by Jess E. Owen
Shard would have marveled at the detail and light of the cold shrine, but as they stepped inside, they saw they were not alone.
A dragoness sat coiled to one side of the shrine, head bowed in meditation. Smaller horns told Shard she was female, only a couple of months Hikaru’s senior, leanly muscled under scales the delicate hue of an apple blossom.
Hikaru sucked in a breath, his wings lifted, and the dragoness raised her head at the commotion.
Warm breath misted in front of her silver eyes as she exhaled in surprise. “Hikaru?”
Shard ventured, “Is this—”
“Natsumi!” Hikaru cried, shattering the reverence of the shrine and barreling forward, only to slip, slide on the ice and crash into her in a fit of laughter and flaring wings. As Shard tread more carefully forward on the ice floor and watched the two young dragons dissolve into the chatter of catching up, he thought this happy bit of serendipity was a much better way for Hikaru to spend his time than reflecting on his “disobedience,” as Isora had instructed.
“…and this is Shard,” Hikaru said as Shard approached. “Of course.” Perhaps realizing the introduction of the only gryfon in the Sunland was unnecessary, Hikaru slanted one ear, looking chagrined.
“I’m honored to meet a friend of Hikaru’s, Natsumi.” Shard bowed, and she bowed her delicate head in return.
“And I’m honored to meet you at last, Shard of Sun, of the Silver Isles.” Her voice sounded like wind in autumn leaves, bright, crisp and intelligent. “I hoped I would meet you before you left us.”
Shard found her to be uniquely beautiful, and in response to her beauty and courtesy, sorrow clutched him. She would die so young. No wonder Hikaru was so thrilled to see her, so unbridled in his joy. They had so little time. Shard looked from Natsumi to Hikaru, and wondered how much more wondrous and beautiful they must seem to each other.
But more than that, Shard at last heard genuine respect and curiosity, was proud to know Hikaru chose his friends well.
Hikaru broke back in, his reason for coming to the shrine happily forgotten. “Natsumi, I’m so happy to see you, and I’ve missed you, but, and I’m sorry to be blunt, but we need your help.”
By her bright, admiring gaze, Shard thought the young dragoness didn’t mind. “Of course I’ll help you if I can.”
“Didn’t your parents forbid you from…” Shard trailed off when she turned a serene look to him.
“I’m certain you have enough to worry about, without including me in your cares.” Her nose crinkled in amusement. “I benefit from being the youngest of three. My parents might indulge me one more bit of disobedience. Tell me, Hikaru, what I can do.”
Hikaru sat back on his haunches, coiling his tail around his own feet. “Shard is looking for a dragon who a spirit told him would tell the truth. A storyteller. Do you know who that would be?”
“Hm.” Not questioning that Shard had spoken to a spirit, Natsumi re-coiled herself with such neatness and precision it looked like a dance movement, and thought.
Hikaru waited, and Shard shifted on the ice.
Sunlight filtered into the ice cavern and Shard glanced to the shrine, thinking he might make a tribute to the warrior dragon, for Stigr, when Natsumi spoke again.
“Yes, I think it must be the chronicler.”
~ 33 ~
The Serpent River Pack
ROLLING HILLS DOTTED WITH dwarfish trees and tough, scraggly undergrowth varied little as they flew. Brynja and Nilsine each assigned one of their own to scout ahead and behind for wyrm sign, and to watch for possible scouts from the Dawn Spire or the Ostral Shores. If the attack on the Dawn Spire had been as horrific as Brynja said, Kjorn couldn’t imagine any gryfon venturing far from their home, but they scouted all the same.
Low haze still clung and a soft rain did nothing to lighten the mood or pretty the landscape, only leaving the ground slimy with ashy mud when they rested.
The weather slowed their progress and they knew they wouldn’t reach the lake until the following morning.
Once again, they landed at near-dark, though that time they were sluggish, wet and hungry. If it were not for the wyrms, Kjorn would’ve gladly pressed on to the great lake during the night. A chill wind gusted and their only shelter was a mere stand of hawthorn saplings, scarcely wide enough to shelter five gryfons, much less over twenty.
“Almost there,” Dagny said, sounding too cheerful. “By tomorrow we’ll sup with the Lakelanders and perhaps see Asvander again.” A bright note warmed her voice, and Kjorn wondered at it.
“A fine thing,” Nilsine said. “I will be glad to see water again, and eat fish.”
“Shall we hunt?” Kjorn asked them, generally.
Brynja ruffled her feathers, looking around skeptically. Before she offered an answer, the wind shifted, and they all caught a scent at the same time. Painted wolf.
“I’ll meet them,” Kjorn said, stretching and re-folding his wings. “I have dealings with wolves in the Silver Isles.”
Brynja remained back, and at Kjorn’s word, so did Nilsine, though the Vanhar claimed to be friendly with all creatures of the Winderost. Fewer gryfons would look less threatening, in his mind.
Kjorn left the stand of trees and walked to the crest of a low hill, smelling the area and looking around.
A female wolf appeared first, at the top of an adjacent hill. Her face was painted in a black mask, whorls of white and brown streaking her sides as if wind had blown on her colors while they were still wet.
“Hail!” called Kjorn. “We mean to pass through these hills peacefully, and hunt only if you allow it. We thought no one claimed this land, but we honor yours.”
A big male crested the hill beside her, perked rounded ears at the sight of Kjorn, bared his fangs, and barreled down the hill. Kjorn kept his high ground, but the wolf lumbered forward.
Brynja and Nilsine raced towards him even as Kjorn leaped into the air to avoid a fight, and the rest of the painted pack rushed over the hill behind the female, howling and snapping their jaws.
“Stop!” Kjorn shouted. The big male turned, jaws wide to warn Brynja and Nilsine away, and the gryfesses circled warily.
Kjorn landed hard, between them, as the rest of the pack swarmed in. Most of the pack milled behind their leader, but before anyone could move, another male rushed forward and barreled into Kjorn.
A familiar scent came with him and Kjorn, his limbs tangled with the wolf’s, found his face not bitten, but vigorously sniffed, before the wolf leaped away again.
“Mayka,” Kjorn grunted in surprise, and relief, shoving to his feet again. “You’ve traveled far.”
“As have you, Shard’s friend.” The painted wolf circled back, watching Kjorn with a mouth full of gleaming teeth. “And I have found my pack, who left the Voldsom when the Horn of Midragur breathed fire.” He ducked his head as the bigger male stepped forward, ears flicking with interest. “Please, my leader, a word. Please meet Kjorn, of the Silver Isles, who was a friend to Shard, who was friend to your sister, Nitara.”
“Greetings,” said the big wolf, glancing from Mayka to Kjorn, wary.
Relieved, Kjorn felt he should offer some respect, and mantled.
Mayka looked pleased at the gesture, offered to his leader. “Kjorn, this is Ilesh, leader of the Serpent River Pack. Please, my leader, these are allies. Let them be welcome here.”
Ilesh regarded Kjorn, then looked to Nilsine. “You are of the Vanhar?”
She dipped her head. “I am. We have only respect and honor for the painted hunters of the Winderost.”
The wolf shook himself of drizzle as his pack milled around him. “Then you may pass through these lands that we now claim.”
“Shall they hunt with us?” Mayka suggested, nosing his leader’s shoulder. Ilesh showed him one fang, and Mayka chuckled and tucked his tail, padding away.
“You may,” said Ilesh, “because I know that your friend Shard was with my sister when she was killed, and tried to aveng
e her. You may hunt with us, only if you do not fly. This attracts our great enemy.”
“We won’t,” Kjorn said, impressed with this account of his wingbrother, and grateful for the path of friendship Shard had left in his wake through this land.
“Then, come. We have scented a herd of wild pigs this way. With your strength we may very well feast tonight.”
With no more ceremony he turned, head low, and loped back over the hill.
Kjorn looked at Brynja and Nilsine, hesitant, but hungry.
“I like wild pig,” Dagny called from the shelter of the trees, and that decided it. Somewhat bewildered by their change in fortune, the gryfons gathered themselves up and fell in behind Brynja, Nilsine and Kjorn.
As they picked up their pace and moved as one large, wolf and gryfon pack, Mayka trotted in next to Kjorn. “Now, tell me what has befallen you, and what became of my rogue friends since the Vanhar came and took all of you away, and where you mean to go, and if you found Shard, after all.”
In brief, Kjorn told him all that had passed. “Thank you for stepping in, back there. For your friendship, and help.”
“I’m happy to help a friend of Shard.”
“You speak of Shard highly. What did he do, that you honor him so?”
Mayka opened his mouth in a happy pant, thinking, then watched Kjorn seriously. “You heard Ilesh. First, Shard spoke to us. Honored us. And, he did what no one has yet done.” In the muddy light of the moon, Mayka’s eyes were like black, haunted pools. “He faced the enemy, offered them honor and friendship, and when they bellowed their mindless hate, he did not run.”
Kjorn, proud to called Shard his wingbrother in that moment, shuddered at the memory of wyrms. He’d stood tall himself, but not spoken or challenged them. “Let’s hope, when the time comes, we can all do the same.”
“I ran, when first the wyrms roared, and I lost my name for too long.” He showed Kjorn his teeth. “When the time comes, I will not run again.”
~ 34 ~
Secrets in Fire and Gold
“IT WILL HAVE TO be at night,” Natsumi said. “And alone.”
They sat near the fire in Hikaru’s den, picking at the last of a pile of fish Hikaru had caught. The dragon dens were tidier than gryfon dens on the whole, carved to almost perfect roundness, with smooth, flat floors of stone. A hearth on one wall heated the den to summer warmth, and three torches that ringed the walls shed bobbing light. Carved channels in the stone guided the smoke out of the den, where it could vent naturally in the massive cavern outside.
“He isn’t supposed to wander alone,” Hikaru said after a moment.
“Nor am I supposed to talk with you,” Natsumi said mildly, her pale scales taking on a mesmerizing, amber hue in the firelight.
“I’ll be less noticeable alone,” Shard said, picking up on her thought. “And Hikaru, you won’t get in trouble by showing me dragon secrets.”
Hikaru tilted his head down stubbornly. “But the empress will find out anyway, when you go to tell her what you find.”
Shard considered the fire. “Yes, but it’s different. I’ll have the information I need, and hopefully she’ll listen to that rather than focus on my trespassing.”
“She’ll have to listen,” Hikaru agreed, running talons down his belly scales in his old, nervous habit.
“I can tell you the way.” Natsumi sat up a little in her coil and stretched her wings.
“Why haven’t I met this chronicler?” Hikaru asked, glancing toward the entryway as if he expected someone to be spying. One ear flicked to the side. Shard flicked his ears, but heard nothing.
“We usually only go in our second season,” Natsumi said reassuringly, averting her gaze. “After you shed your first scales.”
Hikaru dipped his head down near Shard. “Oh, Shard, it’s so exciting! I didn’t tell you about our shedding. For each new season, we become new, we have new scales, and new strength.”
Shard nodded. “It sounds wondrous.” He would’ve compared it to gryfon molting, but he was sure it was nothing like.
“I will have new scales by the Halflight, when winter turns to spring. Kagu says I will always have black, though, because I am winterborn.”
“Kagu doesn’t know anything,” Natsumi said, a growl in her delicate voice. “And even if you do, what does it matter? I like your scales.”
“My uncle had black feathers,” Shard said quietly. “All his life. He was very handsome.”
That soothed Hikaru and he considered his scales in the firelight, while Shard looked to Natsumi. “Can you tell me something about the elements?”
“Of course, Shard.” She sat up attentively, ears perked forward.
“Isora said something to Kagu about having too much fire, and everyone says that to be winterborn is ill luck. Why? What does it mean?”
“Oh.” Natsumi looked at Hikaru, her gaze shadowed. Then she sat back, neck arching, and explained. “It is unfortunate because winterborn are ruled by their element. Hikaru knows this now. The winterborn tend to have very difficult lives.”
“Everyone says that,” Hikaru said darkly, “but no one will tell me why, as if I should already know.”
Shard tossed fish bones into the fire. They popped and crackled and sent up a delicious, oily aroma into the den. “Amaratsu said the same thing. Why do you believe that, Natsumi?”
“Because of how water rules them.” She didn’t quite look at Hikaru. “We really don’t have to talk about it. I want to hear about where you came from, the wyrms, and all of it. When night falls, I will tell you the way to the chronicler.”
Hikaru coiled near the fire and began to clean his claws. “But I would like to hear about water, and being winterborn. I still don’t know much about the elements.”
Natsumi looked between them, and stretched her wings in a graceful motion of surrender. “Each season has an element. Springborn take elements of the earth, being steadfast and grounded. Summerborn are like fire, aggressive and dominant.” She fluffed her wings. “I am autumnborn, wind-ruled, and my mother says that means I like change, and adventure. That is true enough.” Looking to Hikaru, she finished apologetically. “Winterborn are…”
“Ruled by water,” Shard said, following the progression.
Natsumi nodded.
“But water isn’t bad,” Hikaru said. “Isora taught that water is one of the strongest elements.”
“They are all strong,” Natsumi said quickly. “But water is difficult. To be born in the dark winter of the year, and to die then, is to be ruled by water, which means you are ruled by your heart.”
Hikaru chuckled, nudging Shard with a wing tip. “That’s not so awful.”
Natsumi stroked her own flight feathers, looking uncomfortable. “It isn’t awful—that is, it doesn’t mean you’re awful. It’s just difficult. The heart doesn’t always want easy things. To be ruled by the heart is to be terribly vulnerable. That’s what my father says. But he was springborn.”
That made Hikaru look thoughtful, and he glanced to Shard, who considered the many times his heart had been split, and he’d had to decide between two equally important things.
“I see,” Shard said, then butted Hikaru’s flank. “Well I think you’re strong, Hikaru, and you have a strong heart. I think it will rule you well.”
“I do too,” Natsumi said softly, gazing at him. Hikaru dipped his head, though his brow ridge furrowed down, ears back in contemplation.
For a moment they all looked at the fire, as if seeing their own hearts as displayed by the elements. In dragon estimation, nearly all gryfons were springborn, so should be ruled by the earth. Shard found that ironic, as much as most gryfons valued the sky, and seemed to forget the earth.
“Well now,” Natsumi said, drawing them out. “Let me tell you the way. Soon it will be dark, and most resting, and you’re so small you should pass unnoticed, if you go the way I tell you.”
“But don’t take too long,” Hikaru warned, eyes glowing with firel
ight, “Or I’ll come find you.”
True to Natsumi’s word, Shard found the caverns and passageways quiet and deserted. He was so small and plain of feather, he blended with the mountain, and any dragons passing high above him took no notice. He avoided the torchlight the best he could, and followed Natsumi’s directions, guided by the carvings over each archway and along the walls of the tunnels.
He knew he’d passed under one mountain into another, caught a whiff of the forges, and then ducked away into another tunnel. He would’ve liked to fly, but it might have gained attention.
Once or twice he thought he heard a whisper of wings behind him, or saw the flash of another’s shadow along the wall. Every time he paused to look, he was alone. He hoped it was just nerves.
At last he found himself in a long, wide tunnel, where sparse torchlight reflected off winding veins of gold in the rock. Natsumi had said he would be close when he came to the halls of gold.
Wishing only that Hikaru was with him, but knowing the necessity of going alone, Shard picked up to a lope through the glimmering tunnel.
Following a bend, the passage opened before him into a shining display of gold and silver.
Shard stopped short, staring up, staring around, beak open.
It was the most massive hall he’d seen thus far, larger than the main cavern he’d first entered. Larger than the Dawn Spire, large enough, Shard thought with a dizzy thrill, to fit around the White Mountains from the Sun Isle. It yawned so long and wide that the torches winking from the far end seemed to be distant, golden stars.
Reverently, Shard stepped forward, realizing he could see as well as if it were daylight, not night, underground in a mountain.
He quickly understood why.
Torches bounced warm light around the endless hall where the wide pillars were not mere stone or ice, but sheathed in hammered gold. They stretched all the way up to the ceiling far away, and depicted scenes of dragon lore.