On the Subject of Griffons

by Lindsey Byrd

  “I apologize,” Kera whispered. “I did not mean to cause you fright.”

  “You speak too fancy so early in the morning, Lady.” She sat up, glancing toward Faith immediately.

  Feeling her cheeks burn, Kera tried to keep from ducking her head in embarrassment. “Apologies,” she mumbled, before rallying. “I’m going to wash some clothes by the stream. Can you watch Aiden?”

  Aurora frowned. She blinked a few times, clearing the sleep from her eyes as she focused on Kera’s face. It wasn’t a storm, it was an absence of water in the first place. The whole ocean had drawn back leaving nothing but sand and dead crabs in its wake. “I shouldn’t have put my hands on you,” Aurora murmured. “You don’t need to do this.”

  There were so many excuses Kera wished she could say. So many reasons why of course she shouldn’t need to do this. Of course she should just wait for them all to join her. Each excuse felt empty in Kera’s mind; each thought seemed half-formed at best. They were useless excuses, there to obfuscate her discomfort, fear, and prejudice.

  “That’s not why . . . Apology accepted, but I want to . . . I need to . . . Please?” she asked, praying that Aurora would take her apology for what it was. If she was rejected again, Kera didn’t think she would be able to go through with it. She’d stay here and the laundry wouldn’t be done. It would sit and reek and they would all die from filthy soldiers laying waste to fertile ground.

  The younger woman hesitated. She stared at Kera long enough for Kera to feel like she should just forget everything. Two days wasn’t long enough to require a cleaning. It wasn’t necessary—

  Aurora reached out and touched Kera’s hand. “I’ll look after him,” she swore.

  A rush of relief flooded Kera’s body. She thought she said, “Thank you,” but she didn’t know for sure. Her lips felt like they moved. Her throat couldn’t recall the feeling of words spoken. The chords questioned one another. Did they give voice to her gratitude? Who knew.

  Kera stepped back and collected their things. She clutched the bundle to her chest. Her lungs remembered to breathe at the door. They expanded her chest. They filled her with sweet air. Sweet strength. Trembling fingers reached for the handle on the door. She opened it. She stepped out and closed it. Her son was behind her, with the woman she swore she’d never forget. It was all right.

  He was safe.

  Her lungs continued working. Her eyes examined the terrain. It wasn’t quite morning yet, the birds were little liars, but neither was it proper night. The sound of the nightwalkers had faded with the bulk of the shadows. They must have scattered back into the shadows of the underworld until sundown tonight. A cool silvery glow shimmered over Doleystown. Somewhere, the sun was starting to rise once more.

  Heaving her load, Kera walked toward the riverbank. She kept one foot moving in front of the other. Like Holly, she moved without conscious thought. Doleystown wasn’t very large, and it seemed peaceful. She shouldn’t have feared the security of the fire lines. They were still lit along the perimeter. She plodded forward.

  And she hopped over the line.

  The river ran parallel to Doleystown. It was a winding thing that spilled into the west bank of the Great Sea. Its depth was deceiving as the water was clear enough to see the bottom, and someone drowned every year trying to touch it. Even up in Ship’s Landing, reports on the drownings were common. Some even blamed sirens or selkies for it. There had to be some reason people kept braving the water.

  Crouching on the shoreline, Kera found no such compunction. She didn’t want to swim, or to touch the stones in the river bed. She wanted to wash her clothes. With no washboard, she utilized a few smooth rocks that were of acceptable quality. Her nails dug them up from the mud. She cleansed them in the water, then settled them into proper formation.

  There was something calming about laundry. Soak the shirt. Lay it flat on the rock. Rub at it until the dirt and stains come up. She lacked the surfactant that helped maintain the color and remove the grime, but she could manage without such luxuries. She kneaded her knuckles into the fabric and winced when she pressed too hard and scraped one along the rock.

  Blood trickled down one of her fingers. She watched as it dripped into the river, disappearing like it never existed. Kera brought it to her mouth. Copper and dirt embraced her tongue. She sucked and swallowed, checking intermittently until the bleeding stopped. Then she continued washing. She didn’t have time to dawdle.

  By now, the sun had started to peek up along the horizon. Gray light took flight, crossing the sky with a sweet stain. It coated the clouds in shadows and shades, blues and silvers tilting toward gold.

  She let her mind wander toward Aiden. Was he awake? Was he scared without her there at his side? Had he started to fit? It took all of her willpower not to allow her fear and self-doubt to rule her mind. She took hold of the next shirt and dunked it into the water.

  The river stung her hands. It was icy cold, and her skin wailed unhappily. Her cut shriveled and shrieked. It didn’t matter. She was determined. She let the chill ground her as she glared at a black stain on the back of Faith’s shirt. She had no idea how she got it. It was spoiled and stank of rot. She didn’t even know how they could have missed it. “Just wash, you,” she commanded the blight, rubbing harder and harder. The stain wouldn’t rise. Scowling, she reached for a sharp stone. She scratched as hard as she dared, not willing to tear the thread, but quite eager to remove its malevolent stain.

  “Having trouble?”

  Kera jumped. She tugged the shirt up like a shield, holding it in front of her as if it could ward off any threat. It couldn’t. I’m an idiot, Kera decided.

  The woman who interrupted her was old and frail. She was just as wrinkled as the shirt Kera had been attacking. Crevasses and divots lined her cheeks and brow. Her skin bunched up and stretched thin in a simultaneous amalgamation. She was an ellipsis tagged onto the end of time, continuing when the sentence had long since met its end.

  Each crest and valley told a story. Each pockmark on her shriveled flesh bore a memory. Blue veins slithered up the woman’s throat and down into her wrists. Her hands were gnarled and twisted, each joint a swollen creaking knob. Dark spots kissed the skin beneath her chin. Her hair frizzled in the early morning air. Kera didn’t think she’d ever seen someone so old.

  Nor had she ever seen someone more beautiful.

  With clothes, worn and ragged, draped unflattering about her portly frame, the woman smiled at Kera as though they had been friends all their lives. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but are you all right?” Her voice was comfort. It was warm. It was gentle and as frail as a newborn’s first breath.

  Kera pulled the shirt she’d been mangling beneath the water, and set it out to the side. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. “Yes, madam. I apologize, have I disturbed you?”

  The woman laughed like a tree bending deep in the wood with the wind rustling its branches and pushing it more . . . more . . . more. “Can’t disturb me none. I’ve seen and heard all there is to know already. But only, you looked so upset, ma’am.”

  “It’s this mark,” Kera replied, holding the cloth up as evidence. “I fear it’s bested me. I’ve never quite had a talent for this, though I do try.”

  Wrinkles pulled back, arching around the spread of the woman’s lips. A smile that had been shared amongst thousands of people in her lifetime. The woman reached for the shirt. Kera passed it to her. Weathered hands squeezed the cloth. Wrinkles seemed to meld together, sliding from the fabric to her flesh without hesitation. “Quite a bother, innit always?” She scratched at the mark with her nail. It didn’t clean. “I used to wash all the clothes in town.”

  “You were a laundress?” Kera asked.

  “Once,” the woman hummed. She ambled a final few steps closer, and when she did, Kera caught the briefest flicker of light. It was so fast that she might have imagined it, but for a moment Kera could have been certain the stranger vanished and r
eappeared right before her eyes. Ghost, her mind supplied.

  The chill from the river water bit deep into her hands. It ran along the veins of her wrists, up and down her spinal column, and latched to the back of her brain. She felt the cold gripping her like a visceral thing. Wrapping about her body and refusing to let her go. Kera breathed out, and her breath fogged before her face.

  It was not cold enough for that.

  The ghost knelt at Kera’s side. Her fingers creaked and echoed. She groaned, as though her bones still ached. As though the pain lingered on despite no longer existing. She flickered just a little more, and Kera’s attention flitted toward the horizon. The sun was rising higher, and before too long the woman would be cast back into the shadows of night. Usually spirits disappeared well before now. They didn’t dare risk the light.

  “I’ve never seen one of you out so late before,” Kera murmured to herself, watching as the woman bent to the water and tried to clean the stain. “Or early, I expect the case may be.”

  “Oh I come each day, ma’am. The folks in town don’t visit like they used to. Jealous, I think.” The woman rubbed at the dark mark as she spoke, and Kera watched in awe. She took note of the surety in the ghost’s motions. It seemed so easy for the woman to push and pull at the cloth, bending it to her will while still caring for its fragile nature.

  Mori had always told her that the ghosts they interacted with during the wars rarely meant them harm. They seemed to prefer continuing the tasks they had left off on their death, longing for validation and a sense of accomplishment.

  Sometimes Kera wondered if that meant she, too, was a ghost.

  With the sun rising, there was little threat here. This woman was calm and tired. She moved with languid precision. Kera wondered how long ago it had been since she passed. Her clothes did not seem too dated, perhaps her death was recent. Perhaps she was a new acquisition to Doleystown that the night guard had not yet frightened off or cast away.

  Feeling impolite to not reply, Kera urged the ghost to continue speaking. Prompting her with a curious, “What are they jealous of?” as she settled in to listen.

  “Of my many good years,” the woman teased. “When they do see me they shout and yell. They hurt so much now though . . .”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, madam.”

  The woman shrugged and held up the shirt for inspection. The spot was gone. Removed from existence like it had never been there before. Unable to help herself, Kera clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, thank you! Thank you kindly, truly you’ve a gift for the impossible,” she praised, retrieving the shirt and marveling at its fresh appearance. “Please madam, may I know the name of my savior?”

  She must have startled the ghost, for the woman was looking at her with wide eyes. But, slowly, the aged face was split by a tremendous smile. It reminded Kera of her grandmother, who at seventy-three years of age determined she had no time for bothersome things like manners and appropriate behavior. If, at seventy-three, she wasn’t going to be allowed to fart at the dinner table, then well, when was she going to have the chance? Her parents had called her grandmother dotty and hidden her away from polite company, and Kera had spent every day of her childhood dreaming of the day she could be the dotty old grandmother sitting in the closet plotting when to fart.

  “My name is Rachel, ma’am,” the ghost said.

  “Kera,” she introduced right back. “If it pleases you, I’d be most gratified for your tutelage. I fear I must move on soon. I’ve a long way to travel. But I’d appreciate your assistance in the meanwhile. Though . . . I have not much to pay you for your time.”

  Kera winced as she finished, wondering if she somehow caused offense. She didn’t know what could offend a ghost. She’d never crossed the firewall before. She never had the chance to meet specters, wraiths, ghouls, or phantoms. Their hauntings were loud enough outside the city that she avoided it at all costs. Even now, she couldn’t quite place what it was that inspired her to leave before the sun was up. Just a feeling. A feeling that everything would be all right.

  Years of living in terror had prepared her for something more than . . . this, more than beautiful Rachel with her glorious smile and clever fingers. And Rachel wasn’t offended by her request. In fact, she smiled. She reached for the next item in Kera’s pile, and together they tended to the clothes. Rachel told Kera about her life in Doleystown, flickering every so often as the sun rose more and more. Kera listened and nodded along while they cleaned.

  She asked if Rachel knew much about the people here or their stores and where she could find medicines for her children, and Rachel directed her to a Mr. Davis over by West Way. He had an apothecary there and Kera was told she might just find what she was looking for amongst the items on his shelf.

  “Are yer bairns sick, then?”

  “Aye, my little boy and . . . and a girl, a . . . an acquaintance’s girl. They’re both sick.”

  “Sunshine and fresh air. That’ll do ’em both some good. Don’t you be hiding them in the dark now, it’s the sun that’ll heal ’em. You mark my words.”

  It was kind advice, kindly met. Kera smiled and said, “Yes, madam,” before listening to Rachel tell her a story about the time yellow fever came to Doleystown many years ago.

  The longer she spoke, the more that day’s sun yawned over the horizon. It pushed back against the final remaining silvers and grays of night, shifting the sky darker and lighter in turns. Reds and golds combatted a brilliant blue that soon reached out across the sky. Kera and Rachel both watched as a golden beam traversed the ground toward them.

  “Thank you, Miss Kera,” Rachel said just before the light touched her. Kera reached for the shirt in Rachel’s hand, letting her fingers touch Rachel’s just one last time.

  “May you find peace, my dear Rachel,” she prayed. “And find a good rest when you are able.” Rachel’s smile was brilliant. Her eyes glittered with tears, but she thanked Kera again. When the sun touched her body, the wrinkled and aged woman faded from view as though she had never been there at all.

  The shirt fell limp in Kera’s hand. She held it steady for a moment, waiting in case Rachel reappeared, but as the seconds passed and the minutes gained, she lowered the shirt to the rest of her pile and wrung them out one final time. She watched in silence as the droplets fell into the river, missing her new friend already.

  Then, task complete, Kera collected the clothes in a heap and walked back toward town. The fire line was being turned down, and some members of the town’s night guard spied her as she approached. One even called her over. “Please, ma’am, did you go down to the river?”

  “Yes?”

  “Only, did you not see the phantom there?”

  Kera hesitated. She was not very good at recalling the differences between ghosts and phantoms and specters. The subtleties confused her, and they seemed so minute it had never crossed her mind. But if they believe the woman to be a phantom, she was not going to argue with them. Though she asked, “Ms. Rachel, you mean?” in case she was wrong.

  “You spoke to her?” the guard was loud enough that his colleagues arrived as well. They exited the guard house, all fresh-faced young soldiers who spoke in hushed tones with furtive glances. “However did you survive?”

  “I’m not certain I understand?” Rachel had never shown any signs of violence. In all the time they’d spoken, she hadn’t threatened Kera once.

  “We’ve been trying to be rid of the thing for years. Keeps coming back.”

  “And she’s violent?”

  The guards looked a touch confused by her question. “Well, she’s a phantom innit she? Why’d’ya wan’ one o’ them around for?”

  Kera had no notion of how to respond and forced her expression to turn agreeable so as not to cause them offense. Thanking them for their good service, she passed them by. They stared after her and muttered to themselves about her behavior loud enough for her to hear. It should have bothered her. She was rather surprised that it didn’t.
In fact, she was tempted to ask them what they expected her to do when Rachel appeared. Brandish Faith’s shirt at her like a sword? If it made a poor shield, it made a worse weapon. Honestly, she huffed. Soldiers.

  Pressing open the door to her room, Kera found Aiden sitting with Aurora and Faith on their bed. Mori’s Bestiary was spread open on Aurora’s lap and it was clear she was trying to read it to them, though she stopped sounding out the words when Kera stepped inside.

  Closing the door, Kera brought their damp clothes to the fire. Aurora had stoked it after Kera left. It was plenty hot enough to dry their garments. “You left before the sun rose,” Aurora chastised, low voice filling the room with an unhappy timber.

  “I wanted to care for the clothing and have them done by the time we leave.”

  Aiden coughed and Kera turned to address it. She needn’t have bothered. Aurora had already lifted him up with a confident hand, placing him on her knee and folding him forward so the phlegm could leave his throat.

  “There’re monsters in the dark,” Faith whispered, eyes trailing toward the Bestiary. Kera couldn’t help but wonder if that had been an appropriate book to read while they all considered her chances of returning unscathed.

  “They’re not so scary,” Kera assured as she laid out the shirts and trousers, draping the socks as close as they would go. It was quick and busy work, and when it was done, she cut up some fruit and cheese for their breakfast.

  Before they left town, they would need to resupply. The coinage in Kera’s pocket was becoming lighter by the day, but she should have enough to afford their journey south. In two days’ time, they would arrive at Absalon’s future capital, and if they pushed on just a little longer from there—Mount Maladh. Najah Zakaria had once told her that she and the children were more than welcome at the Zakaria estate whenever they wished. It was an offer that Kera was all too eager to accept.