Playing With Fire

by Adrienne Woods et al.

  “I am sorry,” he says in his dialect that Khan’s mind has already translated.

  “It is my duty as priest and guard of Ulfednar people to rid our lands of things like you.”

  Khan swallows hard against the gritting guilt. He is probably right, there is a part of him he cannot control, the part that killed the black bear; the murderer that is responsible for his guardian’s death.

  Closing his eyes, Khan falls silent, an air of defeat falling over the Prince. If this man didn’t back down, he was sure the beast in him would find a way to eliminate him too.

  Opening his eyes, he takes in Frigg, who has by now successfully passed the guard without incident. He too seems hopeful the negotiations for their save pass might be working. Silence falls, the sound of Frigg’s beads in his plaited mane sings in the air.

  Khan calls the horse closer, “Let us be on our way, Frigg.” His voice growing thick and gruff with tension, or is it bitterness he detects in his own tone.

  “The ally of my enemy aids me not in my quest.” The guard shoots a look at the horse, the glint of fury and deadly intent in his gaze.

  The air above the Ulfednar man swirls, the clouds gathering and the zing of electricity causes all the hairs - human and beast to raise as the current builds up.

  Khan steadies himself, ready to take his punishment. From the heavens, a deep rumbled rolls across the valley. Looking up, Khan’s stretches out his skinny human arms, blue irises beckoning for a quick death from his miserable existence.

  The tempest in the sky builds so thick and so fast Khan wonders if the sky is about to tear open and devour him whole. He imagines the earth splitting at the crushing force as the sky comes down with retribution on him; a vision flashes in the forefront of Khan’s mind - him falling into the fissure to forever be swallowed up by the underworld.

  He hears Frigg’s nervous neigh in the background, and the pull in his gut tears through him like a crevice in the earth he had just imagined. At the thought of any harm overcoming Frigg, his fury fuels the beast and all Khan could do now was have faith for the best outcome.

  A bolt of lightning comes down, with it the sky itself it seems - Dark desperate and hungry. But with this supernatural attack, the beast in him releases too. Khan’s wings tear through the flesh of his back, his tail flinging out and coils around the sorcerer’s torso, restraining his arms so the Ulfednar may not call upon magic no more. But that is not enough for the beast in him. The barb at the tip of Khan’s tail stabs the man in his leg, pulling him from his feet.

  “You are too late, the spell has been cast. You can’t stop it now.”

  The sky roars, the wind blowing with fury; and Frigg neighs with panic. Khan’s tail lifts the man from his feet. The sorcerer or priest - the man with many names and many talents, finishes his spell, using words only. The air so thick and furious it draws the air from Khan’s lungs, and he watches as a wind-tunnel threatens to suck Frigg into its devouring funnel.

  Even tied up in a deadly tail and bleeding- this man has no end, Khan muses to himself. Frigg’s hind legs and tail lift, his body slowly being dragged upwards. Khan’s eyes close, and he gives over to ‘the pull ‘in him completely. The prince bows, bending his spine and shoves his head forward as his wings came down in a deadly arc. Like two curved sheets of barbed metal striking the Ulfednar priest with the deadly spikes into the soft mortal flesh of the man’s chest - delivering the final blow.

  Khan’s roar meets the angry skies, tears screaming from his eyes as the world around them comes to a sudden hush.

  The sound of his anger, his remorse met with the adrenaline-fueled pulse at the crushing of the Prince’s heart. Khan did not want it to end like this; he even begged the priest. The Ulfednar sorcerer was relentless in the pursuit of taking them out - even Frigg, innocent Frigg. In the end, Khan had no choice.

  The Prince falls to the ground, uncoiling his tail from the unconscious man. He senses his last breath leave the Ulfednar, and everything in Khan goes sour.

  With his chin to the quietened heavens, snowflakes drift onto the griffin prince’s face, like the brush of Ashlan’s fingers on his cheek, quieting his madness.

  “Why gods do you curse me so? What is your purpose for me? Why do you have me kill like this? To what end!”

  Frigg stands one leg at a time, his mane a knotted mess, his heartbeat a wild fury. He stomps at the ground a few times and comes to Khan with tail between his hind legs, his ears twitching as he pushes his muzzle into Khan’s neck.

  Khan stands slowly, wipes at his tears as he stares down at the body of yet another of his victims. The night sky falls hard, the fire of the guard towers flickering against the darkness.

  It was done. The fight, the pain, the guilt, and the storm - all vanishes in mere seconds; replaced by a deadly winged beast that is for only one thing – self-preservation.

  Looking up, Khan finds Frigg frozen in fear, his eyelashes and plaited main flecked white with the soft whispers of snow.

  “I had to Frigg.” He says it more to convince himself. “I wasn’t going to let him kill you.”

  Frigg blows out an indifferent white wisp of air through his nostrils, turns his hooves and trots off past the last guardhouse, Khan jogging behind him.

  The night, complete darkness, gloomy and deadly as beast and horse run along the side of the long wooden fence; the smell of death chasing them - or was Khan just imagining it. The wall seems to go on for miles, the only light illuminating their path coming from the glow of Khan’s Griffin eyes.

  They run until their lungs burn and their muscles cramp. Still, the fear of what might catch up with them after their fatal encounter with the enemy leaves them concerned about the dreaded consequences, propelling them forward in haste to get out of enemy territory.

  Unable to run any more, dawn has slowly reared its head in hues of soft blue and yellow. They stop under the coverage of a grove of fruit trees. They eat in silence and drink from the puddles before moving on. No interaction between Frigg and Khan eases the journey, but finally, the white peaks of Wēoh Mountains give way to the shimmers of sun rays off the Great Lake.

  The wind howls through caverns, crevices, and around boulders. Trees bending back in the chilly gust as they enter the circle of Mountain.

  The path curves around sharp jagged rocks the color of a stormy sky; tiny yellow flowers cowering beneath the cliffs from the chill. Khan wraps his wings around him, cursing himself for losing both fur and tunic. If somehow the gods allowed him to transform back into his human self, he’d be totally naked and freezing. For now he is grateful for the protection of pelt and wings.

  As the path widens, mountains split by the Great Lake, Khan knows he’d have to hide out in the hills and say his goodbyes from afar when the Sendoff commences. Once the path turns from hard-packed soil framed by green grass, the ground becomes pebbly. Colors of blue, white and grey beautiful against a dreary shy and sparkling azure waters.

  The sun rising to mid-sky by the time they reach the shore. The wind picks up the waves, spraying it against their furry faces. They stand taking in the smell, staring over the waters, and inhaling the tang of the sacred lands of the gods.

  Frigg trots off, his hooves clattering with an echo around them, he finds a tree that curves over the grass and plonks his weary body down. As Khan nears Frigg, the horse’s tail whips about. Their gazes meet and Kahn feels compelled to say something to Frigg.

  Bowing his head, his shadow a silhouette of wings and horns, he says ever so softly. “I wish I could have spared him Frigg, I really do.” Khan kicks at a pebble and watches as it splashes into the water. “And no, not because he knew of me, of my curse.” He says, his gaze lingering on the ripples, “He was soul reader Frigg.” Khan swallows as he stared down at his clawed paws and dark grey pelt. “He didn’t call me a beast until he actually saw these.” He shows his claws out in disgust, then sighs, feeling some hope.

  “If he truly was a soul reader, then he knows I am
not this thing.” The way Khan says thing, comes out like a gurgle in his throat; as if he were about to puke on the word. Frigg flickered his ears, his tail settling in beside him as he chews nonchalantly on the grass around him.

  Chapter 9

  Darkest Wrath

  Early morning comes with the feather whisper of a breeze, the world around them coated in white powdered snow. Khan is the first to arise, stretching out with a loud yawn, his wings getting caught on a low hanging branch, snapping twigs and shaking loose a mini-avalanche of snow. Frigg’s eyes shoot open, then snorts his disapproval, shaking his muzzle free from the cold snow, his beaded mane narrowingly missing Khan’s face.

  Khan shrugs as he stands. “Not like I did that intentionally.” He raises an arm to protect himself from clawing branches and bends down to avoid the big low hanging branch as he walks off, shaking snow from his pelt.

  “Someone’s a bit of a grouch in the morning.” He mumbles to himself.

  Giving one last yawn, the sound reverberates around the dark stony surrounds, he flinches at the unexpected noise his voice makes, and so do a flock of birds nearby. They take off in a flurry of wings from a cluster of trees. Black feathers against grey skies and white mountains. So beautiful, so free - wondering if one-day someone might see him in that regard.

  “Now this I can get used to,” he says, taking in the magnificent scenery as his eyes adjust to the glare of the white wonderland. Shaking off the chill, he gets to the water’s edge, pebbles grinding beneath his massive paws. He stands for a moment watching the slow lapping water pulling back and forth over dove- colored pebbles; the sound very enchanting.

  The slow trot of his companion comes up behind him. Frigg drinks from the fresh but icy water, shaking his head at the crisp coldness. Khan leans forward, using the bottom of his wing to scoop up water. The freezing cold searing down his throat as he gulps it down in big refreshing sips.

  “That is cold.” he gives a shiver, his tail slapping the pebbles giving Frigg a fright. Frigg shakes his muzzle, black eyes blinking in disapproval.

  “This thing has a mind of its own,” Khan explains, pointing at his furling tail. About to walk off, Frigg’s ears and Khan’s head simultaneously turn in the direction of a tumultuous sound coming from over a distant hill. They both perk up, it is the sound of wagon wheels, and galloping horses.

  Khan’s panic rises, he stares down at his griffin body “They can’t see me like this,” turning around to find shelter, “Are you coming?” Khan asks Frigg as he jogs off to the nearest hill.

  Frigg stands unmoving, staring out as the blue, gold, purple and white colors of their kingdom’s flags peak the lush mound. Frigg seems undecided as he looks back and forth between his new friend and the people who raised him, seeking the carriage that holds his master’s body.

  Khan understands the horse’s torture; they had traveled through cold and wet, starving and parched, fought for their lives to be here, to see their comrades off to Valhalla.

  Cresting the hill, Khan turns and walks backward with his eyes on the procession coming closer; his grey pelt and black wings meshing with the stone surroundings. He ducks behind the grassy hill, slinking in the shadow a grey stoned cliff; watching from the hilltop as the colorful procession lines the shore coming towards Frigg.

  Horses, carriages and the glint of his father’s silver and blue gem crown stark against the majestic colors of the winter wilderness. Voices and the blow of his father’s horn rebound off the mountains, shaking the very foundations of the sacred Great Lake. The horde meets up with Frigg and immediately starts unloading their cargo.

  Khan narrows his eyes on the gathering, watching with a deep scowl as the tallest of the Chevalier meet up with Frigg. Kitted from head to toe in furs, leathers, and weapons. It is hard to distinguish individuals, as most are dressed exactly the same, here and there distinct colored beads of rank plaited in beards. But the bulking size of the man moving toward Frigg has Khan confident that he is Birger.

  Khan snorts, “Some guardian,” muttering to himself at the thought of Birger’s laying claim over the young prince as his guardian before the exasperating journey; his voice sounding dull in the hollow of the rocky surrounds.

  Birger takes Frigg by the reigns, staring him in the eyes. Birger’s lips don’t move, but his big head starts looking around. Khan wonders if he is actually in search of him. Beneath that hardened exterior, does Birger care for the prince’s safety, or does his concern lie in the fact that Khan is the only heir to the kingdom right now? Something comes to the forefront of Khan’s mind; Birger and Erik seemed to have a connection, he recalls Birger seeking out Erik the night of his Erik’s death. Wondering if Birger suspects what he is. Could Birger secretly have been plotting with Erik to take him and Ashlan out? His paranoia slides down from his mind to settle with an aching wrench in his stomach.

  Could Birger have any knowledge of what he is?

  Erik knew, had known all these years, which made the betrayal seem worse. But the guilt Khan feels regardless of the betrayal from his best friend suddenly weights on him like a boulder as he falls back against the rock-wall. What am I doing here? He muses to himself. How could he send-off two men he is responsible for killing? It seems wrong. His guilt is overridden by a selfish love - He would rather have stayed with Ashlan, convincing her to be with him.

  His paws cover his face with disgrace, he swallows the memory of her words – I cannot. Perhaps she is too cowardice to tell him the real reason she couldn’t go with him. Is it because she’d rather be with a vile king and gain status as Queen than be in the arms of a beast that would only love and protect her, he’d die for her… His throat swells with hurt, anger fogging up his eyes. The sound of the trumpet of the funeral shakes him from his negative spiral.

  As the clouds thickened, the sun eclipsed by grey skies, the flakes of snow cover everything and everyone at the gathering. The boats came out, rolled on wooden piles to the shore. Khan looks away as the bodies are carried to the ships. Sucking in a gulp of air, he asks the gods for forgiveness, begging for a transformation in his heart. Wishing the gods would cull his beast and allow his human heart to reign over the dark rage inside of him.

  One by one, men and some women from The Order come forth, covering the bodies in flowers, weapons, and other sacrificial artifacts. When the wind picks up, Birger and five other Chevalier push the boats out to into the lake. Side by side the sails catch the gust and float over the blue waters, small waves rippling over calm waters.

  From the back of the horde, the hunters ready their quivers, feed their bows; the women light the arrowheads, their dresses sweeping snow from the ground, leaving dark streaks in their wake. Quivers tilt the heavens as the arrows take to the sky. Fire slashes across the clouds like falling stars and arcs over the backdrop of dark mountains and white peaks, then strike the ships, igniting the bodies of their warriors. But as the second batch or arrows release, Khan notices more arrows are coming from entirely the opposite direction - towards his people.

  He wants to scream out in warning, but it’s too late, arrows swoop down from the air, pegging men and women to the ground.

  Screams, shrill and painful moans clash as Khan stands a watch as a troop of Ulgafar; black painted skin and wolf heads emerge from the hills. Weapons swinging wildly through the air. His heart races, as the young prince in his beastly form watches helplessly, his veins igniting with angst.

  is father still on horseback trots in circles, raising his axe and calls out, “We are under attack.”

  Too stunned that this is even possible on sacred lands, the Chevalier and hunters stand watching in disbelief as hordes of Ulgafar troops come down on them.

  Horses start running about, then plummet to the pebbled ground as another swarm of arrows hit. Khan flexes his fingers, shivering as his claws extend, his wings shooting out solid like shields at his sides. He gets closer, emerging from the shadows hoping their warriors can get a hold of the situation. Daggers, sh
ields, and swords flash as fiery arrows strike against the silver metal of weapons, sending off sparks and smoke.

  Khan can’t help himself, he crawls closer, watching in horror as two, three, four of his father’s Chevalier go down. It is his fault that his people are under attack; he knew it was wrong to kill that Ulfednar priest. Murder should never go unpunished.

  The beast inside him roars, audibly so, the booming sound shaking the mountains and quakes the ground. The world falls silent in the echo. No one is sure what they have just heard. But a second later the Ulfednar crash with the front line.

  Khan leaps from the cliff, lands, and rolls down the hill with speed and agility, his tail like a spring catapulting him into the crowd. His wings outstretched, his claws like mullets as he takes out a few Ulfednar warriors. The fighting intensifies, no one is backing down. His appearance seems to have fueled the battle. Caught in the moment, Khan’s thoughts on one thing, if all the men of their kingdom die here today, there would be nothing left of their people. Whirling around, his wings knock down Ulfednar, then another as the wolf-skinned man approaches from another side. Vaguely feeling weapons striking his wings from all sides. His tail swoops out, knocking more enemies down. His wings like battle axes as they crush opponents. His tail whip-like relieving Ulfednar warriors of their weapons.

  A moment of silence as he looks around him, Chevalier and horses fighting for their survival. They are severely outnumbered. He catches sight of his father back-peddling on his horse to take shelter under the tree him and Frigg had spent the night in rest.

  Bile rises up in his throat at the undignified hero that is King Ivor, his own father.

  In the aftermath of this revelation, his thoughts darken: What if he’d just leave them all here, take Frigg and go for Ashlan?

  Seeking out Frigg through the battling crowd, he finds the horse kicking at an Ulfednar, disarming him. His heart softens, he could never abandon Frigg, or his people, regardless of the fact they had abandoned him for four years. Leaving him in that tower, alone in his misery and confusion of exactly what it is he had done to deserve such treatment. The darkness clutches his heart once more; they deserve whatever happens here today. But what would he say to Ashlan, how would he face her knowing he’d not done his best so save some of the innocent?