The Griffin's Flight

by K J Taylor

“Norton,” said Skandar.

  “What, Skandar?”

  “Norton,” the black griffin repeated. “We go to Norton. Not cave. Not want go there.”

  “I don’t care what you want,” Arren said coldly. “I am going to this cave, and you can’t stop me,”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Skandar snarled and lunged forward, scattering the fire with his claws. His beak struck Arren directly in the chest, knocking him violently to the ground, and before he could get up, the griffin had pinned him down, his huge talons threatening to crush him. Skade darted out of the way, but neither of them paid her any attention.

  Arren found himself looking up into a pair of blazing silver eyes. Skandar brought his beak down toward him, hissing. “My human,” he rasped. “Mine!”

  Arren struggled. “I am not yours, damn you!”

  Skandar pressed down harder. “Mine!”

  “Gods damn you!” Arren yelled. “Get off me! Get away from me! I hate you!”

  “Mine!”

  “No!”

  Man and griffin stared each other in the face for a few moments, challenging each other. Arren knew that, if Skandar wanted to, he could crush his chest to a pulp. He had done it to men in the Arena, dozens of times. It had made him famous. But he glared back anyway, not caring what the griffin did.

  “Now you listen to me,” Arren rasped, the pressure on his rib cage making his voice sound strange and hoarse. “This is your fault, griffin. What happened to me was because of you, understand? I am going to the spirit cave and I am going to be healed there, and you can go to Norton or anywhere else you want, but you can go on your own. Because I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of you, and I’ve had enough of this, and you can help me or you can go away. I don’t care.”

  The silence stretched out for what felt like an eternity. Skandar did not move. Arren could feel the griffin’s hot, rank-smelling breath on his face and see the myriad of tiny black veins that crossed the silver in his eyes. The only sounds were the wind in the trees and the faint crackling of the fire.

  Skandar removed his claws and backed away, hissing.

  Arren sat up, wincing. He said nothing but continued to stare coldly at the griffin, full of anger and a kind of hot, sick guilt.

  “I go,” Skandar said at last. Without another word, he turned and walked away. When he was a good distance from Arren, he opened his wings and broke into a stumbling run. Arren scrambled to his feet, suddenly afraid, but there was nothing he could do. Skandar took off in a clumsy flurry of wings and flew up and over the forest and then northward, growing smaller and smaller.

  Arren stared at the sky, full of shock. “He’s gone,” he said blankly.

  “So it would appear,” said a voice.

  Arren looked around, and froze.

  It was Skade. She was walking toward him, her sharp face wearing an expression of steady, cold determination. She was holding his sword.

  5

  The Pact

  Arren backed away. “Skade, what are you doing?” he said, reaching for his knife.

  The silver-haired woman stopped, resting the tip of the sword on the ground. “You should put your robe back on,” she said. “It is by your feet.”

  Arren glanced down and saw it lying discarded by the base of a tree. He snatched it up hastily and pulled it on. “That’s my sword. Could I have it back, please?”

  Skade gripped the hilt more tightly. “No. I will keep it for now, thank you.”

  Arren did up the fastenings on his robe and grasped the handle of his knife, though he didn’t pull it out. He didn’t want to risk provoking her. “What are you doing?”

  “I am sorry,” said Skade. “You have—you saved my life. But I cannot risk trusting you more than I have to.” She glanced at the sky. “Your partner is gone. You are not much of a griffiner if you cannot stay in harmony with your griffin.”

  “He’s not my griffin,” said Arren. “He’s just—well, he’s not my griffin.”

  “But he let you ride on his back, and he protected you,” said Skade. “To me that makes him your griffin. It would be an insult to him to say otherwise. Unless you have a reason to think he is not your griffin?”

  “It’s none of your business,” Arren snapped.

  “But I am making it my business, Arren.”

  “You shouldn’t. What I do is my business. I—” Arren broke off and clenched his fists. “Gods, he’s gone. I didn’t think he would do that.”

  “You told him to,” said Skade. “He knew he was not wanted. You should not have spoken to him like that, Arren. You insulted him and rejected him. He will not forget that. Either way, it is no concern of mine.” She held out a hand. “And now you will give that knife to me.”

  Arren drew it. “Why should I?”

  “I do not trust a murderer,” said Skade.

  The word felt like a dagger blow in his chest. Arren backed away further. “What? I’m not a—how dare you say I’m a—”

  Skade’s expression hardened. “You are a liar, Arren Cardockson,” she said, “And not a good one. I know who you are, and I know what you did.”

  Arren’s stomach started to churn. “Who’s Arren? Why are you calling me that?”

  “I called you that twice already,” said Skade. “And you did not notice. That was the only confirmation I needed.”

  Arren felt a strange calm come over him. He looked at her, quickly judging how much of a threat she could pose. She was shorter than him, and thin, and from the way she was holding the sword it was obvious that she did not have any training in weapons. He could probably disarm her if he wanted to. And there was no-one else out here for miles. He decided to play along.

  “How did you know?” he asked.

  Her look was withering. “You are a Northerner,” she said. “You have a scar on your face. You are travelling with a black griffin. You are a fugitive. And you were carrying this sword.” She tapped the weapon’s hilt; it was bronze and decorated with a frieze of griffins. “A sword this fine could only belong to a griffiner. And you speak griffish. The signs are hardly difficult to see.”

  “So, people know about me,” Arren mumbled, not quite able to take all this in.

  Skade gave an incredulous laugh. “You cannot be serious.”

  “I’ve been out here for months,” said Arren. “I haven’t spoken to another human being in all that time. I have no idea what people know about me.”

  “They know everything, Arren Cardockson,” said Skade. “It has been months since you destroyed Eagleholm. More than long enough for word to spread.”

  Arren stared at her. “I destroyed—?”

  Skade blinked. “Is there anything you do know about yourself?”

  “I never destroyed Eagleholm,” said Arren. “How could I have?”

  “You murdered the Mistress and her council, and you set the Eyrie on fire,” Skade told him. “It burned to the ground. Dozens of other griffiners and griffins were killed. The city is no more. The griffins and the griffiners have abandoned it.”

  Arren was aghast. “I didn’t kill the Mistress! Or her council! I—”

  “But that is the story I heard,” said Skade. “That is the story many people are telling. You destroyed the city in one night, with the help of a black griffin, and now every griffiner in Cymria will be looking for you.”

  Arren closed his eyes. “Oh gods.”

  “I cannot believe that you did not know this,” said Skade. “Or that you trusted me! I could have killed you in your sleep if I had wanted to.”

  “And are you going to try and do it now?” said Arren.

  She spat. “No. What do I care what you have done? I have no love of griffiners or partnered griffins. I only want to know why you did it.”

  “Well, what are people saying?” said Arren.

  “That you did it because you are insane. I did not believe it then, and I do not believe it now. Madness is not a reason. So tell me why you did it,” said Skade. “There is no reason to
hide it from me,” she added when he didn’t reply immediately. “Who would I tell?”

  “I didn’t do it,” said Arren. “And I’m not mad.”

  “Oh? Then if you did not set fire to the Eyrie, who did? The city did not destroy itself.”

  “I only killed one of them,” Arren blurted. “Just one. And I did set the Eyrie on fire, but I didn’t know the whole thing would burn down. I just did it so they’d be too busy trying to put it out to chase after me. I didn’t know that . . . oh gods.” He closed his eyes. The Mistress dead and dozens of others . . .

  Skade looked curious. “Who was the one you murdered? And why?”

  “Rannagon,” said Arren. “It was Lord Rannagon, the reeve. And his griffin, Shoa. But I didn’t kill her; Skandar did.”

  “Why did you kill them?”

  “Because Lord Rannagon betrayed me. He was—” Arren fiddled with his hair, caught between guilt and fear. “I was a griffiner.” He paused and laughed bitterly. “I was. I really was. A real griffiner. My griffin was white, and her name was Eluna. She chose me when I was just a small boy; they couldn’t persuade her to leave me. The other griffiners didn’t want to accept me because I was a Northerner, but one of them offered to train me. I learnt griffish from him, and other things. When I was old enough I expected to be given a place in the Eyrie, but I didn’t get one. I had to live out in the city with the commoners. I didn’t mind. I always thought that one day they’d accept me. I did well. They made me Master of Trade. And then one day . . .”

  Before he knew it, the story was tumbling out of him, all of it. Rannagon’s betrayal, Eluna’s death, and the misery and despair that had taken over his life once he returned to Eagleholm in disgrace.

  “I finally did get another job, though, working in the hatchery,” he said at last. “I hoped another griffin would choose me, but none did. Why would they? I was the lowest of the low by then. And then one day some people broke into my house. I still don’t know who they were—whether Rannagon sent them or whether they were doing it for some other reason. They destroyed most of what I owned and stole the rest, and when I got home they were waiting for me. They attacked me, beat me up. They put a slave collar on me and left me alone to suffer. I got better, but I couldn’t get it off, and it hurt all the time . . .”

  Skade was listening. She didn’t try to interrupt but let him talk on.

  “. . . and a while after that I snapped and stole a griffin chick,” said Arren. “I couldn’t stand it any longer. Without a griffin to protect me, I had become worthless. I wanted my life back. But they caught me, and Lord Rannagon sentenced me to death. I told them all the truth at my trial, but nobody listened. It was my word against his. Lord Rannagon told them I was mad.” He realised he was breathing hard and tried to make himself slow down. “That was why I killed him. After Skandar helped me escape from prison. I came back to the Eyrie and killed him, and Skandar helped me. Someone saw me kill Rannagon. I set a fire in the room and then ran, and Skandar carried me out of there.”

  Skade waited for some time after his story had finished, as if to make certain that he had said all he had to say. “That griffin saved your life,” she said softly.

  Arren paused and nodded. “I suppose so.”

  “No. There is no supposing about it. If he had not carried you away, they would have caught you. You would have suffered a hideous death at their hands if they had.”

  “He killed Eluna.”

  “In self-defence, perhaps,” said Skade. “I would say that a man in your position cannot afford to choose his friends. Anyone who stays by you now should be a hundred times more precious than the friends you had in your old life.”

  “He’ll come back,” Arren said unconvincingly.

  “You will have to hold on to that hope,” said Skade. “But I would not blame him if he did not return.” Her look became bitter, almost angry. “A griffin who thinks he can protect a human forever is a fool, and few humans deserve their protection at all.”

  Arren stood up, watching her intently. “And you’d know, wouldn’t you, Skade?”

  She said nothing, but the certainty had already hardened in Arren’s mind.

  “You’re not human,” he said. “You’re a griffin.”

  Skade froze. “You cannot know that.”

  Arren watched her closely, taking in the golden eyes, the claw-like fingernails, the silver hair. “You’re a griffin,” he said again.

  She took a step closer. “How can you know? I have worn this body for so long, no other human—”

  “I can . . . smell it,” said Arren. His own voice sounded puzzled, but the moment he said it he realised what had been nagging at him all this time. “You’re a griffin in a human’s body. That’s why you feel wrong to me. You’ve felt wrong from the moment I met you.”

  Skade turned away. “Leave me alone.”

  Arren thought back to what she said when they first spoke. “A year,” he half-whispered. “You’ve been like this for a year. And you’re trying to find the spirit cave so you can change back.”

  Skade, her back still turned, began to make a strange hoarse sound. With a shock, Arren realised she was sobbing.

  He ventured closer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  With a sudden motion, Skade flung the sword away and put her hands to her face, rubbing it fiercely in a wild effort to remove the tears that had begun to wet it. He could hear her snarling, trying to stop herself from crying, but she only sobbed the harder.

  Arren reached out to touch her shoulder, but then thought better of it. He surreptitiously kicked the sword away from her. “Skade, I—”

  She turned. “Leave me alone!”

  “It’s all right,” said Arren. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about it, I can understand if you’re—”

  Skade let out another half-strangled sob and continued to rub at her eyes. “I hate it!” she screamed. “They will not stop doing it! I tr—I have tried everything, but I c-cannot—make it stop—”

  Arren couldn’t bear it any longer. He put his arms around her and held her to him. She tried to pull away at first, but finally stilled. “Do not touch me,” she mumbled.

  “It’s all right,” Arren said again. “I’m not hurting you, I’m just trying to make you feel better.”

  “And how will this make me feel better?” said Skade, her voice slightly muffled.

  Arren couldn’t help it; he smiled. “You’re crying,” he said. “It’s what humans do when they’re unhappy. Holding on to someone makes them feel better. See?”

  She shuddered in his arms. “Why?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s always worked for me. It’s a human thing.”

  Skade pressed herself against him; she was thin and bony, and he could feel her heart pattering. “I wanted to die,” she said at last. “I wanted to drown in that pond. I hated you for pulling me out.”

  Arren felt an ache in his chest. “It’s okay, Skade. We’ll find the cave, and you can change back. You’ll be healed.”

  Skade said nothing. She did not try to return the embrace, but she did not try to pull away from him, either.

  “Do you want me to let go now?” Arren asked gently.

  She pulled his arm away from herself, and he released her, but she did not move away. She looked him in the face. Hers was tear-stained, but her gold griffin eyes were as fierce as ever. “Thank you, Arren Cardockson,” she said, rather stiffly. “I . . . thank you.”

  Arren wanted to touch her, to try to comfort her further, but he didn’t want to risk making her angry again. “Who would do something like this?” he asked softly. “Who would—why would anyone turn a griffin into a human? It’s monstrous!”

  Skade turned away. “I will travel to the spirit cave with you. If I can. But I am—I do not know if I will be healed there, if we ever do find it. Spirits are treacherous. They do not help all those who come to them, only those they deem worthy.”

  Arren felt a sick twisting sensation in h
is gut. “Why would you not be worthy?” he asked, trying desperately to block it out.

  “I am not an innocent victim, Arren,” said Skade, without turning around. “I was not cursed out of malice. It was punishment.”

  “Punishment for what?” said Arren.

  She turned to look at him. “I am—I was a rogue griffin. I lived in the city, but one day I turned on the humans around me. I killed many. I was judged to be unstable and therefore worthless, and when it was clear that I had declared myself an enemy to humankind, the great council of griffins decided they would punish me, not with death but by forcing me to live as a human.” She closed her eyes. “Arakae cast the spell on me, and when it was over I was banished and told that my fate was to wander the world in human form, with no hope of ever changing back.” Her eyes opened. “That is why I have decided to trust you, human. Because you and I are alike. We are outcasts and murderers, and both of us are cursed.”

  “Cursed?” Arren repeated dully.

  She nodded. “That is why you are so desperate to go to the cave, so much so that you decided to take my side rather than Skandar’s, even though you barely knew me.” She sighed and sat down with her back to a tree, evidently exhausted. “It only makes sense. When so many griffins want you dead, there is every chance that those with the power have death-cursed you by now.”

  Arren looked away. “Yes.”

  There was silence after that. Arren gazed up at the sky, scanning the endless blue. There were a few birds up there, but no sign of anything that could be a griffin. His feeling of sickness increased.

  “I’ll just fix the fire now,” he mumbled. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes,” said Skade. She got up. “I will help.”

  Arren opened his mouth to tell her she should rest, and then shut it again. He wandered off into the trees and gathered wood. When he returned, Skade was using the sword to cut some more meat from the sheep—not a very efficient process. The blade was blunt, as sword blades always were—after all, they were made to slash bodies open, not perform surgery.

  Arren went over and offered her his knife. “Here, this might work better.”