A Gathering of Gryphons

A Gathering of Gryphons

Norwegius Scryback hunched down, head almost disappearing into his shoulders. He was acutely aware of the unblinking gaze fixed upon him, evaporating what little was left of his confidence. Even as his heart in his breast hammered like a blacksmith at his anvil, his mind scurried from thought to thought. Lub-thud...what if …lub-thud... maybe… lub-thud...suppose….the mood swung from dread to anticipation, from forlorn hope to despair, a veritable maelstrom of emotions churned his mind. He was conscious of the pale morning chill, the sun still just peeping over the horizon. He suppressed a desire to shiver even as he felt conflicting awareness of a bead of sweat upon his brow. He dared not raise his eyes and tried to focus instead on any information his up-pricked ears could gather. The silence stretched like a thin strand of spittle and he waited for it to break.

Talons tattooed frustration upon the rocks, as Sir Alce Griffin, Curator of Learning sent his topaz gaze downwards from his perch on the top of the scree. He seemed to be roasting Norwegius slowly with the steady glare.

Sir Alce bitterly reflected that never in his six thousand odd years upon this land had he needed to call upon himself to decide as weighty and complicated a matter. As Curator of Learning and the oldest living Gryphon it fell upon him to call the gathering to attention. He had never coveted the position less.

For aeons gryphons had been found on Earth, powerful winged beasts, half eagle and half lion with a serpent’s tail. Most had some semblance of feathered wings. Like lions, the females of the group did all the hunting. The males had ruffs or manes but the females had brilliant coloured undersides to their wings, from the leathery undersurface. They were a pretty sight in full flight, glittering in formation, now violet, now blue, and a flash of golden too. When collectively viewed, on ground they were a Gathering of gryphons; but in air they were a Soar of Gryphons.

The various groups knew of and interacted occasionally but had slowly evolved to hew their own distinct identities. Most chose the highest mountain countries with thick forest or lonely crags for their habitat. There were the Griffins of Albania, the Griffons of Bulgaria, the Gryfons of Greece and even the Axex of Egypt, but those were a minor offshoot, being half falcon instead of half eagle.

They began to be feared a couple of thousand years ago, as man came across them in his search for newer pastures. After a period of twelve odd decades of fruitless skirmishing, there arose a truce and a period of mutually beneficial co-existence.

The Gryphons gave protection, strengthened armies, offered wise counsel from their vaster experience. Strangely this relationship was doomed when they showed their skilled powers of healing of the grievous wounds of the then princeling. They had used gryphon claws torn in battle and feathers shed in flight to cure, heal and rejuvenate. Not realizing the high price Man set upon seeming immortality and eternal youth, they paid heavy toll when hunted in large numbers for these magical items. Seeing their numbers drastically falling they had no option but to retreat from Man’s colonies, far into the harsh mountain wildernesses. They had no intention of warring upon men, having a disinclination for violence. Their hatred and revulsion was targeted therefore in unreasoning resentment, upon those wingless clumsy beasts that were now Man’s transportation – horses. These selfsame horses were once their allies, and sometimes more. Something more, at least occasionally; after all the hippogriff was born of a union between horse and gryphon. Now their focus for all the feelings of betrayal was this poor creature. Towards Man they felt only a vague disquiet.

Aspenwilde, a dignified Gryphon with a ruff of white feathers around his neck, made a sound halfway between apologetic chirrup and stern clacking of tongue. Recalled to the present Sir Alce shook his mane by reflex, and once more saw the focus of his tawny orbs. He was glad that Scryback and the others had mistaken reverie for stern or accusatory gaze.

“Elders,” he began in gravelly voice,” today we are here gathered to hear, contemplate and decide the fate of Yunnun Norwegius Scryback, as required by Elder custom. Elder Blyutalen shall call forth the matter before us.”

One could see here the still remaining influence of old ally, Man, in their choice of names still reflecting descriptions of distinguishing physical features. Of course many were named after place of birth, like Aspenwilde and Norwegius.

Blyutalen rose up slightly in the air, wings fluttering excitedly. Clacking his beak nervously once or twice, he shrilly intoned ”Norwegius Scryback, you are doubly summoned here today.”

“Firstly, you are called in honour, having commendably cleared all your Keythong Application Trials at first opportunity. You have excelled in two and have achieved ‘Best of the rest’ in all others.”

Keythong application trials or KATs as they were often referred to, were the means by which youngsters, or Yunnuns as they were affectionately called, were tested for their capacity to become Keythongs. These were young male Gryphons who took up a vocation. Keythongs traditionally were allowed to choose between Keepers of Learning, Minders of Yunnuns, Givers of Sustenance, or Caretakers of Caves. The trials were a combination of aptitude and learning skills in various regimens; and based on the final score a choice of available vocations was given.

The Females of course hunted and protected, and when back from scouting or hunting, were waited upon claw and paw. Thus it had been since the time of Dragus the Great, who first settled in this area.

Strangely Norwegius did not swell in pride or appear at all honoured and pleased. His head slipped even lower, attempting to disappear into the ground. Wincing visibly, he lowered thin parchment lids over already slitted eyes.

“However” continued Blyutalen, and here his voice rose to indignant squeak, “you have refused to choose any given vocation, all being open to you. Hence you are secondly, called in Shame!”

Muted growls and screeches, even a hiss or two made a steadily rising disturbance. The still morning air allowed the grumbling to echo in the valley. An undulation of comments passed to and fro and back again. The general view seemed to be of indignation and ruffled feathers, and mutters of bygone and regulated days!

Sir Alce gave an authoritative “Tch-acck” of tongue and gathered all eyes to himself.
“Elders, we need not let the past affect us, except when it helps us form a decision. Practice can Guide, but must not Rule!”

He took advantage of the awestruck silence that greeted his novel viewpoint to forge ahead.

“Well Norwegius, why has such a bizarre situation arisen? Many voluntarily undergo repeated attempts to enter vocations of choice. Why would a gifted Yunnun throw away such a golden opportunity?”

Norwegius slowly unwound himself from the abject crouched position he was in. He made soft half growls in his throat, afraid to voice his reasons.

“Speak up, Yunnun.”

Norwegius took heart from repeatedly being called a Yunnun, This was an affectionate term being a corruption of Young “un or Young One. Again this was a relic of Man-Time, but Norwegius was not aware of that fact.

“Curator Sir! I may have done well in the trials, but that was only due to my competitive desire and quick learning skills. I do not like any of the vocations!”

A veritable buzzing assaulted the ears, outraged gasps and vicious hisses vied for attention. Wings fluttered in dismay and many a tail stood stiffly horizontal in anger. Sir Alce made soothing noises to hush the Elders and reassure the frightened Norwegius who stood still, rock still, aghast at his presumption in thus voicing sacrilege.

A gryphon with lined face turned dull caramel eyes on the multitude and pleaded, “Nay, hear the Yunnun out. He has been diligent and obedient until now.”

“Thank-you Elder Fythrtael. Now Young Norwegius, would you want to be fed and cared for like the Aged Ones, and not work at all?”

“No, Sir!” This was said loudly and clearly, confidence clearly returning.

“Then what do you wish to do?”

He started off audibly but each succeeding word became softer and all strained to catch his words.

“Sir, I want to…I can…fly!”

There was uproar and consternation, wonder and bewilderment, condemnation and scorn, fury and outcry all thrown into the melee. Fythrtael, Aspenwilde, a few of the older gryphons, helped Sir Alce to restore quiet. A few clicking beaks and clattering talons sounded but order reigned once more.

“Yunnun, you know why only the female gryphons fly. Their wings are larger and stronger for long flight, and the underside has a leathery undersurface we lack, thus preventing feather fall in steep climbs or dives.” Here Sir Alce noticed that Norwegius had very large wings for a male gryphon. This fact had become apparent as he was speaking because Norwegius had slowly raised himself to full wing stretch and was gently hovering a foot or so above ground. The underside of his wings gleamed strangely pink in the sunlight.

“Why, Yes!” his uncle Bulgarbyrd recollected. “He has a thin papery covering to his underwings, it shines pink. His mother called him Shimshim when young.” He cackled in gently reminiscent ridicule.

Norwegius looked into the gently encouraging amber eyes of his uncle; he turned full circle in hover, ending by facing Sir Alce and pleaded permission with every feather of his being. Encouraged by the slow and thoughtful bobbing of Sir Alce’s head he took off in dizzying tight spiral. He showed exemplary control in rolls and pirouettes and launched into a thrilling screeching full-speed dive ending in a heart thudding full stop. The awesruck silence that greeted him was more reward than any cacophony of applause.

It was evident he had been honing his skills in secret. As he gracefully settled into the proper posture, he panted from exertion but kept his beak towards Sir Alce, at rigid attention.

Sir Alce was ruminating deeply, thinking also of a young female gryphon he had met the previous month who seemed more interested in cackling witticisms than doing aerial drill. She was the picture of abject misery when airborne and not the most stringent remark served to perk up her drooping tail. She had shown animation when upon ground, bustling around gregariously. With gentle humour and sharp tongue both; she kept the other Yunnuns in such immaculate order, her Minders had not much to do.

He saw his way clear before him, as though Dragus himself had led him to the answer. He rapped imperious talon sharply upon the rock, and proclaimed solemnly. ”Henceforth let it be known that Gryphon vocation shall be by choice and inclination as well as ability, with no reservation by chance of sex. Norwegius Scryback you may apply to be the first Keythong Flier!”

The scree rang now with hoots of applause, screeches of consent, and shrilly growled blessing. Norwegius accepted the acclaim with head bowed respectfully but tail held proudly upright.

And so it came to be.

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