. Know. Now. I. Know. The. Who. And. The. What. And. The. Where. Until. The. When. Of. The. Last. Great. Gathering. After. The. When. Of. The. Gathering. I. Do. Not. Know.”
Ker held out her hand. “What do you mean by ‘know’?”
“It. Is. What. I. Remember. What. You. Have. Awakened. What. All. Griffins. Know. The. World. Until. The. Time. Of. The. Last. Great. Gathering.”
“When—how long ago was that?” Ganni asked.
“I. Would. Have. No. Way. To. Know.” Weimerk shrugged his wings. “The. Prophecy. You. Speak. Of. Was. Made. By. Griffins. At. The. Last. Great. Gathering. It. Was.—Oh! You. Believe. The. Prophecy. Is. About. Me. That. I. Am. The. Second. Sign! Yes. It. Could. Be. What. Fun. If. It. Is. So!”
“It’s what we hope.” The old man nodded and Ker saw the scarred woman nodding from the rear, her arm now in a sling.
“She is a Talent, and you are a griffin. So it seems the Prophecy speaks.” Ganni looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Ker knew exactly what he felt. “But the fact is—”
“You. Cannot. Feed. Me?”
Ker was listening, but the voices seemed far away. She was suddenly light-headed, as if she’d had a glass too many of the sparkling cider her father used to have prepared for the winter feast. Everything around her was brighter, sharper. She felt light enough to float. She blinked and tried harder to concentrate.
“As it happens,” Ganni was saying, “You’ve eaten some of our winter suppl
ies already, and—”
Weimerk shook himself, the feathers around his eagle head standing out in a ruff until shaken back into place. Ker took a step back. He fixed one eye on her, and blinked.
“There. Is. Plenty. Of. Food. Outside,” he said, speaking more to Ker than to Ganni. “More. Than. Enough. To. Restore. Your. Supplies. I. Should. Think.”
Ganni came closer now, rubbing his fingers through his rough gray beard as he eyed Weimerk. “There’s an exit we think is big enough for you. If you were thinking of obliging us, could you bring us, say, some cows, or sheep, or pigs. If you can bring us live ones, then two will do. If dead ones, three. Can you count?” The old man spread his hands in apology and backed up a step when Weimerk rattled his wings. “No offense. There’s many can speak but have no head for figures.”
“Three. Is. Not. A. Number. I. Have. Trouble. With,” Weimerk said. “Three. Then. Two. Then. One. It. Is. The. Way. Of. Griffins.” He bobbed his head.
Ker made a face. Weimerk means the other eggs. The ones he’s eaten.
The griffin waggled its head as if exasperated. “So. The. Food. Question. Is. Attended. To. But. Something. More. Troubles. You.”
“Not to say troubles, no. It’s just . . .” Ganni scratched at his beard again. “The Prophecy didn’t say you’d be so young. We were expecting someone who could give us advice, see?”
“Talents. Advised. By. Griffins? Of. Course. It. Has. Ever. Been. So. For. Tens. Of. Nest. Seasons.” Ker staggered as Weimerk suddenly bumped her with the top of his head, as though he was nothing but a cat. She stroked the feathers between his eyes. “I. Remember.”
He thinks we’re all Talents. Ker exchanged a glance with Tel. She thought about how the arrow had jumped aside, missing Weimerk in the last moment, even though it had been heading straight for him. And Tel’s wound, now nothing more than a scar. Maybe he isn’t entirely wrong. Ker turned her attention to the old man.
Ganni watched her with narrowed eyes, one corner of his mouth twitching.
“I. Am. Hungry. Shall. I. Fetch. The. Food. Now?”
• • •
Weimerk insisted that Ker stay near him, so while Ganni walked ahead with Ennick, using the simple man’s mapping skills, Ker and Tel stayed close to the griffin’s side. The others, including the scar-faced woman, followed closely behind. The tunnels climbed steadily upward, heading toward the shaft the Miners thought was large enough for Weimerk. Before they’d gone very far, however, they reached an enormous cavern that was nothing more than a huge pit, the feeble flickers of the Miners’ wristlets fading to nothing in the blackness.
“I don’t remember Ennick mentioning this.” Ker squinted. The place was at least twice the size of the great room at Questin.
“There’s a way around,” the simple man’s voice boomed out. As if to illustrate his point, he set out along the right side of the pit.
Now that she knew where to look, Ker could see there was indeed a ledge, wide enough to walk on, leading around the edge of the hole.
“I shall fly across.” Weimerk launched himself and in three beats of his wings was across to the other side. Ennick waved and laughed, his eyes fixed on the griffin.
“Too bad Weimerk’s not big enough to use as a ferry.” Tel frowned at the ledge.
Ker grinned. “How can someone so tall be afraid of heights?”
“Yeah, very funny. Someone as tall as me doesn’t always fit where the rest of you shorties can.”
“Then we won’t let you go first. Anapola! You lead the way, show soldier boy where to put his hands and feet. I’ll go after you,” Ganni said to Tel, “and Kerida can follow me.” A woman with thick dark hair moved forward, looking Tel up and down as she squeezed past him to take the lead.
The ledge was wide enough at first, even for someone carrying packs, but as Ker half expected, it got narrower and narrower as they moved around the pit. Finally, a little more than halfway across, they could move ahead only by turning face-first to the wall, and stepping along sideways. Suddenly the darkness of the pit seemed darker.
“How far down does it go?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth.
“No one knows,” Ganni answered the same way.
Like Ennick, Anapola had clearly gone this way before. She was quite a stretch in front of Tel, almost at the tunnel opening, where Weimerk waited, Ennick scratching him in the spot that qualified as “between the ears.”
“Use the handholds,” Anapola called back over her shoulder.
“Fine for you.” From the sound, Tel spoke through clenched teeth. “You’re half my size.”
Just as Ker was bending her own knees to keep from tipping over backward with the weight of her pack, Tel yelped as his left foot missed the ledge entirely, and he slipped, hands scrabbling, over the edge.
Before Ker could call out, Ganni made a gesture with his left hand, his right one firm around a knob of rock. The old man’s hand was held exactly as if it pressed Tel between the shoulder blades, and Tel fell no further, but began pulling himself up, feeling for hand- and toeholds, until he was once more standing on the ledge. He turned his head toward her, breathing hard and giving her a pointed look over Ganni’s head.
Ker waited for him to say something, to ask what had happened, but all he did was stand, breathing heavily, his arms trembling. She opened her mouth to speak, when she saw the old man was looking at her as well. He moved his head from side to side. Just once. Ker nodded.
“Are you finished showing off?” was what she finally said. “Can we move along now?”
“Showing off. Yeah.” Tel’s voice was rough, but steady. “Remind me to tell you later how funny I think you are.”
Once they were all safely in the far tunnel, Ker squeezed Tel’s upper arm, and he patted her hand. They would talk about this, but they’d wait until they were far from here.
That’s three, she thought, remembering an old saying of her mother’s about looking for symptoms. First, the healing of Tel’s wound. Then, controlling the movement of the arrow. And now, levitation, preventing Tel’s fall. Three occurrences pointing in the same direction. None of them things Talents could do. All exactly the type of things Feelers could and did do, according to the old stories.
Ker shivered. Ganni and the others, the scar-faced woman, Anapola, even Ennick—there had been something similar in their auras. The colors she’d seen had been like her own, like Weimerk’s. While she wasn’t sure what that meant, she was sure it was nothing she needed to fear.
She took a deep breath and stepped back into place beside Weimerk.
They finally came to a wide shaft that was open to the cold, blue sky and a sharp, cutting wind. They were able to scramble up to the outer opening, but all Ker could see, her eyes slitted against the wind, was rock and snow. Now that they had come to “outside,” Weimerk, paws shifting nervously, seemed in no hurry to leave. However, with Ker’s hand on his shoulder, just above where the wings sprouted, Weimerk was brave enough to stretch his neck out of the opening of the shaft, pushing his beaked face into the wind. His eyes narrowed, but remained open. His beak clicked, as if he was tasting the air. His thick lion’s tail lashed once, banging against Kerida’s thigh.
He’s never been outside, she realized. For all that he “remembered,” Weimerk’s egg had hatched in the mine.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked him.
“Yes,” the griffin said. “I. Am. The. Second. Sign. I. Am. The. Wings. In. The. Sky. I. Am. Not. Afraid. Just. Tasting. And. Smelling.”
Ker glanced at Ganni, and the old man shrugged and nodded at the same time.
“Someone’ll be here waiting for you,” he said, lifting his voice over the sound of rushing air. “Too much to hope you can bring a breeding pair, I suppose,” he muttered to himself.
“Why?” Weimerk might have a bird’s head, but he had the hearing of a cat
. “Aside. From. Other. Things. They. Do. Not. Smell. The. Same.”
“You can bring one of each?” The old man stepped closer to the griffin.
Weimerk put his head to one side, considering. “Yes,” he said, finally. He looked outside again, blinking.
“It’s all right.” Kerida stroked Weimerk’s flank. “You’ll be fine.” The griffin’s fur was warm. He head-bumped her, knocking against her hip, and she took a step back to keep her balance.
Weimerk stuck his head out into the cold air again, this time taking a tentative step forward, claws out and curling on the edge of the rock face. Without warning, he tilted his head back, opened his beak, and shrieked.
The sound was a stabbing, bone-piercing pain. Covering ears did nothing. They knew the sound had stopped only because the intensity of the pain faded. Ker lowered her hands, shoulders still hunched.
“What—” Even now, Ker could barely hear herself speak; her ears were numb.
“I. Thought. Perhaps. If. My. Parents. Were. Near. . . .” He turned back and fixed his left eye on her. “You. Could. Come. With. Me,” he said.
There was a silence so profound that Ker could hear everyone breathing. She hesitated, not sure exactly what she would say, or how she would say it. She felt the grip of Tel Cursar’s long fingers above her left elbow.
“Thank you, Weimerk,” she said. “But I don’t think so. I don’t think you’re large enough to carry me.”
“That. May. Be. So.” The griffin bobbed his head. “I. Will. Come. Back. For. You. When. I. Am. Larger.”
“I may not be here,” she said.
“I. Will. Find. You.” He turned back to Ganni. “Someone. Will. Await. Me. Here?”
“That’s right. Day or night, until you get back.”
“Very. Well. I. Am. Not. Afraid.” This time when he turned away, Weimerk launched himself into the air.
• • •
This was nearer the opening than Tel Cursar was comfortable with, given that near miss in the mine shaft. He squinted against the cold wind, fingers itching to pull Kerida back from where she crouched even closer to the edge, watching the griffin until he was nothing more than a speck in the sky.