Gryphons Quest (17 page)

Heather shook her head. "I'm doing this." "Very well, then. Repeat after me, exactly." She paused only a moment, making sure Heather was ready. When she nodded, Shayla began. "Goddess Dana, give me the power of your race. Ceridwen, give me knowledge. Cernunnos, empower me with the spirit of your chosen beast. Test my soul for your purpose. Find it worthy."

Heather repeated the translation. For a second, nothing happened. Then her surroundings began to blur. She felt her body heat, go numb, and heard her clothing tear. Somehow she found herself on the ground and could see the Sorceress backing away. There wasn't any pain. But there was a strange sense of displacement accompanied by dizziness. Bright light permeated the darkness, and she could see the older woman's face. Shayla's expression of horror terrified her. Would Gryphon want her if she was a monster? Would he be the one sent to destroy her? That was her last conscious thought before sinking into oblivion.

Shayla stood in the darkness and trembled. The last of the light died away as the beast sank to the ground. The creature Heather had become lay still, its gargantuan head twisted to one side, the body splayed at an odd angle. The rune stones lay where Heather had dropped them.

Shayla picked them up and turned her face toward the night sky. "By the Goddess above, I swear I'll never let these be used by another soul." Her gaze fell back to the beast before her. "I'm sorry, girl. So very sorry. You made your decision. Now it's done. So mote it be." Shayla took off her hooded cloak and carefully placed it over the creature.

FOURTEEN

Gryphon downed the last of the bottle in one smooth swallow. He passed a hand over his unshaven face and staggered toward an open window. The cool night air did nothing to alleviate the effects of the whiskey. Small fires dotted the forest landscape as the Samhain moonlight beamed down upon hundreds of revelers. It was the most sacred time of the year for all members of the Order. He could hear the sounds of merriment from the tall parapet of the ancient castle. This was the place his father and mother called home. To the outside world, it was just another of a thousand old European castles inhabited by a secluded member of an outmoded upper class. To him, it was a residence he could never own. One more thing that left him bitter. Without a mate, the rest of the Order would never let him be the next Earl.

For generations, one of his father's bloodline had inherited the land and had taken care of its forests under the Sorceress' council. Without an heir, there would be no one to inherit. He was good enough for the Nymphs to play with, but not to find a mate, handfast and have a child. What woman would want to take the chance of producing a small replica of a half bird/half lion or take the risk that the child he fathered would be stillborn? No. He would see that even the promiscuous Nymphs who occasionally happened his way never got pregnant. It was far better to never, under any circumstances, take that chance. The sacred herbs Druids knew about, and that he gathered every month and ate, assured that none of his seed would ever prove fertile. And Nymphs knew how to take care of things like that.

Because they had sex with virtually anyone, they had ways of their own to counter pregnancies, as did all of the inhabitants of the Shire. Children should be wanted and have parents who loved them. Not accidents whose coming was feared or resented.

Whether it was because he was drunk or because he was tired of hiding away like a frightened fawn, Gryph knew he'd finally had enough. He threw the whiskey bottle across the room and watched it shatter against the stone wall. Then, he stumbled toward the door and the stairway beyond.

"I should have as much right as anyone," he muttered. Wasn't he a member of the damned Order, too?

Why should he hide during the most sacred time of the year? Even his parents were out there among their friends. They'd invited him but, as always, he'd stayed behind. That was before the alcohol dimmed his sense. He wasn't staying cloistered anymore.

Being so inebriated, getting outside was an ordeal. Several times he fell. Once he struck his head against the marble railing and had to stop and steady himself, almost falling down four more flights. In an effort to rid itself of the copious amounts of whiskey he'd consumed, his body broke into a hard sweat.

Gryph stopped to pull his shirt off and threw it to the floor below. Like a fine blue wraith, Heather's silk scarf floated to the floor with it. He hurried down as fast as he could, sat on the bottom step where it had landed and held it tenderly in both hands. It was the one thing he always carried.

"What would you think of me now, my girl? Would you look at me with those beautiful eyes and still give a damn?" he spoke to himself. "I'm a disgusting, pathetic mess, and don't seem to care."

"Gryphon. You look like something a cat should bury." The voice echoed off the cold stone walls and through the foyer.

He looked up, but his vision doubled, and all he could see were several tall figures weaving before him.

"That you, Da? Who's with you?"

James shook his head and knelt in front of his son. "It's just me. You've drunk so much you can't even see straight." He paused. "How, by Herne, did you cut your head open like that?" He started to look at the wound only to have Gryph push his hands away.

"It doesn't matter. Help me outside, Da."

"Not like this, Son. Let's get that head looked after and clean you up."

Again Gryph pushed his helping hands away. "No. I want to go outside. That's where the party is, isn't it."

"Don't do this, lad," his father pleaded in a soft voice.

"Do what. Didn't you want me with you and Mother tonight? It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Gryph..."

"Let's see...how old was I when we last went to the Samhain celebration together? Eight? Was I eight years old?" He wrapped Heather's scarf around the palm of one hand. "No, it was more like I was ten.

That's right, I remember. Ten."

James sighed. "Let's go upstairs, Gryphon. That was a long time ago, and you were too young to understand."

"Understand what, Father? That a bunch of intolerant bullies ganged up on me, and I had to change to kick some of their butts all the way back to Scotland? Or wherever they came from."

"Can't you ever let anything go? It's useless talking to you in this irrational state."

"Yes, I remember quite well, now. I was all of ten when five grown men decided to have a little fun with the freak'''

"No one will ever do anything like that again, Gryphon. That's over, in the past. Let it go."

"I almost killed one of them before the Sorceress stopped the fight." He stopped and looked up at his father. "I wonder what ever happened to that jackass?" His question was a ploy. He knew very well what had happened. His father just wouldn't admit it.

James remained silent and watched his son carefully touch the blue silk scarf in his hand. The man he was referring to had died. This was the first time since that incident Gryphon had ever spoken of it. The entire scenario was always hanging over them every year at this time. But no one ever said anything to bring it up again. Neither Gwyneth nor he had ever told Gryph what had happened to the man. Likely as not, the Sorceress would have had the men involved in the incident put to death for attacking a child.

Since the one had died at Gryph's hands, however, it was decided to let the lesson be a hard one for all concerned. The others who had attacked Gryph quickly left for other sacred areas and hadn't returned to the Shire. They had probably been as drunk as Gryphon was now and had let their intolerance go too far. In the future, his son could very well become what those men had feared. A monster. And James agonized over it. He watched as Gryph studied the scarf with a soft expression on his face.

"Is this about Samhain, or is it really about something else?" James asked. "You're missing that girl, aren't you?" He paused. "Son, I know this past year hasn't been easy for you. I wish there was something I could do to take the pain away."

Gryph smiled bitterly. "What pain, Father?"

"You're not going to sit there and tell me you're not in love with her?"

"That was a dream, Da. It would never have worked. Even if, by some miracle, Shayla allowed us to be together," he paused, "could you imagine Heather going outside to celebrate Samhain with me? The Order would never accept her. She'd be in constant danger from their machinations and spells. No. It was only a dream. I know my place within the Order, and the woman would never have fit in. She is an outsider. She belongs in her world. I in mine."

"And that?" James pointed to the scarf Gryph held tightly in his right hand.

"It's just a reminder of a mistake I almost made. I keep it as a sort of souvenir, no more," Gryph lied.

He used the railing to pull himself up, then stumbled toward the massive oak doors that guarded the foyer.

James quickly followed. "Where are you going?"

"Outside to put an end to this one way or another. And don't worry. I won't kill anyone this time."

James gasped and stopped walking.

Hearing his father's response, Gryphon slowly turned to face him. "You didn't know I knew, did you, Da? It's just another game we play. Pretending everything's all right." Gryph stopped talking as his vision cleared slightly, and he saw his father's stricken expression.

"Your mother and I thought you were too young to feel responsible for such a thing. It wasn't your fault." James bowed his head.

Gryphon walked over to him and put his arms around the older man. "Don't you know there are no secrets in the Shire? Some of the other children taunted me about being a murderer a long time ago. It's one of the reasons they weren't allowed to be around me. Parents didn't know what would spark my change."

"I just never...we never asked how you felt about it," James mumbled.

"Of course not. You didn't want to know, and I didn't want to tell you. That's the way it is." He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, shoved the scarf into his pants pocket with the other and turned toward the doors again. "Come with me, Da. I want an end to this."

James nodded. "Perhaps you're right. I should have been more aggressive about standing by you. Let's find your mother first."

"Fine. But I do my own talking. My own way. Understood?"

Gryph said as he staggered outside.

***

Shayla stood by the central fire and threw in the herbs which blessed the celebration of the end of one year and the beginning of the next. Fairies, Sprites and Pixies played music while Druids, Elves, Gnomes, and others danced and indulged themselves. Large quantities of food and wine had been prepared. The celebration would go on for days, and everyone was expected to enjoy themselves to the fullest.

The music suddenly stopped, and she turned toward the darkness. Others did so as well. Gryphon, flanked by his parents, stepped from the surrounding forest, and it was apparent the man had been drinking heavily. He stopped in the light of the fire, staggered, and slowly looked around.

"So, you've finally decided to join us, have you?" Shayla loudly announced.

Gryphon strode purposefully forward, glaring at the Sorceress. He made his way to a rough-hewn table, sat and propped his booted feet upon its surface. Then he stared back at the faces of those nearby and smirked. They look as though the Banshee just arrived. "Bring me wine," he loudly commanded.

A young girl carrying a tray of blue crockery mugs came forward and quickly set the wine before Gryphon and his parents. He guzzled the potent red-berry wine then ordered her to pour him another.

"This is a celebration, isn't it?" the Sorceress' voiced boomed out when everyone maintained their silence. "Musicians, play."

As she commanded, the music began again, and the crowds slowly gained their previous momentum.

Some still stared at Gryphon, but most went about their business. Shayla made her way to the O'Connors' table and took a seat opposite Gryphon. "Well, that was quite an entrance." She paused, waiting for him to make a comment. He simply looked in another direction and continued to imbibe more alcohol.

"Gryph, haven't you had enough?" Gwyneth placed her hand on his arm in an attempt to keep him from swilling down yet another mug. "You've been drinking too much lately."

"I agree," James remarked. "I don't like seeing what you're doing to yourself."

Gryphon carelessly shrugged. "Then don't watch. There are other places to sit."

Gwyneth gasped at the rude remark, stood up and marched away.

James stood and tossed his mug aside in anger. "Say what you want to me, but if you continue hurting your mother like this, then it might be better if you headed back to Ireland. I don't know what's gotten into you these past months, but I'm sick and tired of it." He stopped when it became apparent Gryphon was staring off into the distance, too drunk to focus. James turned to Shayla. "Excuse me, Sorceress. I leave my sot of a son to you. I'm through trying to talk sense into him." James marched off, following Gwyneth.

Gryph's conscience hit an all-time low. But making his parents angry with him would help them get through the future. The confrontation he'd spent his whole life avoiding was at hand.

For a few moments, Shayla said nothing. She watched Gryphon's gaze move to a group of laughing Fairies and their mates. One tall man picked up a girl and swung her around as she screamed in delight.

They began to dance and sing while others clapped in amusement. Something in Gryphon's eyes went cold. Then he picked up an entire jug of wine and began to drink from it.

"It's she isn't it?"

Gryphon wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. "Who, Sorceress?"

"That woman in New York. You've still got your mind on her."

"Been looking into your magic mirrors again, Shayla?" Gryphon grinned sarcastically and waved his hands in the air in a cryptic gesture.

Her eyes narrowed. "You're a good man. Too good to let you ruin your life like this."

He laughed. "Yes, and popular, too." He glanced around at the nearby tables that had emptied. Their occupants having left shortly after his arrival.

"You could be if you weren't so self-absorbed, insisting on living like a hermit and making a fearsome image of yourself."

Gryphon placed his palms on the table and leaned toward her. "You see that man over there?" He nodded toward a Druid glaring at him across the clearing. "I'm not clairvoyant about some things like you.

But I'll bet money he's thinking he'd like to pound my head in for chasing him down last summer. Never mind that he wouldn't work, left his mate and children to run off with an Italian Fairy, got her with child then refused to admit it. You sent me after him. Remember, Sorceress? You had the Whip Master give him ten lashes, but he blames me."

"I remember," she said in a bored tone.

"There are two Brownies whose families were feuding over land in Scotland. You sent me to settle that, and it ended in my having to beat one of their sons half to death when he came at me with a knife."

She sighed. "Your point?"

He stood up, grabbed the end of the table and violently pushed it aside. Crockery, food and utensils went flying. "My point, you old hag, is that I'm sick of your orders. Sick of policing people Clan Leaders should deal with, and I'm damned well through with you! I don't care if you take back whatever spell you have on me, and I change back and forth every two minutes. It can't be worse than being completely ostracized by the entire Order. I'll take responsibility for the way I behave, for living like a hermit, as you put it. But if you can't get your children to play nicely with each other," he nodded toward the large gathering of revelers, "it's not going to be my problem any more." He stalked angrily into the nearby woods.