The Griffin's Feather by Cornelia Funke
Kraa’s growl sounded so angry that Twigleg, trembling, stopped moving – too long for Lola’s liking, of course. She climbed over Twigleg and with a single leap landed on the platform, only a few metres away from Kraa’s claws. But the griffin didn’t hear her. Not even Twigleg’s racing heart woke Kraa. Twigleg just wished his heart would finally get used to danger and adventures! Wasn’t he giving it enough opportunities? Evidently not; it stumbled and raced and beat so loudly that Twigleg was always afraid it would give him away. Oh, please! he implored whatever god protected homunculi and human boys (Twigleg always pictured this god in a huge glass bottle), please let us get hold of this dratted feather without waking the beaked brute!
Kraa growled again. His head was resting between the mighty claws, and his wings rose and fell with every breath he took.
Lola stood still, and listened for sounds from outside.
Only the noises of the jungle came through the mud walls – the chorus of cicadas, the croaking of toads, the cry of a marbled cat pouncing on prey – and if everything was going to plan, then Patah, TerTaWa and the others had already overpowered the sleepy macaque and set Shrii free.
They had to hurry!
The rescue of Shrii could still raise the alarm before they had the feather! Or Kraa might wake as they plucked it out before Shrii was liberated, and… no, no, no! Twigleg felt thought paralysing his limbs. Lola was always saying, ‘Don’t think, Humpelkluss!’ But easier said than done! Apart from the fact that Twigleg wasn’t sure whether it was really good advice.
Lola for one wouldn’t be wasting a moment on thinking while she scurried over to the sleeping griffin. Rodents. Yes, that must be it. Rodents were braver, that was all.
The sun-feathers were high up on Kraa’s feathered throat. But as he was sleeping with his head between his claws, they were easier to reach. Twigleg just had to climb on Lola’s shoulders, pull himself up by Kraa’s plumage, then give a gentle tug and… oh, this was lunacy! How come they had ever thought it was a good idea for the smallest members of the team to carry out the most important part of this suicidal mission? It was the rat’s fault, of course. Twigleg could still hear Lola’s voice only too clearly – his heart had turned to ice at her words. ‘Right, it’s a done deal. The humklupuss and I get hold of the feather. All the monkeys have to do is rescue Shrii, and as for the rest of you… you’re too big and you make too much noise!’
A done deal! Lola was kneeling on the platform. The griffin’s leonine chest was breathing behind her. In and out. It could swallow him as easily as the mist-ravens snacked on strawberries.
Oh dear. Lola was getting impatient!
As he climbed on her shoulders, the griffin’s breath was like a hot wind passing over his face. But hard as he stretched out, he couldn’t reach the lowest of the sun-feathers!
Okay, Twigleg. You know what to do.
No, he wanted to say. No! The world really doesn’t need flying horses! But his mind was already assessing the distance between his fingers and the bright feather. The thing about courage is that in many people it shows up only when it’s really needed. And Twigleg was considerably more courageous than he thought. He reached into Kraa’s tawny feathers and ruffled them up. Only a little further, and he would be able to take hold of the sun-feather.
‘Humklupus!’ he heard Lola hissing. ‘What are you doing?’
But Twigleg was already reaching out his trembling hand…
CHAPTER FORTY
The Other Mission
I will not be clapped in a hood,
Nor a cage, nor alight upon wrist,
Now I have learned to be proud
Hovering over the wood
In the broken mist
Or tumbling cloud.
W.B. Yeats, ‘The Hawk’
In fact, it had been really easy to overpower the sleepy macaque guarding Shrii’s cage. TerTaWa had undertaken that task, to keep Patah from any temptation to throttle him. While the gibbon gagged the macaque and put him in one of the empty basketwork cages, Kupo got to work setting Shrii free. When her furry face peered through the intertwined twigs, the griffin thought at first that he was simply dreaming of seeing the loris. After all, he hadn’t eaten for days. But then he saw TerTaWa. And Patah. Kupo was so relieved to see Shrii unharmed that her usually nimble fingers could hardly open the bolts. When she finally succeeded, Shrii’s limbs were so stiff from captivity that he could hardly force them, agonisingly slowly, out of the basket. But seeing Patah, TerTaWa, Kupo and all the others free, safe and sound made him so happy that he forgot his aching joints and nudged them affectionately in the breast with his beak. It had been terrible to stare down at Kraa’s throne day and night, waiting helplessly for his own execution. But it had not been the fear of death that had troubled Shrii most during those endless hours. It had been the certainty that all those who had trusted and followed him had paid for it with their freedom or their lives.
It cost Shrii all his remaining strength to climb up to the branch from which the basketwork cage hung. All his muscles ached, and at the first attempt he could hardly manage to spread his wings. But the anxious faces of his rescuers spurred him on to try again. He must fly! It was the only possible way of escape. Even if he might meet the other griffins up in the sky. Flying. How he had longed to feel the wind in his feathers! But would his weakened wings bear him up? A griffin’s body is as heavy as it is powerful.
Shrii unfolded his green wings for the second time. The joy of being free again drowned out the pain.
‘Fly south!’ TerTaWa told him quietly. ‘Tchraee and the others are usually hunting in the northern mountains at this time of night!’
Shrii nodded. And raised his head, listening, when a furious roar rose to their ears from Kraa’s palace nest.
‘Fly, Shrii!’ chirped Kupo.
‘Alone? But what about the rest of you?’ Maybe he could carry them in spite of his painful limbs. He had to try!
A hoarse screech responded to Kraa’s roar. Kupo, horrified, clung to Shrii, and TerTaWa and Patah exchanged a glance. They all knew that voice. Tchraee. Of course. He often flew ahead of the others.
More screeching rang out from the distance, echoing through the night. They were coming.
‘Climb on me!’ Shrii called to his rescuers.
But Patah was already beckoning to the other macaques to climb quickly down the tree, away from the dreadful screams cutting through the night. Only TerTaWa and Kupo climbed on the griffin’s back and ducked down between his wings. The voice of Tchraee had rekindled Shrii’s anger. It gave him strength. The strength of the lion as he took off. The strength of the eagle as he soared into the air. And yes, his wings, painful as they were, carried him away. He left the cages and Kraa’s palace far below him, and broke through the canopy of leaves, flying out into the wide night sky that sprinkled starlight on his wings.
Free!
His keen eyes could already see the shapes of the other griffins in the distance. But suddenly he sensed something above him. A presence that he had never felt before. Shrii looked up – and there they were. Powerful and strange, shining like the silver light of the moon.
Shrii forgot the other griffins.
He forgot that he was escaping.
He forgot Kraa and his days of captivity.
Dragons!
His mother had often told him about them. Tales of the times when dragons and griffins had flown side by side. Protectors instead of plunderers, light instead of darkness.
The dragons had also seen Shrii, but night made the green of his wings seem darker, and they took him for one of the other griffins. Tattoo bared his teeth, and even Firedrake lowered his horned head, ready to attack. But suddenly the huge wings below them showed green in the moonlight, and Winston let out a cry of joy.
‘That’s Shrii!’ he called. ‘They’ve done it! He’s free!’
TerTaWa and Kupo waved to them from Shrii’s back, and Ben was so relieved to see the young griffin flying over
But there was another task yet to be carried out tonight.
‘TerTaWa!’ Ben called down to the gibbon. ‘How about Twigleg? And Lola? Have you seen them? Do they have the feather?’
TerTaWa and Kupo exchanged a remorseful glance.
‘Who are you talking about?’ asked Shrii.
‘We had to get you to safety!’ called TerTaWa. ‘We couldn’t help them as well! Remember that roar? I’m afraid Kraa has eaten them.’
Ben thought he felt his heart missing a beat. He leaned so far over Firedrake’s neck that Sorrel tugged him back.
‘Firedrake!’ he shouted to the dragon. ‘We have to find Twigleg!’
‘Are you out of your mind?’ Sorrel shouted in astonishment.
But Ben was already regretting his words. Sorrel was right. Was he out of his mind? The dragons had to get away. The other griffins were coming. And then what would become of Twigleg?
‘Sorrel is right. Forget what I just said!’ he called to Firedrake. ‘You two must get away! And take Shrii with you! I’ll see about Twigleg. Just drop me off in the trees!’
Firedrake glanced at Tattoo.
The other griffins were still a long way off, but one of them was quickly taking shape. And he was making straight for Shrii. For a moment the sight of the two dragons made Tchraee forget who his prey was. Then, however, with a scream that woke every living creature on Pulau Bulu from sleep, he plunged down on the younger griffin.
Shrii was still slow after his captivity. Tchraee dug his claws into his breast before Schrii could raise his own claws to defend himself. But Schrii was young and strong. He shook Tchraee off, and when the older griffin attacked again, both dragons were beside Schrii. Tchraee struck out first at Tattoo, but Tattoo smoothly avoided his opponent’s beak, and before the griffin could attack again, Winston hit him on the chest with the club that Hothbrodd had given him. Even Berulu forgot his fear, and menacingly showed Tchraee his tiny teeth.
The old griffin was hopelessly outclassed, but all the same he went on fighting, and the sole target of his furious attack was Shrii. The dragons did all they could to provide Shrii with cover, but Firedrake felt the same anger growing inside him that he had sensed when the poachers attacked. Thanks to Ben and Sorrel, he managed to tame it. But when Tchraee, striking out desperately with his claws, tore one of Firedrake’s wings open, Tattoo lost his self-control, and while Winston was still watching Firedrake in dismay, the young dragon began breathing fire. Tchraee was enveloped in pale blue flames. They licked over the old griffin’s fur and feathers – but instead of burning, Tchraee’s body turned to ash-grey stone, and fell from the sky, rigid and petrified.
With uncomprehending horror, Tattoo watched as the stone body crashed through the canopy of leaves below them and disappeared. But there was no time to think about what had happened.
‘The others!’ cried Winston. ‘They’re coming!’
Four griffins swooped out of the night, racing towards them with furious screams of aggression.
‘Shrii!’ called Firedrake. ‘You must fly for it! We’ll cover your back, but we can’t hold them off for long!’
The young griffin was still staring at the leaves below, and the place where Tchraee had vanished. But at the sound of Firedrake’s voice he raised his head and looked at the attacking pride.
‘No!’ he called back to Firedrake. ‘I’ve been hiding for too long! Let’s find your friends!’
Ben had a protest on the tip of his tongue. But he knew Firedrake too well to think that he and Tattoo would simply fly away.
‘Oh, great!’ cried Sorrel. ‘Here we go again! Battle! Danger! Have I been missing all that? No, not a bit of it!’
Firedrake and Tattoo were already on course for the canopy of leaves. Followed by Shrii.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Unheard Of
He was thinking of the time that comes to every leader
of every pack when his strength goes from him and he gets
feebler and feebler, till at last he is killed by the wolves
and a new leader comes up – to be killed in his turn.
Rudyard Kipling, The Jungle Book
Kraa hadn’t eaten Twigleg. Not yet. But the homunculus was in a difficult situation. Very, very difficult. Nakal was holding him tightly in his slender brown fingers.
‘The more closely I look at this creature, Tanunda,’ he said with a subservient smile for Kraa, ‘the more peculiar it seems to me. Just look at its clothes. And that pale skin, and its pointed nose. It really doesn’t seem to be of this world!’
Well, that was one way of describing a homunculus!
At close quarters, Nakal smelled as overpoweringly sweet as the kind of flower that eats flies. Or as if he had drenched his long-haired coat with perfume. Twigleg wanted to hold his nose, but Nakal was holding him so tightly that he couldn’t move a muscle. How could he and Lola have forgotten the proboscis monkey? They had thought of the jackal scorpions, the snakes, the other monkeys… but then again, who could have guessed that Kraa’s adjutant slept under his master’s wing?
Nakal sniffed at Twigleg’s hair as if to find out what it was made of. Twigleg felt like saying he wouldn’t mind knowing that himself, but Nakal’s teeth were too long and sharp, and there was evil in his eyes that could easily rival the evil of his master.
Of course Lola had made her getaway. Twigleg still couldn’t grasp the shameful way she had left him in the lurch. Although he had to admit that even such a bold rat as Lola couldn’t have changed much about the fix he was in. And even if she did come back with help – by then he’d probably be half digested in Kraa’s stomach. What a way to die! Were all homunculi doomed to end their lives in the belly of a monster? If only at least he had landed in the same belly as his brothers. Nonsense, Twigleg! If Nettlebrand had eaten him along with the others, he’d never have met Ben, and his master was far and away the best thing that had happened to him in his whole long life. Was he really never going to see him again?
Above him, the light of the glow-worms broke on Kraa’s sun-feathers, as if they were flames in his tawny yellow of his desert plumage. All for nothing! They had failed! He wouldn’t even be able to console himself by knowing that his death was saving the last Pegasi! ‘Oh, stop it, Humklupuss!’ He could just imagine Lola saying that. ‘Self-pity is the most dangerous way of wasting time when you’re in trouble!’
‘Do you know what I think, Tanunda? I think this is the creature we sold to the poachers!’ Nakal’s expression was as portentous as if he had solved all the mysteries of the world by making this discovery. ‘And if you ask me – the rat looked suspiciously familiar too! Why would the poachers have let those two go free? Right, so the rat certainly wouldn’t fetch a good price. But this – ‘he said, examining Twigleg from all sides as if he were a doll – ‘this is surely a very saleable item!’
How Twigleg would have liked to give the monkey’s enormous nose a good kicking. But then Nakal would surely bite his head off. ‘And that really wouldn’t be a good idea, Humklupuss!’ he could hear Lola saying. ‘After all, your head is the only useful part of your body!’
‘It still looks to me like a jenglot!’ growled Kraa, as he stared down at Twigleg with a disparaging expression. ‘When I last ate one of those, half my feathers fell out!’
Hang on a moment! That information could come in useful, Twigleg told himself.
‘Quite correct, O terrible, all-devouring Kraa!’ he cried. Why did fear always turn his voice to a shrill squeak? ‘I’m definitely a jenglot! In fact, I’m an unusually poisonous jenglot. From… from a distant kingdom where they’re all as pale as me.’
Unfortunately that didn’t seem to impress Kraa very much. He bent down to Twigleg and inspected him at close quarters. Twigleg felt that he would drown in those yellow eyes, the eyes of a bird of prey, like a beetle caught in amber. And
Kraa straightened up. ‘I think I’ll eat it later, Nakal!’ he growled. ‘Shut it up and find out where the scorpions are.’
Hmm, yes, the jackal scorpions. Not one of them had shown up when Nakal’s scream had awoken Kraa. (Twigleg was still surprised that his heart hadn’t stopped at once.) Obviously Barnabas had succeeded in his part of the plan.
Nakal turned with a portentous expression. Holding Twigleg, he strode to the way out of the palace nest. But he didn’t get far.
‘Wait, Nakal!’ Kraa called after him.
Nakal smiled unpleasantly at Twigleg as he turned. ‘Seems like he fancies eating you after all!’ he whispered. ‘I’m sure you’re nice and crunchy, like shellfish.’
But Kraa had something else in mind.
‘Ask the jenglot why he came back!’ he growled. ‘Maybe the poachers let him go so that he could spy on my treasure chamber!’
‘Hear that?’ Nakal shook Twigleg like a rattle. ‘Is that why they sent you back, jenglot?’
‘Yes! Oh yes, exactly!’ stammered Twigleg. ‘Those poachers… they want to steal all your gold, O terrible Kraa!’
‘Really?’
Kraa scratched the back of his eagle’s neck with one of his lion’s paws – and abruptly raised his head.
The cry of a griffin rang through the night.
And a second cry followed it.
‘Jackal scorpions!’ screeched Nakal. His nose was quivering in his face like an over-ripe fruit. ‘Where are those useless creatures?’
Kraa gave vent to a deep, a very deep growl. Coming from a beak, it sounded even more menacing than the roar from a lion’s mouth. His snake-tail writhed in the air, baring its venomous fangs.
‘What’s going on out there, jenglot?’