by K J Taylor
“Then he’s alive?”
“No. He’s dead now.”
“How?”
Laela hesitated. He wouldn’t believe her, but she knew there was only one story she could tell. Anything else would make her the murderer.
She gave up and plunged ahead. “Only one thing could kill him, an’ that’s what made him. The Night God. She killed him.”
Torc stared at her. “What?”
“She killed him. I saw it. She came down to us, all covered in light. She was angry with him. Said she told him to go invade the South, an’ he didn’t do what she said. He still wouldn’t do it. He said he was tired of fightin’, wanted peace for his Kingdom. She wanted him to kill me, but he wouldn’t do that either. He wouldn’t kill his own daughter. He turned on her. An’ then the Night God killed him.” Laela closed her eyes. “She said he was no more use, an’ then she . . . reached into him, pulled out somethin’ . . . all black and misty. Then she just threw him away, like garbage, an’ left.” A sob broke free. “I . . . I stood there an’ watched his bones break an’ all his old wounds open up. I held him in my arms, an’ he died. There was nothin’ I could do.”
Torc said nothing for a long time. He looked bewildered and upset. “I don’t believe you. That’s just a lie . . . blasphemy. The Night God wouldn’t . . .”
“How d’you know?” Laela snapped at him. “How do you know what she does? Have you seen her? Heard her voice? How d’yeh know? Yeh don’t know, Torc. Yeh don’t know nothin’. Yeh don’t know how evil she is.”
“Go away,” Torc rasped. “I won’t listen to this any more. Go away, half-breed. Your time is coming. The Taranisäiis won’t accept someone like you pretending to be one of them. The Night God will strike you down.”
All of Laela’s pity for him disappeared. “Fine. Stay here, then. An’ hope like mad that I don’t find an excuse to give yeh a chance t’see the Night God yerself soon.”
She stalked out, fighting back her own anger and tears. Outside in the corridor, she took a few moments to control herself and walked away rapidly, tight-lipped.
8
The Man-Griffin
“I shouldn’t’ve talked to him like that,” Laela mumbled later.
“No, you should not have,” said Oeka. “He is a prisoner, not a friend!”
“He’s family.” Laela felt too wrung-out to be angry. “I was upset. I thought . . . if he saw me like that, heard the truth, maybe he’d understand.”
“Blind hate understands nothing,” Oeka snapped. “I smelt it on him like a rotting dog. You have learnt nothing.”
“Not true.” Laela raised her head. “I know how Saeddryn’s thinkin’ now. An’ I know what she’s gonna be tellin’ people so they’ll do what she says.” She scowled.
“That is something, at least,” said Oeka. “But Torc must know more. Have him tortured.”
Laela felt queasy and said nothing.
Other than the interview with Torc, things were going well. The priestesses had finished their talk in the council chamber, and Gwenna had come to Laela to formally accept her offer. Laela had responded by immediately giving orders to the Master of Building to start designing a new Temple. In the meantime, a team of workmen had been organised to demolish the remains of the old one. The new High Priestess would be heavily involved with the rebuilding, along with her fellows. It should keep them busy for a while. Things were going smoothly.
For now, Laela could afford to relax and spend some time with Kullervo. Hearing his story should help take her mind off things.
The shape-shifter arrived in good time, but when he walked in, she didn’t recognise him for a moment. He’d washed and combed his hair, and more importantly had shaved off the beard. Without it, he looked much smaller and far less wild.
Laela stood up to meet him. “Well don’t you look neat.”
Kullervo grinned at her. “I couldn’t eat with a Queen without tidying up first. How do I look?”
She inspected him. Under the beard was a young man, probably younger than herself. His black hair and pale skin made him look more or less Northern, along with the lanky, wiry build that made him look awkward. The hump on his back made him look even more awkward, but she was puzzled that he didn’t hunch at all.
Kullervo caught her eye. “I know.” He sighed. “It’s the hump, isn’t it?”
Laela started. “No! Yeh look fine. Them clothes fit yeh well.”
“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he said kindly. “Look.” He pulled up the tunic that covered his back and turned around.
“Holy gods!” Laela said involuntarily.
Two long, spindly limbs sprouted out of Kullervo’s shoulder-blades. They looked like enormous grey-pink fingers, covered in ugly red pits.
“My wings.” Kullervo covered them hastily. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. The feathers fall out when I change, but I can’t make them go away.”
“It’s all right.” Laela coughed. “Just gave me a shock. C’mon, sit down an’ let’s eat.”
He took the seat she indicated, laughing at the look on her face. “I’d better not show you the tail.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve seen enough.” Laela considered a moment, then took a seat opposite Kullervo instead of her usual place at the head of the table. He blinked, and smiled.
They didn’t speak while the food was served, but sat and watched each other. The stares weren’t hostile, only curious, as they sized each other up.
“Go on, then,” Laela said when they had begun eating. “Tell me about yerself.”
Kullervo picked up a cup. He did it clumsily; the last joint of each finger was covered by a long talon. “I’d have trimmed them, but they won’t grow back fast enough, and I’ll need them soon,” he said. “What did you want to know about me?”
Laela tried not to stare. “One thing I’m curious about is how yeh were born. I mean, were yeh born human, or griffin?”
“Both.” Kullervo shrugged.
“All right then, who were yer parents? Human or griffin?”
“Both.” He smirked.
“That ain’t helpin’, Kullervo.”
“All right, I’m sorry.” He tapped his talons on the table. “It’s just . . . not easy to talk about.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Don’t tell me if yeh don’t want to. I’ll ask somethin’ else.”
He frowned, coughed, then looked directly at her. “No, I’ll tell you. It’s simple enough. And it’ll show you why I want to help you.”
Laela listened.
“My mother was a griffin,” said Kullervo. “When she was young, she committed a terrible crime. As punishment, another griffin changed her into a human woman. While she was in human shape, she took a human lover. I don’t think they ever thought they could have children, but they did. She gave birth . . . but not to a baby.”
Laela scratched her head. “What’d she give birth to, then?”
“An egg.” Kullervo smiled slightly at her expression. “She cared for it, like any mother griffin would. But when it hatched, what came out was me.”
“Human or griffin?” Laela was fascinated.
“Both.” Kullervo lost his smile, and for the first time she saw lines of pain around his yellow eyes. “The egg hatched into something hideous. Deformed. Human head, griffin wings. Human legs, griffin talons. Fur and feathers, but no beak. A child stuck halfway between two shapes.”
“Couldn’t yeh change back then?”
“No. I was so horrible to look at that people were afraid of me.” Kullervo said it quite matter-of-factly. “There was no way to tell what to feed me, or anything.”
“What did yer mother do?”
“What every griffin does if her hatchling is deformed. She abandoned me and never talked about me ever again. I was dead to her, for the rest of her life.”
“That’s awful!” Laela said. “How could anyone do that to her own kid?”
“It’s the griffish way,” Kullervo said.
“It is,” Oeka said from the floor. “Deformed hatchlings are no use and cannot survive.”
“But I did,” said Kullervo, without anger. “I was lucky.”
“Lucky how?” said Laela.
He smiled again. “I had wings, and I was born in the South. People there believe that a winged man is a sacred messenger sent by Gryphus. When humans found me, they decided they should look after me. If they did, Gryphus would bring them good luck.”
“Where did yeh grow up?” Laela asked.
“Many different places,” said Kullervo. “When I was a year or so, old the people who found me took me to a city called Withypool. I survived there; people would pay to look at me. Scholars wanted to study me. Even some griffins wanted to look at me, to decide if I was one of them or not.”
“What happened after that?”
“It took a long time for me to learn how to walk,” said Kullervo. “The bones in my legs and my back weren’t right. But I did it in the end. I lived in the fighting pits. That’s where I got my name.”
“What, they didn’t give yeh a name?” Laela said.
“No. I was just the griffin-boy. Griffin-man, eventually. I remember an old woman who called me ‘Griffy.’” Kullervo chuckled. “But I wanted a proper name. In the fighting pits, they told me about a famous griffin who defeated a powerful fighter even though he had a crippled leg. He was a great warrior all his life even though he could barely walk. I liked that story, and so I named myself after him. Kullervo.”
“It’s a good name,” said Laela.
“I like it,” said Kullervo. “I didn’t stay in Withypool, though. I wanted to.”
“Why’d yeh leave, then?”
“There was a plague,” he said. “People were dying everywhere. I didn’t know if I could catch it; I never did, though. The people who cared for me died, and so many others. So I left. And then, one day . . .”
“One day what?” Laela prompted.
He laughed softly. “My magic woke up.”
“Yeh mean like how a griffin’s . . . ?”
“Yes. When a griffin is old enough, he discovers his power. Mine is the power to change my shape; push either way to be fully human or fully griffin.” He smiled, blissfully. “I could fly at last. Had to learn first, though.”
“An’ then yeh came here?”
“When I felt ready,” said Kullervo. “And then I met you. I didn’t know what to do at first, but when I met you, I wanted to help you.”
Silence.
“It’s not easy being a half-breed,” Kullervo said quietly. “Is it?”
“Harder for you than me,” said Laela.
“But when I came here, I saw at least one of us had done well.” He reached across the table, and awkwardly tried to take her hand. “The world will never be kind to people like us, Laela. We can never belong. Not unless we fight for it. But the way I see it is that it’s always easier when you’re not alone. Isn’t it?”
She looked into his odd, sad face, and felt a lump in her throat. “Yeah,” she said huskily.
Kullervo withdrew his hand. “You and me, Laela,” he said. “We can show them what us half-breeds can do.”
“You bet we will,” Laela said. “That was an amazin’ story, Kullervo. An’ a sad one. I wish . . . I wish things could’ve been better for yeh. I really do.”
“The past is the past,” he said. “The future will be better. That’s what I’ve always believed. For example, the future will include my eating this. And that’ll be much better than just looking at it was.”
Laela laughed as he stuffed the piece of cheese in his mouth. “I love it!” She picked up her cup. “Here’s to the future. Bigger an’ better than anythin’ else the past had to offer!”
Kullervo grinned and downed his drink. “Exactly.”
“Now then,” Laela said later on, when the food was gone. “When yeh got here, yeh said somethin’ about lookin’ for a woman called Skade.”
“Oh.” Kullervo looked away. “Yes, I did.”
“Can I ask why yeh were lookin’ for her?”
“I was curious about her,” said Kullervo. “I heard she was born in Withypool. People talked about her yellow eyes, like mine. I suppose I always felt close to her. I knew she had gone to Malvern, and I thought if I said I was looking for her, it would stop people thinking I was a spy.”
“Shame she’s dead,” said Laela. “I would’ve liked to meet her. Sounds like she was as mean as I am.”
“Yes . . .” Kullervo muttered. “They called her the wild woman of Withypool.”
“I can show yeh her tomb,” Laela said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I know where it is. I’ll take yeh down now if yeh like.”
“I would like that,” Kullervo said.
“C’mon, then.”
Laela knew the way well enough; she’d visited the crypt once or twice since her father had first showed it to her. She escorted Kullervo down there and told him a bit about it along the way.
“I remember when I first saw it. It was when I was stayin’ in the Eyrie with my father . . . didn’t know he was my father then, though. One night he came to see me. He was drunk.” She cringed at the memory. “Poor bastard drank every night. Couldn’t sleep, see? Couldn’t forget what he’d done. Couldn’t forget her. So he takes me down here, says he’s got somethin’ to show me. For a while I thought he was gonna kill me. But instead he showed me—this.” She opened the door and took a lantern in.
Kullervo followed her to the stone tomb, with the statue of the woman lying on it. “Is this . . . her?”
“Yeah.” Laela ran her fingers over the cold grey face. “Skade. I still remember my father standin’ here, touchin’ her face like it was real. He said he couldn’t bear that she was gone, he still loved her an’ he wanted her back more than anythin’. But he never could have her back, an’ it destroyed him.”
Kullervo lingered over the face. “She looks . . . fierce. But beautiful.”
Laela didn’t think there was any beauty in it at all, only unkindness. “The only one the Dark Lord loved,” she said, half to herself. “Or so they say.”
Kullervo barely glanced up; he seemed entranced by the statue. “Can I stay here for a while?”
Laela cocked an eyebrow. “All right, if yeh want. I’ll leave the lamp.”
Alone with the likeness of the dead woman, Kullervo heaved a sigh. “So this is where he came,” he said aloud. “To mourn, when so many others had lost everything because of him.”
He touched the face, his talons tracing the sharp features and cruel eyes. Eyes that were too big, too slanted.
He lifted the lantern, hooking it with his talons, and moved it further down, searching. There were the hands, folded over the stomach. He examined them and hissed to himself.
Each long finger was tipped by a small claw, perfectly rendered in the stone.
Breathing hard, Kullervo took a step back. He almost left but stopped himself.
“I have to know,” he whispered.
He put the lantern down and felt around the edges of the tomb. There was a join, sure enough. He worked his talons into the gap and lifted hard. It shifted ever so slightly, but instantly settled back into place.
Kullervo crouched at the base of the tomb, took a moment to brace himself, and put all his strength into it. Muscles bulged in his back and arms. He breathed in deeply and shoved even harder, not giving an inch.
At last, the lid moved. He continued to work at it, teeth gritted. On his back, the wings flared upward, pointing toward the ceiling.
The tomb opened with a grinding of stone and a gasp from Kullervo. He shoved the lid aside, leaving it h
alf-on, and finally let himself rest. A blast of cold air escaped from the dark space inside, and he shuddered when the smell of old bones hit his nostrils.
He snatched up the lamp and shined it into the tomb.
The hollow skull of a griffin stared back.
Kullervo breathed in sharply. He almost started to laugh again. “It’s true. Gryphus help me, it’s true. You.”
He reached into the tomb and lifted the skull out. It came easily, dry skin and feathers still clinging in places. In the flickering light, the empty sockets seemed to wink at him.
Kullervo stared at it for a time, then hugged it to his chest. He slid down the side of the tomb and onto the floor, holding the skull close, and let out a sob. “Oh, gods . . . it’s all true. It was you.”
Only the silence answered him. The silence that had been there all his life.
Kullervo’s grip tightened on the skull.
“This is my place,” he said. “I should have come here years ago. Then I might not have been too late. But what could I have told him? What would he have done? Welcomed me?” he spat. “As if he would have been proud. Of me.”
Silence.
Tears dripped onto the skull.
Kullervo lifted it, so he could look at it face-to-face. “You abandoned me, Mother. But I won’t abandon her. Because I—” he sobbed, and lost his voice for a moment—“I still have a life, and so does she. You left me to die, but I didn’t. I never will. Life is mine, Mother. The life you lost. And I’ll keep it, no matter what.” He stood up abruptly and put the skull back into the tomb. “The past is dead. Long live the future. Long live the half-breed Queen.”
This time, moving the lid felt like nothing. Kullervo took a moment to wipe the tears away and breathed deeply to calm himself. Now he knew the truth, and that was enough. He had a place now, and a home—a real home, and a real friend who could help him.
But still . . .
The question followed him out of the crypt and back up into the tower. Should I tell her I’m her brother?
9
Leaving
That night, Kullervo paced back and forth in the disused room that had been given to him, and talked to himself—a habit he’d had for most of his life.