Fish Tails

  Controllable state! Oh, she’d had years of experience in that! Quiet! Control your steps, your mouth, and your eyes. Do not stare in disbelief, do not look in anger, do not trip over the foot this HE puts in your way, do not stumble and spill the milk. Do not anger Pa! Do not anger Slap or Grudge!

  There was the source! Silver-­shanks was Gralf, and all the Pas in Hench Valley. She too would harm anyone who confronted her, contradicted her. She too would maim, wound, and kill. And it wouldn’t help to argue; that would only make her angrier! Needly turned to Willum and whispered rapidly. He nodded and went back into the cave. They had a secret to protect, and they had already decided how to do it.

  Needly breathed deeply and faced the scowling Griffin once more, saying quietly, sturdily: “We will go by ourselves to provide food for her and care for her. I will not leave Dawn-­song here alone. We will go together to find her mother. Please, tell us now how to get there.”

  “Find her for yourself!” The creature half crouched, crest up, claws out, threateningly ready for a kill.

  Needly froze in place, moving not at all in the face of that deadly glare as she said calmly, “Did you say Golden-­throat is coming to get her daughter? And the other mothers, they are coming for their eggs? I think I hear them returning now.”

  Silver-­shanks’ eyes darted side to side, edging closer, head weaving as she snarled. “Oh, in time they will . . .” Abruptly her head went back, her eyes focusing upward. She snarled again, with what sounded like frustration. “I hear them.” Whatever she had intended to do, she would not do it in the presence of the others.

  Needly risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Willum had managed to hide the eggs, the little ones, and the secret they were keeping. He sat by the fire, seemingly alone. Needly turned back to see Golden-­throat landing only a short distance away. She signaled Willum by raising her hand.

  Golden-­throat came quickly, thrusting Silver-­shanks aside without saying anything or indicating even that the other one had been seen, and making space for herself at the cave mouth. Now little Amber-­ears was close behind Needly, where Golden-­throat could see her clearly. The Griffin child was dancing from hind feet to front feet, capering delightedly as she cried to her mother. “Mama, we have names!” she chortled. “My name is Amber-­ears! Mama’s name is Golden-­throat. Oh, wonderful, wonderful names!”

  Needly drew back and bowed, her arm extending, gesturing for Golden-­throat to come inside, hoping desperately that the Griffin would come in alone . . . Beyond her, Needly saw wings, a head, two . . . a third! Three other Griffins were already approaching.

  Golden-­throat’s eyes flicked to one side, widening slightly as she took in Silver-­shanks’ crouch, her glare, her claws extended like curved swords. Deliberately, Golden-­throat shouldered her way past and entered the cave. Past her gigantic shoulder, Needly saw Silver-­shanks’ head turn toward the three that had just arrived. Abruptly, her crest fell flat, her claws retracted.

  So. The snake did not threaten when she was opposed or outnumbered. One or more of the new arrivals might not be an ally of hers. Which ones were her allies? Which were likely to be Sun-­wings’ allies . . . friends? Silver-­shanks had used the word “friend” as though it were a curse. Did they even have friends?

  The newly arrived ones pressed close to the cave entrance, immediately caught up in the babble about names, names, wonderful names. The heat from their bodies warmed Needly like a campfire as she slipped deeper into the cave, into the shadows, becoming less visible, less central. Small creatures, like Needly and Willum, were so very vulnerable to those talons, those claws, those beaks. With Golden-­throat inside, none of the others would be able to enter the cave, and Needly relaxed momentarily against the wall, swallowing hard. Her mouth was dry, as though she’d walked miles without water. Past Golden-­throat’s rump she could see Willum, still quiet by the fire, but his hand was under his shirt, and she knew his knife was in it. Pray he kept still. It would be using a needle to fight a . . . one of those huge extinct things . . . an elephant!

  Golden-­throat, with surprisingly gentle care to avoid crushing Willum, turned her huge body to face the entrance. She preened herself, crest raised, crying out to the others that she herself was now Golden-­throat, for she had been given a name by the Namers. Oh, yes, the Namers. The Givers of Names! How fortunate that the Namers had been here, just at this time! Just when they all needed names to identify themselves in Tingawa!

  Needly felt the tension inside her relax a little. Oh, clever creature, Golden-­throat! She had seen the hostility, judged it for what it was, and given the hostile creature a reason not to kill her or Willum. Like Sun-­wings, she knew their hope for survival depended upon Abasio and Xulai and on keeping their hostages safe! So their hostages were no longer merely human nothings, they were Namers! They had been given status among the Griffins! Maybe. At least they had a temporary standoff there in the cave entrance: Golden-­throat in the center, Needly at one side of her, Willum at the other. She could read his face where he stood, just across those huge paws from her. Now, if he would just . . .

  One of the new arrivals, who had an almost scarlet rump and tail, thrust her head forward and ordered in a trumpetlike voice—­it was a command, not a request—­that these Namers come forth to tell them the names of all the mothers, all the children, all those that were as yet egg-­children, not yet hatched!

  Willum’s face showed what he thought of this. Needly could see that he was inclined to be truculent about the whole matter, but Golden-­throat said something to him very quietly and he stopped scowling and waited, more than slightly subdued.

  “We will need to prepare if there is to be a . . . an OFFICIAL naming ceremony,” Needly cried, giving the idea all the weight she could. “Go a little farther away while we prepare!”

  Golden-­throat cried, “Yes, move away while the Namers prepare to name us and our children!” Somehow she managed to lend a very special resonance to the word “Namers.” The word seemed to hang in the air, humming, long after it was spoken.

  Needly went to stoop over, putting her mouth to Willum’s ear. “Willum, whatever else we do, you and me, we need to be necessary to these . . .” She risked a glance at Golden-­throat. “These very large and dangerous creatures who are not likely to be patient with the oneriness of children!”

  Golden-­throat blinked slowly. Needly could swear she smiled. How could she smile? Nonetheless, the flexible tissues at the corner of Golden-­throat’s beak quivered, as though she was considering laughter. She did not laugh. She merely said very softly, without moving her clenched beak, “Listen to her, young one! She understands what’s going on.”

  As Needly glanced into Golden-­throat’s eyes, her heart leapt at the complicity she saw there. Well then. Perhaps Willum had not been as wrong about the Griffins as she had thought! Perhaps they were capable of . . . empathy. With the support of even one Griffin, perhaps she could exact a price from the others—­if they were sincere about wanting names. She murmured, “Sun-­wings is injured. I have to get that one out there—­we call her Silver-­shanks—­to tell us where she is.”

  Golden-­throat nodded very slightly. “You have not yet told her the name you have given her? Good.” She turned and went to the cave entrance, effectively blocking it.

  The children mumbled together, and Willum went to get their stew pot while Needly dug through her pack to see what she could use. The little ones came out of hiding and watched closely when she found a long, wide sash in her pack, heavy red silk lined in white. Unnecessary baggage, but she had brought it because it had been Grandma’s and it smelled of her still. She tied it around her head, knotted on her forehead, tucked the ends back so they hung down in front of her ears, down across her chest. She made a stripe across each of her cheeks with soot, another down the bridge of her nose. She whispered quick instructions to Willum, then put a handful of fireplace soot
into a bowl with a little water and picked out the straightest, thinnest stick she could find from the woodpile to use as a wand. Willum grabbed it from her and trimmed it with his knife to make it neater, more . . . official-­looking.

  Finally, taking a deep breath, Needly tapped Golden-­throat on her huge shoulder. The Griffin backed farther into the cave, leaving a space for Needly to stand in the entrance between Golden-­throat’s huge paws. Willum had settled himself on the other side of the right paw, crouched over the upturned kettle and holding the handle of a wooden spoon with a strip of rag tightly wrapped around the spoon end. Needly wanted a bong bong, not a whang whang.

  Four huge Griffins were lined up outside, facing her, tongues lolling very slightly from their huge beaks. Needly blinked at the sight, but kept moving. They looked very carnivorous. Thank whoever had designed them that she, as a human, tasted bad, though she had only Sun-­wings’ word for that! Thinking about it didn’t help her situation. She stepped from between Golden-­throat’s paws and strode to one end of the cleared space outside the cave door, her stage. She began to chant, the same nonsense syllables she had used to calm herself before. Back and forth, striding, striding, while waving her rod at the sun. She paused at one side, bowed, then waved at the trees with more chanting. Back at the center, she made hieratic gestures and let her eyes roll up until only the whites showed.

  Behind her in the cave door, Willum, his face also painted with soot, bonged rhythmically on the stew pot with the padded wooden spoon. She had explained: “You want to sound mysterious and marvelous.” Occasionally Willum accompanied the bong with a shrill whistle and a high treble, quickly chanted string of syllables. “Fahma Donah hadda fahma ee-­ai-­ee-­ai-­ohwaaah. Onna fahma wassa cowah ee-­ai-­ee-­ai-­owaaah. Cowah mu-­mu, awies mu-­mu. Ee-­ai-­ee-­ai-­owaaaah.” Needly fought down hysterical laughter. Oh, Willum!

  They had already settled on a name for the Griffin who had brought the eggs, she who had called from the sky with a sound like the ringing of a great bell. Needly dipped her fingers in the soot bowl and marched toward that one, at the extreme right, laying her hand upon the bridge of that huge nose beak, between the nostrils, slowly marking it, chanting, finally crying in a high, shrill voice: “A-­hai, a-­hai, a-­hai. The Namer names! You are named Bell-­sound!”

  She turned her back on her audience, bent, bowed to Sun-­wings while she caught her breath. Then she repeated the entire ritual, trying to do it precisely as she had done it before. More waving, more bongs, another sooty marking: “A-­hai, a-­hai, a-­hai, the Namer names. You are named Copper-­beak,” gesture, bong. Then it was the turn of the red-­rumped one who had demanded a name. “A-­hai, a-­hai . . . the Namer says you are named Flame-­tail.” Finally, Needly faced into the cave, marked her huge guardian, made a wide gesture with both arms, and cried, “You are named Golden-­throat, and your child is named Amber-­ears.”

  “My child,” shrieked Silver-­shanks. “A name for me and for my child!”

  “I will give you a name and a name for that child,” cried Needly, “when you have told me how to find the one we call Sun-­wings.”

  The screamed reply could have been heard halfway across the sea! “You will tell me now a name for my child, or I will tear off your arms . . .”

  Amazingly, the other three turned on her, their beaks wide, a hissing roar bellowing from three throats. From inside the cave, Golden-­throat screamed, “You will not hurt the Namer! Tell the Namer! Tell the Namer what she wants to know! She is the name giver; tell her or we will kill you and take your child!”

  Silver-­shanks was taken completely by surprise. She had been backed almost into the trees, snarling and snapping the whole way, and was able to launch herself into the sky only by a frenzied flapping of her great wings. Needly watched every flap, noting that the process was indeed as Sun-­wings had described it. Taking off from level ground could be done, but it wasn’t easy.

  The three Griffins outside watched Silver-­shanks circling above them. To fill the silence, Needly extemporized a few rules to simplify Namers’ lives, marching back and forth as she chanted them in her Namer’s voice, Grandma’s voice, only louder and more like . . . singing: “By the laws of Earth and sky, Namers may not name children still in the egg. Namers may not name children still in the pocket. A name must reflect the Griffin as a pool of water reflects the reality, so names cannot be given until the child appears as a Griffin, furred and feathered! Mothers may use baby names for their little ones, but the real name can be given by Namers only when they are fledged! The Namers have saved your eggs, have saved your young. The Namers have cared for your eggs, your young. Now you must depart and go in great haste to Tingawa!”

  She had to stop for breath, leaning over, panting, filling the pause with a mumble that might have meant anything, or nothing. Then, erect once more, she proclaimed: “When you are in Tingawa, when the young ones hatch from their eggs, when their fur is grown in, when the feathers on their wings and neck are grown, take them to the ruler of Tingawa and say this: ‘I come from Princess Xulai, chief of all naming. I come from Needly and Willum, the Namers. They have told me you will give us names.’ ”

  She spoke to Golden-­throat. “You will say this to the ruler of Tingawa: ‘Xulai, your granddaughter, says to her grandfather, ‘Emperor, I beg of you names for the Griffin young and for generations of Griffins not yet named. And Xulai’s children, the Namers, have sworn mankind will do all within its power to give the Griffins lives in the sea.’ ”

  She turned away, fighting to stay on her feet. The huge beasts emanated a kind of . . . aura. It wasn’t hostility. It wasn’t a smell or taste, not wholly, even though she could taste a sourness that reminded her of sickrooms. There was a hint of nausea in it, a vertiginous lurch that made it hard for her to keep her balance. What was it? Those huge, dripping beaks? Those lolling tongues?

  Not the most calming atmosphere for someone assuming the role of seeress! said a well-­remembered voice in her mind. She came to herself, amazed to find herself leaning against Golden-­throat’s side, half under one huge wing. Warm. Steady.

  “Good,” whispered the Griffin. “It will do. Hold on.”

  Hold on? She wanted to crawl in a corner with Willum so they could tell each other fairy tales! Tales of heroes who always won their battles! Of heroines who were always brave and whose monsters were always manageable!

  Only moments later, Silver-­shanks dropped outside the cave like an eagle onto prey, raising a cloud of dust as she thrust her kin aside, screeching: “The little stream where you get water. Follow it down to the place where another stream comes in from that way.” One huge wing pointed southwest. “Follow that stream, up. It goes into a canyon with a waterfall. Go past the falls, on up to a place where there is a rock bridge across the stream. At the top end of the bridge, farther up over the hill in a little clearing, Sun-­wings is there! Now, name me and my child!”

  Needly took up her rod, gestured a command: Willum began his bonging; it took all her determination to approach the creature and mark it—­hard to think of it as her—­and she did not name it until she was well away from that beak. “If you have told us true, your child is named Snow-­foot. You are named Silver-­shanks. If you have not told us true, your names will vanish, no one will remember them.”

  She turned away from the four of them, wondering if Silver-­shanks would now lie in wait for her. Perhaps she would just go away.

  Golden-­throat was speaking to her, whispering actually, her head turned so the others could not hear. “Namer, are you aware that the largest egg—­”

  “I know,” Needly whispered. “I don’t want some of them to know. Golden-­throat, have you noticed that three of them have scales?”

  “Scales?”

  “Like Despos has. Instead of feather or fur, on his belly. They don’t have many, but there are some . . .”

  “Those are scales
?”

  “Like a serpent, a snake, yes. I get a weird feeling about those three.”

  Golden-­throat murmured, “Yes. You are wise to do so.”

  “Get Bell-­sound to stay here, but get the others gone! Can you . . .”

  “Does little . . . Snow-­foot know?”

  “None of the little ones know. They were asleep. I didn’t let them see what had happened.”

  “Bring the other two eggs to me, but stay behind me!” Golden-­throat picked up Snow-­foot as a cat does a kitten, by the scruff of her neck, interposing herself between the children and the cave door. There she put the little one down, saying, “Here is your child, Silver-­shanks. You can take her down through the forest, there’s a cliff there. You must begin your journey now to Tingawa! Go west! Island to island. Go swiftly, before Despos returns.”

  There was a breathless quiet that stretched into an eternity before it was broken at last by the loud snap of wings opened to catch the air! Golden-­throat breathed deeply and turned toward Needly, who laid the two eggs on the ground before her. Golden-­throat rolled them out through the entrance, saying, “Flame-­tail, this one is yours, the other is yours, Copper-­beak.” She said their names slowly, giving them weight and importance. “Get them into your pockets and follow Silver-­shanks. Go south along the shore, then go west by the way we decided, island to island. Now go quickly, to Tingawa!”

  Peeking through the crack between Golden-­throat’s huge shoulder and the cave entrance, Needly saw the eggs being tucked into very large pockets. She noted particularly that the eggs did not make a bulge. There was room there in the mother Griffin’s flesh, a kind of pocket protected by ribs so the eggs and the young ones would not easily be hurt. If Despos had broken eggs in the pockets, he had no doubt badly injured the mothers, too. She listened to the sound of receding voices followed by the sharp sound of wings catching air, like a pair of gigantic hands clapping.