Once Upon a Quest

by Anthea Sharp

  “I’m fine.” But she wasn’t fine. Her shoulders shook, and she turned her face away.

  I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood. I’d never cried before, but this action eased the tightness in my chest.

  “We can’t stay here,” Akin finally said. “The Ground-Walkers live in this valley. We should return to the mountains until daylight. From there, we can try flying to Wura again.”

  No, he hadn’t meant those words for all of us—only Olufe.

  Her head whipped to him. “No—”

  Sounds to the east made us freeze: tree branches breaking, heavy footsteps on the ground, Ground-Walkers shouting.

  “C’mon!” Akin ran southwest.

  I expected Olufe to follow him, but my sister hoisted me onto her back. I squeaked. The jostling was painful, but I held onto her. The sounds drew closer.

  “Faster!” Akin stormed ahead, parting the underbrush.

  “They’re on horses, and they have dogs!” Olufe cried. “We must be swift.”

  My heart slammed against my chest and my headache increased ten-fold. I didn’t know what a dog or horse was, but I could hear them and smell them.

  Did the Ground-Walkers want to kill us?

  The thick evergreens disappeared to reveal a clearing. We weren’t alone. Ground-Walkers riding horses and holding strange contraptions shot nets into the sky. Two other hatchlings, too tired to fly high, fell hard. Once they hit the ground, they also assumed the Ground-Walker form.

  One Ground-Walker pointed to us and shouted. Akin turned to go back the way we came, but more upright creatures approached from the west.

  We were surrounded.

  Akin could’ve run away, but he snarled at them and tried to frighten them away. The Ground-Walkers’ nets subdued us with ease. We were dragged across the ground to metal cages and placed inside with other Awosanma. The two other hatchlings clung to each other.

  A pair of large horses pulled our cage on a cart through the forest. Olufe continued to cradle me close while Akin brooded in the opposite corner. He stared at every movement the Ground-Walkers made.

  The forest bled away to a rocky path with perfectly lined up evergreens along the side. At the far end of the road was a structure I’d never seen before. They’d taken rocks from the mountains and used them to construct a tall structure with holes covered in a transparent, shiny material. Ground-Walkers holding weapons guarded the front.

  “That is their nest,” Olufe whispered to me. “There are hundreds of them there. When I flew high above, I saw Awosamna, but none of them tried to escape to Wura for some reason.” Her voice saddened as we entered through the gates and wooden doors closed behind us. “We can’t stay here forever, Ireti. The mating grounds call for us. If we don’t heed the call we may never leave.”

  Chapter 2

  Rhys

  * * *

  I’d never seen a frailer creature.

  Her ratty hair—the honeyed color of the retreating sun with cinnamon streaks—partially covered a heart-shaped face with a dusting of freckles on her cheekbones. She blinked at me from within the griffin cage, revealing golden griffin eyes.

  “Don’t let their eyes fool you, Master Llewelyn!” Governess Gravesend hissed from behind me. She constantly reminded me of dangers any seventeen-year-old boy would already know.

  I sighed. As the heir to the land of Cressedin and the coasts to the south, I’d endured yet another long day of lessons on military history. I was making my way to eat my evening meal when I saw the girl in the cage.

  “Their human form is temporary,” the governess added. “Their fingernails in human form are as sharp as their beaks.”

  But this particular griffin, in its human form, stared at me until the larger girl, who held her, turned her head away and whispered in her ear.

  Craigs, the surly stablemaster with a scowl just as deep as his receding hairline, unloaded the shapeshifting creatures from the cages into a corral.

  “Why hasn’t the stablemaster given them proper robes?” the governess snapped. “Their nakedness is offensive to my young master.”

  My hand rose to quiet her. “Stop fretting, Mrs. Gravesend.”

  Two stablehands eased into the cage. One was armed with a whip while the other forced the griffin children to put on the robes. One of the boys refused, even daring to bare his teeth. The whip cracked twice. I cringed as he screamed. The vicious welts on the boy’s backside was a hard lesson: obey or else. The other children complied, and the tattered garments swallowed them.

  “Come, it’s time to eat.” Mrs. Gravesend pulled me away, but as I glanced over my shoulder, the golden-eyed griffin girl with the broken leg watched me walk away.

  The next morning, I had no lessons, so I snuck out of the castle to the stables and surrounding corrals. Now that the sun had risen, the griffins stalked the corral in their natural forms. The stablehands kept them collared and chained to keep them from flying away.

  Without catching the eye of others, I ambled up to the fence and watched the stablemaster direct the stablehands to brand and break in the griffins. Every spring, Craigs sent out soldiers to capture young griffins and all of them ended up here. Cressedin Castle supplied the flying steeds for the entire kingdom.

  “Should we put it down, sir? It’s injured,” one of the stablehands remarked.

  What was he talking about?

  I looked around the short man to see the injured griffin. The branches used to secure her broken leg fell away once she transformed into her griffin shape. Now she hobbled about, creating a pitiful sight with her shorter tail, muted brown feathers, and sickly yellow fur on her flank. Her misshapen, small wings made her unfit to carry anyone—but her hazel eyes flashed with far more determination than Craigs’s.

  “It’s more than injured.” Craigs snorted. “It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Even your wife doesn’t look that hideous.”

  The stablehand threw his superior a dark look but glanced away when Craigs turned to him. No one who wanted a warm bed and daily meals disrespected the great Cressedin Griffin Master. Griffins came in wild animals, and in one season, they bent to his will.

  Craigs wasn’t done. “I’d rather wipe my rear end with that hide. It’s useless. Go ahead and put it down.”

  The stablehand grabbed a club and entered the cage.

  “Stop!” I scrambled to intervene. Anger settled into my stomach and propelled me closer until I stood behind Craigs.

  “It’s Master Llewelyn,” the stablehand said.

  Craigs didn’t bother to face me. So be it. I faced him. “Do you take pleasure from killing them?” I asked.

  “Killing wild animals?” Craigs’s bushy black eyebrows rose.

  “Wild or not, it’s defenseless,” I replied.

  The stablemaster’s brow furrowed. Then he laughed and his spittle hit my face. “Then what would you have me do, young master. This stronghold has withstood decades of assaults thanks to men like me. Griffin riders. You owe men like me for your wealth. As well as your pretty mud-free cloaks and blood-free blades.”

  Boastful bastard.

  I stole a glance around me. My governess was nowhere to be seen. He’d never dare to criticize me so openly if she were here.

  “Release her. Now.” I extended my hand for the griffin’s chain. The stablehand in the cage stiffened. Craigs and I exchanged a glare, and I refused to look away. You’re bold now, but someday, I will command this stronghold, I thought. When that time comes, men like you won’t be welcome here.

  “Who do you think you are, boy?” He approached me, and my head barely reached his broad shoulders. “Just because you’re Lord Llewelyn’s son doesn’t mean you command me like you do your little wet nurse.”

  His smirk shifted to a half-smile. “But who am I to judge a beast’s worth?” He jerked his chin to the stablehand. “Give the precious griffin to the boy. Let’s see how long he lasts before it mars his handsome face.”

  The stablehand grabbed the hea
vy chain and handed it to me. The griffin female quickly hobbled out of the cage and pulled hard against the chain. I struggled to keep up, even failing to fall back as she sprang at me. Her crimson-colored beak sunk into my hand, but I didn’t dare flinch. I should’ve worn gloves like the stablemaster.

  While keeping a safe distance from the female, I tugged her to a pasture. Once her chain was tied to the fence, I ventured to the stables and returned with an animal medical kit.

  The female continued to limp as a house cat would with an injured leg. As to how I’d get close enough to secure and wrap it again was another matter. I settled for patience, even daring to get close wearing gloves this time, but she wouldn’t let me near her.

  So I waited.

  At the stables, I’d filled my pockets with apples. I tried to offer her one, but she nipped at me. After an hour passed, I decided to roll one of them to her. The red fruit sat next to her leg, and I rested against a nearby tree, satisfied that at least my efforts may work. The griffin flicked her head and sent the apple spinning toward my head. I ducked in time, barely able to hold in a laugh.

  Her eyes formed slits. Try giving me another apple, her expression seemed to convey. There was a spark of rebellion in this one.

  I sighed, wishing I had the same feeling. All my life I’d lived here, unable to escape my role as heir to the Cressedin throne. I had little power—what could I do to spare her life? If I set her free, how would she hunt for food or find shelter? I had to secure that broken leg.

  Patience rewards the assiduous man, my father always told me. I switched tactics and spoke. “What should I call you?” I asked. “Apricot, perhaps?

  * * *

  Ireti

  * * *

  Another fruit? All morning long, the men called stablehands tossed about names like we didn’t already have one. “Apple” for my sister and “Grape” for another female. How ridiculous! Awosanma parents named their children the moment they hatched. Each one represented what their parents expected of them.

  My name meant hope.

  “Maybe I should call you Pear,” he suggested.

  Things were looking too hopeful on my end.

  I glanced at the strange Ground-Walker, that I now knew to be a human, and tilted my head. He wasn’t like the others who whipped the griffins. He sat not far from me, tossing me delicious apples every now and then. Once in a while, he forgot about the cut on his hand and winced as he threw more food. I felt remorseful for biting him. He seemed kind, and well, apple trees didn’t grow along the mountainside.

  He tossed another apple. “My name is Rhys, by the way. I saw you looking at my hand. It’s almost as if you understand what happened.” He glanced at the bandage he wrapped around it. “I don’t blame you for this.”

  You should, was my next thought.

  Rhys continued. “You were defending yourself—which is your natural right.” He sighed. “I don’t understand why we need the griffins to defend Cressedin. Father said we’re training five thousand men to go south to the Lucienne Isles. We need a navy—not an army of enslaved animals.”

  I inched forward a tad. Shook my head, flinging my errant feathers from my face. He’d cleverly tossed the fruit closer to him. It was the largest one he offered by far, practically blemish free. I could already taste the tartness on my tongue.

  “Even if I name you…will you be fitted with a harness like the others?” He ran his fingers through his reddish-blonde hair. “Will the stablemaster use his whip to break your spirit?” He tilted up his chin. His soft gray eyes reflected warmth and I froze. I’d never seen such a shade of gray before. Silver-green flecks sparkled like starlight on the night of a new moon.

  He flashed a boyish smile. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” He laughed. “You probably don’t.”

  I was much closer to him now and snatched the apple. I swallowed it in one gulp. Quite tasty.

  “Either way, none of you belong here,” he said wistfully. “All the young griffins were flying north …Where were they going?” He eased himself to his feet.

  He approached me, bringing the pleasant scent of clean leather, but I scampered backward—until I saw his other hand held not one, but two apples.

  “Can you live long enough to fly north?” He extended his hand with the fruit.

  How much did he know about the Awosanma?

  He waited again.

  When sweat pooled on his brow, I went to him. When I was close enough, I gobbled up the first apple. He chuckled a bit and warmth pooled in my stomach. Why did his facial expressions fill me with such delight? Hadn’t his fellow Ground-Walkers imprisoned me only yesterday?

  “That good?” he asked, distracting me.

  His empty hand floated over my head, barely brushing against my crown. “If I release the lock on your collar, you might survive the night.” He stole a glance at the stables then released the lock on my collar.

  He left the pasture. Was I free now?

  I eased toward the rocky path leading to the woods, testing my wings with each step. They were too small. Beyond the pasture, near the stables, my brother and sister were chained to an iron fence. The stablehands already fastened saddles to their backs. My brother poked holes into his saddle with his beak, but my sister stared at me instead. She looked at me expectantly, even jerking her head toward the woods. “Run away,” she seemed to say. We were too far apart for mindspeak.

  But there was nowhere for me to go. I couldn’t leave her behind.

  I limped after the human boy, Rhys, on his way back the stables.

  My sister’s words circled my head. “We can’t stay here forever, Ireti. The peaks call for us. If we don’t heed the call, we’ll be enslaved forever.”

  I wasn’t sure how I’d reach Wura Peak, but someday my siblings and I would.

  Chapter 3

  Ireti

  * * *

  Olufe flew long before I did. In the nest, all she had to do was extend her wings and take off. While my other nestmates fought each other over Mother’s offering—a mountain goat on most days—Olufe’s wings pushed them back, and she snatched the morsels Akin didn’t care to eat.

  Now it was a human’s cupped hand that offered me food and brought buckets of water to my mouth. The older human boy, the one who called himself Rhys, visited my stable stall every day.

  After a week passed, I even let him set my broken leg. Well, maybe I should admit he gave me a bucket of grubs—which equated to absolute griffin bliss—and I caved in as I gorged myself.

  His touch was gentle as he bound my leg.

  “This binding will stay no matter your size,” he said.

  What I preferred the most were his nighttime visits. When evening arrived and we took human form, the females stayed grouped together on one side of the barn while the males were housed on the other. Little did the humans know we chatted all night like hens using mindspeak.

  While Akin complained about getting muzzled after he roughly bucked off Craigs, Olufe braided her thick golden hair. I loved to watch her do it. While other Awosanma curled up on the hay and slept, utterly exhausted from the day, my beloved sister hummed to herself and tied her hair in intricate plaits.

  The meaning of her name, beloved, fit her well.

  “What are you doing?” she asked me while her fingers worked away at her thick ringlets.

  “Drawing.” Over the last couple of days, I’d used both my fingernails and claws to sketch out Wura Peak on the worn stable wall.

  “It’s coming along nicely,” she breathed.

  If I closed my eyes, I pictured wisps of clouds dancing along the sheer cliffs to the snow drifts here and there. The breeze through the window tonight was warm, yet if I drifted away, I recalled the chillier temperatures up in the mountains. Taste the hint of snow in the air. I could still see the fog around the base of the mountain. Would the peak be as beautiful close up as it was from far away?

  I’d give anything to be back in the nest—or at least on my way t
o Wura Peak.

  “What are you doing?” a familiar voice asked from the locked doorway. A head appeared through the barred opening in the door.

  Olufe, along with the other females, stiffened, but I quieted them through mindspeak. “It’s the young master. He won’t hurt us.”

  “Drawing our homeland. Wura Peak,” I replied slowly. Speaking the Ground-Walker’s tongue took effort, but I already understood his thoughts—all I had to do was speak what I’d already learned.

  His eyes widened. “You speak ... Cressedi,” he marveled.

  “We speak many languages,” I said. Certain sounds tangled my tongue. A human mouth was a marvel indeed.

  Olufe grabbed my arm and gently tugged me back.

  “I can’t believe griffins can speak. Wait, who’s that?” he asked.

  I patted Olufe’s arm to reassure her. “My older sister, Olufe.”

  He tried to pronounce her name and did so horribly. “And what’s your name?”

  “Ireti,” I replied, trying to hold back a smile as he did the same.

  “Ee-reh-tee,” he said slowly, catching the vowels correctly. “You have family here?” He glanced down then produced a handful of apples.

  “Yes, my sister and brother. He is called Akin. The brave one.” The frightened griffins refused to approach until I took the apples. I couldn’t hand them out fast enough.

  Once he was satisfied I was well, he gave me some pears and hurried off.

  It didn’t take long for Akin to convey his displeasure through mindspeak. “Who was the Ground-Walker male?”

  I told them about how Rhys saved me.

  “We shouldn’t trust him—or his gifts,” Akin replied.

  “Ah,” Olufe said with amusement. “Did you get pears as well?”

  Silence, then a grunt of a reply. “I need to maintain my strength.”

  And maintain it, Akin did. Day after day, my brother was taken to the corral to be broken in, and he bucked off the stablehands with ease. Craigs was far less tolerant and Akin often returned with scars along his legs and feathers missing on his wings.