Last Stand of the Blood Land

by Andrew Carpenter

  The griffins wings where powerful enough to lift it off its hind legs and back, many yards outside of Ignatius range. With broad sweeps the wings pulled the alpha up and away from the Cherub who was ground bound in comparison to the master of the sky. In a normal contest for supremacy the contender would have pursued the griffin skyward, racing across the clouds in a test of speed and power that culminated in aerial combat with the fighters rolling and tumbling in bloody free fall. Ignatius knew that if he stayed on the ground he would concede the literal and figurative right for the sitting alpha to remain above him. He turned to Currar and Tulma where they watched their larger relatives and whistled.

  They jumped into the air and he jumped with them, able to maintain the pace for just long enough to sheath his sword and catch ahold of the warrior catbirds by their tails. He had never tried this with them but in the moment he knew that his entire journey hinged on not relenting in his challenge; in the willing quiet of his mind the solution had been there before he considered the problem. The griffins responded by pursuing the same great alpha they had fought once before, the surplus power of their wings added to Ignatius’ exertions serving to pulling their leader skyward.

  The giant griffins were jumping into the air as well, far out pacing them in pursuit of their own circling leader. The warm desert sun pushed both flocks higher on powerful thermals, carrying them all up in spirals above the untamed western lands. Ignatius did not pause to take in the view, an ocean of golden sand stretching away in dunes, washing up on the shores of the forest underneath snow capped peaks. His eyes stayed locked onto his target, preparing himself to grab onto the hulking catbird until it submitted or died under his blade. You do not become the alpha by allowing yourself to consider submission as an option. Even though he knew that this leader was not capable of coming to his side he wanted to give the animal the chance. Perhaps that is the difference between Donus and I.

  In the open expanses of the bright blue sky Currar and Tulma finally leveled off their climb where the other pride flew in wide circles around their champion. Ignatius released their tails and his companions joined the circlers. The Cherub felt the thermal under his wings counteracting the weight of his weapons. He still needed to expend furious energy for his undersized feathers to keep him afloat but his opponent was not going to wait long enough for him to tire. Across the empty space Ignatius could see him gathering speed in an arc, turning now and charging at him.

  He did the same, pushing his body to its limit to gain forward momentum without loosing height. The greater speed of the griffin added to his own in closing the distance. A lifetime spent in the skies had made the animal as nimble as a dragonfly. Ignatius closed his wings as the two intercepted each other, spinning in an attempt to make it through the outstretched talons without getting caught up in their piercing grip. He managed to avoid getting skewered or captured but he lost control of his flight, a swatting rear paw slicing his arm. The experienced airborne fighter buffeted the smaller Cherub with a powerful wing stroke as he passed behind the griffin. The disturbed air sent Ignatius tumbling, his wings struggling to right him so he could turn to face the next charge.

  The griffin was on him before he could get completely turned and one of the talons snared his wing, the powerful limb crunching into his wing bones. The Cherub lashed out instinctually with his other wing, the adrenaline of the conflict surging over the pain. He felt the pointed dagger on his remaining wingblade strike home, lodging deep in between the bones of the griffin’s arm, above the hardened talons. The beast tried to pull back, pumping its wings and shaking his leg to extricate itself while releasing the grip on Ignatius wing. Tucking his broken wing against his back the Cherub drew two daggers and drove them into the creature’s hide, attaching himself to the animal in desperation; if he could not ride the alpha down he would drop from the sky, his wing unable to support him.

  Despite the griffin’s shaking Ignatius held on, the opposing force of the daggers and his feet holding him fast as he withdrew his working wingblade to strike again, plunging the blade in further up the shoulder. His opponent, realizing he could not shake off the little warrior, snapped at him with his beak. The hooked jaws, three feet in length, were designed to pull meat from the bone and they snapped at the challenger with deadly ferocity.

  Ignatius lost hold of one of his embedded daggers when he slid around the shoulder to avoid the attack. He used his free arm to draw his sword, slashing a chunk out of the beak that forced the griffin to rear its head back in pain. Seizing the moment he pulled up on his wingblade and smashed his dagger higher up, slithering his way towards the mane of feathers that protected the griffin’s neck. He sheathed his sword and, drawing a new dagger, kicked off with his feet so that the rushing wind caught him and carried him over the protected neck and onto the exposed nape of fur at the top of the creatures back. He thrust down, stopping his slide, and felt the alpha shudder in pain. Holding on with both arms he dug his remaining wing into the beast’s side, connecting between the ribs.

  Blood from both of the creature’s front arms was flying past in the wind now and Ignatius could feel them dropping towards the earth as his mount writhed and twisted in pain. He was latched on too tight to respond to the claws that cut furrows into his back as the desperate animal tried to remove him with its hind legs. He narrowly avoided the second slash, pulling his daggers and penetrating again further to the side. The griffin was bleeding from ten wounds now and had lost its lung to Ignatius’ wingblade. It was dropping faster, mighty wings faltering as they alternated between flapping and trailing limply in the rushing air. Ignatius knew the animal would die from its wounds but he needed it to live long enough to deliver him to the earth. With the deathblow struck against the innocent animal his mission had been completed and he spent the final seconds of the descent feeling sorrow for the proud and mighty warrior of the sky who had stood between him and the control he needed to wield the giant griffins on behalf of his people. I’m sorry.

  They hit the ground with a mighty thud, slow enough to prevent them from being killed instantly but violently enough to throw Ignatius to the ground and also to break all of the griffin’s legs. The Cherub was knocked unconscious for a moment, his mind covered in darkness before he awoke to find his face pressed into a rocky growth of wildflowers. His vision clearing he pushed himself up, the pain from his broken wing and the deep cuts on his back blending with the trauma of the landing to send his body into shock. He vomited, his limbs trembling and his head aching with pain. Still he rose, using a sword to push himself to his feet. He looked a few feet away to where the giant alpha labored to breathe, air escaping from his punctured lung and blood dribbling out of his destroyed beak. Golden eyes looked back, the fire of a lifetime spent without compromise still burring in the moments before death.

  The animal tried to rise as the Cherub approached. He looked the griffin in the eye and placed his hand on the yellow beak. He remembered killing Donus and felt a new pain well up in his chest. You two were the same. He moved to the side after a quick moment and, using both hands, buried his sword into the griffin’s heart. With a shudder the giant released its grip on life and the fire finally went out.

  Ignatius sank to his knees in exhaustion and pain, turning his eyes skyward where the two prides, now joined as one under his dominance, began to land around the two alphas. The giants went to sniff their former leader, one or two of the larger males nearly matching his size. They turned to Ignatius afterwards, sizing up the strange griffin that had proven he was stronger than their strongest. Despite his size they respected him, recognizing his medicine and the great power he must possess to fell such a mighty warrior. He stood, returning their gazes with confidence despite his weakness, the bone in his wing still shaking him with pain when the memory of his muscles betrayed him by trying to move it as if it were not injured.

  There were several cubs among the griffin clan, as big as Currar and Tulma already after just one season. They were more playf
ul, sniffing and swatting at the new members of their clan. Ignatius’ longtime companions were still young although full-grown and could remember how to play. The giant adult males and females gave them respect for their association with Ignatius and within a few hours they had been welcomed into the hierarchy near the top but still below the larger males. There were twelve of the giant breed in total making for a pride of fifteen counting the new arrivals. Ignatius spent that day watching them all, observing their ways as they came and went on hunts and played with their young. His eyes strayed frequently to the body of the slain king where it lay on the outskirts of their nesting area and the image seared into his mind the price the griffin had paid for the Cherubim and the price he himself would pay knowing that he had brought death to these creatures who had never harmed him. And now I will turn them into our servants.

  Throughout the coming days as his body healed so did his mind. He looked out over the desert and let the judgment he had placed on himself for killing the griffin drift away like the clouds that rolled away over the endless sand. The pain of Donus went with it and he resolved not to place more pain on himself in his own mind. The world already has enough pain. He sat watching the desert, marveling at the waves of sand that rolled across it like the waves on Devil’s Lake. At times the sand was calm, placid like a forest pond on a windless night. At other times massive rolling waves of sand, one hundred feet tall, came across its open expanses and crashed onto the rocks at the foot of the butte. He could feel them rumbling when they shook the mountain, breaking off chunks of rock above an ever-shifting dune at the foot of the cliffs. He could not know that the Angels who had hunted this land and had left into the unknown west to escape the disease that had felled Augustine had named the waves barchans. I could ride the sand waves if I stayed.

  Looking out at sunset one evening, the peaceful pride he now controlled at his back, he entertained the idea of staying. Life was simple here. He could stay, offering any of his tribe who wanted to join to come as well. They could rebuild here, away from the other races, living the simple forest life that he had dreamt of after seeing the violence of the outside world. They would come here eventually. He knew it was a fantasy, that the Northern tribes would fall without the support of the Blood Born. Despite the clarity of mind he had achieved he resented Oberon for his ideals, his people for their weakness, his ancestors for not laying a more vigilant foundation to protect their freedom. Why must it be our lifetime that is filled with endless war?

  Sitting watching the stars and the sand he knew that his resentment was born of a selfish desire for a free and easy life. The struggle against the South, the hope that future generations would have a better life than this one, that was what gave meaning to his actions. With a sigh he released his attachment to his desires and watched the moon rise before returning to rest amongst the warmth of his pride.

  He spent two weeks atop the butte with the griffins. In that time his wing healed itself and he became immersed in the ways of the animals. He ate the meat that they brought back from their hunts, taking it from them with swords drawn as he had taken it from Currar and Tulma, demonstrating that he was in control. Although the giants could have resisted they did not. Their nature, bred over countless generations, prevented them from killing each other to achieve dominance. Ignatius’ killing of their former alpha was all the proof they needed of his authority.

  The meat that he gleaned from their kills he added to the abundant kudzu pods his two female plants produced. The pods, he noticed, would not close up and drop from the plant without a koona inside so he tried to keep exactly eight of the insects alive. Eight, he had found, was the right number to allow him six seed pods every other day, enough to sustain him, with two koona reproducing outside of the pods to create the next generation. They buzzed around the plants, so it wasn’t too difficult to keep track of them, and when one went missing he always found the cocoon nearby and placed it in his traveling pouch until four more of the beetles emerged after just a day of growth time to restart the cycle. He recognized what a large responsibility it was to care for the plants but was thankful for the burden because of the food and vines that freed him from the time consuming need to gather food and bark for rope. Eventually he came to enjoy having the glowing koona and the growing kudzu as company. They gave him a daily routine, something to watch in addition to the griffins, and kept his spirits up.

  He continued to fill the satchel he kept the kudzu in with fresh soil and they continued to grow vines that stretched a dozen feet in a single day, seedpods dotting their length. Each night he cut the vines from the root before they could thicken or get out of control. From this growing supply of vines he wove baskets that he had been training the younger giant griffins to carry. The baskets attached over their wings and hung on their sides, a rudimentary saddle that he intended to use to carry a very precious cargo.

  That cargo would be a dozen eggs he had discovered inside the lodge-sized nest at the center of the butte. He had been amazed when, after several days, he had gathered the strength to climb up the rocks and branches that formed the outer ring of the nest. Inside, perched on soft beds of grass and bark, sat the multicolored circles that contained the next generation of griffins. Tulma had added her own eggs to their number, miniature versions of the two foot wide eggs of the larger breed. Unlike the eggs of chickens that Ignatius had seen many times, these eggs were perfectly spherical. Even more impressive than their shape were their colors. They were numerous colors, blue, green, red, and yellow, and covered in beautiful veins that ran in random patterns. Through the colorful, transparent outer shell the griffin cubs could be seen inside, tiny versions of their parents. They appeared as asleep, although they moved and kicked, wings shifting where they were wrapped to fit in the confined space.

  The mothers were uneasy anytime he entered the nest and he had been forced to slash at one big female when he picked up her egg. She had not pressed the attack, conscious of the danger a fight would pose to her young. Ignatius knew that the females would follow him if he had their eggs and he suspected the males would follow the females, and so he hatched a plan that would get his pride to return with him across the mountains.

  While he healed and produced the kudzu vine baskets he would use to execute his plan he worked on the last piece of the puzzle. He needed to be able to ride one of them back; they would not follow him as he climbed, walked, and glided away from their home. He worked with many of the griffins and found the task of breaking them in so that he could sit on their backs to be a slow, challenging process. The adults were less receptive, even violently so, than the youth and the females were more receptive than the males.

  A little female he had named Nymo was his first subject. The youth was about the size of Tulma, roughly as big as a cougar, and wonderfully friendly compared to the others. She was too small for him to ride but over the course of several days he built a program that gradually increased her familiarity with him. She already recognized him as dominant, something that came with a large amount of trust, and he built on that trust by standing and holding her face, putting his arm over her shoulders, and eventually wrapping a piece of kudzu rope around her neck and leading her around the butte. When he had reached the point of putting weight on her back, feeding her a hunk of meat as a reward with each new increase in pressure, he knew he had a system that would work.

  While still continuing to work with Nymo, leaving her for hours now with a basket that could carry four eggs strapped to her back with two on each side, he moved on to a bigger challenge. It would have been easier to select a docile older female, or a more submissive male, but he knew that a larger, more dominant male would have more stamina, more energy in combat, and would help him to keep his position as alpha. He turned to the largest male, a massive creature he had dubbed Kaizen. The Dwarves were protective of their language and did not teach it to the other races but kaizen was one word he had learned that winter from Fritigern. He had been drilling under the Dwarf’s
instruction, repeating a takedown over and over with a partner. He had been slow to learn, repeating the same mistake over and over, his mind unable to coordinate the intricate series of moves that disarmed the opponent and threw him to the ground. The Dwarf had watched him as he struggled to make headway until finally he had shouted the word, “kaizen!”

  Several of the Dwarves who were training there with him nodded, recognizing the corrective instruction. When Ignatius looked at him with confusion Fritigern had explained, his pure black eyes boring into the pupil whose natural talent had once bested him.

  “Improve continuously,” the Dwarf had said.

  Ignatius shook his head, not understanding.

  “You are trying to get the entire sequence at once because you expect to perform the technique with excellence right away. You are not ready to perform with excellence and so you fail over and over because you have the wrong goal. Instead try to perform the first movement well, improving it with each attempt. When you have mastered that movement, go on to the next. Your goal is to master the attack, slowing improving, rather than to perform the attack with perfection.”

  “Continuous improvement,” Ignatius had repeated. “Kaizen.”

  The Dwarf had nodded, stepping out onto the snow cleared training ground where the feet of the training warriors had churned the sand into mush that would be raked clean at the end of each day. He took the fighting stance against the taller student and together they performed the very first move, a simple grasping of the opponent’s wrist, over and over. Whenever the Cherub would fail to move towards perfection, even on a single try, the Dwarf would snap his fingers and shake his head.

  “Kaizen,” he would shout in a whisper that the other students could hear.