Skyfire

by Jess E. Owen

  “She doesn’t,” Brynja said. She glanced also to Lisbet and Sigga, who’d fallen back once they saw that Stigr was contained. “None of us do. We’re all weary, and it’s been a very strange day. Please, stay with us here and rest. Peace between us?”

  She looked around to each them through the dark, enough starlight reaching in that Shard saw the outline of her face.

  “For now,” Stigr muttered. Shard kicked his foot. “Peace,” he said.

  “Peace between us,” Shard said, echoed by Valdis, Lisbet and Sigga.

  A breeze filtered into the cave, refreshing the air. Shard let go of Stigr. “We’ll talk again tomorrow. After everyone’s rested.”

  Stigr muttered and settled where he stood. To clear his head, Shard limped to the front of the cave to study the stars, to see the familiar beasts that Stigr had taught him to see. The Wolf Pack, a cluster of eight bright stars, the Daystar that would guide him starward and home when he was ready, and the Dragon, a sprawling serpent named Midragur that spanned the length of the sky.

  “Come in please,” Brynja said, walking only to the mouth of the cave.

  Shard looked at her, surprised. “I was looking at the stars”

  “It isn’t safe. Please.” She peered past him, as if she expected attack. “Rashard…or, is it Shard?”

  “Shard, if you like.” He turned and left the night, walking back in the cave to sit beside her.

  Brynja relaxed once he was inside. “Please forgive my aunt. And, forgive me, but, you against Sverin. It is a little hard to believe, if he’s everything my aunt has told me he is. As far as a warrior, and…”

  “Size,” Shard finished for her, and she ducked her head, apologetic. “I know.” He almost told her more, about how he’d used the sea to his advantage, and that it wasn’t strength but his skill in flying that won out. Instead he remained quiet, and enjoyed the soft huff she made as she tried to imagine him winning a fight against the Red King. Then he wanted to ask how she knew him, how close kin they were, why Sverin’s pride had fled and she and Valdis remained, and why their feathers weren’t the color of gemstones.

  “Forgive my uncle, too,” he said instead, his mind fuzzy with weariness. “But everything he said is true. He’s lived in exile these last years because of them, and stayed in the Isles only so he could help me.”

  For a moment she just looked at him. “Valdis and I didn’t invade your home or kill anyone close to you.”

  “I know that.”

  “Tell Stigr that, please.”

  “I’ll remind him.”

  The scent of sweet grass and a musty, lion-like smell came to them on the wind. Brynja noticed him sniffing.

  “The grass lions. They live in prides like gryfons. They’re insufferable poachers and we’re forever chasing them back to their own lands.”

  Shard thought of the wolves of his home, and how clear the boundaries were there. He resisted asking Brynja if the grass lions or the gryfons had lived in the Winderost longer.

  “Have you ever tried making a pact with them?”

  She chuckled, cocking her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. They don’t listen, and they don’t speak.”

  “Ah.” Shard squinted into the dark, and knew better to argue further. “I have so many questions.”

  Brynja was watching him, and he felt an odd flush under the feathers of his face. “Me too, Shard.”

  “Enough, gaggling like geese over there!” Valdis called. Brynja and Shard flattened their ears, chagrined. “Time for sleep. Questions in the morning.”

  “Here, here,” muttered Stigr.

  “At least they agree on something,” Brynja whispered to Shard.

  “It’s a start,” he agreed, and they parted. Shard curled up at Stigr’s side, grateful for his familiar bulk and scent, and stared at the long line of Dragon stars outside in the night. He’d flown to the Aesir homeland, the Winderost, to follow his father’s vision. He knew he must still seek the white mountain and figure out who or what had called to him in the strange song, and determine the meaning of Aodh’s rhyme. But something drew him to Brynja and Valdis in their pride.

  If they can answer my questions about the history of Per and his kin and those who conquered the Silver Isles, they might be able to help us.

  Though why they would want to, Shard didn’t know. Valdis had seemed interested in the mention of Per.

  Friend or rival? Shard wondered.

  Movement outside in the dark made him lift his ears, but he didn’t move, not wanting to wake Stigr, who already snored beside him. Starlight glinted off a pair of eyes, though whether a wolf or a lion he couldn’t tell. He met the gaze, and they stared at each other until Shard’s own eyes slipped shut. Black wings seemed to close around him and lift him away.

  19

  Raven Dreams

  Pale half light shone down on the Silver Isles. Shard stood at the foot of the King’s Rocks on the Copper Cliff and stared around, noting small glimmers, as if he looked at the rocks and peat and distant river through a thin curtain of water.

  A flurry of black feathers made him spin around, and he heard a raven’s laughter.

  “Munin! What have you done? I can’t be home already.”

  He strained to remember what had just happened, couldn’t figure out why everything looked so pale, as if the moon shone, but there was no moon in the sky.

  Munin landed in front of him, oddly huge and small at the same time, as if Shard were looking at a constellation of stars that formed a raven, but also a small raven within.

  “But it is the Halfnight!”

  “No it isn’t.” Shard strained to find the moon. “That was days and days ago…I think.”

  “You flew over the sea. Forgot your Name. Forgot yourself.”

  Shard stepped forward, raising his wings. They felt large and light, as if he could fly up to join the stars. “I didn’t. I am Rashard, prince of the Silver Isles.”

  Munin laughed and spread his wings in a bow. “Welcome to the dream place. Your father knew it well. From here you return to your life, or fly on to the Sunlit Land.” He speared his beak dawnward, where Shard noticed an enticing, steady glow. Enticing, yet terrifying. “Would you like to go with me, beyond the Dawnward Sea?”

  “No one flies back from that sea,” he murmured. “Where is this place? I’m dreaming. This is a place of dreams? Can I see things that are happening here, at home?” Suddenly alert, he looked around eagerly, but no one he knew showed themselves. The nesting cliffs stood eerily silent in the unending twilight.

  “Things that are happening, or have, or will. It’s hard sometimes to tell.”

  “Are you to guide me? Where is Hugin?”

  “HA!” Munin’s voice boomed and rolled like thunder through the dream realm, and Shard winced. “My brother deals in a different realm.”

  “Is this real or not?” Shard asked wearily.

  “Are you really dreaming? Yes.” Munin hopped around twice, then flapped up into the sky without a word. Crying out, Shard followed. Before he could blink they were landing in the woods of Star Isle.

  “Catori!” he called.

  In the flash of her name she sprang from the brush and bumped into Shard. They laughed, circled and raced to an ever-receding tree line, then flopped down in the grass. Her amber eyes looked more real than anything else in the dream. “So you reached the windward land.”

  “The Winderost,” he said, and told her everything. Munin wandered around their feet, mumbling. “Catori, is this real? Can I see the Isles?”

  “If you try,” she said quietly. “But beware of Munin. He doesn’t always tell what has already happened, or what is only a possibility, or only a fear. I don’t trust my own dreams of you, because your path is linked to many others, and their changes change you. But perhaps if we dream together, we’ll know the truth.”

  She told him all that had passed in the Silver Isles that she knew to be true.

  “Enough!” Munin cackled. “My wings grow
weary of carrying you, dear prince.”

  Shard’s chest tightened and he became aware that Munin’s slender claws wrapped round him, that the raven beat the dark night furiously, and he was huge and made of stars.

  “Thank you!” Shard managed, knowing it was best not to insult the strange raven. Catori’s howl followed him across the sea, where Munin dropped him back in the Winderost, back in the cave next to Stigr in the dry, foreign land.

  Before the raven could say anything, an animal scream ripped the night.

  The dream shattered like smashed ice around him.

  Shard shot awake, stumbling over Stigr toward the cave entrance. Soft, quiet dawn spread over the broken hills. A couple of sparrows startled from Shard, and the rich scent of earth and dew lay heavy in the air. It was silent. No animal had screamed. Behind him, the gryfesses yawned awake, watching him curiously.

  “Shard,” Stigr said, walking up beside him. His feathers looked sleek black against the morning, and he seemed rested. “What did you see?”

  “I…I don’t know.” He murmured the dream to Stigr while it was fresh in his mind, and Stigr pressed a comforting wing against him. When Shard mentioned the scream, Stigr shook his head, swiveling to look across the hills.

  “I didn’t hear it. You have Baldr’s gift of sight. Maybe stronger. Beware of raven dreams, though.”

  “Catori felt real,” he murmured.

  “I’m sure she was. Just remember. Trust your own heart.”

  “I will.”

  “Since you’re quite awake,” Valdis said, “we must make a plan.” Shard and Stigr turned to face her, and Brynja.

  “I’d like to see your aerie,” Shard said. “And meet your king.”

  The two gryfesses exchanged a look. Brynja answered, “Of course. Let us guide you, and introduce you. Whatever you came here to do, it’s better that the king know of you, so the Guard doesn’t mistake you for trespassers, Outlanders or spies.”

  “Listen well,” Valdis said firmly. “Listen all of you, Brynja, Lisbet, Sigga, and you…” She hesitated, sizing up Stigr and Shard again, and seemed to come up with an agreeable description. “…starlanders. The king is not to be trifled with. His support spans far and wide in the Dawn Spire and he will not take well to any news of Per and his kin, if what you say is true.”

  “You seemed eager to listen last night,” Stigr said. “Had the whole night to decide we’re liars or spies, did you?”

  “Be still, please, Uncle.” Shard lifted his ears to Valdis. “I understand. We’ll make ourselves known and then continue on our way.”

  Brynja looked uncertain. “It might not be so simple. You’d do better to stay with us awhile.”

  “Oh yes?” Stigr asked. “Is that a rabbity way of saying we’ve gone from guests to captives?”

  Valdis growled low, but Brynja lifted her wings in a gentle shrug. “I believe you when you say we’re not your enemy, when you say you’re here to learn truth, and not cause unrest. But we can’t let you wander. There are outlying enemy clans, our own Guard who might attack you, other creatures who threaten our borders. Let us help you.”

  “Then take us to the king,” Stigr growled. In the dawn light, his left, missing eye made him look more dangerous. “I’ve had enough bandying about with hunting parties who play sentinels.”

  Valdis flared her wings. “Give us orders? Who do you think you are?”

  “Valdis,” Brynja said calmly, “let’s take them. It isn’t ours to decide what should be done, and it’ll take another day to fly home. I don’t want to be caught in the dark again.”

  Valdis was silent, weighing everything.

  I fly there no longer, not after the darkness fell. Shard wished that Windwalker had told him what creatures roamed the night that even the gryfons feared.

  He couldn’t help but wonder, with a strange thrill, if it could be dragons.

  Kjorn’s great grandfather had started a war with dragons, stolen their gems, and Per the Red took them to the Silver Isles. To Shard’s home. Stigr thought that the Aesir had started a war they couldn’t win, fled, and taken over the Silver Isles, exiles from their own lost war.

  But why only Per and his kin and friends? Why not Brynja’s family? Valdis? The king they speak of?

  He had to know. If the starfire had led him there, if he was to be the foretold Summer King, then surely all these thing were happening for a reason.

  He thought, stealing a look at Brynja’s lovely face, that surely he was meant to be exactly where he was.

  “You need the help of the king,” Valdis said at last. “Brynja and I are not in a position to make decisions for the pride on what to do with…guests. It is Orn’s to decide what you should know and where you should be allowed to go. If he mistrusts you, he’ll banish you to the Outlands without blinking.”

  Stigr stretched his wings and chuckled. “I’d see him try.”

  Valdis hissed, beak wide. “I’ll see you laugh when he calls down fifty of the King’s Guard on you.”

  “Fifty,” Shard breathed. “Fifty gryfons?”

  “And that’s only part of the Guard,” Brynja added, watching Shard’s face. “Is your home pride much smaller?”

  Shard couldn’t even answer. Fifty gryfons was half his own pride. And they claimed that was only the size of the guard. He swallowed dryly and shifted his talons against the grass. “A bit,” he mumbled.

  “This is what we will do,” Valdis said, and Shard noted that she said, ‘we’ perhaps to keep Stigr from arguing again. “For now, we will claim that you are Outlanders, that we found you boldly waiting by our outpost to request that you be given a chance to earn a place in Orn’s pride.”

  “I’ll do no such thing,” Stigr said. “Like some windblown fledge stumbling for initiation. I’m a warrior grown, tested, fought through a war—”

  “Then this should be an easy task for you,” Valdis said smoothly. “But I understand if you aren’t up to it. You can tell him how you flew down from the Silver Isles, and that you have a message from Per’s kin, and we’ll see what happens.”

  Stigr lifted his wings slightly, but fell silent. He can’t argue, Shard realized, almost with delight. He wasn’t sure he liked Valdis, but it was only the second time he’d seen Stigr struck speechless and it was just as funny as the first.

  “We know our king,” Brynja said more quietly. The morning wind slipped through their feathers. “Let us do it our way. Let us help.”

  Shard wanted to thank her, to mantle, to romp like an idiot with joy. A day in the Aesir homeland and he already had an ally. A beautiful ally.

  Then Stigr spoke. “Why? What’s in this for you, to help us? You seem very interested in what Sverin is up to.”

  Brynja glanced hesitantly at Valdis. Valdis lifted her head, clicking her beak once in disapproval. “You should just be grateful. Didn’t we say we saw a starfire sign? That we believe bright Tyr sent you?”

  “I think she believes that,” Stigr said, tilting his beak toward Brynja, though his gaze remained on Valdis. “But not you. What about you? Why would you help us?”

  “You should be grateful,” Valdis repeated, and flung her wings open. “Will you go along with our plan, and wait to reveal your true story until you have earned the king’s trust?”

  Shard was ready to agree, but he waited for Stigr to think, for Stigr had the experience and skepticism to think of things that Shard didn’t.

  I trust too easily, he thought grimly.

  When he gave himself a moment to think, he agreed with his uncle. Valdis didn’t seem the type to believe in omens, and she seemed even less the type to help strangers unless it benefitted her in some way.

  So why? He wondered. They wanted a sign of Per. Because they’re kin, or some other reason?

  “We will,” Stigr said at last, glancing to Shard. “If my nephew agrees.”

  “I do,” Shard said too quickly. He could sort Valdis’s motives later. If they needed permission of the native pride to roa
m the Winderost, then he would gain it however he had to. Valdis inclined her head to seal the agreement.

  Brynja turned to the younger huntresses who stood, staring and silent. “My friends. This is to remain between us. Huntresses, sisters, your oath, or your life.”

  “My oath,” agreed Lisbet.

  Sigga glanced at Valdis, then Brynja, and lowered her head. “My oath.”

  Valdis looked to Brynja. “Your wing?”

  “Much better this morning,” Brynja murmured, stretching it out.

  “Then fly!” Valdis ordered. “Bright Tyr stands at first quarter already.”

  “Fly!” Brynja agreed.

  The young females keened into the dawn and leaped up to fly. Shard and Stigr followed them into the air. Shard worked his wings in smooth strokes, stretching out the aches of his long flight. The night’s rest had done him well. His ankle where the painted wolf bit him throbbed dully, but no longer bled, and he doubted he would need a healer.

  The air smelled of warm rock and some tenacious flower still blooming. A line of pale cloud ringed the horizon and Shard peered out toward distant silhouettes of rock towers and arches.

  Brynja glided a leap’s length from his flank, but didn’t speak. He admired her smooth flight, like a bright russet hawk. Her wings were long and broad, the wings of a full-blooded Aesir, but there was something of a falcon’s grace in her, and, he noticed, a mesmerizing, subtle pattern of darker stripes down the underside of her long flight feathers.

  “Mind your staring,” Stigr’s cool voice grated next to him. “Or you might run into a cloud.”

  Shard fluffed and focused his gaze away, heat rushing under his feathers. “I was thinking how she…she reminds me of Sverin.” He clenched his talons. That hadn’t come out right. But there was a faint familiarity in her build, in her face. Valdis had seemed so interested in Per, had called him kin.

  “Keep eye on your prey, nephew.” Stigr folded his talons together, voice low in the warming, quiet air. It was hard to speak privately with the females flying in a close diamond around them. “You’re here to learn how to win back your Isles and follow your vision. You aren’t here to court. Not here. Not an Aesir. Not any kin of the Red King.”