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The gryphon broke away from the chase and began to descend. A green plain appeared below. Now he would land and feast. On Fiona’s flesh and bones! He wondered if there would even be bones left of her when he was sated. Though why bother? She hasn’t any kin who’d look for her. If she goes missing, no one will even notice. Except the farm boys who liked her would miss her. And it is not for long. After all, there were plenty of pretty girls in the village.
The valley below was not strewn with skeletons left over from the griffins’ meals, but Fiona was still worried. The gryphon carried her over the plain, the woods, and the marshy lowlands where the reeds rippled. The land approached menacingly. Now the gryphon would wire its prey over the great boulders. Fiona squinted in fear. Suddenly the claws around her waist loosened.
The gryphon threw her down onto a rough, moss-covered mound like a thick carpet. Fiona fumbled for the stones beneath her – these were steps! They were scratched and old. They looked like the carcass of a ladder.
Fiona looked around. Gryphon had carried her into the ruins. He had disappeared somewhere. She hadn’t even heard him fly away. The clapping of its enormous wings was like the sound of a whip. She could not help but hear them.
«She is one of ours! She’s definitely one of ours!» The voices echoed from everywhere, but who had said so?
Fiona looked around.
«She is one of us! She was just lost!» The echoes in the ruins sounded like recitatives or prayerful chants. It was as if witchcraft had been wrought in the place. Echoes of laughter and hymns to the darkness were heard.
It was getting dark. Fiona struggled to her feet and walked a little. Her whole body ached. Scratches and abrasions could not be counted. Yes, the griffins had taken their toll on her. She really did feel like a big rag doll, played with and discarded. Right on the road! Or rather, it was in the ruins.
Even to be in the ruins is dangerous. Everything here is fragile, already partially destroyed and ready to collapse again. The remains of walls and towers reminded her of the castles of feudal lords. Apparently it had once been a castle, but now there was moss between the stones. The ruins of the walls themselves were gnarled and crooked. What had happened here? Was it a earthquake or a war? Could cannons and battering ram have done such damage? In the village, they’d say witches and fairies had had a hand in it. But the village was so far away that no locals would get here. The ruins were in a deserted area.
«Don’t worry, they won’t get in here!»
Fiona turned around at the voice. Something motley was looming in the shadows of the ruins. The figure of a jester! What was the jester doing in the ruins of the castle? Is he a remnant of the old masters? The castle had been destroyed, the owners slaughtered, and somehow the jester survived. He must be a friend of the fairies, if that’s what happened. He has the face of an inhuman, like an elf or a nix. His cheekbones are pointed, and so are his ears. Silver bells were dangling from the horns of a jester’s cap.
«Who are you?» Fiona moved toward him and found that there were already several jester figures on the ruins. They were multiplying, like reflections in shards of mirror.
Was this a mockery or some kind of trick? Everywhere Fiona went, all she found was a void instead of a jester. And the jester figures themselves were already multiplying in other places: on the walls, on the carcasses of towers, on the scratched staircases. In general, it was away from her.
«I don’t like jokes!» Fiona pouted angrily, stomping her foot. «If that’s the way you are, I’m going.»
Her stomping caused the ground to sink in, creating a hole. Inside the hole something sparkled enticingly. It looked like a jar of gold pieces! Was it a fairy joke? Fiona was afraid to bend down and check. It might be some kind of trap.
But a clear voice commanded:
«Take it now that you’ve found it!»
What was she to do? Fiona opened the hole with her bare hands and pulled out a pile of gold coins mixed with colored stones and jewelry. It looked like real gems! What luck! And there’s no one to thank. The jester figures had all disappeared, as if they had never existed.
Fiona was intrigued by one pendant in the shape of a sickle. It was certainly gold. A peasant girl would draw unnecessary attention to herself if she wore it around her neck, but Fiona couldn’t resist. The thing drew her like a magnet. She hated to part with the pendant now. Pity the chain was too short to hide it behind her corsage. The glitter of gold on a deserted road can only attract burglars.
«You’d be better off hiding in the ruins. No one will find you there,» the voices whispered in chorus. But since the voices were out of sight, Fiona decided they were not to be trusted. She could not trust the voices! To be alone in the ruins was frightening. She wondered if there were bandits nesting there at night. The jester costumes might be a good disguise for them. There’s a reason there’s gold hidden here. It could only come from the old owners of the castle or from the bandits who buried the treasure. But it was buried too shallow. But who knows, maybe if one dug a little deeper, one might find an entire gold mine under the ruins.
It was time to get out of here. The ruins stretched like a labyrinth. It took some time to find the way out of them. They were not too far from the road, as it turned out. If you look at them more closely, the ruins resembled a spiral with many twisted staircases, leading into the void and ending, as if they had been built on purpose into the sky. How convenient for those who want to land on the ruins from above. For the birds!
She shouldn’t have turned around before she left. Fiona noticed the brightly colored robes and bells again. There was a jester standing by the ruins, and in the ruins themselves there were many figures in motley jester outfits: both male and female. Are there women jesters and what are they called? If the jester’s outfit is the same cut as these, they could also be mistaken for colombina. She was not in the legendary Sickle of Mockingbirds, was she? It’s not in ruins, but in a closed ring of mountain ridge, and the way there can be found only at the full moon, and not everyone, but only those who are attracted to the spirits.
Motley figures soared over the ruins like a flock of colorful ghosts. How silent they were! They were bright but ominous. It was time to run away from here. No one tried to detain or catch Fiona. Only an echo of many voices echoed everything in her wake:
«She is lost!»
It was not until morning that she reached the road that led past the mountains to familiar places. Fiona was tired and out of breath. Her disheveled red hair was like flaming yarn, tangled with twigs and dry leaves. Her dress was torn, her skin scratched by bird claws. She looks like a beggar! But she had a pile of real gold coins with her! Fiona didn’t even know what she was going to spend them on. She had to put the coins in her pockets and throw the pile away. Carrying it was inconvenient.
At night Fiona snoozed by the side of the road and had a dream. The jester’s spirit assured her that the sickle around her neck and the month were almost the same thing, that it would always lead her to buried treasure. With the money she finds, she can buy an entire estate, not just a new mill or farm. And if she keeps looking for treasure, she could become queen herself.
«There is so much treasure hidden in the earth! Only spirits can see them, but they can’t use them, and you can! You have a special gift! We need you! But many others, alas, need you too!» The jester whispered. His face had a chalky hue, but his features were beautiful. It was only the laughing, snide eyes that spoiled the whole impression. They made it seem like he was mocking her.
The dream did not last long. Waking up, Fiona set off again. The road was dark, but she walked at random. Strangely, the pendant around her neck glowed like a yellow fire, helping her to navigate. Did gold have the property of glowing in pitch-black darkness?
They say that in the big cities at night they fasten torches in brackets on the walls so that the noblemen can walk in peace. But on the country road at night, you can’t see anything further. You can’t see further than your nose. So Fiona didn’t walk at night. This was an exception, and it was only the fault of the griffin that had led her nowhere. Fortunately, at least the direction in which to go, she guessed correctly, or else she would go to another village or even in another country.
Seeing the luxurious carriage left by the mountains with no servants, no coachman, and even no horses, Fiona was wary. She even rubbed her eyes, just in case. The carriage had not disappeared. So she had not imagined it!
Such fancy carriages she had only seen from afar. And here she could even touch it. Coats of arms gleam on the sides and top of the carriage. The frames of the doors and windows are gilded. The velvet curtains are purple to match the velvet upholstery of the carriage. On the fenders and inside the carriage were piled sacks of costly fabrics, or… Fiona was dumbfounded. Corpses! They were corpses! Brutally mutilated and even dismembered. From a distance they looked like large rag dolls, covered in red paint. Horse carcasses were lying in the mud on the road near the carriage. The human remains, judging by their clothing, belonged to noble and wealthy gentlemen, as well as their groomsmen.
One corpse appeared to be female. It was a girl. She was a redhead just like Fiona herself. Only, unlike Fiona, she was dressed in an expensive velvet gown. She could not be mistaken for a peasant girl. She was an aristocrat. Only her high position did not save her. Someone had strung her up like a puppet, placing her palms on sharp staples on the ceiling of the carriage. Her dainty hands were torn in places where there appeared to be jewelry. Her fingers were missing. They must have had rings on them, which could only be removed with the fingers themselves at the same time. If they were torn off by birds, those birds have the instincts of magpies. Except the magpies weren’t so big and their claws weren’t sharp enough to disfigure a corpse like that. It looked like it had been run through a grater. The eyes had been pecked out of the pretty maiden’s head. A necklace of scratches was left on her neck. There was a mark on her forehead, placed by a bird’s paw. Apparently it had been played with, too. The victim had simply been blinded.
Fiona shuddered involuntarily. The same thing could have been done to her, after all.
No doubt the griffins had killed everyone in the carriage, and the bodies all bore the marks of birds’ claws. The bodies had been ripped to shreds. One man’s body was crucified at the milepost. Feathers had been thrust into the deep wounds. Fiona walked over and touched them with her fingertips. There was no golden feather among them. But the corpse bore a striking resemblance to the body of Lady Eveline de Joel, smashed against the castle walls. That was the name of the noblewoman who had jumped from the castle roof. Fiona already doubted that she had jumped by herself, not without the help of birds.
Her touch made the body on the pole twitch. The dead man’s eyes fluttered open. They were rotten, but not torn out.
«You are the redheaded spirit!» The dead lips whispered.
«So you are not dead?»
«How could you tell?» The empty eyes, without pupils, were dead for sure.
She wondered if the corpse had come back to life and spoke to her. More like another dream.
«What happened to you all?» She asked. It was foolish to speak to a dead man. She wondered what kind of trouble it would lead to. That it would drag her back to the other world. But she was used to getting into trouble.
«The birds have flown in!» whispered the crucified corpse, whose hands and feet were pinned to the pole with what looked like shards of claws. «They were crowned birds! Run from them! And no, it’s too late to run! You have a mark on your forehead! They’ll find you anyway!»
Fiona touched her forehead. There was blood running down it. The bird’s claw had left a deep wound there. It was strange that the wound had opened now.
«Get the witch!» There was a shrill cry from behind her.
She turned around excitedly, and this time she didn’t think so. A group of men, including uniformed guardsmen and inquisitorial robes, were rushing toward the carriage. She was in trouble.
«Tell them that I am not a witch, but that you yourself have come back to life to denounce the culprits!» She turned to the dead man, but once again he was nothing but a silent corpse. No matter how much she shook him, he wouldn’t make a sound.
And if he had, it might not have saved her. There is a belief in the Inquisition that at the sight of the culprit the corpse may come to life and reveal the name of the murderer. Stop! It was at the sight of the culprit. He did come to life at the sight of her. Of course, she is by no means the culprit of his death, but his gesture can be interpreted in two ways. Suddenly the witnesses did. At their head was a lady in a splendid gown and ermine robe, which only royalty have the right to wear. It was this very lady that Fiona had recently met in a cave high in the mountains and had almost fallen prey to her.
«Seize her like a witch!» Ornella commanded, pointing a finger in a gleaming ring at Fiona. «It is her handiwork.»
Does she believe it herself, or is she still expressing her displeasure that all her brothers have a crush on the village girl. Fiona heard something about not messing with powerful people or they’ll find a way to get even with you. You’ve annoyed them in a trifle you can’t punish, so they’ll accuse you of something serious later, and everyone will be on their side and not yours.
Ornella was clearly proving how true these warnings were. If you can’t feed Fiona to the griffins, you must accuse her of witchcraft.
«I’m not a witch!» Fiona screamed, but her shouts were as useful as the squeak of a caught sparrow. The guardsmen grabbed her tightly.
«Only a witch could have done such a thing,» Ornella nodded eloquently at the disemboweled corpses in the carriage. «We are fortunate that we caught her at the scene of the crime. The entire Marquis de Palette’ family will be avenged, including their unfortunate young apprentice. Look what she’s done to Claretta! She doesn’t even have eyes left.
Ornella unceremoniously tugged at the cassock of one of the inquisitors, obviously the head inquisitor.
«But she has no claws on her hands,» remarked the youngest of the inquisitors judiciously. «Let me examine her. She does not look like a witch. Not unless she’s a heretic.»
«Or a harlot,» added the black-clad companion in disgust. «Look how red her hair is. It is a sign of vice! It is the mark of the devil.»
«Lady Claretta had red hair too,» the young inquisitor intervened again. «That is not yet proof.»
He clearly wanted to help the unfortunate woman who was caught like a rabbit in a trap. Maybe someone close to him had also been the victim of an unjust massacre, which made him sympathetic to others now. But finding sand and earth residue under Fiona’s fingernails, even he suspected something was amiss. And then there was the sickle pendant that sparkled around her neck, catching their attention at just the wrong time.
It is the sign of Satan,» the Inquisitors murmured like a flock of black crows.
«Perhaps she herself has been bewitched,» the young inquisitor tried once more to shield her. Apparently he had a crush on Fiona, though he was ashamed of it. «Look how badly she herself has been cut.»
«Witches often wound themselves to perform a ritual,» Ornella protested bluntly.
«I’ve never heard of such a thing. I have questioned many witches.»
«My servant girl saw her doing witchcraft in the mountains,» Ornella insisted, that is, she lied shamelessly.
«Is it the slave girl?» Someone of the inquisitors raised a doubtful eyebrow.
«Charisi knows all about witch cults.»
«And how did she conjure?» The young inquisitor asked.
«She is dancing in a circle of fire.»
«It is very doubtful.»
«I am in charge here, not you!» Ornella was tired of playing, and she said her final word. After that, she was defied in a moment. The inquisitors were whispering excitedly. Obviously, they were discussing what to do next. Remembering Ornella’s status, they did not want to argue with her. And what was her status? She was definitely royalty, judging by the ermine robe and the jagged crown with rubies, almost lost in the intricate hair of lush auburn curls. Moreover, Ornella reeked of arrogance. Only people from the very top of society behaved like that. The rest of us have to fawn and grovel before them.
She wondered where her brothers were, and would they stand up for Fiona if they knew she was in trouble? Or would they and Ornella have conspired? Then it’s strange why they didn’t come with their sister. Maybe they would have felt sorry for their new girlfriend. But there was no time to ponder. The clear-cut verdict that she was a witch was more jarring to her ears than the claws of a gryphon.
Witch for griffins
«You’ve made a mistake!» Fiona tried to break free, and the gold in her pockets spilled out onto the road.
«How could a simple peasant girl have so much gold?» Ornella triumphed. «She conjured it up. Everyone knows that witches can turn the blood of their victims, tortured under the moon, into gold or silver.»
«She could have just stolen it,» remarked someone sensible. He was so close!
«I found it. It is treasure,» protested Fiona, and Ornella suddenly looked at her with great interest.
«She is a treasure-hunter!» She murmured in amazement. She would have pouted a little more, but the verdict could not be reversed. Fiona was dragged away.
She could have sworn that Ornella smelled something in her to her advantage. Probably thought she would find her another treasure, since she had already found one. There were probably a lot of them in the ruins. But Fiona’s secret would die with her. She will not lead her executioners to enrich themselves. Though thanks to her awkwardness they have already had handfuls of gold and stones picked up right off the dusty road.
Ornella was the only one who didn’t pick them up. She must be from a rich family, after all. She’s got treasure enough. She’s got a crown to match! If robbers from the highways seize such a captive, she alone would be equal to the treasure found. That is probably why there are so many guards with her. And yet in the mountains Fiona had seen her with no escort at all. While her brothers were in the cave, Ornella was absent. And only then did she come. Alone! She hardly climbed the mountains like a simple villager. Maybe she flew in on a griffin. The birds certainly obeyed her. Take, for example, the game of snooker. Fiona was hurt by the birds, but Ornella was not, though they were both in a cave full of birds. Now the guards turned out to be more molesting than the birds. Fiona did not like their insistence on dragging her somewhere.
«Ornella! Stop them!» She didn’t want to ask, but what else to do. Given her acquaintance in the mountains, Ornella was almost like a friend to her. Well, with a stretch of the imagination, of course. But you could say that. She was in touch, so she was a friend. Only Ornella did not respond to her cries, and those around her considered her crazy, or confirmed their speculation that she is a witch who is now trying to bewitch a noble lady.
It’s a moment like this that makes you want to curse all the people in the world. But Fiona was no witch. Her curse was unlikely to work. Besides, she was never allowed to speak again. The guards shoved her roughly into a cramped, barred van. Why not string her up or burn her on the spot in front of the cheering villagers? We had to jolt along the bumpy road for hours. Was she really going to be taken to a dungeon and tortured? Fiona became frightened. If an evil spirit had spoken to her and offered to trade her soul for her escape, she would have said yes without hesitation.
People had got it into their heads that the redhead was a witch. No one in the town where they’d brought her was shrieking with delight and pointing their fingers at her, screaming «witch». The crowd was far more aristocratic. She was either turned away or looked at with devastatingly arrogant stares. She must have been brought to the capital. There is fabulous luxury everywhere, but Fiona was led not to the palace, but to a dungeon.
The witch who had been captured was confined to a small cell. There was no room to expand. There was not enough space. The dirt floor, lined with a thin layer of straw, was the only place to take a nap.
Fiona dreamt of the red-haired noblewoman in the carriage. She was alive in the dream, though the gray stains of decay and wounds remained on her body. Her eyes were still missing, but in their place there were gems of emerald and ruby that had been inserted into her eye sockets. They were the same stones Fiona had dropped on the road when she had been captured.
The dead woman, whose name seemed to be Claretta, was reaching for her hands. Not hands, but rotting meat in lace cuffs. She couldn’t see very well. Besides, the two multi-colored eyes were frightening. They say only witches’ eyes are different colors. And it didn’t matter that they were stones. In her sleep, Fiona couldn’t move or run away from Claretta. The dead girl’s hands fumbled for her.
«They are looking for one special girl. Not me! It is the other redhead. Run away from them!»
Good advice! Run! But where could she run? There are bars and locks everywhere. The smell of deadness was lingering in the cell after her sleep, as if Claretta had really been here.
Could the conversation with the crucified dead man on the pole have been just a dream, too? After all, corpses, as everyone knows, don’t come back to life. Or did they? What if the inquisitors’ omen is true, and dead bodies briefly come back to life if their murderer happens to be around to point a finger at the criminal.
If that were indeed the case, then criminals would be very easy to catch. With one «but» – the murderer must be near the corpse to be convicted in this way. Such a trial is easy to conduct only if all the suspects can be brought to the corpse at once. But what to do if the criminal has already fled and it is not known who he is? Then the method is ineffective.
Fiona could not have killed all these people, or even one of them. Or could she, since the corpses came back to life in her presence? They say the dead know everything, unlike the living. Those who have stepped over the brink of death discover the secrets of the netherworld. But this time, the dead have messed up, or someone has deliberately confused them. She wasn’t a killer, that’s for sure. It is not as if she were a bird of prey, capable of tearing a man’s flesh apart with her claws.
She was slandered. Ornella had arranged the whole thing cleverly. Such timing! Except how did Ornella know that Fiona would stumble upon a carriage load of corpses on the way back? Hadn’t she organized the murder herself, and then led the whole regiment to catch the witch. It was all subtly calculated. The only way to believe a frail girl could tear apart several tall men with her bare hands was if she was a witch.
Unfortunately, Fiona couldn’t do witchcraft, or she would have evaporated with the black wind or the smoke. Or what else could witches turn into?
Slander was a terrible thing. It could make an ordinary weak girl the stuff of fear for the big city. Fiona determined that she’d been dragged to the capital. A mob will soon be raging outside the prison windows, demanding an emergency execution for the witch. What a mess! If she had known it would end like this, she would never have gone to the mountains for a dozen golden eagles.
What was she going to do now? First, Fiona decided to look around. Was there any way to escape from here? The place was as bright as a campfire.
A spider web of fire stretched along the walls. A fire fairy the size of a cat crawled across it. Fiona carelessly touched it with her finger. The fire stung a larger bumblebee. The fairy grinned with her hot mouth and braided a flaming web around the already barred window. Yes, there’s no escaping from here! It is the local rulers who are witches, not she. Who but witches have flaming orange fairies as watchmen?
«Scram!» Fiona scolded the insolent firewoman. She may have been very pretty, but she was terrifying to be around. Touch such a beauty and there’d be no cure for the burns.
Apparently, when she realized she was being insulted, the fairy hissed in displeasure, spitting out sparks, and crawled up the wall in an offended manner.
It was calmer without her. Fiona listened to the silence. Not even the footsteps of the sentries could be heard. No prisoner would escape from a fairy. She could burn him alive if he escaped.
The sea was splashing beneath the dungeon window. She wished the fire fairy would fall there!
«You are unhappy, but there is nothing you can do,» came a mesmerizing voice from the sea.
«I am the king of Sultanit. I can do anything,» a hoarse, unpleasant bass protested.
«And I am the king of the sea. Which of us has a better chance of controlling the other?»
Is she dreaming of those voices? The meaning of the conversation was somehow fantastic, unless the talkers were joking. Fiona stood up and tried to look out the window. It was high enough above the floor, but she could see the edge of the surf. Fiona could see the helmets of the warriors, with their puffy cockades. An entire regiment had been brought ashore. Were they all really going to catch the Sea King? Or was it the nickname of some pirate?
