The Care and Feeding of Griffins (41 page)

51.  My Fool

I
t was apt to be a difficult winter, and Taryn knew she really was woefully unprepared for it.  But even though she had plenty of things she needed to be doing, and even though she finally had the energy and wherewithal to go about it, suddenly it seemed there weren’t enough hours in the day again. 

It wasn
’t all her imagination; the days really were getting shorter.  For Taryn, who had always considered herself quite the night-owl, the discovery that she was actually extremely diurnal was not a pleasant one.  There was something about sleeping twelve hours at a time just because it was dark that seemed unforgivably wasteful.  And despite her cozy new bed, Taryn’s sleep wasn’t very restful.  Oh, she was out almost the instant the sun set, but waking up in the morning was like trying to escape from a tar pit.  Her dreams were tangled, swiftly forgotten things that left her feeling wiped out and haunted by lingering dread and unfocused fears, and even though she could never quite remember them, that little essence was quite enough to keep her mind in a state of drift.

For days, Taryn tried to distract herself with work as this itchy feeling grew, but it was a battle she was losing
, and she knew it from the outset.  She broke the stones she attempted to knap, often cutting herself in the process.  Her cordage came out frayed and lumpy, and suffice to say, it didn’t hold.  Her basket-weaving…well, in all fairness, she never had gotten a grip on that, but even her aim with her slingshot was off.  No matter what it was she tried to do, her thoughts just ended up circling around and around some mental drain and pretty soon, she was sitting in a great, big pile of failure.

And what was it that kept chipping away at her brain and eroding her concentration?  What was waking her up in the morning and sending her to sleep at night with the same droning, nonspecific urging?  Was it winter coming on and the fear that she
’d end up begging at Tonka’s door?  No.  Was it fellcats in the plains coming over some night to have a tickle at her intestines?  Not even.  Was it Granna Birgit in the critical care unit a whole world away receiving who knew what kind of care?  No.

It was the magus.  The poor, lonely magus in the woods.  The man who
’d come to Arcadia fifty years ago and still had no friends apart from his awful cat, and he’d had to make her.  She knew he couldn’t be the only human in the Valley, but he was the only one she’d seen.  Likewise, he’d said she was the only one he’d seen in a long time.  And she was here and he was there and there had to be thirty or forty miles in between them and it was driving her crazy.

Was she really that lonely?  She suspected that she was.  Aisling
’s chirps and chatter weren’t really conversation, and as cute as he was, just talking to him all day didn’t fill that nagging void inside of her.  All that time in kraal-Rucombe had spoiled her.  Now, even though she got a brief visit from some horseman or another every day or two, she just couldn’t shake this feeling of being trapped in solitary confinement.  She couldn’t imagine how bad it must be for the magus, after fifty years, but he’d just been so happy to see her visit that day…

And then, of course, she
’d had a whole night with Antilles, which had actually been more pleasant than she’d expected.  It was hard to believe he was the same guy who’d told her to cut off a thumb.  The easy way they’d sat together, telling stories by the fire…that was nice.  And he’d actually come out to see her when she’d been sick.  And written her folks for her, although that thought still contained a certain ‘eeesh’ factor.  She’d actually slept in his bed.  Right there beside him.  And him just as naked as naked could be.

The thought did something for her.  She wasn
’t quite sure what.  Something shivery, though.  Something.

Taryn gave up even trying to make a damn basket.  She tossed her failure aside, picked up a long, whippy switch and tied a length of cord to the end, to which she then attached a small bit of wood.  She started dancing it around on the ground and a golden blur of fur immediately bolted past her from behind and pounced on it.  Taryn leaned forward, cupping her chin in her hand, and watched Aisling at play as she thought about Antilles.

He actually had a sense of humor.  There was a pleasant surprise.  She could close her eyes even now and hear his deep, rolling laughter, see his shockingly grey eyes gleaming with mirth.  His face…

Like Aisling or any of the Farasai, coming to see Antilles as something natural and normal was really just a matter of time and exposure.  He wasn
’t scary.  The last shreds of trepidation had melted clean away the instant she’d seen him kick off his hoof caps when he’d brought her home.  It was the little things that made the biggest differences, all the little homey touches around his cave that made him, for lack of a better word, human.

Not everything about him was little.

Well, holy crap, where had
that
come from?

Taryn hopped her griffin-toy back and forth, trying valiantly to ignore the heat creeping up the sides of her face (among other places).  Lonely.  She was just lonely.

And no, as a matter of fact, virtually nothing about Antilles was little.  He had big horns and big hands and big hooves and a big…hooves.

A really, really big hooves.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Taryn muttered, and tossed her toy-stick aside.  Aisling leapt on the bit of wood tied to its string and savaged it with peeping snarls before dragging the whole thing into the tent as a trophy.  Taryn watched the switch disappear in little tugging spurts but when it was gone and Aisling was growling happily to himself inside the tent, her eyes went crawling back over the river, over the woods, to the high rise of the mountain where Antilles lived.  He might be out on the overlook right now, looking down at her.  She wondered…if she got up right now and headed for the—

(woods)

—bridge, would Tilly meet her?  The urge to get up and go someplace was becoming overwhelming.  She wanted to see him, talk to him.  She wanted—

Hang on.  Taryn passed a hand over her eyes and looked around dazedly.  At some point, she
’d stood up and walked herself half a dozen steps out into the grass, leaving Aisling behind in a tent that was wide open.  Geez, where was her brain at?  She felt half-drunk all the time these days.

Taryn returned to camp, poked at the firepit, picked up her lousy basket, tossed it away again, and sat down with a sigh.  She glanced behind her into the tent and saw an Aisling-shaped lump under his baby-blanket, with the switch-handle of his new toy sticking out.  Watching him sleep made her tired.  And lonely.

Oh forget it.  This day was clearly a total loss.  She was going to have to just get up and go visit—

(the magus)

—someone.

“
Hail, thee.”

Taryn leapt up, her fragmented thoughts coalescing at once into pure delight. 
“Romany!” she cried.

The gypsy came through the grass, smiling her crooked, knowing smile.  There were dragons on her shoulders, dragons clinging to her colorful, tattered clothes, but as Romany entered the campsite, she unpinned her shawl and swept it off, flinging all the little dragons into a swirling funnel above her.  They soared away in a scolding cloud, then came back to nest in her hair as she dropped her shawl indifferently on the ground.  Taryn picked it up without thinking and hung it neatly over the bars of her plow as Romany peered in the tent at the sleeping griffin. 
“And is thee well?” she asked, moving to inspect the contents of the cauldron (hot water, left standing after its morning boil).

“
Well as can be expected, I guess,” Taryn said.

“
Aye, truly?”  Romany looked expansively around at the plains.  “How much of this did thee expect?”

“
Good point.”  Taryn darted into her tent and came out with the snake-topped tin Antilles had given her.  “Tea?” she said hopefully.

“
Aye, if it please thee.”  Romany drew a number of letters out from her sleeve and sat, holding them in her lap.  Leaning out, she took a caramel from Taryn’s pack and unwrapped it for her little dragons.  She held it for their frantic lickings as she watched Taryn wake up the fire and add tea to the pot.  “This is the first time I have seen thee,” she remarked, “that I began to believe thee could in truth settle here.”

Taryn laughed a little. 
“You thought I’d give up and go home, huh?”

“
Nay, I thought thee would die.”  Romany let go of the candy and watched her dragons fly it up and away.  “I knew full well thee would never abandon thy fool’s pursuit.”

Spoken mildly enough, yet the words stung.  Taryn straightened up, her only cup held in both hands, waiting to be filled with tea and offered to her guest.  Haltingly, she said,
“You…”

Romany turned back to her, one dark brow politely raised.

“You think I’m a fool?”  Taryn’s voice broke a little on the last word.

“
Aye.”  Romany gave her a fond smile.  “Of most fanciful and infinite jest.”

Taryn honestly couldn
’t tell if she were being insulted or not.  Frowning, she dunked her cup into the steeping pot and held it out to Romany. 

The gypsy took it, drank, and gave it back half-filled. 
“What need thee?” she asked.  “What aid shall I offer to speed thy settlement?  For I do find thee favored, aye, and since there are none to whom I may offer my good word of thee, still I will give thee aids.”

Taryn rediscovered a little of her smile and took a seat next to the gypsy, sipping at her tea. 
“Ah, you’re doing enough,” she said.  “It can’t be easy walking back and forth like this so often.”

“
Ha!”  Romany raised an imperious brow.  “Easy, aye, as much as breathing!  For I am Romany—”

“
And you go where you will,” Taryn finished, grinning.  “How foolish of me to have forgotten.”

Romany
’s eyes sparkled.  She held out her hand.  Taryn passed her the cup.  “Will you take nothing more?” she asked.

“
I can’t really think of anything else I need right now.”

“
Nay?  Yet needs there must be, for thee is hard-worn.”

“
I am?”  Surprised, Taryn took Romany’s wrist and pulled it to her so that she could look down into the mirror of the little tea left in the cup.  She saw only her own dark reflection, unbrushed hair hanging over her eyes, wearing an expression of surprise.

“
Aye, thee is.”  Romany lifted her free hand as though to brush at Taryn’s cheek, but never quite touched her.  Her eyes were dark and deep as wells; Taryn thought she could see the sun reflected in them, but nothing else.  “Paled.”

“
Sheesh, you and Ven.”  Taryn let go of the cup and leaned back on her hands, scowling in a friendly fashion.  “I’m Irish.  Just come back in the summertime.  I’ll show you color then, by God.  Forty shades of sunburned.”

“
Tis not thy flesh whereof I speak.  Thee is paled, my sister.  Thee is paled to thy very soul.”

Taryn shrugged one shoulder, beginning to be a little uncomfortable under the gypsy
’s solemn, too-intense stare.  “Too much worry and too little sleep, I guess, but I’ll get over it.  Things are easier now than they were, and they can only get better.”

“
Nay, not only.”  But Romany drank and shared back the tea, letting the matter of Taryn’s paleness go.  Her attention wandered to the dragons, now perching on the supports of Taryn’s tent and preening one another as they spread their wings for the autumn sun.  She smiled, watching them, and it was a smile of tightly-braided pride, affection and sorrow.  “What has thy family to say of thee?” she asked softly.  “Do they call thee daughter with love and pride as thee wanders so far of them?  Do they wait to welcome thee back at thy road’s end?”  She looked down into the cup, stirring at it with one finger and watching the needles that flavored it spin.  “Do they forgive thee that thee ever left?”

Taryn had picked up her letters at Romany
’s first question, but now only held them in her lap.  She turned to look at the blue smudge of the western mountains, the place where Romany said her family lived.  The day was clear enough, she could see the white spots of snow high on those distant peaks.  “You could go home just to visit, can’t you?” she asked hesitantly.  “You don’t have to tell them about me.”

“
Ah, but they would know.  My kind remembers all the ancient ways of sharing.”  Romany raised her hand for another of those not-touches.  “And I would have thee secret yet.”

“
Why?”

Romany laughed.  It was a peculiarly cheerless sound. 
“Aye, well, is that not what we do?  Hoard fine things for all ourselves?  Shall thee not be my pretty thing, my own fool, my glimmer and cly?  Shall I not have the sole right to carry thy father’s word and favor in mine own right hand and feel the greening of his love for thee in all my heart?  Shall I not take a conqueror’s claim of that bursting smile that comes at thy glad cry of my name?  Nay, I have stolen thee, I have brought thee, laired thee.  Thee is mine, the spoils of my seizure, and I will not share thee but keep thee jealously retained to be my pleasure.”