The Shadow's Heart

by K J Taylor

  ‘So do I,’ said Kullervo. He had got into the habit of talking to Red as a griffin, despite the obvious reason not to bother. Red seemed to appreciate it.

  Resling looked both disgusted and sad. ‘You see?’ he said. ‘This place is finished. Worse than finished. There’s nothing here for us.’

  ‘I would like to see the inside of the Hatchery again,’ said Senneck. ‘There may be a good nesting place there, and if I do not lay today I will lay tomorrow. I cannot afford to go anywhere else until I have.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Kullervo, going to her side. ‘I want to see it too.’

  Together, he and Senneck walked toward the building, with Red keeping close to Kullervo and the others bringing up the rear.

  At first glance, the Hatchery looked as abandoned as the other buildings they had seen. But it was in good enough shape for them to see signs of what it had once been like. The roof was high and peaked, with openings that must have always been there, made big enough for griffins to fly through. The entrance too was oversized, naturally: this was a building meant for griffins. The doors were still there, or rather one of them was; the other had broken off its hinges and was now propped up against the doorframe, leaving a gap big enough for a human to walk through. Senneck, however, couldn’t, so she unceremoniously hooked her beak into the big slab of wood and tossed it aside.

  Beyond was a big open space, large enough for griffins to move about. Dozens of small pens lined the walls, and Kullervo, who had been in a Hatchery before, recognised them as homes for griffin chicks.

  ‘I lived in one of these,’ Senneck said. ‘But I cannot remember which one now.’

  As she was speaking, she tensed suddenly. Her head went up, and she sniffed roughly at the air. Her talons curled. ‘Human!’ she exclaimed.

  Kullervo had already caught the scent. ‘Look there,’ he said.

  Sure enough, a young woman had appeared through a back door, and frozen to the spot when she saw them.

  ‘Griffins!’ And then, again, ‘Holy Gryphus … griffins!’

  ‘Who are you?’ Senneck demanded. She sounded almost angry at being intruded upon.

  ‘Er, I’m … my name’s Liantha,’ the woman said falteringly.

  ‘She knows griffish!’ said Kullervo.

  ‘I do,’ said Liantha. She must have also known about griffins themselves, because she didn’t try to run off, or show fear — in fact, she only looked astonished. She bowed hastily. ‘I’m so sorry, but I never thought … Wait here.’ She hurried back through the door she had entered by, shouting in Cymrian. ‘Dad! Dad, there are griffins out here!’

  Senneck had calmed down. ‘I do not believe it,’ she said. ‘Humans still here, and even one who knows griffish. I did not expect that.’

  Kullervo suddenly wished he had taken the time to become human again. ‘Neither did I.’

  While the travellers stood there in a little group, confused, Liantha returned. She came much more slowly this time, supporting an old man.

  At first, the man looked as if he were too confused and weak to do anything except lean on his daughter, but as he came further into the room he looked up at Senneck. His eyes were faded and looked nearly blind, but he must have seen her, because his face slackened slightly in apparent shock.

  Then, shuffling but eager, he let go of Liantha and came on toward the brown griffin. ‘Senneck?’ he said in a wheezy voice. ‘Senneck, is that really you?’

  ‘It is,’ said Senneck. ‘But who are you?’

  The old man laughed, and suddenly seemed a lot younger. ‘Senneck, it’s me. Roland.’

  Senneck hissed softly. ‘Roland?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ Roland grinned. ‘You haven’t changed a bit, even if I have. Hah, I remember raising you in here with Eluna and all the others. You always liked your rat in the morning.’

  ‘Yes …’ Senneck crouched low, and put her beak down toward the old man, with a gentleness that Kullervo had never seen in her before. ‘I did not think that I would find you here.’

  ‘Neither would anyone,’ Roland said cheerfully. ‘But they do anyway. How’s young Erian getting along, then?’

  ‘He is dead,’ said Senneck. ‘He has been dead for twenty years.’

  ‘Oh.’ Roland’s face fell. For a moment he looked a little lost. ‘Oh, yes, I remember now. Yes, I remember when the news came about that … They said Arren did it, of course, but they said so much about him after he left and I never could quite believe it all.’

  While he spoke, Kullervo quietly withdrew. He left Red where he was and stole into another adjoining room. All his instincts told him that now was the time to change. This old man knew important things, and Kullervo had to be human if he wanted to understand them properly.

  In the next room, he found the quarters that had once belonged to the adult griffins. There were more pens here, but open ones this time, some of which looked as if they had been used as beds by people.

  Kullervo chose one, and began the change. It was as if his magic knew how urgent this change was, because it worked much faster than it usually did. But it still took longer than he wanted it to.

  When it was finished, he was too exhausted to even dress. He fell asleep next to his bundle of clothing, and stayed that way for a good chunk of the afternoon.

  When he woke up it was nearly night-time, and he still ached all over. But his urgent desire to talk to Roland gave him energy.

  He dressed as quickly as he could, leaving his wings and tail uncovered as before, and limped slowly back to the chick room.

  The others were all there, resting from their journey. Roland and Liantha were there too, and someone had lit a lantern. They were sharing some food with Resling and Red, and Senneck and the other griffins were eating what looked like dried meat.

  When Red saw Kullervo, his face split into a smile and he ran toward him. ‘Kullervo! I didn’t think you was ever gonna be human again!’

  Kullervo smiled back. ‘It was just for travelling. Anyway, now’s the time to be human.’

  He walked into the circle of lantern-light, straight toward Roland, who was in the midst of telling Resling some story. ‘And so they started coming to me for …’

  Kullervo screwed up his courage. ‘Roland,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  Roland looked up sharply. ‘What?’ When he saw Kullervo’s face, his reaction was sudden and almost frightening. He jerked as if someone had hit him, but before Liantha could try to calm him down he stood up with surprising strength. He took a step closer to Kullervo, reaching out slowly, and his face was full of utter shock. ‘Arren …?’ he faltered. ‘Arren, it can’t be …’

  Kullervo wanted to cry. ‘No, Roland, I — ’

  Roland looked close to tears himself. ‘Arren, why have you come back here? You know they’ll kill you if they see you. After what you did …’

  ‘I’m not Arren,’ said Kullervo.

  ‘Yes, so you said before,’ said Roland. ‘But that was madness! No matter how badly they hurt you, you didn’t ever stop being yourself. You know you can’t run away from that, don’t you, lad? Don’t you?’ He looked away. ‘I know I failed you. I’ve never forgiven myself. I tried so hard to teach you, tried to keep you away from what your father wanted you to be. Rannagon never believed it could be done … damn fool that he was. If they had let you be what you wanted to be, none of this would have happened. But if I’d never …’ Roland shook his head. ‘I always wondered what I’d say if I ever saw you again, but I never did find it. Arren …’

  Kullervo didn’t know what to say while Roland spoke, and only stood there, feeling his throat tighten with emotion. But as he saw the old man grow more distressed, he reached out and stopped him with a gentle touch to the shoulder. ‘Roland, I’m not Arren.’

  Roland finally seemed to hear him. ‘Not …?’

  ‘I’m his son,’ said Kullervo.

  Liantha started violently. ‘What?’

  ‘His son?’ said Roland.
‘You’re Arren’s son?’

  ‘I am. My name’s Kullervo.’

  A weak smile appeared on Roland’s face, and he reached up to touch Kullervo’s hand. ‘Kullervo Arrenson. Then you’re Flell’s child?’

  ‘No.’ Kullervo managed to smile back. ‘Flell’s child was a girl. Her name’s Laela. My mother was someone else.’

  ‘Then Flell had her baby,’ Roland muttered. ‘I never … we all heard she was dead.’

  ‘She is,’ said Kullervo. ‘Roland, Arren’s dead too.’

  Roland’s shoulders sagged. ‘They’re all dead,’ he said. ‘Everybody’s dead except me. Rannagon, Flell, Arren, Eluna. Even that lad Bran, most likely.’

  ‘Who was Bran?’ Kullervo asked.

  ‘I know who he was,’ Resling interrupted before Roland could answer. ‘Branton Redguard. Bran the Betrayer. The one who destroyed Eagleholm.’

  ‘But Arren — Arenadd did that,’ said Kullervo. ‘Everyone knows that.’

  ‘But he never would have had the chance if it hadn’t been for Branton Redguard,’ Resling spat. ‘The fool was friends with Arenadd, and decided to help him escape from prison. Afterwards the blackrobe scum was free to take his revenge.’

  ‘He never!’ To the surprise of everyone, it was Red who spoke up. ‘Bran never did! He wasn’t no betrayer; I’ll punch you if you say so!’

  Resling looked furious. ‘How dare you? What do you know about anything, boy?’

  ‘I know lots,’ Red retorted. ‘My dad, he was from Eagleholm. He was Bran’s sergeant before the burning. He was friends with him, and he said Bran would never betray nobody.’

  Resling snorted. ‘Well, that proves it.’

  Roland shook his head. ‘Bran was Arren’s best friend. It tore him apart to see him turn traitor, but he was always loyal to the city. I should know: I trained him here after the fire. You remember him, don’t you, Arren?’ He looked at Kullervo. ‘He became a griffiner, you know. The unpartnered here needed humans so they could leave, and they chose whomever they found.’

  ‘I’m not Arren,’ Kullervo reminded him.

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s right. You’re his son,’ Roland waved his hand vaguely. ‘Let’s sit down. I should tell you what happened after the fire.’

  Kullervo sat down, ignoring Liantha’s gasp when she saw his wings. Roland didn’t seem to have noticed, possibly because of his failing eyesight.

  ‘What did happen here?’ Kullervo asked the old man. ‘You say this Bran was chosen?’

  ‘Yes, and not because he was a noble,’ said Roland. ‘As I said, the griffins needed partners urgently, and they had no time to wait for the Springday ritual or look for nobles. They chose anyone who looked strong enough. Bran was one, and afterwards I offered to train him. I trained the others, too. New griffiners who needed help and didn’t have elder griffiners about to teach them. No apprenticeships left in a city with no more officials or even an Eyrie Master, you see. So I taught them. When Bran was ready he married Flell and they left the city for good. Chasing after Arren, so they said.’ Roland actually laughed his wheezy laugh. ‘They didn’t know the truth about that then, and neither did anybody else. If they had they would’ve known it was a fool’s errand.’

  ‘Yes, because when they found him he murdered Flell,’ said Kullervo, who knew that part of the story at least.

  Roland shook his head. ‘No, no, it wasn’t Arren who did that. Not him at all. Arren wasn’t a murderer, not my Arren. No, they never found him because he never went North at all.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Resling.

  ‘Arren’s still here,’ said Roland. ‘He never left. And we know it, we all do, and that’s why this city never recovered. We never forgave ourselves for what we did to him, even after the Dark Lord took his revenge.’ The old man half laughed, half cried, and Liantha touched him and murmured to calm him down.

  ‘Don’t worry about it; he gets like this sometimes,’ she whispered to Kullervo. ‘It was all too much for him.’

  Roland looked as if he had already forgotten his frightening little speech. ‘I clung on here, anyway, somehow or other. Helped people however I could. The goats, you see. Didn’t have to feed griffins any more, so I gave the meat to people who needed it, and the hides too, and even milk. But they’re all gone now. All killed, all stolen. The people here, they’ve all gone mad. The curse on our city … too much for ordinary people to live with. But Liantha keeps me safe here.’

  ‘Your daughter?’ Senneck asked.

  ‘Adopted,’ said Liantha. ‘I was an orphan. From the Eyrie fire.’

  ‘No, I never had children of my own,’ said Roland. ‘Never married, either. Arren was the closest thing I had to a child of my own before Liantha came along. I taught him all I knew. Her, too.’

  ‘So there are no griffins left here?’ asked Seerae, speaking up for almost the first time.

  ‘No. No griffiners either. In the fighting here, someone broke into the Arena. They let out all the wild griffins there, and they went on a rampage. Killed dozens. After that they flew away, back to the wild I suppose. The civilised griffins went away, and the griffiners with them. Even the ones I trained here all left.’

  ‘And her?’ said Seerae, meaning Liantha.

  ‘Trained her as a griffiner, even without a griffin,’ said Roland. ‘But I suppose if she had one she’d leave me too.’

  ‘Never,’ Liantha said quietly.

  ‘Roland,’ said Kullervo, ‘I wanted to ask you a favour.’

  ‘Eh?’ Roland rubbed his eye. ‘What is it, Arren?’

  Kullervo’s heart ached. ‘Can you tell me where my father used to live? I’d like to see it for myself.’

  ‘Oh, I can if you’ve forgotten,’ said Roland. ‘But you won’t want to live there any more, lad. It was never rebuilt, and what they’ve done to the ruins …’

  ‘I want to see it anyway,’ said Kullervo. ‘If you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course, lad.’ Roland gave his directions, but they were rambling and confused, referring to landmarks Kullervo didn’t know and people he would never meet.

  ‘Maybe a map would help,’ Liantha finally suggested.

  ‘Yes, yes, I suppose it would,’ said Roland. ‘I never was that good with directions. Run and fetch it, would you? There’s a good girl.’

  Liantha went off into the back room, and returned a little while later with a roll of thin leather. She handed it to Roland, who unrolled it and peered at the black line drawing inside. ‘Oh, curse these eyes … where’s the Market District?’

  ‘Here.’ Liantha helpfully touched it.

  ‘Thank you. Yes, so that would put it right … uh …’ Roland ran his finger over the area indicated, and finally stopped at a spot right on the edge. ‘Here, along a bit from the guard tower and with a lifter on the other side. I always thought it was brave of you to live on the edge like that, lad — we all know how you are with heights.’

  Kullervo didn’t try to correct him again. He accepted the map, and pressed his talon into the spot Roland had shown him, leaving an indentation. ‘Thanks, Roland. I think I’ll go and see it now.’

  Roland looked slightly alarmed. ‘You mustn’t let anyone see you. They’ll kill you, Arren. You know they will.’

  ‘All right. I’ll make sure I stay hidden,’ Kullervo said sadly.

  ‘You should not go alone,’ said Senneck. ‘I must come with you …’ She tried to stand up, but sank back again, wincing.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Kullervo. ‘I can defend myself if I have to. Anyway, I want to do this alone.’

  He walked toward the entrance. Behind him, unseen, Red crept away from the others and followed him at a distance.

  Kullervo was too distracted to notice him. He paused briefly outside the Hatchery and checked the map. The Market District was right alongside the Hatchery to the south, so if he followed the city’s edge he should find the spot without too much trouble.

  Satisfied with his plan, and hoping he would recog
nise what he was after when he saw it, he tucked the map into his belt and set out into the gathering gloom.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  THE GHOST AND THE RUINS

  Kullervo walked through the streets of Eagleholm, picking his way through the rubble and refuse that clogged what had once been open areas. Here, at the edge of the former Market District, he was walking on planks, and moved very carefully, constantly afraid that they might break under his weight. Luckily they didn’t — Kullervo’s light griffish bones made him less heavy than he looked — even though a couple of them shifted alarmingly.

  There was enough sunlight left for him to see where he was going, but as darkness fell he started to see other light sources: fires, burning here and there inside buildings that looked empty and abandoned. Clearly, there were still people around here somewhere, though he didn’t see any, only their shadows against the light, and sometimes heard movement.

  He decided to keep quiet and avoid drawing attention to himself, even though he made no attempt to hide his wings. If he looked like just an ordinary Northerner, it would be far more dangerous if anyone saw him. His wings at least might make attackers hesitate.

  The map he had been given had been drawn a long time ago, when the city was whole, and it proved almost completely useless beyond showing him that the house would be on the city’s edge. Nowadays it was almost impossible to recognise any of the landmarks on it, and in the end it was more thanks to luck than anything else that he found what he was after. And when he did, it wasn’t because of anything he saw, but from the smell.

  As he walked along the edge of the city while the stars started to shine above, a stench hit his nostrils. He had already smelled bad things — rotting food, sewage and sickly fires — but this new odour was something much worse, enough so to make him cringe when he noticed it.

  It was the putrid stench of rotting meat — and not just any meat.

  Kullervo’s nose was sensitive enough to tell him that what he was smelling was human corpses. It was a smell he had only encountered once before: in a cave high up in the First Mountains, where his father’s body had been laid to rest.