CHAPTER SEVEN: THE GIRL TREE.
They had landed in a meadow with only a solitary tree to break up the acres and acres of lush grass. Neb pulled himself to his feet, using Balkind's leg as a crutch. Immediately, white hot bolts of pain shot through his shoulders and upper arms.
He swayed, but managed to remain upright. 'Who's there?' he called. The tree branches rustled, and he crossed his fingers against evil spirits. Balkind stiffened and gazed fixedly at the tree. Neb placed a hand on his griffin's shoulder, and crossed the fingers of his other hand. While he was deliberating whether to take a step forward – or back – a small figure dropped from the lower branches of the tree. It landed in a crouch then straightened upright and shook back a mass of dark curls. Neb breathed a sigh of relief; it was only a girl. A girl wearing boy's trews and who appeared to have rolled in mud before gallivanting in trees. Neb frowned. Chantress Anderra's girls would know better than to ape boys.
'Samara - My name is Samara – and you are…?' Keeping her eyes on Balkind, the girl waded towards him through knee length grass. In spite of her ragamuffin appearance, she had the assurance of Chantress Anderra herself. Neb revised his opinion of her age. Is it a Pisky? he thought, and made the sign against evil with both hands. Samara's lip curled at this.
Behind her the tree branches rattled again; Neb's hand tightened on Balkind's shoulder. Another girl dropped from the tree, this one as fair as the other was dark, but only slightly less grubby.
'That's Lillian', Samara said, without turning around, and prompted him again, '…and you are?' as she spoke, she stretched out a hand to Balkind, who nuzzled her palm expectantly. The fair haired girl skipped through the grass up to them, her podgy cheeks flushed and her blue eyes shining.
'He's a Griffin Rider of course!' She grasped Neb's hand, and urged him forwards. 'Quickly, we thought you'd never come – but now we must hurry!'
Samara's dark pebble like eyes surveyed Neb.
'He isn't a Rider. He doesn't know what we're talking about,' she said, and her pinched anxious face appeared even more worried, if that were possible. Neb opened his mouth to explain, but his voice was drowned out by a loud bray. Balkind snorted and raised his head from nuzzling Samara's curls. He stared toward the hedge bordering the meadow. A man riding a white mule trotted through a previously unnoticed gap.
What on Ella-earth have I stumbled into here? Neb thought – or am I still dreaming? He gazed from the mule to the fair haired girl, still dragging at his hand, to Samara. Her mind was as sharp as her face, and she hammered out an explanation:
'There's been an accident. Lillian's brother – he's only eight – is trapped. Lillian's father has gone to beg for help from the nearest Griffin Riders.'
'Trapped?'
'Part of the river bank sheered away. Luke managed to grab at a tree as he got swept away by the current. The tree – and Luke – are lodged against some rocks in the river's middle.'
'Can't you throw him a rope?'
She shook her head. 'No – no one can climb down the bank – it's far too steep, and there's a risk of mud slippage. In any case, the child is terrified.'
'Don’t say child like that. You're only five years older – and it was not an accident,' Lillian said, and Neb decided she wasn't quite as sweet as she looked.
'Chief Luthan of Penwyn village upriver is to blame. They've built a dam – forcing the river to form a loch on their land. Now come on – hurry – else …' she fell silent as the mule trotted up. It halted ten paces away from Balkind, yawned open its mouth and brayed again. The man riding it hurriedly dismounted before it spun around and trotted back the way it had come.
'Thank goodness you're here – ' he hurried forward with both hands outstretched – and then faltered. 'What is this? You're only a boy!' He glanced at Balkind who had returned to preening Samara's hair.
Neb stiffened, and refrained from glaring. He squinted sideways at Samara. Unaccountably, she too seemed to dislike the gangly man. Once again, it seemed he'd assumed wrongly. 'This is my … husband to be, Vander.' Samara said, tonelessly.
Before Neb could decide if he should congratulate or commiserate, ignoring his bride to be, Vander continued to sneer: 'A boy and a gryffant – what is Romulus thinking of – the Chief's only son is in mortal peril!'
The gears in Neb's mind worked rapidly – he calculated Romulus and his new recruits would be lucky to return to camp before sundown. If Romulus's griffin riders were the closest then no help would be arriving until tomorrow.
'Sir, Griffin Master Romulus has spent today at the Cherub Cliffs, selecting new recruits. They flew –'
'–that must have been them we saw flying over – I shouted and waved – but they just waved back,' Lillian interrupted. Vander frowned at her, but dared not scold the Chief's daughter.
Instead he turned his rage on Neb: 'Then what do you do here with that griffin? Have you stolen him?' his upper lip lifted, displaying dirty white teeth.
Neb straightened. 'No sir. I am no thief. The Griffin Master selected Balkind, but there were none to ride him.'
'Why weren't you recruited?' Lillian asked, wrinkling up her face and peering up at him. 'You're a good rider – we saw you practising "fall and catch".'
"Fall and catch" was an essential part of a griffin – and rider's training. Samara's lips twitched and her eyes seemed to dance with amusement. Neb felt a flush creeping up the back of his neck.
'Aren't we wasting time – standing around here gossiping?' he glared at Vander, daring him to challenge. Grabbing Samara by the upper arm, he hoisted her onto Balkind's back. 'The girl will show me the way,' he said, vaulting up in front her. Before Balkind could protest, Neb kicked him forward. Balkind gambolled up the meadow's slope with the curious upsie-downsie lopsided gait of a griffin. Samara bounced against him like a rag doll, so as soon as Balkind's wings were inflated, Neb pushed him into flight, more for the sake of the griffin's comfort than the girl's. Balkind circled as he soared upwards, spreading his wings to their fullest. Both the newcomer and Lillian shrunk to toy-size, although even from here, Neb saw Lillian stamp her foot with rage at being left behind.
Against his back, Samara's small frame shook. He thought she was trembling, but then realised she was laughing out loud with pure joy. He twisted and shouted, 'Which way?' She gestured unsteadily with one hand, and grabbed at his shoulders, causing a new spasm of pain to shoot through him. He winced, and pushed her hands down to his waist. They flew over a village, one like every other village he had passed over that day, although the main hall, huts and communal barn looked a little larger, the surrounding paddocks a little better kept than most.
'Why would this Chief Luthan want to dam the river?' he mused.
Samara's voice sounded against his ear. 'I told you – to form a loch. The river swells naturally here – or at least it did until yesterday. Luthan doesn't care if we starve this winter.'
At Cherub Cliffs food was plentiful, although Neb vaguely recalled being hungry as a child. The idea that one village could deliberately cause another village's famine caused his stomach to ache. His shoulders began to throb again and he fell silent.
'You weren't practising "fall and catch" were you?' Samara asked, knowing that no-one in their right minds would practise "fall and catch" without an experienced griffin and its rider close by. Neb didn't bother to answer, and pretended to be engrossed in studying the terrain sweeping by below them.
They were flying over a copse of trees. On the other side were flat water meadows.
'The river stretched from these trees – all the way over to that grass land,' Samara's voice sounded in his ear again. Neb could see the remnants of a wooden walkway, its planks partially submerged in mud. The river, which had obviously once been shallow and wide, had vanished, leaving a swampy mess behind. As Balkind flew over this quagmire, Neb noticed a chasm had opened up. Villagers, huddled on the edge of the boggy ground, waved frantically. Neb ignored them. He steer
ed Balkind so they flew into the chasm that had been carved out by the river descending to its new bed. The griffin balked, and tilted upwards in an attempt to fly over the chasm, rather than along this musty smelling trench.
'Steady, steady,' Neb crooned, soothing his hands along the curve of Balkind's wing, and keeping his flight level. His legs kept an even pressure against Balkind's flanks, and he sat deep into Balkind's saddle patch. Either side of Balkind's wing tips, the steep banks of earth glistened with a brown sheen. Neb wanted to fly lower, he indicated with a gentle touch for Balkind to descend, but Balkind's feathers ruffled and his flanks tensed. Who could blame him? There was danger here – any moment a further mudslide – or a misplaced wing stroke could send the griffin hurtling into the raging river far below them.
Balkind flew on, resigned to flying over the undulating river and its spray, but his skin twitched with unhappiness. Neb responded with firm calm orders, but didn't insist on flying lower. This wasn't the time for a tussle of wills with his griffin. Find the child first – provided he's still clinging onto his tree branch, he thought, although Neb doubted anyone could survive this raging river's ice cold waters for too long. Just then, Samara shouted into his ear.
'There he is – there – do you see him?'
As the river curled to the right its bed widened slightly. Shiny shingle was visible on either side of its bank, and an outcrop of rocks jutted out mid stream. Flotsam frothed between the rocks and shingle. In the midst of a churning white lace, Neb spotted what seemed to be a bundle of rags caught on a tree limb, which in turn was wedged against the rocks.
Neb focused on the scrap of humanity: the child must be alive – else he would have slipped under the tree branch by now.
As Balkind approached the river's bend, Neb calculated the area of shingle with a sinking heart: Even if he could force Balkind to fly lower, it would be impractical to land there, and impossible to take off from. Behind him, Samara sat very still and very quiet. Neb shook his head, and actually opened his mouth to tell her they were on a fool's errand. But suddenly her voice rang out,
'Hang on Luke, hang on! The griffin and his rider are here. You're going to be saved.'
For a moment, the child didn't move. But then with what must have been an enormous effort, he raised his head, and peered up at Samara, Neb and Balkind.
His eyes were all Neb noticed. They were huge, terrified and begged: "Help me; please, please help me."
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