Clanless (13 page)

The flashing stopped and he was eight years old, hiding behind a tree in the woods while his mother cried again. Weeping because of Father. She always cried in the mornings when she thought Gryphon had left for training. It felt wrong not to watch her. Such sadness demanded a witness, even if it meant receiving lashes for being late.

Gryphon hated his father. Hated him. Mostly because he made his mother cry, but also because of the way his instructors treated him. He was always selected last in every drill. Always forced to do extra work.

“For your father’s mistake,” his trainers would say while Gryphon struggled to lift or push or pull whatever they were training with that day.

And Gryphon would do whatever they asked, knowing that someday he would be the strongest, fastest, and most skilled warrior the Ram had ever produced.

For your father’s mistake.

Gryphon ran to morning practice, determined not to be late today. It was the last day the boys and girls he’d been training with over the past three years would be together. They were splitting them up: boys would go one way and girls another.

Upon entering the cleared field that served as their training ground, eight-year-old Gryphon bent over, hands on knees, collecting his breath while the rest of the kids arrived. He was getting faster. The thought made him smile.

For your father’s mistake.

Gryphon’s instructor was a young woman. Her hair was a warm brown and whenever she smiled, a strange heat always filled Gryphon’s cheeks.

“Gather ‘round,” his instructor said. She was not alone today. A man and a woman, each wearing boiled leather armor and stern expressions, stood behind her. Their legs were spread wide, their hands clasped behind their backs, eyeing the children as they might a potential meal.

Gryphon stood as tall as he could, keeping his chin high and holding eye contact to show he wasn’t afraid of them, even though he was.

“Today,” his young instructor smiled, “marks a day of advancement. You should all be very proud of yourselves.”

Gryphon refused to smile, though he felt the urge.

“The girls may follow their new instructor.” Several girls waved as they ran to keep up with the female instructor. Once they were out of sight, his instructor continued. “Before I send you to work with your new instructor, every one of you will receive a special gift from me. Something that will make you stronger.”

Gryphon couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his face. Whatever the instructor’s gift, he wanted it desperately.

“Who would like to go first?” she asked.

Gryphon’s hand shot into the air, even though he knew he would be chosen last. He looked around to realize his was the only hand in the air. Did the other boys know something he didn’t? He turned back to the woman who’d trained him for the last three years and found her smiling.

“Follow me, Gryphon, son of Troy.”

Gryphon flinched under the weight of his father’s name. To have it attached to his was cruel. The other boys snickered to each other as Gryphon walked away with both instructors at his side. They opened up the door to a large shed that housed blunted training weapons. The man shut the door behind them and crossed his large arms in front of his chest.

Gryphon didn’t want his “special gift” anymore. He just wanted to leave this room.

“Today is your eighth-year beating. You will receive one every year to help you learn how to conquer pain.” The woman smiled, and lifted a blunted sword off the rack. “You will not resist or fight back. Do you understand?”

Tears gathered in Gryphon’s eyes. He didn’t want to feel pain. He didn’t want to have to stand there and let the pretty young woman hit him. But he was a Ram, and as with everything else, he needed to prove to them that he was better than his father. “I … I understand,” he said, forcing his voice to come out steady.

The man at the door—his future instructor—cocked his head to the side, appraising him. Gryphon balled his little fists and clenched his jaw as the first blow came. The sword flew through the air, and the flat of it connected with the side of his face. The force of the blow knocked him off his feet. He wanted to cry as he climbed back to his feet to receive another
gift
, but he didn’t. Instead he looked his warm-haired instructor in the face and commanded his features to remain neutral.

“Good for you, Gryphon,” the woman said, swinging the blunted sword back to strike him again. But there was something evil in her expression that contradicted her praise. The words she intoned rang like a bell in Gryphon’s mind.
“For your father’s mistakes.”

The scene shifted to another beating. Then another. Each more violent than the next to mark his growth in skill and size. Gryphon didn’t want to be in the shed any longer. Didn’t want to see his mother’s tears. Didn’t want to have to think about his father and the shame that he’d inherited from the man.

A new face walked into the shed, this man bald with large round eyes that didn’t quite sit inside his skull. He recognized the man, but had only seen him at a distance.

“After seeing your progress, the Seer asked me to administer your twelfth-year beating. Your training has been impressive, young soldier.”

Gryphon nodded his gratitude to Gate Master Leon. He didn’t care who hit him, even if it was the Seer’s favorite advisor. He just wanted it to be over.

The Gate Master smiled in an unnerving sort of way. He turned back to lock the door to the shed, which was odd because none of the other instructors had bothered.

“I’d like to see what you’re really made of, if you don’t mind.”

“Excuse me, sir?” Gryphon’s spine stiffened.

The Gate Master dropped into a fighting stance with legs wide, both hands up and ready to strike or block. “No weapons. I just want you to fight me, boy. Show me why they think you’re so
special
.” He spat the last word.

When Gryphon just stood there, the Gate Master reached out and slapped him across the face. “Fight me!” he growled. He went to strike him again, but Gryphon’s hand flew up to block the attack.

The Gate Master’s lips pulled into a tangled smile that revealed rotting teeth. “Oh, this is going to be fun.” He grabbed Gryphon by the hair and threw him into the side of the shed before jumping on top of him. The first few punches to his ribs invigorated Gryphon. He broke free of the Gate Master’s hold and landed one solid fist to his jaw.

Liquid fury seemed to fill the man as he attacked. Lacking both size and skill, Gryphon managed only two more hits before the Gate Master dropped him to the floor again. Only this time he didn’t get up. Gryphon willed himself to pass out as the Gate Master administered his blows, but the man was merciless and only brought Gryphon to the edge of unconsciousness before moving from his head to punch his sides, arms, legs, and back. Through bleary vision, the Gate Master seemed to grow black feathers. With each hit he crowed at such a pitch, Gryphon abandoned blocking everything but his ears. By the time he was through, Gryphon couldn’t even rise from the floor of the damp shed.

He pinched his eyes shut. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. He wasn’t twelve years old. This was a dream. Just a painful, painful dream.

When he gained control of his breathing and with eyes still closed, he told himself, “I’m going to wake up now. I’m going to wake up.”

The crowing stopped, the void of sound a heavy silence.

Gryphon dropped his hands, pulled one more breath through his nose, and opened his eyes.

But what he saw terrified him.

Gabe watched him from only a few yards away.

“What did you do to her?” the Wolf asked. His voice ricocheted off the black nothing that surrounded them.

Gryphon didn’t realize he was carrying someone until he looked down. Cradled in his arms was Zo, hanging lifeless with limbs spilling over his arms. Blood rolled from an unseen cut down her forearm and dripped off her fingertip. Each drop hit the black ground and broke the quiet with a thundering boom.

“I don’t understand.” Gryphon’s voice echoed in the black drum of in-between space. “What happened?”

“You did this,” said Gabe, pointing at Zo.

Another drop of blood collided with the floor. On impact, a
boom
shook the ground beneath his feet.

“No.” Gryphon sunk to one knee, trying to force Zo’s head up so he could look into her eyes and see life. But his efforts were like sand slipping through his fingers.

“You left her. She didn’t have a chance without your protection, and you left her.”

Gryphon shook his head over and over again. “She made me promise to help the Raven. I wouldn’t … I couldn’t … ”

Suddenly Zo vanished, and Gryphon found himself hugging empty space. He swiped at the air around him, but it was too late. She was gone.

A foreign sob rumbled from his throat. He’d never made that sound before, didn’t know it was possible. He couldn’t lose Zo. Not again. She meant too much. Without her, the darkness slid closer to him. Somehow Gryphon knew that if the darkness came too close, he would be lost to it as well.

Gabe stood right next to him, his hair turned black and feathery, eyes dilated to tiny black orbs. He held out his hand and offered Gryphon a familiar knife. “This is the only way to make the pain stop, Ram.”

Gryphon accepted the blade, testing the weight of it in his hands.

“End it now, before you hurt someone else.” Gabe rested his hand over Gryphon’s, turning the point of the knife toward Gryphon’s chest. Sorrow weighed down the lines of the Wolf’s face as he nodded encouragement. “That’s right. Do this for Zo. It’s what she would have wanted.”

Gryphon didn’t want to die, but when had he ever refused Zo anything? Wounded Raven and Kodiak warriors appeared at his feet. First five, then ten, then twenty. They all clutched spear wounds, moaning like the waking dead from pain. Their anguished, bloodshot eyes looked up to him with the simple question, “Why?”

Gryphon redoubled his grip on the knife. Pressure built around his temples, pain so real he nearly collapsed.

“Just end it.” Gabe’s voice turned darker as he helped the knife break skin. His eyes lost their almond shape, growing more round and protuberant. Like the Gate Master. Then it changed again to Zander. Then to Barnabas.

Zo wouldn’t want me to do this.
Gryphon shook his head as if trying to wake from a dream. The tip of the knife dug deeper into his chest.

Then Tess appeared, walking around the fallen Raven and Kodiak like a tiny blond dancer. Her little hands rested on Gryphon’s cheeks. “I don’t want you to die.”

Hadn’t she said those words to him already? In another time? Another life?

Tess’s bright greenish-blue eyes were slightly different in color but identical to Zo’s in shape. The little girl leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Gryphon’s forehead. “You. Are. Good,” she whispered.

Then everything fell away. The dying men, Gabe, the Gate Master, Barnabas, Tess, and even the blackness. A different pain replaced the throbbing in his head.

A pain in his chest.

He looked down and saw the knife an inch deep in his own flesh. His biceps cramped with the effort of killing himself.

With great difficulty, Gryphon forced his muscles to relax. The knife Sani gave him clattered to the wooden floor of the tree hut. He dropped to his knees, bloodstained hands grasping his chest where the knife penetrated. The wound wasn’t deep enough to cause serious damage. Just enough to prove how close he’d come to killing himself. The smoke in the room was gone and a few slivers of light fought their way into the wooden dungeon.

The trap door in the center of the room fell open and Sani peeked his head over the floorboards. “We’re saved.” The normally reserved boy pumped the air with his fist before cupping his hands around his mouth. He crowed using varying pitches down to the people below before turning back to smile at Gryphon. “The Ram are here. It’s time to get off this island.”

Stone held Eva’s hand in two of his and they all sat around a fire to eat a meal of boiled venison and wildroot. Zo had spent the last hour explaining how to find the Allied Camp using a map of twigs, grass, and small rocks.

She leaned in to adjust the two twigs that represented a slot canyon. “The final stretch is narrow and will not be easy for someone your size to cross, but you can do it.” She looked up to see Stone bring Eva’s hand to his lips.

“We’re going to make it, love,” he said.

Zo blushed and looked away. The dozens of fires that dotted the clearing drew her attention. Many of these people wore nothing but rags to fight the chilling nights on the mountain. They ate what food the land provided and, according to Stone, had sometimes gone whole days without a morsel to eat. Still, the people smiled and laughed around their fires. Perhaps still in shock from the trauma of escaping their slavery.

Freedom. It was such a peculiar thing. You could give a person food, water, and shelter, but take away their free will and they could never truly be happy. “If we die on this mountain,” Stone had said, “then we die free. And I can live with that.” He’d smiled his crazy smile, where his eyes turned to saucers and his grin reached his ears.