Griffin's Shadow

by Leslie Ann Moore

  Despair, like a wild thing, tore through Ashinji, leaving in its wake the realization that his wife-his best friend and the love of his life-had moved on without him.

  Ashiiiinjii!

  Was that his name he heard, or simply the keening of the wind?

  Ashinji, come baaaack!

  The sound kindled a spark of recognition in his sluggish consciousness. He knew that voice and he knew he should heed its command, but along that way lay pain, terrible pain. So much easier just to drift…

  Ashiiinjii! Pleeese, come baaack, nooow!

  Ashinji shivered with annoyance, or would have if he’d had a body to shiver with.

  Leave me alone…I don’t want to go back! Why should I? There’s nothing left for me now. Better to stay in this soothing grayness…

  The fog dissolved and Jelena once again stood before him, dressed in a long gown of red silk, holding a baby in her arms. She lifted the child over her head, laughing.

  The vision struck at Ashinji’s frozen emotions, releasing them in a dizzying rush.

  This baby Jelena cradled in her arms must be the child he had to leave behind a lifetime ago. What terrible sorrow Jelena must have suffered, giving birth to their child, all the while believing him dead! Should not the child they had made together have both of its parents to raise it?

  Ashiiinjii!

  He turned and moved toward the sound of his name.

  ~~~

  Awareness returned slowly, and the unintelligible noises buzzing in his ears resolved into muted voices, discussing his condition.

  “Look at his eyes. They’re moving.”

  “Yes…I believe you’re right. Gran! Come quickly! I think he’s waking up!”

  Ashi, can you hear me?

  Mindspeech.

  He recognized the voice that had called to him, imploring him to return and not lose himself forever in the gray fog between the worlds.

  With tremendous effort, he opened his eyes.

  “Ashi, praise the One! You’re awake.”

  Ashinji struggled to focus eyes that had seen no use in several days. Gran’s face floated above him, looking pale and haggard, but clearly relieved.

  Confusion washed over him. “Wha…what…h…h…happened?” he croaked. He attempted to sit up, but a combination of pain and weakness thwarted him.

  “You don’t remember, Ashi?” Gran stroked his cheek. “You’ve been hurt. Stabbed. You’ve been unconscious for days; you very nearly died.”

  Stabbed! When?

  The last thing he clearly remembered was walking into the weapons shed. After that, things got hazy.

  “I…don’t…can’t…” It took a big effort to speak. His tongue felt clumsy and thick, like a chunk of wood in his mouth.

  “What’s he saying, Gran?”

  That voice belonged to Seijon.

  “He’s speaking in Siri-dar, and you would understand if you’d ever made an effort to learn!” Gran’s voice was sharp. “I don’t think he remembers what has happened.”

  Ashinji struggled to pull together the fragments of memory that spun like dark motes before his minds’ eye.

  I went to the weapons shed to put away some practice equipment… Something…no, someone attacked me there!

  Images of a violent confrontation flashed to the surface, then with the abruptness of a dam giving way, all the memories of those terrible few moments, all the rage, the fear, and most of all, the sensation of the knife as it bit deep into his flesh, returned in a rush.

  “Ai, Goddess!” he groaned. “L…Leal…st…stabbed me!”

  “You do remember,” Gran said. “Ashi, let the memory go for now. Put it out of your mind. There’ll be plenty of time to deal with it later. You need to rest. Sleep, now.”

  Sleep…that sounds wonderful. I’ll sleep, yes.

  He closed his eyes.

  ~~~

  When next he woke, the golden light of late afternoon filled the infirmary. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision and saw Seijon, perched on the foot of the bed, arms wrapped around knees drawn up under his chin, eyes closed. He looked like he was asleep.

  “Seijon,” Ashinji whispered. The boy’s eyes flew open and widened with excitement.

  “Ashi!” he cried, scrambling to the head of the bed where he flung his arms around Ashinji in a joyful embrace. Ashinji grunted in pain but slowly raised his arms to draw the boy closer.

  “I’ve been so scared you’d die and leave me, Ashi,” Seijon mumbled against his neck.

  For a few heartbeats, Ashinji felt too overcome to speak. Not until this moment had he realized his depth of feeling for this boy. This was the love between brothers that he had been denied with his own treacherous sibling.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere without you,” he whispered.

  “Get off, monkey! You’re hurting him!”

  Gran materialized at Ashinji’s bedside, arms sweeping the air before her as if she were attempting to shoo off an especially persistent pest. She glared at Seijon, but Ashinji could see the veiled amusement in her pale eyes.

  “No, Gran, he’s not hurting me,” Ashinji lied. Gran cocked her head, disbelief writ plain on her face, but she refrained from comment. Instead, she poked Seijon in the ribs and pointed to the foot of the bed. Reluctantly, the boy loosed his hold and retreated to his former position where he flopped down, cross-legged, chin in hand.

  “How are you feeling, Ashi?” Gran inquired, speaking Siri-dar as she always did when there were no humans present.

  “Tired…very tired, and sore. Leal obviously did a lot of damage.” Ashinji paused, reluctant to ask the question uppermost in his mind, but he needed to know. “Leal…is he…?”

  “Leal is dead,” Gran stated flatly. “And no, you didn’t kill him.” Her lips pressed together in a thin line. “I don’t know the whole truth of the matter, but I believe the mistress had him executed.”

  “Shit!” Ashinji muttered.

  “In case you’re feeling some sort of misguided guilt, young man, remember that Leal was a sadistic killer who hated our kind and preyed on those too weak to defend themselves.” She glanced pointedly at Seijon.

  “I’m not sorry he’s dead, Gran,” Ashinji countered. “I’m just sorry it happened the way it did.”

  Gran spent a few moments fussing with his blankets. He lay back and let her, knowing she did it more for her comfort than his. He felt as weak and helpless as a newborn-a sensation he thoroughly disliked.

  “Gran, when I was unconscious, I think I dreamed you were calling to me, pleading with me to return. I also dreamed I saw Jelena.”

  “Those were not dreams, Ashi. I did call to you. As for you seeing your wife, I’m not surprised. It’s very common for those wandering the plane of spirit to seek out loved ones, especially if there has been a separation on the material plane.”

  “I saw her twice. The first time, she was with another man. I could see they had feelings for each other.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Gran murmured.

  “No, I understand, Gran. Jelena has accepted my death and has moved on with her life. I would want her to do just that. She’s too young to spend the rest of her life alone. It hurt, though…”

  He fell silent for a time, eyes closed, meditating on the perversity of his fortunes. “I saw her again,” he continued. “She held a baby-our baby-in her arms.” He smiled. “Seeing my child for the first time…that’s what made me want to come back, Gran.”

  As Gran opened her mouth to reply, the infirmary door swung open to admit Magnes. Jelena’s cousin crossed the room in five long strides, a broad grin on his face.

  “Ashi, you’re awake! When did this happen?”

  “Just a short time ago,” Gran answered. “What brings you back to the yard so soon? It seems like you’ve only just left.”

  “I came back to tend Mistress de Guera-she’s down with one of her headaches.” He pulled a chair around to the side of the bed and straddled it. “I’ve got some news,” he
said, looking at Gran and lowering his voice. “I’ve set the plan into motion. Your mistress has agreed to finance the mobile clinic for the Eskleipans. Construction will begin within the week. I estimate it’ll take about two weeks total for the entire project, including provisioning.”

  “This is very good,” Gran said, nodding enthusiastically, but her expression soon darkened. “Two weeks. Not a lot of time, yet too much, considering the stakes,”

  “What are you two talking about?” Ashinji looked puzzled.

  “Escape, Ashi,” Gran said. “We’ve been working on a plan while you’ve been sleeping.” Briefly, Magnes related the details.

  “I’ll just have to be ready,” Ashinji declared. He paused. “What about Aruk-cho?” He rolled his head to the side, directing the question to Gran. He did not worry the yardmaster would betray them at the last moment; rather, he feared the akuta would extend his assistance to the point where his position at the yard would be jeopardized. The very last thing Ashinji wanted was to see Aruk-cho ruined.

  “Aruk-cho will be ready. All he needs is a few hours’ warning,” Gran replied. “If you’re concerned about him getting into any trouble, don’t be. I promised to shield him and I can.”

  “Are we really leaving here and going to Alasiri?” Tense with excitement, Seijon’s voice piped a little too loud in the afternoon stillness of the infirmary.

  “Hush, child!” Gran scolded. “You can’t speak about any of this! All our lives depend on secrecy. If the mistress were to find out…”

  “She won’t from me,” Seijon promised solemnly.

  “Gran, I trust Seijon completely,” Ashinji said. He smiled at the hikui boy and received a grin in return.

  “Two weeks, then,” Magnes repeated. “Now, let me check your wounds, Ashi.”

  With Gran’s assistance, Ashinji rolled onto his side and lay as still as he could while Magnes unbound and examined his wounds. Even though Magnes probed as gently as he could, Ashinji found it impossible not to flinch. After Magnes had declared himself satisfied, he re-bound Ashinji’s torso with clean bandages.

  “Are you hungry?” Gran asked. “I can send Seijon to the kitchen for some soup, that is, if you think you can handle it.”

  Ashinji shook his head. The mere thought of food caused his stomach to roil in rebellion. “No, not just yet,” he whispered. “I think I need to sleep for awhile longer.”

  “Have some tea, then, at least,” Gran insisted. “You need the moisture.” Ashinji nodded in assent and Seijon scampered off to fetch the tea.

  The sounds of late afternoon drifted in through the open windows. Voices raised in animated conversation, the bleat of a goat, the dull clack, clack of wooden practice blades striking against each other-all served as a reminder to Ashinji that life in the de Guera yard went on essentially unchanged, and it mattered not a whit whether he lived or died.

  He felt grateful to be alive.

  Seijon returned shortly, carrying a tray laden with a teapot and four cups. Gran stood up, took the tray from his hands, and set it on a small table beside Ashinji’s bed.

  “I’ll stay with you, Ashi, while you sleep. I’ll be right here the whole time,” Seijon declared, flopping down in the chair recently vacated by Gran.

  “I feel much better, knowing that you’ll be watching over me, Little Brother.” Ashinji’s heart once again swelled with affection for the boy.

  “The patient is in good hands, it seems,” Magnes said, winking at Gran, who tried her best to look disapproving, but failed dismally.

  “Child, you’ve been sitting by Ashi’s bed for three days straight!” she exclaimed. “When was the last time you ate anything, eh? When was the last time I ate anything for that matter?” she muttered as she poured the tea.

  “I’m not hungry,” Seijon responded, “an’ I’m not leaving.” His voice rang with youthful defiance.

  “Huh! Suit yourself, monkey!” Gran’s eyes flashed, then softened. “I’ll go to the kitchen later and bring you a little something anyway. You can eat it or not; I don’t care.” Even in his bleary state, Ashinji could tell Gran cared very much.

  With Gran’s assistance, Ashinji drank almost a full cup of the lightly sweetened herb tea, then lay his head back on the lumpy, moss-stuffed pillow. The room grew soft and fuzzy around its edges.

  Just before he slipped into sleep, an image of Jelena appeared before his mind’s eye. She looked up sharply, as if startled, and her lips shaped his name.

  He tried to answer, but he hadn’t the strength.

  Chapter 39

  Bid For Freedom

  "Hee hee! It’s grand, Tilo, just grand!”

  Brother Wambo made no attempt to contain his glee. He performed an impromptu jig, his skinny arms and legs flailing like a manic scarecrow come to sudden, comical life.

  Laughing, Magnes exclaimed, “Brother Wambo, if I had known you could dance like that, I would have suggested the temple put on recitals as fund raisers!”

  The new Eskleipan mobile infirmary had been delivered that morning from the wagon makers’ yard, and all the inhabitants of the temple had gathered in the rear courtyard to admire the order’s latest project for serving the poor.

  “Brother Tilo, we have you to thank for this marvelous thing,” Father Ndoma wheezed, his rheumy eyes squinting against the midday sun. In the harsh light, the old man’s skin looked like ancient leather stretched taut over a frame of sticks. The head of the Eskleipan Order had been unwell for several months, and it had lately become obvious that he would not last out the summer.

  “I appreciate your kind words, Father, but the person we ought to be thanking is Armina de Guera. It was her gold that paid for this wagon,” Magnes replied.

  Father Ndoma nodded. “Yes, yes, of course. We shall send a formal letter to the good lady expressing our gratitude.” A fit of coughing wracked his frail body and sent him sagging into the arms of Jouma the chirugeon and Ayeesha the midwife. Wambo shot Magnes a worried look.

  “Perhaps you’d better go inside out of the sun, Father,” Magnes suggested. The rainy season had not quite ended, but already the days waxed warmer as spring took firm hold of the land.

  “Ayeesha and I will escort you, Father,” Jouma said, gently taking the old man’s elbow. Together, he and the midwife steered their leader back toward the cool interior of the temple.

  After the three had disappeared inside, Magnes turned to Wambo and said, “He grows weaker by the day.”

  “Ndoma and I came to Darguinia together,” Wambo replied, voice heavy with sorrow. “So many years have gone by since, so many people have passed through our doors… Some we could heal, others we could not. For those whom our skills were not enough, at the very least, we helped to ease their passage to the other side. Now, the time draws near when I will ease my old friend’s passage and take up his mantle of leadership.”

  “Everyone here has complete faith in you, Brother,” Magnes responded with heartfelt sincerity. He recalled the day when he had first arrived at the temple of Eskleipas, his spirit withering beneath the crushing weight of depression born out of guilt. Wambo and his people had offered him a haven, a place where he could, in time, come to terms with what he’d done and perhaps find absolution through helping others. During his time as an Eskleipan Brother, Magnes had managed to ease his tormented soul, and if he did not feel entirely at peace, he felt as near to it as possible.

  “I can have the infirmary stocked and ready to roll in two days, three at the most,” he said. “Fadili and I have had time to make plans, so we know exactly what we’ll need. I bought a map of the local area in a shop near the palace, so I think it’s fairly accurate…I’ve marked the outlying villages we’ll stop at. I estimate we’ll be able to stay out two to three weeks at a time.”

  Wambo nodded as Magnes spoke, thoughtfully tapping his strong white teeth with the tip of a forefinger.

  “Hmm, yes. Excellent. You and Fadili will both be missed, of course, but this is important work! Jouma
will have to resume the contract work with the yards. Hmm, we’ll be spread a little thin… Perhaps it’s time for a recruitment drive!” He slapped Magnes on the shoulder and grinned.

  Magnes sighed. He felt torn between his desire to admit to Wambo the other use to which he would put the infirmary and his instinct to protect everyone at the temple. He hated the fact that he had to deceive his friend, but in the end, it was far safer that no one else in the temple besides Fadili should know the truth.

  He glanced up at the hazy sky. “Speaking of the yards, it’s time I was getting over to de Guera’s. They’ve got at least five matches today, so I’m expecting a lot of injuries.”

  The rest of the temple folk had returned to their duties, leaving Magnes and Wambo alone in the sunny courtyard. Magnes started toward the temple pharmacy where he kept his supply bag. Wambo fell in beside him.

  “How is your friend the elf doing?” the old man asked.

  “He is much better,” Magnes replied. “The elves are a tough race. I don’t know if a human could’ve survived the kind of wound Ashinji did. He is healing remarkably fast.”

  “That is good to hear.” Wambo paused for a moment before continuing. “Tilo, when you first came to us, I sensed you were a young man in trouble. I have never asked you to reveal anything about yourself or your past, nor am I asking now.” He halted, and fixed Magnes with a discerning eye. “Whatever the circumstances that brought you to us, I am glad. I am glad that you became our brother.”

  Magnes’ breath caught in his throat.

  It sounds like Wambo is saying goodbye, as if he somehow knows I intend to leave and won’t be back. But…how could he know?

  Until this very moment, in fact, Magnes himself had no idea he wanted to leave Darguinia for good, but now he realized that it had been his intention all along. He shifted nervously from foot to foot. Overhead, doves cooed and rustled in the eaves. A cloud drifted over the face of the sun, plunging the world into cool shadow. The wind began to gust and the smell of rain infused the air.