On the Subject of Griffons

by Lindsey Byrd

  It was not a comforting thought.

  When the sun rose, she encouraged Aurora to wake. Then they tended to the children and helped them with their morning meal. It was an unmentionable slop that made Kera’s stomach start issuing complaints of its own. Aiden threw up after the first bite, and Kera spent another few coins on something that would be easier on his stomach.

  He’d lost so much weight already, he couldn’t afford to lose much more. His cheeks were hollowed, and there were divots forming beneath his eyes. Even his curls were flatter, and despite his constant exposure to the sun, his skin was far too waxy for comfort. They needed to hurry.

  With great effort, they helped Aiden and Faith back on their horse. Kera’s feet burned as she walked. Blisters bursting almost as soon as they set to the road, she could feel blood filling the soles of her shoes, and she longed for a horse. But each time they’d entered a town, either there were no horses for sale, or her coin was not enough. She couldn’t spend all her money on a horse and leave them with nothing for food or supplies.

  She hadn’t anticipated this particular expense.

  Stupid.

  “You think the overseer’s gonna live there?” Aurora asked her when they passed the phallic monstrosity that was being built in the center of the city.

  “I have no idea,” Kera said. She hoped the house was never constructed, that Wild must continue to commute to government buildings he didn’t care for until the day he died or retired. She had no interest in alleviating any of Wild’s discomfort. Let the man rot.

  She swung her walking stick forward, spite motivating her to go another few steps, and together they left the capital. Aurora withdrew her map from a fold in her pocket, and she squinted down at it. “There’s a settlement we can reach tonight. Something like six or seven hours away I think.” Kera hesitated before holding out her hand for the map.

  “Mount Maladh . . .” she murmured.

  Her friend frowned and leaned closer to see. “That’s what that is?” Kera shook her head. She dragged her right pointer finger so that it was just a little ways to the right of the settlement that Aurora had mentioned.

  “This is Mount Maladh.” There was streak of land that was unmarked there. A small dot, but nothing else. It wasn’t unusual, most maps wouldn’t have included it. Neither General Zakaria or Najah had desired for such attention made. There was no reason the mass populace needed to know where their private residence was.

  “You’re sure that it’s there?” Aurora asked. Kera was. She had traveled to Mount Maladh on seven separate occasions, and she remembered the exact bend in the road. The exact placement of the trees that lead to the campus.

  “Amit’s son, Ira, stayed with us for a time when Trent and Ruug were engaged in their own conflicts. When we were able, we brought him to Mount Maladh to stay with the Zakarias. I remember this road.” She remembered, in particular, how much Ira had tried not to be afraid. How he hadn’t once let her see him cry. How he’d showed off for her children and pretended that the war didn’t matter to him. That he was just fine.

  “I don’ remember,” Aiden slurred, grumpy as he wriggled a bit in the saddle.

  “Well, you weren’t born yet,” Kera told him, then looked back to Aurora. “Ira wasn’t adjusting well to the transition, and he missed his family. Mori made a game with him and . . . and my first Aiden.” She glanced at her son. “Your namesake.” Swallowing, she pressed on. “Mori challenged them to find the best route to Mount Maladh, he gave them the map and the markers, and for every day of the journey south, we all examined them together.” Mori had even played soldiers with the boys, Ira and Aiden. He’d let them ride about as if they were going into war themselves. He’d let them shoot at him with their very threatening sticks still fresh with leaves.

  “I know how to get to Mount Maladh,” Kera told Aurora with firm determination. “And they’ll let us in. More than that, Najah will have access to a physician who might be able to help ease Faith and Aiden more . . . One whom we can discuss your theory with in full.”

  “They still call it a theory if it’s true?” Aurora muttered under her breath.

  “Actually they call it that because it’s true; it’s hypotheses that are unproven.”

  “Oh . . . well then.”

  “What I meant to say is that we’ll be safe and it’s a good place to rest.” Mount Maladh was defensible and well-lit at night. The fires that burned never once let out, and spells from witches kept an even tighter barrier from those within the field and those outside. The walls were so thick that the screams were never heard. Ghosts had no place inside the settlement.

  Najah had told her long ago that Kera’s family would always be welcome. There was no greater time than now, and Kera knew beyond a shadow of a doubt—they would be able to resupply and rest at Mount Maladh.

  Nodding, Aurora accepted the change of plans. “Lead the way, Lady.”

  And Kera did just that. She walked the road with intent, scanning for trees and markers that she knew from so long ago.

  “It’s been almost five years since I last visited Mount Maladh.” The last time they were there had been after the general’s death. Mori had been silent the whole journey, and when they arrived Najah had looked so old and weary in her black mourning dress.

  “The funny thing is,” she’d told Kera with her lovely southern drawl, i’s and u’s turning into a’s and ah’s. “They’ve all made my husband out to be some great hero in their mind. A legend that could never die. And they all forgot that at the end of it all—he was just a man. Same as anyone else. Would that more people remembered he was a man. For a simple man who did what he did is far more meaningful than the fiction they turned him into.”

  Najah Zakaria always knew the right words to say.

  With little else to distract them as they walked, Kera told Aurora about the Zakarias. For all her usual lack of interest in anything political or civil-service oriented, even Aurora seemed a touch awestruck by the idea that Kera had known the family well enough to just arrive on their doorstep. She took it upon herself to confirm with Kera no less than three times that it would be all right to go to Mount Maladh. Especially with the children.

  “Friends help friends in need,” Kera swore. “That’s what you do for the ones you love. It’s never a burden.”

  “I’m not exactly a popular figure in your friend group, I wager.”

  “You will be.” Kera’s fingers tightened around her walking stick, and she shifted her weight more onto the rod. “You will be.”

  Noon came about as they started on the long path that led to Mount Maladh’s main entrance. Kera was certain they’d crossed into Zakaria’s territory at least. She recognized some of the lines and markers from the general’s surveying, and she pointed them out to Aurora in hopes of easing her worry that this would all be for naught.

  Still, she found herself rambling as the hours slipped by. Uncertainty fed off of Aurora’s fears and created a great swell of anxiety within her. She chattered away with clicking teeth; words came in such rapid succession that she half wondered if she’d lost her wits. The constant tide of her emotions had left her with no peace. It wanted to be known. Each moment of silence that stalked their breathless steps was hateful. The tide thrashed, and she kept talking until her thoughts ran in circles and her words slurred together.

  Aurora pushed a canteen to her hand and ordered her to drink. She looked at Kera like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Kera flushed, and tried not to meet Aurora’s eyes for fear of seeing the chastisement on her features. “Are you all right?”

  Kera didn’t know how to answer that. She couldn’t explain why she was so nervous, nor why she felt like an actor who had forgotten her lines. Making up the story as she went along, and missing her mark each time.

  “Fine,” Kera said. Her back twinged and she hissed, hating the sudden surge of total inadequacy that rushed through her body.

  A loud crackling sound echoed overhead,
and both Kera and Aurora froze. Victor plodded on a few more steps, not realizing they had stopped, but he slowed soon enough. His reins pulled taut in Aurora’s firm grip. He looked over his shoulder at them, ears swiveling about.

  Kera dared to tilt her head up toward the sky. She hadn’t been paying attention, not that her paying attention mattered, but the sky had darkened with thick clouds. A storm was coming. Thunder cracked again in the distance—it sounded closer.

  Squinting at the horizon, she could even make out the first signs of rain. Birds were fast taking cover, and the wind had started to pick up. Even the smell of the air had shifted: water, thick and dewy, and earthy pine rushed up from the ground. Ozone wafted around the road, a sharp snap of electricity flashed through the sky.

  They still had a few hours to go, but the storm was not going to wait that long. “One step at a time,” Aurora counseled. Kera let her eyes stray toward Faith and Aiden. The teenager was holding Aiden tight, but her face was streaked with sweat. Her eyes weren’t focusing. She’d been pushing herself far more than any child should in her condition, struggling to stay awake and not drop Aiden.

  And Aiden . . . he was shaking and jerking against Faith’s chest in small bursts. Kera wondered how long he’d been at it, but the tremors weren’t too bad just yet. They might have time, though not much of it. Urging Victor on, Aurora walked with long purposeful strides. Kera struggled to keep up. Her eyes kept trailing to the saddlebags, praying that no drops fell in.

  Shifting her weight so she was holding the stick with two hands, Kera hoisted herself forward with all the strength in her body. She heaved air through her teeth and glared at the muddy trail in front of them as huge brown splotches splashed onto their legs. Victor’s hooves splattered her and Aurora even more.

  When the rain fell, it did so with immediate mockery. No sooner did Kera feel the first drop strike her nose, than did the deluge begin. It was like standing under an upended bucket. Kera’s hair was soaked with water. Streams were sliding down her cheeks, her grip felt slick around her stick, and her clothes—

  “What in the world?” Aurora stopped walking. She stared down at herself, and Kera couldn’t blame her. She was doing the same. Their clothes were dry.

  Kera watched as the water droplets touched the exterior of the clothing and just slipped right off. The heat that she feared they would lose to the chill seemed to be unaffected. Her bare skin and hair and shoes were sopping wet, but her clothes and body underneath were dry.

  The children were the same. Their clothing was dry and impervious to the water that attempted to drench them. Without hesitation, Aurora hurried to the saddlebags. She withdrew one of their spare tops and told Faith to cover her and Aiden’s heads with it. She complied, unlacing the shirt and holding over them both like a shawl.

  The water didn’t go through. “I don’t understand,” Kera murmured, staring as Aurora thrust a new garment into her hands.

  Aurora shrugged. “It’s not our place to understand miracles, just to say thank you when they arrive.” She tugged a shirt around her head as well, and a grin set upon her features. “If it’s not a sign that we’re going to succeed, I don’t know what is.” Kera matched Aurora’s pretty smile with one of her own and followed the younger woman. She was the lighthouse keeper, and she kept them safe from harm.

  Aurora laughed as they traveled. She was fearless in the face of a storm. Even when lightning flickered up above and the thunder clamored on all sides, Aurora stayed amused. She was scientific in her research of their strange miracle. She hopped about in the mud puddles and watched as the dirt and moisture clung to her trousers, but did not penetrate to her skin. She stayed dry despite it all.

  Kera tried to think when the last time their clothes had gotten wet. The weather had held well for the past few weeks, and they had been rather poor on maintaining their laundry—

  “Rachel,” Kera whispered.

  “What was that?” Aurora turned to face Kera with her shirt pulled over her head like a cleric.

  Kera snorted. “Rachel was that ghost I met.” From the look on Aurora’s face, she had no idea what Kera was talking about. “The day I did the wash? I met a ghost. She assisted me in washing the clothes.” And now they weren’t getting wet. Just like they had dried in their room, quick as can be.

  “You washed clothes with a ghost?” Aurora asked, seeming to have a hard time understanding what Kera was telling her.

  “Phantom, I think,” Kera amended. “I’m fairly certain she was a phantom. That’s what the soldiers called her anyway.”

  From the way Aurora’s eyes were still wide and her mouth still hung open, the alteration did not make matters better. “A phantom,” she repeated.

  “Yes . . .?”

  “How have you not lost your life yet? Between phantoms and ghosts and wraiths, gods above, Kera, you have either no luck or all the luck in the world.”

  Words shriveled in Kera’s mouth and were lost at sea. “That’s hardly true,” she mumbled.

  “Only time I’ve ever heard of a phantom doing anything nice for someone was right before they passed on,” Aurora continued. Kera attempted to set the record straight, but Aurora either didn’t care or didn’t care to hear. It was probably a mix of both.

  The rain kept coming down with all the precision of a little drummer boy. Ratta-ta-tatta-ta-tat-tat, ratta-ta-tatta-ta-tat-tat. Thunder crashed like cymbals. She wanted to tell Aurora the analogy, to distract her from disparaging Rachel’s good name, but it took three attempts for her to hear Kera over the chaos of the weather. By then Kera was throwing her hands about in an attempt to mime what she meant.

  “Can you imagine it?” Aurora shouted back. “A boy on his death march tapping through the night. Pied piper only with a snare instead of a pipe.”

  Yes. Kera could imagine it. She could also imagine that same boy turning around and shooting them for interrupting his march, killing them for interloping where they did not belong.

  So many children had died during the war, it wasn’t hard to fathom a little drummer boy still wandering the battlefield with his drum. It was a far more sobering thought than she would like to think of now, made more so by the darkening sky. It felt like the days were growing shorter. Night was already coming.

  They hurried just a bit more, wet road slowing them despite their good fortune with their clothes. The wind sprayed their skin with mist, and Victor was far more miserable than they were. Rachel’s gift did not apply to horses. He made actual noises of complaint and dragged his feet in protest. Faith even needed to kick him a few times to urge him forward when no amount of jerking on the reins encouraged him to do so.

  The sun was just starting to set as they reach the outer wall of Mount Maladh. Someone had set an oil line ablaze already, and the circle was rich and thick. Burning even with the rain coming down as hard as it was. The gates were shut, but Kera wasted no time knocking on the great door. One of the wall patrolmen glanced over the wall at them, squinting at their party in confusion.

  “Who’s that, then?” he asked, and Kera swiped her wet hair from her face as she tried to make out who was speaking. She didn’t recognize him. It would have been far easier if it had been a familiar face. She should have asked Ciara to pen a letter and inform Najah that she was coming. That would have been a smart thing to do.

  “Kerryn Montgomery,” she said as loud as she could. Her heart beat fast as she listened for the sounds of wraiths. “Please, may you open the door?”

  “We’re not expectin’ any visitors,” the man told her. “I’ve been given strict instructions not to open this door to no one unless I’ve got permission from the lady.”

  “Yes, yes, but the lady has already given me permission,” she countered. “I’m Kerryn Montgomery, Lady Zakaria would be most gratified to know of my presence.” She hoped anyway.

  The man threw his hands up. “I’ve not been told of such things.”

  “Then send someone to find out!” Aurora argued.
>
  The man turned his attention to her now. “Who’re you, then?”

  “It doesn’t matter who she is,” Kera snapped. “Send someone to tell Lady Zakaria that Kerryn Montgomery and her children are here, and that the nightwalkers are almost out.”

  The man shrugged again. “Can’t send anyone, I’m the only one here, and I’m not to leave my post.”

  It was a circular argument, one that wasn’t going to lead them anywhere. Kera glanced over her shoulder. The shadows on the ground seemed so much longer now. The wind in the leaves seemed so much more sinister.

  Aurora’s hand on her arm steadied her. “It’s going to be all right,” Aurora swore. “Just wait.”

  But the faintest sounds of howls had started, and Victor started to prance about. “Shout a message, send a flare, now tell her I’m here!” Kera argued. “Good gods, man, do you not see the sun has fallen? Shall you leave us out in the dark?”

  “I’m not to open the gates to anyone unless the lady gives permission.”

  “We’ve already got it, you just need to confirm it. Please confirm it!”

  A scream curled about the rain, echoing in tandem with the drum beat on the water. Ratta-ta-tatta-ta-tat-tat. Kera’s hands shook, and she squeezed them tight. She gripped the stick with every ounce of energy she had remaining. “My name is Kerryn Montgomery, my husband was Morpheus Montgomery. I’ve permission to enter Mount Maladh. And if you do not open this door right now, you’ll be disrespecting the very household you serve.”

  “I’m following the lady’s command; you could be the overseer himself and I’d not let you in these gates. I—” His head turned. Someone’s voice was calling out to him on the other side of the wall, and he left to answer. His voice was lost on the wind. Kera thought she could hear her name, thought that she might be able to make out the sound of a command being given, but she wasn’t certain.

  Silence fell on the wall, and it was as pervasive as the rising sounds of the nightwalkers emerging from their slumber. Aurora stepped out and slammed her fist against the door. “Let us in, you brute,” she ordered, slamming her fist again.