by Jess E. Owen
“How do you feel?”
Taking a moment to ponder it, Brynja nodded once. “Well enough. The kit . . .” She stopped, waiting, but didn’t feel the kit move. “Well enough. I wore us both out.”
“I wish you’d asked for help.” His warm voice, like a summer wind through aspen leaves, both comforted and admonished her.
She dipped her head, but flattened her ears, submissive yet defiant. “Ragna said it was mine to do—”
“She meant it was yours to lead, not that you had to do every task yourself, running yourself to the ground without any sort of help.”
“I had help,” she fibbed. “Maja and Ketil made all the food preparations—”
Shard’s tail lashed, flicking against her hind legs as if to make her sit back down. “I know you wanted to do everything yourself, but no one expected you to. And if you felt they did, then we all failed you. No one expected you to.”
“But they did,” Brynja insisted, ears still slanted back, as defensiveness and worry both clawed about in her breast. “They want to prove I’m not a proper queen for the Vanir by watching me fail—”
“Brynja,” Shard said, lowering his head to meet her eyes solidly. “No one wants to see you fail. Sometimes I fear that you’re the one who thinks you’re not a proper queen for the Vanir.”
It struck too close to the truth. A talon twisted her heart. Briefly, she missed her mother and her nest in the warm red rocks of the Dawn Spire. Outside, the wind moaned against the rocks, and it was as dark as the First Night of the world. She looked away from the shadow of Shard’s face. “Maja and Ketil—”
“Gabbling magpies,” Shard said, sounding exactly like his uncle, Stigr. She wondered what he would think of all this. She would have liked him there, and her aunt and mentor, Valdis. But they were over an impossible sea, and she had to do it alone.
Well, not truly alone. Shard went on. “They’ve actually done a lot to help, and you know that. As for you being my queen, Ketil would fuss and fret over any gryfess not of her personal choosing—whether Vanir, Aesir, half-blood, or some winged creature formed by Tor herself from moonlight and seawater.”
Brynja choked out a laugh, and he butted his head fondly against her wing. A burst of longing for the days when she’d been light and spry enough to soar with him over the sea and the plains shot through her. She had to remind herself her pregnancy was very temporary, she had only a few more cold winter moons, then they would have their own warm rollicking kit to introduce to the world.
Her belly felt stiff, and still. She loosed a slow breath. “We should go. At the very least, I can’t be late for the Mother’s Night.”
She let him believe he had soothed all her fears, that she didn’t fear Maja or Ketil’s disapproval. She didn’t mention Ragna, who might as well have been Tor herself, for her distant, regal coolness. Shard was intelligent and compassionate and kind, but Brynja couldn’t bring herself to set him against his own mother with her own suspicions, when they’d been forced into estrangement by the Conquering. Especially not now, during their most important celebration of the year.
Forcing her nerves to be calm, and her muscles to move against the stiffening, hard cold, she climbed the cliff trail with Shard behind her. It was exhausting to mind every step of the way, feeling for ice slicks in the dark.
Surprising, warm gold light flickered from the top of the cliffs, and she remembered that she’d wanted fires for the first night. For a moment she regretted the choice, which might seem disrespectful to the wishes of the Vanir. Then, as they topped the rise and came over the cliff, a freezing wind sucked the wind from her, and she felt better about having fire. She stopped short to catch a breath, then forced herself up and forward, making room for Shard.
Five bonfires raged against the dark and frosty air, in the sheltered protection of the King’s Rocks, the jutting stones in the rough center of the nesting cliffs. They were perfectly laid out, and burning strong.
Brynja thought Dagny must have overseen the building of the fires, as she’d had such a role at the Dawn Spire back home.
Back at the Winderost, Brynja corrected herself. This is my home.
The wind made the fires swirl and dance, but the stone protected them just enough from guttering out. More than twenty gryfons clustered around each fire, over a hundred strong. The entire pride had left their nests for the first eve of the Long Night. Brynja felt a spark of hope.
Aesir and half-bloods gathered closest to the fires, talking amiably as if it were a summer night. Old Vanir hung back, ears twitching uncertainly, as if they couldn’t decide whether to stay warm, or respect the ancient and freezing traditions of their ancestors. Their disapproval felt like an extra layer of cold wind to Brynja, and she ground her beak against a sigh.
“I like it,” Shard said lightly, and her wings twitched in surprise. “And see how pleased the nestling mothers are.”
Brynja looked again. It was true—mothers with fluffy nestlings curled up close to the flames, not having to worry that their little ones would freeze, and not having to miss the celebration by staying in their warm and sheltered nests. The fires made it possible for all to attend the Mother’s Night—even the mothers.
Brynja felt slightly better. Even more so when she spied a glittering white gryfess with her nestling, close to the nearest fire. Astri, and little Eyvindr. Perhaps if the half-blood could accept the fire, she would accept the request to sing the next night . . . Fire caught on copper feathers nearby and Brynja tried to catch Dagr’s gaze to see if he’d spoken to Astri yet, if he’d broken the ice. But he was letting Eyvindr wrestle against his talons, and didn’t notice her. Beside Dagr sat his father, Vidar, one of the old Vanir, who looked determined to enjoy the fire for the sake of his remaining son. Brynja searched for Vidar’s estranged mate, but saw Eyvin over by another fire, nearer to the other Aesir.
Before she could spot anyone else and gauge their reactions, Shard murmured in her ear. “Remember, you’ll never make everyone happy. They’re waiting for you to begin now.”
Realization that the entire pride had fallen silent, and now stared at Brynja as she stared at them, made her chuckle self-consciously. “And I’m freezing. Let’s go.”
They strode together, side by side, into the light of the largest fire. Brynja found Dagny, Sigrun, and Caj, and stood near them. She looked to Shard, but her young gray king held back, ears perked toward her.
Brynja hesitated, then turned from the fire and climbed, to much worried murmuring, up to the top of the King’s Rocks, and turned to behold the pride. Her pride. From muttering Ketil to cautious Astri and handsome, curious Dagr, practical Sigrun and noble Caj . . . they were hers to protect and to lead. They might not have chosen her, but she had chosen them.
The wind buffeted her feathers, and she hoped she looked strong with the firelight from below, and the starlight on her back.
Cool, waiting looks from the Vanir met her gaze. Encouraging, yet doubtful sideways looks from the dragon-blessed, brightly colored Aesir. Hopeful, excited fledgling eyes gleamed back at her, and gave her the strength she needed. They had lived through a war, and now that there was peace, every new thing was an adventure, full of possibility.
“Welcome all to the first night of darkness,” Brynja said, raising her voice over the wind and crackling flames. Wood smoke brought memories of her first nest, of her father and mother, of the red earth she’d flown from to make a home here. “I know the fire is a departure from the traditions of the Vanir, but I hope Tor knows we light them to honor her love of Tyr, the sun, the flame, and to allow those more frail among us to join the celebration.” After a slight pause she added, “Including me, apparently.”
She referenced her fainting spell and day-long sleep, and was rewarded with some knowing, hesitant laughter. She couldn’t bring herself to find Ragna in the firelight, unsure what the old queen would think of her weakness and falling, and of the fire, and of everything.
She sucked a breath,
bracing herself against the battering wind, and lifted her voice again. “This is the Mother’s Night, and we gather to honor Tor as she rises, and with her, our huntress ancestors.”
At last a small spark of approval seemed to warm amongst the Vanir onlookers. The fires were a departure from their traditions but this, at least, was familiar.
“I name En,” Brynja said clearly into the smoke and wind. “Mother of the second oldest and proudest line of Aesir in the Winderost. Her love for a gryfon not of her own clan was the first of its kind, and helped us to shed false barriers between us. Because of En’s courage and her honest heart, we have all grown stronger, and can love freely. In Tor’s light, I honor her.”
After a brief moment, letting herself be lit by fire, Brynja climbed down the King’s Rocks and to Shard’s side. His rumbling purr of approval eased her quivering muscles and racing heart.
He raised his voice next, but he didn’t presume to climb the rocks on the Mother’s Night. “I honor Freja, a gryfess I met in a dream. She sacrificed her life to save the life of a kit in her pride. A hard death, but a sacrifice any gryfon would be glad to make. I honor Freja, a queen of the Vanir.”
After the Vanir nodded knowingly and the Aesir shifted uncomfortably at this mention of their king’s uncanny visions, it fell quiet as they waited for another to speak. Brynja spied Ragna in the gathering, but the pale widow remained silent, her eyes unreadable.
“I honor Maj,” Eyvin called at last from her far fires. “A noble gryfess of the Second Age who, along with En and others, established the noblest bloodlines of the Dawn Spire.”
Encouraged now, other gryfons raised their voices, calling out their ancestors and deeds. Names flew past Brynja’s ears. Some well known, some obscure, some recently passed—though not too recent, for that was for Third Night. Ancestors, queens, huntresses of great renown. Brynja longed to hear their full stories, and her heart pounded to think that one distant day, some gryfon might stand and name Brynja, daughter-of-Mar, red queen of the Silver Isles . . .
She shook her head. She had a lot to do if she wanted to be named on this night, and it was silly to think of doing deeds just for that. She had a pride to care for, a king, a kit . . . she listened to the history, to warrior males, pregnant females, huntresses and elders proudly naming their female ancestors.
At last when the fires lay low, and Brynja spied a crescent of stars rising on the horizon that Shard called the Talon, she knew it was close to midnight, and almost time for all to go to their rest.
But one gryfess still hadn’t spoken. Gryfons looked around at each other, expectant, an air of anxiousness tightening the gathering. At last Brynja dared to find Ragna in the crowd, and watched her, unsure if she planned to name someone, or if the name she’d wanted to speak had been taken. Or maybe she disapproved of the fires and meant to show it by not participating. Brynja’s heart quickened and she tightened her talons against the packed snow. Even Maja and Ketil had proudly named their own ancestors under the moon and stars.
Just when Brynja feared she might not speak after all, Ragna stood, and opened her pale wings against the fire light. Relief and worry clustered in Brynja’s heart.
“I must name one who is not my own bloodline,” Ragna said, her voice ringing strong in the night. The wind had long since died, and red embers glowed against the snow and still air. “She is not mine to claim, but we share a history, and there is no one here to name her.” She lifted her gaze to the bright, glittering band that Shard called Midragur. “I honor the sacrifice of Elena, a queen of the Aesir. A huntress of the Aesir who followed her dragon-blessed mate, Sverin, and carried her own kit across the sea in the hopes of giving him a better life.” Ragna’s pale gaze traveled thoughtfully across the gathering. “She died in a noble but failed attempt to feed her family, in a desperate attempt to embrace the ways of the Vanir. She did it for pride, for love, and duty. She will never be forgotten.” Ragna’s green eyes drifted back across the utterly silent, stunned pride, and rested at last on Brynja. “I honor her,” the queen said quietly, and though all heard, Brynja felt it could have been for her ears alone. “For the sacrifices she made to try to make a life here, the sacrifices she made for her family.”
Brynja stood slowly on shaking legs. “May all your honors be carried on strong winds to Tor’s ear. This ends our Mother’s Night. Go to your rest. We observe the day when the Talon sets, and the Boar rises. Let us go to rest, and meet back again for the Second night when the stars of the Hawk are high.”
The gryfons rose sleepily, seeming happy, tired, but warm and ready for their rest.
“Come my love,” Shard murmured. “That was well done.”
“Just a moment.” Brynja nuzzled him. “I have two things to tend to.”
She walked along a meandering but well-packed trail to the center fire to find Frar, who was still curled up, appearing to enjoy the warmth of the embers and the sight of the pride talking happily together.
“Ah, my lady,” said the old gryfon. “I’m glad to see you well.”
“Thank you for your help.” She dipped her head. “I meant to find you earlier to ask you if . . .” it seemed suddenly difficult, and awkward, to ask a gryfon so close to his own flight to the Sunlit Land to speak for the dead, and she stopped, and stared at him blankly.
“Ragna mentioned you might ask me to speak on the Third Night,” Frar said quietly, his voice like dry leaves in the wind.
Brynja lifted a foot in surprise, taken aback. Ragna asked him for me? She hoped this wasn’t a break in tradition, and that the queen knew Brynja had meant to ask before she’d fainted. She realized Frar watched her expectantly, and that she hadn’t, in fact, officially asked him. Heat flamed under the feathers of her face.
“Honored Frar, will you speak for the gryfons who passed on to the Sunlit Land this year, not in battle, but on other winds?”
The old gryfon dipped his scruffy head, his fathers fluffing up in pleasure. “I would be very honored. I will need someone to give me the names of the Aesir who have passed, for my memory isn’t what it might be.”
“I will—”
“I will,” insisted a gryfess from behind Brynja. She turned to see Eyvin, Dagr’s mother, striding forward through the snow. Behind her stood Vidar, and Brynja felt hopeful that they’d been speaking to each other. Eyvin mantled when she drew closer. “With all due respect my lady, I hope you will rest, and let the rest of us help you now.”
Brynja looked from her to Frar, then back, and noted the sparks of amusement and concern in both their fierce eyes. Finally, also feeling Shard’s eyes on her from paces away, she lowered her head. “Thank you. I accept.”
“Go to your nest,” Eyvin said briskly. “Frar and I will speak.”
After only a moment’s hesitation, Brynja left them, though not for her nest. She trotted after a disappearing pale form. Astri walked from the fire, with Eyvindr riding tucked between her wings. Brynja expected to see the young gryfon sleeping, but he sat awake, staring around with wide eyes.
“Astri,” Brynja said
The white gryfess stopped, turning to offer a careful mantle without dislodging Eyvindr. “My lady.”
“M’ady,” Eyvindr echoed from her shoulders.
“Eyvindr,” Brynja said, her heart flaring with warmth. The kit ruffled his feathers proudly, then whipped his head to watch a spark that floated past him and up into the sky. Brynja paused, Astri watching her expectantly, and loosed her request in a single quick breath. “Astri, I was hoping to ask you about leading the singing on the Second Night.”
“Dagr mentioned the singing.” Her gaze drifted from Brynja to the copper gryfon who, Brynja understood, looked very much like Einarr had. He laid side by side with Tollak, and Caj near them, all reminiscing further on great gryfons and gryfesses they had known.
“Say you will,” Brynja said softly, drawing Astri’s attention back to her. A pang lanced her heart at the sight of distant sadness in her eyes. How Astri must mis
s her mate at a time like this—dark winter, and their first big celebration after years of fear and terror of this time of year. “Please,” Brynja added. “It would mean a great deal to everyone, especially to me.”
Quiet eyes met hers, and Brynja realized how young Astri was—how young Einarr must have been. Sparks popped from the nearby embers, and Brynja shivered against the cold of midnight.
“I will,” Astri whispered tightly. “Because Einarr loved Shard, and Shard loves you. My lady.”
“M’ady,” Eyvindr said, stretching his growing wings.
“Thank you,” Brynja said, as warmly as she could.
Without further comment, Astri dipped her head and walked on toward the cliff trail and her nest.
To stay her own sadness, Brynja found Shard, and together they bid good night to gryfons they passed as they went to their rest.
As they curled up, Shard spoke quietly. “If you’ll let me, tomorrow I’ll speak to others to help arrange the rest of the nights. I’m sure Mother would help you too. She’s done this before you know, but she doesn’t want to intrude.”
“She doesn’t?” Brynja fluffed up the hide at the bottom of the nest—a gift from Ahanu, the wolf king. “I thought she was disappointed in me, or waiting to see if I did everything right.”
Shard laughed, then stopped quickly when he realized she was serious. “How could you think she would leave you to do everything alone? She thought you wanted to do it all yourself. If anyone tried to help you, you fluffed up like a jaybird on its nest and looked ready to attack.”
“I suppose I did want to do it myself.” Brynja eased down to her side, careful of her belly. “But I know I can’t, now. Tell her I would welcome her counsel?”
Shard tucked in next to her and laid his head on her wing. “I think you should tell her yourself. It would mean a lot to her.”