Fish Tails (53 page)

There was a long, thoughtful silence before Arakny asked, “Will you go when they get slightly closer?”

Xulai said, “I don't want to go at all unless we have to. Kim will go with you and hide himself just inside the trees. Will you make some kind of signal, Arakny?”

“If I think there's danger, I'll pull my head scarf off.”

“If you see her take her head scarf off, Kim, you get back here. We'll leave the door open, and the minute you're inside, we go up on the road where we just were a minute ago. This time we'll have a lighted lantern with us. Now, find a place where you can see her without being seen.”

Arakny and Kim went off into the night, leaving Precious Wind and Xulai to put things away. The chicken coops were tied to the roof. There were a few scattered things in the grass that gleamed at them in the lantern light. A cup, a spoon. They went inside and waited.

N
EEDLY AND
W
ILLUM WERE BARELY
over the top of the hill when something huge rose from a pile of leaves and branches and grabbed Needly by one arm, hoisting her off her feet. She caught only a glimpse, at first, enough to make her suppose it was a man, a very large man. She drew a deep breath and added to her “man” supposition a certainty that the very large man smelled a great deal like . . . a cow barn that had not been cleaned for . . . some time. No, no. It was far, far worse than that. Holding her at arm's length, the man-­creature nodded at Willum, then in the direction of the glade below, all the time muttering:

“Git down 'ere. Gwan, git. Move it. Y're gonna hep me. Yessir. Needed hep, I did, and ol For'ster, he sent hep. He did, he did. Thot there'd be sumpin' come fer this'n. Yep. Did. Here t'is. Hep.”

Needly had quickly taken stock. Dawn-­song had fluttered down the slope toward the place where her bloodied mother lay, obviously unable to move. She and Willum were being herded or hauled in the same direction by a bearded, man-­shaped being with a long knife in the hand that was not dangling her by one arm. He had a large ax at his belt. Willum was trying frantically to decide on his own next move when the huge man kicked the boy's feet out from under him and dropped Needly more or less on top of him. They were near a clutter of bundles, a circle of stones, the ashes of a fire, the creature's encampment.
His stomping ground,
Willum said to himself, seeing the huge boot prints radiating from the area. Oh, yes. Very, very big stomping feet. And a terrible smell. Oh, dearie, dearie me, as Willum's ma would have said, what a stink that is!

Dawn-­song hadn't stopped running until she had reached her mother's side. The two of them, mother and daughter, only a few steps away, remained silent, watchful, though Sun-­wings' eyes were only half open. Needly had caught Sun-­wings' look, had watched as the eye focused on her. Needly nodded, once toward the man, then toward the Griffins, as though to say, “I see the situation. Be patient.” Sun-­wings lowered her eyelids, left them almost closed.

Willum had looked about to explode, but Needly had preempted him. She took a deep breath, to her immediate regret, pinched her nostrils closed, breathed through her mouth, and then declaimed: “Now,
Willum,
we must be
helpful
to this nice person. You heard him. He asked for help and
Old Forester
has sent us to help him. You understand that
, you heard Old Forester
tell us to come here and help him just as I did.
”

Willum had been only momentarily mutinous, realizing very quickly that she was intending . . . something, and though he didn't know what, it was probably more sensible than nothing, which is what he'd come up with. “Well, of course, Needly. That's what we're here for, in't it?”

The creature stood slightly above them on the slope, hands on hips, greedy eyes on Sun-­wings. Needly sat down on the grass. “May we know your name, sir, so we know who we are helping?”

“Yung For'ster, tha's me. Hunters. Us For'sters. Got more . . . meetup'nus t'others, so we do huntin'. Fer the ressa th' Ahgars. Pa 'uz Ol' For'ster. That's why I'm Yung For'ster. I 'uz younger'n 'im.”

“That's very logical,” said Willum, attentively borrowing one of Xulai's favorite words. He glanced at Needly. “Isn't it, Needly?”

“Very logical,” she assented, straight-­faced, still regarding the Yung whatever. He was definitely the source of the almost stifling smell. “You say you need help?”

“Yeh. Ahgars get mos' a' meat. Hides goes to hunters, n' we getta sellum, buy . . . good stuff.” He licked his lips at the thought of the good stuff. “Gotta skinum firs. Never done one'th wings. Skun all kinds a' them, but never done one'th wings. Donno how, y'know, whur t'cut'm.”

Needly was terribly afraid she did know. Oh my. Was this then, one of the forest men Abasio had talked about: the hermit hunters, trappers, the ones who stayed aloof and alone. She could see why. Abasio hadn't mentioned the stink! Let that go for the moment. This one was a hunter; hunters got to keep and sell the hides while “Ahgars” got the meat. This one wanted to skin the Griffin and sell the skin to buy good stuff, but he didn't know how to skin something with wings. He was staring at her. Waiting for her to . . .

She said quickly, “I understand. Yes. That would be different. You are a trapper, sir? Or only a hunter? Or both, perhaps?” She flashed a glance at Willum, who nodded at her.

“I be that. All 'at. Got traps, yeh. Got some 'at way, some yon.” He gestured widely, taking in the entire countryside. “Hunter, thas me. Hunter fer Ahgar feed grounds. Killsa meat an' put it out fer the Ahgars. Didn' shoot this'n, tho. This'n jus' fell in. Wham! Looka that hide. Jus' looka that. For'ster me'll git gold fer it, they‘ll gimme. True gold. More'n a whole messa trappin'. 'F I can figger out to get a'skin offa it. It's them wings . . .”

“You'll receive a lot more gold for the Griffin's hide than for a lot of small hides, yes, I know. And you're right. The wings make skinning it a very difficult process. It takes a lot of time. It's a good thing my helper and I happened along. We're part of a very special group of experts who know how to do this. It will take time, though, so you have to be patient. Do you mind if I go over and take a look at it?”

“Stay way fr'm th' front part. Tha' mouth thing. Tha's sharp, that is.” He looked ruefully at his lower left arm, which had a large wound, just scabbing over. “Real sharp.”

Needly stood up and walked over toward Sun-­wings, keeping her eyes fastened on the enormous orbs that were returning her look. Her back was to the . . . For'ster, and she raised one hand and put a finger before her lips. Dawn-­song was already huddled against her mother's side.

Needly stood a small distance away and whispered, “Don't speak, Sun-­wings. Don't let the man know you can speak.”

“I did not say anything,” whispered Sun-­wings, without moving her beak. Needly had never been this close to her, close enough to see the soft tissue behind the edge of the beak. Lips. Well, almost lips. Even they had not moved, but their existence explained Griffins being able to pronounce human language.

“Are you in pain?”

“Yes.” The word was only a breath.

“I'm going to see if I can send . . . For'ster to go kill some meat. I will give you meat and water, and I may put something on the meat or in the water for your pain. If you taste a bitterness, don't worry. Just eat or drink it anyhow. Will you do that?”

“Yes.”

There were a few clumps of the Griffin's hair on the ground where Needly stood, probably torn out when Sun-­wings had attempted to crawl. Needly crouched to pick them up. “I also have some herbs that prevent infection. Do you know what I mean?”

“Healing.” The word was only breathed, laboriously, as though her lungs could not get enough air.

“That's right. I'll definitely put that in water. Whatever I give you, eat or drink it all, even it if tastes bad. Only when I give it to you, all right? Can you show me where you're hurt?”

Sun-­wings lifted her left wing, slowly, painfully, and only slightly. It was torn, the tear beginning near the wing joint and running along the bone to the outer edge. The feathers at the top edges of the wound were soaked with blood. Sun-­wings whispered, “Other-­side hind leg. Not 'roken, just hurt.”

She was choosing words that did not require lip—­or beak—­movement, and Needly was amazed that she could keep her wits, wounded as she was. If it was only the wing, then perhaps . . .

“Lookie out dere,” cried the man behind her. “She c'n git ya 'itha wing.”

Needly turned and came back to the man. “My helper and I will need to make a small fire. We will need water. Where is the closest place? I will need to feed the creature.”

“Feed'er? By boghost, not gonna. Feed a critter'm gonna skin? Not gonna!”

“You can't skin her for at least three or four days,” said Needly. “It can't be done. Her hair is already starting to come loose.” She held out her hand, the long neck strands dragging from it. ”If you skin her now, the hair will all fall out, and the hide will rot, too, and you won't get any good stuff for it. She needs to be fed and watered and made comfortable so her fur is all shiny and thick. Otherwise the hide is worthless. The same is true of the little one. A Griffin can only be skinned when it is in perfect condition.”

He did not look properly impressed. She put her hands on her hips, using pretended temper to hide her trembling. She shouted furiously, “Time after time Old Forester sends me to help ­people and I find they have already ruined the hide! They've gained the enmity of the whole Griffin race for nothing, trying to skin a wounded one.”

“Amitty o' griff'n wha'?”

“When you try to skin a wounded Griffin, she makes a noise that is heard by all Griffins everywhere in the world. Then they all come and find you and kill you. It's only when Griffins are in perfect condition that they agree to be skinned.”

“Thasso?”

Needly drew herself up, adopted a posture suitable to “expert being annoyed by silly questions.” “How many Griffin hides have you seen? How many hunters or trappers have brought in Griffin hides?”

He shook his huge head, confused. “N'body. Not seen one.”

“That's because everyone who has ever skinned a Griffin did it because they found the Griffin wounded, they tried it, and every Griffin from miles around came and killed them! You've never hunted one. You've never trapped one. The only way you could get one would be to find a wounded one. But you don't know how to skin her. Skinning her won't do any good unless you wait for a few days while we get her into proper condition. Then you ask her, politely, because you were so nice to her, will she let you skin her, and she will nod her head. That's how they were made, Griffins. That's the way they live and die. Isn't that right, Willum?”

“Exactly right. As my teacher told me in skinning school.”

“Furrier college, Willum,” Needly said in a fussy, schoolmarmish tone. “Griffin hides are classified as furs. Except the males, of course. Those are classified as merely hides, because of the scales. Suitable for making boots! I do wish you'd use the right words for things. I'll never be able to send you out on jobs alone unless you use the proper terminology! ­People will think you're not professional!”

“Sorry, ma'am,” he said, ducking his head to hide his mouth, which, despite the situation, had turned relentlessly upward at its ends. “I really will try to do better.”

“I do hope so. You, Yung For'ster, you have an excellent hide. It would do well for gloves, I think. Who have you left your hide to? Family? Friends?”

He looked confused, slightly upset. “ 'm only part Ahgar. Don' get peel s'ahfen!”

“They peel the Ahgars . . . do they?”

“Peel'm fer the stuff. Yep.”

She lost the sense of that, but ignored it. “Very well. I didn't know. Now, sir.” She approached him. “We need meat and quite a lot of it, a deer, perhaps, a mountain sheep or an elk?”

“Y'mean now?”

“The later we start, the more hair she will lose and the longer it will take.”

The huge face wrinkled in unaccustomed thought. “Howkum you knows, huh?”

“Does your father know all this?”

“Did, I 'spose.”

“Didn't you ask him for help?”

A nod. “Sorta said Pa'd know how. Not loud.”

“And he sent me.”

“He's dead, mos' pars rottin' inna groun'. ”

“Mos' parts?” The words slipped out before she thought. She bit her lip.

“Pars 'ey din' want. Sum pars 'ey kep fer a nex' one.”

She set aside for the moment the parts they didn't want, some parts kept for the next one, making a mental note to remember it. That and the Ahgars. “You asked your pa for help. His spirit, from the ground where his . . . parts are, his spirit heard you. His spirit is not dead. He sent us from the spirit world. We work there. We work here, too.”

If expression meant anything in such a creature, this one was confused. Which was more or less what Needly intended. Cursing, slavering, mumbling, the creature got to his feet, wandered to a tree where he had a hung a quiver full of arrows and a bow taller than most men. He put the one over his shoulder, took the other in his hand, and wandered off into the trees.

“Oh, boy,” said Willum. “He's sure . . .”

She silenced him with a gesture and went to speak into his ear. “He's smart enough to have heard us coming. He's smart enough to know we can't move Sun-­wings, and he knows she can't move. He's smart enough to know we came here with the little one. He's smart enough to know he can track us, anywhere we might try to go, right? So smart or not, he's taking a gamble that we're real.”