Andre Norton - Gryphon in Glory

Now I raised my head to look about. I lay on the surface of the road, half supported by a small pack. There was no lingering stench of Thas here. Turning very slowly, for action was, I discovered, a great effort to which I had to bend all my will and energy, I saw that the heights of the cut no longer loomed over us. We must have somehow won through though I had no memory of the latter part of that flight. Before us now was the wall of a true mountain, its crest so wreathed by mist or clouds that one could not tell how high it reached into the sky.

The road ran straight into the first upward slope and then . . . At that point it was as cleanly cut as if some Power had moved the mountain here as an insurmountable barrier. There was only rock—cracked, stained—bearing signs. I believed, of having stood a heavy assault by some fierce force.

Directly before this stood Kerovan, his back to me, his arms hanging by his sides. His fingers continually wrapped into fists, only to loosen again. His body was taut, tense, as if he were half devoured by the need to gain what he wanted.

Somehow I got to my feet, took an unsteady step. My body was again as weak as if I had but crawled out of a bed wherein fever had sapped my strength. Yet, when I moved, there came a slow inflow of energy. Kerovan remained oblivious, as if only the mountain now mattered.

I staggered to where I could see his face. His features were grimly set in a mask of determination. Suddenly he drew his sword, took a quick step forward, and tried to force the tip of the blade into a crack that ran jaggedly down the stone.

When I looked more closely at the wall, in this full light, I could see that once there must have existed an opening there, which had been sealed by force, for the stone was fire darkened, and, in some places, looked as congealed as the lumps of metal scavengers brought out of the Waste. Though what could possibly melt rock?

He thrust fruitlessly at the crack, prying until his steel rang in warning and I half expected to see the blade break off short. With a gesture born of anger and frustration, Kerovan threw the sword from him, to clatter across the roadway, while he strode forward, to stand with his hands pressed palm flat on the rock, his head a little forward until his helm clashed against the mountain barrier.

I had half raised my hands. Then it caught at me. The gryphon—I clutched at it quickly—a protective talisman. Kerovan—could it be Kerovan who sent forth such waves of energy as left me trembling?

His shoulders tensed the stiffer. Outward spread that aura of power, now holding me where I was. I even believed that I saw a haze of light outline his body. My skin prickled and the short hairs about my forehead stirred of themselves. Between my hands the globe began to glow.

He was using his will—all the inner strength he could call upon, even as I had done. That backwash of force caught me, held me prisoner, immobile now, unable even to speak.

His body became slowly tenuous, as if solid flesh and bone thinned, was only a vessel holding something else. I found that sight so frightening I strove to close my eyes—yet I could do nothing else but watch that titanic battle; for battle it was—a man’s strength pitted against ancient, immovable stone.

Thinner grew Kerovan’s form, he was only a shadow of a man now. My own fear made me draw once more on what lay within me. If Kerovan was to vanish, then I must still seek him—he must not leave me so! I had thought, upon awakening, that my strength of will was exhausted. I discovered now that there are reserves within us all that are not known to exist unless some great task must be faced.

The globe—I had only that. I lifted it in both hands, held it above the level of Kerovan’s hunched shoulders. If he must, for some reason, win through this rock, then I would do what I could to aid.

This time it was not the globe that took on life and fire—but the gryphon itself! I saw its small figure move and that was not just my fancy. The globe shattered—fragments as thin as powder shifted through my fingers. A prisoner long confined was at last free! Not only free, but growing. For a moment its weight rested between my palms. Then those wings fanned the air . . .

The gryphon trumpeted, voicing such a note of triumph and exultation that my heart leaped in answer. Then the creature spiraled up, beating wings against the air so long denied it. For the space of a breath or two it circled about our heads, always growing—first as large as a mountain eagle, then so huge that the very shadow of its outstretching wings shut out the sun.

Those red eyes were aglow with fierce fire, its hooked beak opened, and once more it sounded its cry. Having tried its wings, it wheeled, to fly straight at the barrier against which Kerovan, seemingly unaware of it, still labored uselessly to force an entrance.

I caught my breath. The great flying thing (it might have topped Kerovan had it alighted on the road) did not swerve, rather hurtled like a bolt at the wall. And—just as Kerovan had earlier appeared to grow tenuous, so now did the wall become smoke. Into that winged the gryphon, vanishing from sight. Behind, Kerovan stumbled ahead, as well he might when the solid barrier against which he had leaned was suddenly withdrawn. Able to move once again I threw myself after him, fearing that the two of them might be lost to me.

There followed a fear-filled sensation of deep dark and cold, of being hurtled through a space in which my kind had no life. I could not breathe, yet I willed myself on.

Then I was in another place. Those are the only words I can find to describe it—another place. For I will always believe that I went out of the world meant to nourish my people, entering into one so different, so answerable to other laws and customs that I was or would be forever lost. For, in my folly, I had gone unprepared and alone.

No, I was not alone. I saw Kerovan rise from his knees. He must have sprawled on his face as the barrier gave way. Ahead, fast vanishing into a misty cloud, the gryphon beat wide-stretching wings.

Kerovan stood, his face dull and lifeless, showing, I believed, the countenance of some man caught in a sorcerous dream. I knew I could not reach him, that if I screamed aloud, even beat upon his body, he would not hear or feel. He glanced from side to side, and I sensed that what he saw was not altogether strange to him. Now he strode on, following the gryphon, at the fast pace of one obeying a summons. I would not be left behind so I broke into a short run to keep up with him.

From time to time (I was afraid to take my eyes long from Kerovan lest he vanish in some way peculiar to this other where place) I glanced around. There was light, though it came from neither torch nor lamp. We traveled down a long aisle between huge pillars, so large I do not think that two men standing, holding their arms full length, could have touched fingers about that girth.

Those pillars were carved with lines of a long-forgotten tongue—if the language had ever been known in my own world (which I doubted). There was a cloud of mist hanging above us that drifted—as real clouds might—while ahead shone a core of stronger light, which T believed was Kerovan’s goal.

He moved ever faster, until at last he ran. Gasping, I tried to keep up with him, but that fatigue with which I had awakened, the draining of the globe, slowed me. A sharp pain struck beneath my ribs, making me gasp and slow even more.

I was afraid. If Kerovan got beyond my sight I might lose him forever. Still there was no way I could break the spell that held him, of that I was sure.

On and on—that brighter light grew larger. I could see more details of the pillar carvings. Not that they meant anything, save that the message they must record was of greater import than I could know or guess. The Waste was a place of wonders, both of good and evil. Here, I knew, was a place of great Power—yet I could sense neither evil nor good. Was there a third way, neither of the Light nor Dark, that had laws of its own?