Laela ran at him, lashing out with her fists, and he faded for a moment but then returned, his darkness parting to reveal the mocking faces of the village children.
Laela woke up shivering in the grey light of dawn, the dream still lingering in her ears. It felt very cold in the room.
The fire had gone out.
Laela stood up, intending to rekindle it, but almost as soon as she had stood up and the cold air embraced her she felt-not a premonition-but hard, bitter certainty.
Walking as if her feet had turned to stone, she moved toward her father’s bed to check on him.
Bran lay on his side, his face turned toward her. His skin looked grey in the dim light, and his eyes were half- open.
Laela reached out to touch him. He felt cold and rigid under her finger-tips.
He was dead.
2
Laela buried her father in a makeshift grave in the wood outside the house, where he had liked to spend time alone every day. Thinking of her mother, maybe-Laela had never asked.
It took most of the morning to dig the hole, but she was used to hard work and kept at it, using the strain to stop herself from thinking about what had happened.
When it was done, she lifted her father’s body into the hole as gently as she could. She folded his arms over his chest and tried to smooth down his hair and beard.
“There yeh go,” she said huskily. “I hope. . hope yeh like it. I did me best. It ain’t much, I know, but it’s the best I could do. I’m sorry.”
She found herself choking on a sob.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said again. “Sorry. .”
This time, there was no way to hold back the tears. She slumped beside the grave and cried-not beautifully, or elegantly, or dramatically like people in stories, but in a harsh and untidy way that made her chest hurt. The sobs sounded ugly, and she hated them, but they went on, and she felt as if something had crumbled inside her.
“Oh, Gryphus,” she moaned. “Oh, Gryphus, help me. What am I gonna do? What. .? Oh, Gryphus. . Dad. .”
And she sobbed harder.
A noise disturbed her mourning, and she looked up, tear-streaked, and froze.
Something huge was emerging from the trees, coming forward. It looked like. .
Laela’s mind raced, but she sat very still, remembering the advice her father had given her.
The thing came closer, moving slowly. Its huge head reared high above her-if she had been standing, she guessed she would barely come up to its shoulder.
At first, it looked like a bird-the head was beaked, and the neck and chest were covered in thick, rusty-red feathers. The legs were thick and muscular, scaled like a bird’s, with long, grasping toes the size of her arm. The talons at their tips made them longer.
But as the creature came closer, Laela saw other things, beyond the wings folded on its back. The
Laela’s heart had leapt into her mouth. She started to crawl away from the grave, backward, not taking her eyes away from the beast.
The animal ignored her. It stepped over to the grave and inspected it, huffing through its beak and sending up little puffs of dirt.
The word came to Laela through a haze of terror.
The griffin paused by the grave, and then clumsily bent its forelegs and put its head down into the hole. Laela could have run then, but the horrible thought crossed her mind that it was going to eat her father’s body, and that pushed her over the edge.
Like a lunatic, she wrapped her fingers around the handle of the shovel and stood up, holding it like a spear.
“Get away!” she shouted. “Leave him alone, damn yeh!”
The griffin pulled its head out of the hole and stared at her. Its eyes were yellow, and to her intense dismay, Laela saw the last thing she had been expecting to see in them: intelligence.
She hefted the shovel, trying to look braver than she felt. “Go on, clear off!” she said, and her voice came out weak and wavery.
The griffin only stared at her. Then, moving slowly and deliberately, it stepped over the grave and came straight for her. Laela stood her ground for a few moments, and then backed away.
The griffin came closer.
Laela’s mind screamed at her to run, but her legs felt weaker than a couple of twigs. She continued to back away, not knowing what to do, until she hit a tree. The griffin cornered her in an instant, its head outstretched toward her.
Laela pressed herself into the bark, sobbing in fear. The griffin brought its beak down to her face, and she closed her eyes tightly and braced herself, ready to die.
She felt the animal’s hot, stale-smelling breath on her face. The beak rubbed against her skin-smooth and hard and rounded, almost like the top of a skull.
Laela dared to open her eyes again and found the griffin’s big yellow ones looking back. It blinked, and then took a step back. For a moment it stood and stared at her, and then it turned and walked away with a swish of its tail.
The instant its back was turned, Laela pulled away from the tree and ran straight back to the house.
She ran, expecting to be struck from behind at any moment, but the blow never came, and she threw herself through the back door of the house and slammed it behind her before collapsing on her father’s bed, shaking violently.
She was convinced the griffin would come looking for her and spent a good portion of that day hiding before she even had the courage to peer out of the window. But the griffin had gone, and it didn’t return.
That afternoon, screwing up her courage, she left the house for the village marketplace. There, she sold everything the house had contained, down to the last stick of furniture. She didn’t care if she was being given what they were worth; all she wanted to do was get it over with and empty the building, which had now become a mausoleum, full of memories of her foster father that she didn’t want to stay.
By nightfall, the house was empty but for her old straw pallet, a couple of blankets, and some food. She had even sold the cook-pots and spoons.
She spent that night lying awake in front of the cold fire-place, staring at the ceiling.
From time to time she cried, but never for long. She felt. . numb.
When morning came, she bundled her few remaining belongings together in a blanket-food, spare clothes, the leather bag that contained all the oblong she had earned in the marketplace, and. .
She crouched at the spot where her father’s bed had once stood and lifted up a few loose floor-boards. He’d thought she didn’t know about them, but she had seen him move them one morning while she pretended to be
