On the Subject of Griffons

by Lindsey Byrd

  The sooner she could place the capital from her memory, the happier she would be. If they could avoid staying there altogether, she would much prefer it.

  She had no desire to be anywhere near that detestable city and all of its unkept promises. Brennan Wild wanted to make that city his home, and considering her present mood, she was liable to do something she would regret if she needed to confront the man.

  “You all right?” Aurora asked. The question startled her, and she looked back over her shoulder. All three of them were staring: Faith with awkward uncertainty, Aiden with eyes so wide, and Aurora seemed to expect Kera to admit she’d been tortured by some horrible beast whilst she had been gone.

  “I’m fine,” she replied. “It’s going to be a long day.”

  They had a lot of ground to cover, but when she looked back at the clothing by the fire, every single shirt and strip of cloth was already dry. Kera blinked. She reached out to touch them. It wasn’t some illusion.

  “Kera?” Aurora pressed.

  The fire must have been warmer than she’d thought. Shrugging, Kera smiled at her three traveling companions. “It’s going to be a long day,” she repeated. “But . . . a good one. What do you think, Aiden; shall today be a good day?”

  “Will there be ducks?”

  “I shall help you look for them as we travel if you like.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  Then he smiled as big as he did before all the illness came and threatened to take him away, and for now, that was good enough for her.

  The Absalonian Bestiary wasn’t a large tome. If anything, Kera believed it should be larger. There were whole sections missing, particularly on phantoms, ghosts, and other nightwalkers. She flipped through the pages while Aurora and the children dressed, but it seemed as if the Bestiary was far more interested in the creatures of the day than the spooks that haunted the evening hours.

  Frustrated, she instead turned to the entry on griffons. Of all the notes accumulated throughout the book, it was the one that had the most detail. Mori’s careful scrawl was scattered throughout the chapter. However, and far more interestingly, there was another pen dotting the page as well, often contradicting the main body of the text as it added details on eating habits, mating rituals, and personality traits.

  Where the text of the book fixated on what the griffons looked like and what their range was, the additional notes were far more comprehensive. Every so often, the researcher sketched a detailed picture to accentuate their point: the long hooked curve of the griffon talon, the pad of the griffon’s back paws, the particular curve of the beak, and the eyes, which can see up to seven hundred yards with perfect clarity, the researcher reported.

  She turned the page and smiled at the charming sketch of baby griffons hatching from their eggs under the last paragraph. The book had gone into the basic mating rituals of griffons, but the notes all but filled up the page around the downy-feathered image of cat-birds in eggs. Although it is true that griffons mate for life, should a griffon’s partner die, they do form intimate bonds with other widow(er)s, forming unconventional family units that thrive despite the lack of a true mated pair. Further, griffons appear not to be concerned with matters of gender and will mate with both sexes. They have been known to adopt abandoned or lost eggs should the parents of such eggs be proven dead.

  Mori had drawn a line from the notes and added one word: Fascinating.

  The other notetaker responded: Don’t be a putz.

  The familiarity was charming in its own way. They went back and forth with their extraneous observations like a game. Mori wrote: The front talons can tear and shred as swiftly as any large bird. And their back paws provide the thrust needed to take flight.

  And he circled a line from the original author: Tokens given by griffons are considered to bring good fortune, while underlining the unknown researcher’s added context: Gifts alone. Stolen goods will bring discord instead.

  Aurora leaned over Kera’s shoulder to look at the pages. She was dressed and ready to embark. She’d even washed her face in the small basin they’d received the night before. Her pale wrap tied her curls into submission and not a lock was out of place as she bent closer to the page Kera was reading. “Soldiers used to carry ’em. Feathers. Do you remember that?” Aurora asked, pointing at the words.

  Aurora would still have been a child during the first war. Sitting on her parents’ knees— No. She’d have been working alongside her parents. Watching the soldiers on parade, then cleaning up after them when they had gone.

  But during the second she would have been an adult. Trent hadn’t wanted to give them their independence. But they’d had the taste of freedom after the revolution, and they weren’t going to give it up no matter what the cost.

  “Did you know anyone who fought?” Kera closed the book and stood.

  “A few. My father volunteered for a few months, was over at Hark’s Point.” She huffed then, shaking her head and picking up their saddlebags, throwing one over each shoulder. Faith was sitting upright, shivering despite the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She wasn’t fitting yet, but there was no need to tempt fate. She should get mounted before she lost too much energy. Without Faith’s help, Kera doubted they’d be able to get her up.

  Aiden coughed under his breath at his mother’s side. She ran her fingers through his hair. “That was a long winter.”

  “You know, the winter wasn’t the hardest bit.”

  She did know that. The papers had entertained themselves with writing about how frigid the weather had been. The politicians had recused themselves with talk of how they could not control the weather.

  And yet, it hadn’t been the weather that’d led to so many deaths. It hadn’t been the weather that’d caused hundreds of men to starve. The shelters had been put up. The fires had burned well enough, but the supplies had never come. The help had never arrived. The men and women at Hark’s Point had died of starvation, not cold.

  “Mori once said the taste of bark became so common, he’d rather see Trent retake all of Absalon than bear one more meal of it.” It was not a comment that looked good on paper. For years, his detractors used it as an excuse to call him a Trent sympathizer in disguise.

  Aurora huffed, shaking her head and rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Sometimes I wonder if Morpheus knew how much trouble he made himself.”

  Likely not.

  In any case, Kera stood and stretched her back as straight as it would go. “There’s an apothecary not far from here, they may be able to provide us with some more eucalyptus.”

  Aurora pitched her voice so it was high and airy, mocking with each word. “Why, Lady Montgomery—”

  “You do have my permission to speak my name, you understand?” Kera cut in. Aurora nodded like a bored school child, unimpressed and unmotivated to change.

  “Lady Montgomery,” she continued, “shall you lead the way?”

  It was a dangerous thing, moving the children through the town. While Aurora’s theory on the contagion had seemed accurate thus far, it wouldn’t matter to people living here. All they’d know is that the plague had reached their town. At best, she and the others would be barred from traveling any further. At worst, Kera imagined both Aiden and Faith killed and burned to keep the illness from spreading.

  Neither was an option that Kera had any desire to think on for long.

  Aurora managed to distract the stable boy and blessed Faith summoned all of her strength so she could climb up onto the horse. Her left foot slipped off the stirrup while she was swinging her right leg over the gelding’s rump, but Kera caught her. She held her steady as Faith finished mounting, both of them gasping for breath as their muscles burned. Aiden clung to Kera’s leg the whole time, far too close to the gelding’s hooves. Aurora plucked him up though. Cooing at him as Kera mounted.

  “Hard on the horses to ride double all the time,” the very helpful stable boy informed them.

  “Yo
u don’t say?” Aurora snapped back. Kera’s cheeks flushed at the harsh retort. It wasn’t his fault. He was just trying to be helpful. Besides, Holly’s nose was hanging low; she was weary after so many days in the field. The poor girl deserved a nice pasture to graze at her leisure, not another endless trek through the Absalonian countryside. Kera made to apologize for Aurora’s behavior, but snapped her mouth shut once she caught Aurora scowling at her. Perhaps she didn’t need to add her commentary just yet.

  The apothecary was on the opposite end of town. They kept to a side street that traveled along the back of the store fronts rather than the main road. It kept peering eyes from looking too close at their children, but it also meant they passed the shop they wanted twice by accident. They needed to keep turning around, until Kera spotted a few sprigs of herbs that just had to be a sign.

  Aurora took Holly’s reins for Kera as she dismounted. Half asleep as she was, Holly wouldn’t have gone anywhere even if Kera left the reins about her neck. But the illusion of safekeeping helped put Kera’s mind at ease. Routines were safe. They were calming. Aiden already disliked the break in routine that tugged him from the horse he had just gotten settled on. He whined and kicked Kera’s stomach as she pulled him down. He didn’t even apologize. She was too exhausted to care.

  Tapping her purse at her side, Kera ran through some mental arithmetic to calculate how much she had left on her person, and how much she could spare. Then she walked around the building to the shop’s front and stepped inside. An elderly man looked up at her from behind his work station. A mortar and pestle were set in front of him, and a grindstone not far away. “And you are?” he asked.

  “Kera,” she replied. “My son and niece are ill. I’d hoped for some medicine.”

  The man leaned over his counter to squint at Aiden.

  “They both suffer from the same . . . he burns with fever,” she admitted. “And their appetite—”

  “Yarrow and peppermint for fever, peppermint for the food too. You’ll be wanting some ginger and fennel seed as well.”

  “And eucalyptus, if you please,” Kera continued.

  The man grunted at her, scooping up her supplies and dropping them into small pouches on the counter. “That won’t do much for your fever.”

  Eyeing the product, Kera thanked him. “I’m aware of its properties . . . but the eucalyptus is not for the fever.”

  He squinted at her, then back at her son. “That’s no ordinary illness, is it . . . Kera.” His fingers tapped against the counter as Aiden squirmed. His head pressed against her throat, and his cheeks set fire to her soul.

  “We’ll be out of your town shortly,” Kera replied. “But I need that eucalyptus.”

  “Where you off to, then?” He pulled a jar from the shelf and carried it to a set of vials. He poured slowly, filling the vials one by one.

  “The griffons.”

  “Griffons!” He threw his head back, laughing loud enough that Aiden made a noise of protest against her neck. “You mean to fight the griffons?”

  Fighting was not exactly what Kera had in mind. If she could avoid them she would. Kera knew full well that she was no warrior and had no weapons. She wasn’t capable of fighting a monster like a griffon.

  Refusing to be cowed or bullied by the man, she adjusted Aiden once more. Squaring her shoulders. “I wish to save my son and niece.”

  “Yes and while you’re worried about them, those menaces will tear you apart. They are violent and horrid beasts. They’ll smell you before you ever enter their territory. Kill you the moment you think you’ll be rid of them. Did you know no army has ever managed to best the creature? And you want to go alone. Who’s going to protect you? Him?” He pointed at Aiden with one of the vials. “Their skin is thicker than armor. Their beaks can tear through the trunk of a tree. Feathers that cure blindness. Ha! Why do you think there are those still blind? Talons that cure all illnesses. Turn wraiths back into ghosts. Put ghosts to rest. Ha! And the people are still ill. Wraiths still exist. Ghosts still walk this land. You’re wasting your time.”

  “How much for your wares?”

  “Why bother? That child is as good as dead—”

  “How much for your supplies, sir, so that you may be rid of the dead once more?”

  “Twelve coppers.”

  Kera’s breath caught in her throat. Twelve? “That’s more than three nights at the inn.”

  “You won’t need your money for long. What’s it matter to you? Five more days with your son? Hmm? Give or take? How much is that worth?”

  “You’re a horrid man,” she gritted out, reaching for her purse. She dropped half of her coins onto the table. He counted them with a twisted expression, tongue poked out between his lips, and eucalyptus still in his palm. “Give me the vials,” she demanded. He laughed again.

  “You’re a fool.”

  “Give me the vials I’ve paid for.” He waved them before her face, jerking it back when she reached for it, then settled them with the pouches on the counter. The tide crashed against the levies. Rage boiled beneath Kera’s skin. She scooped up her wares. She forced herself to breathe. She kept her back straight. Her son never slipped off her hip.

  She was a lady.

  She managed.

  Then he said, “The ghost of Morpheus Montgomery thanks you,” and she froze.

  Her limbs stiffened. Her fingers cracked along the joints. They locked tight about the vials and the herbs. Aiden’s head lifted up from where he’d hidden it. Her feet were rooted down. Digging deep into the earth. Securing her stature. Enhancing her stability. The tide pulled back.

  Not to passivity, but to form a tsunami.

  After Mori’s death, Wild had done his very best to ruin her husband’s reputation. They had never liked each other in life, and now that he wasn’t there to defend it, Mori’s good name had swiftly transformed into a synonym for corruption. Kera wasn’t dumb. She wasn’t blind or ignorant. She knew the rumors. She’d lived through the publicity following her husband’s affair and understood full well what people thought of the man she loved.

  Smile, her mother’s voice reminded her. Agree.

  No.

  Not this time.

  “What did you say?” Kera asked. It startled the man. Startled him enough that it wiped the cruel grin right off his features. “No. No, I am quite certain I heard what you said,” Kera pressed on. Undaunted. “‘The ghost of Morpheus Montgomery thanks me,’” she quoted, sliding her voice up and down his graveling accent.

  “I—”

  “Since you clearly have no notion who I am, I shall tell you.” Leaning forward, glaring at him with every ounce of energy she held in her body, she spelled it out as viciously as she could. “My name is Kerryn Leona Montgomery, Morpheus was my husband, and the medicines that you have provided for such an exorbitant rate are an insult to him and all he worked for.”

  The apothecary’s face turned impossibly white. He sputtered. Searching for words. She would not listen. “My husband fought for this country from the moment he stepped foot on her soil. He was Isra Zakaria’s most trusted advisor. He built the financial system that you’ve so clearly perverted for your own personal gain. He put down rebellions, he championed for good human rights, and has always had the best interests of the people and this country at heart. He secured this country’s credit, negotiated treaties, and was the founder of its international trade system. He stabilized Absalon’s economy after its freedom from Trent, and you think he’d be grateful you swindled from me twelve coins? When your goods are worth two at most?”

  She was breathing hard. Her heart hammered in her chest. The town was flooding, the people drowning. The water choked the life out of good sense and sensibility. She gritted her teeth and she leaned forward even more. “Your avarice is a mockery of everything my husband worked so hard to build. Shame on you, sir. And shame on your practice. You’re a disgrace!”

  “Widow Montgomery, I—I meant no offense—”

  “Pr
ecisely how is that meant to be inoffensive, you daft fool? Either I am a supporter who would be scorned by your words of their hero, or I am a dissenter who is still fully aware that you have stolen from me. You’ve cast my husband as a villain and you backtrack only now when you see your vile behavior is chastened. You’re a weak-minded, horrible little man, and—and—I don’t like you!”

  Turning on her heel, herbs and oils in hand, she marched from the shop and around the corner. She stomped to where Aurora waited with Faith and the horses, both of them staring at her with wide eyes and incredulity. Aurora was, in a word, awestruck. Faith, even suffering with fever, appeared to have been stunned by some marvelous event.

  “What?” Kera snapped, fighting with the saddlebags so she could shove her items inside. Action done, she hoisted Aiden up onto the saddle, and then mounted by herself. Her fury pushed her to make it even without a boost.

  Damn him, damn him, damn him. She would kneel on rice for a millennium just for the chance to curse him good and proper.

  “‘I don’t like you’?” Aurora quoted.

  The tide died an embarrassing death and snapped back to the shoreline where it belonged.

  Kera’s cheeks burned. How much did they hear? It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t. She tried to cling to her anger just a little longer. She wanted to hold on to it until they could get onto the road. Then perhaps she could let it out in the privacy of their group. Then, she could feel shame for having shouted at an elderly man over a slight that had no long-term impact on anyone but a memory.

  Morpheus was dead. What did it matter if his legacy was mocked? Was she to ride to each dissenter and argue herself blue in the face until they agreed? She didn’t have that kind of strength in her. Nor that masochism.

  ‘“Weak-minded, horrible little man’?” Aurora continued, laughter causing her shoulders to shake.

  Shouting at one man did nothing. Kera should have known better. She should have. But she didn’t want to show Aurora that. “Well he is,” she insisted instead, reclaiming her reins and refusing to let her fury be cowed by logic just yet.