by K Vale Nagle
“We don’t know what time they left, just that it was at least a day ago. The information came directly from Jun’s youngest, Satra.” When the parrotface elder made an inquisitive skraark, Hatzel added, “She’s being held with the other gryphlets. Her wings were left unclipped to keep Jun in line.”
“They’re insane to leave her alive,” the parrotface gryphon said. What Satra had done was left unsaid, but the elder’s love of the kjarr did not seem to extend to Jun’s daughter.
“Jun is her shackles. Satra always had a soft spot for her father. They’d better hope nothing happens to him. She would not stay her claws for a hundred gryphlets.” Unlike the parrot-faced elder, Strix spoke with a hint of envy.
“If we can rescue the gryphlets and get word to Jun, could we bring them to our side?” Merin asked.
Our side? It was not lost on Hatzel that Merin had referred to the prides as one entity. In all her years as a pride leader, she’d never seen the weald prides as anything except independent groups who loosely agreed on hunting grounds. Nothing had brought them together, not even the monitor plague, goliath bird stampede, giant snakes, or the lace monitor migrations.
When none of the other leaders spoke up, she weighed in. “I don’t know if they would flee with their children or seek to join us. But it should at least remove the pressure from the fisherfolk if we can free Satra and her charges fast enough. Where we would house twenty gryphlets, I don’t know. The whole forest could go up at any moment. We should be moving our own offspring.”
“I will take them,” Strix said. “You and Merin may be better off heading up into the taiga, but for the eastern prides, your kin are welcome in my lands. The fire may climb the plateau, but it’s still the safest place until we see how this plays out. If push comes to claw, we can watch the conflagration from some of the small islands off the coast.”
Zeph and Kia’s flight back to the nesting grounds was held in the upper canopy for safety and was reminiscent of their first trip through the redwood forest. This time, they didn’t talk about the squirrels, parrots, or gliding snakes. Zeph wanted to talk about Kia. Kia wanted to talk about Cherine. They ended up talking about Reeve Brevin.
“After her ancestor killed the massive cobra,” Kia said, “he was made reeve of an eyrie. He was the final opinicus to be made reeve, and this was the final eyrie. I think they planned for another one where the fisherfolk live now and built a goliath bird trail to the shore, but it never came to pass.”
Zeph thought this over. “So, does she still report in to the…king? Empress? Reeve lord?”
“Oh, no,” Kia laughed. “It’s been generations since anyone’s been around to give orders. The reeves all seemed to become content with their autonomy. No one orders them around anymore.”
“None of the reeves went to find out what happened to their leader?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “It was a long time ago. What I think happened is—”
Zeph made a hushing sound and stopped. “Something’s wrong ahead.”
He sniffed the air with his flexible beak. His ears were at full alert. It was quiet, but there was a pungent smell that didn’t come from the plants in this corner of the weald. He motioned for Kia to stay back and hide in the canopy while he scouted ahead. He glided from tree to tree, landing against the soft moss in case anyone was listening for him.
The nesting grounds were silent. The gryphlets should have been taken to the safety of the winter caves, but there were no adult gryphon sounds ahead, either. There were a lot of food and supplies to be transported, and the two nesting caves here had to be secured so they didn’t return to find snakes or monitors in residence.
He peeked around a tree trunk and saw a single gryphlet sitting next to the fir pile, looking quiet but nervous. It was the same one who’d greeted Hatzel, the one who was always wandering off. She seemed to have been tied to something hidden under the branches. The two nesting caves had debris covering their entrances.
He backtracked and made a wider circle around the nesting grounds, approaching them downwind, from the north, this time. There was that smell again, not opinicus but a pungent weed that masked other scents. It was similar enough to soured eggfruit that an opinicus or even a distracted gryphon wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
When he traced it, he saw the muddy-colored plumage of a camouflaged opinicus ranger holding a net. The scent was strong enough that he suspected there were two or three more rangers hiding nearby. They’d probably caught the last of the gryphons and gryphlets who were cleaning up. Since they’d left at least the one gryphlet alive, hopefully the other prisoners were wrapped up in the nest. He wished he had a better idea of how many there were and decided there was only one way to find out.
He silently backtracked a ways and then got a flying start, built up as much speed as he could get, and pulled his wings in, crossing the center of the clearing at top speed.
The gryphlet squealed with excitement. Two traps triggered but weren’t fast enough to catch him. Two opinici threw nets. Two more gave chase.
Zeph spread his wings before he hit the ground, landing in a sprint, then leapt up again, gaining altitude and breaking through the canopy into the sky, where he let out an alarm.
The four opinici were all in pursuit. They were more agile flyers than he was and seemed confident in their ability to bring down a single gryphon. While they were better at flying than he was, they underestimated his impressive falling capabilities. He looped back and let gravity bring him to his pursuers, and in the case of one, through him. The sickening sound of a wing breaking, nearly detaching, sent the first opinicus falling to the ground. The ranger’s net and an alarming number of his feathers floated down after him. The other three scattered, then dove after Zeph, but lost him below the canopy line. They landed and looked around.
A cricket chirped once before being silenced by a forest spinner.
In the distance, the wounded opinicus, having survived the fall by some miracle, was calling for help. They turned in the direction of their fallen comrade and seemed to consider going to his aid.
Zeph, upside down on a canopy branch and covered by the leaves, released his dewclaw and pounced on the opinicus in the middle. One bite was all it took. He was now sandwiched between an opinicus with sickles for claws on his left and another with a net on his right. The one on the right threw the net, and Zeph flattened himself against the ground in the time it took to blink, becoming one with his shadow. The net caught Sharpclaws in the face. While he struggled to untangle himself, Zeph dispatched the thrower.
A scream came from far away. As forest-savvy as these opinici were, it seemed no one had told this one that making the sounds of a wounded animal in the weald was a good way to attract monitors.
With the penultimate opinicus facing his own demise, Sharpclaws made a dash back towards the nesting grounds. Worried he intended to use the gryphlet as a hostage, Zeph pursued.
Sharpclaws flitted between the branches with a practiced wing that would have made even the nearest gryphon proud if that gryphon were not also chasing after him and trying to murder him.
Sharpclaws went over a tangle; Zeph slipped under it.
Sharpclaws pulled up his legs to avoid catching a stump; Zeph pushed off of it.
Sharpclaws came through the forest and into the nesting grounds likely expecting to find a helpless gryphlet; Kia stabbed him in the chest with her beak. He fell back into the pile of fir branches.
Zeph backpedaled his wings and landed. He looked down at Sharpclaws. The wound was too deep to try to save him, even if they wanted answers. The ranger coughed something that sounded like “Kia” but became a gurgle.
Kia had untied the few remaining pride gryphons. It seemed the only gryphlet to stay behind was this one, who had been hiding when the others left.
“Get to safety,” he told Kia and his pridemates. “I need to check on Hatzel and the pride leaders.”
The aggressive
hiss of a monitor defending its meal could just be heard from a distance away.
Hatzel had filled the pride leaders in on all the information Orlea, Cherine, and Kia had given them without mentioning the former two opinici. There was some talk of reaching out diplomatically to the reeve, but only perfunctory conversation was paid to the idea. No one expected anything to come of it.
Reeve Brevin, unlike her father, had not taken the time to meet with the prides. Most of the weald gryphons had only seen her when the smoldering forest was converted into grasslands. She’d come with the full army behind her, standing atop a rock with her wings and tail feathers spread while the trees were cleared. The sunlight splashed into green sparks against her plumage.
Her presence then had been a warning. Not realizing the precedent, none of the prides had thought to fight for the burnt forest. They had their own concerns. She’d looked more like a monument the eyrie had constructed to worship than an opinicus.
Looking at their situation now, Hatzel admitted to herself that it would be a waste of time to attempt diplomacy. She believed in negotiating, but only from a place of power. Right now, it was unclear what power the prides held. Even when it came to saving Satra, most prides were indifferent. Then the discussion turned darker.
When Askel said, “What if we blow it up?” it took a few moments for everyone to realize he was serious.
“We have a map showing us where to find crates of saltpeter,” Triddle agreed. Hatzel knew she shouldn’t feel disappointed that Triddle sided with Askel but still felt a little betrayed.
“Give them a taste of their own medicine,” Merin agreed.
“Wait. The eyrie is huge. If the kjarr pride is two weald prides large,” Hatzel estimated, “who knows how many opinici live in the eyrie? It reaches into the sky. We can’t fight an army like that.”
“Didn’t your spy say that the wingtorn were supposed to be guarding the city while the main army helped the Crackling Sea Eyrie?” Merin asked. “If so, the moment Reeve Brevin deployed them to the fisherfolk villages, she left the Redwood Valley Eyrie defenseless.”
“We don’t know if that’s the case,” Hatzel said. “That’s just a theory. Maybe the entire army is back except for a pawful of soldiers. Maybe the rangers and wingtorn left but the main forces stayed.”
“We could always cut off the head of the serpent. With enough saltpeter diversions, we could slip in and kill Brevin.” The owl pride leader’s claws extended when he said serpent. When Strix used we, it seemed to Hatzel like he really meant I.
“Look,” she said, flustered. “I agree that we need to get in and get Satra. We can’t let them have the kjarr pride. But there are so many there who have nothing to do with this.”
“So many opinici,” Merin countered.
“Yes, but so what? You can’t just murder an entire population because you’re afraid,” she said.
“Had one of Brevin’s advisors only advised her similarly,” Strix mused, “we wouldn’t find ourselves facing this problem now.”
After another hour of discussion, Askel and Triddle still wanted to blow up something. Askel suggested the eyrie. Triddle lobbied for the Snowfeather Dam and waterworks that brought water from Crater Lake up to the top levels of the eyrie.
Merin wanted to take the whole place down and, she suspected, expand his pride lands north. Strix proposed a surgical strike to kill Brevin. Hatzel countered with a rescue operation to save the gryphlets and Satra while the prides evacuated to the mountains and shore. The other pride leaders were all on the fence, leaning towards a path of neutralizing the saltpeter and waiting. It was their belief that, without the saltpeter fire, the eyrie would never send the military after the prides.
After Zeph arrived with news that the rangers had attacked Hatzel’s nesting grounds, everyone agreed on one point. Whatever they believed would happen if the saltpeter were taken care of in time, they were no longer willing to allow the eyrie to have control over the wingtorn. Satra must be saved.
7
Saltpeter
The dusk sky was a crashing orange sea Kia swam through. She was only just aware of the dark splotches of gryphons flying near her since killing the opinicus ranger.
Most gryphons were hunters, but Zeph had killed the rangers as though they were ground parrots. She was reminded of their first meeting when he’d walked her through how he hunted for food. The way he handled other sapient beings had been the same.
She’d seen him rise through the canopy with the accompanying dive, watched the first opinicus drop to its death. That’s when she hurried to the nests. When the last ranger rushed in, she’d acted on instinct. Really, the ranger had rushed into her beak. It had only taken a little effort on her part.
No, that wasn’t quite right. Her beak had broken through his rib cage. It had taken a lot of effort, though it had taken little thought.
The opinicus had spoken her name as he died. Had he known her? Or had he been sent for her? She thought back to the black cockatiel. He’d probably spoken to the headmaster, who’d talked to the reeve. Or had the rangers been sent by the headmaster? It was hard to tell where Neider’s sphere of influence ended. She may have put the pride in danger by coming here. She’d definitely put the rangers in danger. One of her sisters had been a ranger, maybe even friends with the rangers she and Zeph just killed. Was her sister out there in the weald somewhere, waiting to light an explosive?
Kia looked out to the gryphons flying with her. The gryphlet who’d been used for bait was squealing happily at being carried through the air. She waved a paw at Kia, and Kia waved back.
Would any of the gryphons understand what it felt like for her to kill? They grew up knowing it was something they’d do. Maybe killing an opinicus would feel different to them, but maybe not. Opinici were the other to most gryphons. What she’d done, it was more akin to a gryphon killing another gryphon. She didn’t know if that happened. She wanted to talk to another opinicus, but as she was starting to realize, there was no going back to the eyrie. They’d said Cherine was alive. She wanted to see him.
He should understand. When his grandfather died, he’d been surprised to find out that she’d never lost anyone. All her grandparents had been alive when she was born and were still living. She’d never even seen a dead opinicus before today.
She flew closer to the nearest gryphon. He resembled Xavi a little with his magpie-colored wings. While the word gryphon conjured up thoughts of Hatzel and Zeph first in her mind’s eye, more than half their pride had Xavi’s coloring. How had that come about? She wished someone had done a genealogy of the gryphon prides, but they’d been considered beneath scholarship.
“Do you know the way to the medicine gryphon’s cave?” she asked the gryphon.
“Are you hurt?” he replied.
“No, but I think we can get more information about the rangers there,” she lied. She was sure they had all the information Cherine had known, between his memory and the map. But she wanted to be close to him.
“Sure, okay.” The gryphon went and spoke to the head of their flight, then peeled off and led her south.
The plan, Zeph thought, was like a parrot’s shadow that turned out to be an unripe eggfruit gourd when pounced. He knew Hatzel would be dismayed if she knew that he shared the same opinion as the Parrotface and Feathermane Pride leaders, but he didn’t see why they couldn’t just fly away and settle elsewhere. Starting a fight when their homes were all rigged to burn was foolish. It was hunting prey in a snowstorm instead of seeking shelter. Why help Satra at all? It would be easier to relocate their pride of thirty gryphons to someplace new and start over.
“Because the kjarr gryphons need our help. Because without our help, the fisherfolk are in danger. Because if things go wrong, you and Kia need to warn the opinici or they won’t be able to evacuate,” Hatzel said.
“Evacuation isn’t part of the plan,” Zeph said about the last.
The actual plan involved each pride hitting a different
objective. Askel and Triddle had been distracted by the word Nitrary just outside the eyrie on Cherine’s map. They believed it to be the dreaded flameworks where the saltpeter was made and wanted to blow it up or douse it in water, depending on if Askel or Triddle were asked. Either way, exploding it would buy Hatzel and Merin’s gryphons time to evacuate Satra and the gryphlets. Strix had volunteered to provide them with a safe exit from the eyrie. He hadn’t provided any details on what that meant.
Hatzel shook her head. “Evacuation needs to be part of the plan in case the flameworks’ explosion is larger than Askel is thinking. You and Kia need to get word to the right opinici up at the university to evacuate the eyrie.”
“It’s more than just the university,” Zeph said. They didn’t have a detailed map of the eyrie, but he’d given the prides all the details he remembered or had heard from Kia or Orlea. “There’s a whole world of starving opinici beneath the main level. It’s nasty down there, dry, overgrown. If any of the fire reaches that deep, the whole city could burn from the bottom up.”
He’d made these same arguments in front of the pride leaders, but they weren’t convinced. They hadn’t seen what he had, and his safety concerns didn’t stop there. While a fire starting in the bottom levels seemed less dangerous than if the high reaches of the eyrie caught fire, they’d all seen the effects of smoke. It wasn’t enough to avoid a forest fire. Gryphons had to be careful not to fly over it and needed to be mindful of which way the wind was blowing. When a fire was large enough, the smoke filled a large portion of the skies. More than one gryphon had died while watching a forest fire when the winds changed direction. He didn’t have a better idea at a distraction than blowing the flameworks, but they had no way of knowing what would happen for certain.