The Griffin's Feather (Dragon Rider 2)

It must!

Synnefo… Chara… Ouranos.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Sold

The sun, the moon and the stars would have

disappeared long ago… had they happened to be

within the reach of predatory human hands.

Havelock Ellis, The Dance of Life

Looking through bars for too long is bad for the heart. Even if those bars are only made of twigs. Ben realised he was forgetting what it felt like to be free. No, it was even worse – he began to think that he would never be free again. The griffins had put the cages down in a dark clearing where the shadows of the trees reached out, like black fingers, for everything that grew under them. In the middle of the clearing stood a huge statue of a griffin, carved from such precious tropical wood that, in spite of their unhappy situation, it drew a sigh of longing from Hothbrodd. The dish in its claws reminded Ben of the sacrificial vessels in which bloody gifts to the gods had once been left in ancient temples. Not a very reassuring sight. Nor were the beaked faces of griffins that looked down on them from the surrounding trees. They were high up on the trunks, with golden feathers, eyes made of red jewels, and beaks of shimmering mother-of-pearl. Hothbrodd scrutinised them as thoroughly as if his life depended on working out what tool The Hands had used to erect such an impressive monument to their masters. But it was good to see the troll showing an interest in something. Hothbrodd took captivity even worse than Ben. No wonder, when he could hardly move in the cramped space of the cage – and when he made a second attempt to persuade the twigs to let them go, the prisoners were first almost skewered, and then nearly suffocated. Since then, the troll had just looked darkly ahead in silence. Barnabas was the only one who still seemed unbroken. Even now, he was looking around with as much interest as if he were actually in a cage in the middle of the Indonesian jungle of his own free will.

‘Fascinating!’ he whispered, while Hothbrodd gazed grimly at the black macaques guarding them. ‘Those lorises are extraordinarily talented. I wonder if they were carving images of other creatures before the griffins arrived. I don’t know of any monkeys who do that, but maybe these are a different species. What do you think, Hothbrodd?’

The troll uttered a morose grunt. ‘Yes, they’re not bad,’ he murmured. ‘But if I’d made that statue it would beat its wings!’

Ben was sure it would. But Barnabas was already thinking of something else. He looked at the sacrificial vessels.

‘I’m surprised that Kraa’s flourishing trade with the poachers hasn’t yet brought anyone here to try catching him and the other griffins,’ he murmured. ‘On the other hand, maybe those skulls on the beach are all that’s left of those who did try!’

‘Probably,’ murmured Ben.

He couldn’t think any more. The world was striped as long as he saw it through bars. And what would Vita and Guinevere be thinking by now? Would they think the griffins had eaten them? He took the photo of the eggs out of his pocket. It was crumpled and dirty, and soon, presumably, it would be the only remaining evidence of the last Pegasi. They’d never be able to keep the promise they had made to Ànemos, that was for sure. Even if, sometime or other, they could free themselves. Four days! That was all they had left. And they’d need two of those days just for the flight home!

‘I’m so sorry!’ Barnabas put an arm around his shoulders. ‘I feel wretched for getting you and the others into this situation. There’s almost nothing more humiliating than being a prisoner. I hate to remember the four endless months I spent in the cave of a nocturnal troll. But for Hothbrodd’s help I’d probably still be there.’

‘No, he’d have eaten you by this time,’ growled the troll. ‘And I haven’t the faintest idea, skitten svinge av skjebene, how you didn’t go out of your mind in those four months!’

‘Master!’ called a little voice. Twigleg’s tiny cage hardly gave him room to stand up straight. ‘How are you and Professor Greenbloom? I’m terribly sorry! We didn’t do very well as rescuers!’

‘Nonsense! It was very brave of you and Lola to have a go!’ Ben called back. It went to his heart to see the homunculus imprisoned like that. Lola’s cage was just as small, but Ben wasn’t worried about her. He couldn’t imagine any cage that would hold Lola for long.

‘We had bad luck, humklupus, that’s all,’ said the rat as she forced her paws through the twigs to extract a few tasty-looking seeds from a plant. ‘It was a pretty hopeless mission, as I am sure all present will admit!’

Berulu whispered something into Winston’s ear, and clung to him desperately. Winston could still hardly believe that he really could understand what the maki was saying. He would miss it when there was no fabulous creature still near him to decipher Berulu’s twittering by its mere presence. On the other hand, the way things looked just now there soon wouldn’t be any Berulu near him either. It was a heartbreaking thought.

‘Berulu says that makis don’t make good pets,’ he told the others. ‘And he needs the night and the forest and would be very unhappy in a house.’ He hugged Berulu. ‘I’ll protect you!’ he promised. ‘We won’t let them separate us!’

Winston cast Ben a helpless glance. He knew he was promising more than he could perform.

‘There must be something we can do!’ Ben struck the twigs of his cage. ‘Something or other!’

One of the black macaques bared his teeth and hit out at Ben’s hands with a stick. The leader of the macaques, who was sitting on the head of the griffin statue, brusquely called him off. His dark pelt was grey in many places, and he was blind in one eye. Awan Petir, as he called himself, had been serving the griffins for a very long time.

‘That’s Kraa’s property you’re damaging, Kachang!’ he snarled hoarsely. ‘Do you want me telling him that the boy fetched a lower price because of you?’

The macaque who had been told off retreated, looking as intimidated as if Kraa himself had spoken to him harshly. Ben wondered whether there was anyone living on Pulau Bulu who wasn’t afraid of the king griffin. He was coming to admire Shrii’s courage in standing up to Kraa more and more. And not only his courage. It was so much easier simply to do what everyone else did without asking questions, instead of looking for new and better ways to act. Barnabas had a tale to tell about that himself. But the world would be so much darker and poorer without Shrii and without Barnabas Greenbloom. No one would say the same of Kraa. It was really difficult to go on believing that some miracle might yet save them. Yet nothing was more dangerous than losing hope. If your hope dies, Barnabas had once said to him, then you’ve given up the fight and there’s no going back.

Ben looked at Winston. Had he given up hope? His face was buried in Berulu’s fur.

‘When do you think they’ll kill Shrii?’ Ben whispered.

Winston raised his head. ‘As soon as Kraa gets the gold the poachers are paying for us,’ he whispered back. ‘He can’t wait to eat Shrii’s heart. Griffins think that their enemies’ strength passes to them like that. Our hearts are probably too small for Kraa. Or too frightened.’