Gryphons Quest (2 page)

Gryph responded as he watched the passing scenery. He tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice and hoped he succeeded.

"But we'll be meeting with her at the ancient stone circle on the hill." Gwyneth turned in the front seat to see Gryph better. "Anyone will be able to see what we're doing under the light of the full moon."

"I promise you, Mother, Shayla knows what she's doing."

The old crone always has, he thought to himself.

***

Gryph stood in pretended reverent silence as Shayla

Gallagher, Sorceress of the Ancients, spoke the words which preceded the meeting. His parents wore the long white robes of their Druid ancestors while he was dressed in a similar robe of brown. Shayla lifted a crystal to the night sky with one hand and threw herbs into a small fire at her feet with the other.

The evening breeze lifted the older woman's long, silver hair from her shoulders. While still beautiful, she looked every bit the wizened, prophetic conjuror she wanted others to revere. But Gryph was past the point of respecting her.

Her wiles had worked on him as a boy, and the small tasks she'd given him seemed important yet simple. The tasks and their importance had grown, however. And he wasn't a boy to be tricked any longer. He knew the older woman for what

she was, a user.

Gryph pulled his hood up as his long dark hair began to drift about his own shoulders. In customary fashion, he had braided long strands of it next to his face. Celtic symbols were painted on his forehead and cheekbones in a shade of garish, blue woad as ceremony demanded. They matched the Celtic knots which had been tattooed at childhood on his biceps and inner thighs, marks of his position as a warrior.

Finally, Shayla turned to Gryph with a smile on her face. He walked forward, and more for the benefit of his parents, kissed her outstretched hands. She gave him a disparaging look, and he knew she wasn't fooled.

"Gryphon, I was told you received my message two days ago. I trust you have a plausible excuse for your delay?"

"There's no excuse except I simply couldn't get here any faster." He just wanted her to get on with it.

"I couldn't have made myself more clear. Circumstances here are very serious," she replied with condemnation.

"Sorry, Shayla. I wasn't able to file a flight plan with the local authorities. I got here as soon as I safely could."

"That had better not be sarcasm, young man. I don't tolerate it well," she warned.

Gwyneth placed a hand on Gryph's arm. "Please, Gryphon, don't make her angrier. This isn't the time."

Gryph heaved a sigh, glanced at his father's reproachful countenance and decided his exhibition of disrespect could wait until another time. A time when he and Shayla were alone, and he didn't have to guard his words for his parents' sake. "Just tell me what you want me to do, Sorceress."

She raised her eyebrows imperiously and shot Gryphon a look that would have sent less bold men into hiding. For now, their personal battle could wait. She took a deep breath to quell her anger, then proceeded.

"Several weeks ago, friends from the North sent word that an ancient burial mound had been desecrated."

"You want me to find out who did it?" Gryph asked.

"We know who it was. What we didn't know, until quite recently, is what was taken." She walked toward the largest of the stones in the circle. "Along with ancient jewelry and weapons, three stones were taken. While it was criminal enough that the personal items were stolen, the stones are the most serious of the missing objects."

Gryph's eyes narrowed. "Why? What's their meaning?"

"The stones are old. They are so ancient, at one time these stones were referred to as having Ogham markings. They date to the time before the Romans came. They were buried with the remains of an ancient Celtic family who were sworn to protect them at all costs. Their power is unspeakable. Should they fall into the wrong hands and their original use be discovered, horrors will walk the Earth." She paced back and forth in front of the fire. "Unless we undo what's been done, the entire Order is in danger."

Gryph felt his skin grow cold. For the first time in his life, he saw Shayla show signs of fear. He'd never seen her in a state of agitation. She never paced, never clutched at the crystal she used to call forth her spirit guides, and he'd never ever heard her voice shake as it was now. This wasn't the normal assignment. Now he had second thoughts about delaying his response to the Sorceress' summons.

Behind him, he heard his parents' gasps.

"Shayla, what were these stones?" James asked as he walked forward and stood beside Gryph.

"Marks of the oldest of our Druid kind were chiseled into them," Shayla answered. "These were the marks of making, of shape shifting."

"By all that's sacred. No!" James whispered. "The Rune Stones of the Tuatha De Danann."

Gwyneth grasped her husband's hand in fear, the blood pumping through her veins visible in her flushed features.

Seeing his parents' response, Gryph looked at Shayla. "Explain," he demanded. "I know of the old ways and have studied ritual objects, but I've never heard of these stones."

"That isn't surprising, as they were kept very secret. The name your father has given them is what they are now called. Their magic may have been derived from wisdom within ancient Ogham writings. The Tuatha used these writings to embed powers into the rune stones. Anyone who deciphers the stones for honest intent will be able to move about in a form reflecting their true soul. However, those seeking to use the stones for evil intent will take on the form of something monstrous," Shayla told him. "Your job, Gryphon, is to retrieve the stones before that can happen. Only you, with your special power, can bring back the stones. They must be hidden away, once and for all, where no human can find them. No single being was meant to have that kind of power."

And yet, that burden has been inflicted upon me, Gryph thought, feeling old bitterness in his heart. His powers were something that, given the choice, he'd never have accepted.

As if she knew his thoughts, Shayla looked him straight in the eyes. "Your soul, however embittered it may be, is clean and unfettered, Gryphon O'Connor. Your ability to shape shift came from the mistake your parents made with a minor enchantment. Can you imagine that power being magnified one-hundred fold and being used by someone whose nature is corrupt?"

"The stones are really that powerful?" Gryph asked, turning to look into the distance, his eyes attempting to pierce the darkness.

"Yes, and they must be returned here as soon as possible," Shayla warned.

"You said you knew who took them?"

"Yes, Gryphon, and I know where you should begin looking. But be warned. It won't be easy to retrieve them. You may have to break the outsider's law in order to do so Even so, since this task is more than I've ever asked of you, I'll make sure the reward for recovering the objects is great."

"I want no reward. Just a promise, Shayla. Since I'm fairly sure you know what I want, and since I feel reasonably sure you'll grant it, I'll find the stones and bring them back." In return, he wanted no more asked of him. That was the only request he'd make. "Where do I have to go?"

Gwyneth ran forward. "He's my only son, Shayla. The power he might face is too great to confront alone. This must be the most dangerous thing you've ever asked of him."

"Then you and James may follow him. While you're Druids and not warrior class, he'll need some sort of backup. If he should fail, then the task will become yours to complete."

"Absolutely not." Gryphon swiped his hand in immediate dismissal of this new turn of events. "I refuse to have them responsible for an assignment meant for me. You said it yourself, they're not warriors, I am"

"Then I suggest you start acting like one," Shayla proclaimed in a loud voice.

"If this is so critical, what will you be doing?" Gryphon placed his hands on his hips and looked down at the older woman. "Shouldn't the person with the most power be present to help bring back the stones?"

"Gryphon\ I didn't raise my son to be so disrespectful to the Sorceress of the Ancients." James placed a hand on his son's forearm and forced him to turn and look at him.

"It's all right, James," the Sorceress placated. "Your son should know that if his and your attempts to bring back the stones are unsuccessful, I'll be doing what I can here to save the rest of the Order."

Gryph turned away from his father to look at her. The woman wasn't exaggerating. There was a solemnity in her voice, a look of urgency on her face. "I'll bring the bloody things back."

"You'd better, or the rest of the world will learn of us. And while you take exception to me and my methods, Gryphon, surely the others shouldn't be endangered because of our differences. Surely you don't blame everyone for the way some treat you?"

Gryphon glanced at his parents, unwilling to have the Sorceress continue the conversation while they were within earshot. He didn't want his parents to feel guilty over the way others behaved toward him.

What the O'Connors had done couldn't be altered. He lowered his voice. "I've promised to do as you've asked. We'll talk about our differences, and the way anyone else behaves, later."

Undaunted, the Sorceress continued, "Surely the children aren't to blame for how you and the others feel toward one another? You don't want harm coming to them, do you?"

"Of course not," Gryphon snapped back. The woman knew his weakest point and wasn't above exploiting it. "I've told you I'll go. What else do you want?"

"Damn you, Gryphon. I want your heart in the task. It could mean the difference between success and failure." She looked at Gryphon, then James and Gwyneth. "You all play this silly little charade where Gryphon pretends no one cares what he is. I can't make people like or accept you, Gryphon. Only you can do that. And I can't keep your parents from feeling guilt. Only they can deal with those feelings. What I can do is protect the Order. And this I'll do at all costs. Our children have the right to grow up in safety.

To that end I've given you a task to perform. It'll take everything you have to pull this off. Without your full cooperation and willingness...well, there's nothing left to do but see to the safety of the others. But try to think of them, Gryph. While some have shunned you, others have tried to help. You won't see it because you're so wrapped up in self pity. I could almost hate you except I haven't time for the distraction. Alternate plans need to be made in case you fail. In your current state, I can easily see that happening."

Gryphon watched her stalk off. Anger not withstanding, the Sorceress had never spoken to him so bluntly. Part of him wanted to run after her as he had when he was a boy and she'd been displeased with some small thing he'd neglected. He wanted her to care about him. Not just what he could do for her. He felt empty, then shame crept in. He had to lay his personal problems aside and do his best. While he wasn't exactly as popular as he might have liked, he had no business endangering anyone because of his attitude. Especially since the Sorceress seemed so certain only he could carry out this assignment.

He sighed and turned to his parents. Gwyneth's eyes shimmered with tears. James' head was bowed as if he were deep in thought.

"I have to gather some things for the trip. Ask the Sorceress if she'll meet me back here in one hour."

His head went up. "I won't let anyone down. But I'll need to know everything. Where to go, what she wants done. Tell her...just tell her I'll do it only for the children. She owes me nothing." He walked away and hoped the message would be taken as an apology for his behavior. If he couldn't come out and say it, he'd let his actions speak for him.

***

Two hours later, Shayla, James and Gwyneth looked into the night sky. They saw the clear, menacing outline of an ancient being against the pale reflection of the moon. They heard the unearthly cry of a beast of legend. He was the only one of his kind. Gwyneth turned to her husband and buried her head into his chest. James held her as she cried. Because of their foolishness, their only son would be forever alone.

TWO

"Jeez, Heather, you work far too hard." Niall Alexander complained to the young woman walking slowly beside him. "We're hardly ever alone anymore."

Heather sighed in frustration. His attention was beginning to interfere with her work. "I know, Niall. But if I'm ever going to be allowed to do my own research, the way you and Professor McPherson are, then I have to prove I'm worth the grant money." She brushed a falling leaf from her hair. "Besides, I love what I do."

"That's your father's influence. There wasn't a better archeologist in the field of Celtic studies than he was. Still, I want more time with you," he remarked, his posture slumping as it often did when she denied him something. Her gracefully slim, five-foot-six inch frame made other men stare when she walked by and her clear, silver-blue gaze even had the old security guard straightening his tie. Niall made it known she was having a relationship with him, and that it was strictly hands off where she was concerned.

Heather turned to look up into Niall's green eyes. "If you're so worried about having more time together, why don't you give up some of your research?"

When Niall ran a slender hand through his blond hair and looked at her like she was crazy, Heather knew that, like always, she would be doing most of the giving in their relationship. Niall wasn't at all receptive to giving up any part of his career in acquisitions to have more time with her. No. The guy definitely wasn't the knight-in-shining-armor type she'd always wanted to find. No hero material there.

But maybe she was judging him too hard. Nobody could ever come up to the image of the hero her imagination conjured.

"What about this weekend? There's a big party at the Professor's house for some of the more prestigious donors. I just received my invitation in the mail. You will be coming with me, won't you?" he pleaded.

"I don't know, Niall. I want to get a look at those new artifacts sent in from Ireland and Scotland. I'm lucky Dr. McPherson is letting me have the first shot at deciphering some of the find."

Niall wrapped his arms around her waist, keeping her from walking across the parking lot to her car.

"You're much too beautiful to have your head buried in ancient history all weekend. Come on, babe, go to the party with me."

"We'll see," Heather sighed with resignation. Niall would never take her love for her work seriously. It was that way with most of the men who worked with her. Not many of them looked beyond what they saw on the outside. She suspected that had she been born plain none of them would even notice her at all. Niall was right about one thing. Her love for the antiquities she studied was deeply instilled by her father's work. She'd grown up around Celtic objects. Not the least important of which was her Irish mother. She smiled to herself as fond memories invaded her thoughts. The stories the woman told her gave her a deep sense of belonging when she handled particular artifacts. It was like stepping into another world of magic, myth and mystery. Something she deeply wanted others to feel.

"That's my girl. I'll call later about when I'll pick you up." Niall kissed her soundly then turned and walked away.

Heather mentally shook herself back into the present. She hadn't been listening to a word Niall had said. Sometimes she really just wished he would shut-up all together. He was a brilliant technician where artifacts were concerned, but her thrill at having a man with his academic reputation pay her attention was wearing thin. Occasionally, however, he'd turn on his brain, act like a regular co-worker and allow her some leeway in dealing with the categorizing of the Professor's finds. Niall could be exasperating and remarkably astute all within the space of a few minutes. So...he wasn't Mr. Perfect. Was there any man who was? At least he loved the artifacts as much as she.

From her mother's stories, she'd conjured an image of a hero like Culchulainn, The Hound of Culann, warrior of Ulster. She'd dreamed, in her romantic school-girl days, of meeting a man with that kind of magnetism. That kind of machismo. She laughed to herself. Being a little older and wiser had definitely dulled that particular image. There were no heroes. Just regular men with regular needs and flaws. Even some of her beloved artifacts sometimes had chips. That didn't make them less valued. Just more realistic.

"Hi, Ned." She waved when she saw the museum's nighttime security guard approach. The older man shuffled slowly down the steps toward her. His balding head was covered with a baseball cap and had the word Security inscribed on it in gold letters. His body was stooped, and the hand he offered to her was wrinkled and gnarled with age.

"Evening, Miss Green. Was that your young man?" Ned squinted his eyes when he got near the lights from the parking lot.

"That was Niall," Heather responded, reluctant to have him or anyone else refer to Niall as her "young man."

"Well, if you don't mind my saying so, I'm kind of glad he's gone."

"Why is that?" she asked in surprise.

"Well, it isn't often an old coot like me gets to walk a pretty girl to her car. I'd hate to think that young buck took my place. This is my favorite part of the job."

Heather laughed. "No one could take your place, Ned." She looped her arm through his. "And how many years have we known each other that you still call me Miss Green?"

"Well, we can't have rumors starting, can we? You know what a gossip den this place is. I wouldn't want anyone knowing we've been meeting like this." He winked. "We have our reputations to think of.

No, I'll just settle for the formality of Miss Green. That's about all my old heart can handle."

Heather smiled brightly at his humor and pulled her jacket more tightly around her to shut out the night chill. Ned Williamson had been her close friend since the day they had first met over five years before.

Most people didn't pay any attention to the old security guard, but that was their loss as far as she was concerned. He was a dear, gentle soul. "Well, we'll have to be careful about these clandestine meetings,"

she joked. "As you say, someone might start an ugly rumor."

"Anybody ever says anything bad about you, and they'll answer straight to me." Ned patted her arm in a fatherly fashion.

"Thanks, Ned. It's nice to know I have such a loyal friend."

"Well, I'll see you in the morning." He stopped as she reached into her jacket for her car keys.

"Good. I'll be in early. I'm anxious to get into those crates Professor McPherson had sent from overseas."

"You work too hard. You should be out more enjoying life. Believe me, you're only young once."

"Well, what can I do? I can't stay away from you, Ned. Seeing you every night and then again in the mornings makes my day."

Ned laughed, then turned more serious as he opened her car door for her. "You know, Miss Green, not many people here would give me the time of day. We joke and all that, but I think you're one of the nicest people who's ever come to work here. If that young man doesn't know what he's got, he's a fool."

Heather felt tears sting her eyes. "Thank you. That means a lot to me. Not many people have a good friend like you." She gave him a friendly hug. "Good night and stay warm."

"Good night, Heather," he said, finally dropping the formality. "Drive safely."

Ned stood and watched her drive away. He was turning to continue on his rounds outside the museum when a strange sound from the upper floors caught his attention. He walked inside the main exhibit room, up two flights of stairs, and into the hallway leading to the shipping and receiving room. Crates of all kinds of new artifacts had been placed in the musty, cavernous room according to their country of origin. Ned stopped, but didn't hear anything. The room was dark toward the far end. He walked to the circuit box to turn on the ceiling lights for that area. Suddenly, he was blinded by a bright green light. He covered his face with his hands until his eyes could adjust. When he was finally able to focus, he stared in horror.

"My God...what in the name of...sweet Jesus! No... No... don't... Nooooo!”

***

Heather got up early the next morning. She wanted to beat Niall at having a look at the newest artifacts from Professor McPherson's latest trip. Of all the things she unpacked first, those from Ireland and Scotland always took precedence. She was like a kid in the candy store when it came to any Celtic objects. Getting her hands on them before some of the other technicians arrived was her priority. Turning into the parking lot, she was shocked to find police cars parked everywhere. People were standing about on the museum lawn, pointing toward the main building. She quickly exited her car and walked toward the nearest police officer.

"Excuse me," she spoke above the din of radio transmissions, "can you tell me what's happened?"

A young officer turned to her. "Do you have some business inside, Miss?"

"Yes, I work in the research and acquisitions department. What's happened?"

"I'm sorry, Miss, but we're not letting anyone inside just yet. We're investigating a homicide."

"A what?" she gasped.

"Heather," Niall called.

She turned to see Niall and Angus McPherson walking toward her.

"Niall, Dr. McPherson, what's happened?" She watched as the Professor bent his graying head and his usually tall shoulders drooped. Niall stood tall and faced her. His boyishly attractive face was uncharacteristically serious.

Niall spoke softly. "There's no easy way to say this except to just spit it out. Ned Williamson was murdered."

Heather stared at both of them. McPherson's gaze never left the ground. "But I just saw him last night.

He walked me to my car like he always does. He was fine when I left. Why would anyone...I mean, he wouldn't have harmed a living soul. Why would someone want to hurt him? That doesn't make any sense.

Why!" Heather's voice broke, and she began to cry.

Niall pulled her into his embrace while Professor McPherson stared into the distance in disbelief.

A stocky, brown-haired man in a dark business suit approached them. "Excuse me, Miss, did I overhear you correctly? Did you see the security guard last night?"

"Yes," Heather sobbed.

"I'm Detective Dayton with The New York City Police Department's Homicide Division," he addressed her as he pulled out a badge and I.D. card. "I'll have to ask you some questions if you don't mind."

"She's far too upset to talk to anyone right now," Niall responded.

"It's all right, Niall. I want to help if I can." Heather pushed herself away from Niall's embrace.

"I take it you were a close friend of the deceased?" the officer asked.

"Yes, I was. And his name was Ned Williamson." Heather spoke harshly through her tears. Ned wasn't just a lifeless body, a deceased. He was a human being.

"Could you tell us when you last saw him?"

"I left late last night. Ned walked me to my car. It was about 9:30."

"Did you notice anything unusual or hear any strange noises before you left the building?"

"No. Everything was like it always was. Ned walked me to my car, which was parked right over there." Heather pointed toward a large oak tree. "He stood right there and said good night and told me he'd see me in the..." Heather's voice trailed away.

"If I can get your name, address and phone number, we'll contact you when you're more able to talk.

We might need to get a statement from you." Dayton proceeded to write down the requisite information Heather gave, then continued. "Right now, I'll be working inside the building. Sorry about the inconvenience, but it's necessary if we're going to find out what happened last night. Let me know later if there's anything valuable missing. As yet, we don't have a motive for his death."

"We'll be in touch if anything's missing," Niall responded for Heather.

Heather would have normally resented Niall's answering for her. But all she could think of was the friend she had lost. Why should such a thing happen to a kindly old man who had never hurt anyone?

***

Three days later, Niall and Heather were unpacking crates when he paused, looked up and caught sight of Heather's face. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she seemed unusually distracted.

"Honey, if you don't mind my saying so, you look like hell. Haven't you been sleeping well?"

"No," was all Heather could say. She looked around at the musty boxes she'd spent all morning unpacking. Excelsior and foam packing material lay everywhere, and a faint odor of peat and earth pervaded the shipping and receiving room. The fluorescent lighting in her work area made the Celtic artifacts look hideously grey. Just like her mood.

"It was a good thing Professor McPherson asked the Board of Directors to close the museum for a few days. Our new Celtic exhibit will be opening soon, and the publicity from this murder won't sit well with our investors and the Board of Directors." Niall idly picked up a small Celtic cross which had been chiseled from marble.

Heather audibly gasped. "Is that all you can think about? A man is dead."

"Darling, I'm well aware of that," Niall spoke to her as if she were stupid. "But there's nothing anyone can do about the murder. The man is dead and life has to go on. Williamson would have wanted it that way. He loved working at the museum and wouldn't have wanted to see our work hindered." He patted her arm in a condescending manner. "By closing for a few days, the police have more time to investigate the crime scene, and we have more time to defuse the situation with the people who make our work possible. Remember, without the big bucks, none of us does any research nor do we acquire any new artifacts."

"You know, Niall, sometimes you can be the biggest ass!" Heather declared.

"I'm going to ignore that in light of your emotional condition over Williamson's death. You'll see reason soon enough when you get back into your research."

"Ned. His name was Ned!" Heather insisted. "And where were the people with the big bucks when the coroner released his body for the funeral? Ned worked here for years. Did they even send flowers or contact the family?"