Patch wanted to reassure her, though telling her not to worry, or that everything would be okay, seemed wrong – easy things for him to say, but meaningless to her. “Not long now,” he said. “We’ll ask Underath soon.”
Eventually, Wren lost patience and insisted that Patch take her inside the building. There in the middle of the floor lay Alkeran, a very different griffin to the one they’d seen when they’d first arrived. Instead of the shallow, imperceptible breaths, the griffin was breathing deeply now.
Near Alkeran’s head, Tobias played, sitting on an empty old pitch barrel, several of which had been dragged over from a stack of them in the corner. He looked up as Patch approached.
“We wanted to see how things were going,” said Patch. “We’ll not get in the way, I promise.”
“You’re welcome to sit,” said Alia. She put a hand on Underath’s shoulder. “It would do you good to stretch your legs, after all that whizzing about. Let’s take a walk.”
“I’d rather stay,” said Underath, but Alia wasn’t having it.
“Tish and tush!” she said, pulling him to his feet. “Your friend is resting, and no amount of worried gawping is going to speed things up.” She led him outside.
Tobias patted the barrel next to him. “You two can keep me company,” he said. Even though he’d stopped playing, the music kept coming, the Pipe sustaining the Song. It would need attention soon, of course, to stop it fading, but short breaks were perfectly safe.
Patch sat. “How’s the patient?” he asked.
Tobias held up a hand. “In a moment,” he said. “Let me bolster the Song first.” He played, focusing on an underlying rhythmic sequence that Patch couldn’t identify, then switching to a more familiar high melody. Soon enough, Tobias was satisfied with the Song once more. “Alkeran is responding well to my playing,” he said. “I’ve tweaked the basic form of the Curative Sleep – did you recognize it?”
Patch nodded, realizing that was the name of the part he’d found familiar. “I did, but my Healing Songs could do with a little work.”
“Healing is a speciality,” said Tobias, with a sigh. “At Tiviscan, they teach the students Battle Songs long before they teach Healing. Erner did an excellent job with Rundel when he was poisoned, but that was only because of his Custodian training. If you watch me work, I think you’ll get a feel for the method. The Curative Sleep is at the heart of all the best Healing Songs.”
Wren was just as interested as Patch. Have you done much Healing on griffins? she signed.
Tobias smiled. “My experience on non-human patients is limited. I’ve helped livestock at the Abbey now and again, but this is my first griffin. There are important changes needed in the Healing Song, depending on the species.” He played again, building up a deep and complex counterpoint that Patch hadn’t really noticed before, long notes that changed very slowly. Done, Tobias looked at Wren again. “It’s good that you take an interest in Alkeran, Wren, but I think your real interest lies elsewhere, yes? With Underath?”
Wren chittered. I’m scared to ask, she signed.
“Alia has already asked him,” said Tobias. Wren was almost rigid with nerves. “Underath is confident that it can be done. He plans to unweave the curse once night has fallen.”
Wren’s paws went to her mouth. A tear formed in one eye, and she trembled. Patch gently stroked her head, but said nothing.
When Alia and Underath returned, Wren wasted no time: Tobias told us about the cure, she signed.
“Good,” said Alia. “We can begin soon, but there are things to discuss before you can decide.”
Decide? signed Wren. My decision’s already made!
“There are possible dangers,” said Alia. “I’ll explain them to you in a moment, but you must promise to listen carefully.” She held out her arm; Wren scampered onto it, and sat on Alia’s shoulder, giving Patch a nervous glance as she went. “You’re ready, Underath?” said Alia. “Your griffin is safe, as you can see. Your power is restored. Do you have all you need?”
Underath reluctantly took his eyes from his beloved griffin and turned to Wren. “I made a promise, and I always keep my promises. I’ll gather the necessary items, and once the sun has set we shall start.”
Thank you, signed Wren.
Underath smiled. “Ah, yes, the hand speech! I can see that would be useful. The mercenaries who took my castle used it often. I saw them, from my hiding places, but I was at a loss to understand. I’ve studied many ancient languages, but did I have a book on hand speech? No, I did not!”
Did you see what happened when we left your castle that day? signed Wren; Patch translated.
“I know they caught the young Custodian, while the rest of you escaped,” said Underath. “They plundered the castle and went on their way. Alia told me the lad survived his ordeal, which is pleasing. They were a nasty bunch, and I didn’t much like his chances. I expect, as a Custodian, he had sacrificed his own freedom so that you could get away?”
“Something like that,” said Alia quickly, putting a gentle hand on Patch’s arm. “Now, Patch, I have to ask you to leave Wren with us.”
“But…” started Patch.
Alia shook her head sternly. “Once we’re ready, we need to go inland and find a clearing in the woods. We must concentrate completely, in a place free of distractions. You and Barver would be distractions!”
Patch looked at Wren, and Wren looked at Patch. It didn’t need saying. Wren would much rather have her friends there; Patch didn’t want her to do it alone.
But the last time a cure for Wren’s curse had been attempted, Patch had tried to intervene when he’d thought it was going wrong, and all he’d managed to do was prompt Alia’s prophecy.
“I understand,” said Patch. He gave one last sign of good luck to Wren, and she nodded in return. Then Patch walked outside. The low orange sun reflected off the sea. Cramber and Wintel were circling above the water. Merta was curled on the sand, apparently asleep. Barver was at the shore, watching the flying griffins.
“They’re going to begin Wren’s cure soon,” Patch said to him as he reached his side. “When the sun sets.”
Barver said nothing, instead taking in a huge breath and letting it out very slowly. “How is she?” he said at last.
“Scared,” said Patch. “Excited, of course, but mainly scared.”
“Me too,” said Barver. “Well, at least we’ll be there to help her get through!”
Patch shook his head. “We’re banned,” he said. “Too much of a distraction. And there was something else Alia said, about possible dangers.”
“What dangers?” said Barver.
“I don’t know,” said Patch. “Alia wanted to explain them to Wren before she decided whether to go ahead or not. Although I can’t imagine how bad they would have to be, to put Wren off.”
The doors of the boatwright’s shed opened. Out came Alia and Underath, Wren on Alia’s shoulder. Underath carried his sack, far less bulky than it had been when they’d first arrived, presumably now containing only those things he needed to undo Wren’s curse.
Patch and Barver could only watch as they walked towards woodland a short distance from the beach, disappearing into the trees.
Patch looked back out to sea, where the last of the sun would soon disappear behind the horizon. “Now we wait,” he said, overcome with the burden of worry.
“Do we, though?” said Barver, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “I mean, I’m sure we can find somewhere to watch from?”
It wasn’t hard to keep track of Alia and Underath. Once the sun had set, the two Sorcerers used magic to light their way – a bright green orb moving in the air ahead of them. The green orb faded and a purple one replaced it.
“That purple one is Alia’s,” said Barver. They were too far away for Patch to be able to see more than the general glow, but Barver’s pinpoint vision was easily up to the task.
Barver, with Patch on his back, was flying just above the treetops of a hi
ll as they watched, not wanting to risk being spotted against the darkening sky. At times he would hover; mostly he kept circling at a slow pace.
Eventually, with darkness complete, it seemed that the Sorcerers had chosen their spot. Deep in the woods, a wide circle of orbs appeared one by one – alternating green and purple – illuminating a clearing.
“I think I’ve spotted somewhere closer to set down,” said Barver. “A hillock that may give us a good view. What do you say?”
“You can see from much further away,” said Patch. “Better that you tell me what’s happening, rather than risk them seeing us.”
“Don’t worry,” said Barver. “I’ll keep out of sight on the approach, and as long as we’re quiet we’ll be fine.”
Slowly, they got closer to the lights, and Barver set down on a rocky hillock directly overlooking the clearing.
Below, the two Sorcerers were ready to begin.
Barver and Patch watched nervously as Alia walked to the centre of the clearing and set something down, a shape too small for Patch to make out. He glanced at Barver, who nodded: Wren.
Alia stepped back to the edge of the clearing, joining Underath under one of the purple orbs. Underath took something from his sack, then went to Wren and waved his hands above her. A coloured cloud formed, and he returned to the sack to take something new. Back and forth he went, and each time he waved what he held before returning, leaving coloured dust in the air. There was a light wind, but instead of dispersing, the dust cloud thickened, until neither the tiny shape of Wren nor the ground she was on were visible. The cloud began to swirl slowly. Multicoloured sparks formed within it, then brighter flashes, as if it was a miniature thunderstorm.
Underath took position a little way from the cloud. He stood, head bowed, and his arms rose up either side of him. For a time, nothing happened: seconds became minutes, but Patch could sense something, like a high-pitched whistle getting ever higher, yet there was no sound. Just a feeling of tension building, until at last…
Underath flung both arms to the sky, and with that motion, chaos erupted in the clearing. Thick tendrils burst out from the cloud, dozens of them unfurling, of every colour. They shot from the centre of the clearing to fill it, some rolling on the ground, others reaching thirty feet high – like tentacles of coloured dust, writhing in silence.
Patch and Barver looked at each other, stunned.
“What is that?” whispered Barver. “Is Wren safe?”
“Does Alia seem worried?” said Patch.
Barver looked to the clearing’s edge, where Alia stood. “She looks interested, nothing more,” he said.
“Then Wren’s safe,” said Patch.
Underath began to gesture with his arms, and the tendrils seemed to follow his commands, moving over one another, turning and curling, straightening, and suddenly Patch could see it:
Some of them were knotted together, and Underath’s movements were undoing those knots. Then, as the tendrils separated, he would tie them together again in a slightly different way.
Unweaving. That was how Tobias had put it: unweaving the curse.
And that was exactly what Underath was doing.
Slowly at first, yes, but the Sorcerer’s movements sped up gradually, flinging an orange tendril out to the right, a red one straight up, yellow to the left, then curling over, around, down. Then multiple tendrils moved with each gesture, five, ten folding over one another, ever more rapidly, until it was too difficult to follow the individual knots being unformed and formed. All of this was silent, but Patch realized that it was almost musical, a dance of colour, like a Song made for the eye rather than the ear. He had a jolting vision of the Hamelyn Piper, playing the Obsidiac Organ with the same kind of crazed fervour.
Faster, it went, faster. Patch grew dizzy at the spectacle. It was madness, almost, but with an underlying pattern, a marching, driving, frenzy of motion and hue that overwhelmed everything else.
At last the tendrils pulled back, disappearing into the cloud; then the cloud itself – with a rapid sequence of sparks – began to drift and thin.
Underath sank to his knees. Alia ran out to him, supporting him just as he began to slump to the side, exhausted.
Then she turned to the hillock and looked straight at Barver and Patch, giving them a wave.
“Rumbled!” said Barver.
“You may as well come down now,” called Alia. “The work is done.”
“Done?” Patch said. “Does she mean…”
She did.
The pair looked to the cloud in the clearing, as it dispersed to reveal a standing figure. It was Wren, human once more, in the red-and-white striped dress she’d been wearing on the day they faced the Hamelyn Piper.
What was left of the cloud of coloured dust billowed around Barver’s wings as he landed, and as soon as his feet hit the ground Wren wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. Patch leaped off Barver’s back and hugged her too, grins all round, the three of them scarcely able to believe that finally – finally! – her curse had gone.
“We were so worried!” said Patch.
“Did it hurt?” asked Barver. “Watching Underath do all the…” He waved his arms around. “You were underneath that, and I didn’t know what to think!”
“It didn’t hurt,” said Wren. “It did feel very strange, but there wasn’t any pain.”
“It’s such a relief!” said Patch. “I mean, when Alia mentioned dangers…”
At that, Underath and Alia reached them. “Nothing to worry about!” said Underath. “I knew I had it all under control!”
“So it worked?” asked Wren. “Just as you said?”
Patch frowned, and so did Barver, because it had obviously worked, given that Wren was human. Unless…unless there was something else.
“What are you talking about?” said Barver. He said it with his sternest expression, his eyes boring into Wren’s conscience until she looked away.
“Um,” she said.
“Out with it!” said Barver.
Wren cracked under the pressure. “Well, I had a choice of a simple cure, or something a little more risky and interesting. And I chose interesting.”
Barver and Patch turned to Alia.
“Don’t blame me!” said Alia. “It had to be Wren’s decision.”
“I repeat, nothing to worry about!” said Underath. “I’d merely noticed that Wren’s morphic countenance had become untethered when her deflector had broken, so we had the option of either fixing it back in place, or allowing it to bilocate at will! There was a degree of danger, yes, but I was always on top of things!”
Barver frowned. “Well, that’s as clear as mud,” he muttered.
Patch looked at Wren. “Tell us what he meant,” he said. “Wren, did you do something stupid?”
Wren’s eyes widened with indignation. “I can still change into a rat!” she snapped. “Okay? Happy now? That’s all! I’ve got a chance to learn to change at will, and if I’m lucky I might be able to choose other forms too. It seemed worth the tiny little risks!”
“Hold on,” said Patch. “What risks, exactly?”
Wren shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “That the cure would fail. Permanently. But Underath was very sure that—”
“Wait,” said Patch, looking from Alia to Underath and back. “You let her take a risk that the cure might fail and she’d be stuck as a rat, just so she’d be able to turn into a rat if she wanted?” They said nothing. “How could you let her?”
“How could they let me?” said Wren. “To be able to shape-shift? How could I turn that down? And as Alia said, it was my choice.” She folded her arms and glared at both of them.
Patch hung his head, looking at the ground. She did have a point. “Sorry,” he muttered.
Barver, still agitated, scratched at the earth with a claw. “I’m sorry as well,” he said. “It’s just…you know.”
“I do know,” said Wren. “I love you both too.”
Underath clap
ped his hands together, satisfied at a job well done. “Good!” he said. “Now that’s all sorted, how about giving us a lift back to the beach?”
“So you’ll be able to turn into a rat?” asked Barver. “Whenever you want?”
They were sitting around a large fire that the griffins had built above the high-tide line. Underath was inside the boatwright’s shed with Alia and Tobias, examining the sleeping Alkeran. The other griffins were curled up close to the flames, basking in the fire’s heat.
“That’s the plan,” said Wren. “I mean, it’s not guaranteed. Natural shape-shifters are born differently, and everything I’ve been through has left me with the same condition.”
“With an untethered morphy thingummy,” said Barver, nodding.
“How does it work, then?” said Patch.
“I’m a bit vague on that myself,” she said. “There are lots of things I have to try, but apparently it’s different for everyone and takes years of practice.” She frowned.
“I’d have thought you were fed up being a rat,” said Patch. “Wasn’t it agony every time you changed?”
“It’s not supposed to hurt if you do it right, and a rat would just be the start!” She beamed with excitement. “You see, if I manage it, I can try other animals too! The curse imprinted a rat into my morphic countenance, but it’s possible to imprint a few other forms as well. For the most talented shape-shifters, that is.” Her smile stayed right where it was, leaving Patch in no doubt that she planned to be one of those.
“But why doesn’t every Sorcerer put themselves through the same process?” he said. “Surely they’d all be turning into dragons and bears and sharks if they could? I mean, I would if I was a Sorcerer.”
“Of course they want to,” she said. “Underath told me the chances of it working are so slim that hardly anyone wastes their time trying.”
Barver grinned. “So it really could be sharks and dragons?”
A Vanishing of Griffins Page 12