GriffinSinger

By J. Victoria Michael

The dying seer’s words spell doom for Irenya. If she stays in Dar Orien to save their way of life, she might never see her infant son again.

Hopelessly lost in the desert of Midrash, Irenya faces the legendary griffin and, without fanfare, a new seer is silently declared. An act of revenge delivers Irenya the knowledge she needs, but her return to Melbourne is tragically far from anything she had imagined.

An alien in her own world, she must decide her fate and that of her son Mikey. Out of time and place, Irenya braves new challenges and meets a fleetwalker, who teaches her something of his art. But civil unrest turns to outright conflict. Dar Orien is on a knife edge, and Irenya gives herself permission for a dangerous undertaking.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Odyssey Books
• Release date: Feb 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781922311283

Book preview

Part I

Seer, Sand, and Secrets

The hot humid air of mid-afternoon pressed against Irenya’s face. Her clothes, constantly damp from the frequent showers, clung to her skin, chafed under her arms and at the back of her knees. Sweat trickled down her neck. The new straw hat, this one with a strap attached to save it from the wind’s thievery, made her scalp itch. Relief washed over her at the sight of the others reining in under a stand of large, spreading trees. Elaaron and Gedric were already drawing the usual maps in the dirt, earnestly discussing distances. She envied them. How could they be so impervious to discomfort? All I can think of is air-conditioning and a decent bed .

Julis appeared from nowhere, his endearment a reminder of more comfortable times at Ilkyrie. ‘Princess, enjoying the ride?’ His sweaty upturned face, thinner these days and streaked with grime, was scrunched against the bright overcast sky.

She cleared the stifled air from her throat before replying. ‘Yeah. Sure.’ She leaned forward and made a valiant but unsuccessful attempt to swing her leg over Nettle’s rump. Julis plucked her out of the saddle and set her down. Both her knees buckled and she would have fallen had he released his grip on her waist. A lifetime ago she would have sworn at him for laying a hand on her.

A guard arrived with a pan of water for Nettle. Julis prised the reins from Irenya’s fingers. ‘Go sit with Leachim.’ He pointed to deep shade under one of the trees. ‘I will refill your water flask and bring it over.’

She picked her way across knotted tree roots with as much dignity as her limbs would allow and stood with her back against the trunk. Leachim patted the ground beside him.

She slithered down and lay on her stomach among the roots and leaves, anything to relieve the ache of tired, bunched muscles. Days of solid riding had created a sense of distance between her and the murderous attack at Akkod Castle, but nothing would ever erase the memory of Aldine, gripping the handle of a long knife, slashing with all her strength at her husband’s murderer. From behind the musician’s lacy grille, Irenya had watched helplessly as the dance of death raged below. She could still smell the blood.

‘How far to the Sildahni town?’ She propped herself on her elbows and looked up at Leachim. ‘What are they like? Are they friendly?’

‘Hospitable. We will likely eat well, and you can admire them; they are a handsome race.’ A cheerful expression on his face, he added, ‘The women in particular. They will be delighted to see Elaaron. He was popular with them even as a boy.’

She rested her head on folded arms and closed her eyes. Her throat was sore. Not for the first time, she wondered what Elaaron had been like as a child.

The next day, Irenya fell ill. At first, she dismissed the stomach cramps and burning face, blamed the weather. Vomiting left her too weak to pretend. Leachim dealt with the practicalities and she found herself in a tiny room in a village inn. Her period started; she was not carrying Elaaron’s child. Relieved, she sank onto the narrow bed, grateful to be lying down. Her apology to Leachim for holding up the party brought a swift response; he laughed.

‘Not one unhappy face out there. Nothing like a few days fishing and sleeping and drinking ale to ease the saddle kinks. The locals are delighted to have guests for Summer Solstice. Julis has taken to visiting their farms, freely checking horses and livestock, garrulous as ever. Good for business, so many visitors.’

He measured two different powders into the jug of cool fruit tea and stirred, the spoon making dull thuds against the pitcher. He held her with his brown-gold eyes. ‘You wish Elaaron to visit you?’

‘No. Thank you for asking.’

‘Then I shall leave you in peace. In case the innkeeper’s daughter tries to sneak you some food, say no. That plump young lady appears to think me callous for disallowing you a pile of potatoes and spicy stew. Drink as much of the water as you can and all of the tea. It will help you to rest easy.’ He left, closing the door behind him.

The tea had a pleasant, soothing taste. From the internal pocket of her shirt, Irenya pulled out the treasured photo of Mikey and tried to picture how tall he’d grown. Much as she wanted to believe Aeryl’s bubble-of-time theory, she was more inclined to the obvious reality. He’d be two years now. She couldn’t work it out exactly, nor could she calculate the season in Melbourne. Travelling meant the calendar she kept wasn’t reliable. How much had his face changed? Had David prepared a birthday party? A cake and two candles. Would Mikey remember the word marmee? She closed her eyes. Her limbs were sinking into the mattress, sleep stealing over her, an irresistible downward spiralling. An image of Elaaron appeared. Smiling. But the smile wasn’t for her. It was for a beautiful dusky girl with hazel-green eyes, a maiden who wore a bead necklace. Blood-red beads …

Three days later, Irenya was recovered enough to ride, though the nausea persisted. The innkeeper’s daughter had been a blessing, not with food—though she did suggest it—but with a bath and much-needed washing of clothes. The girl also stitched a canvas band around the inside of Irenya’s straw hat. Refreshed, Irenya was content to mount a well-rested Nettle and continue the journey; her only mission was to find Fis and go home to her own world. On the evening of the fifth day since she fell ill, the party camped in the open. Over their meal, Leachim congratulated her for not needing to stop once, though he eyed her sausage wrapped in bread. ‘I would not recommend that yet. Too spicy.’

‘But I’m hungry, and I missed the Summer Solstice feast.’

She managed to eat half and threw the remainder into the fire. Cramps woke her during the night. Twice she lay unmoving and let sleep reclaim her. The third time she eased her aching body from the bedroll. The fire was dead and everyone asleep. She pushed a path through bushes and undergrowth, working toward a bubbling stream some distance away. Gedric had insisted on making camp without the masking sound of water. ‘If Riadan’s cutthroats—or anyone else—come looking for us, I want the duty guards to hear them,’ he’d said.

She had scarcely made headway when a familiar voice spoke softly. ‘Princess?’

Irenya turned at the whisper but couldn’t see Julis. ‘Where are you?’ A shadow detached itself from the undergrowth.

‘Belly gripes again, is it? Do you need Leachim?’

‘I’ll be all right.’ Her gut squeezed and gurgled. She clutched her abdomen. ‘Gotta go.’

The bushes grew thicker. She pushed her way through, guided by the faint sound of the stream and driven by tightening cramps. At the water’s edge, she looked for a spot where she could either squat, or throw up, or simply die. Under a fitful moon and in a spread of tall grasses she crouched, the soft gurgle of the stream competing with her stomach. She waited, trembling all over, for the intestinal struggle to resolve itself, at one end or the other.

Footsteps and the rustle of foliage warned her someone was approaching. She heard the person settle in the undergrowth. In other circumstances, she might have been tempted to speak or make a joke. A fart trumpeted intention and there were other sounds. The smell was overpowering.

When the person had gone, Irenya moved. She needed privacy. The stream led her away to a deeper pool and a rocky outcrop half-hidden by long grass. The stone held a vestige of the day’s warmth, a small comfort at her back when what she wanted was a doctor with a syringe full of Stemetil. Her mouth went dry. Her tongue thickened, her face broke out in a sweat, and then her stomach heaved.

A whole army of hooded men could descend on her as she sat sprawled against the rock and she would thank them for deliverance. She swilled her mouth with water scooped from the pool. The nausea retreated. By the light of the moon, she saw a small frog appear. The creature began to croak. Others joined in. Grateful for a lull in her misery, Irenya dozed, soothed by the soft chorus, until the frogs fell silent. She heard footsteps. Soft. Stealthy. The frogs plopped into the pool. Had someone else come to assail her with the after-effects of spicy sausage?

The person stopped on the other side of the rock. Irenya remembered that the ground fell away and she would not be visible unless she stood. Apart from a bit of shuffling, the person made no other noise. Julis? Come to look for me? But no one called her name. She heard the splash of urine on stone … a man. Then he shuffled about, whistled softly through his teeth. The longer she remained silent, the less inclined she was to reveal her presence. An owl hooted. The man replied with something approximating the sound. A second set of footsteps approached, swishing through the grasses.

Neither spoke until the second person stepped close to the rock. ‘I expected to hear from you days ago.’ The voice was little more than a whisper, but there was no mistaking the speaker. Gedric. ‘What has gone wrong?’

‘Tariglanda’s guards were out in force, my lord. I thought it wise to be keeping clear. I took the long way round, and that cost me some days. There be terrible rumours around Akkod, about murder. Is it true, that young pup Ganingaherin … now ruling prince?’

The voice was unfamiliar, but its owner spoke with the accent and speech patterns of the Cheron dialect.

‘He is. The news … give me the news. Has it been done?’

‘Indeed, my lord. Four barrels be safely stored. No nasty explosions or fire, and the—’

‘Any problems in Pullen?’

‘No, my lord. None at all … ‘cept …’

‘Except what?’

‘The barrels at Ilkyrie … Seems Ahearn has reported the arrival of forty-four. One barrel be missing.’

Gedric’s whisper turned hoarse with fury. ‘Four barrels you were supposed to take—not five. You said you could count. What have you done with the other one?’

‘But we took only four, my lord, as I said. Counted ‘em myself.’ The man offered another sullen rejoinder, but Irenya’s ability to concentrate was fading fast.

‘No matter,’ muttered Gedric. ‘Perhaps the counting was wrong at the beginning.’

‘Aye, my lord. One thing … I heard something nasty happened to that young fella from Elphinvale. The one who travelled in the winter—to Ilkyrie. Mayhim … or some such name.’

‘Natham?’

‘That be it. Seems he had jewellery and such to sell, pretty things, and costly. Got in with some bad folk and they did him in. Prince Innes’s soldiers found no jewellery about him, just lots of little bags of the powder hanging inside his clothes. Might be him … Took the barrel … Selling the stuff.’

Gedric’s reply was lost to Irenya. She willed them to go. Elaaron’s commander could do his shady deals by some other rock where she wasn’t implicated.

The unknown man mumbled. He must have asked for payment and Gedric’s clearer reply denied him. ‘Return to Cheron. You will be paid there, as we agreed.’

Irenya clamped a hand over her mouth and swallowed hard. The sound of feet pushing through grass came to her in snatches. She shivered and gulped air. Her stomach heaved. Her skin broke into a cold sweat. She swallowed again, sucked more air into her lungs, and was sick in the grass. Past caring, she knelt while her body obeyed its own commands, and when it was over, she sat motionless, the discomfort fading. Gedric’s scarred face had not loomed, suspicious and accusing, over her shoulder. She drank water from the pool, rinsed her face and felt the coolness trickle down her neck. When she tried to stand, her body wobbled about on boneless legs. Her hands were so weak, she had difficulty gripping the smooth rock. She peered over the top. There was no one in sight. She fled the area as fast as her legs would allow, back the way she had come.

At the place where the air still stank, she had to rest. Her heart was beating much too fast, her breath wheezing in her throat.

‘Princess?’

The voice startled her. ‘Oh, Julis,’ she gasped. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

‘Decided to come looking for you. Can you walk?’ He sniffed the air. ‘Rich one there.’

The next day, Julis startled her again. ‘Ho there! People who snooze on horseback wake up on the ground.’

She rubbed her eyes until they watered. ‘I’m so tired. Just as well Nettle follows the others. Last thing I remember was passing a walled village and I can’t see one now.’

The urge to tell Julis about Gedric had been growing all day. She checked the riders ahead and behind. They were guards sworn to Gedric’s command. The risk of being overheard was too high.

The path was rising steadily. They crested a hill through stands of tall trees and a thick tangle of vines. The horizon opened, and Irenya stared at the sight before her. Forested hills rolled away to a golden haze in which not a single feature stood out. In the middle distance, two stony peaks rose above the hills. Beyond them, from east to west, she could have pencilled a line across the landscape and stepped off the edge. The dramatic change jolted her from dark preoccupations, pushed aside the nightmare memories of Akkod and her suspicions of Gedric. Private, painful ramblings on the subject of Elaaron faded to insignificance. Since leaving Akkod, his flawless manners had dismantled their intimacy more effectively than any reproach. As she contemplated the extraordinary change in the landscape, she silently thanked him for making her departure from Dar Orien easier. Somewhere in this place, I will find the answer and I will go home. She placed her hand over the pocket containing the photo of Mikey.

‘Where are we?’ she asked Julis.

‘We are approaching the most northern border of Ishter.’

‘Then we must be close to Midrash.’

‘One day’s ride and we will be at The Peaks.’

‘Isn’t that where the Sildahni … But where … Oh, I’ve just realised.’ She pointed to the long, golden line. ‘Midrash. The desert. I thought it was just some kind of haze.’

‘Haze there is, but you are looking at Midrash, harsh and mostly empty.’ He pointed to the peaks. ‘The Sildahni settlement is below them, on the northern side. By this time tomorrow, we will be at there.’

‘Have you visited them before?’

‘Not for a long time. The Sildahnis will be overjoyed to see Elaaron.’

‘Leachim said the same.’

‘Elaaron has long been interested in their affairs, especially their desire for a Siladhni princedom. At Akkod, I believe there was a favourable discussion with Jessemesh on the subject. The young prince consented, verbally, to ceding the northern corner of Ishter to the tribes. Since Jessemesh’s soul is now in the keeping of Meia, who knows if his brother will honour the offer.’

‘So, it depends on what Gani does?’

‘Indeed. A great deal depends on it.’

The guards at the head of the party were leading them down into a switchback curve. Julis added, ‘And you, princess, will not need to truncate the Sildahni names. They are already short.’

She cast Julis a guilty look, his comment reminding her she had given little time to the language. ‘Do you speak it? Anyway,’ she side-tracked, having decided on a more intriguing question, one that had been wordlessly floating around her mind for some time, ‘how come a humble horse master—your words, not mine—has been to so many places?’

‘I have had many masters. How are you feeling? You do have more colour in your cheeks.’

‘Tired, that’s all.’

‘And thinner. Your bottom does not fill the saddle the same.’ Julis laughed loudly as Nettle sidled to carry Irenya’s anatomy out of his reach.

Emerging from a sharp bend, Elaaron and Gedric glanced up at the sound. Irenya avoided eye contact with Elaaron, as she had done for days, but allowed Gedric’s expression to register in that inner place where her instinct prevailed. He doesn’t know I overheard his secret meeting. In fact, she guessed he was still coming to terms with the truth that she and his beloved archprince had been lovers. Gedric had either not heard of his daughter’s insinuations that day in the snow, or he’d dismissed them as the sort of tattle he refused to heed.

‘I think we are all looking thinner,’ she said to Julis. ‘Even you. In fact, sometimes I think you are not even the same person, except for your chatter.’

‘If you would sing more often, I would talk less. You have not sung a note in days.’

Oh, I’ll sing. And when I do, it’ll be Home Sweet Home …

In the late afternoon, not far from a quiet creek, they found shelter in some shallow caves. Irenya picked her moment and approached Julis as he tended the horses.

He greeted her. ‘Come to keep me company, have you?’

‘Mmm. Like some help? I was just wondering … I mean, I’m curious to know if Elaaron ever asked you why you were in my room that night. At Akkod.’

The idea of Elaaron talking to Julis struck her as odd. Throughout their journey, she hadn’t seen them exchange more than a few words. Julis kept to a steady rhythm, brushing coats free of dusty streaks. Irenya asked what was uppermost in her mind.

‘Do you think Gedric’s a bit more relaxed these days?’

Between brush strokes, Julis paused to eye her. ‘Meaning?’

‘I heard something … the other night, when I was sick. Heard him talking to another man. Someone from Cheron by his manner of speaking.’

The look Julis shot her was intense, though he didn’t alter his brushing rhythm. ‘Meia preserve me. Why would Gedric be out in the middle of the night, talking to a man from Cheron? And you squatting in the grass. How is it that I missed them?’

‘He didn’t know I was there, and it wasn’t where you found me. I went further along the stream.’ She repeated Gedric’s conversation with the unseen man. ‘I’ve been thinking hard about it all day, trying to remember. I know the name Pullen is right, because I had a school friend with that name … Elspeth Pullen.’

‘Four barrels, eh. I wonder who Gedric’s friend is in Pullen. And I wonder what the barrels are worth, for him to go to such trouble. And risk.’

‘D’you know what’s in them?’

‘Dangerous powder, courtesy of the Rauballis.’

‘Bloody heck, Julis, I thought it was supposed to be a secret.’

He shrugged but made no comment.

She finger-combed Nettle’s mane. ‘The explosion in Akkod … the day of the attack. I think black powder was used, which means someone has a supply. The missing barrel perhaps? The one the man from Cheron referred to.’ Irenya’s mind shot off in another direction. ‘It could be that Natham somehow got his hands on the powder. Buying it with the jewellery.’

‘Stolen jewellery most likely. Grab a dandy brush and start on Nettle.’ He stopped his work to check hers. ‘Not her underbelly and face, mind. Likely Natham stole some from Ilkyrie. Old Duikin would know if anyone is missing their trinkets.’

Irenya thought of her one piece of jewellery—the ruby Elaaron had given her—and did a quick calculation. No, it was safe … She remembered wearing it long after Natham had left Ilkyrie.

‘Odd, that Gedric’s partner-in-crime was from Cheron, because I won’t ever forget what I saw the night we stayed there.’ She began to describe the clandestine scene from her inn window, then remembered she had already revealed the story to Julis.

He was peering into a horse’s mouth. ‘Ah yes, and who was the phoney drunk, I wonder? You had not seen him before?’

‘A local outlaw, most likely. He certainly looked like a ruffian to me.’

Julis gave an amused snort. ‘A ruffian, eh? An outlaw.’

‘Anyway,’ Irenya ignored his teasing tone and continued brushing Nettle, ‘I’m thinking maybe Gedric had been organising the theft of the four barrels that night. Maybe that’s why he looked guilty. Though I still can’t work out why the ruffian was there. Or why he looked concerned when he glanced up and saw me. What d’you think?’ She started brushing the pony’s mane.

Julis whistled under his breath while he picked a hoof clean. He glanced at her. ‘Not the mane! You will break the hairs. And when you are done there, start filling nosebags with oats from the sack. One rounded scoop—but mind, only a level one for ponies. Good of you to help. I do miss Jilali sometimes. She was excellent with the horses.’

Privately, Irenya didn’t miss the prickly guard at all. She had not entirely forgiven Jilali for snatching the opportunity to humiliate her after the nerve-wracking ride through the Ilkyrie mountain pass. ‘Will she catch up with us?’

‘No. Her injury extends up the back of her thigh and into the buttock area. She will need to stay at Akkod for at least a whole moon. Longer, very likely.’ He sniffed the air. ‘Smells as though our meal will not be long.’

The servants had prepared rabbits caught earlier that day and stewed them with wild herbs and tubers. The group ate as usual, standing around the fire to stretch and relieve tired muscles.

‘How goes the belly?’ asked Leachim beside her. ‘You look more like yourself, less pinched.’ He glanced up at the inky canopy of sky. ‘Not a star to be seen. I trust you will not need to make unwelcome trips in the night. I smell rain. We will thank Meia for the caves.’ After a brief pause, he asked, ‘In Akkod, during the attack, did you have feathers in your mind? Strange question, I know. Several people said they thought they saw fluffy white feathers everywhere, and those who were fighting thought for a few moments that their swords had turned into feathers.’

Irenya stared into her bowl of stew, barked a short laugh and slowly shook her head as if the image had amused her. ‘That is really weird, Leachim. And I’m enjoying this food. Which herbs have they used?’

But Leachim had turned away, distracted by the need of a guard with a sore hand. She hoped he would forget about swords and white feathers. Questions about her possible talents were best avoided.

The Peaks were ancient volcanic cones, stumpy sisters struggling to keep their shoulders above the green tablelands of Ishter’s northern border. The river squeezed itself between them, smoothing the stony skirts that tumbled, rough and torn, to an unseen place far below. To the north, Midrash stretched before Irenya, a wasteland of rock and sand and scrub, vanishing in a shimmering haze as far as the horizon allowed. Her gaze followed the margin of green that marked the course of the Idris on its way to the sea, the Northern Flow, if she remembered the map correctly. The bountiful landscape of Ishter petered out no more than a few kilometres beyond the base of The Peaks. If Riadan wants Midrash, let him have it. Only a fool would venture out there.

‘Why don’t the Sildahnis live up here?’ she asked Leachim. ‘Doesn’t make sense when they could have all this.’

‘I agree, but it is all about politics and ownership. Many of the Ishterim do not want the Sildahnis this side of the border. They use the land—hunt here. There is no one to stop them, after all. What they want most is to claim this land as a princedom.’ He swept an expansive arm over the green vista. ‘Ah, here they come, and judging by the full panniers, they have been hunting and gathering. We will eat well.’ He pointed south to five riders who had emerged from dense riverbank growth. Hooting and whistling, the leader made straight for Elaaron. Dusky-skinned and black-eyed, his young face glowed with enthusiasm. The moment he opened his mouth, Irenya was lost. The clicks and nasal twangs merged into an unintelligible babble, which he accentuated with much waving of his yellow-robed arms. She failed to understand a single word.

Leachim leaned closer to her and spoke in a low voice. ‘The young fellow is Telo, the Chieftain’s nephew.’

The party moved off down the steep, twisting track. The Sildahnis burst into song, and Irenya discerned a happy pleasure, though no obvious rhythm in their rough, raw voices. As the company descended, the breeze died and the balmier air of the tablelands thickened with the musty smell of wet earth. The roar of the falls grew louder, drowning the chant. Irenya felt spray on her face. Julis shouted over his shoulder, but his words were lost in the noise. She emerged from a cleft in the rock face and belatedly realised where the path was taking them—behind the falls, into a wet, sepia tunnel, where the only sound was ceaseless thunder. Nettle followed the horse in front, stepping onto the rock ledge as though she negotiated such paths every day. Tea-coloured foam, laden with silt from the tablelands, floated in the air and settled on Nettle’s mane. Irenya kept her eyes firmly on Julis’s backside.

Once through, the path took them away from the falls and around the skirt of the eastern peak. The bushes thinned. Irenya stared at an oddity in the landscape far below, a collection of buildings that appeared to sprout from the desert floor. Descending the stone pathway took longer than she had expected. Eventually, the track rounded a final bend and flattened out, and the party rode into a seething mass of yellow robes, clacking bangles, earrings, and long necklaces—not a hostile face to be seen. Enthusiastic and excited, Sildahnis engulfed Elaaron and a great roar went up.

Mudbrick dwellings, most of them four and five storeys high, encircled an open plaza-like area. As the only female visitor who was not a servant, Irenya was given the honour of sleeping in the centre of a room on the fourth floor of a new lodge, surrounded by the women of the chieftain’s family and a gaggle of children. The room reeked of sweat and an odour both sweet and pungent. The women plied her with sweetmeats, drink, and endless chatter. Irenya caught sight of a face she’d seen only a few days ago, a girl no more than fifteen summers with eyes of hazel-green, startling against her dusky skin. She wore a necklace of beads, not blood-red but bright yellow.

The chieftain’s wife, Lumi, quickly restored order to the room and appointed Irenya two companions: Ulei, Lumi’s green-eyed daughter, and Rani, another girl of the same age. Both young faces beamed genuine delight at the appointment. Ulei skipped forward. Irenya raised both hands, palm out, to meet Ulei’s offer of friendship. She warmed to the girl’s musical giggle and her happy confidence.

Ulei and Rani, followed by most of the women, led Irenya out of the lodge, across the open town centre baking in the heat, and then to the river. Viewed from below, the falls began as one curtain. Halfway down, it separated into several lacy arcs splashing into shallow stone basins and spilling into deep pools where the silt settled. The girls guided her to a smaller pool formed by run-off and screened by a profusion of flowering bushes. Heedless of her protests, they undressed her in seconds, then drenched her from head to foot, rubbing her all over with foliage from the bushes. Irenya gasped at the sudden cold and cringed at the unaccustomed intimacy. The girls flung off their robes and pulled her into the water, splashing and laughing.

They helped her out and the women rubbed her dry with spare folds of their clothing. Irenya flinched as one wizened lady tested the weight