Andre Norton - Gryphon's Eyrie

And touched! My fingers brushed cloth, grabbed, then I was swimming upward, toward life and air, that handful of linen clenched tight in my fist.

The finest of wines served at a High Lord’s feasting could never have tasted as wondrous as did that first mouthful of blessed air when my head broke water. Snatching quickly at what I held, now seeming naught but a lifeless bundle of rags, I heaved, bringing a face into view. Stroking awkwardly, one-handed, I began the long pull for shore.

After only a few feet, the air that I had gulped so greedily razed my chest like fire. The muscles in my arms and legs seemed at once weighted and weak. I could no longer see the bank, as my sight dulled.

Closing my eyes, I kicked frantically, feeling the limp weight along my side bearing heavy on me. Tightening my grasp stubbornly, I kept fighting… fighting… the water grasped me, pulling me down…

So dulled were my senses, for long seconds I did not realize that the hold I felt upon my shoulder was that of a real hand—a hand that became many hands, dragging me from the river’s deadly embrace.

Looking up, I could see Obred’s face… hear dimly his shouts for help. More faces appeared. I was lifted, carried… carried into darkness…

A huge pressure squeezed my ribs, though I moaned in feeble protest, trying to lever myself up.

“Easy, Kerovan. Lie still. You tried to drink half that accursed river.” A voice spoke from above me—Obred’s, I realized fuzzily.

I was lying facedown, the harsh brush of the plains grass beneath my cheek. That gripping pressure came once more, and this time I did squirm my way to my hands and knees—only to be racked again—this time by nausea. I could well believe that I had swallowed half the river from the quantity of water of which I painfully rid myself, Obred’s big, hard-palmed hands gently supporting my head.

Finally I was able to look about me with a measure of intelligence, though my head still whirled, and I wanted nothing more than to collapse in sleep.

A knot of people clustered around another figure stretched on the ground. For a moment I thought sickly that all my effort had been for naught, and that that other was dead—then I saw one foot twitch. Staggering, I made a shaky progress toward the little group.

Guret crouched over that small form—my breath caught painfully. It was Nita I had pulled from beneath the water. One of the women massaged her ribs fiercely, then stooped to blow her own breath between the child’s blue lips. There was no sound save for those rhythmically breathed puffs of air—once, twice, thrice. I lost count, and still the woman worked…

A gasp from that soaked bundle, then another. An excited mutter from the grouped Kioga strengthened into a muted cheer as the girl on the ground began to breathe normally again.

Long moments later I turned away, realizing suddenly that if I did not sit, I would fall. Obred’s arm encircled my shoulders.

“Once more we owe you a debt we cannot possibly repay. You went after Nita, with full knowledge that your own life might be forfeit in the doing. I have never seen such courage.”

I sat, shaking my head in negation of his words. “Give me no such credit, Obred. I reacted before I could think—if I had thought, then I might well not have been able to summon the will. One cannot name that courage.”

“You will never hear otherwise from my lips, Lord.”

“What happened?” Now that I sat in the full light of the sun, with no sound but the rush of the river and the murmur of the others, the whole incident seemed unreal. Were it not for my soaked clothing, I could well imagine it had never happened.

“Nita’s horse slipped on a stone and fell, throwing her into the river. None of us were close enough to catch her.”

I heard a tread behind me but was too exhausted to look up until I heard Guret’s voice addressing Obred. “She is still sick from the water she swallowed, but she will be fine.”

The boy dropped to his knees beside me and, before I could naysay his action, took my hand between both of Ins and pressed it to his forehead. “Lord, I am in your doubt. Accept me as your liegeman, as is right.”

“I will accept you as friend, Guret, and be honored in the doing.” I found my voice, still rough from the rawness of my throat. “More than that, no. I am only thankful that Nita will recover.”

We talked a bit more, then I slept, while Obred oversaw the river crossing. When I awoke it was time for me to cross again, thankful that there had been no more mishaps. We camped that night on the opposite bank. I sat leaning against my bedroll, listening to one of the women recount a long story-song, about the spirit of the river, in the shape of an otter, playing tricks upon two would-be Kioga trappers. It was a funny telling, and I found myself laughing with the others.

Something touched my shoulder. Turning, I saw Guret, IMS arm around Nita’s waist. The girl looked weak and shaken still, but there was something of the old glint in her eyes. “You should be story-telling, Lord Kerovan. Everyone has heard of Otter and his trick, but only Guret and I have heard of the gryphon ’prisoned within a crystal globe, worn about a lady’s neck, and she all unknowing it was a live creature.”

“Nita!” I made haste to seat her beside me. “Where have you been?”

“I was the last to cross. Obred strung a rope, and I came through the river like a basket of rocks, with a loop tied around me. I told him I would cross with my horse, like any other, but he would not hear of it. He told me that you were already gone across, and I should not tempt the river to recapture what it once had within its fist.”

She paused, then looked once more straightly at me, her voice trembling. “I owe you my life, m’lord. I—” She swiped impatiently at her nose and eyes, tried once more. “I thank you…” Then she began to sob, and I touched her shoulder, dismayed to see brash Nita so undone. Her body quivered with convulsive shudders.

“It is the reaction to near death,” I told her brother, feeling helpless. “I have seen men taken so, after battles.” Clumsily I put an arm around her, drew her to me, wondering a bit if she would protest. But she did not, and we sat so for a long time, the only sound Nita’s quiet sobbing.

Finally Guret spoke, his voice pitched for my ears alone. “Lord? Are you truly a man? Or are you one of the Dream Spirits Nidu speaks of when she drums herself into a trance and walks other worlds?”

I looked over his sister’s head at him. “Truly a man, Guret, naught else. Though at times”—the youth’s dark eyes seemed to compel honesty from me—“I have been filled with the presence of another, from the past. One who is not of… this world. Although that was a long time ago.”

“Yet you have these.” The lad gestured at my hooves, curled beneath me as I sat.

I felt the old chill sweep through me but fought to keep my voice steady. “I was… born so. There was… other blood in my family, so say the tales. We are linked to the Old Ones.”

“And that is why you have the Power.”

“Who told you that?”

“Everyone can see that you are different, and the night you came, Obred spoke of the warning you gave that helped ward the rescue party from one of the deadly Shadowed places. You wear that.” He nodded at my wristband. “One not having the Power could not do so.”

“Perhaps you are right,” I admitted reluctantly, “but I have no lessoning in such. Nor want any, if truth be so known. I have no desire to be different inwardly, as I already am outwardly.”

The dark eyes glinted in the firelight. “Perhaps it is as you told me this morning. One who does not worry about holding responsibility—or Power—is not one who should have it.”