[Firebringer 03] - The Son of Summer Stars

by Meredith Ann Pierce

  Jan saw his son’s legs stiffen, his coat bristle. “We told you the pool shaped like a salamander.”

  Lell snorted. “They’re all shaped like salamanders,” she answered, exasperated.

  Dha’s mouth fell open as though to make some reply, but his sister murmured, “Peace. They come.”

  The darkamber filly and Dhattar both turned, moving closer to each other and to Aiony.

  “I’m not sure this is wise,” Lell muttered, her sudden caution surprising Jan.

  “You wanted to see wyverns,” Dhattar responded.

  “Aye, but in secret?” his young aunt inquired. “Years from now, when we tell the tale, no one will believe us.”

  Aiony nodded, rubbing her cheek against the older filly’s shoulder. “They will believe us, rest sure.”

  “Should we not inform Tek? As regent…”

  “She deserves our loyalty and trust,” the younger filly finished. “Aye. No doubt. Had we informed her, she would surely have kept her head and acted well.”

  “But what of others?” Dhattar picked up his sister’s thread. “The herd’s hatred of wyverns goes back centuries. Even now we march against those still loyal to Lynex who hold our homeland from us.”

  Lell’s gaze turned inward, considering. “You fear if we told Tek, she might not believe us?”

  Aiony laughed softly. “Not that. Nay, never that.”

  “If we told her,” Dhattar replied, “she must consult the Elders. Others would learn of it. Soon all would know.”

  “You fear Tek might not be able to restrain our folk from falling upon these wyverns?”

  Dhattar shrugged. “Perhaps. These wyrms are defenseless, after all.”

  “Not all of them,” Lell countered. “You said some of them have stings.”

  “To which we are impervious,” Aiony replied. “Nay, theirs is the greater peril. Our mother rules by the herd’s goodwill. Why strain her regency by inviting strife?”

  Lell set her teeth, deep in thought, and cast one furtive glance over her shoulder as though searching for something behind them in the dark. Jan detected nothing. Evidently neither could Lell. A moment later, she returned her attention to her young nephew and niece.

  “Well enough, then. I will watch—but mark me, I’ll raise the alarm if they offer the least…”

  She did not finish the phrase. Across the narrow finger of water, a form appeared, translucent as ice. Blazing moonlight cut through its reptilian shape, illuminating sinews, suggestions of organs and the shadows of bones. The oily, fine-scaled skin gave off a rainbow sheen. Long-necked, the creature’s body sported two wide forepaws before tapering away into a lengthy tail. The form was joined by another of its kind and another still. The nostrils on their long, tapered muzzles flared at the scent of water.

  Standing just at trees’ edge on the opposite bank, the three colts stood motionless. Scarcely the length of a running bound separated the three wyrms from them. Clearly parched, the newcomers hesitated only an instant before slithering toward the pool. Two bent eagerly to drink, but the third caught sight of the young unicorns reflected in the water. With a little shriek, it jerked upright. Its two companions did the same.

  “Unicorns!” one hissed. “Warn the others—”

  “Peace,” Aiony called, her soft voice carrying easily in the still night air. “We mean you no harm.”

  The three across the pool hesitated, clearly torn between two terrors: that of remaining and that of fleeing without tasting the precious water. The middle one, slightly larger than the others, seemed to rally.

  “What do you mean?” it demanded. “Are your folk not enemies of my kind? How is it you offer peace?”

  “We are Lell Darkamber, king’s daughter,” Aiony replied, nodding to the filly at her side, “and Aiony, princess-to-be, and my brother, Dhattar, prince-to-be. We war only against followers of Lynex, who will not yield our rightful lands.”

  “We are seers, my sister and I,” Dhattar went on. “We know you have deserted Lynex and fled the Hills, and that you hold him as much an enemy as do we.”

  Across the pool, the three wyverns gaped in surprise. Jan discerned all at once that they were younglings, far from fully grown. Of course, he reasoned. They would have to be. The only stingless ones to have survived among the wyverns had hatched since the death of the wyvern queen.

  “It is true we are no friends of Lynex,” another of the white wyrms admitted. “He sought to destroy our land. Now he lies in wait for your pilgrims along the moon lake’s path. We fled rather than join that treachery. We are done with Lynex and his sting-tailed ways. We long only for a peaceful life which harms no one. We seek new dens in a new homeland.”

  “Show us your tails,” Lell called. “We must be sure.”

  Unhesitatingly, the wyvern trio held up the blunt, stingless tips at the end of their whiplike tails. The darkamber filly nodded, satisfied.

  “Well enough,” she said. “Drink and go your way. We three will not harm you. But mark you take all pains to avoid our sentries, for if you draw their notice, my companions and I cannot pledge your safety. Few of our fellows distinguish wyrms with stings from those without.”

  The three wyverns hesitated along moment. Sheer fatigue seemed to decide for them, and they dipped their muzzles to the pool, drawing the water in desperate draughts. At last, the eldest raised its head.

  “We thank you,” it offered. “We have long suspected our legends calling your kind lackwits and fools to be untrue. Till now, we have had no truth with which to dispel them. Rest sure that our talespinners will remember this deed, how unicorns spared us and offered us water, allowing us to journey on unscathed.”

  “The rest of our number must drink,” another of the wyverns hissed urgently.

  “Fetch them,” Lell replied. “We will stand watch.”

  Quick as a flinch, the smallest of the wyrms vanished into the trees. Of the remaining two, the younger spoke.

  “Five summers gone, your warriors slew Lynex’s queen and gave our kind the chance we needed to multiply and grow. Unwittingly, perhaps. Still, we owe you that.”

  “Our sire and dam slew her,” Dhattar told them, “with their shoulder-friend, Dagg. They only did so because she meant to kill them and would not let them go.”

  “Our flight from Lynex has succeeded,” the other wyvern replied, “solely because he dare not send loyalists to hunt us down while marshaling his forces to ambush you. We knew we must seize this, our one chance of escape, lest he fall upon us and devour us as he means to do with you.”

  Aiony and Lell glanced at one another. “He may find himself surprised instead,” the older filly answered.

  “But where will you go?” Aiony asked the two wyrms suddenly. “You must find shelter by summer’s end.”

  The pair twitched in despair. “We know nothing of the world beyond our dens. We knew only that we must flee or die. We cannot guess where our trek will lead, only that it must be far from Lynex and his murderous kind.”

  “Hark me,” Aiony replied. “My sib and I have seen your destination in dreams. You must circle back the way you came, for no haven lies before you. Travel north and west instead, and you will find dens in plenty by summer’s end. This I vow. You must trust our word. Had we meant you harm, we had raised the alarm by now.”

  The two wyverns gazed at her uncertainly until a rustling behind made them turn. Other wyverns emerged from the trees, heads darting cautiously. Catching sight of the pool, they hastened to the bank, drank eagerly and long.

  “Look into the water,” Dhattar murmured to Lell. “I’ll show you the wyrmking in his lair.”

  Lell looked deep, and as she did so, Jan felt his perception merge with hers. Through Lell’s eyes, he saw the moonbright pool, its still surface disturbed by the touch of many wyverns. Lell heard their soft lapping, the rustle of bodies, quiet hissing of breath. Jan watched her reflection ripple in the pool beside Dhattar’s. Their images pulled apart and re-formed into new sh
apes: Lynex’s den, shot through with moonlight. The white wyrmking towered above a cringing, single-headed underling.

  “Gone?” the central, largest pate demanded, and its secondary heads echoed, “What do you mean, gone?”

  “Escaped, my liege,” the messenger whimpered. “Fled to the Plain. Not a stingless one remains in all our dens.”

  “Fled?” the great head of Lynex raged. “They had no right! They were mine. My subjects. Mine to banish or destroy. So hungry—I have grown so very hungry, waiting on these unicorns. Where now is my feast?”

  The messenger cowered before Lynex as the wyrmking’s half-dozen smaller aspects ranted, “Hungry, hungry! Longing for the feast! “

  Jaws snapping, heads writhing above the scar-laced breast, the iridescent white form reared up, roaring its rage. Suddenly the great central head whipped around, returned its gaze to the messenger now creeping away.

  “Halt,” Lynex spat. “You do not have leave to go. Did you not mark your king hungers?”

  The other gave a terrified cry. “No, no, my liege! I am but a messenger. Mercy. Mercy, I beg you!…”

  Frantically, the little wyrm dashed for the den’s egress. Quicker than thought, the wyverns’ seven-headed king lunged. Brilliant moonlight from a lightwell glanced across him, breast scar gleaming between the stumpy forepaws’ powerful, extended claws, teeth like broken fishbones, all seven mouths agape. Sickened, Lell heard the messenger shriek. Dhattar set his hoof down in the pool, breaking the image.

  “We needn’t watch more,” he told her softly.

  Jan felt his sister’s silent sigh. She shook herself, heart thumping inside her ribs, voice tight with outrage.

  “He’s evil,” she whispered. “He eats his own kind.”

  Dhattar nodded, then glanced away. The stingless wyverns had finished drinking. Jan observed them: all were noticeably plumper, more nimble, less weary. Aiony nodded gravely to the foremost among them. Apparently they had been speaking softly for some time.

  “We will not forget, little black-and-silver. Seeking these dens which you describe, we will praise your name, and think no more ill of unicorns.”

  “Have a care how you depart,” Aiony answered. “All the herd does not feel as we. One day, perhaps, we will pledge truce with stingless wyverns—but for now, this must be but our own, privy pact. Avoid our sentries and depart in peace, guided by Alma’s eyes.”

  Softly as running water, the wyverns slipped away. Jan marked only the barest rustle of grass as they withdrew. That, too, faded.

  Lell looked at Aiony.

  “They’re smaller than I thought.”

  Dhattar nodded. “Those were but youths, and stingless. The ones with stings are older, far greater in size. Our warriors will have no easy task.”

  “Truth,” another voice behind them murmured, a deep, throaty purr like a grass pard’s thrumming.

  Dhattar and Aiony jumped and wheeled. Lell did not, merely cast a glance over one shoulder at Illishar just emerging from the trees. His massy, wingèd form was as graceful moving along the ground as it was in flight.

  “You unicorns are a fearless lot,” he chuckled. “I wonder you don’t all perish before you’re grown.”

  Aiony laughed, nipping the tercel gently on his great eagle’s foreleg. “You move very silent, Illishar.”

  “And you are not quite the all-seer you think yourself, little moonshadow.”

  “We’re young,” Dhattar answered matter-of-factly. “We’ll see more clearly in time.” With one curving talon, the gryphon pulled a wisp of grass from the white foal’s mane. Gently, Lell champed her nephew by the crest of the neck and shook him, then did the same to Aiony.

  “I thought best—since you’d sworn me against informing your dam—to bring a warrior fierce enough to defend us at need.”

  Jan felt relief flooding him to realize Illishar had guarded the young trio the whole while.

  “Come,” the gryphon said, turning. “Night grows late. Were we to stay longer, we would be missed. Let us see if we are as clever at slipping back through the sentries as we were at slipping out.”

  Dhattar and Aiony on either side, Lell bringing up the rear, the three colts followed. The shadow of the grove swallowed them. Before them, barely in sight, the main body of the camp lay off across the tall grass. No sooner had the four companions vanished from Jan’s, view than two new figures emerged from the trees. These, too, had apparently concealed themselves and watched. Deep cherry red, Jah-lila shook her standing mane and turned to her fellow, the star-covered stallion Calydor.

  “Sooth, their power astonishes,” he remarked, “and in view of their age—foaled but three summers gone?”

  The red mare nodded.

  “This deed bodes weighty for their folk.”

  Jah-lila smiled. “When it becomes known. But that will not be for some seasons yet.”

  “Only three years in age.” Calydor shook his head in disbelief. “The Sight runs strongly in their blood.”

  The red wych eyed him wryly, murmured, “On, both sides. Now ask me what you will.”

  The star-marked seer snorted. “Will you aid me? Will you do as I ask and arrange a meeting? She will not converse with me in others’ sight, or even look on me. She flees when I approach. I must speak with her. I must.”

  The red mare’s black-green eyes grew merry. “Have I not always brought you word of her whenever I traversed the Plain? Let you know she was well and had borne two healthy colts and fared happily among her folk?”

  “You told as little as you could,” Calydor snapped. “You never told me her station, that she had pledged as prince’s mate and borne him heirs.”

  The red mare shrugged, gazing off into the trees in the direction Illishar and his three companions had gone. “I had my reasons.” Her gaze turned back to the other. “Tell me, now that you have met, what think you of Jan?”

  “A fine young stallion, deft dancer, gifted singer—as different from the raver that sired him as I can imagine.”

  “And Ses’s other child?”

  “Brave as a pard, that one,” Calydor exclaimed. “She’d make a fine ‘Renegade.’ ”

  Jah-lila whinnied with laughter. “High praise.”

  The blue-and-silver stallion shifted impatiently. “Enough chat, Red One. Will you aid my cause? Will you persuade her to meet me, in secret if she must?”

  The red mare turned, eyeing him fondly and shaking her head. “No need, old friend. Ses has already come to me, entreating me to devise this tryst. Wait a little. She will come.”

  Jan saw the blue-and-silver stallion start, frame rigid, eyes moonlit fire. Jah-lila nipped him affectionately and meandered away into the trees.

  “I’ll leave you to her.” Her words floated softly back over one shoulder. “And wish you best fortune.”

  The shadows took her. Her form vanished. Ears pricked, breath short, Calydor gazed into the moon-mottled grove. The hairs of his pelt lifted as though he were cold. Night breeze blew balmy. His long, silver whisk tail swatted one flank. He snorted, tossing the pale forelock back from his eyes, and picked at the loose soil near the riverbank with one hind heel. Before him, a figure coalesced, a mare of moonshine and smoke. With a curious mixture of purpose and hesitation, she moved forward. Unseen, many leagues distant, Jan recognized her instantly. The star-lit stallion called her name. Turning toward him, Ses halted. He drew near, choosing each step.

  “Too long,” he breathed. “Too long, my one-time love.” She eyed him sadly. “Perhaps,” she murmured. “I, too, have felt the years.”

  “Why did you not come to me,” he entreated softly, voice scarcely steady, “as once I begged? Were your Vale’s walls so high, so fast you could not win free till now?”

  Again, her sad-eyed gaze met his. “I had a daughter and a son to rear. A mate with whom to keep faith.”

  “A mate who betrayed you, and all your folk,” the seer rasped, “who nearly destroyed his own herd, then tried to do the same to mi
ne.”

  Ses cast down her eyes with a bitter sigh. “He was not always mad,” she breathed. “I loved him well. Why did you not come to me, if you were so determined?”

  Her words were a plea. She turned, unable to look at him. He gentled, drew closer.

  “Knowing my coming could spell death for us both?”

  She moved away. He gazed across the dark, motionless pool, every lumen of the sky mirrored there.

  “The Red Mare brought me word of you,” he murmured. “At long, odd intervals: that you had borne fine foals, that you seemed happy. She would not bear my messages.”

  Ses gazed at the shadows. “Jah-lila never told me she had found you—I suspect she knew I could not have borne such news. Parts of my life in the Vale brought me great joy: my children, aye. But always there was regret.”

  The cream-colored mare with the poppy-red mane turned to face him. “I never dreamed she brought you word. She did not speak of her journeys to the Plain. I never asked her to find you or speak of me. I thought you had forgotten me.”

  Again he moved nearer. “I have spent my life remembering you.” This time she did not draw away. Still he only gazed, as though not daring to touch lest she vanish, a dream. After a time, he said, “She bore me only bits and snatches, as though hearsay, claiming she was exiled from the Vale and did not know more.”

  “She was exiled,” Ses murmured. “But she is a seer and knows far more than what her own eves tell her.”

  The silvered midnight stallion sighed. “I, too, am a farseer. A fine one. Yet I could never find you in my dreams. Still all these years, I never lost hope that one day you would come to me.”

  The pale mare’s laugh was bitter. “I asked Jah-lila to contrive this rendezvous that I might appeal to you to keep your distance. None yet know the fate of my mate…”

  “What of it?” Calydor cried, voice hoarse with astonishment. “You cast him off! Three years hence. The Red One told me this.”

  “Because his madness endangered my child. That does not leave me free to pledge another. We of the Vale do not treat lightly the swearing of eternal vows.”

  Calydor whickered, in bafflement and despair. “Here we make no such pledges. You could leave your folk…”