On the Subject of Griffons

by Lindsey Byrd

  “And I him.”

  “I’d also like for you to pen a letter to your sister to tell her of your progress. I’ll send it along for you, but I’d be remiss not to offer you paper and postage to complete the task.”

  A letter. Damn. She’d forgotten. But that, too, was a simple request she was more than happy to accomplish. “And lastly”—Najah sighed—“these items are on loan. I expect to see them, and yourselves, in good health the moment it becomes possible for you to return to me. I will not wait forever, so your timeliness is imperative.”

  Kera stood and strode to Najah’s chair. She wrapped her arms around the woman’s shoulders and held her close. “Thank you for all of your assistance,” she whispered.

  “You are more than welcome, my dear. Both of you. More than welcome.”

  Kera felt Aurora give her shoulder a squeeze. For the first time in a long while, the reassurances of her allies seemed to actually bolster her resolve. Confidence had slipped in when she hadn’t noticed, and standing here beside Aurora, Kera knew they would succeed.

  Setting out again after two nights’ rest felt strange. The horses that Najah provided were calm and sturdy. Their saddles were lightweight and easier to lift and manage. The saddlebags were easily transferable and packed well. Najah gave them fresh ointment to smear over their wounds, new bandages, and jars of oils for the children. Aiden woke up long enough to blink up at Najah Zakaria. He received a hug from her and a well wish for his travels. Faith, though, was more aware.

  While the horses were getting ready and Najah spoke quietly to Aurora and Aiden, Kera steadied the young girl with an arm around her shoulders. “How are you feeling, dear?”

  Faith shrugged. Her head twisted this way and that, as if trying to take in all of Mount Maladh at once. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to see more during your stay,” Kera admitted. “But we’ll be back, yes? When you’re feeling better? And perhaps we’ll even be able to find you a dress so you can look just as lovely as your mother did.”

  “She did look pretty,” Faith whispered, leaning against Kera so her head could tuck under her chin. She felt warm and precious against Kera’s side. Right, in a way all of her children had felt from the moment she first had them in her arms. Kissing Faith’s crown, Kera smiled against her hair. Hiding it like a secret only they would know.

  “Very pretty indeed . . .”

  “We—we’ll really come back?” A hacking cough rocked the child against her. Kera shifted her feet to take more of the girl’s weight.

  “I promise. We’ll come back, and I’ll show you all the wonders of Mount Maladh. My boys insisted that they hid a treasure somewhere out in the fields, but I bet between the four of us we could track it down. Your mother certainly has a knack for ferreting out the truth when she wants to.”

  “Yeah . . . no good tryin’ta hide anything from her . . .”

  “Come, let’s get you up on that horse before you fall asleep. We’re almost to the Lakes, Faith. You’ll see. Just a bit longer now. Soon this will all be over. Come, up you get.” It was a well-practiced dance between them at this point. Faith mounted with the last vestiges of her strength, sagging forward on her gelding as Kera held him steady. But she murmured her thank-yous just as polite as polite could be once she’d done it. Kera took the girl’s hand in hers, kissing it as a gentleman would. “We’re going to make it, Faith. I promise.”

  “One more thing,” Najah announced, stepping up to Kera’s side. She held out a small pouch for Kera to take, then gave a matching one to Aurora. Inside there were crystals. “Set them by your fire circle and the wraiths won’t be able to see you at all. You should be safe from them at the very least.”

  “There are crystals that keep you invisible to the wraiths?” Aurora asked, holding her pouch like she had just been given the answers to the universe. She had Aiden balanced up on her hip, and the boy was peering down into the pouch as well, one thumb reaching up to press between his lips before he turned and snuggled against Aurora’s throat. Aurora’s hands tightened around the offering before she shifted to squeeze Aiden close to her side. Aiden was hugging her close, sniffling a little, murmuring words Kera couldn’t quite hear. Aurora must have heard them all, though. The more Aiden mumbled, the more tension seemed to radiate through her. Her voice raised with each word she spoke, “We were attacked, almost killed, how come we never heard of these things before?”

  “I thought the stories about Brennan Wild planting crystals around Ship’s Landing to defend it from the night were rumors,” Kera said.

  But Najah rolled her eyes with such exasperation that it caught her off guard. “Honestly, child, how do you think Mori managed to ride through the night during the war? It certainly wasn’t luck.”

  “He wasn’t a superior rider or soldier?”

  “Apologies for breaking the illusion, but Morpheus only attempted such rides twice. His final time, he’d come back nearly collapsing from fright, and the poor horse he’d been on—this was before he received Holly—died of a heart attack the moment after he’d crossed the fire circle.” Then, because Najah had a peculiar sense of humor, she said, “It was how Mr. Burns and my staff traveled through the night too.”

  Kera flushed at the revelation, but Aurora wasn’t cowed. “But why haven’t we heard of these?” she pressed indignantly, still squeezing Aiden so tight. As if her arms were the fire circle determined to shield him from the world.

  “Because they’re gifts.” It didn’t explain anything, and Kera was prepared to ask for clarification when Najah sighed. “Magic, crystals, potions, and hexes? They only truly work when freely given. It’s an old-world philosophy, back from when the gods walked the earth. Ruug might be the only place that truly still practices magic properly, but their studies have at least offered us this. Time’s a fickle thing, and Death’s even more strict. But anytime magic or blessings are involved, there’s an exchange of sorts that’s wholly based on intent. And an exchange of currency invalidates the purity of the intent. Intent is what matters to the undead. Gifts are what matter. If you give the right gift, or you hold the right item close—then that is what feeds the power needed. Those crystals will only work if they’ve been blessed and tended to, and given without any thoughts of greed or avarice.

  “You can’t market good intentions, so I fear the crystals fell out of favor for the most part. But cities such as Ship’s Landing, Alexandria, even settlements such as Mount Maladh, are all surrounded by buried crystals so no wraiths may enter the property—even without a fire. It was the True Lord Amit who provided many of the crystals around this property. I wouldn’t be surprised if he helped Wild with Ship’s Landing either.”

  “But they still burn the circles around the cities,” Aurora said.

  “It’s to make people feel safe. Not everyone believes the crystals will work. After all, if the intent fades, so too does the power. But you needn’t worry about the intent here. These are the same crystals I used to give soldiers during the war. They’ve carried riders through the horrors once before, and they will do so again.”

  Tears pricked against Kera’s eyes, but she ordered herself to stay calm. Focused. She tucked the crystals into her saddlebag, then reached to take Najah’s hand. “Thank you . . . for everything.”

  “Just return safe to me, dear child,” Najah requested. And when she looked to Aurora, she smiled still. “And it’s been quite my pleasure to meet you, Ms. Lawrence. I do hope to get to know you and your daughter better upon your return. When circumstance are less dire.”

  “You as well, my lady,” Aurora replied. She settled Aiden up on the horse, then went to mount up behind her daughter, Kera steadying both horses with tight hands on their bridles. Najah waited to the side as Aurora got settled, but before Kera could turn to mount as well, she placed a hand on Kera’s wrist.

  Leaning in close, Najah pressed her face to Kera’s hair, whispering in her ear. “It’s a fine thing to move on after you’ve lost someone,” she said. “B
ut be certain that you’re moving on to the right person, or you may regret it when it’s done.”

  She flinched badly, recoiling from her friend as though struck. Words built up, then died in her mouth. Kera’s heart pounded violently, but Najah refused to step back. “I mean this kindly, Kera. You loved your husband, and it isn’t fair to anyone if you start down a new journey, and your heart isn’t ready to be given away once more.”

  “Kera?” Aurora called. She jerked around and stared up at Aurora. Watched as her face twisted into something approaching deep concern. Anxiety swirled in Kera’s stomach.

  “Right,” she breathed out quietly. “Right. Thank you.” Then she climbed up onto her horse, and settled in around her son. Najah almost looked sad as she stepped away, waving them goodbye with a regal sweep of her hand. But Kera didn’t think too much about Najah’s feelings. Not when her mind was too busy reanalyzing her own.

  Aurora didn’t comment on Kera’s silence after they left Mount Maladh. She glanced over a few times, but didn’t pressure her to reveal anything. It was kind. Mori would have pestered her until she eventually told him what Najah had said, and that in of itself was confusing. She didn’t even know if she wanted Aurora to ask her what had happened. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to want Aurora to ask. All she knew was that it was a relief not being bothered by incessant nettling as they continued to ride south.

  Prattling shifted to a strangely companionable silence, interrupted only when one of the kids felt well enough to start a conversation. Faith, in particular, was in good spirits upon their departure. She managed to eat a few more mouthfuls at their mealtimes when they stopped, and she’d taken to humming idly while they rode.

  Their new horses were strong and sturdy. They walked with determination and careful steps, and moved forward at a steady pace. Kera found that their procession was covering more ground than before, and that their horses were not exhausted at the end of the day. They minded Kera’s and Aurora’s commands well, and their placid demeanors were flawless company for the journey.

  The crystals they had been given were nothing short of a miracle. Settlements in the south were farther apart than those in the north, and they were forced to sleep outside more than once (despite their careful planning). They set the crystals in the ground, and lit the fires no matter what, but now the nightwalkers didn’t approach. There were no screeches or thrashing attempts to cross their barrier. If anything, the woods were silent. It was eerie.

  Tonight was no different. Kera rested against Aurora, with their children curled along their sides. They took turns talking to each other and taking watch. Crystals or no, anxious energy wrapped around Kera whenever night fell. She couldn’t stop the immediate panic that rose when there was any sound in the dark, let alone the howling of the dead.

  Talking with Aurora and Faith was lovely. Faith was a quick wit and a clever tease. She was every bit her mother’s daughter in terms of inner strength and bravery. Kera longed for the moment when they would reach the end of their quest and the griffons could save her and restore her to her truest form. Kera wanted to talk to her and get to know the young woman that was hidden beneath lethargy and violent tremors.

  For now, Kera took what she could get. She ran her fingers through Faith’s hair and tried to calm her when her arms shook or legs twitched. “Do you remember when I told you about Cirri? She’s just about your age. And . . . and I have a few other children as well. There’s Cirri of course, then Mori Junior and August, then John, Marcus, my little Kerryn . . . and Aiden’s the youngest.”

  “’S’alo’ o’ kids . . .” Faith slurred against Kera’s knee.

  “It is. They would love to meet you. Especially Cirri. She’s been desperate for a friend to spend her time with; so many of the girls around us are interested in frivolities. She wants a true companion.”

  “Not . . . sure I’d do so well . . .”

  “You’d be perfect,” Kera told her. “You are perfect. She’ll love you.” Cirri had a heart bigger than anyone Kera knew. She opened her mind and her soul to others with such wonderful acceptance, embracing all of the best parts of her parents.

  A twig snapped, and Kera turned her head to peer through the trees. It took her a moment to spot it, but when she did, she gasped. Aurora woke with a start, jerking forward and squinting into the night. Searching for a wraith where there wasn’t one.

  Instead, a faded blue light shimmered not far away, human-shaped and walking slow. It hadn’t noticed them yet, but Kera recognized the hue anyway. She’d seen this before, when her father had been preparing a legal case involving a murder and had the good fortune to observe a death march as part of his trial. He’d brought her and her siblings with him to show them what a death march was. They’d all watched with rapt fascination as the ghosts appeared from beyond and reenacted their final moments.

  Death marches were impervious to fire lines, they started wherever they died—circle or no. But with any luck, the crystals should be enough to keep them safe. Either way, unless the living interfered with the dead, the dead wouldn’t interfere with the living. Ghosts were meant to replay their deaths, and changes to their schedules were rare. This soldier just kept walking, heading through the trees without looking their way or suspecting that there was anyone watching him back.

  “Most of the battles were fought in the north,” Aurora murmured. The soldier wore the uniform of the first Absalon army, dark blue made even more ethereal after his death.

  “Not all of them,” Kera said. “There’s every chance we could stumble on one and interfere . . .”

  “Well I got no intentions of interfering, do you?” Aurora whispered back.

  “No.” They watched as the soldier walked out of sight, still unaware of their presence and not concerned with where they sat. Kera counted seconds in her head, listening as the night continued its standard routine. There was a shout of surprise, cut off like the air was driven from someone’s lungs. It echoed through the wood. Then, silence.

  “What happens if they don’t die?” Faith asked. She yawned wide and shivered. Aurora dragged a light blanket over her shoulders. Najah had given them more than enough supplies to care for their family in what seemed like luxury.

  “I don’t follow,” Aurora admitted.

  “If you inter . . . fere . . .” Faith paused, gathering her breath. “What happens if they don’t die? You stop ’em from dying?”

  “They become specters . . .” Aurora said. “Violent and angry. They’re aware that they didn’t die when they should have, and they know there’s no way to the other side now. So they break free of the march and roam the world—attacking or causing trouble wherever they can. Sort of like wraiths.”

  Kera shivered. She’d never liked any of the nightwalkers, and the fact that they went through so many transitions felt wrong to her. They should have been at peace, but existing as they did . . . felt tragic. She had no desire to live a horrible day over and over again for the rest of time. Why would anyone wish to relieve their final moments? It felt . . . wrong.

  She thought back to Rachel. As a phantom, she had more leeway. Her violence, if there had even been such a thing, had been a choice she made. Her humanity had stayed intact despite her death. She could change. There was no change with the marches. No time to grow or learn or adapt. They were locked in amber, exactly as they were on that day.

  Their dialogue might differ if they were interrupted, but they felt the same emotions as they had in the moments before they died. Happiness, sadness, love, and hate all solidified into one final performance, and the poor souls never realized they were dead. They never knew that they would be fated to relive those deaths over and over.

  Of all the nightwalkers . . . Kera felt the worst for them.

  Sighing, she mumbled about needing something to distract her. Pulling the Bestiary from its spot, she flipped through the pages once more. By now she had nearly memorized the entire book. She’d already learned all there was to know
about everything relevant, and yet there was still no answer as to who the writer in the griffon section was. There was still no accounting for the discrepancies between the text and the annotations that surrounded it.

  Kera skimmed through the pages. She hoped to find something, anything that could help give them more insight. She just needed more information, but the book lacked the knowledge she wished to find. Someone should write a better book, she thought. She would pay for it to be written if she had to. More people should have access to this kind of knowledge. It shouldn’t just be for clerics and researchers.

  Aurora’s hand snapped to her arm. She looked up. There was a soldier standing on the outside of their fire pit.

  He was watching them with a curious expression, one that made Kera’s heart beat rapidly. She licked her lips. She should say something, anything, but she had no idea what she was meant to say to a dead man about to die again. Unlike the first soldier, this one was looking right at them, his death march interrupted because of where they’d set up their camp. Kera wondered if the crystals could protect them from a true and proper ghost, not a wraith ready to tear them apart.

  Her hopes were invalidated as the ghost stepped forward, crossing over the fire line as if it were meaningless. Kera’s heart hammered. She scrambled to her feet, standing in front of Aurora and the children. Terror wrapped around her.

  He didn’t seem to mind either way, he just kept looking at them. Up and down, up and down, his expression twisted in confusion. It was as if he couldn’t quite fathom that they were here either.

  “Good morning, mi’ladies,” he greeted, unaware of the time or place. He was locked in his mindset of how his life once was. Kera’s stomach sank. The sweet southern drawl pulled around the soldier’s tone as he asked, “What are you doing out here?”

  Kera had no idea what to say.

  The soldier was just a boy. They all had been at one point. Though this one seemed absurdly young, even if the gold thread on his arm claimed he was a lieutenant colonel. Dark-brown curls were pulled out of his face in a bushy tail at the base of his neck, and brown freckles splattered across his bronzed skin. One thin braid hung down by his chin, colored beads clicking together as he slipped closer.