by A Corrin
“Josiah frequents these parts,” Peter chortled, as if at some inside joke. “He’s one of the few people out there with the ability to dream lucidly.”
“Sure he can,” I grumbled. “So a giant griffin who just so happens to know my guidance counselor wrote a couple of books for me. Because that makes all kinds of sense.” I gazed down at my talons, still tensed to run if Peter tried anything funny while my gaze was averted and imagined Peter scribbling with a pencil the size of a yardstick clutched in his lethal talon.
Peter chuckled and said, “We are actually excellent scholars, but haven’t you been listening? I am human.”
With that, his shape shifted and blurred, becoming a cacophony of colors. Next thing I knew, he stood tall, a bald, dark-skinned man of African descent with a snowy-white beard and mustache and big calloused hands resting around his suspender straps. He studied me with a very kind and gentle warmth in his eyes, like a proud grandpa. When I had gotten an eyeful he blurred and blended back into the big grizzly griffin.
“I’ve seen you before!” I cried, pointing at him with one talon and this time maintaining my balance. “In my dream at Nikki’s! You gave me that focus-mint and told me to get ready for change when my...” I stopped.
“When your eyes reflect your heart,” Peter said. “And, unless I’m mistaken, they have. You’ve demonstrated the righteous fury of one chosen to rule as griffin-prince; an anger born from witnessing injustice and yearning to punish it.”
I thought of what Garrett had said about my eyes changing color—remembered seeing his skin bathed in a red glow that had seemed to emanate from my own face.
“Mmmm, no,” I whimpered. “This can’t be real. You can’t be real.” I lifted one of my hand-like talons and shook the claws at him. “I can’t be real!”
“Why not?” Peter asked. “What’s real? Is it something that you see? Something you feel?” He slapped my shoulder with the fan of feathers at the end of his tail.
“Something that makes sense!” I cried hysterically.
“Not everything that’s real makes sense,” Peter argued.
“Listen, Socrates,” I snapped, “I would love to have some long, philosophical discussion with you about life and death and humanity and crap, but I’m kind of losing my mind right now, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try and find a phone.”
I stood up, looking from the ocean on one side to the jungle on my other, wondering helplessly where the nearest town would be. I took a wobbly step toward the trees.
“You want answers,” Peter said mildly.
I stopped and looked at him. “That would be nice, yes.”
The corners of Peter’s beak twitched like he wanted to smile. “Very well. Let’s start with your arrival here. Once the Rankers discovered that you are next in line to rule, they started watching you, biding their time, waiting for the opportune moment to send you here, waiting until you were ready to become a griffin.”
I raised one of the frilly tendrils that served as my eyebrow. “They wanted me to turn into…this? Why?” I asked curiously. Why would the bad guys want me to become a beast that was five times more powerful than a human being?
“You’re the only one who can stop them. Here, you’re out of the way of their machinations in reality. Being a griffin is...like wearing your finest suit to a party. Folks show you deference because they can see the suit’s fine make and that as its owner you must either be well-to-do or you worked long and hard saving up enough money to afford it. During the party you would be careful not to stain the suit or tear it. You would move with dignity and grace.
“But the griffin in you is balanced with your humanity. Your human-ness is what makes you special; unpredictable. But it also makes you weak. Griffins are incapable of being sinful, of acting on feelings of lust, pettiness, greed. To do so would break the transformation and turn you back into a human. Here, your human-ness can be manipulated and you can fall prey to all manner of corruption. Here, you can be crafted into a “Dark Griffin,” a creature of evil and brimstone, a foul creation that would bring the minds of Men into ruin and insanity. You could become the most powerful weapon in the Rankers’ arsenal. After all, that’s what they wanted to do to your predecessor. But Rankers greatly underestimate the hearts of griffins.” He sounded a little sad, as if remembering a tragic memory, but my new ear tufts twitched at the word “predecessor” and I remembered all of the mumbo-jumbo in my old dream about sitting on a throne.
“What are you saying?” I asked. “What do you mean only I can stop them?”
“You are the prince and protector of this land,” Peter smiled, “Until we can get you to the capital city and Michael can perform the ceremony that will make you king.”
I didn’t know what he expected me to do—dance around for joy? Not happening. But we had finally made it around to the crucial question that I’d been avoiding.
“Uh…huh. And where exactly is ‘this land?’”
Peter’s gaze turned thoughtful. He looked around and replied in a voice dreamy with some emotion I wasn’t quite familiar with (maybe a sort of adoration?): “This is the Land of Dreams. All dreams past, present, and future are here in this place. Though there are some good dreams, there are bad ones as well. Those with dreams of bravery and heroism appear here as superheroes, or knights”—he gave me a sly side-look through his intimidating silver eyes—“or griffins.”
“So, I’m dreaming?” I asked, “Everyone here is dreaming?”
Peter turned to glance into the trees, then said, “Well, sort of. Without intense training and practice, you can’t utilize the unlimited power of the dreamworld while asleep. We don’t have that kind of time, and neither do the Rankers. No, right now you’re in a heightened form of dream—like a coma. You have been called into the minds of others to vanquish a spreading evil. Some others that you will see in this world are also from reality, like you and I, but only a select few are actually aware of the ongoing Ranker war. Most think they’re just having dreams or nightmares. But nightmares are fast becoming a reality for all. You have noticed how terrible things have been in the world lately, correct? How terrible some people have become?”
I nodded.
“The Rankers have been encouraging evil for a long time,” Peter explained. “Our world is becoming more and more corrupt and dark, and they have chosen this time to finally end it all.”
That made me gulp. “End?”
He gave me a serious stare. “In blood and fire.” My eyes grew big, and from the pressure building behind them and the white glow shining off of Peter’s dark chest feathers, I didn’t doubt that they had changed color in response to my emotions again. “From the ashes of our lives, the Rankers will rebuild an empire of shadows. Rankers are born of evil minds or thoughts. Pure evil.”
Something in my chest burned hot, and even though his name left a nasty taste in my mouth, I choked out, “Garrett?”
“He was sent to spy on you all these years.”
“Is he a leader of the Rankers?”
“The best, and the most evil.”
Of course, I thought. It was hard to imagine that the guy everyone had hated since primary school, the bully who terrified other bullies, had enough brain cells to lead anything. Then again, it was hard to imagine me turning into a big fat Macedonian myth too. I guess I had to work on my imagination a bit.
“Well, who made him? Can’t we just go and...fix that guy?”
Peter gave me a fond smile. “It isn’t that easy, unfortunately. Anyone could have made Garrett, and if he’s strong enough, has collected power enough to be acting independently from his creator, then that creator could have died centuries ago and we’re stuck dealing with the manifestation of his wicked heart.”
My heart was sinking lower and lower in my chest. “My friends and family…”
“You’ll see them again. And you
r body will be taken care of too. You have a job to do first,” Peter said reassuringly.
I cocked my head. “Job?”
The dark griffin nodded. “You must go to the capital to be crowned and meet the White Griffin. He is very wise, and he’s advised many griffin rulers before you. Along the way, we shall gather more troops and, hopefully, discover the Rankers’ whereabouts and plans. They’ve been leaving clues—and thanks to the efforts of your predecessor, we know where to look. And now you’re here to lead us.”
I looked behind me, wondering who he was talking to, because it was just too bizarre for me to even test the idea that he meant me. It clicked an instant later, however, that he did mean me, and I felt as if I’d just swallowed a golf ball.
“Yeah,” I laughed. “Too bad I can’t! I can’t lead a battle. I’m no prince!”
Peter disagreed. “You can’t fight who you really are.”
That was finally too much. “Bullshit!” I cried. Peter recoiled a bit as if taken aback, but it was hard to read emotions on a griffin. “For all I know, this is a fever dream brought on by an infection from Garrett’s knife. I mean, me turning into a monster?”
“Griffins aren’t monsters,” Peter interrupted, sounding defensive.
“And the world is falling apart because of Rankers? Which I read about in a book right next to the fairy and unicorn entries?”
“They exist too,” Peter said mildly.
“And the idiot who’s been making my life a living hell at school just so happens to be the mastermind behind some evil plot to take over the world?” My voice broke a little with borderline hysteria.
“Essentially, yes,” Peter confirmed.
I took a bracing breath, closed my eyes for a beat to listen to the whispering of the waves, then said with forced calm, “Who I am...is Jonathan He’klarr, football player at Firestone High, regular Colorado teen, and I don’t want any of this.”
Peter’s low bird-of-prey brows dipped even lower, as if he were disappointed, and I don’t know why that bothered me a little. “If you’re wanting proof, all you have to do is stick around. Truly, that’s all you can do. There’s no going back the way you came. And whatever your personal feelings about this situation, Garrett and his troops must be stopped or they will break the hearts of humanity by consuming our dreams, conquering our hopes, crushing our minds—feeding even further off of our worst nightmares—until they have the strength to move on the waking world en masse, and it will collapse under their power.”
“I—I don’t want to do this,” I said, as firmly as if my words were a brick wall. “You can’t make me fight for you, or be a prince, or whatever.”
Peter inclined his noble head, looking irritated, and I forced myself to remain still and not appear intimidated. “No, you’re right. I can’t force you to do anything. But I can’t force you to wake up either. You’re in a coma. I’m afraid you’re stuck with us until you...wake up. And no one knows when that will be.”
I stared open-beaked at him, feeling black-mailed. I didn’t know what to believe. Everything felt real enough. Option A: I was dreaming a very strange dream. Or option B: I was indeed in a frying-pan-induced coma, because I sure as heck couldn’t seem to wake up no matter how hard I tried. Either way, I couldn’t do anything about my situation at the moment. I was stuck.
Peter looked back into the trees, and suddenly I was suspicious.
“Is it a coincidence that you just happened to be here when I arrived?” I asked, standing up and inching away.
Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. I was originally here to wait for a squadron of soldiers and two other griffins to catch up with me. It was an added bonus when you popped up.”
Good for you. I grumped.
“The Rankers were here earlier to leave a message for their allies, but I saw them leave it. The soldiers and griffins are going to assist me in intercepting it.” He looked back into the trees with ear tufts perked forward and added, “Ah, here they are.”
I peered over at the tree line with anticipation. I was curious to see what sort of military this place had. My raptor-eyes picked up shadows slowly separating from the dark interior of the jungle.
Around twenty or twenty-five armed men and women emerged into the bright sunlight a few at a time, marching toward us and blinking rapidly in the change of light. I was surprised to see such a variety, but then, people don’t all dream about one single type of warrior. There were sailors that could have come straight out of the navy, looking relieved to see the ocean. Stocky marines in camouflage, eyes wary, scanned their new surroundings. Army men hefted their rifles and stared down at the sand. There were armor-clad knights and gladiators, a couple of Amazonian-women-warrior types in tunics and what resembled reptile leather from a lizard that had to be the size of an elephant. I even spotted a few serene-looking samurai in colorful padding.
When they saw me, the warriors all bowed as one and shouted, “My prince!” They stood straight and stiff at attention.
“Yo,” I said, astonished, flicking my head in greeting. Some of them exchanged looks, but they remained standing rigidly.
Peter nudged me, and I added, “Oh, at…ease?” It worked, and they all relaxed, still with looks on their faces like, Why doesn’t our prince sound like he knows what he’s doing?
Two griffins came out from behind the squadron. One was female; her form was dainty and slim, and her coloring was a soft pink. She had large eyes, and a jeweled, golden collar glowed from around her neck.
The other griffin was a male about my size but stockier. He was jet black with purplish spots on the insides of his wings. He wore a defiant look and held his thick, ruffed neck stiff. When he saw me, he immediately sized me up, and his large, tufted ears perked toward me. The female’s face lit up, and she bounded in my direction with enthusiasm, skidding to a stop when she reached my side. The other followed her in a lazy lope.
“Hello!” the female greeted me boisterously in a thick French accent, and graciously lowered her head, curling a talon beneath her. I nodded uncomfortably back. “I am Mariah. Very pleased to meet you, Prince.”
I winced. “Please, just call me Jonathan.”
Mariah beamed and looked up at Peter. “The charlatan did his job well.”
Peter smiled, and once more, I felt a sudden urge to break something.
“He’s working for you guys?” I asked, incredulous. I’d been laboring under the delusion that the little rodent had been working for the Rankers...
Peter nodded. “Charlatans are magnificent messengers. The one who brought you here was the same one who brought Josiah my books. It took Michael a while to muster the power to send him into reality. It’s a lot easier for nightmares to cross over and become reality than it is for good dreams because evil is simpler to harness, to summon. But ever since he was a young kit, that charlatan claimed to have dreamed and desired to help fight for the cleansing of his land from the Ranker filth. And so he has—he’s sent you safely here to us before the Rankers could send you here and claim you. We’ll have to thank him when we see him again.”
A strange feeling of guilt coursed through me. The inhabitants of this place had apparently been through terror and tyranny. They were ready to put a stop to the madness. This was a lot to ask of me. I knew next to nothing about where I was, why I’d been chosen to be a prince, and—most concerning of all—the enemy. But were ignorance and naïveté ever an excuse to not do the right thing? Despite Peter’s opinion, I was no prince...but couldn’t I at least stick around and see if there was something I could do to help? If only because the trouble affected my own world? I remembered back to the moment in the park—Garrett slinking around Nikki with the knife clenched tightly in one hand. I shuddered, imagining that event on a larger scale, the Rankers ruling over the earth. My hackles spiked up. Mariah gave me a sympathetic look.
I waited expectantly for
the black griffin to introduce himself, but he turned to Peter instead and asked, “So, we finally get to see some action?”
I was surprised to hear that he, like Mariah, had an accent. It was lilting, soft, and melodious. Maybe Irish or Scottish.
Peter frowned sternly. “Let’s hope not, Kayle. This isn’t a game.”
Kayle grinned impishly, his tail swinging side to side like a lioness’s when she’s ready to pounce. “Life’s a game.”
Peter transformed into his big, thickset human form and patiently waited for Kayle and Mariah to join him.
Mariah became a girl about a year or so younger than me with long and silky dirty-blonde hair. Her collar had turned into a necklace, and her feathers and fur had been replaced with blue jeans and a shirt with billowing lace at the sleeves. Clasping her hands behind her back, she smiled at me and blushed, rocking back and forth.
Kayle’s appearance wasn’t bizarrely unexpected. He wore baggy jeans and a thick black sweatshirt. A black beanie was pulled down over his gingery-brown hair. His eyes were an intense, penetrating brown, almost maroon. As soon as his talons had shortened and thinned to human fingers, he reached into the back pocket of his pants and pulled out what seemed to be a sort of wide silver Zippo lighter with what resembled a bird engraved into it. I waited for him to pull a cigarette out of somewhere and slide it between his teeth, but he just opened and closed the lighter over and over again, delicately moving his fingers around it, always just avoiding the wisp of flame that came to life with each igniting click.
His eyes met mine, and he flicked his eyebrows as if to show off how much tougher and more badass he was than me—the guy who was supposed to be the grand, imperial leader of the Land of Dreams. I ground my beak and glared, hoping my eyes were scarlet red and freezing his cold blood.
Kayle didn’t seem at all perturbed. He turned behind him to the squadron and shouted, “Gather ’round!”
The men briskly trotted closer to Peter. Mariah was sitting on the sand with her legs stretched out. Kayle folded his legs beneath him, vivid eyes watching Peter’s face as the man waited for everyone’s full attention. My head was up to about everyone’s chests when I was on all fours. I sat moodily on my haunches.