by Jess E. Owen
“Never,” said the queen mare from afield. Her voice imbued the stallions with new vigor. They exchanged glances and murmurs, then split, readying a triad attack. Caj waited, but they did not charge. A silence that sounded strange after all the shouting and drumming settled over the herd, and they all held still. Caj did too. They were prey beasts, their senses heightened. They’d heard or smelled something he hadn’t.
Then, he did.
And he never, in life up to that day, had been more glad to hear the low, long howl of a wolf in the distance.
“Don’t panic,” commanded the queen mare. Her consort left the ring and butted his head against the others, giving them confidence, encouraging them with his powerful height and his strength.
Caj couldn’t think of a single wolf in the Isles who would be stupid enough to charge a herd of horses in search of a meal, when deer were more easily gotten on the Star Isle, and the Vanir offered shares of their fish. Unless the wolf was not there for meat. Unless it had come for some higher purpose, some duty beyond instinct.
Unless Sigrun, in her worry, had sent someone after him.
Caj strained to hear the calls of more wolves, but heard only the one, and his relief soured. One wolf. One wolf against a vengeful herd of warrior horses. He watched though, amazed that they reacted as if it was a giant pack. Eyes rolled. Muscles twitched to flee. The next low howl sent three yearlings thundering away into the blizzard. They caught a scent and more fled, leaving an open space through which the wolf could enter.
And he did, appearing out of the snow and springing through the broken ring lithely as a fox.
His long, almost mocking howl sent another shiver through the herd, though Caj admired the queen mare for standing her ground, then stepping forward.
“This is no affair of yours,” she told the wolf. “Go back to your island.”
“Proud fools,” sang the wolf, a young male.
Caj tried and failed to remember where he’d seen him before, or if he just looked familiar because most wolves looked the same to Caj. His pale, golden coat repelled the snow as he padded up to the queen, who, lock-legged, met his friendly bow with a curt jerk of her head.
“Do you not know the nest-father of Rashard, prince of the Sun Isle?” The wolf stared around the ring. “Do you not know Noble Caj the Just, friend to Vanir, to wolves, nest-father of Shard, the Summer King?”
Don’t overdo it, Caj thought, watching the mare’s dark eyes.
She looked unimpressed. “I know poachers,” she declared. “Murderers, thieves—”
“Harm him,” snarled the wolf in a different tone, “and I will name you an oath breaker.”
Caj’s talons clenched unconsciously against the snow, and probably would always clench at the sound of a wolf growl. But he didn’t interrupt.
The mare shifted, tail whisking uncertainly against her flank. “Of what oath do you speak?”
“Your allegiance to the caribou Aodh of the Sun Isle, your dam’s and her dam’s vows to Aodh’s father, and him, and his sons to always stand where the cloven-hoofed stand when needed, as one herd.”
She tossed her forelock out of her eyes, and the certainty slipped from her voice. “What do you know of our oaths?”
The wolf bared his fangs as if amused, but Caj thought it was not entirely on accident that this put the mare further on edge. “I know everything.”
“I have not heard from Aodh since the Conquering. I know not where he stands.”
“He stands with the Summer King.”
This sent a flurry of disbelief, head-shaking, and hoof-stamping through the herd. “Ask the wind, ask the birds,” said the young wolf, “if you think I have a reason to lie to you. But until you know for sure, I would not kill this warrior. He’s here to help you.”
The mare snorted steam. The blizzard began to wear itself out, and instead of wind, only heavy, fat flakes of snow fell around them. The mare considered Caj, then the wolf, and Caj heard her teeth grinding.
“Very well. You have our leave to stay. But you will hunt no game on this island, and you will leave if it’s clear your Red Scourge is no longer here.”
“I will,” Caj said, mustering as much respect as he was able. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to mollify her. With a piercing whistle, she ordered the herd away.
The grieving mother, lying all that time beside her dead colt, rose unsteadily to her feet.
“I will avenge him,” Caj called to her.
She shook her head hard, tossing snow from her mane, then stared at Caj, her eyes dark and searching. “If you do,” she said, “then count me a friend.”
Caj lowered his head. Thunder beat around him, and when he looked up again, the herd had vanished into the snow, and the young gold wolf was panting in his face, then sniffing along his flank.
“You’re not hurt, I hope? I’m not too late? You look as if you need a meal, and a sleep.”
“No.” Caj ruffled his feathers against the snow, his muscles nearly seizing at the wolf’s proximity. “No, I’m not hurt. Yes, I need a meal…and a sleep. Who are you?”
“Oh.” The wolf closed his mouth and tilted his head, then displayed his teeth. “I am Tocho. Friend to Shard. And to you.”
“I see. And why are you here, alone?”
“Oh,” he said again, and he sounded even younger, and uncertain. “I’ve come to help you?”
Oh, how merry, thought Caj. “It’s too dangerous.”
Tocho was unmoved. His face broadened again into a pant. “I won’t face Sverin. I’ll only help you hunt, or bring you food. I’m fast, so you don’t have to travel so far between your hunts.”
Beyond the danger, Caj could think of no good reason to refuse the help—but he could also think of no good reason Tocho was offering. Time enough to figure that out later. “Fine then. Let’s find shelter until this snow lets up.”
“Already done!” He turned about and padded away. “This way.”
Caj broke into a trot to follow as the curtain of snow swallowed them up with the rest of the island.
~ 9 ~
The Vanhar
DARKNESS CLOAKED THE SHORELINE and the wind rose, driving a chill through Kjorn’s damp feathers and straight to his bones. He remained on the ground, still as he could manage, as Rok and his band hunted well into evening.
“I should break now,” he grumbled to the wolf Mayka.
Mayka slowly laid his ears back, and in the darkening, drizzly gloom, Kjorn could see his lip twitch to reveal the point of one fang. “No. No. We must do nothing at night. Remain still. In the morning. I’ll take the last watch, and wake you as the sky lightens.”
“I trust you,” Kjorn reminded him. “I’ll do what I can to repay you for your help.”
The ears perked again, twin outlines in the dark. “I ask only that you would do the same for me, if needed. When you see Shard, tell him I remember him, and thank him.”
Before Kjorn could respond, they heard gryfon voices in the wind. Mayka rolled up to his feet and chirruped a warning, sounding almost like a gryfon. Fraenir answered him, and Kjorn listened as all three gryfons landed, feathers rustling, murmuring darkly about the storm and the volcanic ash raining farther inland.
A warm hunk of red meat rolled across the ground and struck him in the shoulder.
Kjorn looked up to see Rok. “Thank you.” He sniffed the meat, found it fresh, and ate as Rok lumbered forward to stand over him.
“Don’t say we didn’t treat you well.”
Kjorn paused, swallowing a strip of meat and furtively taking the gryfon’s measure again. He decided he could best the rogue, in a fight. “Say to whom? Those at the Dawn Spire? These new captors you’re taking me to? Those who know my father would have been heir to rule this land?”
Rok shifted, then scoffed. “I know who you are, exile. They masked it with pretty tales of exploration, conquering, and glory, but I know the truth.”
Kjorn’s heart thumped. He scarcely knew the truth hi
mself, but the elders of the Aesir in the Silver Isles told him what they knew, and he could guess it. “You believe Per fled.”
Rok stretched his broad wings, for a moment hiding the stars from Kjorn’s sight. “Per fled with the cursed. And all those who would have served him loyally in this land were left to the usurper.”
Kjorn’s appetite fell away and he bunched his muscles to stand, then remembered he was still supposed to appear bound. He shifted instead, feigning discomfort. “Was your family loyal to my grandfather? Is that why you’re in exile? I can—”
“I’m not in exile!” The rogue’s tail lashed. “I was born free of the Dawn Spire. My father refused to serve the new kings.” He put a sour twist on the word, and Kjorn’s mind soared. If he could play it right, here could be an ally instead of a foe.
“Rok—”
“Stay quiet, Highness. It’s what princes are good at.”
“Your father would’ve served mine.” Kjorn tried one last time. “Will you not make amends, and be my ally?”
Rok’s head tilted in the dark, then he chuckled. “No.”
“Why? What happened to make you so bitter?”
“Eat your food. We’ll arrive at Vanheim in the morning. You’ll want your strength to argue with them, instead.”
He turned, tail flicking across Kjorn’s face before he could say another word. Stifling frustration, Kjorn clenched his talons into the mud, and ate. He would need his strength in the morning, though not for arguing.
“Were you being honest?”
He nearly jumped out of his binds as Fraenir slipped forward. Kjorn hated the dark. “I’m always honest.”
He spoke, hushed, head tilted as if listening for Rok’s return. “He tried to return to the Dawn Spire, a long time ago. They wouldn’t have him. King Orn called his family disloyal, oath breakers, exiles, and never gave him a chance.”
“Ah,” said Kjorn. Then, “You care about him?”
“Of course I do,” he growled. “He’s like my brother. He practically raised me.” At Kjorn’s silence, Fraenir continued. “He’s good, but because of his father’s act, he’s stuck with this life. He could have been a great warrior at the Dawn Spire, honored.”
Kjorn peered forward, trying to see Fraenir’s face, but clouds hid even the stars, and they spoke in blackness. The only other sound was the crash of the sea below. “It’s for all of us, in this life, to either live up to, or to redeem the acts of our fathers.” He inched closer to Fraenir through the mud. “You could talk to him for me.”
A moment of hesitation. “No, I can’t do that. You have nothing. You can’t promise him anything. Even if you really are the grandson of Per, you’re in exile too. You’ve got no pride with you, no warriors, nothing to prove who you are or what you could give him if you succeed.”
“Honor means keeping your oaths, Fraenir, not for gain, but for the sake of your own heart. Loyalty means following those you’ve pledged to, even if they have nothing to offer. He’ll understand it as a matter of honor. Tell him that,” Kjorn urged. “If what you’ve told me is true, tell him, and he’ll understand that.”
From afield, Rok called Fraenir’s name. The younger gryfon drew back a step.
Kjorn tried to keep him close. “Fraenir—”
Fraenir hesitated, watching Kjorn, one ear turning back. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
Wind brought the smell of more rain, and Kjorn braced himself for a long, chilly night.
“Fraenir,” Rok barked again from closer by. “First watch.” He seemed in a black mood, and didn’t bring up any kind of plan to look for shelter. Fraenir edged away a few steps, watching. Perhaps he, or Rok, would have a change of heart, but Kjorn didn’t set store in it. He would be gone by morning anyway.
Even through the cold, wet night, he managed a little sleep, chaotic with dreams of shadowy, fanged beasts and multiple gryfons who all looked like Shard, but spoke with frightening, voiceless howls.
True to his word, Mayka woke Kjorn at the first dull light of morning, when the wolf was on watch. Before moving, Kjorn looked around to get a bearing on the other rogues. Frida and Fraenir huddled, asleep in a tight pile like siblings, and Rok had curled up alone a single leap away.
Mayka nudged Kjorn, assuring him they were fast asleep. Kjorn slithered forward out of the seaweed binds. They fell and flopped away with soft thumps on the ground. Kjorn paused, ears twitching. Fraenir grumbled in his sleep before nuzzling in closer to Frida. Kjorn let his breath out.
The dull light glinted off the delicate golden chain that Rok wore around his neck, though brown feathers hid much of it from sight. Kjorn stared at the chain. Perhaps he could slip it loose, and still creep away without risking a fight against three gryfons. He took a step toward Rok.
“Son of Sverin,” Mayka breathed. “Don’t be foolish.”
Kjorn’s tail twitched, then he turned away. It was only a thing. Only metal. It wasn’t his father. He looked up. Above him, the sky stretched cloudless and dark, still pricked with stars. A rosy gray over the sea marked Tyr’s horizon. For the first time in many days, he opened his wings. Wary of debilitating cramps, he extended them slowly, feeling the long muscles uncoil and warm. He crept away, still stretching his wings so that when he lifted off the draft wouldn’t wake his captors.
“Fly,” Mayka urged, padding up beside him, a soft whine creeping into his words. “Fly!”
“Thank you,” Kjorn said, crouching. “If I ever have a chance to repay you—”
Mayka butted his head against Kjorn and he shoved up, flapping hard in the cool air. He would fly inland. He knew that the Dawn Spire lay inland, and if he flew high he’d either spot it, or be spotted by a patrol. Beyond that, he could only have faith.
Shouts drew his gaze down. Rok had woken. Fraenir and Frida shot into the air like falcons and Kjorn wheeled up high, finding a sliver of warm air to help him.
Fraenir, faster than he appeared, gained air and snagged Kjorn’s tail feathers in his claws. Kjorn tucked down and stooped, his battle cry piercing the morning. Fraenir ducked, yanking free and sending one golden feather fluttering toward the ground.
Rok barreled up toward them, wing beats hard and deep. Frida climbed the sky a leap above Kjorn, surely planning to dive on him.
“I offered you a chance!” Kjorn shouted, banking sharply away as Rok leveled with him, fury in his eyes. “I still offer you redemption and a chance to serve with honor.”
Rok only hissed. Fraenir fell away in deference, and Kjorn, refusing to flee, flared his wings to meet the lanky gryfon’s charge. He had a longer reach than Kjorn, but Kjorn was heavier, better nourished and muscled.
If I’m to prove I’m a prince, let it be here.
He hissed, and thrust his talons out as Rok crashed into him. They locked claws, wings beating at each other, and Kjorn’s muscles thrilled at the challenge. After a long, helpless, restless winter and a solitary flight over an endless ocean, now was battle.
He would show these rogues the line of Kajar.
Rok shoved his weight forward, trying to turn Kjorn upside down. Kjorn obliged, relaxing and falling back, then kicked the big gryfon’s stomach as they toppled wing over tail. He kicked again as Rok gasped and knocked a wing toward the rogue’s head, slicing flight feathers toward his eyes. Rok threw his head back and the strike caught his neck, making him cough. His talons loosened.
They fell fast, Rok’s wings beating Kjorn’s sides as he strained to keep flying. Kjorn yanked on their locked talons to throw Rok off balance, then let go as Rok flared to keep from bowling forward. Kjorn wrenched his talons free, flapped twice and twisted around to land on Rok’s back.
Fraenir and Frida had hung back, wary of impeding their leader, but now the gryfess screeched and shot forward, aiming for Kjorn. He clung, talons dug into Rok’s shoulders as the big gryfon writhed and sank with each wing stroke, unable to bear Kjorn’s weight and unable to throw him.
When Frida was a mere leap from them, Kjorn
rolled off Rok’s side, kicking Rok’s ribs hard to send him toward Frida.
Fraenir dropped toward him and Kjorn managed not to laugh like a maniac. Caj never thought to make us spar three-against-one, mid-air. He’d be proud.
A long warning call broke through their fight. Just as Kjorn whirled to meet Fraenir, voices pierced wind, and a strong scent chased them.
“Halt, trespassers!”
“Halt, poachers!”
“Land and answer for your presence!”
Rok shouted an obscenity. By silent agreement Fraenir and Kjorn turned from their own impending duel to see the newcomers.
Ten gryfons soared at them fast in a precise formation like geese. Just as Kjorn looked at them, the sun broke the edge of the earth and the first rays of light dazzled his eyes. He shook his head hard. Surely bright Tyr had seen him face the first challenge with honor and courage. Kjorn didn’t pretend he could face ten healthy gryfons alone. He glided toward the ground, heart thumping. The voices who’d called to them sounded disciplined, firm, like gryfons who belonged to a pride, not rogues. Kjorn thought that explaining himself would be better than attempting to flee. He would have more success with honorable gryfons than with Rok and his ilk.
The arriving gryfons shouted again at Rok and his company. Fraenir hesitated, and followed Kjorn down. Frida pleaded with Rok, but the rogue shouted challenge and five of the new gryfons broke off to wrestle him down. Kjorn didn’t watch, and was surprised when Frida didn’t attempt to help, but stooped and landed meekly beside Kjorn, as if they all went together.
“We would only get injured,” she said defensively, to answer Kjorn’s curious glance. He looked around as five of the new gryfons landed, reforming into a semi-circle around them. The second half of the group, shoving a bruised and disgruntled Rok up against Fraenir, closed the circle.
Kjorn gazed at the new gryfons. They were not Aesir. The tallest of them stood a head or two shorter than himself, and he watched as they folded their wings, the long, sculpted wings of sea eagles. Their colors ranged from gray to a variety of pale hues, almost white, and soft, dove browns. They weren’t Vanir either, he knew at once, there was something quite different, but a resemblance lingered.