Gift of Griffins

by V. M. Escalada

  Suddenly, Tel started to cough. He put his hand on Ker’s shoulder and bent far over, still coughing. Much more slowly he straightened up, his fist still at his mouth. “Sorry, spit went down the wrong way.” As far as they knew, there was no one close enough to overhear them, but better to be safe.

  “You all right now?” She put her hand over his and palmed the plaque from his free hand. It was warm from contact with his skin.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  <>

  “Now, he says.”

  They’d spent another large part of the night before practicing this maneuver. At Ker’s signal, Tel pushed forward with his outstretched arms aiming for the small of her back. At the same time, he stepped backward with what had been his front foot, so that instead of actually pushing her, his palms merely grazed the small of her back. To any but the most experienced and careful of watchers, it would look as though he’d tried to push her down, or at least out of the way, but had been foiled by her starting to run.

  At just the right moment, Weimerk scooped her up.

  * * *

  “Enough!” Jerek was so angry he wasn’t surprised when everyone stopped talking. It felt like heat was being generated by his body. “I’ve seen children in the schoolyard behave better than this—and I’ve seen it recently,” he added, rubbing at his forehead. Wynn, standing behind his chair, was the only one here not annoying him.

  “Right,” he said into the silence. “Only one of you speaks at a time. The next person who interrupts anyone leaves—and loses their vote. You don’t speak unless I point at you, and when I point at someone else, the person speaking stops. Are we clear?”

  A couple of people pressed their lips together, noses wrinkling, but everyone eventually nodded. Jerek pointed at Oraleth, the Springs Far-thinker, spokesperson for her group.

  “It’s very simple, lord Luqs.” She spoke with a lilt, in a voice that sounded as though she didn’t use it much. “We’d like to patrol together, as a group. We’re used to each other, and we don’t know anybody else.”

  Jerek held up his hand, palm out, to the person about to interrupt. “Don’t try it.” He turned back to Oraleth. “I understand being in a strange place, with people you don’t know,” he said. “But you must see you’re not being reasonable. No patrol needs two Feelers with the same gift. From the eleven of you, we can make up at least seven new patrol groups—at the very least, that gives everyone a longer rest period.”

  Cheval Far-seer, who’d had horizon sickness on the way to the mines, tugged at Oraleth’s sleeve. She folded her arms. “Those are our conditions.”

  Luca Pa’narion cleared his throat, and Jerek pointed at him. “I would remind you that when you agreed to come and help—indeed, you volunteered—no one asked for conditions. The People of the Springs and Pools agreed to fight the Halians with us in exchange for services and full citizenship in the Faraman Polity. The services you’ve already received, and the citizenship you have.”

  Oraleth shook off the Far-seer’s hand, still on her sleeve. “We didn’t know there would be so many people here,” she said. “We don’t have a voice in council, we’re just lumped in with the Mines and Tunnels.” Her nose wrinkled again. “And the soldiers look at us with suspicion. We fear for our safety if we’re split up.”

  Jerek pressed his eyes shut. He wasn’t sure which group they objected to most, the soldiers or their fellow Feelers. “Very well, you may go.”

  “Lord Luqs?” Oraleth blinked rapidly. The other Springs behind her exchanged nervous glances.

  “You may go.” Jerek brushed the air between them with the back of his hand. “If you don’t stand by your word, we can’t use you.”

  Oraleth cleared her throat. “That leaves our Clan in your debt.”

  “I suppose it does. I can’t ask you to return the service Kerida Griffin Girl gave you, and I wouldn’t even if I could. You can have that as a gift.”

  “The citizenship—”

  “No, I won’t take that away either, at least not from the others. Your council agreed on behalf of all the Springs and Pools, not just the eleven of you. If you want to give up your citizenship, that’s fine, but I can’t let what you do change things for everyone else in your Clan.”

  The Springs group turned toward each other, to confer in what privacy they could create. The Mines and Tunnels Feelers waited off to one side, murmuring together. They didn’t look very happy either, and Ganni was trying to talk them into something. Jerek could rub at his forehead in peace because at least no one was speaking to him.

  “Got a headache?” Wynn muttered from behind him.

  “I’m not sleeping,” he said.

  “I’ve noticed.” Of course, she would notice; she still slept on the floor across his door. He understood exactly how the Springs and Pools felt. Since Tel and Kerida had gone, Wynn was the only person left in the whole of the Serpents Teeth who had known him before he became Luqs, the only one who still spoke to him, in private at least, like he was plain old Jerek Brightwing. The only one he felt he really knew. He straightened in his chair. The Springs seemed ready to speak.

  “We won’t go against what our council agreed to,” Oraleth said in a tone that meant she’d been outvoted. “So we’ll stay. But if we’re to be split up, could we be sent out only with the Talents we know? The Guardians like Luca Pa’narion and the others? The rest . . .”

  Jerek respected the Far-thinker’s reluctance to spell out the reaction of the Talents who weren’t part of Luca’s Guardians group. Not many had made it to the Serpents Teeth. So far, they were thankful enough at being safe to set their prejudices aside and simply ignore the fact that four months ago they would have had to kill most of the people around them. But that might change.

  “That seems reasonable,” he said aloud. “Faro of Bears”— he pointed at Juria Sweetwater—“do we have enough Guardian Talents?”

  The Faro conferred with her Laxtor, Surm Barlot, before answering. It was the job of the second in command to keep duty rosters in his head. “It appears so, my Luqs. Not every party requires a Talent, but all require Feelers. Undoubtedly, some reasonable schedule can be created.”

  Huro, one of the Springs’ Mind-healers, raised her hand; Jerek pointed to her. “May we take some of our food—what’s given to us and not eaten—and set it aside to be taken back with us?” Did all the Springs sound as though they hadn’t spoken for months?

  Jerek tapped his index finger on the arm of his chair. He’d been told about the conditions at the Springs and Pools. Luca had given him a full report, and Cuarel Far-thinker had filled in more detail. He knew that the place was poor compared to the Mines and Tunnels.

  “We’re all one people now,” he said to Huro. “You’re under my care, like any other citizens of the Polity, and your welfare is my responsibility. Ganni? I’d like to send a Barrack with some supplies. What can we spare?”

  “We’re fairly well-stocked right now, thanks to the griffin. Dried meat and sausages is what we can spare most, I think. But there’s others who know more than me.”

  “Thank you, I’ll leave it in your hands.” He turned back to the Springs. They looked more relaxed. “As for the council,” he said. “Will you, Oraleth Far-thinker, be speaker for your group? Keep in mind that in this council, you’ll be speaking for all the Springs and Pools, not just the eleven of you.”

  She hesitated, brows drawn down. “I can Far-think with Ylora back at the Springs, my lord. Therefore, I would be able to speak for us all.”

  Then why didn’t you do it now? He didn’t say it aloud. From the sound of her, the old woman who Spoke for the whole Clan wouldn’t have had much patience with their complaints—which probably explained why they hadn’t involved her. He rubbed at his upper lip to hide his grin.

  “Very well,” he said when he had his face under control. “
If there aren’t any other issues, can we call this meeting over?”

  The Springs and Pools made the gesture, more than a nod but not quite a bow, that people used for the Luqs when in informal council. The full salutation, with kneeling and all, was reserved for something formal. Juria Sweetwater made the same gesture but stopped to talk to Luca Pa’narion on her way out. Jerek wasn’t surprised when the Talent Inquisitor stayed behind.

  “Have you gone to a Mind-healer about your sleeplessness, my lord?” Somehow Luca sounded like everyone’s favorite uncle. Protocol told Jerek that Luca couldn’t Flash him without his permission, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. Jerek never forgot that the man was a High Inquisitor allowed—and able—to do things that ordinary Talents were not.

  “Of course, I have.” Jerek allowed a bit of his annoyance to show. Really, did Luca think he was stupid? “It goes away for a few days and then comes back.” There hadn’t been a recurrence of that strange episode when he’d thought that someone was calling for help. But he had dreamed about it, and those dreams were disturbing his sleep.

  The Inquisitor’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Goes away for a bit and then comes back? That sounds like everything else we’re going through, doesn’t it?” He shook his head. “Don’t hesitate to ask for help, my lord. Without you, everything will come apart.”

  “If that was supposed to make me feel better, Luca, it didn’t work.”

  * * *

  Without the heat from the griffin’s body, Kerida would have frozen to death. As it was, she was far from comfortable. She couldn’t see anything with her face buried in Weimerk’s neck feathers, but if she lifted her head, the wind threatened to rip it right off.

  <>

  <>

  <> Ker’s stomach lurched at the very idea, and she was glad that it was empty. Otherwise, she’d be vomiting for sure. Especially on the downward swoops.

  <>

  <> she said. <> She remembered the light in Tel Cursar’s face after his flight on Weimerk and reminded herself to be annoyed with him when she saw him again. Strangely, that made her feel a little better. Still, why should he be the one who could enjoy flying with the griffin?

  <> Weimerk said now. <>

  Ker’s stomach lurched again. <>

  <>

  <> She sighed. She’d have to tell him. <>

  <>

  The fire color. Great. At this point, Ker was willing to try anything. Paraste. She’d expected to see the colors of their auras streaming out behind them, like ribbons in a wind. Instead, they swirled around them just as if they were standing on the ground, unaffected in any way by their movement through the air. Ker immediately began to feel better.

  <> she said.

  <>

  Concentrating, Ker began to sift through the colors swirling around her. Many looked familiar, though others she had no name for. She found one that made her think of glowing embers, and began to move toward it–

  <>

  Ker cleared her throat, swallowed uneasily, and set herself to look again. Finally, after considering and discarding several more colors, she saw one that looked like metal heating on a forge.

  <>

  <>

  <>

  Ker already knew there was no point in asking the griffin to clarify his instruction. Like everything else, this was both a lesson and a test. Swallowing, she took a tighter grip on the feathers under her hands. Weimerk’s colors were so strong and vibrant that hers looked washed out and pale by comparison. Ker took as deep a breath as she could manage and concentrated again.

  How am I supposed to get my colors to the metallic flame, let alone dance with it?

  She spun her aura into a ribbon, sending it out toward Weimerk, just as she would do if she were working to help heal someone. Not that the griffin was like anyone else. But there she stuck. It was one thing to manipulate her own aura, or even that of other people, but how could she touch the griffin’s? Still hesitating, Ker reached out for the flame color, but the other colors kept getting in the way.

  “No,” she murmured under her breath. “They aren’t in the way. I don’t have to make them dance, they’re dancing already.” They moved in patterns, like a group of people performing one of the elaborate harvest dances in honor of the Mother. Except that here there was no dance floor, there wasn’t even a flat surface. The patterns moved all around her, above her, below, in front—every direction she could think of. All at once. Her head spinning, Ker took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. Rather than looking at the colors themselves, Ker focused on the spaces between, trying to keep her own “steps” heading toward the metallic fire she could see dancing along with the others.

  Dodging, with more luck than grace, a color she couldn’t name, Ker finally made her way through. Just as she wondered how to attract the attention of Weimerk’s ribbon of metallic flame, she saw that she had it already. As it responded to the movements of her own multicolored ribbon, it separated into strands, one of which detached completely, and wove itself around and through Ker’s aura. Almost immediately, Ker felt a rush of warmth across her back, and her shoulders, which had been hunched against the cold, began to relax. The new color strengthened and thickened as her aura accepted it, and her stomach settled back into something she could ignore until it told her she was hungry.

  “All right, then, now to get back out.” It took her just as long to step out of the dance as it had taken her to enter it. Other colors kept teasing her, trying to get into pace and pattern with hers, and she had to be very nimble to avoid them. Gently, she disengaged her aura from Weimerk’s, half afraid that the nausea and the cold would come back when she did. She held her breath and cracked her eyes open, more than a little surprised to find them flying in darkness.

  <> she told the griffin after a moment. <>

  <> Weimerk said. <>

  <>

  <>

  Lids once more closed against the wind, Ker rolled her eyes. If something changes once, she might have answered, it can change again. But then Weimerk would simply had said something like “true,” and she’d be back where she’d started.

  She leaned forward again as her stomach growled, telling herself she wasn’t hungry enough yet to break out the travel cake, and wishing she’d brought something else.

  “We would never have been able to walk this far,” she told Tel in her mind.

  “THE Bear officer tried to push the Talent to the ground, my Faro. He tried to save her.” They’d been lucky in their witness. Pariah Costa was a young man, practically a boy, in his first year with the Panthers, and in horrible awe of his Faro.

  Tel Cursar stood at parade rest right in front of the Faro of Panthers’ camp desk. The arrival and departure of the griffin seemed to have taken no time at all—in fact, there were many among the Panthers, including the Jade Cohort Leader standing at the Faro’s elbow, who hadn’t seen anything at all, and was more than a little skeptical of the story.

  “And you were where, th
at you saw this so clearly?” Normal procedure would have had them questioned by Carmad Noria, Laxtor of Panthers, a tall woman with ebony skin and a white streak in her dark hair. But since the Laxtor was on her way back from Juristand, Tonia Nast interrogated the witnesses herself, as was her right. Tel Cursar tried to look cowed and not at all as though they’d fixed this up between them ahead of time.

  “Well.” Pariah shifted his feet. “I was at the latrines, my Faro. I was relieving myself.” He blushed to the roots of his hair. When he’d been in the Wings for longer, he’d get over that sort of thing.

  “Then how could you possibly see anything?”

  “Uh, I was sitting down, my Faro.” Poor kid looked like he needed to sit down right now. He also looked as though it was a good thing he was coming from the latrines, and not going to them. Tel stared at a mark discoloring the wall behind the Faro’s camp desk and fought to keep his face straight.

  “Continue.” Tonia Nast leaned back in her chair, propping her chin on her right fist.

  “It was enormous—and fast. It fell out of the sky like a hawk after prey and picked up the Talent as though she was no more than a mouse. A griffin, my Faro, for certain.”

  “How could you know this ‘for certain’?” The Jade Cohort Leader used a tone meant to make the boy feel as small as a mouse himself.

  The youngster flushed an even deeper red, his ears turning pink, but he held his ground. “The local holding lord nearest my village has stone griffins marking the road to his house. I’ve seen them lots of times. Body like a big cat, head and wings like an eagle. And that’s what I saw today.” He closed his mouth firmly, lips pressed in a thin line. No one was going to get him to change his story, Tel thought, and he wouldn’t be paying for his beer until every Panther in the Wing had tired of hearing it.

  “I’m satisfied, Cohort Leader.” The Faro lifted her head, stopping any further commentary. “That was well reported, soldier. Go, and tell your Barrack Leader I said so.”