By the Silver Wind

by Jess E. Owen

  With not even a glance at the gryfons, the lionesses slipped away into the twilight.

  As the chief moved to step down from his place, Shard glanced to the shaggy mane again, and saw multiple long, twisted locks with bits of claw and talon woven in. A display of feathers of all colors and sizes were knotted into the mane, and Shard recalled that Ajia wore feathers too, but hadn’t said why.

  He examined the chief’s, which started behind his ear with the smallest, the yellow feather of a meadow lark, and trailed in a diagonal curve down his neck, growing larger until they stopped in the center of his chest. There Shard’s gaze locked, and Kjorn’s, for there hung the unmistakable feather of a gryfon, a feather of the brightest red.

  “We’re honored,” Kjorn said tightly, containing his surprise, Shard thought. The red feather stood against the darkest part of the lion chief’s mane.

  “Honored,” Shard said, taking over when it was clear Kjorn would speak no more. “I am Shard, son-of-Baldr, prince of the Silver Isles. My wingbrother is Kjorn, son-of-Sverin, heir to Kajar and the lands of the Dawn Spire.”

  The long tail swung back and forth and the lion displayed his teeth. “I know.”

  “And will you honor us with your name?” Shard asked, while Kjorn recovered from his surprise. He took a furtive glance around for Ajia, and didn’t see her.

  “Yes, of course.” He hopped lithely down from the slope and advanced on them, a slow, rocking stride, leaving deep paw prints in the grass and soft dirt. “I am Mbari the Brightest, the only son of Badriya, Who is Pale.”

  “Badriya,” Shard murmured, unable for a moment to remember where he’d heard the name.

  It was Kjorn who said, “You’re Ajia’s brother.”

  “Yes, though this has little consequence on our ruling now.” He stopped before them, just taller than Shard, but much larger of frame. “She did speak well of both of you, and this will enlighten my decisions.”

  “That feather,” Kjorn said, and Shard flattened his ears at the blunt remark. “Where did you get it?”

  Usually I’m the one to speak impulsively.

  Mbari looked at him with placid yellow eyes.

  “That feather belonged to my father. How did you come by it? Why do you wear it? He never told me he had dealings with lions, what do you mean by wearing that to meet me? Is it a threat?”

  “Kjorn,” Shard murmured, surprised at the outburst, though saw that Chief Mbari’s eyes only glittered with amusement, as if Kjorn were a small bug he planned to bat about in the grass. Or as if he were already batting him about.

  “A threat? No. A promise, maybe. We met once over a kill, myself and the red gryfon fledge, though he didn’t hear my words at the time. I bested him then, and his companion, though I only won the red feather, not the blue. I looked forward to meeting him again on better ground, and then, when he never came, to meeting you.”

  “You fought,” Kjorn said slowly, “fought, and bested, my father? And Caj?”

  “And a good match it was. But if we’re to repeat all that is said this night,” the lion purred, “it will be a long negotiation indeed.”

  Shard felt Kjorn’s ribs swell with a great breath, hold, and release slowly. Clearly the feather was not meant to be an insult. Perhaps it was an honor, or a show of good intentions. “Kjorn,” he began, but Kjorn canted his head. He appeared to be in possession of himself again.

  “I look forward to meeting your family,” Kjorn said with strict formality. “And discussing all that’s important to both of us. And, if you’re willing, to hear more of your meeting with my father.”

  Shard stepped forward. “And, as a show of things to come, and friendship, I’d like to offer you fire.”

  Mbari shook his mane in apparent pleasure as darkness thickened around them. “I’ve heard of this dragon fire. The birds make much of it. Yes, we accept.” And to Kjorn he said, “Come, let us speak privately of our wishes, and of your father.”

  He turned to walk away, and Kjorn looked at Shard. “What do you think?” He hesitated, looking toward Mbari’s disappearing form. The sun was gone, shadows crawled from the rocks and over the grass.

  “Go on. I’ll start the fires. And remember, these are friends. Whatever happened between him and Sverin—”

  “If only he were here,” Kjorn murmured, and Shard realized what was troubling him. He loosed a low, angry growl. “He should be here, beside me, but instead, he’s . . .” He didn’t finish.

  Shard touched his beak to a golden wing. “Kjorn, I know what it is to wish you had your father by your side. But you’re here now, and he isn’t. You’ve got to go forward with what you have now.”

  Kjorn eyed him, as if finally remembering Shard had never known his own father, then lifted his head. Whether Shard had truly gotten through, he couldn’t tell, but at least his friend appeared genuinely calm now. “You’re right. I know you are. You’ll be well, with the others?”

  “We’re fine. Go on.” Shard butted his head against Kjorn’s shoulder, for Mbari was disappearing into the dark without looking back. “We’ll see each other after.”

  Kjorn dipped his head and didn’t run, but took long, dignified strides to catch the lion chief, and Shard turned to the task of fire.

  “Another feast?” Dagny looked dismayed. They gathered dead branches from the trees and driftwood from the river bank, with the help of enthusiastic lion cubs. “This war is going to make me fatter than a grouse.”

  Brynja laughed.

  Asvander murmured something in the negative and Shard, building another little pyramid of sticks, was distracted, looking around for a familiar lioness face. Ajia had not shown herself, and he tried not to be disappointed. She’d been so welcoming of him when he’d flown to find the lions, to learn more of the wyrms. Certainly she must know he was there, and he’d thought she would be interested in the fire, and all that had happened since they’d met.

  “Shard,” Brynja murmured, slipping up next to him. “Are you well?”

  Am I well? Shard twisted a cluster of dry grass in his talons, thinking how short a time ago he would’ve given anything for Brynja to walk up and stand so close and speak to him so softly.

  Am I well? He thought how short a time ago it had been that he’d learned to make fire, that he hadn’t known when or if he would see Kjorn again, that he’d thought he could solve every problem of the world by talking. How long ago since he’d kept a newly-hatched dragon warm in his wings, then the same dragon had carried him safely from the grasp of death. How long ago since he’d left his home . . .

  “Shard.” Brynja nipped him, bringing him back to himself.

  How long ago since she asked her question? He thought wryly. “Too distracted for words. I hoped to speak to Ajia, but I haven’t seen her.”

  “You think she can help you more than the priestess did?”

  “I think she can help me in a different way.” Shard lifted his wings restlessly, soaking up the strength and determination in Brynja’s expression. “I hope she can help me figure out what to say, or show, to Rhydda.”

  After a thoughtful moment, Brynja said, “I don’t understand this dreaming that you do. But I know it is real, and I have faith in your strong heart. Don’t you? You’re the one who inspired us to band together, to listen, to see beyond our own borders and troubles. What do you fear?”

  Shard twisted grass, looking down at his talons. “Before, in the Silver Isles, I spoke to the wolves, to boar, to creatures no one thought could speak. Here, I spoke to the lions, the eagles, the painted wolves. I spoke to the blackfish, even though they didn’t listen. I even spoke to the dragons. I haven’t been afraid like this before, afraid to speak—”

  “Afraid to be wrong?”

  “Afraid to be wrong,” he agreed, breaking a twig in two. “Brynja, what if I really can’t speak to them? I’ve failed every time.”

  “You haven’t failed at all. Rhydda has shown you things.”

  “But she doesn’t answer. She
shows me pain, anger, hatred. What if she doesn’t understand me? What if they really are Nameless, Voiceless, like fish in the sea, and I’m wasting my time?”

  “Then we will fight,” she said firmly. “As we did before. We will fight, and drive them from this land. This doesn’t all rest on your wings.”

  “Yes,” he said, feeling hollow. “We will fight. And many will die.”

  “They’ll die anyway,” she said, tossing her head. “Of old age, or disease, or flying in a storm. We are warriors, Shard, proud to fight, proud to die to defend our home.”

  “I only hope we don’t have to fight. Again.”

  She nuzzled under his beak. “So do I, Shard. So do all of us.”

  Shard drew a breath, letting her scent calm him. “I can sense that Rhydda feels, but I can’t get through to her.”

  Brynja watched him through the dark, and he heard her talons shifting in the grass. After a long moment, she spoke. “Maybe you haven’t tried to rise too far, Shard.” She leaned in, pressing her shoulder to him, giving her strength. “Maybe, to do what you hope to do, you must still rise higher.”

  The words struck to his bone.

  Brynja nipped him lightly and stepped away, raising her head. “Now light your fires, my prince. Let them see the blessing of Tyr!”

  Shard nodded and withdrew his fire stones. Yearling lions clustered in a tense ring around them, cubs, younger lionesses, all watching with gleaming eyes. Sparks fell to the tinder bundle as Shard struck the stones together, then caught and flickered and smoked. Shard coaxed them with little drafts from his wingtips, and a rolling gasp and murmur of appreciation swept the lion pride as true flame crawled over the tinder.

  Delighted, the lions frolicked around the fire. The gryfon band gathered from the river and slowly the two groups merged. Shard observed that the Vanhar had an easier time speaking to the lions, but many of the Lakelanders didn’t understand them at all. This made for a few misunderstandings, but Asvander remained close to his group, keeping tempers in check. Shard grew restless, and remained at the outskirts of the firelight.

  Around him, the courteous, cautious voices of lions and gryfons made a low, pleasing murmur in the night. Kjorn hadn’t yet returned from his meeting with Mbari, but the yearling who’d led them there assured them Kjorn was safe, that they were only talking. Asvander and Dagny were indignant, and agreed they would seek Kjorn out if he didn’t return by midnight.

  Shard’s belly was too tight to eat anything, though not because of Kjorn. He trusted the lions. No, he needed more help.

  Before, he’d sought out Ajia on her own ground. Perhaps, even now, she still expected him to do the same. With a quiet word to Brynja, he left the circle of firelight completely and walked out into the night.

  ~20~

  Breath of Tor

  SHARD CREPT THROUGH THE dark. A breeze that mingled the humid scent of spring with the chill of winter brushed his flanks and face.

  He walked, almost gingerly, knowing the lions probably had eyes on him though he couldn’t see them. He walked until the sound of voices faded and there was only wind, the river, and his own footsteps. Insects chirruped and pulsed in their song. As his eyes adjusted to the dark and the familiar sea of stars above, Shard stopped, craning his neck to look. His gaze followed the clustered band of silver that stretched from one horizon to the other, the dragon stars. Midragur.

  He didn’t think he heard anything, but a sense drew his gaze back to earth, and a small hope kindled in his chest.

  “Ajia, the Swiftest,” he greeted, mantling though he didn’t yet discern her through the grass and blackness.

  Then grass shifted and he turned his head, seeing her outlined against the sparkling reflection of stars in the river. “Star-sent, you return to us, with your Prince of War.”

  “He isn’t. He hopes for peace.”

  “Hope is not a goal.” She was facing him, her tail toward the river. “Peace is. Even now, the Sunwind rises. All of his preparations are not toward peace, but war. “

  Shard hadn’t thought of it quite that way, but he inclined his head. “Yet, I chase the wyrm in my dreams, and Kjorn promises if I can find a peaceful solution, he’ll honor it.”

  When Shard stood tall again, the lioness had stepped closer, and he caught her scent. The familiar tang of it reminded him of the first time he’d seen the wyrms, and he shivered.

  Her eyes glinted like stars in the gloom. “I have watched you, and him, and I see that you hold each other’s hearts. So I will trust what you say. But keep a steady eye, for he comes from a history of war, and sometimes we can only walk the paths we know.”

  “We’re making a different path now,” Shard said, defensive but proud. “He and I together, and the others. Trust me in that.”

  “Still Tor shines on you, Star-sent. I hope your wings will part this growing storm. I hope the breath of Tor will disperse the wind of war.”

  A memory came to him, odd in that place, of a forest turning sweet with autumn. He remembered the caribou king, Aodh, telling him a new rhyme he’d heard in the wind, a song that, coupled with the starfire, had spurred Shard to travel to the Winderost, then on to find the dragoness Amaratsu and Hikaru.

  It is for gryfons to see, Aodh had said, a lifetime ago. To hunt, chase and catch. It was for the hoofed to listen, he’d said, to listen to the wind and earth.

  I hear the Silver Wind itself.

  He’d said it was for gryfons to see and hunt, and to see, one must look. But Shard had looked, and he hadn’t seen. He couldn’t see what Rhydda wouldn’t show him. He should have learned the whole truth while he was in the Sunland. He shouldn’t have let the dragons imprison him, shouldn’t have fled. He should have learned the truth, and now he had lost his chance.

  Stigr had wondered what wind Shard was following. Kjorn was raising the Sunwind, the wind of war. The Vanhar had sung a song after the Battle of Torches. A new wind, a bright wind, a silver wind is blowing.

  From across the sea, a memory answered him.

  The Silver Wind is the truth.

  “The Silver Wind,” Shard breathed. “The breath of Tor. Is that what you speak of? The Silver Wind, the truth?”

  “The first, the highest,” the lioness said, echoing the words Stigr had uttered to Shard what felt like a life time ago.

  “I try to find the truth, to speak it, to use it. I try to reach the wyrm, Rhydda, but . . .”

  “You still try to speak with the wyrms, but they don’t hear?”

  “She hears, but then I lose myself in the vision, and I wake as if from a nightmare. If I could stay focused, and remember myself . . .”

  Her head tilted, and he caught the outline of the feathers she wore about her neck. “Tell me your tale, young prince. Walk with me, tell me what befell you during the end of winter, and what you have tried with the wyrm so far.”

  She turned and Shard trotted to her side, grateful to have found her, and found her welcoming. He didn’t question why she hadn’t come to him. It was probably right that he had sought her.

  Together they walked upstream, with stars peering overhead and the river muffling his story. He told her everything from the time they’d met to him fleeing the Dawn Spire, taking Hikaru to the Sunland, and returning.

  “A dragon,” Ajia mused. “A true dragon, and even he couldn’t speak to the wyrms? Something has eaten their hearts, or they have no hearts at all, as we feared. This does not bode well.”

  “No,” Shard agreed. “It doesn’t bode well, but I know they have hearts. Rhydda feels, she feels for her brood, she fears the sun, but I don’t think they always lived in the dark. I dreamed with her, and I know she once flew in the sunlight. I don’t know what changed.”

  Pain flickered in his mind, sunlight and pain, linked. To Rhydda, sunlight was pain.

  But she once flew under the sun . . .

  They came to a slow bend in the river and Ajia paused, turning to look at the water, ears perked. Shard remained quiet, certain sh
e was seeking a vision in the starlight on the water.

  “With the priestess of the Vanhar, you dreamed.” Ajia batted a paw into the water, as if to test the temperature. Shard found the gesture strangely endearing, and wondered if she’d seen a fish, or if it was simply a thoughtful sort of fidget.

  “Yes. I saw her clearly, while I was awake.”

  The lioness drew back from the water and faced him fully, her braid of feathers outlined by the crescent moon, her face in shadow. “Dream with me now. This is a hallow place, this river, old and steady and abundant. I believe it will give you strength, and I will help you to remember your purpose, and not be fooled by the dream.”

  “I’ll try,” Shard said.

  “Try?” Ajia asked. “Do you try to fly, or do you simply open your wings and soar? Do this with me. We will face the wyrm together.”

  She stretched out on her belly and extended her paws toward him. Shard lay down in front of her, with the high grass on one side, the river on the other, sand under their bellies and starlight on their backs. He closed his eyes. He sought the net.

  Ajia shifted forward and her large padded paws touched his talons.

  Faster than before, perhaps because he’d already done it, or perhaps because he was much closer to Rhydda now, Shard found the wyrm’s presence. He slipped close to her with an image of rolling green hills, as she’d shown him before, the place he believed to be her home.

  “Rhydda.” He tried to keep his voice light, soothing, as if speaking to a kit. “Don’t you wish to go home? Why all this anger, this mindless hate?”

  “Hate stems from fear,” Ajia said, her voice thrumming and low. “As courage stems from love. What does she fear?”

  “What do you fear?” To get the idea across to Rhydda, Shard painted a dream of himself, facing his first sea dive. He let the sense of fear wash over him. He showed her Lapu, the boar, and felt fear again, and sent her a feeling, a question. “What do you fear?” he whispered again.