Mercy and Monsters - Chapter 10
“I imagine that fellow’s a long way from home,” the brother said. “Probably came from some far-off island somewhere.”
“Bear in mind, Sancho, that one man is no more than another, unless he does more than another; all these tempests that fall upon us are signs that fair weather is coming shortly, and that things will go well with us, for it is impossible for good or evil to last for ever; and hence it follows that the evil having lasted long, the good must be now nigh at hand; so thou must not distress thyself at the misfortunes which happen to me, since thou hast no share in them.”
-Don Quixote
“Oy! You little slut! Didn’t I tell you to clean this hours ago?”
“Yes ma’am,” Mija mumbled, and let her mistress’ lecture wash over her. It was best in these situations to simply agree and do as she was told. She had of course cleaned the pots and pans adequately, but the mistress of the house was always looking for an excuse to berate her.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” the mistress slapped Mija across the face, and slowly Mija raised her eyes until they met the woman’s. When the mistress matched her own eyes with the empty, lifeless gaze of Mija’s, she momentarily flinched. But in an instant she had regained her composure, and after mumbling something about her being more dutiful in the future, she quietly excused herself. Mija returned to her task at once.
Death had not come for Mija, that night when she had fallen into the river. Instead she had washed up to shore, alive and well. And by another of Yehovah’s cruel pranks, the group that had found her had not been soldiers or bandits, but slavers, journeying to the coast to ply their wares. They had taken Mija at once, seeing no reason to pass up such easy stock, and she had followed them, seeing no reason to resist. At the market she had been sold, and taken into the home of a house by the sea. There the fishermen of the village braved the mist and fog to bring food back to their families. And the women at home were always in need of extra hands, hence Mija’s purchase. Of course, that did not stop Mija’s new mistress from taking any slight or frustration out on her. The mistress hated the Ibers, ever since the loss of her brother in the war, and she looked for any excuse to let that hatred loose. The irony did not escape Mija.
News in that village was scarce. They were in the hinterlands of their caliphate, after all. However, such events as major as the conflict in Ibery were important enough to reach even a village as small as theirs. It was through these flashes of news that Mija learned of the executions of the Emirs Ben Farānsheskū and Gran Gordo. When the bellman cried out the news of the two lords having conspired to overthrow the caliph and take Andalus for themselves, the gossiping women of the village clucked and cackled, saying that they had known something was suspicious about that whole invasion business from the beginning. Only Mija could tell there was something deeper to the whole ordeal. No doubt the war had alerted the caliph to Fransĩs’ treacherous ways. And Gran Gordo’s status as a traitor and accomplice had surely won him no new allies. Mija was sure that Caliph al-Jabbar was already appointing a new governor for the territory he had recently acquired, and closing the conflict as succinctly as possible. The war would soon end, the borders be redrawn, and that would be that. Everyone would move on with their lives, and it would be like Zarzuela, like Mija, had never existed.
That was when Mija realized she really was dead, at least in all the ways that counted. Her house was no more, her family was gone, even her name, her true, Yeshuan name, she had not divulged to her masters. She was no-one, nothing, and just as she had learned to live without her family, so too would the world learn to live without her.
For the first few years an occasional sporadic hope popped up in her heart, but it never came to fruition. The soil where she existed now was salty and barren. Every day she could taste the briny salt that wafted in with the misty morning, and every time she saw the arid, sandy coast, she knew no plant could grow in that land. There would be no knights in shining armor to take her away. Even if there had been, wouldn’t they simply die like that brave Moorish soldier? And as for Queen Calafia, Aminatu’s lessons were useless here. Every day as Mija grew older and lovelier this only made her mistress angrier, and any attempts at flattery or cajoling would only earn the mistress’ wrath. There was simply nothing to be done.
Day in and day out, Mija washed, cooked, cleaned, and served as best she could. But there was only so much a walking corpse could manage. Even when guests came to the house, and the mistress was forced to be polite and compassionate around her friends, they all marveled warily at the seeming lifelessness of the slave. On occasion the mistress would try to persuade the master to take Mija out and sell her, to replace her with a newer, better slave. But the master would hear nothing of it. He had paid good money for Mija, and he wasn’t about to let anyone else have her after he had noticed her amongst all the other stock. The mistress had known of course, as soon as her husband had returned with Mija on the day of her purchase. And still it made her blood boil with rage. Mija knew too, but at that point she hardly even cared. She no longer cared about much of anything.
Because of this, when the master’s brother came one day, and approached him with a proposition, Mija hardly paid any attention, even as the conversation drifted towards her. Eventually though, the staring and pointing became so great that even she began to notice, and she listened to what they had to say.
“I don’t care, I am not going to let you take my property all so you can go on some wild goose chase,” the master growled.
“Brother dear, listen to me,” the brother entreated. “I’m telling you now my trap signals went off! I can bring you over and show it to you myself.”
“I don’t doubt that your traps caught something,” the master said. “I just don’t believe that something was a roc, given the fact that they’re extinct and everything.”
“They’re not extinct,” the brother hissed. “I know they’re still out there. The magic of the world may be fading, but it hasn’t completely died. There are still many great and terrible things out there, waiting to be found.”
At that Mija’s heart laughed bitterly. The master’s brother was obviously an old man, with a whitened beard and wizened hands. And yet to see the way his eyes twinkled as he went on about rocs and magical birds, he seemed as young as Mija had been, when Raul had first read her the story of Queen Calafia. She had really believed that such a woman, such a story, could exist in real life. How stupid she had been. She was far younger than this blabbering old man before her, and yet even she was wise enough to know how foolish and pathetic his mission was. Rocs were extinct. Everyone knew that. There was little point in looking for something that had died out long ago.
Still, the brother was adamant. “I need an extra pair of hands to help me sooth the beast as I heal it. Surely you agree a woman would be more suited to such a task.”
“Heal it?” the master scoffed. “You mean you went to all the trouble of catching it and you’re just going to let it go?”
“Of course!” the brother seemed offended by the question. “Such a beast as magnificent as a roc deserves to live unmolested. I only dream to pluck a single feather from its wings, to keep and treasure forever.”
“You’re crazy,” the master snorted. “Always have been, always will be.”
“Yes, perhaps you’re right,” the brother said. “But look at me. I’m an old man. I’m not much long for this world. Please, won’t you grant this madman one last request?”
The master stared at his brother for a long time, then at Mija for an even longer time. Finally, with a grunt and a snarl, he assented.
“I want her returned without a scratch on her,” the master said. “You understand? Any damages will come out of your head.”
“Of course, brother dear!” the brother bowed politely. “Of course!”
It was so strange a turn of events, it took a while for Mija’s brain to register what had just occurred. Once it had though, she could not even manage to be surprised. She knew what they would find in the trap; some eagle or hawk or other, mortal creature. It would be nice to be out of her master’s house for a few days, but in the end, Mija knew that was all it would be. This would be a brief respite from her daily routine, and a chance to escape her mistress’ stern hand and master’s wandering eye. Nothing more, and nothing less.
The wagon ride was uneventful. As they rode into the mountains, where the brother had said his trap had been laid, the old man tried his best to engage in pleasant conversation with Mija, but she always met his kindly questions with noncommittal grunts and shrugs. After a while, the brother simply gave up, though he would on occasion glance worriedly at the girl’s face, always staring blankly and dully ahead. Mija simply could not see the point in talking. What was she supposed to say? That she was enjoying herself? That she enjoyed her life? That everything was going to be okay and she simply had to keep her spirits up? Even if she were to obtain her freedom, there was nowhere for her to go, no-one to shelter her or be her friend, nothing for her in this life. She had given up on her dreams long ago. The only thing left to do was exist, until her body failed and the rest of her died. Only then could she possibly be reunited with her family, and the thought of taking matters into her own hands had certainly crossed her mind more than once. Really, had it not been for the religious teachings she still clung to despite everything, she would have taken that course of action long ago. But somehow, Yehovah demanded she still be alive, and even if He was cruel and lived to make her suffer, she believed enough to not end it all, even as the rocky crags danced so seductively around her. It would be no trouble at all to leap from the wagon and plummet to the bottom. Really, no trouble at all. So why didn’t she do it? It was right there, a prime opportunity for her to take. It was not like the kitchen knives that the mistress kept so closely guarded or the sea that the mistress barred her from entering. It was there, free and ready for her to leap into. So why not do it? Why not do it?! She could easily do it so why not do it!?!
He’ll get in trouble if you do. The words passed almost unnoticed in her mind. But as she chanced a glance at the elderly brother’s face, she repeated the words again. He’ll get in trouble if you do, and he seems like a nice enough person. Yes, Mija assented, it would be a shame to get the old man into trouble. Better to wait until they returned. Even with the mistress keeping a close eye on her, she could find a way. She could find a way without implicating the old man. Until then, she would keep to the task assigned to her.
Mija noticed that they were following a strange vine of some kind, and wondered what it could be doing, growing in a mountain. When she asked as much, in a quiet, almost whispering, voice, the brother lit up with joy.
“Ah, yes! This is a wire, you see, not a vine,” he said excitedly. “It’s connected to the trap I laid for my roc, and the charms I put in place will alert the control panel I have set up at home, should anything get caught.”
Mija grunted in acknowledgement, though she did not entirely understand, and the brother pressed the matter no further. Eventually, the wagon reached a point where the road ended, and the old man hitched his mule to a post that Mija suspected he had set up at an earlier date. Taking some rope and a pair of backpacks from his wagon, the brother gave one pack to Mija, and after putting on the other himself, he lassoed the rope onto a rock above them.
“That little alcove there is where I put the trap,” the old man motioned to indicate the indentation, the border of which the rock comprised. “We climb over the rock, we get in. You understand?”
Mija nodded, though she noticed that there was no sound coming from the rocky alcove’s interior. That meant one of two things. Either the trap had caught nothing at all, or what had been caught was now dead. Mija also noticed that mist was starting to form in the mountain air.
“Blast,” the brother muttered. “We’d best hurry before the mist gets too thick. Come on, hop to it.”
Mija took hold of the rope and began to climb. The incline was soft enough that the rope was not strictly essential. But as she looked back and saw the old man slowly inching his way across ground she had covered in half the time, she saw its necessity.
Suddenly, before Mija could do anything, the old man slipped on a stray rock, and fell to his knees. Mija went over to the man, but as soon as she reached him, she could see he had injured his hip.
“No! No, I’m fine, I’m fine!” the brother hissed. “I… oh blast! Here.” He reached into his backpack and handed a vial of liquid to Mija. “This is to heal the old roc, you understand?”
Mija nodded, and popped open the lid, preparing to give its contents to the injured man.
“No!” the brother gasped. “No, that creature needs it far more than me right now. I can hold out until we return home. There are plenty of potions for me there. This is my fault, I should have- Blast it all! I… I should have remembered to pack more.”
Mija saw the look of sheer hopelessness on the old man’s face, knowing he was so close to his dream, but unable to take hold of it. It was heartbreaking, and for the first time in a long time, Mija’s heart began to stir. Even though she knew it was a fool’s errand, and there was nothing alive in that alcove, she could not help but pity the old man.
“Heal it for me, please,” the old man pleaded. “And… if you can, just a single feather. That’s all I wish to have. Just one feather from a mighty roc’s wings.”
Mija nodded tentatively, not sure what else to do. It felt almost cruel now, dashing the man’s hopes with the stark reality. Perhaps though something dead lay within the trap, and she could pass off one of its feathers as a roc’s. Mija hoped the old man would not notice the difference.
Climbing back up the mountainside, the mist began to thicken around Mija, and had it not been for the rope, she might have lost her footing. Eventually though, she managed to find the alcove, and climb down inside to peer through her foggy surroundings.
A strange noise emanated around Mija, obviously avian, yet alien to her. She could not trace its origins, but it was only after two massive, yellow eyes appeared that Mija’s curiosity turned to fear. With a fearsome squawk, the eyes moved toward her, and Mija cowered in terror, before the eyes suddenly jerked back and fell to the ground.
That was right, Mija stared dumbly at the eyes, now whimpering pitifully. The beast was in a trap of some kind. Reaching into her pack, Mija pulled out the healing potion, and moved tentatively towards where she assumed the bird’s feet lay. At last, after wading through the mist, Mija stumbled upon the wire to the trap, and following it she reached a tangle of metallic cords. Evidently this was the trap, and as Mija noticed the absence of blood, she saw that the trap had entangled rather than latched onto its prey. If that was the case, Mija glanced around to see if there was some sort of sensor or place to signal the trap’s release. There! Mija placed her hand over the marking, and the cords began to unravel and return to the inside of the trap, while the beast’s talons, now atrophied, slowly began to return to life.
Mija was so proud over having accomplished her task that it was not until she had pulled out the healing potion, and moved towards the talons, that she noticed they numbered four and not two, as expected of a roc. Four? Mija furrowed her brow, before her eyes widened in shock as the avian creature stood tentatively up again, and moved close enough to her that she could see its true identity.
Its feathers were a brilliant shade of green, the sort of color a tropical animal would have. And its talons, the front two being eagles’ and the back two being lions’, were just as fearsome as Mija had read about in stories. But even as it stared into her eyes, its beak and tufts being exactly as she had imagined them to be, Mija still could not believe the sight before her. It was a griffin, just as real and tangible as anything else in the world, and Mija felt her knees go weak as she gazed up at the fearsome creature.
“Caw,” the griffin sniffed at the vial Mija still clutched in her hand.
“Oh!” Mija gasped, barely more than a squeak now. “I-”
The griffin shook its head. Such medicines were uncalled for. Already vigor had begun to return to the creature’s limbs, and it gave an enthusiastic squawk to prove its health.
“Oh, then… uh… I…” Mija’s voice took longer to return to full strength, having been suffocated far longer than the griffin’s limbs. Even so, the beast perfectly understood her, and even before she formed her question, it had reached its beak to its shoulder, and plucked out an emerald feather for her to take. Mutely Mija accepted it, and with no further business to attend to, the griffin cawed before returning to the sky.
Mija stared blankly after the griffin’s path, hardly believing the sight she had just witnessed. It had to have been a dream, and yet as she gazed dumbfoundedly at the feather, still clutched in her hand, she knew it had been real.
When she returned to the old man, the mist had begun to clear. He was sitting on the wagon, evidently still in pain. But when he noticed Mija walking numbly towards him, the brother’s face lit up with joy, and he eagerly asked if she had seen the roc.
“It… it…” Mija tried to form the words. He must not have noticed the griffin because of the mist, but how was she to explain to the old man that it had been a griffin and not a roc at all?
Before she broke the news, the griffin reappeared nearby, to land lightly by the wagon, and elate the old man to no end.
“Heavens!” the old man gasped. “A griffin! Well bless my soul.”
“Caw,” the griffin grunted.
“You gave him the potion, didn’t you?” the brother asked concernedly.
“Caw,” the griffin shook its head, and flexed its talons to prove its health.
“Oh, well in that case,” the brother shrugged, before sighing at the creature’s majesty. Taking its neck into his hands and petting the tufts around its ear, the brother sighed, “Ah, truly you are a beauty. I thank Ar-Rahman to have been given the chance to see a creature like you.”
“Caw,” the griffin was glad to be so well-regarded.
“And… the feather…” the old man glanced back at Mija. “Did you…?”
“Y-yes,” Mija held up the feather tentatively.
At that the brother smiled. “Ah, keep it. It’s yours, after all. I can safekeep it for you, if my brother won’t let you have trinkets, but this griffin gave that feather to you. I’ll find my roc someday. Until then, you’re more than welcome to the griffin feather.”
Having had enough of the old man’s petting, the griffin made its way to leave. The sky had fully cleared up now, and Mija saw the griffin fly slowly into the east, where the Océan Guinien lay. Against the vast, emerald océan, the lone griffin appeared a mere dot, but still she kept her eyes locked on it, until finally it disappeared over the horizon.
“I imagine that fellow’s a long way from home,” the brother said. “Probably came from some far-off island somewhere.”
Yes, Mija stared at the feather in her hand. It probably had.