Page 25 of Queen's Griffon

“You’d think so, but who knows for sure.”

“Do you believe?” Avera asked.

Simhi snorted. “I think there are many things in this world we don’t understand and creatures that might seem godlike but are in reality just more powerful than most.”

The remark made Avera think of Zhos. In its case, it did seem to have immortality and power, but it was not entirely invulnerable. After all, humans had managed to trap it.

“So which house is the captain’s?” Avera asked as she eyed the many buildings and streets splitting off in all directions.

“The biggest of course,” scoffed Simhi.

It shouldn’t have surprised her when Simhi pointed to the castle.

Chapter 8

Griff

As the shipsailed into Saarpira’s bay, Griff recalled the first time he’d seen the isle as a young boy.

The exodus from Verlora to their new home took two weeks. The first ten days were spent sailing around in circles within sight of the imploding continent. Every day those who’d escaped gathered against the rails to watch and see if the cloud of ash and steam would dissipate. Every day they hoped to see another boat come sailing from the home they’d fled, wished for survivors… in vain.

At the seven-day mark—with the rumbles having subsided—two skiffs launched with folks brave enough to venture for a peek. They wore goggles and masks to filter the poisonous air. They never returned. As days passed with no change in situation, and dwindling food supplies, it became devastatingly clear: Verlora was lost.

As was Griff’s father.

Unlike others, Griff didn’t erupt into tears. Not in public, at any rate. He kept his upper lip stiff, his grief balled tight within.“Never show weakness,”was his father’s oft-repeated mantra. Griff clung to that advice while others broke. He saved his sorrow for the nights when he huddled alone under his blanket,shoulders hunched, his body shuddering, missing the man who used to hug him close and whisper,“One day you’ll do great things, my son.”

Eventually the decision was made by the adults in charge of the evacuees to sail away and find a place they could resupply and request some aid. At the time, given his young age, Griff didn’t understand much of what the grownups discussed. Things like, “They’ve refused our refugee application,” and “They’re claiming they have inadequate space and facilities to house such a large group,” as well as, “They believe we’re not compatible with their culture.” All that mumbo jumbo essentially meant no one wanted them.

The lack of safe haven to disperse the survivors led to much whispering—and arguments— among the grownups as they tried to decide where they could go that wouldn’t turn them away. Some of the Verlorian fleet splintered off, choosing to settle some of the small uninhabited isles, none of them big enough to handle all the evacuees or with bays deep enough for the vessels. Griff’s ship, and a few others, chose to sail to Saarpira, the Pirate Isle.

While some adults appeared upset by that choice, Griff and the other children—the boys especially—found it quite grand. Until they saw their new home.

The stories used to depict pirates as living in lavish luxury amidst their stolen goods. The reality? A few lopsided shacks huddled near a dock that listed at an angle. The population consisted of two dozen scruffy men and a handful of haggard-looking women.

Griff well remembered that first meeting of the pirates and the displaced Verlorians. Jackson, the captain of their ship, faced off against a man with blackened stumps for teeth. Griff had not heard the actual heated discussion, but he’d seen thepirates put hands on the hilts of their weapons, which led to the larger group of Verlorians rattling their own armaments.

The outnumbered pirates stepped aside and agreed—less than graciously—to share the isle. An isle with no natural crops. No meat, unless fish counted. The seabirds that nested in the rocks were numerous, but their flesh was too thin to make more than a broth.

Given the dozen Verlorian ships that sailed to the isle over that next week, it soon became evident that the tiny stockpile of goods they’d confiscated from the pirates wouldn’t last. Something had to be done if they were going to support the evacuees.

It should be known: the Verlorians didn’t start out wanting to be pirates. They tried trading at first, but when the coin and goods they could use ran out, they had no choice. It was steal or starve.

While the past few decades had seen Saarpira evolve so that they now did offer some services—sea monster hunting, coastal mapping, assassination, courier—they stuck to their roots and kept up the theft. After all, if those countries had just said yes and allowed them to settle, they would have been citizens paying taxes, contributing. According to Captain Jackson, they made their choice and could live with the consequences.

While some sailed the oceans in search of bounty, those who remained on the isle began to build. They transformed the shanty homes and turned Pirate Bay into a real town that grew large enough to be considered a city. In the last decade they’d even started growing a few crops and began keeping a few small herds, the feat achieved by transporting dirt, seed, and livestock to the island. These additions transformed an unusable section of the isle that used to be just jagged stone.

Saarpira became home.

For some…

Griff never did shake the nostalgia for the country he’d fled, and having Avera bring it up so passionately didn’t help. Standing atop the bridge on the small deck that he often used to keep an eye on his ship, he watched as the little queen disembarked by Simhi’s side. The woman had confused him since their first meeting. She attracted him even as she tested the bounds of his patience.

Earlier he’d found himself seeking Avera out, something he’d not allowed himself to do since they’d found themselves together in bed. She’d asked him her plans, and he’d been at a loss as to what reply, for in truth he still didn’t know. Therefore, he’d lied and told her he planned to ransom her.

Not true, however, how could he explain he’d taken her without actual forethought? He’d been gripped by an impulse he couldn’t explain, although Kreed kept hinting—very strongly—that a part of Griff believed she might be able to do something about Verlora.

Ridiculous. A little queen in exile couldn’t reverse the damage of a volcano. Couldn’t disperse the mists around the continent. Couldn’t, with those tiny hands of hers, stop what killed those who ventured on land.

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