Skade stared blankly at the sky and said nothing.
“Honestly,” said Arren. “I don’t mind. I just want to help you, Skade.”
She looked at him. “Why?”
The question caught him by surprise. “What d’you mean, why? Why do I need a reason? You’re human, that’s why.”
Skade laughed softly. “Fool.”
4
Fugitives
S
kade remained uncommunicative for the rest of that day and continued to refuse the food Arren offered her. She also refused to let him dry her dress over the fire. In fact, she showed no interest in anything around her, though she watched both him and Skandar closely as they moved around the camp, her golden eyes taking in everything. Arren left her alone and busied himself with smoking the rest of the mutton and then tanning the sheepskin. It was hard work, but the pleasant prospect of having a blanket of sorts did a lot to motivate him. Once he had thoroughly cleaned the hide and had cured it with a combination of leatherbush-infused water and brains, he rinsed it off and then hung it up to dry. Tomorrow he’d soak and clean it again and give it a good going-over to make it more supple. It would be stiff and smelly, but he didn’t care.
The sun began to go down, and he began to cook the sheep’s organs. He didn’t like liver or kidneys very much, but they’d do. He offered some to Skandar, but the griffin groaned and looked away. “Not hungry.”
“All right. Oh, I got you the lizard I promised.”
Skandar regarded the pathetic corpse of the skink, and then snapped it up. “Good lizard,” he mumbled, with what Arren was just able to recognise as sarcasm.
“It was pretty big,” he said. “I haven’t seen many skinks that big.” He looked in Skade’s direction and saw she had finally moved. She’d pushed the robe off and was sitting with her back to a tree, still watching him.
“Feeling better now?” said Arren.
Skade was looking at the offal staked over the fire. “I am hungry,” she said at last.
“Well, you’re welcome to it,” said Arren, very relieved. “I’ll give you some once it’s ready.”
He gave her the heart and a large chunk of liver, and she ate them ravenously. She also ate the berries he’d been saving and the roots and even the grubs.
Arren couldn’t help it; he grinned. “So, you really were hungry,” he said.
Skade licked her fingers clean. “Yes.”
“Do you feel better now?”
“A little,” said Skade. She still looked wary, but her demeanour was less hostile.
“So,” said Arren, sitting down with his own food, “where are you from, Skade? How did you get out here?”
Skade was silent for a long time. “I am from Withypool,” she said at last.
Arren gaped at her. “You’re what? But that’s on the other side of the country!”
“Yes,” said Skade.
Withypool was one of the great griffiner capitals, and its lands bordered those of Eagleholm. Arren had never been there, but he’d heard it was near the coast. “What’s it like?” he asked.
Skade thought about it. “Beautiful.”
“Is it really next to the sea?”
“A small flight away,” said Skade. “But the land is flat. You can see it from the top of the Eyrie.”
“I’ve never seen the sea before,” said Arren. “Does it really breathe?”
“It moves,” said Skade. “The water rises up and throws itself onto the land. At night it rises, and in the morning it returns.”
Arren tried to imagine it. “Magic,” he said aloud. “I’d love to see it one day. I’ve seen griffins use magic, but magical places—I’ve never seen one of those.” He cursed internally: he shouldn’t have said anything about griffins. If she realised he was—he cursed internally again. She already knew he spoke griffish. She’d been using it since the moment they had met, and though he had been answering her in Cymrian, he obviously understood it. “What’s the city like?” he asked hastily.
“It is very large,” said Skade. “Stone and mud brick, mostly. The Eyrie is at the top of a mountain, above the other buildings. But there is a great wall around the city, to protect it. And there is a fortress near the sea. We flew out to it every day. There are always three of us there, watching the sea.”
Once Withypool had constantly had to defend the coast against raiders from the East, Arren knew. But that had died down recently. “Who was the Master of the Eyrie?”
“Arakae.”
That didn’t sound like a human name. “Is he a good ruler?” said Arren.
“Yes. He is just and brave, and his human is cunning.”
“Wait—Arakae is a griffin?”
“Of course,” said Skade. “A griffiner is not master of his griffin. Without Arakae, the Lord Ruel would not be a ruler of humans.”
Arren supposed that was true. In Eagleholm, people had deferred to the griffins at least as much as to their human partners, if not more so. After all, as soon as he had lost Eluna and the news had spread, he had lost everything. Without her, there was no respect from anyone. Even so, it was always the human who was the lord or lady, and the one people thought of first. Arren knew why: though the griffin was the more powerful and revered of the two, the human was the one other humans understood and could relate to. Humans saw the world in terms of other humans. And that would mean that griffins would see it in terms of—
He realised that Skade had asked him a question. “Sorry, what?”
“I said, where are you from?” said Skade.
“Oh. Uh, well, nowhere really. It’s not important.” Arren cursed inside yet again. He hadn’t been ready for the question and didn’t have a lie prepared.
“I can understand that you do not wish for other people to know,” Skade said more gently.
“I prefer to keep things to myself,” said Arren. “I can tell
you
do. You’re on the run, aren’t you?”
She tensed. “Why do you say that?”
“It’s obvious. You’re from Withypool, but you’re not there. You’re hundreds of damn miles away, in the middle of the countryside, all alone and with no shoes. Why in the gods’ names would you be out here by choice?”
Skade looked at him, unreadable. Arren wondered if he had made her angry, but then she relaxed and sighed. “You are not a fool,” she said.
So he’d guessed correctly. “Are you trying to get somewhere?” he asked.
“Why should I tell you?” said Skade. “I do not trust you, blackrobe.”
Arren winced. “But you told me where you were from. You told me your name. That’s enough for me to tell other people who you are and where you are.”
Skade laughed at him. “You cannot threaten me. You are a fugitive as much as I am. You would not go near anyone to tell them.”
Arren relaxed. “And neither would you.”
“No,” said Skade. “I would not. Tell me your name, and I will tell you where I am going.”
“Why do you care?” said Arren.
“I do not care,” said Skade. “But I will trust you if you trust me.”
“Fine. I’m Taranis.”
Skade looked away. “Why are you out here, Taranis? Are you a slave who has escaped?”
“Do I look like one?”
She examined him. “You are a blackrobe. You are hiding. There are collar scars on your neck.”
Arren nodded. “That’s a good guess,” he said. “But there’s one problem.” He held up his right hand, showing her the grubby skin on the back of it. “No brand,” he said.
“Yes,” said Skade. “I noticed that. And”—she looked at Skandar—“a slave would not be travelling with a griffin. And he would not know griffish.”
“And how do
you
know griffish?” said Arren. “Wouldn’t it be easier to speak human?”
Skade’s expression hardened. “I have the right, blackrobe. Who taught you to speak it? Was it this griffin?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Arren.
“But I want to know,” said Skade. “Tell me.”
“No. You said you’d tell me where you were going if I told you my name. You know my name, so tell me where you’re going.”
There was a tense silence. They looked challengingly at each other while Skandar watched, ready to attack if Skade showed any sign of hostility.
She glanced quickly at him, and then looked at Arren again. “I was looking for a cave.”
“A cave?” said Arren. “What sort of cave?”
“Have you ever heard of a spirit cave?” said Skade.
“I don’t think so.”
“There is more than one spirit cave,” said Skade. “I was looking for one that is said to be near the Northgate Mountains. It is a magical place.”
“Why are you looking for it?” said Arren.
“The spirits of the dead dwell inside it,” said Skade. “The cave has magic. It can do things no griffin can do. Answer questions. Give guidance. Reveal the future. And … it can heal a soul.”
“Heal a soul?” said Arren. “How? Is it a holy place or something?”
“No,” Skade hissed. “It is a griffish place. Griffins have no gods. The magic of a spirit cave can undo other magics. It can remove even the most powerful curse.”
Arren froze. “Curse? What sort of curse?”
“Any that is woven by a griffin,” said Skade. “Even a death curse.”
His hands closed around the now-cold meat, squashing it. “Where is this place?”
“It does not matter,” said Skade. “I am not going there now. I have been travelling toward it for more than a year, but now I have seen sense. It does not exist.”
“But it has to,” said Arren. “I mean, how can people talk about—you shouldn’t give in until you know.”
Skade looked at the ground. “No. My heart tells me it is not there. There is no hope. A griffin’s curse cannot be healed.”
“Not even by another griffin?” said Arren.
Skade shook her head. “I do not know.”
“Take me there,” said Arren. “Let me come with you to this place. I’ll help you, Skade.”
She looked up, all fire and anger again. “No. I travel alone.”
“But if we travel together, we can work together,” said Arren. “Protect each other. Help each other find food, keep each other company. And you can travel faster if you’re with me. I think Skandar could carry both of us.”
“I do not need company,” Skade hissed. “I am not going to this cave.”
“Well then, where
are
you going?”
Skade said nothing.
“You really do want to find it, don’t you?” said Arren. “Don’t give up. I’ll help you get there, I promise.”
“Why do you want to go there?” said Skade.
“Because I want to see it. Why do
you
want to go there?”
Silence.
“You’re cursed, aren’t you?” Arren said softly. “That’s why you’re out here, isn’t it? There’s a curse on you.”
She snarled softly and looked away.
“Is that why you look like that?” said Arren.
“Yes,” Skade said at last.
“I’ll help you, Skade,” said Arren. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Skade hesitated. “I will … think about it.”
“Thank you,” said Arren.
He ate the cold offal, not noticing the unpleasant taste. His mind was abuzz.
She can take me to this place. We’ll find it together, she and I. I’ll go in there and talk to those spirits, I’ll ask them … I’ll ask them to save me
.
He glanced at her and smiled very slightly.
She’s beautiful,
he thought.
In a strange way
.
S
kade was watching him. The blackrobe was difficult to read, but she could sense his hopefulness, along with a kind of buried fear. She saw his glance toward her, and her eyes narrowed.
You want something,
she thought.
And I will find out what it is
.
A
rren finished eating, and stretched. It was dark now, and he wrapped up the smoked mutton in a scrap of dirty cloth from his pocket and hung it from a tree to protect it from animals. Skandar was already asleep, his back rising and falling gently in time with his breathing.
“Well,” said Arren, “I’m ready to sleep now. Keep my robe. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Skade watched as he curled up beside the griffin, sheltering under one wing. She was tempted to throw the robe aside—but the night air was cold, and though the garment was very dirty and was trimmed with ragged edges, it was still thick and warm. She wrapped it around her shoulders and watched in the dying firelight as Arren fell asleep. He looked tired, but after a few moments she saw his face crease as if in pain. His lips moved as he muttered something to himself, and one hand twitched.
Skade lay down by the base of a tree, pulling the robe over her exposed shoulders. In spite of herself she was feeling better now. The food had filled her up, and she was warm. And perhaps, after all, the blackrobe could help her. Perhaps the spirit cave really did exist. Perhaps, when she got to the place she had been striving to reach for so long, the cave would be there after all.
I will get there,
she thought.
I should not have given up. I will find it. And afterward, it will be time for my revenge
.