This brief story takes place a few days before the events of my novel The Map of Griffyngrein, and it features one of my favorite characters from the tale, Golgaf. He is a Griffin Man - he comes from a humanoid species whose members stand around three feet tall, have cedar-green hair and beards, and live in quiet harmony with nature.
The trouble with young griffins is that they're incredibly reckless. Even as juveniles, they are at the top of the food chain, which makes them quite fearless; and with their power and agility increasing by the day, a fierce, proud, wild spirit surges in their chests and urges them to run, to soar, to be free and to drink deeply from life's cup. Or to sneak up from behind on their Griffin Men and pounce on them, as Golgaf was fully aware this one was in the process of doing.
He had picked up on the movement a few yards behind his right shoulder about five minutes ago. The noise was almost imperceptible, and no one but a Griffin Man would have noticed; but there it was, the whisper of front talons and padded back feet creeping towards him, now within pouncing distance. Yes, suddenly all was quiet, and Golgaf could see it in his mind as plainly as if he were looking over his shoulder - the tensed muscles, the crouching haunches, the gleaming eyes narrowing in focus, pupils expanding in anticipation.
Enough, already. "Ranef, he's doing it again," Golgaf barked.
The griffin sprang. Golgaf backflipped, his toes almost grazing the griffin's belly as it soared over him, and landed neatly behind; the griffin, twisting to follow the unexpected movement, crash-landed in a spray of dirt and leaves, with his wings splayed and his back legs flailing.
"Real good," Golgaf grunted at him, rolling his eyes.
"Tharem, you rascal, what have I told you?" Ranef called, rolling up the scroll he had been studying and getting up from the stump where he was perched. "You are too big to play rough like that anymore."
The griffin picked himself up sheepishly, shaking debris off his wings and side-eyeing Golgaf. "Sorry bout that, Master," he said, ducking his head.
There was laughter in Ranef's eyes. "Don't tell me, tell Golgaf," he said, pointing at his friend.
Tharem shuffled over to Golgaf. "Sorry, mister Golgaf, sir," he mumbled.
Golgaf stifled a laugh at the awkward way Tharem was standing, with his shoulders shrugged up to his ears and his talons twisted together. His mature head feathers were just now coming in; they were sticking out this way and that, and he looked very young and silly even as he towered over Golgaf by a good three feet.
"I reckon there's no harm done," he said gruffly. "But you've gotta learn how to act like somebody."
Tharem's eyes still sparkled with mischief but he nodded soberly. "Yes sir, I know I must."
Ranef was grinning at them both, and he beckoned to Tharem. "Come, it is time for your lesson."
Tharem trotted obediently over to him and bowed, and then lay down at Ranef's feet as the Griffin Man sat back down on his stump. Golgaf followed and stood by to assist Ranef. The sun filtered through the forest canopy and shimmered on Tharem's iridescent feathers, and the illuminated manuscript that Ranef spread on his lap was ablaze with color - the rich red of the carpet page seemed to spill off the edges and spread, enveloping Golgaf in a swirl of warmth and splendor and....
A pile of dirt and snow landed on Golgaf's face, yanking him out of his slumber to spring up, cursing violently and wiping his eyes. As soon as his vision focused, he looked up to see that a massive, ugly boot had been shoved through the earthen ceiling of his one-room, subterranean home. Someone was laughing mockingly up above, and the boot wagged around, sending another cascade of cold, soggy earth onto the room below. "Aye little green man!" a rough voice called as Golgaf dove for his long dagger. "What you got for us today?"
Those accursed Terrfungs. Golgaf was blind with rage. He sprinted up the stairs and hurtled out the door, roaring, "I'll kill you!" The cold air felt like a bludgeon to the face as he emerged, covered in dirt and bristling with ferocity. There were two Terrfungs right outside the door, pointing and laughing at a third, who was still trying to push his foot further into Golgaf's home. Golgaf lunged for him, knife poised, but the first two Terrfungs grabbed him and held him.
"Now how's that for hospitality?" one of them reproached.
"You know how this goes, greenie," the other jeered. "We take what we want, you stand and watch, nice and quiet-like. Don't make it hard!"
Golgaf struggled with all his might, but the burly hands of the Terrfungs were not easy to escape. Their foul breath choked him, and the mushroom-like growths on their heads seemed to block out the light above him, as he kicked and squirmed and watched the third Terrfung wreck his home. The brute had pulled his foot out and gotten down on all fours to peer through the opening into the room below. "Well this is a letdown - there's nothing much worth taking!" he called to the others.
"That's because you've already taken everything, you miserable dungheaps!" Golgaf snarled.
"Shut up," the Terrfung gripping his left arm barked. "No liquor, no nothing?" he called back.
"Not a drop! Hang on though, this might be something." The Terrfung fished around for a second, knocking over chairs and breaking dishes from the sounds of it, and then produced a garment embroidered with silver. It was Golgaf's ceremonial robe, the one he wore to the Griffin Men's most sacred rituals, a treasure passed down from father to son in his family. "Fancy trappings you've got, greenie!" the Terrfung laughed, holding it up for the others to see. "This would make a nice saddle blanket!"
Golgaf struggled harder, but to no avail - the Terrfung balled up the robe and shoved it in his pack. "Thank you very much for the donation!" he giggled, the other Terrfungs joining. "You're too generous."
Golgaf's captors tossed him through his door, sending him head over heels down the stairs. As he picked himself up, aching in every joint, he heard the Terrfungs call, "Until next time!" and march off through the brush, still laughing.
He looked around his home. Partially caved in roof, broken furniture, bare shelves, a film of dirt and lumps of melting snow over the whole thing. Wrecked. And this was the third time.
The Terrfungs did this to every home they could find. They had been been looting and persecuting the natives ever since they first set foot in the kingdom of Griffyngrein. Even homes as cleverly disguised and unassuming as Golgaf's were invaded. With the griffins gone and the kingdom's defenses shattered, there was no one to protect the Griffyngrites.
The dream that had been so rudely interrupted played over in Golgaf's mind as he picked his way through the rubble. Those warm, bright days of roaming the forest freely and helping his friend and mentor Ranef train a baby griffin were long gone. He didn't even know where Tharem was now. Somewhere far away, for certain. The Kingdom Guards, as Tharem and his four brothers were called, had disappeared when the covenant between them and Griffyngrein had been foolishly broken. Now the whole land was sad and cold and dark.
Golgaf hurled a broken piece of pottery at the wall, a hoarse yell erupting from his chest. If it hadn't been for corrupt leaders quarreling and manipulating, if it hadn't been for all the stupid rumors and self-serving speeches and the unrest going unaddressed, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't be standing here, with an empty, grumbling stomach, in the middle of this mess, with hardly any possession left to his name.
His lip curled into a snarl. He took his bow from its peg above the door, and slung his quiver full of arrows over his shoulder. He might not be able to do anything about the kingdom at large, but these three Terrfungs had plundered their last home today. If it was the last thing he did, Golgaf was taking them down.
As he took off through the woods after them, more memories of Ranef training Tharem crowded into his thoughts. He remembered the wind from Tharem's wings rushing over him as the griffin soared by, banking sharply at the edge of the meadow and circling back to land gracefully before Ranef. "Excellent, young one, excellent," Ranef had applauded him. "You're learning to channel that raging spirit within you. Remember, everything you feel, no matter how strongly you feel it, can be controlled and used. Anger, joy, hatred, sadness - you must guide them into the right places within you, move with them, understand them, learn from them. Breathe very deeply - as if you are drawing the air down into your feet - and feel those emotions and those impulses unite within you, becoming strength and wisdom. Do this, always, and you will be invincible."
Golgaf hated dramatic speeches and inspirational lectures, but Ranef somehow always got through to him, even if what he was saying was meant for someone else. Even as he recalled the words, he felt his breathing even out and his heartbeat slow down. He paused and breathed a long breath, his bruised ribs smarting a little. Feel it all unite. He looked at the tangle of trees surrounding him. This was his turf. The Terrfungs had surprised him at home, but they could never navigate this forest the way he could. He was a Griffin Man. Strength and wisdom.
He threw his bow over his arm. Seizing a nearby vine, he quickly climbed it and began to travel through the treetops, leaping from branch to branch, scanning the ground below keenly. He heard the obnoxious noise of the Terrfungs blundering through the undergrowth somewhere in the distance and let it guide his way. He never made a sound. He had been doing this since he was a toddler. Every bit of his 2' 11" frame was trained to slip through the forest with unmatched agility and stealth. Soon the voices below were quite loud, and finally the transgressors came into view. They were stopping in a small clearing to devour the food they had stolen from the home before Golgaf's.
Channel that raging spirit within you. Golgaf felt every ounce of fury and sadness and frustration that he had been carrying suddenly morph into an incredible, grim calmness. He moved to a better perch in the tree above the plundering party. He took a long, last look at them. Then he nocked his arrow and slowly, deliberately took aim.
And he smiled.
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