by K J Taylor
‘You …’ Kullervo backed away nervously. ‘You look just like the carvings … in the temples …’
I have appeared in dreams before, child, Gryphus said. His voice was deep and rich, full of power. Here. He held out a massive hand. Touch me, if you do not believe I am real.
Kullervo touched it carefully, and to his shock it did feel real. It was rough and coarse, a farmer’s hand, but the skin was so warm it was nearly hot. ‘You are real. But …’ He withdrew hastily, looking up. ‘What do you want with me?’
To thank you.
‘Thank me? For what?’
Gryphus looked skyward. There was no sun overhead. Tonight I have heard my children singing my praises, in louder voices than I have heard for many years. They give thanks that their faith in me has been renewed. And this is your doing, Kullervo.
Kullervo felt shame yet again. ‘I didn’t mean to do that. I wasn’t trying to …’
But you have been among them today, and you have preached my word. I am the god of life, and it is I who command my followers to revere it.
‘But they don’t!’ Kullervo exclaimed. ‘They …’
Yes. And that is why it is you who must remind them. Inspire them. Teach them, in my name.
‘But I don’t want to do that! I just told them that because that’s what I think is right, and …’
I know this, said Gryphus. That is why I have come to you now, to ask you that you do this again. Go to my great cities, and speak these words that give people faith in me. They are disheartened now and they fight against each other. You will show them unity again, unity under my glory.
Kullervo cringed. ‘And then?’
And then they will be as one once more, and will go forward to do my will.
‘Which is?’
Gryphus smiled. Your father did a great injustice to my people. You will help them to undo it. Bring them back to their stolen homes in the North. Give them back the supremacy that I have decreed is rightfully theirs.
‘What about the Northerners?’
Your father’s people will also benefit, Gryphus rumbled. They need the protection and guidance of my chosen. You have seen how they have used their supposed freedom to fight against each other, bickering over power. The Night God teaches them to be this way, and they need our help to control their natural violence.
‘But …’ Kullervo faltered.
The Day God looked down on him, full of fatherly benevolence. Do this thing for me, Kullervo, and I will not be ungrateful. You are the winged man, as my people have called you today. You have the power to show them a better way. Do it in my name, and I will reward you.
‘How?’
Gryphus shone even more brightly as he spoke. I will take the darkness out of your body. You will be at peace in my temples, and will never again touch the shadows. Your hair will change to blessed gold, your wings to white. I will give you the gift of life. You will no longer be half a man, but will be able to touch a woman with love and give her children. Temples will be built in your honour, and your name will be revered in Cymria forever. Go forth in my name, and all this will be yours, and more.
Kullervo touched the coarse black hair on his head. ‘Why do I need to have gold hair?’
So that you will cease to look like your evil father. You will become like one of my people. Purity will be yours, child.
‘I’m not a child,’ said Kullervo.
Gryphus smiled. In the eyes of the gods, all mortals are children.
His words were gentle, kind, and beguiling. But Kullervo felt something in his stomach twist. ‘Then maybe it’s time we grew up.’
You cannot, said Gryphus. Full enlightenment and maturity of the soul are ours alone. You are spiritual children, and need my guidance to keep you safe, as the love of a father protects his sons.
Kullervo’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not my father.’
I am the father of all life.
‘But you’re not my father,’ said Kullervo. Sadness filled him. ‘My father was Arenadd Taranisäii.’
Anger showed through Gryphus’ paternal smile. Your father did not love you. He was a heartless man, incapable of love.
‘He loved my mother.’
Hollow love. Twisted love, without my blessing.
As Gryphus spoke, his benevolent façade began to break down, and Kullervo saw hatred and contempt behind it.
‘Why did they need your blessing?’ he retorted. ‘They weren’t your people.’
Enough! Gryphus growled. You are not your parents. You have a good heart, Kullervo. A heart that is close to me. Swear to do as I have asked.
But Kullervo’s heart had already begun to close off from the god. ‘And what happens then?’ he asked, throwing caution to the winds. ‘The griffiners come back, and take over the North again? My father’s people go back into slavery? And what about Laela? She’s a half-breed — what would they do to her?’
Your sister has done me a great service, said Gryphus. She destroyed your father. For that, she is under my protection.
‘And the others?’ said Kullervo. ‘What about the children, in Gwernyfed? They’re half-breeds too. Are they under your protection?’
Silence! Gryphus seemed to grow taller, his light turning darker and hotter. How dare you question me? I am the master of Cymria. The Night God cannot be allowed to reign any longer, or she will drive her people South, to burn and slaughter like the savages they are. Would you allow that to happen?
‘No,’ said Kullervo. ‘But there has to be another way to stop it.’
Unity is the way, said Gryphus. Unity under my light, under my blessing.
Even in the dream, the god’s rage was massive, fiery and terrible … and helpless. As Kullervo backed away, it suddenly occurred to him that even though Gryphus’ light had become flames around him, the heat was not hurting him. The god’s huge hands reached out, but did not touch him. And in an instant, Kullervo saw the truth: Gryphus could rage, he could threaten, he could shout … but he could not hurt him. The god was impotent, unable to touch the mortal world with physical force. All at once, Kullervo’s fear went away.
He stood tall, yellow eyes blazing back. ‘Never,’ he snarled. ‘I’ll never serve you. I thought you were different, but you’re just like the Night God. You just want power. You want people to be your slaves. But you’re not going to enslave me. I won’t end up like my father.’
Incredibly, Gryphus backed down. You do not understand. Our desires are the same. I, too, want peace …
‘And I want freedom,’ said Kullervo. ‘I want other people to be free too — from you. Both of you.’ He could feel his hands warping, talons extending. ‘So I’ll go to the cities. I’ll try and show people what I believe is right. But I’ll do it because I choose to, and never in your name.’
Gryphus’ light began to fade. Beware, Kullervo Taranisäii, he said. You have already turned your back on one god. When death comes, you will be lost without us.
‘Then so be it.’
As you wish … Gryphus vanished. Without him, the grass of the field withered and died. The golden flowers shrivelled into brown husks. The sky went dark and cold, and there was nothing but an endless freezing void.
As Kullervo drifted away into nothingness, he heard a laugh. It was harsh and deranged … and full of savage triumph.
Kullervo was not the only one with Gryphus on his mind.
Sitting by a brazier in her own tent, Lady Isleen tried to concentrate on the book she was reading, more as a way to distract herself. It was the latest instalment in the adventures of Alaric the Dashing, an implausibly handsome imaginary griffiner whose escapades were written and copied out by some anonymous person in Withypool, and sold at inflated prices to anyone who wanted to read them. Plenty of griffiners, particularly women, loved the series and would go to great lengths to get their hands on the newest volume.
Isleen started on the next chapter.
Alaric rose with the sun, leaving Erisa to her peaceful s
lumber. He performed his morning ritualss in silence in order to respect her delicate rest, but could not resist turning to watch her doze. Her pure dark eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a butterfly as magical visions moved across her sleeping mind, and Alaric sighed as …
Isleen sighed too, and closed the book. She loved The Adventures of Alaric, but right now even they couldn’t take her mind off things. She put the book aside and warmed her hands over the brazier as she let herself think over what had happened that day.
The Council, makeshift as it was, had discussed Kullervo’s arrival and the treaty he had brought. The arguments had gone on long into the night. Many of the griffiners, believing that Kullervo was a holy man, wanted to do as he said and to blazes with any danger. It was the will of Gryphus.
Others, more sceptical, pointed out that not only was Kullervo a Northerner, but he had also denied his supposed divinity repeatedly and in a distressed manner. And besides, trying to negotiate a treaty with the North was ridiculous. True griffiners did not negotiate with Northerners, and they had far more urgent things to worry about anyway.
Regardless of all that, though, as Eyrie Mistress elect Isleen had the power to make the ultimate decision. She had heard the differing viewpoints of her fellows, and now it was up to her to tell them what they would do. She had far too much good sense to do it on the spot, so she had told them she would go away and think it over. She was supposed to be doing that now.
For her own part, Isleen believed that Kullervo was the winged man — believed it utterly. Nor did it matter to her that he had said otherwise. He had wings — what more was there to discuss? He could try denying that he had eyes as well, but that wouldn’t change anything.
The truth, Isleen decided, was that he must be the messenger of Gryphus without knowing it. He denied it out of fear and modesty, but that didn’t matter. His words were Gryphus’ words, even if he didn’t realise it. What other explanation could there be for what had happened? That Gryphus had sent his messenger to them was fantastical, but the idea that there could be some other winged man preaching love and tolerance purely by coincidence was ridiculous. No, Kullervo was a divinity, and therefore what he said they should do was nothing less than the will of Gryphus. And a true Southerner would never deny Gryphus.
All that meant that her course of action was completely clear. Gryphus wanted her to make a treaty with the North.
… Or did he?
Isleen looked up. ‘Arak, what do you think about all this?’
Over by the wall of the tent, her partner turned his head. ‘I have thought carefully,’ he said. ‘And I think I have seen what we must do.’
‘What, then?’ asked Isleen. ‘Do we go North?’
The grey griffin yawned. ‘I have spoken with the partner of this winged human. She has told me that she means to take her human to all the griffiner cities and say these words to every Eyrie Master who will listen. We have seen now how they will react: they will feel the same as our griffiners do. I think that many of them will choose to go to Malvern.’
‘Agreed,’ said Isleen. ‘They’ll see he’s Gryphus’ messenger. So what do we do?’
‘We go North,’ said Arak. ‘But not yet. We will tell this one’s human that we will wait for his return. He must come this way to go back to Malvern. When he does, we will join him. By the time we do, there will be many other Southern griffins with him. They will be our security in case of treachery.’
‘And then we make the treaty?’ Isleen prompted.
‘We will begin our negotiations,’ said Arak. ‘But we will draw them out. We will argue, we will delay. We will make time for ourselves, and use it to our advantage.’
Isleen blinked; this wasn’t what she had expected. ‘And then?’
‘We will speak with the other Southerners there,’ said Arak, ‘and form a secret alliance. If we feel we are strong enough, and the situation is to our advantage … we will strike together. Seize Malvern. From there, we will be ready to take back the North. Without Kraeai kran ae, they will not defeat us again.’
Isleen gaped. ‘But Liranwee …’
‘We can leave our territory to our inferiors; they will care for it while we are gone. The North is a far better prize.’ Arak said all this quite blandly.
Isleen’s mind raced. ‘A chance to have it back … revenge for the war … and Gryphus …’ She gasped, as the truth finally dawned on her. ‘Of course! That’s it! By Gryphus’ talons, I see it now. That’s why the winged man came. That’s why he was sent to us. That was his real message. Gryphus used him to tell us that it’s time to take the North. Win back our supremacy in Cymria. That was what he really said. Go North, now. Make peace. Once we rule the North again, we’ll make peace. Peace under us, just as it was before the war. A strong hand will keep the Northerners in check.’ Her voice had become low and fervent as she went on, growing more excited as her mind painted pictures of the glory to come. A Northerner had destroyed her home once, and that was why she was trying to build a new one. Now, Gryphus had shown her the way to a better life — and a way to have revenge at last.
Impulsively, she folded her hands and began a rapid prayer over the fire, whose flames were Gryphus’ power. ‘Holy Gryphus, father of my people, thank you for your guidance. I have seen your will, and I will see it done. I swear it.’
TWENTY
THE ISLAND OF WILD NORTHERNERS
The first time Caedmon saw the island, he was almost shocked by its size. To him the word ‘island’ had suggested something small, but ‘Wild Island’, as Heath had dubbed it, had enough space for a small town. Or it would have, if the landscape had been more hospitable.
It rose up out of the ocean ahead of him, dark among waves the colour of slate. Jagged rocks and spiny conifers gave it an uneven, dangerous-looking outline. The air out here was icy, not helped by the ocean, but as the three griffins flew closer Caedmon couldn’t spot any of the snow he had been half expecting. He was relieved about that.
Echo flew ahead to show the way. A long journey had made his wingbeats slow and heavy, but he was close now.
Once he was above the island, the spotted griffin spiralled downward to land. Shar and Garsh followed.
Echo’s landing spot was an open area — ‘field’ would have been too generous, even though there was some ragged grass about. He crouched to help Heath dismount then lay down on his belly to rest, apparently feeling safe enough here not to stay on alert.
Shar landed close by, snorting when Saeddryn decided to leap off her back before she had crouched down. Caedmon, more sensitive, politely waited for the proper moment to get off before going over to help Myfina get down off the hulking Garsh.
Saeddryn, as always, was on her guard. She landed in a hunched posture and kept it as she slunk around the clearing, sniffing the air like a griffin, with one hand on her sickle. ‘Smells of people,’ she growled eventually.
Heath was standing by Echo, steadying himself with a hand on the griffin’s shoulder. ‘They’ll have seen us by now,’ he said. ‘They keep watch for the wild griffins. Don’t want to get eaten.’ He looked rather pale, possibly from the cold.
Saeddryn’s lined face was full of suspicion. ‘They’d better not try anythin’ funny. I’m in no mood.’
Caedmon and Myfina glanced at each other, and from Myfina’s expression Caedmon guessed she was thinking the same thing as he was. Saeddryn was getting worse. Ever since her latest mission, which she hadn’t yet said anything about, she had grown even more icy and aggressive.
Nearby, Heath glanced at Saeddryn. His usual amused expression was absent; instead, he looked tired and rather sad. ‘They won’t,’ he said hoarsely. ‘They’ve got even less of a sense of humour than you, my Lady. Just wait here and they’ll come. I should be ready …’ He reached up and adjusted his griffin-hide hood.
Caedmon had already begun watching the trees all about, along with Myfina. But it was Saeddryn who saw them coming first. She turned sharply and pointed. ‘T
here.’
Caedmon looked, and after a moment or two he saw them. A group of people were approaching, moving in an easy, loping way. At first all he noticed about them was that they looked tall, emaciated and ragged. But he was quick to notice a second thing: they were armed.
The tribespeople emerged into the clearing. There were four of them, and if the men hadn’t worn beards Caedmon might have had a little trouble telling them apart: they were all dressed in more or less the same way, in thick layers of fur. All of them carried spears, but the man who looked to be in charge also had a crude stone axe in his belt.
Heath stopped leaning on Echo and approached them, one hand held up. He called to them in the old language. ‘Llygad! I have returned, and brought my friends who are of the Griffin Tribe like I am. They are here to help you, as I am.’
The leader, Llygad, looked at Caedmon and the others with great interest. But curiously, it was Saeddryn he pointed at. ‘Who is this old woman who has come? She has no griffin with her, and she is like a starving beast in a woman’s skin.’
Saeddryn came toward him and Caedmon tensed instinctively. But she surprised everyone there by bowing her head to Llygad and speaking in the old language — much more fluently than Heath. ‘I am Saeddryn of the blood of Taranis, and I am sent by the moon itself to do justice in the name of all our race. I have come to your land, wise Llygad, to learn what I can from you and to ask that you give your strength to my son, who is the rightful ruler of Tara.’
The tribespeople there started to chatter animatedly among themselves at this, gesturing at each other and at Saeddryn in great excitement.
Llygad silenced them with a look. ‘You are welcome among my tribe, Saeddryn. But for as long as you stay here you must accept my judgements. If your children stay, they will do the same. We will not give them food. Every man here hunts, and every woman forages. Do they understand this?’