The Last Griffin

by Wendy L. Koenig

  His wounds ached, though they were no longer stiff. He needed to be treated by a doctor soon. His arms shook, and he was exhausted. But, after he stopped shaking, he rolled to his feet and changed from the halfway form of werewolf back into a full wolf. He still had some traveling to do. He had to get to Olivia. Their cabin was over the ridge.

  He ran straight up the mountainside, scrambling for toeholds with his claws. By the time he reached the top, tremors of exhaustion reclaimed his body. Only part of it was from the physical exertion of climbing, running, and island hopping. Some was from his injuries. But, the majority of it came from the mental trauma he’d been through. He needed to stop and rest. And he would. As soon as he found Olivia.

  At the peak, he looked north to where the cabin was, expecting to see lights, or the truck in the drive at the very least. Instead, the cabin was dark and the parking space in front of the cabin was bare.

  No!

  Fear raced through him. For the first time, he faced the possibility that Olivia might be dead. But he rejected the thought as quickly as it came. That missing vehicle meant that at least one of them was still alive. It also meant they believed he had died in the fall. And no wonder: they hadn’t been able to find a body nor had he contacted them.

  He had to find a phone. He doubted that Tony had left anything in the cabin for him, “just in case.” Bellerophon had to know what had happened. She’d be able to contact Tony.

  Brian took one last glance at the place they’d lived for nearly two weeks and, though exhausted, struck off along the ridge of the mountains, still traveling as wolf. Sooner or later, he’d see an occupied house or settlement. If nothing else, Walden wasn’t too far ahead of him.

  He wasn’t alone as he loped through the darkness. Nocturnal animals made their appearance: owls, foxes, raccoons, bats, and deer. The snow started to stick to the ground instead of melting through. At one point, he came across fresh tracks of a wolf pack on the hunt. This gave him pause. From the smell, it was a large pack, with an alpha male, several females, two subordinate males and a few half-grown cubs. He could try to find a way around them, but they would eventually change direction to run after some prey. He slowed and followed them. He didn’t need to catch up to them. As he predicted, the tracks soon enough veered down the side of the mountain.

  Within half an hour, he saw a cluster of lighted cabins in a glade below him. The night was young. People were about. They could help him. As wolf, he crept down to the little clearing and watched the houses from beneath the broken branches of a giant Colorado blue spruce. These were vacation homes. He decided that the big lodge would be his best bet. But first, to get something to cover himself.

  Searching the vehicles, he found almost all of them locked. Of the open ones, none had anything he could use. However, on one lighted porch, Brian saw a beer cooler with a blanket half-draped across it. Cigarettes and a lighter sat on top of the blanket. He crept to the corner of the porch and stretched his long wolf body. Snagging the blanket with his teeth, he pulled it off the cooler. The lighter fell with a solid clunk. He snatched the blanket the rest of the way and ran for the woods. Behind him, the cabin door opened and he heard a woman’s voice exclaiming to her friends about the disappearance of the blanket. The clamor of three distinct women’s voices followed her onto the small porch.

  It made no difference now where he asked for help. These people would learn anyway that he’d stolen their blanket. Brian shifted to man, wrapped the blanket tightly around his hips, and walked out of the trees. The blonde woman farthest from him was first to see him. Her face flushed and her eyes brightened. “Oh.”

  As one, they all turned.

  Brian also blushed, aware of all the female eyes on him. He said, “I’m sorry to borrow your blanket. My girlfriend and I were camping. She got scared of something and took off with the truck. Unfortunately, all my clothes were in there.”

  “What a shame.” That came from the woman nearest him; she was shorter than the rest. It seemed they couldn’t take their gazes off his exposed body. The blonde near the door let her gaze travel his full length. She licked her lips. At times like this, and there were some occasionally, he usually adopted Tony’s persona. He grinned and walked toward them. “Kinda embarrassing. Could I use a cell phone? I’ll stay out here. You don’t have to worry.”

  Three of the women ran into the cabin and returned with their phones. The short woman who’d been closest to him approached. “You’re injured.”

  He’d forgotten about that. Grimacing, he said, “Old injuries from a fight. It’s why my girlfriend and I decided to take a romantic camping trip.”

  The tall blonde handed her phone to him. “I guess you’re going to break up now?”

  He shook his head. “She’s just scared.”

  As a collective, they all sighed. He dialed Bellerophon and moved away from the little group in front of the cabin.

  The lawyer answered.

  Brian said, “It’s me.”

  “Brian! You are alive.” The relief was clear in her voice.

  “Olivia?”

  “She disappeared. Brian, she’s not stable; she went right out of her mind when she thought you died. You need to find her as soon as you can, before she does something to herself. Tony’s been looking, but hasn’t had any luck.”

  “Can you come get me? Bring some clothes.”

  “I’ll send Tony.”

  Brian glanced at the women watching his every move. He asked them, “Where are we?”

  They clamored their answers together in a variety of different directions. He held up his hand, then pointed to the blonde cell phone owner. “Where?”

  She pointed at the sign over the lodge entrance. “The Heartbreak.” She smiled seductively at him.

  He told Bellerophon and then said, “Hurry.”

  Chapter 61

  Two days after the fight at the bar, Olivia lay in a depression behind an outcropping near the crest of one of Brian’s Guilin Mountains. The peaks were unmistakably those she’d seen in the drawings at his home. She’d flown there with only two rests since leaving Colorado: flying north, crossing the Bering Strait, and then swerving south to fly to China.

  The peak she’d chosen was far from the touristy Li River hills with names like, “Five Fingers Hill” and “Penholder Peak.” “Dragon Head Hill” would have been fitting, but it was too close to the public. Instead, she settled on one of the peaks that was farthest away, unimpressive and, therefore, largely unvisited. She wasn’t even sure it had an official name. She just called it “The End.” She’d arrived by night, staying close to the water, and had then swooped up the mountain at the last moment. But still, a flying creature her size would be hard to miss, even in the dark. No doubt, the legends of dragons were being reborn even as she slept.

  She lived in the griffin form now. Human was something she no longer wanted or needed. She still had the chess pieces, the black king and one of its rooks. She’d them in her talons all the way and kept them nestled close. Her fierce creature heart ached from the loss of Brian and from the things she’d done. There was no remedy. Food was something she didn’t consider at all. There was nothing she wanted more than a slow, painful death.

  She was lying in her nest when the sound of a scuffed rock caught her attention. The noise came from around the outcropping, on the gentler side of the mountain. Access could be made on foot by humans, but not easily. It was a sharp mountain, jutting almost straight up from the ground.

  Slowly, she stood to her full griffin height. She would kill this person so word of her wouldn’t spread. Inhaling deeply, she made her judgment on the intruder: small, dirty, male, a child. She hesitated.

  A head with Chinese features poked around the corner and then, just as quickly disappeared. Scraping across the ground, a tiny hand pushed a covered bowl into sight. When the lid came off, berries and chunks of cooked meat spilled onto the ground. Despite her decision to starve herself, her stomach roared and saliva wette
d her beak at the savory aroma. Again, the child’s face poked around the corner. He giggled and disappeared. Seconds later, Olivia heard scraping and the clack of rock on rock as the boy climbed down the mountain.

  Disgusted by her body’s betrayal, she kicked the bowl. Meat and berries flew across the clearing and the bowl clattered to the edge of the mountain and down the far side. She returned to her nest, rejoicing in the biting pain in her belly. She deserved no better.

  The boy returned each of the next two days. He pushed food from around the outcropping of rock and she delivered the bowl and contents down the mountain. On the fourth day, he brought an old man with him and she wondered at the strength of someone so frail who chose such a steep climb with a pack just to sit at the edge of her crag. She also worried about rumors of her getting loose. Was this the beginning of a long parade of people? She should have killed the boy the first day she’d seen him.

  Instead of placing the bowl and leaving as before, the boy set it at a distance in front of her, then retreated to sit on a short natural ledge with his ancient friend. A relative? Father? Grandpa? She rose and stalked to the bowl, determined to make her message clear, and kicked it over. Perhaps the old man would understand. Then she returned to her nest, watching to see if they’d go away. As the bowl skidded down the mountain, the old man opened his pack and handed another bowl to the boy who again brought it to the center of her clearing. In an explosion of motion and roaring, she lunged out of her home. The boy, mouth gaping in silent panic, darted back to the safety of the old man’s wide open arms. She stomped on the bowl and caused fragments to go shooting across the peak. Everyone present stayed stock still, with her glaring at the two humans who met her gaze with theirs. In their eyes, she saw pity.

  Olivia could stand it no more and she turned away. When she looked back, the old man had set aside the boy. He rose, removed yet another bowl and hobbled toward her. His limbs trembled as he set the bowl no more than ten feet from her, but whether they shook from age, exhaustion from the trek, or from fear, she couldn’t tell. He didn’t leave like the boy had. She hissed. She clacked her beak. She ruffled her feathers and spread her wings. He didn’t move.

  Anger fired through her. Why didn’t these people leave her alone? How dare they intrude on her grief and then presume she’d let them live? She was a griffin, after all. She lowered her head, twisted her neck in a serpentine fashion, and opened her beak to strike. He winced, but held his ground. From the edge of the clearing, the boy let out a gasp. Then a rock, a pebble really, flew at her, winging wide and landing harmlessly a few feet away. She stopped dead, once again remembering her vow of no more bloodshed. Annoying as these people might be, they neither deserved death nor ire. They were only trying to save her.

  The trouble was, she didn’t want saving.

  Olivia retreated to her nest, curling so her back faced them. The only way she could give them a clearer message would be if she returned to her human form and spoke to them. And that was something she wasn’t willing to do. Besides, there was a language barrier. She didn’t know Chinese or any of its dialects, and she doubted these two had studied English.

  Within minutes, she heard scuffing right behind her. A small, trembling hand stroked the feathers on her exposed wing. She shrugged and was rewarded by the sound of the boy scrambling backward out of her proximity. It didn’t last long, however. Soon, he was back with the cursed bowl. Despite her annoyance, she was beginning to admire the bravery of this boy and the man she decided was his grandpa. The child again stroked her feathers, slowly working his way up her neck. At last, she raised her head and stared at him. Why didn’t these people leave? Why did they care what happened to her?

  Scooching across the rock edges of her nest, the boy delivered a chunk of meat into the corner of her mouth. She worked it with her tongue, trying to push it out, but the boy was determined and held it in with his hand. In the end, she gave up when the meat became soggy and gross, and she swallowed. Seeing him ready to repeat the process, she conceded defeat and gently took the next chunk from him. They continued in this way until the bowl was empty. Then he patted her head and rejoined his grandpa. He returned with a smooth silk blanket the color of the setting sun and gently covered her. Then, together, he and his grandpa picked up the pack and left.

  For two weeks the pair came daily, placing the bowl in front of her and carefully backing away while she ate. The boy was brave, often sidling up next to her and stroking her feathers. The grandpa kept his distance. She started looking forward to their visits.

  Memories of Brian became so much a part of Olivia’s life, she doubted her sanity. The only time they ceased was when the boy, alone or with his grandpa, came to care for her. Only his presence kept the ghosts at bay.

  Often she’d visualize when she and Brian had walked together in the woods, hand in hand, chatting about his past, the griffin, or whatever caught their interest. The heady scent of pine, snow, moist rock, and earth had intoxicated them, and the animals within, and so they’d made love right there among the trees on a smooth, warm bed of limestone slabs. Sometimes they flew high in the clouds, Brian aboard her back, cajoling her to fly higher and faster. To dive and swoop. To be battle-ready. His voice haunted her, teasing and whispering. He called her name…

  But then the memories always phased into another one: Brian’s drop into the gorge. She saw him fall a million times, his face either slack or contorted in terror. Sometimes, he screamed her name. Other times, it was her who dropped him. Always, she couldn’t find any trace of him. And always, she and her griffin sobbed until she slept from emotional exhaustion.

  Chapter 62

  Brian stood and moved to the center aisle of the Chinese bus. From the seat opposite, Tony also stood and stepped in behind him. They hunched over like beggars, their heads brushing the roof. Taller than anyone else, they looked over the top of everyone standing in front and behind them. Most were native Chinese, but there were also a few foreign tourists.

  It was now almost three-and-a-half weeks since the battle in the valley where everything had gone wrong. And it was over forty days since the night he’d first met Olivia, when everything had begun and become right in his life. He had to find her. China was his best hope. Specifically, this region of the Li River. He and Tony had been at it almost two weeks now, searching tiny tourist towns and the pointed karsts nearby.

  He took a deep breath, immediately regretting it. What little bit of air that had been coming through the open windows while the bus traveled had stopped as the bus ceased moving. The natural stench of excrement, urine, and rotting produce filled the air.

  Brian turned sideways in the aisle and looked at Tony. His friend had his thumb and forefinger pinched against the bridge of his nose. His eyes were closed and he had a pained expression on his face. “If I have to step into one more stinking—”

  “Shhh! We don’t need to alienate people. They have to like us. We need their help.”

  “Fine.” He dropped his hand and turned his lips up in the kind of smile that people get when forced into civility.

  The line of passengers in the center aisle began a shuffling pace toward the front exit. Brian paused to let a young Chinese woman with two toddler sons into the line ahead of him.

  Tony’s voice came from behind. “Can you at least tell me again the name of this town?”

  “Xingping.”

  “And how about the total number of mountains we’ve searched since coming to China?”

  “Again, they’re called karsts. Are you forgetting this on purpose?”

  “I just don’t see the point in remembering something I’ll never use or see again.”

  Brian shrugged. “You never know where life will lead you. I’m betting you never planned on being here in the first place.”

  “Touché.” After a moment, he again asked, “So, how many?”

  “Karsts.”

  “Right. Karsts. How many?”

  “Somewhere between forty-two a
nd forty-seven.”

  “Great. How many more here?”

  “As many as it takes.”

  They fell into silence as they finally reached the door and climbed down the steps to the street. For such a small town, there was a steady flow of mostly pedestrian traffic. Brian took a deep breath of clean air. It tasted of engine fumes and filth. But it was better than the air in the bus.

  Tony said, “Looks like the last three towns.” They moved with the traffic toward the river.

  “Xingping is smaller, not so touristy.”

  “How do you know Olivia will be here? For that matter, how do you know she’s even in China?”

  “Because I lived among these karsts along the river for a long time. They’re still important to me.”

  “Right. I get that. But why would she be here?”

  “Tony! Give it a rest. You’re giving me a headache.” Brian frowned. Truthfully, his friend had a point. Though he knew Olivia loved him with all her soul, would she be here? If she wasn’t, he wouldn’t know where to look. Where would she go if it hurt her too much to feel him close to her? If she didn’t want to feel anything? He had no answers to that. She had to be here. And she had to be alive. To consider that she might have killed herself out of despair was more than he could bear. They would find her. Everything would be right again.

  They walked in silence until they reached the riverfront. A wall of merchants lined the bank, hoping to sell to pedestrians and water travelers alike. Trinkets of all types glinted in the sun from tables and blankets on the ground. The few that were lucky enough to own stalls filled their upright divisions with a riot of colored scarves, blankets, shirts, necklaces, and jackets.

  A tall, blonde European woman stood in front of the first stall they passed. Tony elbowed Brian in the ribs and leaned into him to speak. “Hey! You know who she reminds me of? One of those Canadian chicks at that lodge above Walden.” They kept walking.