…But what if it didn’t?
“I’ll get you into St. Ives.” He said, optimism winning over logic. “We’ll go together.”
“And we need a new approach to this treasure hunt madness, yes?” Trystan persisted. “You will not risk yourself searching for it, again. When we get back to Camelot, I will select some trusted men for you to hire. They can follow the map and prove there is nothing there. That will satiate your desire to know where it leads and also be far less dangerous for you.”
“That’s a nice offer.” Galahad said, not agreeing to a damn thing. He got to his feet and looped the chain around his neck, so the key fell against his chest.
One step closer to Atlantis.
“So… ready to keep heading west, then?” He asked, hoping Trystan didn’t notice his evasion. “Unless you feel like you’re on the verge of another adrenaline attack and need to rest.”
“Shut up, knight.” Trystan muttered without any heat. “I am…” His attention jerked upward suddenly. “P’don.” He whispered.
“What’s wrong?” Galahad tilted his head back to scan the sky and instantly saw the problem. Any King’s Man who’d fought in the Looking Glass Campaigns would’ve known who was closing in on them. “Gryphons.” He said softly.
Chapter Four
Battle of Pen Rhionydd
Start of the Second Looking Glass Campaign
By the time he was ten years old, Trystan had become used to life in a cage. He had lived in the zoo for four years and it became normal for him. The wingless races came to stare and laugh and it was normal. The zookeepers’ assistants fed the gryphons scraps of food in buckets and it was normal. The people around him constantly died of homesickness and neglect.
And it was all normal.
Trystan spent his days playing games around the enclosure. It was easy for him to picture faraway places and adventures in his head. The adults in the cage encouraged his daydreams, wanting to keep him occupied and content. So long as Trystan didn’t endanger himself and he took time to eat and learn, they allowed him to do as he wished.
Trystan was the only child in the zoo. One of the youngest gryphons left in the world.
He was consequently cherished by the other prisoners.
None of them had known Trystan before their confinement. But, it didn’t matter. The innocent belonged to all who would care for them. Once he was with them, he became their child. Because of the curse, none of them could adopt Trystan through the gryphons’ rituals, but they all claimed him. They all needed him. Having Trystan there gave the adults a sense of purpose. Gave them something meaningful to focus on. They taught him skills, listened to his concerns, and let him sleep safely covered by their wings.
For the rest of his life, Trystan would say that there were far worse places to be a boy.
And he meant that. By and large, the memories of his childhood were not unpleasant. He never forgot the gryphons who cared for him in the zoo. He considered them his second clan. He carried their faces and their teachings with him always.
He remembered watching the night sky through the glass dome of the enclosure, while Ban told him the names of all the stars. He remembered Cador showing him how to move silently, when stalking your enemies in the dark. He remembered Ywain, who barely spoke, stepping in front of Trystan whenever the assistant zookeepers shouted curses at them. He remembered Fisher teaching him about gemstones, and Olwen strange eyes brightening when Trystan finally learned to multiply numbers, and Lunette using sticks as makeshift weapons to show him fighting techniques.
And he remembered every single story Elaine told him.
Elaine Cloudbearer was kind, beautiful, and the best storyteller Trystan would ever know. It wasn’t so much the words she chose, but how she said them. All her tales sounded like music. Elaine would braid his hair each night, using the intricate knots of gryphon warriors, and tell him the myths of their people in her lyrical voice. Trystan would struggle to stay awake for as long as he could, so he didn’t miss a single word.
She told him of giant rocking-horseflies who came down from the sky and beings on moonbeams who no one could ever catch. She told him of gods and heroes, and why the seasons existed, and who made the sun.
Her favorite story, though, and the one she repeated the most, was about the ya’lah. The champion of the gryphons and the hero who would lift the curse that had doomed them all. She told that tale to Trystan on the night the city was attacked by the gryphons.
On the night that she died.
The zoo was located in Pen Rhionyyd, which sat in the northwest of Camelot, bordering Lyonesse. It was the very edge of Uther’s domain and so it was the most vulnerable spot in the kingdom. The gryphons caged there had been all but forgotten by both sides, as Lyrssa and Uther focused on plotting their next moves.
The First Looking Glass Campaign had ended with Lyrssa Highstorm escaping Uther’s captivity and regrouping with her people. After that, the fighting had died down for a few years, as each side entrenched and took stock.
…But neither of them was ready to quit.
Uther’s curse still plagued the gryphons and he still wanted the Looking Glass Pool, so more warring was assured. Since the king still possessed large portions of Lyonesse, the queen decided to match his invasion with one of her own. Like pieces on a catur board, they acted and reacted. Uther had marched his troops into Lyonesse, so Lyrssa flew hers into Pen Rhionyyd.
It was a shocking move and one that launched the next phase of the decades-long conflict between the wingless and the gryphons. No matter the reasons for it, thousands would die in the middle Looking Glass Campaign.
Beginning that very night.
The gryphons in the zoo watched the fighting through the glass dome of their enclosure, none of them saying a word. The sky was orange with flames and the air filled with screaming. Even Fisher seemed subdued. He had lost his mind, they said, which was why he now spent his days pacing around the cage with his cane, talking nonsense about ghosts. As the battle raged outside, though, he sat under one of the enclosure’s trees, finally silent.
It wasn’t until much later that Trystan understood why they’d all become so quiet. At the time, he’d found it all exciting. Hopeful, even. They were about to be rescued!
He’d told Elaine so, as she brushed his hair. The two of them sat on the floor of the cage, as she prepared Trystan for bed. Everyone else was aloft, staring out of the unbreakable glass, except for Fisher, who was in the corner.
“The gryphons fighting outside do not know we are here, Trystan. We will not be rescued by anyone. That has never been our path.” She gently steered his thoughts from the battle raging. “Did I ever tell you about the ya’lah?”
“Yes. But you can tell me, again. I don’t mind.”
Fisher’s head came up, like he was interested in the tale, as well.
Outside, sounds of the conflict grew louder.
Trystan frowned. Gryphons did not worry, but he felt his heartbeat increasing. The noises did not seem entirely safe to him. The fighting was closer, now. Some of the zoo’s animals were already roaring out in alarm. Trystan had spent years listening to the elephants and lions. He had never heard them sound so furious and scared before.
Not ever.
Elaine made a soothing sound. “All will be well.”
Trystan recalled his mother saying the same thing, as Camelot’s soldiers approached their home. And he blamed the Yellow Boots for making her comforting words a lie. In his mind, the traitorous gryphons who’d chosen to work for Uther were all faceless and interchangeably evil. He had no idea which Yellow Boots had been in his village that day and so he despised them all.
The Yellow Boots helped Uther to round up and defeat their own kind. In return for betraying their people, the Yellow Boots were not even made knights. They were treated as less. They were less. Knights at least fought for their own kind. The Yellow Boots fought for a man who hated them. They were given different uniforms than the wi
ngless soldiers, marking them as non-warriors. Instead, they wore yellow boots that earned them their nickname and the derision of the other gryphons. Maybe they hoped to offset their own peoples’ scorn with rewards from the wingless society, but that would never come to pass.
Their choices meant that they would never be accepted by either culture.
Trystan would’ve liked to see them all dead. They had led the wingless king to the Airbourne Clan and now there was no more Airbourne Clan. It was very clear to him who was to blame for the loss.
Trystan alone was spared from the slaughter, because the zoo had needed children for the exhibit. His mother had fought to stop the King’s Men from ripping him away. Trying to protect him. She had died thinking only of his safety, beaten to death before his eyes. He saw it all again, as Elaine held him. Elaine reminded him so much of his mother.
Suddenly, that gave him a chill.
“You’re not going to die, are you?” He asked her, even though a part of him suddenly understood what was really happening.
“Listen to the story, Trystan.” Elaine ran a hand over his hair, not answering. “It is important that you know these things. Stories are what we leave behind.”
Above them, the other gryphons began talking in low voices. Casting glances Trystan’s way, as if they were discussing him and did not want him to overhear. Orange light was reflected off the glass of the dome in a way it hadn’t been before. Like the fire was moving nearer to them.
“King Uther enlisted a witch named Igraine to curse Lyrssa. You know this.”
Trystan nodded, trying to focus on the story. “Her spell made it so no gryphons could have children.”
“Yes, it was a cruel plan to try and break our people. Through our queen, Igraine’s spell would slowly infect us all. Soon no gryphons will be able to have young. We cannot even adopt them. Uther and Igraine stole our future.”
An explosion boomed from somewhere in the distance.
Trystan jolted, instinctively leaning back into Elaine’s hold. “All curses have a way to break them.” He said, trying to sound brave. “We just need to find it.”
Elaine’s dove-gray wings came forward to gently encircle him. “This is true. But Igraine was clever. To ensure that the curse could not be lifted easily, she made it so only someone from the wingless race can find the cure. Without wingless blood, they will never locate it.”
“The wingless will never help anyone but themselves.” Even at a young age, Trystan knew their true nature.
“Some of them may yet prove themselves.” Elaine murmured. Trystan wasn’t sure how Elaine could possibly retain her faith in any of the wingless, after seeing her clan butchered before her eyes, but she never condemned the entirety of their race. “Judge everyone on their best day, Trystan, not their worst.”
“I think we should capture a wingless, once we escape. We can make him help us lift the curse.” To Trystan, it seemed like the only possibility.
“If we were able to escape, that would be a sound idea.” Elaine praised. “In fact, Uther also feared that a wingless might be willing to assist us, for one reason or another. So Igraine, who knew something of gryphon culture, added another stipulation to her spell: A ya’lah must lift the curse. No one else.”
“And a wingless cannot be a ya’lah.” Trystan finished, brooding, as he always did, over the paradox Igraine had created with her spell. “None of them are brave enough or strong enough. So the spell can’t be broken.”
Fisher’s attention was on Elaine and Trystan, looking more focused than he’d been in months.
“There has not yet been a wingless ya’lah.” Elaine agreed. “But I would not say such a thing could never happen. The longer I live, the more I believe all things are possible.”
“So you think a ya’lah is really coming to fight for us?”
“I do not know.” Elaine shook her head, the cadence of her voice like music. “Uther certainly thought we would not find a champion. But then he also thought that we would have no option but surrender. And he was very wrong in that. Our people fight on, Trystan.”
Trystan glanced up at the enclosure’s dome. There was not much room in the cage to fly, so the adults were jockeying for position by the glass. Whatever they were staring at must have been really horrible or really great, because they couldn’t seem to look away.
And Trystan doubted it was really great.
“Why do you favor this story?” He asked Elaine in agitation, because it suddenly made no sense. “Lyrssa is still cursed. The gryphons still cannot have children. The ya’lah is still not here to help us. The end is not satisfying, at all.”
“The end has not been written, yet.”
“Then why not tell a tale that is finished. One of our victories, instead of our losses? Or maybe tell the tale of the moonbeam creatures, again.” The moonbeam creatures fascinated him.
“This is not a tale of our loss. It is a tale of our strength.” Elaine explained, finishing his braid. “Each gryphon will stand alone against a thousand foes, if we must. No matter what comes, we do not bow to our enemies. We protect those in our care. And if we are right, we do not say we are wrong. Remember this as you grow.”
“Yes.” He looked at Elaine over his shoulder, his expression serious. “But I’d still rather hear of the moonbeam creatures.”
“The next time you hear either tale, you will have to be the one who tells it.” She ran her thumb down the center of his face, from his forehead to the bridge of his nose. “It has been the greatest honor of my life to care for you, Trystan. Carry my stories into the future. Ensure that my path stretches on.”
And that’s when he knew for sure that Elaine was going to die.
That they probably all would.
The backs of Trystan’s eyes burned, but he didn’t let the tears fall. Gryphons didn’t cry. Instead, he nodded at her, unable to speak for fear of his voice breaking.
“Elaine.” Lunette called from up above. “Come here. We think we have a plan.”
Elaine rose to her feet and flew up to join them, leaving Trystan and Fisher on the floor.
Fisher arched a brow and made a show of checking right and then left, like someone might be lurking around trying to overhear. After ensuring they were alone, he leaned closer to Trystan, his milky gaze intent. “I know the ending to that story she told you.” He whispered, loudly.
Trystan blinked hard against the sting in his eyes. “You do?” He swallowed. “But, Elaine said it was still being written.”
“That’s because she’s never been to Atlantis.”
Chapter Five
Uther is the real victim in all of this.
That’s the part that makes me sick. Everyone wants to wring their hands about him “starting the War” --boo-fucking-hoo-- but let’s all take a second to really remember our fallen king. Murdered by that winged bitch Lyrssa. Castrated by some asshole, who was probably a gryphon. Has to search the world, hoping for some way to give the kingdom another heir.
I mean… No disrespect to Arthur, but some time has passed since he died. We can look at him a little clearer, right? If you were Uther, wouldn’t you think maybe you could give us a better future king than that guy?
Of course you would! Let’s be real here, people. The graal was never something Uther wanted for himself.
He wanted it for the Good of Camelot.
“Stopping the Savages” Podcast
Sir Dragonet of Camelot- Former Troubadour of King Uther and Host of the Program
Lyonesse Desert- Sparrowhawk Welkyn Pass
Galahad had never been inside a gryphon village before.
Not when it was still thriving and filled with people and alive.
This village was so different from what he’d seen in the War. He found himself looking around with deep interest as the gryphons dragged him to the center of their small town. It was shocking to see living beings in the organically-shaped wooden buildings. To witness them walking the streets and staring ba
ck at him with living eyes. He’d never imagined the day he would see a living village full of living gryphon.
He’d thought they were all gone, thanks to him.
For a moment, Galahad’s mind played tricks on him. Black ash against the blue sky, and hot blood coating his hands, and the Rath’s horrible green power lashing out. The images were suddenly superimposed over the thriving town before him, now. Bodies in the checkered grass. Raging fire. Screaming and laughter. It was so real that he could smell the smoke, again.
Shit.
He squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply, forcing the memories away.
Trying to center himself, he looked over at Trystan who was being herded along next to him. The man hadn’t stabbed anyone, yet, which was a minor miracle. He’d grudgingly allowed the gryphon scouts to… well… abduct them really.
Apparently, this stretch of desert had been claimed by the Welkyn Clan, but how was anyone supposed to know that? Galahad had pointed out that there weren’t any trespassing warnings posted, but no one seemed to care for that logic. Instead, there had been a lot of shouting in the gryphons’ language that Galahad hadn’t fully understood. From what he could tell, the gryphon scouts wanted to slaughter Galahad and Trystan was against the idea. After some debate and unmistakable death threats, the scouts had settled on taking them both back to this village to face their leader.
And so here they were, surrounded by a dozen or so living gryphon in their living town, awaiting a ruling on their future from someone named Ayren.
Galahad already knew he wouldn’t be living by the end. No way would the gryphons let a knight walk away from this place. Why would they? And if they realized he was the Butcher of Legion, the death would be slow and painful and involve a lot of screaming.
It was probably justice that the gryphons would kill him, considering who he was and what he’d done. Still, it kind of pissed him off to die now. Before he’d finished his mission or saw Gwen and Avi, again.
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