The Dark Griffin (5 page)

And that was how he lived from day to day, alone and unthinking, until he was nineteen years old and had reached his full size. He had chosen to live in a cave on the side of one of the three mountains. Less of a cave than an overhang, its semblance of a roof was only big enough to offer partial shelter for him, though the floor jutted out into a rocky ledge that was more than adequate for him to crouch on.

He lay on his belly, basking in the afternoon sun, one wing draped over the rock beside him. From here he could see the remains of the nest where he had hatched; time and weather had left large holes in it, and most of the sides had fallen away, leaving only a crude thatch of rotting plant matter lying abandoned on the cut-off treetops, which were steadily regrowing.

The black griffin, still nameless, yawned and flicked his tail. He was feeling restless just now, though he wasn’t sure why. He had eaten well over the last few days, and it was comfortable enough here on the ledge. Perhaps it was just boredom.

He glanced idly at the back wall of his home. There were marks on the rock in shades of red, black and brown. They did not look natural, and he had often puzzled over what had made them. Perhaps they were a kind of moss or lichen, but sometimes when he looked at them in the right light he thought some of the shapes looked familiar. Like animals. And, in the midst of them all, there was one that reminded him of a creature he had never seen outside of a pool of still water during his adult life: a griffin. Its wings were spread wide and its beak was open. Something was coming out of its mouth, but he couldn’t tell what it was. It was red, like blood, but it had a shape like a river.

The black griffin had never completely forgotten his chickhood and the other griffins that had once lived in the valley. He remembered Saekrae, his mother. He had never found her remains, but he knew she was dead. He remembered the strange creatures that had come when she disappeared, though the memory was hazy now. They had flown like griffins and made sounds as if they were, he remembered, but they had not been griffins. He wondered what they were and whether they would ever come back.

The thought made him irritable. If they did, he would fight them. This was his land now.

He raised his head and screeched to emphasise the point, a nameless cry that rang out over the valley. But even as it died away it seemed to strengthen suddenly and swing back toward him, higher and louder.

The black griffin stood up, bewildered. He screeched again, and again the second screech replied. Not an echo. Another voice.

He took to the air, silver feathers shining in the sun, and climbed until he was level with the mountains, looking for the stranger. He screeched again and followed the sound of the reply. It was coming from the summit of the northern-most mountain, and as he flew toward it he could see the creature perched there among the bare rocks.

His heart tugged at his throat. It was another griffin, clear as day, sitting right on the border of his territory. She had seen him coming and was waiting calmly for him. He landed a short distance away and walked toward her.

She turned to watch him. The sun was behind her, making her feathers glow. She was not black like him, or brown, as Saekrae had been. She was . . . gold. Her fur was tawny yellow and her feathers were pale golden brown. Her eyes, though, were blue, as bright as the sky behind her.

The black griffin did not know what to do. He sat on his haunches, wings half-open to make himself look bigger, and simply stared at her. She had not entered the valley. His territory was not violated. But she had suddenly appeared like this, seemingly out of nowhere, and he was completely unprepared for it.

She looked back at him and clicked her beak. “Greetings,” she said. Her voice was strong and clear and did not sound hostile.

The black griffin knew how to speak. He had talked to himself for most of his life, but did not know many words. Only those he had learnt in the nest. He was silent for some time, trying to marshal his thoughts. “You . . . griff?” he managed.

She chirped at him, evidently amused. He noticed that there were strange bands of yellow and brown metal on her forelegs.

“Where . . . you come?” he persisted.

She looked northward. “I am from the Eyrie, at Eagleholm.”

He knew that word. “Nest?” he suggested.

She chirped again. “Did your mother never teach you how to speak?”

The black griffin just stared at her.

“I have never seen a black griffin before,” said the yellow griffin. “Is this your home?”

The black griffin glanced back at the valley. “My land,” he said.

The yellow griffin was looking at his forelegs. “Are you wild, then? I do not envy you.”

“Wild?” the black griffin repeated.

“You have no human,” said the yellow griffin.

“Human?”

The yellow griffin sighed and sat back on her haunches. “By the sky, are all wild griffins so slow?” She spoke again, very slowly, emphasising each word: “You are wild. You have no human. I do.”

“What . . . human?” said the black griffin.

“A human is an animal. Small. Weak. But clever. You know, clever? Wise. Cunning. Intelligent.”

The black griffin thought suddenly of the things that had taken Saekrae. “Human speak?” he ventured.

“Yes. They speak griffish. They made the Eyrie.”

“Human fly?”

“No. Only when we carry them.”

The black griffin was appalled. “Carry?”

“Yes. On our backs. Here.” She lowered her head and showed him her shoulders. There was a patch of flattened and broken feathers there. “My human sits here.”

The black griffin peered at it. “Where . . . you human?”

“He is at the Eyrie,” said the yellow griffin. “I came here alone.”

“Why you come?”

“I am ready for mating,” she said matter-of-factly. “I have come to find a male griffin to father my eggs. I have found you. Do you have a mate?”

The black griffin did not understand. “Mate?”

She was looking at him very closely. “Am I the first griffin you have ever seen?”

The black griffin had a vague idea of what she meant. “This my land,” he said. “Me here. No griffin. My mother . . . go.” After that he fell silent, almost exhausted from the effort.

“So you have no mate?” the yellow griffin pressed. “No eggs? No chicks?”

“Chicks dead,” said the black griffin, remembering his siblings.

“Then you will mate with me?” said the yellow griffin.

“What mate?” said the black griffin. He was desperate to understand, and angry with his own ignorance.

The yellow griffin seemed to sense it. “All creatures know,” she said. “I will help you.” She came toward him, moving slowly and with grace; he could see the muscles flowing beneath her tawny fur, and the perfect flexing of her limbs. He sat still and let her come to him, and she lifted her beak toward his, tail flicking, and purred deep in her chest.

He scented at her feathers, taking in the sweet, spicy aroma of them, and she chirped and nibbled delicately at the little tuft of feathers under his beak. He lifted his beak and moved his head closer to hers, wanting more. Encouraged, she moved alongside him, pressing her body against his, and began to groom his hindquarters.

He sensed that he should do the same and began to run his beak through the feathers just behind her wing, a hard-to-reach spot. She crooned and circled around him, nuzzling the nape of his neck. He pushed back, and the two of them groomed each other more and more vigorously, growling and crooning by turns.

The black griffin’s heart was pounding. He did not understand what this thing was or what it meant, but something deep inside him did. He felt hot and confused, but strangely certain at the same time.

“What is this?” he asked.

The yellow griffin rubbed her head against his. “You like it?”

The black griffin closed his eyes. “Yes. Yes.”

“Then do what feels right,” she said. “Like learning to fly.”

And he did. Part of him was confused, even frightened, but the much stronger part of him wasn’t. He pushed and nuzzled at her, growling with a strange almost-aggression, and she turned, tail raised and twitching, beckoning to him. His instincts took over and he dug his talons into her shoulders. She kept still, wings shivering, and they mated, the quick, savage mating of griffins. The yellow griffin screeched and pulled away when the climax came, but she returned shortly thereafter, as the sun went down, and the black griffin was not afraid any more.

The two of them slept curled up together, neither one noticing the cold wind that blew over them.

When morning came both of them sensed that their time was ending. The black griffin wanted to go back to his home, and the yellow female was restless for her own territory. But they stayed together a little while longer.

“I do not envy you,” the yellow griffin said. “You are part of a dying breed. One day there will be no more wild griffins left.”

“I live,” said the black griffin.

“But not for long. These mountains are barren. And places like this are shrinking. Humans always want more land. Soon there will be nowhere left for you or your kind.”

The black griffin was silent for a time. “I want . . . see human,” he said.

The yellow griffin stood up. “I can show you,” she said. “Come with me.”

She flew away over the mountain without another word, and after a moment’s hesitation the black griffin followed.

The yellow griffin flew out over the plains beyond the valley, calmly and openly. The black griffin did not want to follow. Deep down, he was still afraid of the plains. They were unknown. Alien. But he did not want to look like a coward, so he followed her out over the plains, letting his nervousness fall away from him like an old feather.

The air over the plains was warmer than in the valley and it smelt different. Drier and mustier, like grass. Now he could
see
grass—miles and miles of it, separated into squares and rectangles by thin brown lines. Animals roamed over it, much bigger than any he had ever seen, and here and there clusters of strangely shaped rock stood out from among the greenness.

He caught up with the yellow griffin, circling over one of these formations, and fell in beside her.

“A human place,” she called. “Human nests. This land is their territory. Fly lower if you wish to see them.”

The black griffin obeyed. He circled lower, as if he was singling out prey, and soon he could see the strange creatures that moved among the rocks. They were tiny, only about as long as his foreleg, and they stood on two legs like birds, but they didn’t have wings. He saw them looking up at him. They did not run, but he heard their calls drifting up toward him, and his heart leapt when he realised that they were speaking to each other.

“Humans,” the yellow griffin said again. “They are the key.”

“Food?” the black griffin suggested.

“No—sometimes, maybe.” She fixed him with a steady bright blue stare. “You were a good mate. So I will give you some advice. If you want to live in this world, find a human. Protect it. Keep it safe. Help it. If you do, you will always be safe. Our magic is not enough for us to survive now. Not alone.”

As she spoke—using words he did not know, to express an idea he did not comprehend—the black griffin had a strange feeling in his throat. It wasn’t quite pain, but it wasn’t quite pleasure, either. It felt as if something was lodged in there, something hard and unyielding and burning hot. It made him want to scream.

3

Arren

E
luna’s beak thumping into the wall of her stable woke Arren up.

He stirred and mumbled in protest, but the noise, loud and insistent, wouldn’t let him go back to sleep.

“All right, all right, I’m awake. Just give me a moment.”

The noise stopped, and he rolled out of his hammock and stretched. His back cracked nastily, and he rubbed it as he padded across the room to the table. There was a bowl of water there; he splashed his face to wake himself up. Eluna, growing impatient, bashed at the wall again. Arren hastily dropped his towel and went to the cage that hung from the ceiling at about head height, near the window. He opened the hatch in the side and reached in. The rats inside scattered in fright, but he trapped one and hauled it out by the tail. He held the wriggling creature upside down in his other hand and caught two more before he closed the cage.

Eluna banged on the wall again.

“I’m coming,” Arren called.

He positioned himself next to the door leading into the stable and lifted the latch as quietly as he could. It swung ajar, and he waited a moment and then burst through it.

“Catch!” he yelled, and threw one of the rats as hard as he could.

Eluna’s head shot out and she caught the creature in midair, tossing her head back to swallow it. She turned and gave him a triumphant look.

Arren leant against the doorframe and laughed. “Perfect! I should’ve known you’d be faster than me.”

She chirped at him. “Try again.”

This time he threw the rat toward the opposite end of the room. She made a spectacular leap out of her nest of hay and caught it inches from the wall.

Once she’d eaten it, she looked expectantly at him, fluttering her wings. He held up the last rat, as if to throw it. She followed it intently with her eyes, poised to leap again. He jerked it suddenly and she jerked, too, beak opening, but he didn’t let go of it.

Arren grinned and did it again, in a different direction. This time she actually did jump for it, and glared at him when she realised he’d tricked her.

“Throw it!”

Arren held out the wriggling, screeching rat. “See if you can catch
this
!” He dropped it.

The rat hit the floor and bolted. Eluna went after it, and chased the animal around the room as it darted here and there, desperately looking for somewhere to hide. It went to ground under her water trough, but she hooked it out with a talon and snapped it up before it could escape.

Eluna sat back on her haunches and gave Arren a slow murderous look. He stared back coolly. Eluna lowered her head and half-raised her wings. Then she charged. She ran straight at Arren, bowling him over, and pinned him down with her talons. He landed on his back, thumping his head into the doorframe in the process. As he lay there, helpless, Eluna brought her beak down toward him. “Perhaps you would taste better than a rat,” the griffin said softly.