by K J Taylor
“Should I stay, or go? I want to stay. It’s home. It should be. Could be. She doesn’t trust me yet. Not enough. That griffin hates me. Won’t trust me no matter what I say. Got to do it some other way. Be useful, Kullervo. Prove yourself. Danger’s here, anyway. Deal with danger, get trust. Simple.”
He sighed and sat down. His skin itched all over his legs and back. That was always a bad sign. He rolled up the leg of his trousers, and saw the tiny strands of fur prickling through the skin. His body, at least, had made up its mind. Time to go, then.
Kullervo left the room without another pause and went to work.
Small spikes had thrust out all over his chest and stomach. Soon, they would split open into new feathers. His entire head and face ached dully. He checked his exposed skin and hastily pulled out a feather-spike that had appeared on his neck. Time was short.
There was only one thing left to do, and that was find the High Priestess’ quarters. He stopped the first person he met and asked for directions.
“Why should I tell ye?” the person asked said, suspiciously. “Who are ye, anyway?”
Kullervo opened his mouth to begin a polite response. What came out instead was a low, venomous griffin hiss. “Tell me.”
The unlucky servant turned the colour of milk pudding. “Council Tower. Close to the top. There’s a moon on the door.”
Kullervo let him go and set out as fast as he could. Walking was becoming difficult. He could feel the bones in his feet shifting. Fortunately, he knew where the Council Tower was, and he was already in one of the upper levels of the tower he was in at the moment. He had always had a good sense of direction, and he found the nearest of the covered bridges that linked the towers and used it to enter the Council Tower. Inside, he went upward, inspecting door after door until he found the one with the silver-inlaid moon carved on it. He rasped to himself and turned the handle—not easy, with the talons in the way.
Locked.
Kullervo hissed. Yet again he could feel the rage building up inside him, sending signals to the gland that controlled his magic. It put more power into his system, and he groaned as dozens of new feathers spiked out all over his body. Hidden inside a trouser-leg, his tail twitched and darkened with fur.
Fighting against the transformation now taking him over, he slammed into the door shoulder first. It shifted slightly. Snarling, he threw himself against it, using the effort to make the feeling go away—that terrible, animal ferocity that wanted to twist him into its own shape.
The lock broke, and the door swung open. Panting, Kullervo went inside.
As soon as he entered, the smell hit him. It was just like the opening of the tomb. But this was an alive smell—stale, but alive. Other scents mingled with it, but he picked up the strongest one, the territorial one, and isolated it. He limped over to the bed and lifted the covers, taking in the odour. Human, female, elderly. Not good for food, said the griffish side of him.
He smiled to himself and moved on into the nest. There he picked up a stray feather from the straw, and ran it back and forth over his nostrils. Male, this griffin. Male, and powerfully magical. Kullervo put the feather into his tunic, and returned to the bedroom. A torn piece of sheet soon joined the feather. He paused to help himself to a dagger and a belt, and left.
There was no time to return to his quarters, so he ran off helter-skelter through the tower, searching desperately for a quiet place, any place. Every room was occupied. Panicking now, he sprinted into the first linking bridge he found, and into another tower. He didn’t know this one, but it was almost deserted. Every room he looked into was full of crates and boxes.
A storage place. Perfect.
He chose a room at random and shut himself in. A heavy box ensured that no-one would open the door, and he stumbled into a corner and lay down, gasping for breath. Safe.
Kullervo could feel the skin on his hands and arms thickening. Soon, it would begin breaking apart to make scales. His spine hurt hideously.
Fumbling with the cloth, he pulled his clothes off. Underneath, his skin was mottled with patches of grey fur and feather. Freed, his wings stood out proudly. Long spines had begun to appear, ready to form the flight feathers.
Kullervo’s hands felt wrong. The bones were lengthening and shifting position under the skin, making a pair of griffin paws. Moving fast, he wrapped the dagger in his clothes, and used the belt to tie it up.
And not a moment too soon. He had scarcely finished, when agonising pain rippled down from his head to the end of his tail. He went rigid with it, teeth clamped together. Tears streamed down his face, stinging the wounds Oeka had left on his cheek. With a clumsy, jerking motion, he thrust the bundle out of the way and fell onto his side. For a while, he lay still, then he began to twitch as the transformation really began.
His spine cracked, twisting into a new shape that sent a jolt straight through his tail. He moaned, able to hear the grinding of bones as his feet extended, stretching out into paws. On his back, muscles bulged out, connecting to the bones and joints in his wings, strengthening them for flight.
That wasn’t the worst.
An almighty crack split the air, so loud it sounded like the breaking of a tree. Kullervo let out an unearthly scream, and his lower back appeared to fold inward and downward as his pelvis broke and re-formed into something narrower, made for four-legged walking.
His scream continued, and rose as the very worst part came. The bones in his skull separated, plate by plate, flexing unnaturally until they showed through the skin. They thrust forward, distorting his face and shifting his eyes to either side of his head. His teeth melted together and pushed out of his mouth, fusing into a beak that swallowed up his nose, leaving two fleshy holes at the base.
After that, Kullervo fainted, but his magic continued to work, busily reshaping his body. His skin put forth thick fur, and feathers. His ears sank into his head, leaving only the very tips, which sprouted long plumes that pointed back toward his wings. His arms became scaled from the elbow downward, while his feet had become padded like a cat’s.
The whole transformation took most of the night, and when it was over, it left Kullervo the grey griffin huddled on the floor like a dead thing.
It was past noon the next day when Kullervo woke up, and when he did, pain greeted him. His entire body ached and throbbed like one big wound.
He opened his eyes a crack and waited until the world came back into focus. Things looked different through griffish eyes. Colours were warped. Objects far away were easy to see; objects up close were incredibly detailed. Any sort of motion caught his attention immediately.
His body was too weak to move yet, so he lay completely still and occupied himself by taking in everything in view. His brain still felt muddled, so he exercised it by searching through his memory. He remembered the scents of Saeddryn and Aenae, and he used them to build a picture in his head. Human and griffin. One would be far more dangerous than the other. But finding them would be good. He could see so much of Tara on his search. This was the land his father had ruled, and where he had died. Now he, Kullervo, would make it his home. Homes were things that had to be understood in order to be homes. Yes. Important.
Kullervo closed his eyes again and slept.
When he woke up the next time, he felt much better but ravenously hungry. Nothing left for it, then. He flexed his new limbs, hearing the cracks as the bones settled into place. Everything seemed to work. He got up laboriously and shook himself. That felt good.
Griffish instincts told him to groom, so he did. When his feathers were in order, he folded his wings and walked slowly around the room, testing his legs. They worked fine, but he still felt weak. Food was the only thing that could help.
He made for the door, his head full of images of fresh, bleeding meat.
A large, heavy box blocked his way.
While he was shoving it aside,
he remembered the bundle and darted back to pick it up. With the belt dangling from his beak, he put his chest against the box and pushed again. It slid aside, and he shoved the door open and went out into the passageway.
The scent of food led him to another room, far below the bottom level in an underground chamber where it was cool. Dried sides of meat hung from the roof.
Kullervo’s mind blanked out. When he came to, he found himself in the middle of the floor, gulping down enormous chunks of meat. He had broken the ribs underneath, and shards of bone were going down, too. It hurt, but he hadn’t seemed to notice.
The more human part of Kullervo’s mind idled, not needing to do anything while the animal gorged itself. It would have been too hard to do anything anyway; the animal part of his mind overwhelmed the human part with waves of such intense pleasure that thinking too much about it seemed like blasphemy.
Eventually, the feast ended, and Kullervo lay down—stomach visibly bulging—and rested. He could feel the food already being digested inside him, feeding new energy into his system. Eventually, it would replenish his magic. Until then, becoming human again was impossible. Not that he wanted to do it. He had already decided to stay in griffin form as long as he could. It made him feel so much stronger. And being able to fly . . .
He huffed happily to himself. Soon, very soon.
Laela was up on top of the Council Tower, enjoying the view, when Kullervo arrived. He shot up over the tower with a loud and joyful shriek, so fast she almost missed him. She backed away, looking upward, and saw him loop and dive in the air high above. The sun hit her eyes, and she narrowed them and looked away.
Kullervo finally came down to land—clumsily. He hit the ground unevenly and tottered sideways before recovering himself, but unlike an ordinary griffin, he didn’t try to act as though nothing had happened, or groom himself to get back some dignity. Instead, he turned to face her, breathing hard but full of energy. If he’d been human, he would have been grinning. “Flying!” he said. “I love it!”
Laela couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Ain’t really tried it myself, but it looks like fun.”
“Being able to fly makes me much happier to be what I am,” Kullervo said solemnly.
“That’s good,” said Laela. Beside her, Oeka snorted and walked away with a flick of her tail.
“Now,” said Kullervo. “It’s time. I’m ready to leave. I came here to say goodbye and see if you had anything else to tell me.”
Laela rubbed her chin. “We ain’t got much idea where she mighta gone, but my gut says she’s hidin’ in the mountains.”
“Which mountains?”
“Er . . . come to that, I dunno if they got a name. But there’s a gorge an’ a stone circle, called Taranis’ Throne. Here, I got a map for yeh.”
She unrolled it for him and held it up.
“I see,” he said eventually. “There’s Malvern, and I can see the mountains I flew over to come here. So the other mountains are up North, then?”
“Yeah.” Laela examined the map. “Hey, there’s a name on this thing. “The . . . First . . . Mountains. What, that’s what they’re called? Huh. Odd name. Anyway, that’s the ones yeh wanna go have a look at. The gorge oughta be easy to find; it’s right near the flat part where the stones are. Can yeh read maps all right?”
“I can. May I take it with me?”
“Sure, but I dunno where yer gonna put it,” said Laela.
Kullervo lifted the bundle he had brought with him. “Tuck it into the belt.”
“Good idea.” Laela loosened the belt slightly and stuffed the map underneath. “Lucky it’s made outta leather. There yeh go.”
“Thank you.” Kullervo put his head on one side. “I’ll find this traitor for you, Laela. I swear. All I want in return is to be your friend.”
Without even meaning to, Laela smiled wistfully. “I can always use another friend.”
“So could I.”
She couldn’t stop herself from coming over and hugging him around the neck. “I do know how yeh feel,” she whispered in his ear. “I really do.”
Kullervo lifted a foreleg and clumsily held her to him. “I need you, Laela. I’ve been alone in the world far too long. Please, just don’t leave me. Please.”
She pulled away, suddenly embarrassed. “Come back soon, Kullervo. Don’t make me worry about yeh.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’m stronger than I look. Good luck!” With that, he scooped up his precious bundle and flew away.
“Good luck to you, too!” Laela called after him. “I—” She stopped and turned sharply, as something moved past her.
It was Oeka. The small griffin stood in an awkward half-crouching stance, with her eyes fixed on the retreating Kullervo. She was hissing.
“What’s up with you?” Laela asked irritably. By now she was heartily sick of her partner’s constant sour behaviour.
Oeka looked back at her, narrow-eyed. “I am done with this,” she said. “Keep your guards close, and hope that they are enough. I have wasted far too much time standing over you like a nesting mother.”
“What are yeh talkin’ about—?” Laela began.
Oeka drew her talons over the stonework, leaving four long, pale lines. “You ignore me, you argue with me, you say you do not need me. Clearly, I am no use to you. If that is true, then so be it. You may rule your territory—without me.”
Laela took a step toward her. “No, wait—stop! Don’t leave—!”
Oeka looked back coolly, through her dark green eyes. “Try not to die,” she said, and leapt into the sky.
10
Bones, Spirits, and Caves
Kullervo didn’t hear Laela’s half-screamed yell of dismay. His ears were full of wind, and he was far too excited to be paying much attention anyway. He soared up and over Malvern, loving the feel of the wind in his feathers. The lands of Tara spread out ahead, inviting him to explore. He forgot all about his promise to Laela and set out.
Beyond the city were green fields, split by a winding brown snake of road. Other griffins flew here and there, straying beyond the city walls, but Kullervo ignored them. He could see the distant shapes of forests far in the distance, and he struck out toward them.
So this was the land his father had ruled. From the stories he had heard during his childhood, he’d always thought they would be snowbound and freezing. But though the air was cold, the landscape itself didn’t look much different than the many others he had seen in his life. Above, the sky was grey, threatening rain, but he thought it made everything look silvery. Timeless.
Beautiful.
With a griffin’s shape came a griffin’s senses and instincts. They included a strong sense of direction. Kullervo knew how to find North—any child could do it. But as a griffin it was different. The four directions were so important in his mind that he sensed them rather than sought them out and found himself keeping to a northward course without even thinking about it. He had been able to change his shape for some years now, but this was only the second time he had flown any great distance. Despite that, he found himself obeying other instincts—noting landmarks below him, constantly checking both sky and land for any threat. And for prey.
As time passed, he saw villages, and cities built around the river. Mentally, he ticked off the places he recognised from the map. Wolf’s Town, not far from the place where the river forked. Warwick, dark and walled. Fruitsheart, off in the distance by a huge lake.
It took him most of the day to reach Warwick, and though he was tempted to land there and scout things out, he was still determined to see the First Mountains before he did anything else. Besides, he was tired out and going into a potentially dangerous city now was a bad idea.
He landed in a nearby forest instead. He was hungry, but there was no food about, so he drank from a pool and slept, safely, in the branches of a
tree.
Next morning, he awoke, desperate for food. Fortunately, Laela had told him that Warwick’s lands were full of sheep, and he had taken that into account while planning his journey. Keeping a safe distance from the city itself, he visited one of the farming villages in the hills around it and filched a sheep from an unattended flock.
The griffish side of him was more than happy to eat it raw. In this shape, the hot, bleeding meat tasted wonderful, and Kullervo savoured every piece.
Re-energised, he flew on before the sheep could be missed, moving straight on toward the mountains, which were already looming large on the horizon.
He reached them just after midday. But when he arrived, it was to find something unexpected.
At the foot of the mountains, there was a tower. No city—not even a village—just a solitary tower, tall and solid, thrusting into the sky like a pointing finger.
Kullervo flew straight to it and circled around, examining it with fascination. It looked like a griffiner tower, but there were no doors at its base, and only one opening, right at the top. The whole thing was made from dark grey stone, flecked with silver mica, and as far as he could see there were no other signs of civilisation for miles around.
Once he was certain it was safe, he landed on the tower’s flat top and rested. The stones were flat and well joined, warm from the sun even though a cold wind was blowing down from the mountains. He found a hole in the centre, with a ramp leading down. It was huge, obviously made for griffins, and he cautiously went through it.
It led to an enormous, round room, one so big that it obviously filled the entire top level of the tower. The solitary opening he had seen earlier led into it, but there was no way down to a lower level—just the ramp leading to the roof and the one arched exit meant for a griffin.
The room had no furniture but was instead meant to be a gigantic griffin nest, with straw and dry grass piled everywhere. There was an oversized, rounded water trough, fed by a pipe from the roof. It gleamed in the light from the opening.