A Messenger from Nephelokokkygia

Those That Left, and Those Remaining

Chapter 18: Those That Left, and Those Remaining

The poor fellow was now completely confounded. He doubted his own identity, and whether he was himself or another man.

--Washington Irving, "Rip Van Winkle"

Grace was uplifted. She rode a pony once on a relative's farm, and little cared for the experience. Riding a griffin was something else entirely. Dr. Bezoar had been truthful when saying the agate would help her fly. It just took a hatching, maturing, and training to reach that point. It felt more than worth the effort.

While Goldtalon had to fledge on his own, his hatchmate taught him to fly with style. Here was the first opportunity to show off those tricks while carrying a passenger. He looped, zipped, and twirled, metallic feathers glinting in late morning sun.

Imprinting did not combine them, exactly. It felt more like their minds flowed, like water poured from one cup to another. (But with no risk of brains spilling.) Grace was both flyer and passenger. Her griffin's senses were her own. Normally, unfamiliar stimuli overwhelmed her, but with her friend, everything in the sky felt manageable. Still, when Goldtalon eventually got sick from spinning too much, she became nauseous as well.

This was why her father must have loved planes. If there were gremlins in the sky now, none came to harass the griffin and rider. Their quest was half-finished. Surely there was time for a small family mission, right? Grace tightened her knees around Goldtalon's middle. She hunched, holding firm to his thick neck.

The griffin had never visited a city—or had any idea how to read street signs—so Grace shared that knowledge mentally. His eyes tracked the quickest route to her grandfather's house, if they were the same Oberon Ross.

It no longer felt like winter. In fact, it must be spring. Flowers bloomed, for one thing. Insects arrived to drink nectar and spread pollen. Goldtalon was content enough waiting outside. Some butterflies were in need of chasing.

"Hi," Grace said to the old man who cracked the apartment door right as she rang the bell. In returning to the Dojo for Goldtalon, she put on the green dress O practically forced onto her. The girl was glad she looked clean enough to make a decent first impression. "You don't know me, but I'd like you to. And um...I'd also like to know you."

"Who are you, little girl?" His voice sounded dry, like he needed a glass of water. "Where you from? Are you okay? Where's your mother? If you're lost, I'm sure she's worried sick..."

"I'm not lost," she answered quickly. "Though I'm sure my parents think I am." Coming out, she realized that made little sense. She decided to explain better, albeit leaving out the more fantastic aspects of her journey. Mentioning magic or monsters was a sure way to convince him she was insane. And she needed him to believe her if he was to search out her mother and deliver her message. The next thing that popped into her mind was "You have one daughter and a younger son."

He nodded. "Lots of people do."

"Are their names...Desdemona and Horatio?"

The man stared, then opened the door wide. "You'd better come inside." While he headed straight to the sink, Grace inspected the room. It felt sad how little the apartment was furnished. Many homes had walls covered in photos. This cramped space had none. There was a wooden table with one chair. A stack of thick books lacking covers lay on the floor instead of resting comfortably on shelves. She decided to stand by the threadbare couch until the owner said it was okay to sit. This also meant she was prepared to run.

"My name's Grace Grey," she started. To answer his other questions, she identified the city she was from, confirmed she was "okay," and agreed her mother must indeed be worried. "Anyway, you're Mr. Ross, right? I came looking for you."