by Jess E. Owen
Shard choked back a soft noise of amazement and gratitude. “Yes. I forgive you.”
She tucked a wing and turned, diving low. There, below him, she banked, flared, and ducked her head low, as if imitating a gryfon mantle. For a heartbeat she watched Shard.
“Fair winds,” Shard whispered.
She turned then, and soared without looking back at the Sun Isle, toward her brood, and Shard knew without question that from there she would take her family home.
He looked down at his islands, and saw the great host of gryfons, wolves, birds and the rest, and Hikaru, waiting for him below. During his flight, they had drawn close, clustering all along the Cooper Cliff and fanning out into the field beyond.
Spiraling down, he landed in silence on the highest ledge of the King’s Rocks.
He landed where he had seen Per and Sverin stand so many times before, and from there he could see almost every face that stared at him in mute awe. His breath felt short, and he left his wings open to the cold morning wind. He thought he should say something, but a deep, clear voice rang out first.
Kjorn.
“Rashard, the king!”
A burred, hard voice declared, “All hail the king!” Shard looked at Caj, and his nest-father met his gaze with fierce pride.
Every Vanir who stood there echoed him in a single, sharp, victorious chorus. “All hail the king!”
Hikaru whipped up from his place and spiraled high like a silver snake, declaring, “The Summer King! Rashard the Summer King!”
Voices rose. Birds burst from the birch wood around the forest and sang their approval. Gryfons stood tall and shouted his name, the sun brightened over the sea, and it was spring.
For a moment, Shard flashed on his father’s vision of the future, and he could see it now. He could see that it had begun.
Ragna, Brynja, Caj and the Aesir, the wolves, the half-bloods, even Halvden, bellowed for all the isles to hear.
“All hail the king!”
“Rashard, the Summer King!”
Four moons later, the Daynight dawned cloudy and cool.
Shard stood on the King’s Rocks, his face to the wind, and thought the clouds might burn off before the celebrations began.
After leaving for the spring, Hikaru had returned with Natsumi and their dragonet, a little springborn hatchling he named Terasu, after his grandmother.
Natsumi had shed into warm, pearly scales of bronze, and she was fascinated with the gryfess huntresses. They swapped fighting and fishing techniques, and some disappeared with the dragoness for long afternoons, exploring the islands. Now, she seemed content to help them preen for the Daynight celebrations.
Hikaru’s summer scales shifted in the dawn light, warm, burnished gray. He’d joked that he and Shard truly looked like brothers now, except he being taller. He’d come to celebrate Shard and Brynja’s mating, and to learn what the gryfons and wolves did to celebrate the turn of the seasons. The chronicler should pay attention to all creatures, not just dragons, he’d decided.
After this visit, he would fly with Kjorn to the Winderost. Then, he intended to find the wyrms’ homeland, and renew their bonds.
Shard turned from the sea to look out over the windswept plain and the White Mountains, watching as gryfons went about their morning.
Gryfesses emerged with their kits, each telling their own favorite Daynight traditions. After the feasting and the songs, the mating flights, and the next sunrise, the Aesir would depart for home.
Shard felt regret, but also knew it was time. Their kits were strong enough to be carried across the sea, and Kjorn had a new kingdom to rule.
Out in the field, the golden king sat with little Kvasir, who wobbled about on uncertain legs, leading a play hunt for grasshoppers. Tumbling around him were Terasu, pale white of scale and already the size of a gryfon fledge, Astri’s kit Eyvindr, and Halla, Halvden and Kenna’s kit.
Two wolf yearlings gamboled around them, for Ahanu had brought his family to celebrate the Daynight on the Sun Isle. Then they sped off from the slow and apparently boring gryfon kits to pester Frar and group of fledglings, who were listening to the elder’s tales of Daynights past. Among the fledglings sat Vanhar, Lakelanders, and gryfons of Shard’s own pride.
For a moment, the sight boggled Shard’s mind. He wondered what his father would have thought, to see such a thing. He wondered what Sverin would have. Kjorn’s pleased and amused expression told him all he needed to know.
They’d rebuilt the nests in the cliffs, cleaned the shore, and mourned their dead.
Shard had traveled to each isle, meeting the horses, the hawks and falcons of Talon’s Reach, the snow wolves of the high mountains on the Star Isle. He wanted all to know that the Vanir were home, that he was king, that he welcomed their alliance and their counsel, and that the gryfons would aid them if ever they had need.
Gryfons took to the sky from their nests and soared out to sea to begin the morning fishing. Shard’s heart lifted, as it always did, to see them. Ragna led a group, Brynja and Thyra with them.
From the river, he caught a flash of russet.
“Catori!”
The she-wolf raced across the plain, throwing up dew with her paws, tongue lolling in a happy pant. She bounded past gryfons and kits and wolves and the two enormous dragons, so out of place among the smaller creatures.
Shard hopped down from the rocks to meet her at the base, and she padded right up to lick the side of his head. He laughed and shook himself as she trotted a happy circle, her tail high and waving.
“I’m so happy for you, my friend! Time for you to make Brynja a queen, at last. And I see the Vanir’s love for her.”
“Yes.” Shard’s heart warmed, and pounded. Above them, even as he’d hoped, the clouds began to drift apart from each other to reveal a summer-blue sky. “She’s been patient to wait for me.”
“It’s right,” Catori said, sitting near him. “Right, to honor the tradition of your ancestors.”
Shard nodded once. “I also meant to ask you and Ahanu if we might hunt on the Star Isle. This will be the biggest Daynight celebration the pride has ever seen, and we’ll need a lot to eat. And I’d like to honor the Aesir with food I know they’ll like.”
Her tailed waved. “But it’s already done. Ahanu thought of that yesterday, and the pack is hunting, so let him surprise you.”
Shard inclined his head, grateful. “Thank you.” His gaze drifted back to the odd mix of kits, pups, and the dragonet at play.
Catori nosed his feathers. “You seem far too pensive on this day.”
“I was just thinking how it’s been exactly a year since Ragna sang the song.”
“Yes?” Catori’s ears flicked away a buzzing fly. “So it has.”
“I was just wondering what might’ve happened, if I hadn’t heeded it, if I’d really thought Kjorn was the Summer King, as Sverin said.”
“Perhaps he was.” She looked at him, her amber eyes bright and mischievous.
Shard flicked his tail, and ruffled his feathers. “You haven’t riddled at me in a long time. But you’re right. Kjorn could have been. Or Hikaru, or any of the gryfons in the pride.”
“I don’t think it could have been any of them,” Catori murmured, watching him fondly.
“But what if it wasn’t destiny, but my decision?”
“What if?” Catori echoed, sounding like a raven.
Shard snapped his beak at her playfully.
“But you did decide, you did everything you had to, you became the Summer King, and look what it’s done for all of us.”
Shard watched gryfons flying high above them, some on their way to the birch wood and others to Star Isle for kindling. They would have fires in celebration. “But what if another gryfon heard the song, and thought they were supposed to follow it?”
Catori stood and shook her bright summer coat, nipping the air in a laugh. “And how awful that would be! For a whole generation of young gryfons to hear the song and think it w
as about them, to believe they must rise higher, see farther, listen to all who speak . . . what a terrible, terrible thing.”
Shard eyed her sideways, and laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”
She bowed before him, stretching her long legs and digging claws into the peat. “I hope you won’t think much more about it. Brynja will not appreciate a distracted partner.”
“No, no of course.” Oh, the mating flights. He had watched them every year as he grew. Since Shard was known for his flight skills, they would probably expect great things. He was glad for the weather.
A shadow rippled over them and Shard looked up to see Brynja banking about to land, with a fish in her talons.
“For you!” she tossed it proudly to the ground in front of him and Shard trotted to her as she landed, butting his head against her chest.
“Thank you.”
Brynja nodded to acknowledge Catori, then eyed the cloudy sky. “I’ve sent extra flights out, for fish, and the Vanhar will help to feed all this rabble.”
Shard flicked his ears in amusement. Of course she would already be taking care of things. “Thank you again, my queen.”
“I am not queen yet,” she said, with a spark in her eyes, challenging him. “We’ll see how well you fly today.”
Shard laughed. “Yes.”
They backed away from each other, tails lashing with excitement. Shard admired her face in the dawn, and the dramatic angle of her as the wind rushed against her feathers.
Her eyes shone. “At least it’s such a fair morning, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Shard agreed. The wind brought him scents of pine, of saltwater and of his pride.
Something else, elusive, sweet, and silver touched the air, something he knew he would always sense now, something that he would never quite be able to define.
“Very fair,” he said, and opened his wings, breathing deeply, and gazed at the blue peeking through the clouds. “I think it will be a good day for flying.”
THE END
Acknowledgements
And finally, here is the list of generous backers whose pledges included a listing in the acknowledgements. Many names will look familiar from previous years. Thank you so much; I'm truly humbled by for your continued support!
In no particular order of amazingness:
The Blood Family
FL
Z.A.L. Storm
Renee LeCompte
Maya & Sylvie
Dr. Robert Early
Kellie Riddett
Michael 'Tagar' Teinert
Searska GreyRaven
Anna Wentzel
Björn Schneider
Iben Krutt
Justin Strother
Fiona van der Pennen
Thomas Ally
Renee Rathjen
Samantha Sack
Jessica Pawlik
Chad Bowden
K.T. Ivanrest
Dain Eaton
Emily Weichbrod
Anita
David "Draco Cretel" Taylor
Laura Lewis
Shepherd Sinclair
NightEyes DaySpring
Crisaron Schmehl
Melissa A. Hartman
Cody R
Scott Pittman
Joseph
Thomas Mikkelsen
Galit A.
Nick Hennessy (Zeric)
Jeff Springer
Charlotte "Pandemoniumfire" Rose McCarthy
Abigail Rice
Kristina
H. Digerud
Steven Mentzel
Brandi Dimitroff
Linda van Rosmalen
Signe Stenmark
Katuro the Ice Dragon
Ray Johnston
Rhel
Aaron Ngai
Sarah Brooks
Almonihah
TeoWolf82
Kristina Marshall
Leanne Fernau
Chayla Uhl
Katherine J. Wright
Frank Aben-Kralowetz
Abigail MacLaren
Jay Doran
Anne "Tyrrlin" Williams
Laura Nix
Rhoda Switzer
Dain Unicorn
Kira Stell
Katie Workman
Michael Blanchard
Fayne
Anjiby
Oliver Christen
Jennifer Nicholls
Kyyanno
David Ruhmann
Gaby Görner
Samantha Howell
Donna Jeanne Abramczyk
Mary Sperry
Erin Oakden
Sarah E. Troedson
Issar
Thaner Cox
Dani
Alexander Mays Bizzell
Edward Fan
Kate Washington
Phelan Muirneach
Linda Aben-Kralowetz
Tserisa
S. Doug Hewson
Barbara Soto
Christina McGinty-Carroll
Will "VVolf" Bentley
Rhonda Harms
Miriam "SunGryphon" Halbrooks
Ashley Johnson
Robert Walters
Kevin Wegener
Camielle Adams
Amanda "Moonwillow" Smith
Tobias "Sora" T., gryphon of Her Majesty's Avian Service,
emissary of winged beasts of the True North
Strong and Free, defender of the faith,
hoarder of the chocolates,
and keeper of the clouds and teas at Hogwarts.
About the Author
JESS HAS BEEN CREATING works of fantasy art and fiction for over a decade, and founded her own publishing company, Five Elements Press, to publish her own works and someday, that of others. She's a proud member of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators and the Authors of the Flathead. She lives with her husband in the mountains of northwest Montana, which offer daily inspiration for creating worlds of wise, wild creatures, magic, and adventure. Jess can be contacted directly through her website, www.jessowen.com .
Books by Jess E. Owen
The Summer King Chronicles
~~
Song of the Summer King
Skyfire
A Shard of Sun
By the Silver Wind
Watch for the next gryfon novel
Sneak Preview
Greetings, traveler.
Have you come to hear the tales of the Second Age? Many have been lost, for dim is the memory of that dark time. Some names will be known to you, others remain lost in the shifting winds of Time.
Four tales I will tell tonight.
One. In a time of fear and uncertainty, when gryfons knew not of Tyr and Tor, and heeded only the wind and the strongest talons, one rose from the red dust of the Winderost to challenge the cruel and dangerous warlords who held sway . . .
Two. Once, the gryfons were like the Nameless birds, and all mated only to members of their clans. All feathers the same, all beaks, all eyes, all hearts—until two different and yet kindred hearts sparked an ember across bloodlines that would fan to a flame and ignite the minds of all . . .
Three. You know the old songs and the prophecies, which seem to have been sung by the First Wind itself. But that is not so. Before there were prophecies and songs, there were prophets, and singers . . .
Four. Long ago when the world seemed small, one bold band of gryfons sought freedom from their oppressive pride by striking out across an unknown sea, either to perish at the will of the winds, or perhaps, discover a new life . . .
I am called Hugin. I am a traveler too, though where I go is another tale. I will end, when the world hatches and all things end, by flying to bright Tyr’s shoulder in the Sunlit Land, and telling him all the tales of the world. I keep the stories, so that none will ever be forgotten.
These are the heroes of the Second Age.
Rain lashed the dry earth, thick thunderheads cloaking the tepid summer afternoon in false twilight. A gryfess tore across
the ground in long, desperate leaps, her glistening black wings soaked through, useless and heavy at her sides. The kit grasped by the nape in her beak should have been yowling with indignity, but he swung, limp and silent, as she ran. Angrboda couldn’t worry about that now. Perhaps the Wind was sucked from him, keeping him mercifully quiet, but he still lived. She had to hope.
Her five pursuers had lost her in the storm, but now she knew they were catching up, running, as she was, like lions. She heard them shouting, far behind, threats and lies that they wouldn’t harm her or the kit.
To answer would have been to drop the kit. Angrboda thought of leaping into the air, but her sodden wings wouldn’t allow it. Surely the sea dwellers would have mercy on her.
Chest splintering in pain as she wheezed through her nostrils and the gaps around her kit, she ran, silent. No one could possibly be less merciful than the carrion-eating thieves and murderers running behind her.
Over the rain that drummed and finally soaked the earth to create swampy grass and clinging mug, Angrboda at last heard the murmuring roar of the sea.
Salt air hit her face. She stretched her strong, short legs, as if reaching for the sea itself, rather than the distinct change of scent markings that created their border with the strange, enigmatic sea dwellers.
Warning shouts came from above. The sea dwellers, warning her away from their border. She stopped, gasping around the kit, and stared as two sleek gryfons plummeted from the clouds, shedding the rain as easily as gulls.