Song of the Summer King (The Summer King Chronicles)

by Jess Owen

  “Help me…Brother.”

  Laughing, the raven swooped from the branch and disappeared into the deep green woods. Shard shut his eyes.

  “Prepare to meet Tyr,” Hallr snarled. Shard’s eyes snapped open. As Hallr shoved Shard’s foreleg aside from protecting his throat, Shard flung his head to the side and stared into the woods as if he’d seen something.

  “Your Highness?”

  A gryfon call answered him. Hallr’s head whipped up and Shard jammed a hind paw into the older gryfon’s gut before slashing at his eyes.

  The raven, his mimicking done, flapped away. Shard wrenched free and found his feet. Hallr fell back, his rage echoing into the woods. Nothing mattered but escape. He couldn’t fly. He couldn’t fight Hallr.

  He sprinted, strong from long nights with Stigr, who insisted he work at more than flight, that he climb, run and leap. Brush slapped his face but he clawed as nimbly over roots and rocks as a wolf.

  He rounded a tangle of nettle and slammed into Einarr, who was running just as fast, toward him. They fell in a heap and Shard scrambled up, panting.

  “Shard! What—”

  “Wolves,” Shard snapped. Who would believe that Hallr attacked him? They know I struggle with Hallr. They’ll think I’m just trying to get rid of him. “Where is Kenna?”

  “Ahead,” Einarr panted, his gaze straying to the claw marks on Shard’s hindquarters, then to Hallr, who lumbered up beside them.

  Shard’s heart curled in his throat but the older gryfon didn’t attack again. Not in front of a witness. I am the prince’s wingbrother, after all.

  Einarr’s gaze darted between them. “We injured an old doe, but she’s still escaping.”

  They ran forward, then ranged out when Einarr signaled that the doe was ahead. Shard saw her first, the old female, hobbling her way up a steep face of rock that jutted up from the forest floor. The others had no room to fly. Without pausing, Shard clambered up the rock face after their prey, well practiced from climbing Black Rock with Stigr.

  When the doe saw him climbing she stopped, quivering, and seemed to wait. Shard leaped from his spot, his earlier terror shooting energy through him, and crashed onto the doe’s back. They fell. Shard wrenched her under him, flinging her as he couldn’t Hallr. They slammed into the ground.

  Jarred from the fall, he crouched, talons dug into her shoulders and ribs. Her breath still rose and fell though she lay broken. A messy kill. Shard took a breath, then his gaze fell on her dark eyes. She was watching him. Staring at him. As Lapu had stared at him. Hallr snarled at Shard to kill the beast and hurry; they would miss the festivities. As if he hadn’t just tried to kill Shard in the woods.

  “Kill it,” Kenna snapped, her voice hunt-hungry and tense.

  Catori’s voice drifted back to him, for a moment he stood in darkness, for a moment he saw Lapu again, and heard himself telling the old boar to die in peace.

  Those are the words we say to all those about to die, Catori had said. So they remember themselves.

  “You ran well,” Shard whispered to the aging doe. Her glazing eye didn’t blink. So they go with their honor and name into their next life. “Be at peace.” So we continue with honor in ours. “Sister.”

  Her head lolled. Before Shard could think where those last words came from, he bit, and felt her life go back into the earth.

  It was only by knowing the other, said the song, as Shard’s breaths brought him back to himself, that they came to know themselves.

  A raven called somewhere. Wolf howls rose, on the hunt.

  “Divide the meat,” Shard said, his throat raw. “It’s high time to fly to the Sun Isle.”

  As Einarr and Kenna padded forward, Shard and Hallr stared at each other over the body of the doe. Hallr’s eyes narrowed and Shard raised his head, ears forward.

  For the first time, Hallr looked away.

  ~ 19 ~

  The Daynight Flight

  The waters of the Nightrun crashed and rolled under Shard and a flock of other young males. The race along the great river was just one of the traditions of the Daynight celebrations and Shard had raced for the last four years, even though he hadn’t been flying to impress a potential mate. The low sun lanced long shadows through the trees around the river and light splashed through the water.

  Shard led the race, dipping easily over the water, lower than the others and quicker, taking shortcuts around the bends. Flying higher than the trees was considered cheating. All his worries blew away in flight. The joy of working his muscles and the wind and water catching his feathers left no room for thoughts of Hallr, Stigr or the wolves.

  Einarr stooped in on his right flank and Shard laughed, banking sharp to drive the younger gryfon toward the trees. Panting, Einarr shrieked laughter and shoved up and away, just under the treetops. Kjorn and the other bigger males had fallen far behind. Feeling superior, Shard dipped low to graze his talons in the water, and flipped backward a heartbeat to fling water at the others. His tail brushed the water and drops slid off the feathers as easily they would from a duck’s wing.

  When Shard rounded the next river bend he lost sight of the others completely and narrowed his wings to race even faster. It was his only chance to truly show off.

  A glimpse of emerald in the trees ahead was his only warning before Halvden lunged out over the river. Shard veered, one wing slapping the water before he righted, shocked. Was he waiting there?

  “You won’t win by cheating!” he shouted. But even as he shouted he thought that Halvden’s narrowed eyes and stretched talons looked more like hunting than racing.

  Halvden didn’t answer as he flapped hard to catch up again, coming up on Shard’s side. Shard chanced a look behind, but the wide bend hid the rest of the racers. If he tried to turn back to them, Halvden would catch him.

  “Give up,” he called brightly, as if it was still a friendly game. “I’ll lose you in the narrows before the falls.”

  The river pinched itself ahead, throwing up jagged rocks and catches of fallen timber to create dangerous pools and rapids. Then it all opened out and fell off a cliff into the sea.

  Halvden’s silence frightened Shard more than threats would have. Shard tucked his wings, letting small falls give him speed, then flaring to gain height again to keep from smacking into the river.

  Shard’s thoughts flung wildly, wondering if Halvden had spoken to his father, where this anger had come from. Surely he doesn’t mean to attack …

  Talons snagged his tail and Shard shrieked. “Halvden! I have no fight with you!” His wings slapped the water as he tried to shove up. Halvden yanked him back and pushed, trying to throw him into the river.

  “I have a fight with you,” snarled the green gryfon. The roaring rapids drowned half the words. No other gryfons flew close. Did they give up, seeing me so far ahead? “Your blood shames mine. And the pride.”

  “What—”

  “Kenna told me.”

  Wild, witless anger consumed his eyes. Shard stretched his wings, straining not to fall into the river, not to slam against a rock.

  “You’re half Vanir, too!” Shard wrenched free and angled toward the waterfall. “Did you forget?” Halvden’s angry snarl pierced the rapids.

  “Be silent!”

  “You must hate yourself!” Shard tightened his wings to angled scoops like a falcon, skimming just ahead of Halvden, who had no such precise skill in flight. He only practiced fighting.

  “Take it back, filth!”

  Shard’s gaze narrowed to the waterfall. Stigr’s last lesson stuck in his mind. If he dove down, straight down, into the sea with the falls, Halvden would either crash into the water, or give up altogether. Shard hoped he crashed. It would be quicker and easier than fighting.

  “Catch me and and make me!”

  Shard rolled out of the trees, off the cliff that dropped to the sea, folded his wings, and dove. Behind him, Halvden stooped to follow.

  Two breaths. Shard stared at the roil of water wh
ere river met sea. Wind stung his eyes. Water from the falls pelted him like a rainstorm but slid from his feathers. Halvden faltered.

  He could do it. He clenched his talons, then his breath caught as the alien fear slithered forward. A raging gryfon above him, the sea, blood clouding out into the water. The fear slithered up through his muscles and he shoved himself through it, ready. All would become oblivion in the sea. He dove fast, a falcon, a stone.

  The water lunged up and he shrieked with terror that wasn’t his own.

  Shard flared in panic, skimming across the waves. Failure froze his muscles and heart again. He couldn’t dive. He wouldn’t dive into the sea. It could kill him, or, if he survived such a plunge, it would mean he was truly a Vanir. It would mean he had betrayed his king and Kjorn.

  It would mean Halvden had every reason to pursue him violently across the waves.

  A quick glance back showed Halvden taking a broader, slower glide down, a safe distance from the water fall. Shard’s mind reeled with indecision. Stop and fight? Keep flying? He’d won a single spar against Halvden on the ground. He wasn’t sure he could beat him in the air.

  Shard flew.

  Broken towers of rock clustered off the shore, a maze of ancient moss and stone columns from the First Age. Shard wove in and out of them, with Halvden cursing farther and farther behind him.

  The thought struck him at the same time as his own stupidity. He needed witnesses. A raven flew from the rock column in front of him and he blinked. The bird soared off toward Star Island as Shard turned his flight to the nesting cliffs. They were closest to the abandoned side, where the old Vanir had kept their nests.

  He winged that way and relief flooded him when he saw other gryfons. They probably thought he and Halvden only continued the race. Playing. Flying through the great rock towers for fun. And who would believe me if I told them otherwise, and Halvden denied it, and accused me of lying?

  Kjorn might have, but then Hallr might come forward with stories of Shard defending wolves and turning against him and he would have to face Sverin.

  Shard pumped his wings to gain height and Halvden followed. When he saw the others, he abruptly broke off. Shard stared, breaths catching, as the green gryfon rose to join the others in the sky, flying good naturedly, as if nothing at all were wrong.

  Instead of following, Shard soared up to the old dens and plunged into one where he crouched, hiding in the gloom. His breath crept back slowly and the scent of mold and bone drifted to him. He hunched against the rock, ears flicking, listening for signs that Halvden turned back to pursue him. He took a slow breath and rested his head against the rock wall.

  Then, impossibly, through his fear, he heard his mother’s voice.

  “… have done all that you asked without complaint.” Shard lifted his head, then pressed his ear back to the wall. Sigrun’s voice murmured clearly through the rock, from the next den over. “The pride is content. Is it necessary anymore?”

  “Are you content?” The second voice was naggingly familiar, but Shard couldn’t place it. He held his breath and edged closer to the rock, through which the voices came to him, muffled but caught clearly in the stone.

  “I am.” Sigrun sounded irritated. And something else. Something Shard hadn’t heard before. “Well enough. The pride is strong.” Fear, Shard realized. Sigrun was afraid. “Happy. We have peace.”

  “We will never have peace or freedom as long as a Red King rules.”

  Shard’s short breath left him. It sounded as if his mother was speaking to some other gryfess of rebellion.

  “Then call to him,” Sigrun said, her voice ragged. “And hope the king’s vision was true. Call him out. Let it be soon. Let it be soon, wingsister, or not at all.”

  A flurry of feathers. Sigrun had left. Shard pressed against the stone, holding his breath. Another scuffle and flight. Both of them were gone. He knew his mother’s voice. The second was familiar. But who?

  Shard remained there, heart slamming, staring at the mossy rock wall.

  Shard kept close to Kjorn and Thyra on the Copper Cliff, sharing in their meal of hare and quail. Too many thoughts and arguments squabbled for his attention. Hallr and Halvden wanted him dead, that much was clear, though how much more they would pursue him, he didn’t know. He thought of Stigr, but couldn’t go back for advice. He thought of Caj, but couldn’t admit trouble to his nest-father. Not after learning that Caj was, after all these years, proud of him. He had handled Hallr and Halvden like a grown warrior, and he wouldn’t back down from that by seeking help.

  He thought of what Caj had told him as he watched Kjorn purring softly to Thyra.

  Sverin’s father killed my father. Shard tried to taste his meal but it was like gnawing stones. Kjorn’s grandfather. Caj had told him to remember that was all in the past.

  He glanced around him at the gathered pride, the laughter, romps and feasting, the strength of seeing so many gathered.

  Sverin was right. They were the strongest anywhere, surely, the greatest, and pride flickered in Shard to see it. He looked beside him to Kjorn and Thyra, who barely had eyes for anyone but each other that evening. He couldn’t hold a grudge against Kjorn for the deeds of his grandfather.

  Even as he thought that, Shard felt an ember warming in his heart. It didn’t feel like anger, but it made him restless. He tried to let it rest for a night. Everything I do, I do for the king and for Kjorn.

  The words were beginning to feel hollow in his mind. Is it really why I stayed to learn from Stigr?

  As the sky paled and turned golden with the sunset that would last all night, rippled now with rosy wisps of cloud, Sverin climbed to the top of the tumble of rocks. Shard stared at him, so powerful and strong against the sky, it secured his sense of loyalty, a little.

  “This Daynight shines brightly on us, my pride. I have seen you working and growing stronger. I can see our victory in all these islands as if it has already happened. So let this night be joyous.” He stretched his red wings and roared to the sky, hollowing the sound to an eagle’s cry that rolled across the calm, bright sea.

  Gryfons knew what those words meant. Thyra laughed and sprang up, spritely as a cub, bowled Shard over with a single leap and jumped off the edge of the cliff into the sunset sky. Kjorn pushed to his feet, ears perked.

  “I think you’re going to have to be faster than that,” Shard murmured. He watched as laughing gryfons of his year and younger bounded off the cliff, catching the slight breeze and forming a colorful spiral over the water. He had to let his doubts go for this night. He had to, lest Kjorn hold back, himself.

  Kjorn huffed. “You’re not coming?”

  “Not this year,” Shard said, though he stood. The final decision hadn’t taken long, with all the other thoughts and doubts he faced. “I spent my life thinking I wouldn’t mate. I’m not going to rush the choice. Go on, Kjorn. She’s waiting for you.”

  “Wingbrother …”

  “Yes, I am.” Shard butted his head against the prince’s golden shoulder. “And I always will be.”

  Kjorn bit at his ears, then chuckled, and turned to leap off the cliff and join the dance in the air. Shard bounded after him but stopped short, lashing his tail as he watched. It was a dance. The twelve or so young pairs wheeled, laughing, shrieking challenges to each other. Shard could just imagine it. The drafts created by one another’s wings, the rush of close flying. He itched to fly, to show off to…win a mate?

  He closed his wings. He hadn’t realized he’d opened them. Not this year. He watched. A young gryfess, too young for him, maybe five years old, swooped down, fluttering, laughing and trilling for him to join. Her pale, pale wings were like Sverin’s diamonds or rose quartz, glittering in the sunlight. Shard called back to her, but lowered his head. He saw violet Kenna swoop by, but she didn’t glance his way, happily pursued by Halvden.

  She had revealed Shard’s night flights. But Halvden hadn’t told the king. He must have feared that his own half-blood would come into
question if he revealed Shard’s betrayal. Shard stood, claws locked to the earth.

  If he did tell, Shard would deny it.

  Because I am a liar. It was the only way.

  Shaking frustration, he lifted his head, ears perked, and sought out Thyra and Kjorn. He didn’t see them until he looked higher. Both had raced each other high into the clear air, specks as small as sparrows. Other gryfons gathered, murmuring and trilling happily. Shard saw older mated pairs, including Caj and Sigrun, dive off the cliff together to join the dance and to renew their own pledges.

  He considered Caj briefly, watching the older blue warrior fly with Sigrun. His flight was simple, strong, straightforward, no flashy wheels and turns like the younger males.

  I would have been a father to you, he had said. But Shard had never gotten to see his own father fly. He shook himself again and glanced to the Star Isle, wondering how the wolves celebrated—then wondering why he cared. He pinned his ears back and looked up to peer against the bright sky, now orange and gold, to find Kjorn and Thyra.

  He saw them circling tightly. It looked as if Thyra was dodging him. Shard laughed to himself. It was all in play, but if the male couldn’t catch his own mate, then what sort of mate would he be? So they mock-battled. Shard watched as Thyra soared high, gaining better distance and position. But Kjorn remained below, circling wider.

  “Don’t give up,” Shard growled. But then he saw. A trick Shard had once taught him, to hover in place.

  Thyra dove, shrieking in triumph. Shard’s wings flexed open as he watched, hoping Kjorn remembered the movements.

  Thyra was almost on him, talons out, when Kjorn straightened his flight, then flipped backwards out of her path. He snapped his wings shut and dropped on her as she plummeted past. Shard wouldn’t have guessed his friend could manage it.

  He laughed aloud and bounded once in a circle around himself. Thyra squawked in surprise and then both their eagle cries rang across the islands. Shard watched as they struggled, wings beating together, until they locked talons, half-folded their wings, and fell.