Aventur And The Griffin
Aventur hung from the cliff face by one hand, his face pressed against the hard, cold rock.
He swung a grapple and line with his free hand, throwing them high above his head. He heard the metal grapple hit rock and gently applied pressure to the rope. The rope dropped suddenly, and his body lurched unexpectedly. He barely held on to the rock with the tips of his fingers. The rope fell passed his head, one loop flicking him painfully across the ear as it dropped. Aventur always tied the end of the rope to the ragged strip of old leather that he used as a belt, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he felt its reassuring weight against his leg. He pushed himself against the rock and wedged his toes into tiny cracks to take the force off his hands. He inhaled deeply and began gathering the rope up again with one hand for another try.
“Always upwards, onwards, skywards,” he reminded himself.
He needed the encouragements, as he had been climbing for a long, long time. Thankfully he was finally nearing the summit of the mountain that towered above his home. The wind blew icy cold across his face and through the many holes in his old clothes. His lips were peeling and dry.
He ignored the discomfort, listening for an eagle’s cry. He had heard that eagles nested in the cliffs and had decided to steal an egg for himself. He knew his mother wouldn’t approve, but he loved climbing the mountains, testing himself against the rough stone and freezing winds. He felt his grapple catch, and this time it took all his weight. He began pulling himself up the rope, hand over hand. It was hard work, but he loved it. He reached the top of the rope, so he stopped to enjoy the view and get his breath back. The green valley below and the golden skies above were the most beautiful things he had ever seen in the fifteen short years of his life.
He pulled an apple from his pockets and began cutting it with a small knife. The apple was sweet and crunchy; he had stolen it out of his uncle’s orchard.
“The fruit may be my uncle’s produce, but its sweetness far outweighs his own,” Aventur told the wind, throwing it a slice of apple.
Aventur wore brown pants, scuffed from his long climb, and a dirty white shirt. His belt was far too large for him, a cast off from an older cousin. His shoes were second hand too and were an odd pair of slightly different sizes. His mother was always lecturing him about his appearance, and his uncle often told him that his filthy clothes were an embarrassment to the family, but Aventur didn’t care much for his looks. He enjoyed climbing and stealing too much to worry about mirrors. A lock of greasy hair fell across his eyes, and he brushed it away with annoyance. When the hair fell across his face a second time he used his knife to cut it off, casting the strands to the wind.
He rubbed his leg through a hole at his pants and wondered how much further he would need to climb to reach the eagle nests.
“Not much further, surely, for even eagles must shudder in these winter winds,” he said to himself.
He pulled out a small flute and played a few notes to the mountains and sky. The wind tore the notes away from him and cast them back down into the valley. Aventur didn’t mind, for he knew the wind was just jealous of his skills. Aventur was able to play the flute before he could walk, and for as long as he could remember he had been able to make any instrument sing for him. It delighted his mother, but angered his uncle, who believed that real men liked watching football and singing rude songs badly.
Aventur was not fond of his uncle, but he did like the man’s apples. He pulled another from his pocket and began cutting it into smaller pieces. When he was done he threw the core back towards the valley, watching it spin and twist as it fell towards the ground. It flew free for a moment, and then hit a rocky outcropping, exploding into fragments and seeds that were blown away by the wind. Aventur’s whole family worked in his oldest uncle’s orchards. There was work enough to keep everyone both occupied and fed, even a disobedient and disfavoured nephew. Aventur had learnt to climb by pulling apples off the trees, and learnt to lie by avoiding whatever chores he could. His mother tended her brother’s gardens while the extended family looked after the trees. It wasn’t a bad life, and most of Aventur’s wants and needs were met, but Aventur found the safe life boring. His uncle had yelled at him when he had asked what lay outside the valley, and his mother had whispered to him to banish such thoughts from his mind.
However, Aventur wasn’t one to be easily dissuaded.
“Curiosity is like the cunning flame, for both are impossible to damp once lit,” he told himself.
He had begun climbing the cliffs the very next day. He wanted to get high enough to see the whole world, or at least something outside of the valley. He was a talented climber, and an even better liar. He covered his absences with a web of lies and half-truths spread amongst his family, but it was far harder to hide the scrapes and bruises that he collected during climbing from his watchful mother. He knew she worried about him, but he was young and loved to climb.
It wasn’t long before he was spending more time on the mountain than on the ground. Sometimes he climbed for fun, but more often he was looking for the mountain’s treasures and secrets. A travelling merchant, who had stopped to buy apples from the orchard, had told Aventur that the eagles that nested in the mountains were magical creatures, and that their eggs were worth a small fortune. Aventur had set out to find one for himself with a determination that he had previously only shown for learning music and avoiding work. He had climbed over every inch of the lower mountain, but had never yet been high enough to find an eagle’s nest.
“The eagle’s egg will buy freedom for both mother and I,” he reminded himself constantly.
His determination was paying off: he climbed on to a flat rock ledge and heard the cheep of chicks just above his head. He climbed the last little cliff quickly, pulling himself on to a smooth stone shelf that jutted out into the sky. At the base of the shelf, nestled amongst a few hardy mountain shrubs, stood a large nest made from twigs and small branches woven elegantly together.
“The sound of the nest is as expected, but its size eclipses my expectations,” he whispered to himself.
The nest was occupied, which meant that the eggs had hatched. This was disappointing to Aventur, but he was happy to at least have found a nest. He walked cautiously over to it to see the chicks and check for an unhatched egg. The nest was a hollow sphere with an entrance just larger than Aventur’s head. He peered into the dark nest, and was greeted by a raucous chorus of screams from the chicks. He could make out what looked to be an unbroken egg deep within the nest, and so he reached in with one hand to grab it.
A tiny clawed body dropped from the top of the nest and on to his hand, pecking him viciously. Aventur yelled with outraged surprise at the attack, and withdrew his arm. His young attacker was still holding his arm, digging deeply to pierce his skin and cut his muscle. Aventur raised his other hand to swipe the creature.
The little ball of red fur and blue feathers let go of his arm for a second, and waved its wings clumsily. It began to fall from its perch, and Aventur caught it with his free hand and raised it up to be level with his face. He realised that it was no eagle, although the two animals shared both head and wings.
“Eagles’ wings, lions’ mane, tigers’ claws, a brave man’s bane!” he said, reciting a line of poetry that he had been taught as a child.
The baby griffin hissed at him angrily, pecking his hand with a fearless ferociousness that was remarkable for its size. Aventur’s hand was bleeding, but he managed to pull an apple from his pocked and present it to the small monster. It eyed the fruit uncertainly, and then began clawing it with obvious enjoyment. Aventur quickly placed it back into the nest, and withdrew to a safe distance as pieces of apple pulp were sent flying from within.
“A dragon’s eyes, a hunter’s soul, the sharpest beak shall take their toll,” he said, remembering a line from an old song he had once heard.
He rubbed the trickles of blood that ran down his arm and wondered what to do next.
A shadow passed briefly over his body, and he ducked as a pair of huge wings flapped right above him. A screech of outrage filled the air, a sound so loud that it hurt Aventur’s ears and made him drop to a crouch. He realised at once that he had been discovered, and that he was unwelcome. He backed away from the nest, searching the sky for the griffin he knew was watching him.
The skies were empty, but Aventur knew he wasn’t safe. He had reached the very edge of the rock shelf, and there was nothing behind him now except blue sky and a long fall. He pulled out his grappling rope and looked around desperately for something to attach it to. The rocks were smooth, the sky was empty, and Aventur was beginning to panic.
He heard the air move behind him, and threw himself face down on to the rocks. Only his quick reactions saved him from the griffin’s claws, which scraped lightly across his back as it swooped over him, landing in front of the nest and spinning to face him.
The griffin was holding a black scorpion in its beak. The scorpion was the size of Aventur’s arm, and squirmed and slashed at the griffin with its claws and sting. Aventur knew the scorpion’s kind: they were aggressive and poisonous animals that attacked without warming and killed without regret. They were a constant threat for both mountain climbers and the small rodents that lived amongst the mountain’s shrubs, and Aventur had been chased by them on more than one occasion.
The scorpion arched its back and brought its sting around to attack the griffin, stabbing down furiously. The griffin seemed not to notice its victim’s struggles. Aventur winced as the scorpion lashed out with its tail, but the griffin didn’t even flinch.
It met Aventur’s eyes, and maybe it noticed the admiration in them. It threw the creature casually over its shoulder and into the nest; the eager screams of its young showed that they had been expecting such a meal. Aventur almost felt sorry for the scorpion, but instead chose to be sorry for himself.
“The scorpion was a snack, but this boy might be another course in this feast,” he whispered to himself.
The prospect of being eaten didn’t scare him as much as he would have expected, so he stood up slowly to face the griffin. The creature seemed surprised by this, and tilted its head to one side as if thinking. It hissed a low, slow, sinister hiss of confusion and anger at finding an outsider at its nest. It clawed at the rocks with its paw, scratching deep lines into the rock. Its tail waved from side to side, and it prepared to pounce.
Aventur should have been terrified, but the griffin was just too beautiful to fill him with anything other than wonder. It had huge wings of with long green feathers tipped with gold and blue. Its beak was gold and covered with a pattern of delicate red lines. Its paws were deep royal purple, and its claws were silver. It opened its mouth and hissed angrily, and Aventur saw that its tongue was a delicate shade of pink while its throat was black.
Aventur should have been scared, but instead he was entranced. He stared at its delicate white eyebrows and cast admiring eyes over the peacock patterns in its skin.
“More beautiful than the first dawn of spring,” he whispered to himself, reaching forward to stroke its face.
The griffin snapped at him in warning, ruffling out the feathers on its face. Aventur slowly drew his hand back. He kept staring into the griffin’s amber eyes, trying not to blink. The beast winked one eye at a time slowly uncertainly. It snapped its beak again, and swept its wings over its back. It looked inquisitively down at the boy before it, and appeared to be thinking. The griffin normally stayed away from humans, and it had never met one that wasn’t afraid of it. It didn’t know what to do with prey that faced it. Besides, it didn’t hunt men, preferring a diet of lamb and scorpion. It sniffed the air, wondering what Aventur would try next.
Aventur drew his flute out, hoping the animal enjoyed music.
He blew a cautious note on his flute, watching the griffin’s appearance closely.
It seemed to enjoy his music, blinking again and then holding its head to one side. The cheeps of its young quietened, and Aventur began playing louder and more confidently. The griffin began to purr, and occasionally clicked its beak in time to the music. The beast seemed to relax slightly, and so did Aventur. As he played he cast an admiring eye over the animal’s features: the vivid colours and delicate fractal patterns in the feathers, the soft lines and clean spots of its fur.
Only one thing was out of place on the griffin: one of its feathers was jutting out of its wing and into the sky. The griffin shuffled its wings, and the feather stuck out sideways like a tree growing out of a smooth cliff face. As soon as Aventur noticed it, he couldn’t take his eyes of it. He wanted it; surely the griffin would understand if he took it?
The feather seemed about to fall out. The griffin scratched at it absent-mindedly with its back claws while it listened to the music. Aventur began to walk slowly towards the feather, still playing his flute. The griffin eyed him warily, but he kept playing, and that kept the beast content.
Finally he was within reach of the feather. His hand shot out to grab it, and he jumped backwards as the griffin swiped at him with a paw. The griffin roared loudly, spreading its wings and raising up on to its hind legs, towering above Aventur. The young musician stepped backwards from the animal, but still faced it. He had the feather clutched tightly in his hand and waved it in front of him like a sword.
“Good friend, please excuse my rudeness! I only wish to relieve you of a discomfort that I would cherish for the rest of my days! Let this not come between our-” but Aventur had been backing away from the griffin as he spoke, and had come to the lip of the shelf.
He felt his foot slip off the cliff, and he began to fall. He could hear the griffin screaming above him, but he couldn’t tell if it was from anger or surprise. He landed heavily in the branches of a small bush growing from the side of the mountain, managing to grab one of its thin branches with his hands. His weight began to pull the bush’s roots out of the crevice they clung to, and Aventur once again began to slide down the mountain.
He screamed as he fell, tumbling in the air. The valley and mountains spun around him, swapping places and dancing around his head. He felt a shooting pain in his foot and wondered how badly he would be injured. He closed his eyes and prepared for the worst, content in the knowledge that he had seen a griffin before he died.
His body jerked unpleasantly and giant wings beat above him. He opened his eyes to see the sky below his feet and the mountains above his head. He tried to move, but realised he was hanging uncomfortably by one leg. He could see the griffin’s claws wrapped gently round his foot. The beast had caught him as he fell, and was now bearing him back down the mountain. His weight was too much for it fly properly, and it quickly stopped trying to flap, instead gliding smoothly through the air.
“Beautiful, wise beast! Merciful, wonderful lord of the air!” Aventur called out, but his words were whipped away from his lips.
As they neared the bottom of the mountain Aventur began to worry about their landing. They were moving too fast for it to be safe, but the griffin didn’t seem intent on slowing down. It swooped down through the valley, dangling Aventur above the tips of the apple trees. The young man gasped as green leaves shot past his eyes. He began to laugh, and then gulped as the griffin released him and he began to fall head-first towards the ground.
He landed in the orchard pond with a splash, sending a spray of water high above him so that rained back down on the pond as heavy droplets. By the time he had surfaced the griffin was just a dot in the sky. Aventur swum to the shore and sat in the shallow water, breathing deeply.
He opened his hand, and saw that he was still grasping the huge griffin’s feather that he had taken at the top of the cliff. He had held it even as he fell, even as the griffin pulled him through the air. He waved the feather gently in the air to dry it, laughing as he did so. He checked his few possessions: he could find his knife and journal, but not his flute. He thought he must have left it near the griffin’s nest. If so, it was a
welcome exchange for the feather, and he hoped the griffin chicks learnt to use it somehow.
He snuck back into his home. He shared an apartment in his uncle’s house with his mother, a couple of small rooms on the second floor. He climbed in through a window, and pulled off his dirty, wet clothes. After seeing the griffin’s finery he was inspired to greater things. He opened up his closet and searched through the collection of old clothes it contained. He found a red shirt, and matched it with a pair of yellow pants. A white scarf and blue hat completed the outfit, although he knew it was far short of the griffin’s beauty.
“In the future, all men shall talk of my style and elegance, and even the griffin will envy my finery,” he promised himself.
He stuck the griffin’s feather in his hat and placed his few treasures in his pockets. He had little to take with him: a few bronze coins, a dagger and a few colourful rocks. He pulled his mother’s portrait off the wall and stuck it down the front of his shirt. Then he climbed out of his window and began walking out of the valley.
Life beckoned to Aventur, and the valley was no longer enough for him. It never would be again, because Aventur wanted so much more for his life than the valley could ever hold.
For he had seen a griffin, and even the sweetest apples could never compare.
Aventur’s adventures continue in the full length novel‘Wish’.
The Origami Dragon And Other Tales Page 9