The Nymphs in the crowd shook their heads and Taragon rubbed his cleanly shaved chin. Sage understood Ignatius’ plan, the secret of his relationship to these griffins now revealed. The animals were huge by the standards of most griffins that roamed the North. She had seen the smaller, more common version frequently on her hunts and climbs, their bodies reaching the size of mountain lions. These were much larger, bred and trained for war, but they were mere kittens compared to the menace that all of her people knew lurked in the mountains beyond their arbor.
“It is true what your mother told you,” said Taragon. “They are out there and they have killed many Nymphs.”
“Tell me how to find them and I will turn them to our side as we have turned the Centaurs.”
Everyone present laughed for they knew the Cherub had never seen what he suggested he could tame. For generations the Nymphs had known of the beasts that watched the western passes. Many a tale around a winter hearth had served to grow a fearful respect of the giant griffins in the hearts of their tribe.
“If you can tame those griffins,” said the chief, pointing up the mountain, “as you have tamed these,” his finger turned to Currar and Tulma, “then you shall have your warriors.”
Sage knew Taragon didn’t believe Ignatius could do what he said he would and so felt no qualms about promising to deliver what he knew he never would. What if he does though? There was a reason each tribe only had one kudzu. She knew that the plant was native to the high mountain passes where the griffins had killed and eaten so many of her people over the centuries. It was forbidden to bring a male back that could pollinate their female plants. This meant that they had to climb into the realm of the griffins anytime the tribe needed a new kudzu and only one in one hundred Nymphs survived the climb and escaped the griffins as well. If he can tame the griffins we could have as many kudzu as we needed.
She could see the wisdom of Taragon and respected the elder all the more. If Ignatius could make the mountains safe it wouldn’t matter that they sent their warriors to fight the South, they could expand their clans with new plants to sustain them as never before. If he failed then there was no hope and the Cherub wouldn’t live to tell the secrets of their people. Things can be different than they are. She looked at the Cherub and knew that she must help him to succeed.
“I will guide him,” she said with a smile and a twirl of her blowgun.
Ignatius’ blank face revealed more than a normal reaction would have. His dream was coming true. Taragon knew the Cherub’s weakness for the Nymph would make him vulnerable to her and so nodded his consent.
“She will show you the way to the mountain and will guide you until you must fly. Our people have climbed that way many times and many have died. Perhaps you will fair better.”
Excitement rattled through the onlookers. It had been many years since a young warrior had attempted the climb and even though this one was not of their tribe, his wings and plan to bring back griffins had the air of a once in a lifetime occurrence. Birds raced to alert clan members and Nymphs eagerly discussed the challenges the winged warrior would face and what it would mean if he succeeded. The passes could become safe and they could collect more kudzu, each new plant allowing for the creation of a new family clan. It would mean growth as never before. It would also mean war, but war had been upon them for some time already and this new hope, slim though they knew it was due to the fierceness of the griffins, was hope all the same.
Sage stepped to Ignatius, shaking her head at his ignorance of the commotion he had caused and taking pleasure in how her approach off balanced the cocky crusader.
“The tribe doesn’t usually have much to talk about,” she said, flipping her gold braid over her shoulder.
He reached out to try and pet Archeo but her knee popped up to her breasts. The foot snapped out to catch him in the chest and launch him backwards when she put her hips into the poking kick, her heel twisting naturally beneath her to push off from the earth. The Cherub’s eyes went wide at the speed of the assault and his wings flared naturally to catch himself several yards back.
“I won’t touch the bird then,” he said, trying to act as if the kick neither surprised nor hurt him.
She giggled with power, moving smoothly from reproach to enticement.
“His name is Archeo. I protect him so he will keep a look out for me. You can pet him if you ask.”
“May I?”
She whistled a few short blasts and watched the little kestrel jump onto Ignatius’ outstretched bracer. She couldn’t help but feel an ounce of fondness when her companion gobbled up a piece of dried fish the Cherub handed him and then set to preening the feathers in the outsider’s hair.
“Can you really block arrows with that bracer?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“If your hands are as fast as your legs you could learn to do it too.”
Taragon interrupted, placing his hand on Ignatius’ shoulder and leading them out of the crowd of Nymphs and up along a kudzu towards the pagodas. They talked as they walked and Ignatius turned to look over his shoulder frequently at the view across the forest and also at Sage with Archeo pecking at the fur on his vest.
Taragon wanted to know of the battles at Therucilin and Fort Hope, about the numbers of Southlanders who had been killed and the progress of the Giant’s fields. Here, deeper in the forest and further into the mountains, the tribe was well insulated from the troubles of the North. Ignatius explained how the poison the Nymphs had provided had worked to capture Fort Hope; how the Giants were utilizing the birds they had sent and had already tilled great fields. He told the chief of the capture of Therucilin and the buffalo the Centaurs were trading with the other tribes.
“There is so much good in it,” said Taragon, “so much progress and success, its hard to remember the map you showed us is real.”
“If we had griffins big enough to ride we would never be surprised by the South. Our riders could track their movements and coordinate our forces. They would never pin us down.”
“If you can tame the griffins your tribe can learn to keep them but the kudzu belong to the Nymphs.”
“If I can learn to ride a griffin I will bring you all the kudzu you could want.”
Sage shook her head and bounced off the trail, darting from rock to rock while she spoke, Archeo jumping from Ignatius’ shoulder to fly along beside her. The Nymph didn’t feel fast. She had spent her entire life surrounded by her own clan, surrounded by the forest, and had never been in the outside world where her movements would set her apart. Sage knew her race’s knife fighting abilities were unmatched and had heard that the Cherubim were unstoppable warriors. She hopped she was the same.
“There is much you do not know about the kudzu,” she said, her clear tone bringing the male’s attention to her in an instant.
Crouching on a boulder she continued. “You do not simply plant a kudzu in your garden and pick its seed pods when you are hungry. The koona that come with it must be hunted or they will destroy the forest before the winter frost kills any that have not found their way to a seed pod. You must keep the root warm through the winter, watching it constantly, or it too will freeze.”
“Enough,” said Taragon, not wanting her to share more of their secrets.
“Why don’t you simply breed more of them?” asked the Cherub.
“In the beginning,” answered the chief somberly, “when a climber first found the plants, he brought a male and a female. But they bred and grew so fast, dropping seedpods pollinated by swarms of koona throughout the forest, that in the second season we had to go to war with them to keep them from overrunning the entire land. It took three seasons before they were all killed. Now we only allow females to be brought down from the mountain,” said the chief, “because if there was even one male we would not be able to control their spread.”
“So you would like me to bring you some females?”
“They will be the seed pods with white spots, the males have n
o spots,” said Sage.
The Cherub nodded his understanding and she knew he was more interested in the griffins. The griffins are hope but kudzu are power. She knew Taragon had reasoned well, trading a problem for a bounty. Sage looked up at the pagodas they were approaching. Each clan built their home many stories tall with the petrified vines of their unique kudzu. The plant’s root, which might be hundreds of years old, sat at the center of the pagoda, warmed through the winter by fires, cared for and guarded like the treasure it was. Each family’s plant could add a new level to the pagoda with wide curved awnings at each floor, build a new storage building, and add to the wall in the course of just one summer. In the fall the vines would be severed from the root, the winter and the secret processes of the Nymphs turning their remains hard as stone to last through the ages. Each plant produced thousands of seedpods, each containing one cocooned koona. Without males the koona could not pollinate the pods but they still emerged in the spring, protected from freezing by the pod’s insulation to become prey for the clan’s birds and start the next generation.
Approaching the village the rocky trail gave way to a sand garden that covered the entire village, running between and around the tall family structures. Sage could tell by the way the Cherub’s head swiveled, his brow furrowed in amazement, that he had never seen landscaping like this. Every inch of the plateau was covered in manicured sand. Rakes were used to carve smooth, calm paths through the uniform beige landscape. Because the plateau was perched above the forest and ringed by mountains, the scene was calming and grand at the same time. Scattered throughout the sand where delicately placed rocks that seemed to grow out of the sand the way rocks on the edge of a lake grew out of the water. The Nymph smiled, seeing the familiar sight with the fresh eyes of a visitor and remembering how the balanced purity of the rock gardens could extend into her spirit.
Taragon continued down a path of stepping stones that ran through the garden, splitting off to various meeting places and buildings, his steps measured and thoughtful so that they avoided stepping on the laboriously cared for sand. Ignatius could not help but jump into the air, flying between the islands of rock. Sage’s lissome form allowed her to jump after him and the duo sprang playfully across the garden. Despite her lack of wings, her nimble speed allowed her to match the Cherub and they danced over the sand together like youths under the overcast grey clouds. They stopped to rest where a little spring bubbled into the hollow of an upturned rock, the overflow shimmering where it flowed down the sides of the stone and diffused into the sand. The pair sat on adjacent stones, contemplating the pool and breathing in the purpose of the garden in silence.
After a time the Cherub’s mind became active again and he broke the peace with a question.
“Do you remember seeing me in the forest, to the south, on your hunt?”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. There was no question in her mind that he interested her. His journeys and adventures across the land, accompanied by griffins and covered in blades. She could not help that her nature made her too playful and attractive for outsiders to resist.
“Yes.”
He smiled. The movement of his face contorted the griffin claw marks that scarred his eye and the white line of an old wound that ran across his forehead became misaligned. He was still a beautiful creature but it was not the youthful beauty of the Nymphs or the ancient beauty of the graceful angels. The feathers in his hair and the brown braids running behind his ears created a rugged, life etched scene despite his youth. So different from the male Nymphs our age.
“I do not think you will struggle with the climb the way our people do,” she said, examining his wings. “The few who have survived the climb report seeing the bones of fallen climbers along the way. You could fly right up?”
“In a fashion. My wings let me fly some of the way but I am not an Angel. I will never fall to my death but even with my wings I must climb some of the way.”
“Then we won’t over load you.”
“My griffins will carry my load for me. Tell me about that weapon on your belt.”
She drew it with one hand while the other pulled the coiled ball and chain from her belt. With a flick of her wrist the ball shot out across the sand. She whirled her arm before the chain reached its full length, snapping the little pointed ball and sending in in a circle around her head. It felt natural to her, as if her blood flowed through the chain while she twirled the scythe. She could sense the crevices in the sand where the raked furrows ran around the spring and her perfect speed and timing sent the metal ball down in between them for a moment without disturbing a grain.
Sage watched the Cherub where he sat on the rock across from her, his hands resting calmly on his folded knees. She knew he wouldn’t move and so sent the ball over his head once before pausing her arm so the ball rolled gently down his back between his wings before being yanked up and harmlessly away. She stood now, balancing on the rock and spinning. Her legs moved over the chain and scythe, the metal ball tracing the grooves in the sand.
“Deadly,” he said without taking his eyes off of her.
She felt a little rise of joy at his complement, this famed warrior judging her skills. She had thought of the weapon herself and had made her thoughts into reality using her family’s forge and the metal craft she had learned from her mother. The Nymph knew Ignatius had a thought to ride a giant griffin, something in his mind that she could help make real.
She coiled the chain and they skipped away together over the stones and back to the path. Where the trails converged at the center of the village Taragon was conferring with several warriors. They carried small bags of kudzu seedpods and water-skins as well as several sacks of meat for the griffins. They looked up when the pair arrived and Taragon spoke.
“How do you plan to tame these griffins?” he asked the Cherub.
Ignatius whistled out to Currar and Tulma where they were playing with each other on top of on of the pagodas. The Nymphs flinched a little as the animals dove towards them with alarming speed before pulling up at the last minute, their wings kicking up sand and disturbing the smooth lines of the garden. They reached their beaks towards the sacks of meat and the bearers dropped their loads instinctually.
Ignatius was on the meat in a heartbeat. Sage saw his speed as above average for a Nymph but it was lightening quick by the standards of the other races. At the same time he snatched the meal away from Tulma’s snapping beak he swatted the animal’s head, gazing fiercely into her eyes. The griffin raised her paw without extending her claws to swat back at the Cherub but she was too slow. Like a brawler in the old fights at Devil’s Lake, Ignatius slipped under the blow and stepped to the side so he came in at a 45-degree angle to her shoulder. With one hand still holding the meat he wrapped the other around her neck. Using his hips to lift the griffin’s shoulders he swept her front legs from under her and the two fell slowly to the side until the Cherub landed on top of her in a flurry of feathers.
He held her there and it was clear she didn’t like it but he waited until she calmed, accepting his dominance. Currar came and sniffed her for a moment before smelling the meat but he didn’t snap at it. Instead he sat back quietly, watching the food.
“My hope is that the bigger griffins have a pride with an alpha like these two do,” said the Cherub. “Even though there are only two of these the female dominates the other and I dominate her. As long as I keep my authority they take me to be the leader of the pride.”
“You won’t be able to do what you just did to the griffins in the western passes,” said Taragon.
“If I have to kill one of them to get the others to follow me I will.”
“Killing is a lot different than subjugating,” said Sage. “You will be so small to them they won’t accept you into the pride.”
She watched the Cherub stand. When Tulma tried to get up he pushed her back down until she stayed, waiting for him to allow her to rise. He shrugged at her comment.
“
I have to try.”
Sage gathered up the feathers that had fallen from the griffin and began to braid them into his hair. She felt his excitement at the contact and felt the glow slightly herself but did not get caught up in it the way he did.
“Perhaps having enough griffin feathers in your hair will help you try,” she said, adding several more to those already adorning his head.
“It will help if they smell you,” said Taragon with a shake of his head and a grin.
Once the feathers were affixed the others helped him load the saddlebags that were strapped to the griffins. To lighten his load the Cherub took off his wingblades, katanas, and all but one of his daggers, adding his weapons to the weight the griffins carried. There was no feast; no tour of the village or time spent getting to know the tribe. Each one of them knew the South would return any day and they could not afford the pleasantries of inter tribal relations. With Currar, Tulma, and Archeo circling overhead, Sage led the way west into the mountains. She felt his eyes upon her as he ran and glided to keep up with her swift pace. The Nymph felt him wanting more from her than simply a guide but despite his courage and reputation she didn’t feel anything beyond the normal excited joy and outgoing zest that was natural for her kind. Running past pines and moss, rocks slick from the clouds they had entered, she thought about the harmonious layout of her village, the pagodas surrounded by rock gardens, and how the care and balance of the Nymphs, reflected in the constant balance between the kudzu and koona, clashed with the undulating ripples of the Cherub’s emotions.
They paused late in the afternoon, surrounded by the white fog that had enveloped the mountain, and guzzled water from their skins before catching their breath. While the duo squatted down to refill their skins from a spring Sage had used many times before, she winced slightly when he tried to make progress on the other mission that she knew had brought him to her.
Last Stand of the Blood Land Page 12