The Starward Light

by Jess E. Owen

  “Tyrant.”

  A surprised chill touched Shard’s heart. Unconsciously, his talons tightened against the rock and he stood silent in surprise. Apparently satisfied with that, Embra marched back up the rock platform to climb into the nest, where she curled into fluffy gray ball as far from her mother as she could manage.

  Brynja and Shard exchanged a look and her ears slipped back in uncertainty.

  “Where did you hear that word?” Shard asked quietly, at last.

  Embra’s amber gaze flicked between them and, with sudden awareness of trouble, she fluffed her wings in a shrug. “Just stories.”

  “Whose stories?” Brynja shifted, leaning over to comb soft talons over Embra’s short tail. She tucked her tail away and mumbled something vague.

  With grudging admiration, Shard realized Embra was protecting someone. He had a good idea who, but didn’t want to drag it out of her. Instead of pressing the point, Shard walked forward and ramped up to set his talons on the nest near Embra’s head.

  “Embra,” he said quietly, and she turned her ears his way. “You will be queen one day. The other kits look to your example and when you are grown, the rest of the pride will as well. All we do is for the good of the pride. I’m glad you feel brave enough to go on the run, but I ask that you stay, for the good of all.”

  For a moment, Embra stared at the white goose down lining the corner of the nest. Then, with a grand sigh, she looked at him once more, and nodded. “Yes, Father. I’m sorry.”

  She averted her gaze and Shard’s hackles pricked up at her continued formality, as he sensed she might be only placating him.

  Still, under the watchful eye of Brynja, Ragna, and others, she couldn’t get in all that much trouble . . . Shard nipped her ear fondly, felt Brynja’s relief emanating from the other side of the nest, and was about to answer when wing beats and voices drew his attention to the entry. Three gryfons landed and stepped in out of the rain, shook their feathers, and mantled low.

  Dagr, tall and lean with a metallic copper sheen to his feathers, lead the trio, followed by Tollak, mottle-gray and lavender with a striking falcon’s dark mask, and Astri, starlight white against the dreary autumn clouds.

  “Tollak!” Embra cried from the nest. “Save me! I’m prisoner in my own nest.”

  The young warrior laughed and raised his wings in greeting. Embra was beloved of all the pride, but Tollak, who especially loved to teach nestlings fighting and flying, could usually be counted on to assist her in any mischief she might devise. He eyed Shard, who merely lifted his beak in warning, then ducked his head toward Embra. “Next year, little ember. The king has spoken.”

  She drooped back into the nest, her last hope dashed.

  “Your Highness—” Dagr and Astri said at the same time, then stopped, looking at each other.

  “We’re still going,” Shard said, answering the question Dagr would’ve asked. “We leave today. All fledges capable of ascension and glide. All warrior males. All huntresses who wish to go. We’ll need enough talons handy to bear the fish to the shore for salting, and enough to stay and fish the run, and watch for cats.”

  “Your Highness,” Astri said again. “Please. You know what I ask.”

  Shard struggled against pity and impatience, which blended together as a tight discomfort in his chest. “Astri. He cannot stay in the nest forever.”

  “Hear, hear,” Dagr rumbled heartily. “Little sister, he already jumps at his own shadow and refuses to explore with the others. How long will you—”

  “Is there a limit to how long I may grieve?” the white gryfess snarled. “Do you not miss your own brother? The brother you abandoned?”

  Dagr’s hackle rose slowly, then flattened, and he lowered his head to meet the little gryfess’s eyes squarely. “I will not dishonor Einarr’s courage by raising his son as a cowar—”

  “He is my son,” Astri growled. “Not yours. And not yours,” she turned a blazing look to Shard, then Brynja. Her expression flickered slightly with regret when she spied Embra, eyes huge and staring over the edge of the nest. “The run is dangerous enough without predators, and with this flooding rain, but the mountain cats have been coming lower. Because you,” she narrowed her eyes at Shard, “will not enforce our claims on the Sun Isle. At least with a tyrant king, we had no other predators hunting our plains and woods.”

  Shard stared at her.

  “Astri,” Dagr said, voice low and warning.

  Shard stepped forward, forcing his ears to remain forward. “They have not encroached our claims. They remain on their own hunting grounds.”

  “Except when they don’t,” Astri said, white tail whipping back and forth like skyfire. “What of the rabbits found scattered on our land—not eaten, just ripped and scattered. For sport? As a warning? Mocking you? I will not let my son into cat territory as long as this is happening.”

  Tollak spoke up hesitantly. “We have no proof the rabbits were left by mountain cats.”

  “Except scent,” Astri said. “As plain as—”

  “Astri.” Shard raised his wings, but dipped his head low to her. “We all grieve Einarr. And no, there is no limit on your grief—or anyone’s. He will always be missed. He was my friend. I will always regret his death. But he is gone. We burn rowan in his memory every year . . . when we should let him go.” She lifted fierce eyes to meet his, but remained silent, watching his face. After a moment she looked down, and Shard continued firmly.

  “Einarr’s courage is his legacy. If you keep Eyvindr always under your wing, he will never have a chance to meet his own destiny, to find his own bravery and honor. Astri, you can’t protect him forever. If you try, it will be to his ruin. Let him go.”

  “We’ll take care of him,” Dagr said, stretching a wing over her back. She didn’t push him away. Looking encouraged, Dagr added, “I promise you.”

  Rain fell steadily through a moment of quiet.

  Finally, Astri lifted her head higher, the picture of wounded dignity. “It seems I don’t have much choice.” She met Shard’s eyes again. “I bow to your wiser judgment. Thank you for hearing me, your Highness.”

  “Astri,” Shard murmured, as a way of accepting her courtesy, even if the words were cool. She took that as her leave and ducked out from under Dagr’s wing, throwing herself back into the pouring rain with hard strokes of her wings.

  Heavy silence clouded the gloomy den, broken only by the clattering rain. Not even Embra dared to break it.

  “Gather everyone,” Shard said, not looking at Dagr or Tollak. “It’s past time to leave. Brynja, I will take the firestones in case of snow.”

  They murmured agreement, bowed to him and to Brynja, and left the den.

  “Shard,” Brynja said, quietly stern from the nest. “It was the right thing.”

  Shard stared at the rain. “Was it?”

  One word echoed in his head, first in the beating of rain on stone, then in Embra’s voice, then Astri’s.

  Tyrant.

  THE SCENT OF WOOD SMOKE and frost woke Shard, and the laughter of gryfons. He rolled to his belly and peered out from under the sheltering boughs of a pine, toward the river and a world suddenly blazing orange and white. Hoarfrost and ice caked the golden birch, the marigold larch, the evergreen pines and stones and riverbanks.

  Some time during the night, the rain had ceased, and a pale silver sky promised a blue day. Shard’s breath clouded in front of him, and he stared at the crystalline world.

  “Fair winds!” Dagr called from afield, throwing sticks onto a newly crackling fire. Shard was grateful they’d brought dry tinder from the nesting cliffs. “Your Highness, Tyr favors the bold! The river is high from the rain but already my scouts spy red salmon coming upstream.”

  A thrill leaped like a fish in Shard’s breast and he sprang up, trotting out and breathing deeply of the chill air.

  He had never enjoyed his autumns so much as when they began fishing the salmon run for the first time last year. Worries of Astr
i and Embra faded from his mind in the face of happy gryfons. All were eager to begin fishing from the chaotic and bountiful run of salmon making their way to the upper mountain lakes from the sea.

  A gryfess his age, rosy gray in color and sleek with a huntress’s muscle, dove in to land near him. Behind her, more wobbly, glided Eyvindr and Salvi, another fledge of his year. She landed in an excited heap, but Eyvindr touched down with such hesitant care it made Shard’s shoulders flinch. Both fledges were second generation mixed bloods, Aesir and Vanir, with bold and startling colors—Salvi, jade green with sapphire flecks along her breast, and Eyvindr, his head and chest star-white like Astri, his wings copper brown like his father and uncle. Both were gangly, mostly limb and wing, like all fledges.

  “Keta,” Shard said to gryfess who led them, stretching his own wings. “How does it look downriver?”

  “Teeming! They’ll be on us before middlemark.” She laughed, nudging a wing against Salvi. “These two nearly fell into the river after them.”

  “Did not,” Salvi said, lifting her head stubbornly.

  “I wouldn’t on purpose,” Eyvindr said, more subdued, and Shard wondered if he had fallen. Still, no special attention. Eyvindr received enough of that in his own nest and had become hesitant and wincing for it. These days on the river would be good for him.

  Tell yourself that, Shard berated, and you’ll feel less guilty for ripping a fledge from his mother’s side . . .

  “I thought I smelled a mountain cat,” Eyvindr said, so softly Shard barely heard him. “Or a fox. And when I looked, I lost my balance. But I didn’t fall.”

  Frustrated with Astri for filling Eyvindr with her shadow fears, Shard shook his head. “That’s why we have sentries. There are no cats near. And if there were, we’d see them first.”

  “Mother says you only see a cat just before it kills you.”

  Salvi laughed. “You’re spooky as a grouse. Wooo . . . look out!” She crouched, about to pounce, but Keta blocked her with a wing.

  “Stop. There is nothing dishonorable about watching for danger.” Salvi blinked, and sat down obediently. Eyvindr had already fallen to a defensive posture, one Shard recognized as signature to the training of his own nest-father, Caj. At least Astri was allowing him out of the nest to learn how to fight. He looked as if he would say something more, then seemed to read Shard’s expression and remained silent.

  Shard glanced around for a way to get the fledges out of earshot. He didn’t see Tollak, who was usually stuck to Dagr’s side. Supposing he must have taken another group of fledges downriver, Shard decided these two could take his place. “You two go help Dagr with the fires. For now, we wait for the salmon.”

  Eyvindr’s gaze brightened at his uncle’s name, and Shard was pleased to see him perk up and dash away with some energy to make himself useful. Salvi followed, but made a point of shoving off the ground to fly the short distance instead of run.

  Shard stepped closer to Keta, who looked fresh and happy in the cold morning. “How are they doing?”

  “Well enough,” she said, though her gaze trailed Eyvindr. “He hesitates, and that will make him fall, if he’s not careful. But this . . . this will be good for him.” She glanced at Shard sidelong, and lowered her voice. “It was the right thing, my lord.”

  Shard fluffed his feathers. “Does everyone know about our argument?”

  “Oh yes,” she said simply. “But it was bound to happen sooner or later. Most fledges his age are fighting to get out of the nest, but he . . .”

  “He’s afraid,” Shard said, feeling gloomy despite the growing light and bluebird sky.

  Keta didn’t answer, and he looked at her, this Vanir huntress who had come out of exile with her mother and shown herself to be a leader in the pride. She supported Shard, she loved Brynja and Embra, and he valued her deeply.

  “Or?” he asked quietly, but she kept her thoughts to herself for a moment, thinking.

  All around them, gryfons rose and greeted the clear sky with happy exclamations, wandering to the river to peer up and down the banks in anticipation. The more experienced of the huntresses directed others in hauling dead birch trunks into the water to form obstacles and slow the fish.

  “I don’t think he’s afraid,” Keta said finally, her voice measured as she scanned the river and the tree line.

  “Then?” he pressed.

  She looked back at him, thoughtful. “I think he worries about his mother. More than he should. I think he fears that leaving her side would be seen as . . . I don’t know, Shard.” She dropped into informality, which Shard preferred. “She fears losing him more than anything in the world, and he knows that. How can he leave her to do anything when he knows that?”

  Struck by her observation, Shard turned to watch Eyvindr again. The whole flight up the canyon the young gryfon had been silent, fretting, flying poorly and full of tension. After an evening beneath the stars, a good night’s sleep under his uncle’s wing and a morning of freedom, he seemed to be loosening up. He bounded to and fro with growing energy, eager to do as he was told.

  “It was just my thought,” Keta said softly.

  “I think you might be on to something,” Shard said. “Still, keep a close eye. He can’t be hesitant with the river.”

  “Trust him,” Keta said. “Trust him as Dagr does, give him responsibility. I think he will rise to the occasion.”

  “I will.” Shard sighed, then shook himself. He least of all could show that he worried for Eyvindr, for how would that make the young gryfon feel? As tension crawled down his wings he added, “And let’s send a patrol downriver. If he did smell a mountain cat, I want it long gone before we spread out and focus on the fishing.”

  She brightened. “I will. He’ll be glad to know you took him seriously.”

  Shard ducked his head. “I do. I shouldn’t have dismissed him so quickly.” He drew a long breath, shaking off frustrations. “Tyr has given us a beautiful day. Let us use it.”

  “Yes, my king!” Keta laughed and sprang away like a fledge herself to pass along his orders for a patrol.

  The rest of the morning unfolded into a chilly breeze and blue sky. The frost melted into dampness beneath their talons, and by the time they spied the red waves of salmon thrashing upriver, they were more than ready to fish.

  The sunmarks stretched along in happy shouting and chaotic splashing. They lined the fledges along the shallow banks to practice hooking the slower fish inside the birch-trunk corrals, and the red, hook-snouted salmon began to pile up on the banks. They divided some to eat that evening, and more for the carriers to fly back to the nesting cliffs to salt and save for the winter.

  Shard checked on each fledge, pleased to see all of them with respectable catches for the day. He paused near Eyvindr, who worked with every gangly limb to drag a fat female salmon from the water.

  Seeing Shard, he paused. “Don’t worry. We leave every other one to swim and spawn, as you said. But Mother loves the fish eggs so much. I thought someone might take this one back, to show her . . .”

  “Keep it,” Shard said warmly. “Thank Tor, and keep it, and be proud. You’ve done very well today.”

  Eyvindr lifted his beak, every white feather of his neck fluffing with pride. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Shard nodded once and moved on. He was about to check on Salvi when a long, shrieking call of alarm stopped all of them. Heads turned toward the sky. Brynja, followed by Ragna, Ketil, and Caj, flew in a wedge, fast and straight toward the camp.

  There was no reason for them to leave the nesting cliffs. No reason. So the sight of all of them together, flying hard, sent horror down Shard’s back.

  There was no reason. Unless something was terribly wrong. . .

  “Now, Shard,” Caj began as he landed, but Brynja rushed forward to meet him first.

  “Shard! Oh, Shard . . .” Brynja’s feathers stood on end, and before he could ask, she said through hard gasps, “Embra is missing!”

  “I DID
N’T DO THIS, MY lord.” Tollak stared at Shard, who paced in front of him. Starlight gleamed down on them, frosty and distant on top of the King’s Rocks. They’d returned to the nesting cliffs, leaving the fishing camp in the care of only a few while the rest searched for the royal nestling.

  “I didn’t see you all morning, and now she’s missing. You know how she wanted to see the salmon. You’ve helped her disobey me before, all in good rebellion and fun. Before, I forgave it—carrying her on night flights, swimming, hunting the woods—all forgivable.” He bore down on the terrified gryfon, his heart cold with fury and fear. All afternoon he’d flown, hunting for his daughter, but there was no sign.

  That was the strangest part. No sign.

  “But I swear . . .”

  He managed not to shout. “Tollak. This is very serious, she could be in danger. Where is she?”

  “I—I didn’t—this morning, I only, was in the woods. I scented fox, and . . . I—I went to run it off. My king, I didn’t take Embra anywhere! The last time I saw her was in your den before we flew upriver, I swear it.”

  “Shard—my lord,” Keta said softly. “He’s telling the truth. Look at him.”

  Shard did. Tollak cowered before him, hunched, wings splayed, head low as if Shard might strike him down. He forced himself to slow his breathing.

  The fishing had halted as Shard sent search parties fanning between every bit of land between the fish camp and the nesting cliffs. All along the river, through the mountain pass and the foothills and plains. Every able-bodied gryfon in the pride hunted for Embra all afternoon, but she was nowhere to be found. Brynja led a search now. They took turns, one staying at the rocks in case Embra was found, and one hunting.

  Shard fought against mindless anger and accusation. Of course Tollak wouldn’t disobey him.

  But someone else might.

  “Where is Astri?” he demanded.

  Tollak sat up straighter. “You can’t think . . .”

  Shard flattened his ears. “And why not? She was unhappy that I took Eyvindr with us. Maybe she thought to frighten me—”