by K J Taylor
Senneck stood up with a lurch, and moved on.
Riding on her back while she walked was uncomfortable. With every step her shoulder-blades jabbed upward into his legs, and the motion made him rock alarmingly from side to side. Her limping made it worse. But Kullervo hardly cared. She was warm beneath him, and her feathers were soft, and the familiar scent and sight of her filled him with relief and a sense of joy that surprised him. All he wanted to do was talk to her, to try to express just how glad he was to be with her again, but he said nothing. It wouldn’t mean anything to her. He held on to his happiness all the same, nursing it like a child with a doll.
Senneck didn’t walk very far. She kept on until she reached the first level of the griffiner quarters, then stopped at the nearest opening in the wall. “I am going to fly now,” she told her passenger. “Hold on and do not panic.”
“I’m not afraid of flying.” Kullervo laughed. “Go!”
Senneck launched herself into the air with ease, and soared up over Warwick. On her back, Kullervo let go of her neck and held his arms out like wings, and let out a call.
“Kulleeeervooooo!” It sounded more like a whoop than the challenge it should have been, but it excited Senneck, too. Without thinking, she flew in a wide circle and did something she hadn’t done in far too many long years.
“Senneck! Senneck!”
Kullervo laughed wildly and called his own name again, until it rose and mingled with hers. For him, it was a declaration of freedom. For her, it was something much more. After such a long time, she was back at last, and all the North should know it. She had had her revenge at last. She put all of that into her call, and gloried in it.
Kullervo jerked alarmingly on her back, and quickly took hold of her neck again. She stopped calling when she felt his talons dig into her and flew away out of Warwick.
A little way away, outside the walls, she landed in a snowy clearing. Her wounded forepaw bent sideways, and she staggered to a halt against a tree, hissing.
Kullervo fell off her back, crying out when he hit the ground. “Are you all right?” he asked, rising to his knees.
Senneck flopped onto her belly, and nibbled tenderly at her paw. “This will take time to heal.” She thrust it into the snow and sighed as the cold soothed the pain.
Kullervo peered around at the clearing. “Free at last,” he muttered. “And never again . . .” He broke off and scooped up a double handful of snow, rubbing it over his face and eating lumps of it to quench his thirst.
“Yes,” said Senneck. “I am glad to see you safe again. Erian would not have approved.”
Kullervo looked at her. “You never talk about him.”
“What is there to speak of? He was my human, and now he is gone.”
“I don’t really know much about him,” said Kullervo. “Just that he tried to stop my father, and my father killed him.” He wheezed a laugh, through his broken teeth. “I can’t imagine he would like it if he knew you carried me. The Dark Lord’s son!”
“Erian did not like half-breeds,” Senneck said matter-of-factly. “He saw Laela when she was small, and told her mother that she should smother the child before other humans knew.”
Kullervo grimaced and ate some more snow.
Senneck sniffed the air and checked the sky before getting up and moving to the shelter of a wattle tree. “It is good that you escaped and came to meet me. I would not have been able to free you myself.”
Kullervo held up a warped hand, displaying the talons. “These freed me.”
“You fought them to escape,” Senneck said approvingly.
Kullervo looked away. “Yes. I didn’t think I would get away ever. If I could have changed . . .”
“Why did you not change?”
“I don’t know. I think . . . I mean, I think it was being in such a small space, with all those chains, it just—I’m just too much of a coward.”
“I do not understand,” said Senneck.
“Small spaces,” Kullervo blurted out. “Bars. Chains. They scare me. Scare me half to death. They don’t have to do anything to me; just being locked up is enough. I can’t change when I’m like that. My mind just freezes up.” His bruised face had turned pale. Even talking about it seemed to bother him, and he crawled in under the tree and curled up against Senneck’s flank, hugging his knees. “Coward,” he mumbled, apparently to himself.
Senneck raised a wing, brushing him with the feathers. “They hurt you. To make you tell them things.”
“They hit me,” said Kullervo. “Pulled my feathers out. Didn’t give me food. Broke my teeth.” He said all this quite calmly. “I never talked. Pain doesn’t bother me much. You learn how to live through it.”
“Then you told them nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“How did you escape?”
“Today,” said Kullervo. “Today, they took me out into a different room. They took all my clothes off, tied me face-down, and I thought . . . thought they were going to . . .” He shuddered violently and didn’t stop for a long time.
“What did they do?” Senneck asked, almost gently.
“Someone wanted to study me,” said Kullervo, and for the first and only time there was real hatred in his voice. “Wanted to look at my wings and my tail, and take notes and draw diagrams. They had me tied up there naked, a specimen for a scholar.” His lips drew back over his teeth, and he hissed—a griffin’s hiss that didn’t belong with that ugly, human face.
Now Senneck looked angry. “Eeyakka-ree! How dare they do such a thing? To hurt is one thing, but no creature should be humiliated that way. You are not an object to be prodded.”
“The woman said I was a creature,” said Kullervo.
“We are all creatures,” said Senneck. “You should have killed her.”
“I did.” Kullervo looked miserable.
“Then I am proud of you,” said Senneck. “Was it a good kill?”
“I tore her throat out with my talons.”
“Excellent.”
“I killed five people today,” Kullervo said in a flat, hollow tone. “I never killed anyone before in my life, but today I killed five. I couldn’t help it, I was just so angry, and afraid . . .”
“Silence!” Senneck rasped. “I will not hear you apologise for what you have done. You freed yourself and saved your own life and punished those who deserved it.”
Kullervo didn’t seem to hear her. “I never wanted to hurt anyone. Why can’t people live together, and be happy? Why do they have to fight and kill each other?” he spread his hands, baring the talons. “I know what I look like and what I am, but I don’t want to be just that, I want to be more.”
Senneck said nothing.
Kullervo bowed his head. “All I wanted was a family. All I wanted was a friend.”
“You have family,” said Senneck. “You have your sister.”
He looked up. “I thought she was going to come and help me. Why didn’t she come?”
“Oeka would not allow her to leave Malvern,” said Senneck.
Kullervo looked bewildered. “Oeka . . .”
“You have not seen her since you were captured,” said Senneck. “She has become . . . twisted by magic.” She rubbed her beak on Kullervo’s head. “You are not a monster. I tell you, Kullervo, if you wish to see a monster, then look at Oeka. That is what a true monster is.”
“She hates me,” said Kullervo.
“And fears you,” said Senneck. “But we will speak of her later. For now, we must rest.”
“Can I lie against you? It’s cold out here.”
“Yes. We should share our warmth.” Kullervo snuggled down against her, and she covered him with her wing. It was indeed cold in the clearing, but both of them were exhausted.
Senneck stayed awake longer than Kullervo did, watching out for danger. Whe
n he woke up, she would talk to him again. There were many things to tell him. He would understand. And when that was done, and they had talked over what they were going to do, it would be time to go home.
25
Dreamings
While Senneck and Kullervo slept together, night came. The moon rose over Warwick, shining white light on its streets. It shone on the tower, where a sleepless Iorwerth looked up to see Lord Aeron come in. He already knew what he was about to hear.
“He died.”
“I’m sorry, sir. There was nothing I could do. A younger man, maybe, but . . .”
“What have ye done with the body?”
“Nothing, just covered it up.”
“Good. Have it put in the vaults. Tomorrow, Kaanee and I will take it up to Taranis’ Throne.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the healer had left, Iorwerth looked out the window, and the moonlight shone into his eyes. “Night God,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
The moon seemed to stare back. He knew it was the Night God’s eye up there, cold and accusing. He couldn’t bear to meet it any more, and he looked away. All he could think of was Nerth, looking up at him and accepting death—the death that was Iorwerth’s fault.
What have I done?
The moon shone on Senneck and Kullervo, too, where they slept, Kullervo hidden under Senneck’s wing like a guilty secret.
It shone on the snow-covered mound not far away, where something had been buried.
It shone in the void and guided Saeddryn Taranisäii forward.
She stood alone in the blackness and knew who she was seeing in front of her.
She knelt and bowed her head. “Master.”
Rise.
Saeddryn did. “Master. I know ye, Master.”
Of course you do, said the Night God. You have served me all your life, and have earned a place beside me.
Saeddryn did not smile. Her hand went to her throat. “I remember . . .”
Yes. Your death will be your final memory. Saeddryn, I have a task for you.
Saeddryn could hear something, some distant pounding that thudded in her ears. Her vision began to flash red, and she groaned. “That griffin killed me . . .”
Yes, the Night God said dispassionately. You died because you fought the half-breed, the Risen Sun, the one the griffins call Aeaei ran kae. My people thought that it was the bastard that Arenadd killed, but they were wrong. It was the child. I warned Arenadd that she was a danger to him, but he would not listen. He was disobedient, and I took his powers and dragged him into the void.
Saeddryn snarled. “I knew that half-breed brat wasn’t t’be trusted.”
And you were right. The Night God smiled. But I expected no less. You were faithful and loyal all your life. Your cousin was a lost soul, full of doubt. For half his life he denied me, hated me, shut me away. When life crushed him, he turned to me at last in hatred, and I made him my greatest servant.
“He was weak,” said Saeddryn.
Yes. At his core, he was weak. Too many years alone, too much of a life lived in lies. But you, Saeddryn, you are strong. The Night God reached up to her face, and took the full moon out of the hole where her eye had been. It hovered just above the palm of her hand, throwing light on both their faces. My avatar has been destroyed, but now I must have him back. Arenadd will not do; he will not kill his own daughter. That is why I have chosen you, Saeddryn.
“Me?”
Go back. Go back and become Kraeaina kran ae, the Shadow That Walks, the heartless warrior, the Mistress of Death. Go back and do my will one last time.
In a flash, Saeddryn remembered Arenadd. She thought of a gaunt, lonely man who had lost all his joy in the world, a man who had cried out to his dead beloved without knowing the woman he embraced was his own cousin. She thought of those twenty cold years when she had grown old while he remained young . . . but ancient inside, and dead.
“No! Please no. Don’t make me like that, I beg ye, Master. Don’t make me live like that.”
I will not. The Night God’s brow furrowed. I promised Arenadd power and wealth for his loyalty, and he accepted, and was given it. But you, Saeddryn, you shall have whatever you wish for the moment you have done all I ask.
“Let me die, then,” said Saeddryn. “I want a promise. I’m an old woman, an’ my time’s done. When I finish this, I want t’be allowed to rest. That’s all.”
You have my promise, said the Night God. When your task is done, you shall die as every mortal does and will go to be with your husband and your daughter.
Saeddryn smiled. “I’d like that. I only wish I were stronger. My knee’s gone bad, an’ I’ve only got one eye.”
That has never troubled me, the Night God said. When an eye is gone, all you must do is find a another. She took the full moon in her hand, and pressed it into Saeddryn’s face. For a moment her eye-socket felt freezing cold.
Go now, said the Night God. And remember your task.
Saeddryn stood up. “What do ye want me to do?”
Kill the half-breeds, the Night God commanded. Kill them both and place a true Taranisäii on the throne of Tara. When you have done it, you may rest.
Saeddryn’s eye narrowed. “Two half-breeds?”
You know them both. The usurper, and the freak who calls himself a man-griffin.
“Man-griffin? Ye mean that thing I had locked up?”
His name is Kullervo. Kill him.
“I will.”
Good. Now go back, Saeddryn.
She turned but saw nothing except blackness. “How? I don’t know the way.”
Do not worry. You shall have a guide.
“It’s this way,” a voice said, from beside her.
Saeddryn turned. “Arenadd?”
Arenadd curled his lip at her. “I saw you die. Who would have thought the Bastard’s griffin was still alive? She certainly taught you a nasty lesson.” He snickered.
“I knew I was going t’die,” Saeddryn said. “Ye put yer curse on me, cousin, like ye did with all those poor girls.”
“Maybe, but why should I care?” said Arenadd. “You were the one who got me drunk and pulled me into bed.” He shuddered.
Arenadd, do as I have commanded, the Night God said.
He cast a look of pure hatred at her. “As you wish, Master. Saeddryn, take my hand.”
It felt like ice. “Now where—?”
Arenadd tugged, and the darkness rushed away around them. The Night God disappeared. Saeddryn felt herself being pulled forward, faster and faster, until the memory of her body distorted and streamed out behind her like water. She could still feel Arenadd’s hand holding hers, and she gripped it tightly.
To her surprise, Arenadd squeezed back, almost . . . reassuring?
The darkness bloomed into white, and the feeling of his hand went away. As Saeddryn’s journey ended, she thought she heard a voice calling, distant and forlorn. “Don’t make my children suffer, Saeddryn. Please . . .”
Cold, freezing cold. It was all Saeddryn found to greet her when she woke up. Instinctively, she clawed upward, struggling to escape. The cold fell away, and blinding light hit her eye. She cried out, falling forward onto something wet and icy.
Blood filled her mind, blood and bodies. Arddryn. Nerth. Aenae. Torc. Even Arenadd. Their bodies all crushed and torn into this wet, slick stuff that buried her, pulling her down into the red depths. They were all dead, all of them, and her, too; she was one of them, drowning in them . . .
Saeddryn thrashed about, gagging, feeling the pain of the wounds that had nearly torn her in half. The wet stuff churned up around her, covering her head and arms, and she slumped, mouth wide open like a landed fish.
The pain faded gradually, and she let her breathing slow. No blood. This wasn’t blood.
Don’t panic, she to
ld herself. Think.
Her eye peeled open and saw nothing but whiteness. Was she blind?
Snow. It’s snow.
Only snow.
She sat up, and almost immediately she felt different. Her pain had gone, and she felt strong. There was no ache in her joints, no faint hum in her ears. She felt more alert than she had done in years, and much clearer in her mind. All her old doubts and fears had faded away. Even her grief for Arddryn felt distant. And her sight—her sight was perfect. In both eyes . . .
Eyes?
Her hand went to her face, feeling for the familiar eyepatch. It was gone. The dead eye underneath felt the same—just a twisted eyelid, collapsed inward where the eyeball had been punctured and taken out. But she could see! As perfectly as if she had two eyes, or perhaps even better.
She chuckled softly. “Thankye, Master. I won’t waste this gift, I promise.”
Saeddryn stood up in the snow, moving with a new grace and power. Her clothes hung off her in bloody rags, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything any more.
She looked around, testing her new sight, and stopped suddenly when she realised she wasn’t alone.
A little way away among the trees, a massive, dark griffin stood watching. His eyes gleamed silver as he turned his head, regal and silent.
“Skandar,” Saeddryn blurted.
He regarded her a little longer, and she saw his talons fretting at the snow. “White griffin come,” he said tersely. “Say fly here and use magic one time more.”
“Ye brought me back,” said Saeddryn. “The way ye did before . . .”
“Use magic,” Skandar repeated. “White griffin say carry you, make you my human.”
Saeddryn smiled evilly. “Come on then, Skandar. Let’s go and destroy those half-breed scum.”
Skandar snorted. “Not come. Not carry you. Mighty Skandar have only one human. Not you. You enemy to human, make him leave nest.”
“But yer the dark griffin,” Saeddryn argued. “The shadow griffin. I was chosen by the Night God—ye have t’be my partner now.”
“Human go fight alone,” said Skandar. “Mighty Skandar not care.”