A Vanishing of Griffins

by S. A. Patrick

  Within the boundary, sounds were muffled, echoing back; the world beyond was dim, hard to see through the rippling surface.

  This had never been done before, Alia knew, not at this scale. This device that Lar-Sennen had created over a thousand years ago had, surely, only been used rarely, with the smallest of pieces of black diamond. Even so, it seemed to be working.

  Wren’s plan was working.

  Soon it would cover the whole of the camp, and she could release the trigger. Soon, they would all be gone to the safety of Devil Pin Bay.

  All but one.

  Even with the captain’s sword at her throat, Wren laughed as she saw the rippling shell grow.

  The Hamelyn Piper sneered at her. “What is this?” he said. “Some kind of shield?”

  But then his expression changed. “No,” he said. “No.” He turned to the captain. “Prepare to fire everything we have! Obliterate them!”

  “Lord, if we fire everything and it is a shield…”

  “It’s no shield, Captain. Give the order. Fire everything. Now!”

  The captain nodded. “Corporal!” he called. “Signal all catapult units to fire on my command!”

  “Aye, sir!” came the reply.

  In the valley, the shell kept growing, and with it Wren’s hope grew too. It covered a quarter of the camp already, and soon it would…

  It stopped. It was as big as it was going to get.

  She heard the cries from the camp: Draw closer! Get inside the shell! The soldiers in the camp started rushing to the outer edge, horses led warily through the boundary, everyone running now.

  Then Wren saw: in the valley, one was furthest of all, having trailed after the deserters and stayed, defeated, where he’d fallen. Stayed, watching her. And only now was he standing; only now was he running back to camp.

  Patch.

  “Fire!” cried the captain, and from behind every hilltop the catapults loosed their projectiles, twenty at least, smoke trailing in their wake.

  When the sphere had stopped growing outwards, it had left most of their people on the wrong side of the boundary. Alia, kneeling by the obsidiac chunk, was squeezing the trigger so tightly that her finger was cramping, but she had to hold it until all of their forces reached safety.

  “Get everyone inside!” she cried, and her instructions were passed on. More and more soldiers came through the rippling border, along with frightened horses, the noise growing with each moment. Soon enough it was chaos all around them. The dimming effect of the sphere’s boundary made it difficult to see what was happening beyond.

  “Where’s Patch?” said Barver suddenly, fear in his voice. Calling his friend’s name, he moved against the flow of people and horses, too many around him to let him take to the air.

  “Alia!” yelled Tobias. “They’ve launched!”

  She looked up, and against the sky she saw the shadowy outlines of death coming for them. “Is everyone inside?” she cried. The noise was unbearable – shouts from the soldiers, and the panicked whinnies of the horses, all echoing inside the rippling sphere. “Tobias, tell me! Is everyone inside?” She didn’t dare take her eyes from the approaching projectiles.

  “I don’t know!” said Tobias, unable to see past the chaos around him. “There’s no time! Do it now!”

  She wrenched her eyes from the sky and looked for herself; she thought she could see Barver’s feet through the legs of the crowd around her, but he was still heading away from them, towards the rippling boundary. Patch still had to be outside.

  “Alia!”

  She snapped her eyes back to the sky, and her heart sank. The projectiles were almost upon them.

  Time had run out.

  Alia closed her eyes and released the trigger.

  The Hamelyn Piper watched in silence as the rippling shell suddenly contracted. Wren watched too. The captain was beside her, his sword still pressed to her throat.

  The shell collapsed in an instant. In the Caves of Casimir, there had been a gentle pop when Alia had vanished, and an outrush of air. Here, the pop became a boom, and when the outrush of air met the incoming projectiles, all of them exploded together – a vast detonation that drew a gasp of horror from the captain.

  The shockwave spread out rapidly, and when it reached the top of the hill it hit them like a sudden gale, strong enough for the Hamelyn Piper to be pushed back a step, and for the captain’s sword to nick Wren’s skin.

  The Hamelyn Piper turned and looked at her.

  Even though she could feel blood dripping down her throat, Wren couldn’t help but grin at the Black Knight. For she had seen something, in that instant before the shell had contracted: seen a flying dracogriff burst through and take hold of Patch Brightwater, before turning and disappearing back inside.

  In the valley below was a devastated camp, tents in ruins. But there were no bodies, because the army had escaped.

  The Hamelyn Piper screamed, his rage a terrible thing to witness. The thundering that had filled the camp before now echoed around the hills, his cries of anger delivered to all of his forces at once. When it finally subsided, the Hamelyn Piper stared at Wren again. This is it, she thought. This victory would cost Wren her life, but she didn’t regret it at all.

  A soldier came, holding a pair of red-painted manacles, two metals bands joined by a chain. With grim satisfaction, the Hamelyn Piper took the manacles and clamped them around Wren’s wrists.

  “Shouldn’t I kill her, Lord?” asked the captain, sword raised.

  “No,” said the Black Knight, staring at Wren as he spoke. “I want the little witch to see it, when I find her friends, when I kill them in the worst ways I can think of. I want her to live, and know that their pain is because of her. Place a guard of four on her at all times. The manacles never come off. Feed her scraps enough to keep her alive, and let no harm come to her. Not yet.”

  “Yes, sire,” said the captain.

  And although Wren knew it was foolish, she kept smiling. She couldn’t help it. She pictured Barver vanishing behind the rippling mirror, with Patch in his arms, and her smile couldn’t be stopped.

  The Black Knight’s eyes narrowed. He lashed out, striking her across the face with a gauntlet-clad hand. She fell to the ground, and the Hamelyn Piper strode off.

  From where she lay, Wren could still see the devastated camp in the valley. And now, with blood running down her neck and a split lip, all she could think of was Patch and Barver on a beach of pure white sand.

  “Have some natter-clumps and remember me,” she whispered, as the captain dragged her away.

  The arrival was instant.

  One moment Patch was running for his life towards the mirror sheen ahead of him, and the next he was being yanked into the air, landing in deep meadow-grass with a blazing sun overhead.

  He got to his feet. Barver was beside him, staring around.

  “This is not a beach,” said Barver.

  “Were you expecting one?” said Patch.

  “Yes! I saw Alia using the Leap Device, and my feather was in it. This should be the white-sand beach of Devil Pin Bay! Instead…” He looked around. “It’s whatever this is.”

  And this, Patch thought, was a decidedly odd place. They were in a large meadow, roughly square. On three sides, tall trees rose – curious things, of a kind he’d never laid eyes on before. And ugly, their trunks resembling leg bones, the branches bare. Over the treetops, the only thing visible was a distant hill, or possibly a mountain. He couldn’t tell how far away or how big it was, as the air had a strange haze to it.

  On the fourth side of the meadow were trees that were much more welcoming – sycamores, with healthy green foliage and entirely normal trunks.

  The rest of the travellers were packed closely together, having arrived in a dense jumble after their panicked dash for safety. Now they were starting to spread out; all of them, horses included, seemed rather dazed.

  Merta was kneeling beside Cramber and Wintel; Tobias was there too, beginning
to play his Healing Song for the unconscious griffins.

  Patch caught sight of Alia heading their way. When she reached them, she hugged Patch, and then did the same to Barver. All three of them were in tears.

  “Wren asked me to do that, on her behalf,” said Alia.

  They were silent for a while. Patch wanted to say something, but nothing seemed right – or enough. He wanted Alia to tell him Wren would be okay, though it would surely be a cruel thing, to make her tell such a lie.

  Alia took out a handkerchief and blew her nose. “Now, Barver, a very important question. Where are we?” She looked at him with intense expectation.

  “I have no idea,” said Barver. “Honestly, no idea at all.”

  “Your feather brought us here!” said Alia. “Something links you to this place – something strong. Stronger than your connection to Devil Pin Bay. The sheer power of such a large, pure piece of obsidiac allowed so many of us to travel at once, but it also meant we travelled much further than we’d expected – we could be anywhere in the entire world. Think, Barver!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Barver. “I don’t recognize where we are.”

  Alia frowned and looked up to the sky. “We can probably determine our location from the position of the sun, but I’m too exhausted to think about it right now. At least we’re safe.”

  Patch was exhausted too – and numb, unable to deal with Wren’s sacrifice. He was about to suggest that they go over to Tobias and the griffins, when a disturbance to their right caught their attention. One of the horses was whinnying and pulling on the reins its handler was leading it by.

  “Something’s spooked it,” said Barver. The other horses seemed skittish too, but none were as bad. Suddenly the horse pulled free and galloped off in panic, heading for the tall bone-trees. It hardly slowed as it passed the treeline and disappeared from sight.

  “Probably just the disorienting effect of the Leap,” said Alia. “I mean, even for us it was…”

  She didn’t get to finish, as the air was filled with the horrifying sound of the horse’s screams. Patch saw the tops of the trees swaying slightly, near where the horse had vanished. Then, abruptly, the screams were silenced.

  Wide-eyed, the soldiers in the meadow stood in readiness; the Battle Pipers among them took their Pipes in their hands, prepared to defend against whatever might emerge.

  But there were no more sounds, and the trees stopped swaying.

  The beating of wings came from behind them, and they turned to see Merta approach, low to the ground. “I’ll see what I can see from the air,” she said, and started to climb, but when she was barely fifty feet up she faltered and crashed to the grass. Barver unfurled his wings, preparing to fly to where she’d fallen.

  “Stop!” cried Alia. “Run to her, Barver. Don’t fly.” She was looking at the very air above them with what seemed like suspicion.

  They hurried over to Merta, and her eyes flickered open. “What…” she said. “What happened?”

  “You lost consciousness,” said Alia. “Did you notice an odour, Merta? A smell?”

  Merta frowned at first, but then her eyes widened. “Apples,” she said. “I could smell apples.”

  Alia nodded. “Something is very wrong with this place,” she said.

  “What does it mean?” Barver asked.

  “I’m not sure,” said Alia, looking up again at the air above, as if she simply didn’t trust it. “None of you should fly to any height, though, and perhaps not fly at all.”

  Everyone decided to keep as far from the bone-trees as they could.

  A stream ran out of the sycamores, and one soldier was brave enough – or thirsty enough – to try it. It seemed safe, although most decided they could wait a while longer before consuming anything from this place. The death cries of the horse still filled their thoughts.

  Several groups were organized to investigate the sycamores themselves. While the bone-trees inspired dread, the sycamores created no such feeling. One group went first, and came back with tales of fruit-laden bushes, and rabbits scampering.

  “Did the rabbits have fangs?” Patch muttered to Barver. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they did.”

  After a second group had ventured safely in and out of the sycamores, Barver decided he was going to take a look for himself. As Patch tried to dissuade him, they walked along the edge of the trees.

  “Come on,” said Barver. “Just a little explore, we’ll not lose sight of the meadow.”

  They’d opened up quite a gap to everyone else. “No,” said Patch. And then he saw something through the trunks ahead of them. “Is that what I think it is?” he said, and curiosity took over.

  It was a fence, not very far in from the treeline. They reached it quickly, and it was a curious thing; the fence-posts ran between the trees, and were carved into spiral patterns, with only a single piece of rope strung between the posts. Further in, the trees seemed to thin out a little.

  “It’s like a boundary marker,” said Patch. “It certainly wouldn’t keep anything in or out.”

  “A fence of any kind means there are people here,” said Barver. “They can tell us where we are!” He stepped over the rope.

  “Don’t!” said Patch. “You get back here at once! We should tell the others before we go any further.”

  But Barver was already off, heading to the right.

  Patch stood where he was, quietly wishing he’d not ventured into the trees at all. He was torn between going back to tell the others, and waiting in case Barver suddenly needed help. Barver was almost out of sight, though; Patch decided to wait it out. “I’ll just stay here, then, shall I?” he called.

  As he stood waiting, he noticed something through the trees to the left: a hint of distant blue, that was surely water. Curiosity won the day again. A quick look won’t hurt, he thought. A short walk took him down a gentle slope that wound around a small hillock, and there it was:

  The sea.

  The sea was far lower down, so he knew there was a cliff-edge up ahead. Patch wasn’t willing to get much closer for now, so he turned around, intending to call for Barver.

  An enormous griffin was right in front of him, giving him a very hostile stare.

  “What’s all this noise?” said the griffin. “Who are you people? Are you real?”

  It stepped forward and prodded Patch’s chest, knocking him to the ground before pinning him down with one hand. “You seem real!” said the griffin. “Can you talk?”

  Patch noticed that the creature had a collar around its neck, attached to a length of chain. The chain trailed back towards the hillock, and now Patch realized there was a rocky opening there: a cave.

  The griffin pressed its hand down harder on his chest, and Patch could hardly breathe. As he was on the verge of passing out, the griffin seemed to understand and took some of the weight off. Patch gulped a lungful of air, and let out a tremendous scream.

  The griffin scowled. “So loud!” it said. “Wait, if my ears hurt, that means I’m not imagining things again!”

  And then it stopped talking. It looked up from Patch, staring to its right.

  Barver was rushing back between the trees.

  Distracted, the griffin’s weight on Patch grew again.

  “Stop!” cried Barver. “You’re hurting him!”

  The griffin looked down, then took its hand off Patch and backed off.

  Patch stood and hurried to Barver, standing behind his friend for protection.

  “You can’t be…” said the griffin. “You can’t be real…”

  “I am real,” said Barver, and Patch saw that great tears were falling from the dracogriff’s eyes, just as tears were falling from the griffin’s eyes. Barver walked closer and put his hand on the griffin’s beak, and the griffin nuzzled up to it, eyes closed.

  “What’s going on?” said Patch, bewildered.

  Barver seemed just as bewildered as Patch was. “This… this is Gaverry Tenso, Patch,” he said. “This is my father.�
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  Barver and his father retreated to the cave in the hillock to talk. It had been Patch’s suggestion, to give father and son some time alone before telling the others about their discovery.

  Patch stood as close to the cliff’s edge as he dared, watching the sea far below – a sea that stretched out to the horizon with no sign of land, no hints at where in the world they’d found themselves.

  After an hour, Barver came out of the cave. He and Patch returned to the meadow, and took Tobias and Alia to one side to explain what they’d found.

  “Your father is what links you to this place,” said Alia. “He’s the reason the Leap Device brought us here. But only a large piece of pure obsidiac was powerful enough to actually make it happen. He and Alkeran vanished at the same time. The collar you mentioned confirms it: this is where Alkeran was held captive, and clearly the same thing happened to your father. This is the Bestiary.”

  Patch had known from the moment he’d seen that collar, but to hear Alia say it aloud made it real, and terrible.

  For the Bestiary was a prison. They had escaped certain death at the hands of the Hamelyn Piper, only to find themselves trapped.

  “Dad says that the meadow’s safe by day,” said Barver. “But this place changes in the dark. At night, things come out of the bone-trees to feed. There’s a fence within the sycamores, beyond which it’s safe. Everyone should be on the other side of that before nightfall.”

  “What, everyone?” said Tobias. “Two hundred and sixty humans, thirty-nine horses, one dracogriff and three griffins!”

  “Four griffins,” corrected Barver.

  “Yes, yes, four griffins, including your father,” said Tobias. “We still have the problem of food to deal with. How can we possibly feed them all?”

  “There’s more than enough space, and Dad says there’s plenty of food,” said Barver. “Bushes produce fruit all year round, and replenish overnight. The rabbits are plentiful, and are slow and easy to catch. He said…” Barver paused, wary of what he was about to say. “It may just be that he’s been alone for so long, but Dad said this place is alive. Alkeran said he never saw a jailer. Dad says this place is the jailer. And it caters well for its prisoners.”