by Jess Owen
“Shard! He’s there!”
“I can’t reach—”
“Shard, wake!”
Shard whirled and saw no one. His paws slipped under him as if he stood on water, not sand. The Nightwing watched him quietly. “You must learn the truth. Talons and anger alone will not end this war. You must fly on the Silver Wind.”
“How?” Shard leaped forward as the Nightwing stepped back into a crouch, poised to fly. “What truth?”
“He listens to all who speak,” sang the dead king, “and speaks to all who hear—”
“Wait, please! I need you! I don’t know what to do here, alone.”
“And his voice is the song of summer.” Baldr the Nightwing hesitated, eyes bright. He stretched his wings and they looked less gray, more silver in the growing light. The sand whirled to waves under Shard and the green forest of Star Island cracked with thunder, trees roiling into clouds.
“Tyr and Tor call me to the Sunlit Land. The best of me remains here.” He gleamed with pride, watching Shard. “I live on in you, Shard. And I’m with you. Every place my foot touched, in every wind that circled the world after lifting my wings, in your mother’s love, in the sea. I’m with you, Shard.”
“You can’t leave now!”
“Always. Fair winds, my son. You must wake now. I can bear you aloft no longer. Wake, and rise.”
Shard surged forward as Baldr flapped his wings–but the gray gryfon flared into a bright light and vanished. Shard’s talons splashed not on sand but in black water.
He screamed an eagle’s rage into the bright light.
Salt water streamed down his feathers and into his eyes.
“Shard!”
“Fly!”
Stigr’s voice yanked Shard from the last of the dream, just as a black wave slapped the side of his face and dragged him under the water.
The storm. The king.
He had dived into the sea.
Hacking salt water, Shard stroked his wings under the water like massive fins, feeling the hard pull of the entire ocean on his muscles. Blind, thrashing, terror and shock seized his muscles at passing from his vision to a battle against the sea.
Wake, and rise.
The terror slipped from him with the echo of his father’s voice. He didn’t have to relive his father’s last fall again. Dragging his wings forward, Shard pierced a scream up to let Stigr know he could swim. Ragna flew with him. They swooped in circles above.
Shard slashed wings and paws through the water, freeing his feathers, his wings. He kicked, shoved, and with a lion’s roar, surged from the water. The sea rolled from his wings like a leaden wind. Gasping, forcing wing beats through lancing aches and salt stings, Shard rejoined his mother and uncle in the sky, to the sound of thunder and Stigr’s wild, victorious laughter.
~ 29 ~
Shard’s Vision
“Not since the days of Ivar the Bold has anyone, anyone, seen a flight like that!”
Stigr laughed as they landed on a beach of Star Isle, sheltered by a looming cliff. The rain slacked, the storm had drained itself of fury. Stigr slapped his wing against Shard’s head in congratulations. “Nor are they likely to again. They will call him the Stormwing—”
“Be still, brother,” white Ragna murmured. Shard followed her gaze to see others approaching from the beach and sky. Two wolves, loping up the beach, and three gryfons gliding in to land. Shard tensed, then saw Sigrun was among them. A copper brown male who looked familiar, and a female Shard didn’t know. Overwhelmed, he backed up three steps. The wolves–Catori and Ahanu, paused and circled, sniffing the sand, ears perked.
“Shard,” Sigrun breathed, trotting up to check him for injury. Shard stood obediently, trying to catch up with himself.
“Wingsister,” murmured Ragna. Shard stared at her over Sigrun’s head, and the Widow Queen looked away. Shard lashed his tail.
“What’s happened? Sverin—”
“Is in his nest,” Sigrun said, “with injuries mending. As you should be.”
Shard blinked at her. “I can’t go back to the Sun Isle.”
“Of course not.” Stigr stepped between them. Sigrun lashed her tail, stepping away. “You’ll stay with me now.”
“Or with us,” Catori murmured, stepping forward. “The prince of the Vanir is always welcome on the Star Isle.”
“But, your father’s death. It’s my fault.”
“He chose his death,” Ahanu said, head raised, ears perked. “We mourn, but none blame you for that.”
It took Shard a moment to realize he was looking now at the new, young king of Star Island, one who had just lost a father and brother. He mantled low. “Thank you.”
Sigrun dipped her head to point at Shard’s injuries. “You need to let me tend these.” The slash on his leg oozed, and Ahote’s claw marks across his ribs stung from the salt in the water. He drew a slow breath, turning an ear to the two strange gryfons who stood politely as if waiting their turn to see him. Surely they haven’t come to see me? The storm rumbled distantly now and a cool wind rushed up the beach, tangy salt and rain-washed sand.
“I will, Mother.” He paused after the word, and regret flashed over Sigrun’s face. Shard leaned over to touch his beak to her shoulder. Late morning light crept out to them through the breaking clouds, and gulls began venturing out to find their meals. Their cries sounded too much like gryfon kits in the battle.
Shard looked to Ragna. “You saved my life.”
She watched him with a loving hunger, an expression he hadn’t recognized when he didn’t know her. Pride. Love. As his father had watched in his dream. “You would have fought Halvden off,” she said. “I only helped.”
“I meant before,” Shard whispered. “In the Conquering when you lied to Per the Red. You, and, Sigrun.” He looked between them both. “There is no repayment for that…Mother.”
“My son,” Ragna whispered. “My prince. There was nothing else for us to do. How could I let you die?”
Hesitating, Shard stepped forward, and bent his head to touch his brow lightly to the white widow’s. “We’ll come to know each other better,” he promised softly. “For now, I—”
“I know,” she murmured, though didn’t move from his affection. “You were raised with one mother. I’m content with your safety, your happiness.”
“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, and felt her shift to lean back and look at him. “I saw him,” he told her. “My father.”
She perked her ears, eyes bright. “Then you’re on the right path. You will be guided. When it’s time.”
“For now,” Sigrun said firmly, “you must heal and rest.”
Shard lowered his head in assent, then looked to Stigr. “And you, Uncle. You were my father’s wingbrother, weren’t you?” Stigr merely dipped his head. “You stayed in these islands, living among the dead, so that one day you could teach me …” He trailed off, thinking of all Stigr had given up. “I can never repay you.”
“You already have.”
Shard ruffled his wingfeathers as gratitude warmed his chest. Weakness and aches stalked up into his exhausted limbs.
“We should get under the trees,” Stigr continued. “In case Sverin sends patrols.”
Shard nodded, and Catori and Ahanu led the way up the cliffside on a crumbling deer trail. As they walked, Shard spoke to the two gryfons he didn’t know. Each had a gnawing familiarity to them. “How do I know you?”
The copper brown spoke first. “We never properly met. I am Dagr, son-of-Vidar.”
“Einarr’s brother!” Shard blurted. The memory snapped back to the day of the boar hunt. The copper gryfon Sverin had banished. “I’m glad you’re well.”
“How could I not be?” He inclined his head. “The true Vanir prince has risen and Sverin lies humiliated in his nest.”
Shard couldn’t chuckle at the cheerful statement. There was too much left undone, and he thought of what Sverin’s defeat would mean for Kjorn. “You should know that Ei
narr is well. He won a fair mate this summer, and has been a friend to me.”
Dagr inclined his head deeply. “Thank you for watching over him, my prince.”
Surprised by the gratitude, Shard had no answer but to nod.
They climbed up through whispering sea wheat and crumbly, muddy trail to the top, pausing there to swivel ears and check the wind. Vetch flowers stood bright purple and yellow against the wet grass and Shard breathed deeply. He glanced to the strange female.
“And you?”
She stepped up and mantled low. The sight of a gryfon bowing before him made Shard shift his feet uneasily. It made him unsure if he could be a prince, or a Summer King. Certainly none of the Vanir believed it was Kjorn, but Shard wasn’t so sure he was it, either.
“I am Maja, my prince, daughter-of-Traj.” As she introduced herself, they walked on toward the forest. “You’re too young to have known my mate, for he died in the Conquering, along with my kits by him.”
Stigr and Catori chose a patch of wood and they followed, weary, wary, moving as one like a little herd of deer. Shard studied Maja. Suddenly the cant of her head looked familiar, a rhythm in her voice and the way she walked. “You’re Halvden’s mother.”
She angled her head proudly. “I’m honored you know me. After Hallr met his end, I knew I could no longer live pressed under the talon of a red king. I serve you, Shard son-of-Baldr, until my last breath.”
“I’ll try to be worthy of that,” Shard murmured, trying to think of what Kjorn would’ve said to such a statement. The thought that she would leave her son and his new mate to serve Shard, that she would leave the pride and prefer exile, quickened his heart. If only the others like Halvden could see the possibility for peace. There stood a group of gryfons and wolves together, peaceful.
He had hope, he realized, staring at this circle of gryfons and wolves all looking to the future, for peace, as his father had seen it.
“What now?” Stigr looked around their quiet circle. Birds twittered around them, whispering excitedly, listening. The old exile looked to Ragna and Sigrun. “You can’t go back to Sverin’s pride.”
Sigrun’s eyes narrowed. “We must. He won’t grudge himself a healer or a huntress, not with the…the losses.”
“Mother,” Shard began, and both Sigrun and Ragna looked to him. He flushed under his feathers. “I mean, Sigrun. The losses. Who?”
“Kjorn is fine,” Sigrun murmured. “Thyra, Einnar and his mate fought well. Small injuries. Many kits and fledges were killed. And the old.” Her voice fell measured and quiet, a healer’s assessment. Shard knew how she would mourn, later, tucked away from the pain and death under Caj’s wing. He had seen it as a kit, when a gryfon faced an injury or sickness she could not mend.
She cast a sidelong look at Catori and Ahanu, but neither wolf looked away. They hadn’t joined the attack, and felt no shame, Shard saw. “Kenna and Halvden were injured, but survived as well.”
“A relief,” Stigr grumbled. Ragna nipped his feathers before speaking to Shard.
“The newly mated will need us over the winter, to carry their kits through to spring.” Shard began to argue but she caught his gaze, her head high. He had no place to argue. Ragna had lived under Sverin’s rule for ten years, and wasn’t afraid.
Sigrun flexed her wings, nodding once in agreement. “There are injuries to guard from infection, broken bones. I cannot abandon the pride.”
Stigr watched her blankly. “Are you mad? He’ll kill you.”
“My mate will protect me.”
“Caj?”
“Caj.” She stood firm, and the others shuffled and glanced away. “As he has, all these years.”
For a moment it was silent again, and then understanding dawned in Shard’s mind. “He knew. He knew who I am and what you had done.”
Sigrun merely dipped her head. Stigr, his one eye wild, stared now at white Ragna who fluffed her wings in a shrug. “I don’t fear Sverin. As my sister says, he’ll need every hunter he can have over the winter. The pride is weak.”
“The time to roust him,” growled Stigr.
“No,” Shard said quickly. After a gruesome battle and all that death, he couldn’t call himself a prince of the Vanir if he swooped in and caused more fighting. It would mean attacking his own family. It would mean attacking Kjorn. “That isn’t the answer. Not that way.” Only the truth will end this war…his voice is the song of summer. His father’s words and promises overlapped like waves and Shard clung to the sense of them.
“Then what?” Stigr turned on Shard, lifting his wings. The others backed off a step; Catori and Ahanu trotted back, ears perked and wary.
“I had a vision,” Shard said slowly. “And I’m still sorting its meaning.” For a moment it was quiet, but Shard decided not to share it with them just yet. “Uncle, you told me there are more Vanir. Those who left the Silver Isles to seek a life elsewhere.”
Stigr inclined his head. Above them, birds gossiped and twittered. “Yes.” He glanced to Dagr. “When your father was banished, he flew to seek the lands beyond the nightward sea, where some Vanir fled right after the Conquering.”
Dagr perked his ears, lifting his wings. “He lives?”
“That, I can’t be sure. But I haven’t had wind of his death from the traveling birds.”
Shard felt a heat in his chest, restless, ready but unsure of his own course. “Maybe there are more Vanir there, still.”
Maja opened her wings. “I know Vanir who fled on the starward wind, seeking safety and wisdom at the top of the world.”
Shard looked from her to Dagr. “We must gather our lost pride. This is their home.” He hesitated. The next was a lot to ask of any gryfon and he didn’t feel worthy. “Will you fly for me, the son of the Nightwing? Fly and gather the lost Vanir, in my father’s name?”
Dagr and Maja glanced at each other, and Maja stepped toward Shard. “We will fly in your name. For you, our prince.”
“For you,” Dagr echoed.
Sunlight spread wings in Shard’s heart. He inclined his head deeply to them.
“And we will watch over the pride on the Sun Isle,” Ragna said. “As we have these years.”
“And we will guard you on the Star Island,” Catori said, raising her head, ears forward. “If you have need of us, we will fight for you, Shard.”
“For peace,” Ahanu echoed.
“For justice,” Stigr growled. “What will you have me do, Shard? There are Vanir who took a chance, flying across the windward sea to make a home on the greatland, the home of Per the Red and the other clans of the Aesir.”
And whatever he fled from, Shard thought. He watched Stigr and stepped forward. “It may be that we cross the windward sea. But not yet.” His words tightened in his throat as he beheld his family, thought of losing Kjorn, of the answers he didn’t know. He looked at Stigr, the first to show him his birthright.
“But whatever happens, you’ll stay with me? You’ll fly with me?”
“To end of the earth, my nephew. My prince.” He bowed.
The others bowed, murmuring, ‘To the end of the earth, to the end, my prince.’
Their strength lent strength to the ember glowing in Shard’s heart. As they rose he said, “And I pledge the same to you, as your brother. As your prince. We will have peace in the Silver Isles.”
Ragna returned to the Sun Isle, unafraid. Maja and Dagr flew that very afternoon, starward, and nightward, to seek the lost Vanir. Catori and Ahanu disappeared into the forest to see to their pack, and Sigrun lingered to tend to Shard and Stigr’s injuries. They rested under the cover of a rowan grove, and the sound of a stream trickled nearby. Stigr and Sigrun had left Shard napping in the shade. Now he roused and padded deeper into the forest to find them.
They sat by the stream.
He paused; they were speaking softly. He turned one ear their way, though he knew he shouldn’t listen in. Sigrun sat staring resolutely dawnward as Stigr paced around her.
“I
must know,” the old warrior was saying. “If the Aesir hadn’t come, that Daynight. Would you have flown with me?”
“But they did come,” murmured the healer, and wouldn’t look at him. “I waited as long as I could for you, Stigr, but you were busy being the king’s best. Then the Aesir came. You lost, and fled, and Caj chose me. He chose me. And you chose exile.”
“Did you choose him, too?” The old exile’s voice was raw.
“He is my true mate.” She looked up at Stigr at last, so he would know it was true. “I came to love him and nothing will part us. I love the daughter he gave me. He protected Shard, too. You don’t know him as I do.”
“But if they hadn’t come—”
“They did come,” she said again, her ears settling back to a gentle expression. “Don’t live in the past, Stigr.”
“You sound like an Aesir.”
She fluffed and resettled her wings. “Sometimes, they have the right of it. There is too much in the future to worry about. Thank you for being brave enough to lead Shard to his destiny. Without you—”
“Sigrun,” he pleaded.
“Take care of him.” She stood, and paused. “And yourself. Shard!”
Shard stared with fascination the ferns, then turned as if he’d only just heard her.
Don’t wait too long to choose a mate, Stigr had said to him. At last he understood. Regret and anger for his uncle flared and then died.
Don’t live in the past.
Sigrun padded over to him, giving one last check over his injuries. Seeming satisfied, she bumped her head to his neck. “I will always think of you as my own,” she whispered, and Shard’s feathers fluffed with happiness. Then he ducked his head, struggling with sorrow. His family had unraveled before him, his life, and now, he barely knew which way to turn.
He stepped away from Sigrun and raised his head, forcing strength into his voice. “And I’ll make you proud.” He looked to Stigr.
Sigrun clicked her beak softly, and then, to Shard’s surprise, stretched out her forelegs in a bow and mantled. “Until then, my prince.”
With a final glance at Stigr, Sigrun turned and trotted briskly away, her wings half open at her sides until she found a clearing and leaped into the sky.