“Don’t be a dragon, don’t be a dragon,” Celie chanted, her fingers and toes crossed.
The egg was rocking so wildly that it was almost standing on end. It was now far too hot for her to touch, despite the light snow that was starting to fall. Celie could see the snowflakes sizzling as they touched the orange shell, which practically glowed in the fading daylight.
“Don’t be a dragon,” Celie said one last time, as hairline cracks began to appear across the shell.
She was fairly certain it wasn’t a dragon, but there was always a small chance. From what information she had been able to glean about creatures that laid very large eggs, it was most likely a roc. Lulath had happily given her a book about them, though it was mostly poetry and legends. It turned out that no one had ever seen a roc egg, but that was because rocs ate horses and, frequently, their riders.
The rocs had almost completely died out in the last century, and Celie had visions of riding to Grath in triumph and delivering the newly hatched baby roc to the mountain caves. A pair of adult rocs would swoop down and bow their proud heads to her before carrying off the baby she had successfully hatched and nursed during its first growth.
The egg stopped rocking.
Celie waited.
After two or three minutes, she became concerned. Surely the beast should have broken free by now? Or at least resumed rocking? She had been reading about the care and training of falcons and other large birds, preparing for the hatching, and knew that it wasn’t good to help them out of the shell. If the little creature wasn’t strong enough to break free, then it probably wasn’t going to live anyway.
That last thought startled a little sob out of Celie’s throat. She flung herself down on the mossy nest and started pushing at the cracks in the egg, burning her fingertips but not caring. Suddenly a segment at the very top popped free, like a trapdoor. Celie stood up on her knees and leaned over, closing one eye to peer into the opening.
She fell back with a scream as a golden beak jutted from the hole, nearly jabbing her in the eye.
The egg simply exploded, shards flying everywhere, as Celie cowered, her arms protecting her face. When it was done, she lowered her arms and looked at the wet, crying, and terribly hideous creature in the nest.
“You’re not a roc,” she said uncertainly.
The creature stumbled toward the sound of her voice, screeching. It tripped over its long lion’s tail and fell on its eagle face, wings entangled in its claws.
“What am I going to do with a griffin?” Celie wailed.
Chapter
4
What Celie apparently needed to do with a griffin was feed it, right away. It came at her, sticky and crying, and she scrambled away from it. But it caught a beakful of her gown and started to gnaw on it.
“Stop that!” Celie pulled the gown free.
The griffin let out a wail.
“Here, here!”
Celie pulled out one of the biscuits that she’d brought to snack on and shoved it into the griffin’s beak. Then she yanked her hand away quickly as he nearly snapped up her fingers along with the biscuit. The biscuit was gone in a flash, and the griffin wailed and began to search for more. Celie flipped the lid off the entire tin and shoved them under the griffin’s questing beak.
It snapped and snaffled and snarled as it ate, flinging crumbs everywhere. Celie couldn’t take her eyes off the creature. As its fur and feathers dried, it was taking on a golden hue. The griffin’s feet were too big for its body, and so was its round, eagle-like head. But then, most baby animals were ugly and gangly that way. And a griffin was odd to begin with, with its eagle’s head, wings, and claws and its back end like a lion’s, complete with long tasseled tail.
It was hideous and marvelous at the same time. Wild and fragile, frightening and lovable. Celie put out a hand and ran it over one of the griffin’s wings, and it made a cooing noise at her. Her heart gave a little flutter.
After it had eaten all the biscuits, it crawled over to Celie again. Her first instinct was to flee, but she gathered her courage and held out her arms instead. It climbed happily into her lap and began crooning and rubbing its head against her. She was now covered in a nasty, sticky substance that was drying in unpleasant clumps on her skirt, but there was something about the griffin all the same. And the Castle did want her to take care of it, after all. She felt something blooming in her chest as she looked down at the little griffin. She hugged it tighter, and it rubbed its soft head against her arm.
But it was snowing, and Celie knew that she couldn’t possibly leave the griffin in the roofless tower all night. She would have to take him back to her bedroom, which was quite a ways away. Celie decided it was best not to think about it too much, and bundled the griffin into her cloak. She heaved her bag of books onto one shoulder, gathered up the writhing bundle, and half ran down the steps and out into the corridor. As she hurried along, the griffin squirming in her arms, she prayed that she wouldn’t meet anyone.
At the end of the corridor, just as she was about to start down the stairs, there was a little lurch, and Celie felt a funny twist at the back of her head. She blinked a few times, and when her head cleared a bit she saw that the staircase in front of her had changed. It wasn’t the spiral staircase anymore, but a narrow, dark, straight set of stairs with an iron railing set into the stone. With a sigh of relief she realized that this staircase was at the end of the corridor where her bedroom was located.
It was also the corridor where Bran’s bedroom was located, so it really shouldn’t have surprised her to run straight into her oldest brother as she barreled down the stairs and along the stone-flagged floor. She nearly dropped the griffin, which squawked and tried to climb up her chest in indignation. Bran leaped back in alarm.
“What is that?”
“It’s nothing,” Celie said, edging around him while she tried to contain the griffin. She didn’t dare look down to be sure, but it felt like some of his limbs had come free of the cloak.
“It’s not nothing,” Bran said severely. “Did you take a puppy from the kennels? You know we’re not supposed to do that; those are hunting dogs. They don’t make good pets, Celie.”
“It’s not a dog from the kennels,” Celie said, desperately trying to hold on as the griffin made a frantic sort of lunge. “It’s one of Lulath’s,” she said in a sudden burst of inspiration. “I took her for a walk but she got all muddy, so I’m going to bathe her before I take her back to him.”
“Oh,” Bran said, relaxing. “I thought I saw them all with him before, but who can tell, he has so many!” He laughed.
Celie tried to force a laugh of her own as she continued to sidle down the corridor. “I know! He has four now, but they seem like a whole herd. I’d better get this one washed.”
“Wizard Bran?”
Celie turned with a little shriek. A young page was standing only a pace or so behind her. “Where did you come from?” Celie demanded.
He blushed a deep red. “I—I—Prince Rolf asked me to see if Wizard Bran was coming back to the Armor Gallery.”
“Yes, yes, I’m done here,” Bran said. He locked the door of his chambers and pocketed the key. He had always been secretive, even as a boy, and if anything it had gotten worse since he’d become a wizard. King Glower said it was because now he had actual secrets to keep.
“What were you doing?” Celie couldn’t help but ask, even as she feared that she was losing her grip on the griffin, and her bag was sliding down her shoulder toward her elbow.
“Writing to the College of Wizardry,” Bran said. “I need some advice about a few of these exotic weapons, and one of my former tutors there is an expert on magical weaponry.”
“Really? Did you send a pigeon?”
Celie was momentarily diverted. Bran had a cage full of white pigeons that he used to send messages to other wizards. Celie loved watching him write codes on tiny scrolls and then seal them into brass tubes that fastened to the pigeons’ legs. Usually
he invited her to help, and she was put out that he hadn’t included her this time.
“I looked for you, Cel, but didn’t know where you were,” Bran said, seeing her expression.
“What is that?” The page was staring at her bundle, which gave another heave.
“Just one of Prince Lulath’s dogs,” Celie said. She started toward her room again.
“Does he have another?” The page looked vaguely horrified. “He was outside the new gallery with Prince Rolf just now, and he had four with him—four!”
“Oh, good heavens, don’t tell me he’s gotten a fifth,” Bran said, looking at Celie’s bundle. “I couldn’t bear it.”
“No,” Celie said innocently. “Just the four. You must have counted wrong,” she told the page. “They move around a lot. Like a herd of sheep.” She wondered if she should sprint for her room and apologize later. She could feel an exposed claw dangling near her left knee.
“Oh, there were four,” the page said, standing square in the middle of the corridor. “He introduced them all to me.” He sounded even more horrified.
“That’s fun,” Celie said desperately. “If you’ll excuse me, this one is muddy all over and getting heavier by the minute.”
“I’ll tell Prince Rolf that you are on your way, Lord Wizard,” the page said.
He began to back away, and Celie wanted to scream at him to just leave, because she was now in very real danger of dropping the griffin. The page turned at last and left.
She put on her best impression of Lilah and tried to sail gracefully past Bran, but the griffin had other ideas. She had taken no more than a step when it gave one more lurch and freed itself from both the cloak and her arms.
It landed on the floor with its limbs splayed, wings askew, and squalled. Celie dropped to her knees at once, rushing to reassure the little animal and make sure that it wasn’t hurt.
“Poor baby,” Celie said, soothing it. “Mummy’s here, you’re all right.”
Bran let out a startled yell and then stood over her, his face aghast. “Celie,” he said flatly. “That is not a dog.”
Chapter
5
Oh, Celie, what have you done?” Bran asked in a strangled voice.
They had gotten the griffin to Celie’s room before anyone else could come along the corridor. There Bran ascertained in quick order that the creature was not hurt, that it was indeed a griffin, and that it was male, and demanded to know once again what Celie had done.
“Why do you say that like this is such a bad thing?” Celie pushed her hair back in exasperation. It was damp with sweat from carrying the griffin, and sheer nerves, and she had lost her ribbon somewhere along the way. “It’s not like I purposefully brought a griffin here. I don’t even know where griffins come from!”
“That’s true, I suppose,” Bran said, rubbing his chin. “But you’re sure that you didn’t ask the Castle for it?”
She stared at him in disbelief. “What would I have said? Dear Castle, may I please have a griffin egg? And could it hatch on my favorite gown and ruin it?”
“All right,” Bran agreed, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “It was a silly question. But where did you get a baby griffin? And when?”
“He hatched only an hour ago,” Celie said.
Then she related the whole story to Bran. A minute into her tale, Bran took out a notebook and began to scribble, his face intent. The griffin began to chew on the rug and whine again, so while she talked, Celie fed him the dried fruit and nuts from her bag, and then the winter apples she had in a bowl by her window.
When she got to the end of her story, where she ran into Bran in the corridor, she found her brother gazing at her in wonder.
“You really hatched a griffin?” Bran asked softly.
“Yes,” Celie said, feeling uncomfortable.
“That’s amazing, Cel,” Bran said. “Truly it is. You managed to care for and hatch an egg—in this weather, no less—and now look at him. He clearly adores you.”
The baby griffin was indeed crawling all over Celie, nuzzling her and crying for food.
“He just likes me because I gave him food,” Celie said, blushing.
“That’s exactly right,” Bran said, sounding just a bit jealous. “You fed him first, so he thinks you’re his mother.”
“He—what?”
The griffin, now that he was dry, was quite a bit larger than Celie had originally thought. He was roughly twice the size of one of Lulath’s lapdogs, and that was without the wings. And as for his wings, they were constantly getting tangled up in his feet or caught on the furniture, and his cries of distress were harsh and loud. Adorable as he was, in an ugly way, she was rather hoping that the Castle would soon send him back to his parents. Taking care of him was going to be quite a chore, even without keeping it secret. She had already sworn Bran to secrecy, knowing that the Castle wouldn’t mind him knowing, and having a wizard’s help might come in handy.
“Imprinting,” Bran said, nodding his head. “A great many animals imprint on the first adult animal they see, or the first that feeds them.”
“Oh, dear,” Celie said. “I didn’t know.”
“I’m sure that the Castle did, though,” Bran said, thoughtful. “The Castle wanted this griffin to imprint on you.”
“But why? Why couldn’t the Castle just leave it for its parents to raise?”
Celie tried not to sound frantic. She knew that he would need to eat again, and soon, but she had a feeling that biscuits and raisins weren’t going to sustain him forever. And those were all gone anyway.
“Because it doesn’t have parents,” Bran said. “There’s no such thing as a griffin; they’re myths. That egg was most likely a fluke: a wizard’s experiment from long ago. And who knows how long it has been in that tower, waiting for the Castle to pull it out of … wherever the Castle was keeping it.”
“Griffins are not just a myth,” Celie said hotly. “They come from the Castle. They drove out the unicorns in the third century.”
Bran stared at Celie.
“Unicorns?” he asked finally.
“This valley was once the home of a herd of unicorns,” Celie said. “Then one day there was an earthquake, and when the shaking stopped, Castle Glower appeared. Griffins came flying out of the Castle and attacked the unicorns. Those that survived fled.”
“Where did they go?” Bran had gotten caught up in the story in spite of himself.
“To Larien,” she said promptly.
“The Land of a Thousand Waterfalls?” Bran murmured. “Interesting. They say that you can see a rainbow there every day.” His fingers twitched and he looked thoughtful; then he started scribbling the story down.
Celie went on. “Supposedly they were taken to Larien on ships that sailed out of Grath, because the Grathian fleet took pity on them. But even Larien was not far enough away, and eventually the unicorns had to seek sanctuary elsewhere.”
“Where?”
Celie squirmed a little. “Well, this part is definitely just a myth, but they say that they galloped up a rainbow and into another world. It rains so much there that they really do have rainbows every day. And they’re bright, too, and big—you can imagine … you can imagine a unicorn running up one.”
Celie rather wished she hadn’t said anything. It was a fascinating story that she’d found in another book Lulath had given her, and even though it hadn’t been about rocs, she’d read it several times because it talked about the Castle.
“Where did you hear this? In one of those romances Lilah is always reading?”
“No,” Celie replied quickly. “It was a book Lulath gave me, when I asked him about rocs.” Seeing Bran’s confusion, she added, “I thought it was a Grathian roc egg.”
“Do you still have this book?” Bran asked. “I’m particularly wondering about the part with the Castle. If there’s a description of what the valley looked like before, and any indication of how old the myth is and when the event was supposed to
have taken place, I would love to see it.”
“Er,” Celie said. “Sort of. It says something about a flat meadow, and now it’s a valley. But when I was done with the book, I forgot and left it in the library… . I think it got shelved by accident.”
She made a face, and Bran winced in sympathy. The Castle librarian was very old, and very possessive, and sometimes it was hard to make him give up a book once he’d gotten his paws on it.
“I’ll have to speak to the librarian about that,” Bran said reluctantly. “Or maybe I’ll have Pogue look into it,” he added, half to himself, as he continued to write in his little notebook.
Celie yelped and snatched her fingers back. The baby griffin had just tried to eat them.
“We need more food for him,” Bran told her in an irritatingly knowledgeable way.
“I can’t just order the kitchen to send me up a plate of … I don’t even know what he eats!” Celie fretted. “They’ll get suspicious no matter what! I never ask for food in my room, Cook hates that. And he probably needs raw meat or liver or something!”
Celie had been reading a book on falcon keeping, and the author recommended raw organ meats, but also dried corn and flax seeds—all of which were sure to raise Cook’s eyebrows and have her asking Queen Celina for an explanation.
“Allow me,” Bran said. He stood up and gave her a small bow.
He strode over and tugged the fat-tasseled bellpull in the corner of Celie’s room. A few minutes later, a maid knocked on the door. Celie tried to cover the griffin with her body, but Bran blocked the view into the room with his tall form and sweeping robes.
“Ah, hello!” Bran greeted the maid. “I am helping my sister, Princess Cecelia, with an experiment for her lessons. Could you please go to the kitchens and ask Cook for some raw meat? It doesn’t need to be the choice cuts, it can be the organs and fatty bits. Also a bowl of fruit—”
“Dried corn,” Celie said in a low, urgent voice.
Wednesdays in the Tower Page 2