Spirit Rising

Chapter 1

Twelve griffins for each sunray,
And one, for the sun’s shadow –
In sleep bear they light of day,
To guard Elemor from any foe.

Foremost Amred, his feather red,
His Alitán strongest of all –
Second is Ecoiv with golden head,
His voice bears the richest call.

Sadronian third and deepest brown,
His foot soft and his hearing best –
Fourth is Dadriam with golden crown,
Brighter than the sun in the West.

Fifthly Trekorr with wings of grey,
His power in his chiseling claws –
Icecor is sixth, a snowy white fae,
Breath of ice locked behind jaws.

Seventh Övaidior his feathers blue,
With eyes of the keenest sight –
Eighth be Arewing like sunset dew,
With breath of flame she does fight.

Ninth Noitavlas the color of sand,
Given power of a furious storm –
Deahân the tenth, like frosted land,
Tenfold strength a part of his form.

Eleventh Mirado shades red and black,
He vanishes and knows all minds –
Lorwind is twelfth and purely black,
Through sky with four wings he winds.

Last of all is the sun's exiled veil,
Feathers darker than lifeless eyes –
For power and vengeance this guardian fell,
But from malice of man will he rise.

#

“You killed them. All I ask, all I want to know…is -why-.”
The black griffin sat down on the cold sands of the seashore, curling his tail around his body tightly and warming his front feet with its fan-like end. He gazed out across the lapping waters with empty red eyes before arching his neck and puffing out his chest, hackles raised and making him appear even bigger than before. “You would do well to leave while you are still able.” he rasped, not bothering to look at the newcomer.

He had been expecting his brother for quite a while.

“We both know neither one of us have any strength left to fight – forming a bridge between the Realm of Dreams and the Wake is far too draining.” the voice continued, soon followed by his brother’s form. The smaller griffin’s crimson feathers reflected the fading moonlight and his steely blue eyes were brittle as they took in the ragged appearance of the inky monster beside him. “I have seen your stronghold throughout the centuries, you know. It is held by the exiled bastard – Dargemon, isn’t it?”

The black griffin snorted, his gaze contemptuous and his claws curling into the damp sand. “The bastard fool is weak – I have found one far better than he, but you already know this, Amred.”

“Unfortunately, yes…just as you know my own champion lives on, -Sheeole-.”
Silence fell once more and the griffins continued to watch the sea and sky, the faintest of salty breezes stirring their feathers.

“I admit, you had me as fooled as the rest of our kin.” Sheeole continued coolly, and Amred visibly flinched.

“I did what I had to do, and I’m alive because of it.”

“We shall see, -Foremost-,” the black griffin sneered, briefly stretching out a wing before folding it tightly into his side once more. “we shall see who will win our…little game of deception. My belly may be filled with the blood of our kin, but your heart has been touched by the dark. Where is your champion now? Still cowering in the hills?”

Amred’s blue eyes narrowed, a guttural growl forming in his throat. “Watch yourself, One whom I once called brother – champions are born every day, and puppets lose their charm quickly.”

With a powerful leap and beating of wings the red griffin was airborne, flying inland at the speed of light. At that moment a speck of gold glinted on the horizon, caught between sky and water and growing steadily as the sun rose into place. It soon cast a cheery, yellow brightness onto everything its rays touched – everything except the Shadow of the Sun.

#

-Where does th’ sun go when it sets? And what’s fer dinner?-

The questions passed through the girl’s head as quickly as the wind swept through her dark, hopelessly tangled waves of hair. She pressed her body closer to her winged mount, burying her hands in the cool grey feathers of its neck. The griffagon bore his young rider with patience, guiding his path through the air with the fan-like end of his tail, all the while keeping a steady rhythm with his white-streaked wings.

“Eeak-ak?” the griffagon squeaked throatily, clacking his black beak.

“Shh, Lian! Ah’m havin’ a thought here!”

Lian let his lids fall over his yellow eyes, his frost-tipped ears falling back against his head, and the girl squinted - annoyed at the loss of concentration.

“Och, ah ken what ye’re thinking… -Arawin is being all weird again-…well ah’m nae!” Arawin tossed her head defiantly, but nevertheless stretched her hand out to stroke Lian’s neck. “Ye old rascal. Ah still love ye, ah just wish ah had my own griffagon, that’s all. And ye’re right. Ah’m definitely weird…I’m talking like ah can hear yer thoughts, aren’t ah?”

Lian’s smoky, blue-scaled stomach rumbled beneath her, and she groaned. Her father would have her hide if he found out she’d taken the aging griffagon out for a fly before feeding him his usual blend of rabbit, limestone, and fool’s gold. Arawin rubbed a hand over her lightly freckled face, then tightened her leg grip and turned Lian around, muttering to herself between taking in deep breaths of the early fall air and relishing the way it seemed to freshen her very soul. Her family’s croft wasn’t far away from the Ancöra Sea, surrounded on all sides by farmed fields and nestled between two mountain ranges. A dirt road led the way to the town of Torpwen, inhabited mostly by those of the Arewing clan, but her own family were the only Irvyne-Arewings as far as Arawin knew.

As they neared the round, stone, cave-like barn where her family bred and raised griffagons, Arawin dropped Lian still lower until his belly nearly skimmed the treetops and she leaned back slightly, keeping perfect balance while resting both hands on his scaly hindquarters. Just before landing, she nimbly jumped off, reaching around to hug Lian with one arm as he braked to a stop.

“Thanks fer th’ ride,” she grinned, letting out a soft giggle as the griffagon nudged her away with his beak, anxious to get to his feed.

After securing him in his nest within the barn, Arawin set off at a run toward her croft, shaking the jelly feeling she always got from a long fly out of her legs. She slowed to a walk as she passed through the low arch of the croft, feeling a strange sort of satisfaction when the top of her head just barely brushed the archway. Arawin had always been short for her age - a trait passed on to her by her father, who stood a half an inch shorter than his wife. She liked to think she didn’t mind the height difference between her and the rest of the kids her age, but….well, it was hard not to.

Arawin crossed the croft’s tiny kitchen and quickly scaled the ladder into the loft where she and her two sisters Sheelin and Rayla slept, suddenly realizing how quiet everything seemed - especially for a day devoted to preparing for the festival of Ceyad Ceol. Ceyad Ceol, or the festival of the ‘First music,’ was celebrated annually on the first of September, and her mother usually stayed in the kitchen the entire day baking pies, wrapping loaves, and making potato fire-cakes in anticipation of the festival’s picnic in Torpwen. However, while signs of the frenzied cooking lay scattered about the normally tidy kitchen, not a soul was to be seen…unless one counted the exceedingly fat fly buzzing about with nothing better to do. With a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach, Arawin exited the croft and walked around to the vegetable garden in the back. “Mum? Sheelin?”

Nothing.

Arawin tried to quell her sudden unease, frantically searching her memory for any clues as to where they all were, but a sudden warm breeze brought with it the smell of smoke. Not the familiar pungent-reek of a peat fire, but the harsh, choking smell of burning hardwood. Realization struck her and she sucked in a sharp breath.

-Th’ south barn. Oh no…-

Her heart racing with every step, she sprinted out of the house and onto the dirt pathway that led down the hill and through an outcropping of trees. As she rounded the hill and got a glimpse of the south barn, her heart stopped briefly.

The structure was a blazing inferno, the flames angrily leaping towards the sky and sending billows of black clouds into the air. A few of the townspeople had seen the smoke and were helping her family by passing along buckets of water from the creek, but most of their efforts were concentrated on trying to save the frightened cows and horses from the tongues of flame as they licked up the side of the barn, smoky tendrils curling away as though alive. Horses were screaming in terror and desperately attempting to break away from their holders as bits of hot ash danced around the air like fire faeries gone mad.

“Arawin!” a voice cried out, and her older sister ran up, thrusting a bucket into her younger sibling’s hands. Sheelin’s honey-colored hair looked slightly singed, and her face was pale. “Help pass th’ water along t’ Da,’ he’s on th’ other side!’

“What happened!?”

“Da’ discovered one of er brooding griffagons had somehow made a nest in th’ back of th’ barn. He tried t’ get her out, but she spit an ice-flame at him and it burst.” Sheelin brushed past her to get to the creek and Arawin stumbled back, horrified by the spectacle. Even as her feet began to move of their own accord toward the barn, a strange feeling of excitement and boldness filled her, enforced by a voice she did not recognize.

"The grifflet and its mother are still in there, Arawin.”

The unfamiliar voice came out of nowhere – somewhere close but almost echoing at the same time. She glanced around in surprise, but didn’t see a speaker. Urgency quickened her steps and she brushed off the mystery - her mind was made up even as she realized she’d probably regret her impulsiveness. With one last gulp of untainted air, she ran into the flaming barn, unmindful of the panicked voices of her family and friends outside, shouting for her to stop. Once inside the burning barn she fell to her knees, forced to crawl on the floor because of the choking fumes. Frantically, she tried to see through the orange haze around her, ignoring the scorching hot splinters digging into her palms. The back door leading to the tack room was wide open and outlined in fire…she could just make out the dark-feathered head of a griffagon cowering in the corner.

Her lungs burning with smoke and her eyes stinging, the dirty, soot-covered girl crawled inside. The mother griffagon was shielding her newly hatched grifflet with her own body as the flames came through the already-blackening walls. Sweat shone on her deep, purple scales and her black eyes were rimmed with white. Arawin grabbed at the chain around the female’s neck and tried to lead her out, but the faithful mother griffagon refused to leave the baby curled up against her belly. Time was running out and the roof was beginning to collapse, the beams groaning and trembling beneath the flames. Arawin hurriedly swatted aside the griffagon’s stabbing beak and scooped the wet grifflet bundle into her arms. She leapt onto the mother’s back, sliding to the side a little, then shouted into the griffagon's long ear.

"Up! Up girl, up!”

The griffagon gave a mighty leap that left Arawin just barely able to hold on, and shot through a hole in the roof and out into the clear, open sky.