by Jess E. Owen
“I appreciate your honesty,” Kjorn said dryly. Nilsine merely inclined her head. Kjorn considered the fractured land and gryfon clans, and the great enemy that threatened them at night. He wondered, almost idly, what might have happened if Per hadn’t fled, and if this land was his birthright, still.
But he did flee.
The sun was dying, wind and dim purple light washed the First Plains. Kjorn still shuddered instinctively at being out in the open at night. Since he was a kit his father had forbidden flying at night, and now that Kjorn knew there was a great, real enemy in the Winderost which hunted at night, he began to understand why. A cry went up, and Nilsine perked her ears. “They’ve found lions! Come.”
She bounded forward and Kjorn followed at pace. Grass scratched at his face and whipped his eyes until he mastered a rolling lope, his head tilted back above the stems.
Gryfon shouts and lion snarls cracked the evening, and dread swarmed Kjorn’s chest at the sound of a skirmish.
When he saw the combatants, his temper flashed.
“Fraenir!” he shouted, bounding toward the fight. “You fool!”
Nilsine tried to snag Kjorn’s tail to keep him from entering the fray, but he had to. The younger gryfon fought two larger, young male lions and would surely lose. Kjorn took them in with a glance, their size that nearly matched an average gryfon, golden, muscular feline forms and short, bristly dark manes flying in the fight—saw an opening, and slammed into his target, shouting, “We’re here in peace!”
“You’ve broken the borders,” rumbled the young lion Kjorn had knocked to the ground. He whipped to his feet and prowled in a cautious circle as he took in Kjorn’s size, and Kjorn did not pursue. He stood still, wings folded, tense in case the lion leaped again, but didn’t advance. Vanhar surrounded them and the lions drew back. Nilsine’s warriors dragged Fraenir back from his opponent and that lion stalked away, prowling back and forth behind the one who spoke to Kjorn.
“A gross trespass of our agreements with the Vanhar. Or are you poachers?”
“I am no poacher.” Nilsine trotted up next to Kjorn. “You should know me. Nilsine, daughter-of-Nels, of the Vanhar. And by your scent I guess you to be Ajali, brother to Ajia the Swiftest.”
He bared his long yellow fangs. “And this?” His ears flicked forward toward Kjorn. Fraenir limped up behind Kjorn, looking sullen, and Kjorn gave him a brief, sharp look before turning to the lion.
“I am—”
“Kjorn,” said a liquid, female voice from the grass. They all turned, and the male lions made way for six lionesses who rose from the grass. The wind shifted and Kjorn caught their scent at last, and the sight of them was surprising, not the least because of their abrupt appearance.
Like the wolves of the Star Isle, they wore feathers knotted into the fur of their necks. Kjorn took that as a hopeful sign, because the feathers had obviously belonged to gryfons. The leading lioness, long and muscled, had a pale, tawny coat. She inclined her head to Kjorn, and the feathers that ringed her neck stood a little like an eagle’s. It was then he saw that knotted near the base of the display of feathers were also broken talons and tiny bones.
His sense of hope cooled.
“Kjorn,” she repeated, as if familiar. “The long awaited heir of Kajar.” Her golden eyes found Nilsine, in the last dim light of day. “You were right to bring him to us, daughter of the Vanhar. He is the last of three—three who we knew would follow the starfire to our land.”
“Three?” Kjorn asked, mantling belatedly when he saw that Nilsine bowed to the lioness. “Of whom else do you speak?”
“First, a dragon, bearing hope.” Her gleaming eyes searched them all, and Kjorn held his breath. “Second, the Summer King, bearing truth. And you. The third and last.”
And what do I bear? Kjorn wanted to ask, but kept silent for another moment. She seemed to be measuring him, and he stood as still as he could as darkness fell.
“Wise Ajia,” Nilsine murmured. “We come seeking only help. Kjorn has come to find his wingbrother, Shard, of the Silver Isles.”
“We know Rashard, the Summer King.”
Kjorn’s heart quickened and he stepped forward, then when Nilsine made a negative grunt, backed up again respectfully. “You’ve met with him? Is he well? I wish to find him and reconcile. Can you tell me what’s become of him? I would owe you a great debt.”
Ajia tilted her head and Kjorn gave the feathers another furtive glance, searching for any gray, or a talon of pale color. He was relieved not to see any.
“We know him. He met with us, spoke and listened. He listened and spoke with a heart of earth, like a lion, like a true son of Tor. He walked with us to behold the enemy.”
“The enemy,” Kjorn said quietly. “I believe I had a vision of them. Great beasts with wings like storms, all dark, and greedy and violent.”
“Yes, that is their nature. This vision of yours, in it, did you fight them?”
With a sideways glance at Nilsine he said, “I rose victorious from their darkness and chaos.”
Ajia watched him for a long moment as final night enclosed them. Not one other lion spoke or moved, and Kjorn understood that she was a leader among them. Not even between gryfons had he seen such perfect stillness and obedience.
“You have returned, son-of-Sverin, at the height of your strength and power, knowing the truth of your family’s flight from this, your homeland, only to find your wingbrother?”
“That is my intention, yes.” It was a simple question, yet Kjorn felt he was being challenged.
Ajia looked at Nilsine, whose passive expression, as far as Kjorn could tell in the new dark and starlight, did not change.
After another stretch of silence Kjorn could bear the scrutiny no longer. “With all respect, yes. I have no other aims here. You said you’d met with my wingbrother. You know Shard. Do you know what’s become of him?”
Ajia glanced to the lioness beside her, who lowered her head and lay back her ears. Ajia returned her gaze to Kjorn. “We know him, and consider him a friend. But we do not know you. Why should we tell you what we know?”
“Wise Ajia,” Nilsine began, and Kjorn stepped in front of her, knowing it would appear aggressive, but he felt some aggression was needed, some show of strength. Ajia tilted her head back to study him.
Kjorn spoke to her alone. “I am Shard’s closest friend since kithood. We had a falling out. We mistrusted and lied and did poorly by each other, and I hope to find him and make amends.”
As if she hadn’t even heard him, the lioness spoke thoughtfully. “Shard hoped to understand the great enemy that stalks the Winderost, and perhaps help us rid our lands of them. Do you mean to help him with this?”
Taken aback, Kjorn considered his answer, and stood as tall as he was able. With some satisfaction he noticed two of the younger, male lions draw back. “If he wishes for my help, I will do it. If the Winderost wishes my help, I will give it.”
“Bold words. You have never seen the enemy.”
He turned his ears back. “I would face them. I had a vision and was victorious. If Shard wishes to fight them, I will fight and die beside him if needed. I must find him first, of course.” He hoped that was a strong enough hint.
Ajia studied him, then looked at Nilsine, whose expression remained guarded, though she slanted an ear Kjorn’s way, as if surprised by his words.
“Why should we trust your words? You could be an enemy of Shard. He fled a troubled land, seeking truth.”
“Why should I trust you?” Kjorn growled, growing weary of riddles and unanswered questions. “I walked respectfully into your lands and sought you out before searching, hunting—why, scarcely before we even bent the grass with our feet. Tell me, those feathers on your neck, are those signs of friendship, or battles won?”
Ajia tilted her head and Nilsine sucked a sharp breath, but Kjorn stood firm. Starlight sparkled through the haze above, and after a moment, Ajia threw back her head and roared with laughter.
Then she trotted forward, bowing her head so the feathers stood in intimidating display like a mane, though her eyes lifted to remain locked on Kjorn’s.
“Perhaps they are both. Tell me, isn’t winning a difficult friendship sometimes like a battle won?”
Kjorn opened his beak, and when he had no answer, she laughed again and circled away, speaking over her shoulder. “Come, walk with us. You will hunt with us on the next egg moon, and if you do well under the bright eye of Tor, perhaps we will tell you what we know of the Summer King.”
“I don’t have time to—”
“Don’t refuse her,” Nilsine hissed, stepping abreast of him again. “It would be a great insult. You would make an enemy.”
“I thought I already had,” Kjorn muttered, watching Ajia walk away, looking fully confident he would follow.
“Oh no,” Nilsine murmured, as the lions gathered around Ajia and she led a trail through the grass. “An invitation to hunt is a wonderful honor.”
“It sounded more like a test to me.”
“Come,” Nilsine said impatiently. “Don’t risk their good mood by dallying.”
“Good mood?” Kjorn mused. “I would hate to see her in a bad mood.”
Nilsine snapped her beak, and at last Kjorn fell in, following the lions deeper into the grassy plain. Ajia had challenged him. If she considered friendship a battle won, then this was a battle he didn’t intend to lose.
~ 16 ~
Halvden’s Lesson
SHEETS OF SHARP, BLACK, volcanic scree cascaded down the slope toward Halvden, with Caj riding down the largest rock. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to stalk down the hill without upsetting the loose rocks, nor make the long jump for the element of surprise. So in the dimming light he used the slope and the rocks to his advantage.
Flaring his good wing to steer somewhat, Caj relished the look of shock on Halvden’s face before the first rocks struck him, threatening to bury the green warrior under black, razor edges.
Halvden dragged away from the small avalanche and beat his wings hard, trying to escape. Caj judged the distance and leaped, flinging his entire weight against Halvden’s hindquarters and slamming the younger gryfon to the ground.
“You’re dead!” Halvden shrieked, scrabbling away as the wave of rocks skittered toward them.
“No, guess again.” Caj reared up to his hind legs and forced Halvden down, rolling him with hard shoves away from the last of the sliding rocks.
“You’re a ghost!” Halvden loosed a strangled noise, gained his feet and turned tail, kicking up dust and pebbles in Caj’s face with both hind paws.
Caj ducked his head to shield his eyes even as he leaped forward, swiping blindly for Halvden’s hind legs. “No such thing,” he growled.
“Stay back!” Halvden sprang away and whirled, flaring his wings.
Caj crouched, tail whipping.
Slowly Halvden’s eyes narrowed, his expression growing clear as he realized Caj was real, alive, and coming for him. Caj had vowed never to underestimate him again, so before Halvden could gather his thoughts, Caj lunged.
They clashed, fell together, and fought like witless mountain cats, Halvden’s movements powerful, but wild and desperate, Caj’s calculated and cold. He gave no quarter. Every swipe of his talons to Halvden’s flesh and wings felt like redemption for the foolishness of his entire winter. Green feathers littered the black rock.
They whipped around the steaming fissures and across the broken, treacherous ground. When the ground evened out again, Halvden reared to his hind legs and Caj rose to meet him—they locked and yanked each other to the ground. Caj hit first and warm pain coiled up his broken wing as they rolled. He heard the mud casing crack. Halvden wrestled him across the ground, and the mud cast crumbled away with each twist of their bodies.
Growing weary and short of breath from the poor air, Caj knew he had to win the fight soon. Halvden could wear him down first if Caj allowed it. He would not. Halvden had no armor, he was still bewildered, and alone. It was time to end the fight.
Feigning worse pain from his broken wing, Caj broke away, fell back and twisted as if preparing to flee, leaving Halvden a false opening. The young gryfon should have known better. That time, Halvden lunged forward in attempt to knock him over.
Caj whipped about to meet the charge, sat up on his hindquarters, snaked his forelegs around Halvden’s chest, and drove his own shoulders forward against the impact as the big gryfon slammed into him. Halvden snarled, caught, beak snapping, seeking an opening. Caj thrust forward, driving them both up to stand on their hind legs, toppled Halvden off balanced and slammed him backward. Halvden’s back and wings smashed against the ground, and Caj pinned him there, crushing him into the rock. He pressed his talons deep under his green feathers, against the young gryfon’s throat.
For a moment he reveled in Halvden’s realization that he’d lost, in the perfect look of shock and defeat flashing in his eyes.
“Are you going to kill me?”
There was still no humility in Halvden’s voice, no regret, no apology. He pressed harder and Halvden shut his eyes, taking a gurgling breath.
After a moment Caj muttered, “Do you think I want to face Kenna if I kill you?”
Halvden’s eyes snapped open, again bewildered, as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or curse. “Are you mocking me? What do you want from me?”
He knows, Caj realized. He knows he chose poorly and acted foolishly, and that he must pay a price for his choices. But still, like his father, Halvden couldn’t let go of his arrogance.
“Admit you were wrong.”
“No.”
A deep, warning snarl curled in Caj’s throat. “You weasely, mud-covered vulture. Admit you were wrong!”
“No.” Halvden dragged a breath against Caj’s talons. “I did as any of you. I did what I thought was right. I served Sverin. I—”
“You did what you could to seize the most power, you bullied, divided, and endangered the pride, and you tried to murder me.”
“The strong endure,” Halvden rasped.
“Your father was strong,” Caj growled.
Around them, three plumes of poisonous steam shot up, hissing. The drizzle deepened to freezing rain. They continued their stare-down, Halvden’s beak open in a pant. Caj remained frozen, pressing. Not again. He would not falter and lose to Halvden again.
“You could be great,” Caj said. “You could be everything you dream of being, everything your father wanted but could never be—if you will only let go of this insufferable pride.”
Halvden struggled, but Caj held him locked to the rock at every joint.
“What do you want?” Halvden whispered at last. His muscles sagged under Caj and he broke eye contact, staring beyond Caj at the black rock of Pebble’s Throw.
Loosening his talons a little, Caj said, “First, you’re going to tell me what happened to Sverin, and where he is.”
Halvden looked back at him with an incredulous glower. “And then?”
“And then,” Caj took a breath, calming at last, “you’re going to admit you were wrong, beg forgiveness, and apologize.”
“Apologize,” Halvden scoffed, “to whom?”
“Everyone.”
~ 17 ~
The Sunland
THE ICE FLOE ROCKED and smacked against something hard, jarring Shard awake and nearly tipping him back into the water. He stared up at a towering cliff of ice.
His first sight of the Sunland was nothing but a rock-hard, white and azure wall stretching for leagues to either side. Forcing his stiff muscles to move, Shard gripped his ice floe with quivering claws and peered up again, then around. Land was near, indeed, as the dragons had promised, but not in the way he’d envisioned. At his back, icy ocean lapped on for leagues, for the moment, calm.
Fool, he thought, grabbing at the wall of ice to drag himself along it and find some friendlier place to crawl onto land. After two days floating—or it might’ve been three, he wasn’t sur
e—he still seethed over the whales and the dragons taking Hikaru without him.
I should’ve shouted. I should have gone with them. My wings weren’t broken, what’s the matter with me? He briefly forgot he’d been almost dead from drowning, tossed about by whales, frozen, and losing blood. Still, he felt he could’ve tried harder. Idiot twice-over, what would Stigr say?
He paused, talons digging against the ice floe as it rocked and bumped the ice wall. He’d had a vision of gryfons and wolves he’d known who were dead.
Einarr…
Shard shook himself. There was no way to know if it was real. He’d had raven dreams before, and found them untrue.
He opened his wings, and aside from mild twinges, found them whole and ready. Crouching back, however, sent flashing heat up one hind leg and he barked in pain. Twisting his head, he examined the limb, and when he beheld the strips of torn flesh from the whale’s teeth, the ooze of blood, and the bone itself, split and angled, his stomach curled. The ice, at least had kept the bleeding low, and the salt water cleaned it. He still had the leg, at the very least, could work through the pain and perhaps mend it, even if he moved with a limp from then on.
Shard drew a deep breath. One step at a time. He’d had enough of floating, enough of the sea, which was usually his ally and provider. He gave the ice floe a friendly pat in thanks for bearing him, leaned on his good hind leg and launched himself into the cold, clear sky. The bobbing motion of flight drummed a steady, nauseating ache through his broken leg, and he could only try to block it from his mind. Anything he tried to do would hurt, so he had to do the sensible thing, which was to fly away before he fell in the water, or whales attacked again and the situation grew worse.
The air along the ice wall shifted unpredictably before falling dead, and Shard worked cold, stiff wings to soar over the top, where he found a strong headwind and worked into it to rise. He stroked up as far as he could bear to go.
The sweeping landscape rolled and crested into hills and mountains and back into long plains much like the Sun Isle of home, except all of it shone white, white, white. Shard shook his head, eyes dazzled, and peered around in search of sign of any kind of forest or grass.