Erin Hoffman - Sword of Fire and Sea

He woke to the sensation of being gently rocked in the embrace of a soft hammock. A faint creak as of braided hemp on wooden beams vouched for this illusion, and he could almost hear the rush of the sea. Vidarian opened his eyes to the sight of a soaring sky spreading overhead in every direction.

But the rhythmic pulse that vibrated in the air was not the rush of waves against a rocky coast.

As he looked around, bleary-eyed, Vidarian found that he rested in a large basket. The contraption sloped upward all around him, and the rim was just above his eyes. Further up still, three gryphons beat strongly and regularly at the air with long speckled wings, one to either side of him and one-smaller than the other two-directly before. It took him a long moment to calculate how high up they probably were.

One of the gryphons, a long-necked fellow to his right, must have seen Vidarian's bulging eyes. // Don't look down, // he warned, and this mind's voice was like salt on bread, sharp but humble. // It's a little startling if you haven't flown before. //

Vidarian stiffened as the creature's voice echoed in his mind. For once, the grief, restlessness, and guilt he had borne since Ariadel's capture worked for him; his anger forged a forced acceptance of the situation. A talking gryphon. It really wasn't that bad.

“My men!” Vidarian shouted finally, finding that he had to work even to hear himself above the beating of the gryphons’ wings. “I remember-er-collapsing…” Fainting. He hadn't really fainted, had he?

// You did indeed, Captain. // This from the gryphon to his left, her voice female like the first, though with no resemblance whatever to a human female's voice he couldn't say how he was sure. Her voice called up the warmth of a hickory-fueled hearth in winter, spiced and soothing. // We explained to the men that we had given you a traveling draught to ease your comfort in the air, and that it had acted faster than we expected. Fortunately, they believed us. // Vidarian felt a flush heating his cheeks. Likely the men knew exactly what had happened, but forgave him. As he moved further into the waking world, he found himself able to cope with a strange situation made much stranger.

“In the stories, you speak like men,” Vidarian shouted over the wind. The gryphon to his right clacked his beak, a sound like timber cracking. Cocking his large head to one side with catlike pupils flaring, he somehow looked surprised.

// What, with our voices? // The feathers all along the creature's long neck fanned outward and he released a trilling call that deafened Vidarian momentarily. It sounded like warbling laughter. // Speaking telepathically is not something easily explained in a children's book. But it is said once that we did speak your tongue, long ago. All things come full circle; perhaps we will speak again someday. //

Vidarian hunkered back down in the basket and pulled his coat shut against the wind. As he scooted toward the back of the basket to redistribute its weight, he found that it carried built-in wicker bins, three of which were tied securely and a fourth that was only loosely fixed. Curious, he peered inside, and found that it contained a smaller basket covered with white linen cloth.

// Help yourself , // the gryphon to his left offered, catching sight of his movements with her sharp eyes.

Vidarian needed no further invitation, discovering an abrupt wave of intense hunger that washed darkness across his vision. Within he found a waxed and stoppered bottle of a thick golden wine, two rounds of hard-crusted bread (curiously tangy, he found upon tearing one open and taking a bite), and equal portions of dried beef and fresh green grapes. Pausing every now and then as the basket gave a lurch and temporarily obliterated his appetite (// Sorry, breakage in the wind currents , // came quick apologies), over the next hour he made himself a simple but satisfying meal of the provisions.

Stomach full and heart empty, he finally allowed his weariness to overcome him. Though not knowing how in the lilting movements of the basket, he slept.

For the second time Vidarian woke in the basket's embrace, but this time it was discomfort that roused him. The gryphons were rapidly descending, and as they neared the earth he found an alarming pressure building up in his head.

// We're landing , // the forward gryphon announced, turning his head to look back on the passenger. // Move your jaw, it will loose the pressure in your ears. // Vidarian did as he was told and found to his relief that, after a slightly worrisome pop! , the pain did recede. This process repeated itself perhaps three times before the mountain below hove into view.

The gryphons’ great wings tore at the clouds as they descended, sending tendrils of thick moisture spiraling away in their wake. Directly below, golden-capped spires began to appear, and they sparkled in the mist.

“Is this Kara'zul?” he shouted.

// No , // the gryphon to his right answered. // It is Sher'azar Temple. We cannot take you directly to Kara'zul; you will have to speak with the gatekeeper here. // As he spoke, the gryphon landed in tandem with the other two, setting the basket down lightly on the mosaic-tiled ground. On legs that did not quite want to work properly, Vidarian managed to lever himself out of the basket, and landed weakly.

// Here we must leave you , // the front gryphon said, giving a bow of his beak. // We have tidings to bring to the high priestess. //

“Then I thank you most sincerely for your aid,” Vidarian said, giving a bow of his own, and knowing little else what to do. “If I can ever be of service to you, please let me know of it.”

// We will keep it in mind , // the right gryphon answered, with a twinkle in his eye. Then the leading gryphon gave a nod and the three creatures leapt once more into the air. The wind from their wings beat strongly down upon Vidarian and he squinted as he watched them ascend. Within moments they had disappeared back into the clouds.

Vidarian peered intently at the handful of tiny buildings that comprised the Temple at Sher'azar. Built in black lacquered hardwood, the structures echoed those of the lightning-scar settlement priestesses, reaching up into the slate-grey sky like the remnants of kindling in a smoldering fire. None were quite the same height.

Like the previous settlement, all was stonily silent-but this one was apparently unpopulated. Though the etched clay pots and their occupants, a variety of strange (and probably dangerous) plants, showed signs of recent and dutiful tending, no creature, human or otherwise, gave a sign of their existence here.

As time dragged on Vidarian grew increasingly restless, finally forcing himself to sit on a large spur of rock that climbed up out of the ground. Some interminable minutes later, the steady but painfully slow sound of hoofbeats began to echo from further down the foothill to which the Temple clung.

Vidarian stood and waited long enough for his legs to start stiffening in the damp air before a covered cart arrived, drawn by a grey donkey. Its driver was a shadowed figure wearing one of the now familiar burgundy robes.

“Greetings,” Vidarian called, raising his hand. “I come seeking the Gatekeeper of Sher'azar.”

“Then I'm afraid you've come at the wrong time,” answered a dulcet voice from inside the hood of the burgundy robe. “The gatekeeper is not here.”

“Not here?” Vidarian asked, startled out of protocol. “Where is she? This is a matter of most urgency.”

“She has gone Down to teach children at a neighboring village,” the priestess answered with peculiar emphasis as she pulled the cart to a stop. Tossing back her hood, she unveiled a rather startling mass of deep red curls that bounced across her shoulders as if thankful for freedom. Her pale green eyes turned upward as she gave voice to a strange, warbling chant.