by K J Taylor
27
Home Again
Senneck and Kullervo flew back to Malvern at last, together. It was a slow journey; slower than it had been before. They stayed away from civilisation, living off whatever they scrounged. Senneck was too weak to hunt, and Kullervo was too far gone to care what he ate. He did his best to treat his partner’s wounds, and his own. That she was his partner wasn’t something he doubted even though neither of them had discussed it. She had called him “her” human, and as if that settled it, she had begun to treat him that way.
Neither of them talked about the encounter with Saeddryn either, not for the first day or so. They flew, ate, and slept in silence, busy with their own thoughts, even though Kullervo guessed they were both thinking the same thing.
Finally, one evening, while he was retying the crude bandage on Senneck’s forepaw, he spoke out. “What happened to Saeddryn?”
Senneck raised her head sharply. “Have you not guessed?”
Kullervo had, but he did his best to ignore the awful possibility. “I don’t know,” he said lamely. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
Senneck laid her head down on the ground. “She has become like her cousin. Kraeai kran ae!”
Kullervo’s stomach turned. “My father could do those things?”
“Yes. When Kraeai kran ae wanted an enemy dead, nothing could stand in his way. Now the one-eyed one has inherited his powers, and I am the one she wants dead.”
She’s afraid, Kullervo realised. “And me as well. Oh, gods, what are we going to do?”
“I do not know,” said Senneck.
“She’ll want Laela dead, too,” said Kullervo. “We have to warn her! She stopped my father somehow, maybe she knows what to do.”
Senneck gave him a long, slow look. “But it would seem that you know what to do also, Kullervo.”
He stared back at her. “What? No I don’t.”
“But you stopped her,” said Senneck. “You saved my life.”
She said this quite matter-of-factly, but Kullervo blushed with pleasure. “I don’t know how I did it. I just kept looking until I saw her, then I tried to pull her away from you, and I did.”
“You could see her?”
“Yes. Couldn’t you?”
“I saw nothing,” said Senneck.
Kullervo was silent for a few moments. “Senneck?”
“Yes?”
“Is . . . did you . . . you chose me, didn’t you? To be your human.”
“You are my human now,” said Senneck. “The choice is made.”
Kullervo smiled joyfully. “Was it because I saved your life?”
Senneck gave him a look. “I had made the decision well before that.”
“Why, then?”
“I chose you because I believed you were worthy,” she said. “I wanted you.”
“Why, though?” Kullervo persisted. “Griffins only choose important people—”
Senneck chirped amusement. “Yes, we do, and I am proud of myself. My new human is a Prince.”
“I—” Kullervo began, and stopped. “Oh. A Prince?”
“You are the son of a King,” said Senneck. “That would make you a Prince, unless I am wrong.”
“No, I suppose it does,” Kullervo mumbled. “I never really thought about it.”
Senneck yawned. “This land is ruled by the Taranisäii family. You are one of them.”
Kullervo looked bewildered, then he began to smile. “Yeah . . . I am, aren’t I? Kullervo Taranisäii. Prince Kullervo Taranisäii.”
“I am glad to have chosen you,” Senneck said solemnly. “In your own way, you are a noble, and you have proven that you can protect me from the cousin of Kraeai kran ae.”
“Maybe, but I don’t know who’s going to protect me,” said Kullervo.
“Do not worry. We shall find a way.”
Kullervo’s expression was grim. “If we don’t, then we’re all dead.”
Laela finally went through her womanhood ceremony on the night of the full moon, the day after word of the victory at Warwick reached Malvern. The new Moon Temple wasn’t finished yet, but the foundations of the old one had been cleaned and still featured the stone circle and the altar at the centre. Rituals had still been held there in the open air while the new walls went up around it, and Laela hadn’t seen any point in delaying her own ritual any longer.
The news of Iorwerth’s victory hadn’t been greeted with any excitement from Malvern’s population. Nobody in the Eyrie had seemed very happy about it either, least of all Laela herself. The best she could manage was some grim satisfaction at Arddryn’s death and Saeddryn’s probable death. Despite the fact that nobody had been able to find the former High Priestess’ remains, Laela had formally declared her dead. She had even been gracious enough to give the new High Priestess permission to hold a mourning ceremony.
Hundreds of ordinary Malvernians had come to pay their respects. Laela had seen them from her vantage-point up at the top of the Council Tower. It had made her very glad that she had decided not to make an appearance.
It cheered her up to see plenty more people gathering for her womanhood ceremony. At least some of her subjects cared about her formal acceptance as a true Northern woman.
Gwenna, the new High Priestess, wore a wooden wolf mask. Around her, the rest of the priestesses stood in a ring, each one with an animal face of her own.
Laela had to stand in front of the altar, wearing nothing but a fur loincloth that left her breasts exposed. She had argued with Gwenna about this, but the High Priestess had been unmoved. Everyone had to do it this way, she explained. It was traditional.
Now Laela stood as still as she could and gritted her teeth at the cold, while Gwenna recited the sacred words and prayers to the Night God. The ritual was peppered with questions directed at Laela—she had memorised them beforehand, and answered them without any trouble. At one point she stumbled briefly, but Oeka’s voice whispered the words in her head. The small griffin had ignored the rule that only humans were allowed at the ceremony, and crouched just outside the circle with her blind eyes drooping, the mind behind them missing nothing.
At last, the moment came. Gwenna took the needles and the pot of blue ink, and came closer. “With these marks, the Night God blesses ye,” she intoned. “Take them, and prove ye are a true Northern woman.”
Laela knew all too well what that meant. She held out her right arm, and waited. When the needle plunged toward her chilled skin for the first time, she turned her head away and braced herself.
The pain was appalling. She felt the needle stab into her flesh, in and out, again and again, moving all over her arm with agonising slowness. Part of her could hardly believe it—this couldn’t possibly go on, it couldn’t be like this all the way through!
Do not cry out, Oeka warned. Do not!
Laela’s teeth ground, and tears squeezed out of her eyes. Mentally, she listed every swear-word she knew and invented some more when they weren’t enough. Just end, she prayed at last. Please just be over!
Another part of her, removed from the pain, quietly reflected on how stupid it all was. Here she was, taking part in a ritual to dedicate her life to the Night God—that same god that wanted her dead. And she was turning her back on Gryphus, whom she had been raised to believe in since childhood. But he was no better than the Night God, she thought wildly. He looked different to her, and he ruled a different people, but he wanted all the same things. The gods were both as cruel and heartless as each other, and as bloodthirsty. Damn the both of them, she thought.
But curse you most of all, she yelled internally at the Night God. I killed Arenadd, an’ his cousin, an’ now I’ll rule the North an’ there ain’t a thing yeh can do to stop me. Yeh hear that?
Well said, Oeka’s voice intruded.
And then, it was over.
The other priestesses raised their hands and murmured their own blessings. Several in the crowd called out. “Bless ye, Queen Laela! Bless ye in the Night God’s holy name!”
Despite everything, Laela felt happy to hear them.
The priestesses filed out, with Gwenna at their head, and she was free to leave the half-built Temple. An attendant handed her a cloak, and she covered herself up, cringing when the cloth touched her bleeding arm. The council had come to witness the ceremony and formed into a procession behind her as she walked out past the crowd. Oeka came to her side, and they went back toward the Eyrie. The councillors’ griffins had stayed away, and they had to walk as well. Laela doubted she would ever fly on Oeka’s back, and she was secretly glad that, this time at least, she wasn’t the only griffiner who had to stick to the ground.
You did well, Oeka said unexpectedly.
“Thanks,” Laela muttered.
I feel your hatred for their ceremonies, the small griffin added. You are wise.
Laela said nothing.
There are no gods, and you are right to be contemptuous. Humans are weak creatures, without magic of their own, and they invent this foolery to make themselves feel more important than they are.
“Shut up.”
Oeka gave her a sting of mental pain. Do not speak to me that way!
Laela winced but didn’t apologise. She was sick to death of her partner’s constant harping. Oeka had always been arrogant, just like any other griffin, but these new powers had made her a hundred times worse.
You think I am conceited, the relentless inner voice said at once. You have no understanding.
Laela resisted the urge to clutch her head.
Once they were inside the Eyrie, the councillors went their separate ways. Laela and Oeka climbed to their own quarters. They had now moved into Arenadd’s and Skandar’s rooms; Laela had had her father’s bedroom redecorated in shades of blue—her favourite colour. Skandar’s oversized nest was far too big for the half-grown Oeka, but she didn’t seem to care. The gold-plated water trough probably helped to keep her happy even if she couldn’t technically see it any more.
Once her partner had left her alone, Laela dropped the cloak onto the floor and examined her arm. The whole thing was a mass of bleeding puncture marks—she couldn’t see the tattoos at all. If they were there, they were hidden under the swelling. She could at least make out the shape of them; spiralling patterns weaved their way over her skin, from her shoulder to the back of her hand. Bits of thread from the cloak were already sticking to it, and blood had crusted between her fingers.
She had left a bowl of water and a soft cloth ready before going to the Temple, and went to use them now. Gingerly, she lowered her arm into the bowl.
The water made her skin sting, but she kept her arm submerged until it settled down and began to throb dully. She picked up the cloth, braced herself, and very carefully patted down the tattoos. The cloth might as well have been a lump of sandstone, judging by how it felt, but she kept going doggedly until she had cleaned off the dry blood and half-formed scabs.
She had left a pot of ointment by the bowl, along with a towel. Once her arm was as clean as she could get it, she dried it and liberally applied the ointment. The stuff was smooth and cooling, and she sighed happily and daubed on several more layers. She wrapped a bandage over the top, and slumped into a chair by the fire to rest.
Someone had thoughtfully left a kettle of mead to warm by the flames, and she poured herself a large cup and tossed it back. It burned in her throat and warmed her stomach, and she sighed again. Thank gods, it was over.
I could have blocked out the pain, Oeka said from her nest.
“What?”
I could have reached into your mind and stopped you from feeling the pain.
Laela moved her arm to cover her face, and groaned when the bandages chafed. “Then why didn’t yeh?”
Because it was a test, the griffin said blandly.
“I thought yeh didn’t care about that crap.”
No, but I wanted to see if you would succeed.
“Thanks for the confidence,” Laela growled.
Rest now, Oeka advised. We will have more work to do in the morning.
“Can’t wait.” Laela glared into the fire. Yes, there was work to do. Saeddryn and her daughter might be dead, but there was still Caedmon, and he was an unknown quantity. She would not underestimate him, not even when it looked as if victory was certain. Something in her gut told her that this wasn’t over yet. It couldn’t be this easy.
Part of her wished she had been there at Warwick. To know her worst enemy had been killed, while she was miles away—it was childish, but it rankled. It felt as if the victory didn’t belong to her.
“We oughta go to Fruitsheart,” she said aloud, knowing Oeka would sense it anyway. “I want a part in this before it’s all over. Show ’em I can fight my own battles.”
I agree. I had planned to suggest it. I have idled in Malvern long enough, and with these new powers, I will be an unstoppable force. I will let my territory see what I can do!
“I know what yeh mean,” said Laela. “I’d like to get my punches in as well. Let’s wait until Iorwerth gets back an’ discuss it with him.”
Yes. He will help us to make plans.
“He’s a good man, Iorwerth is.”
After that, the conversation petered out, and Laela sat back to rest. She hoped Iorwerth would come back soon.
She thought of Kullervo, too, and wondered if he was all right and whether Iorwerth had rescued him, or whether Saeddryn had killed him. The idea that the shape-shifter might well be dead made her sad. They had only known each other a short while, but he had done everything she asked without asking for anything in return. In a way, he was the most loyal follower she had. She wished she hadn’t sent him into Saeddryn’s clutches.
“Poor thing,” she murmured. “I hope he’s all right.”
And I hope he is dead, said Oeka.
Laela ignored her.
Kullervo’s return to Malvern was an unceremonious affair. The unpartnered had reached it well ahead of himself and Senneck, and the excitement had long since died down by the time the ageing griffin and her ugly partner made their ragged, limping arrival.
Senneck flew directly to the Eyrie and landed in the nest she had claimed for her own. Kullervo almost fell off her back and lay on his side in the straw for a while, wheezing.
Senneck flopped onto her belly. She was too worn-out to fold her wings properly, and they draped untidily over her sides like two huge pieces of cloth.
Kullervo sat up, leaning on the wall. The journey had taken a toll on him, too; if anything he had become even more bony and awkward-looking than before. The remains of his teeth were rotting, and several of his wounds had become infected.
“Home ssshweet home,” he slurred, and went to sleep.
Senneck dragged herself to the trough for a drink and settled down to rest. “Kullervo. Kullervo!”
He jerked awake. “Huh? What?”
Senneck lifted a forepaw, and slowly scratched her face. “I need a healer, and so do you. Go now and find help.”
Kullervo stared dully at her for a while, then very slowly and shakily got up. “Of course. Wait here.” He limped off through the archway. One wing had escaped from the cloth he had tied around it, and wobbled pathetically back and forth. He didn’t seem to notice.
Left alone, Senneck sank into an exhausted sleep.
Kullervo had never felt so weak in his life, not eve
n after a change. His vision had gone hazy and grey around the edges, and his body felt broken in every bone and joint. His stomach moaned with hunger. But his goal had filled his mind, and he clung to it, using it to push himself on.
Not far from Senneck’s temporary quarters, he happened across a patrolling guard. The man took one look at him and drew his weapon, shouting some challenge or other in Northern.
Kullervo could feel himself swaying gently on the spot. “That way,” he croaked, pointing back at the door he had come through. “There’s a griffin in that room who needs a healer.”
“Who are ye?” the guard demanded, breaking into Cymrian.
Kullervo put a hand to his forehead as if to support it. “Kullervo. Messenger to the Queen. Back from Warwick to see her. Important news.”
“Prove it.”
“Can’t,” said Kullervo. “Ask the Queen.”
“How did ye get in here?”
“Flew.” Kullervo’s patience ran out. “My griffin needs a healer. Tell me where to find one.”
“Show me where she is an’ we’ll see,” said the guard.
“Fine.” Kullervo turned and walked back the way he had come, ignoring the guard’s exclamation of horror at the sight of the wing on his back.
In her nest, Senneck looked up as the two of them came in. “You see?” Kullervo said, gesturing at her. “She’s hurt. Go get a healer.”
The guard looked uncertain. “I never saw ye before. How do I know this is yer griffin?”
Senneck stood up. “Because I chose him, fool!” she hissed. “Now do as he tells you!”
The guard backed off smartly. “Ye gods!”
“She said to go get a healer like I told you,” Kullervo told him helpfully. “And get one for me, too!” he added. “And send someone to tell the Queen that Kullervo and Senneck are back.”
“Right, right.” The guard ran out.
Kullervo groaned and lay down beside Senneck. “I wish I was dead.”