by Jess E. Owen
Her long mouth curled in a sneer. “Dragons? They are not true dragons, but wyrms that hunt you, vengeful, greedy and thoughtless.” She waved a paw in the air. “We have time. Tell me everything that you think important.”
He met her gaze, and told her everything important. Everything. He told his tale from the beginning—from the arrival of the Aesir in the Silver Isles, his father’s death, his own discoveries. He told her everything that had happened to him that summer, that he had answered the call of the Summer King, and all that had passed in the Winderost.
“A gryfon,” she murmured when he was done. “I would never have thought…not after the Great Betrayal.”
“You’ve met gryfons before,” Shard said. “But it wasn’t good?”
“Not I,” she said, looking toward the cavern entrance. Shard turned his ears that way and heard distant, hoarse roars.
The dragons—the wyrms, she called them, had found the entrance to the mountain.
“We have to flee,” Shard said. “They hunt me.”
“Perhaps,” she said quietly. “Perhaps they followed your scent. But they have also hunted me since they heard my song in this land. But we cannot flee them now. They’ve found the entrance. It is night. They would come upon us if we tried to leave.”
“What about up there?” Shard jerked his beak up to indicate the hole in the ceiling far above, a crack that let in faint, true starlight.
“You may fit,” she said. “I would not.”
“Then what’ll we do when they get here?” Shard demanded, anxious and growing angrier at her lack of concern.
“That remains to be seen.”
She watched him as if trying to make a decision, about what, Shard didn’t know.
“You’ve told me your tale,” she said, so softly he had to walk close again. “And that you followed a vision here, though you don’t know why. I’m sorry that you had to meet me, and not an answer to your troubles in the Silver Isles.”
“That remains to be seen,” Shard echoed her. A suspicion grew in him, and though he’d failed at the Dawn Spire, failed to speak to the Outland wyrms, and lost Stigr, he couldn’t give up again. He would not forget himself, would not hide. He’d reached the mountain. He had to see it to the end.
“Amaratsu. What is your tale?”
“My tale,” she said thoughtfully. “It begins before yours. It begins yours. My tale is of loss and fear, though I hoped the Summer King would bring…hope. My tale,” she lowered her head to speak to Shard on the level, “begins with the Tale of the Red Kings.”
“Tell me,” said Shard.
She began to speak and Shard fell into the story like a kit, into her soft, bird-like voice, and in her eyes saw a snow-bound land at the bottom of the world across the farthest sea.
“I hail from the Sunland. A land of endless days of night in the winter, when we chart the stars and sing our songs and craft our treasures. A land of days of endless sun in summer, when great Tyr walks the edge of the earth, and we once traveled the world. We travel no longer, not since the Great Betrayal.
“Our young cousins, the wyrms you have met in the Winderost, claimed a northern part of the world, a place I’ve heard is all rolling green, dense woods, rocks and cliffs and cold, crashing sea. A realm rich with metals and gems. They mined for us once, and we would take our pilgrimage to collect from them, and in turn we tried to teach them of beauty, of honor and generosity and discipline. They wanted some of the treasures that we made, but we knew they would only hoard them like witless rats. Though we tried to teach them, they fought amongst themselves, laughed at us, and learned nothing.
“Still, we needed their help to find the metals, and we hoped they would reach enlightenment, so we traveled still, and they gave us the raw metals they found in the hopes that we would craft them treasures.
“Many years ago, we saw the starfire that flew again this autumn. My father said it flies every few generations, that it is the same fire since the first dawn, that it is one of the First creations of Tyr and Tor, and it always warns of change to come.
“When the Sunland dragons saw the sign, they thought it a harbinger, not a sign to follow. They remained, preparing a great feast and gifts for whoever would come in the wake of the starfire—perhaps Tyr himself!
“The morning after the sign, a mighty band of creatures arrived, the likes of which had never been seen in our arctic home. They were gryfons. Kajar, a young prince of their distant land, led them. His wingbrother was with him, their captains and warriors who were all heirs of their clans.
“At first, dragons and gryfons alike rejoiced to meet each other, they welcomed Kajar, and he was the model of gratitude and honor. They exchanged all the songs that they knew, and the dragons were impressed to meet other creatures so like-minded, so intelligent, so focused on honor and living with a warrior’s discipline.
“In their excitement, they crafted gifts for Kajar and his band. Armor, adornments, all fitted for gryfons. Kajar learned all he could of dragon ways. He learned that we are linked to the elements, the earth, sky, the water and even the fire. He learned that we have a power in our blood awakened by sacrifice, that can give us strength for a time, and the dragons tried to teach him this power—to no avail. It is dragon blood, not for gryfons.
“When it became clear Kajar could not have a dragon’s power, he grew greedy for more gold. The gryfons in his band began to quarrel. Only those of higher station should have certain treasures, and so on. It was the same as our young cousins. Greed and pettiness.
“The dragons feared they had made a mistake, that their first impressions of Kajar were wrong, or that perhaps he had even been transformed by the treasures. Before they taught him more, or risked giving him more, they wanted to test him.
“They held a great feast, inviting all the gryfons, and the dragons of many families, some who had befriended the gryfons so deeply they had even pledged as wingbrothers and sisters.
“At this feast, Kajar asked when they might see more treasures, or learn more of dragon lore. The emperor at that time posed a question to him, and all the others.
“Only one young gryfess saw that the question was a test, and she fled the feast, and as far as anyone knows, fled the Sunland, and was not heard from again.
“Kajar said he needed time to consider the question. They thought that fair, and feasted. Later, Kajar invited a dragon—his closest friend in the Sunland—to walk with him, and discuss the question, so that he might learn and answer correctly.
“But it was a trap. He led the dragon to where all of his warriors waited, and they killed her. Kajar was insulted by the test, and he thought it was a way to cover up dragon secrets. He thought killing a dragon would give him a dragon’s power.
“All the gryfons of Kajar’s band were bathed in dragon blood. It burned their feathers bright, stained them as a warning for all to see, stained them and their bloodline, all their descendents forevermore so that all could see the taint of the arrogance and greed.
“The dragons drove Kajar and the others from the Sunland. They took with them their precious gold.
“Our cousins, meanwhile, toiling away in their mines, waited for us to come again. But Kajar’s great betrayal so scarred the dragons that they shut themselves away. They hid themselves in the Sunland, away from the rest of the foolish, greedy world.
“When the wyrms learned that gryfons had been granted favor over themselves, and then that we shut ourselves from the outside world, it threw them into jealous madness. First, they hunted down the gryfons of the Winderost. There, they learned it was more satisfying to cause terror than it was to kill.
“Now they only seek purpose by driving other creatures to witless fear. They would see all of the greatland and the world driven to mindless, voiceless animal death and terror. It is their only pleasure now. To bring others to where they are.
“This summer past, my mate flew here to try to speak to them. I’m certain they killed him. When he did not ret
urn, I pursued him.
“As I flew, I heard the Song of the Summer King in the wind, and I thought he would be the one to bring me hope. Perhaps he would help my witless cousins find their voices and hearts again. Perhaps he would draw my kin in the Sunland out of isolation and back into the world.
“That is why I’ve come…”
A grinding shriek and a pounding like falling boulders woke Shard from the tale.
“The dragons—the wyrms…”
“They’ve come,” Amaratsu agreed curtly. They couldn’t fit through the entrance Shard had, but the pounding and roaring was them throwing their bodies against the stone. They had moments, perhaps, before the wyrms broke through.
“Now what?” Shard demanded, his feathers on end, his body prickling in anticipation of a fight. He could probably escape through the hole at the top of the cavern, but she…he wasn’t sure why she was there, what she wanted of him, and why she didn’t seem worried about escape.
Unless she’s with them, he realized, feeling suddenly cold. Unless her tale was a distraction to keep him there.
“Son of Baldr,” Amaratsu said. “Now you know the true tale, and why the gryfon Per fled his own land.”
The cavern shuddered with the force of another blow. Above, the thousands of glow worms rocked as the ceiling shuddered.
Shard nodded. “I know your tale. Tell me, what question did the dragon emperor ask Kajar? What question drove him to kill his closest dragon friend?” There had to be more to it than she said. Perhaps she’d only stalled, holding him in the cavern until the wyrms came.
Her eyes crinkled as if she were delighted for him to ask. “The emperor asked if he wanted power. If he wanted gold, treasures, armor for all of his aerie and adornments for his mate and their kits and their descendents forevermore.”
“And this drove him to kill a dragon? That doesn’t make sense.” Shard lashed his tail, looking toward the entrance.
“No. It was the insult that followed.”
Another dragon pummeled at the opening, clawing. Rocks bounced loose and tumbled to the floor. Amaratsu said those dragons mined in the earth…it was only a matter of time until they dug through…
Finally Shard wrenched his gaze to Amaratsu. He had the feeling he stood on brittle, testing ice. “What insult?”
“They asked if he wanted power…or friendship.”
Shard cocked his head. “But that seems foolish—if he was a friend to dragons, wouldn’t they help him if needed? Wouldn’t their friendship be power?”
She reared back in surprise and Shard leaped away, startled. Her great, booming laugh reverberated around the mountainous stone hall.
“It does seem a simple choice!” She lowered her head, whiskers floating, feeling the air. Her long, doe-like ears lifted to the sound of the dragons breaking in, then she focused, entirely, on Shard. “The same choice I will offer you now.”
She shifted and Shard looked over his shoulder, high up where he’d entered, as more boulders scattered down. He turned back, narrowing his eyes at her.
“You’re testing me, as Kajar was tested.”
“I am.”
“Now? Why?”
“I need to know,” she whispered. “Prince. Summer King. I must know your heart. For some reason, the wyrms hunt you. They responded to you. Your voice woke them from mindless rage and put them back on a quest for vengeance.”
“How lucky,” Shard whispered.
“But they’re thinking,” she said. Shard didn’t answer, his mind spinning.
She watched him.
Power or friendship.
That couldn’t be all. What if she is only tricking me? If she had brought him there only to throw him to the wyrms of the Winderost, and they were in league, then Shard counted himself already dead, unless he chose power.
If whatever power she offered him gave him enough strength to fight off the Winderost dragons, to win over Sverin, to reclaim his home, he had to take it. There had to be something more, something she wasn’t telling him. If she truly wanted his friendship, then she might help him fight.
But why the test?
He thought of Kajar and his greed, of Sverin, of the wrathful monsters breaking their way in.
“Rashard of the Silver Isles,” said bright Amaratsu, and the jolt of his full name yanked Shard from his questions. “Power? Or friendship?”
Outside the cavern, the dragons of the Winderost clawed and shoved violently against the small entrance, breaking rocks to force a way in. Shard stared at her as dragon roars shook the mountain and doubt closed chill wings on his heart. She looked toward the noise, then lowered her head again, until all he could see was her eyes.
“You must choose now.”
52
Daughter of the Rising Sun
“It’s an impossible choice!” Shard cried. “You said you had to know my heart—how can I know yours?”
“Ah, prince of the Silver Isles,” Amaratsu said quietly. “King. A good question. You cannot. You can only trust.”
Outside the cavern, her Winderost cousins battered and snarled at the narrow stone entry. Shard ruffed, looking toward the sounds.
The gentle touch of her talons directed him back. “If you make yourself a king, many will offer you friendship, and many will offer you power. You will make this decision many times over, Shard son-of-Baldr. Trust. Don’t trust. Power for friendship. Some go mad with this decision before the end.”
“I don’t know to trust you,” he said, though her eyes spoke of endless, peaceful snowing days in the Sunland, and wisdom beyond measure.
“Then choose power,” she whispered. “And you will have nothing to fear. You will be as strong as the wingbrother you told me of, Kjorn, as strong as the Aesir, as strong as a dragon.”
Shard shifted to move, but there was nowhere to go. He stood in her coils under her wing. She wove before him like a serpent.
“Your feathers could be as brightly silver as Kjorn’s are gold. You could rule together across two lands with your brother, one like the sun, one like the moon, afraid of nothing, unstoppable, able to take anything you desire. The sons of kings, brothers as beautiful as the first sons of Tyr and Tor.”
But isn’t that what Sverin and Kajar did? Choose power over trust?
He knew this was the same question and trouble that had befallen his own father during the Conquering, and Per, and Sverin, even Shard himself and Kjorn. But Sverin slipped toward witless anger and fear. He made no new friends, distrusting Vanir, wolves and anything else outside of his own small circle of Aesir.
Shard drew a deep, bracing breath.
“If power was Kajar’s choice, if power means trying to kill you, I won’t choose that.”
“Because you think you can’t fight me?”
“No.” Shard lifted his wings, horrified, looking down the beautiful length of her scales.
The light tapping from the pearl had quieted, and something about that sent dread through his veins. “Even if I knew I could, I wouldn’t. You’ve helped me, fed me, spoken with me, given me your name. You’ve done nothing an enemy would do.”
“That is how some enemies work.”
Dragons screamed rage outside, and another tumble of broken rock showered in. They would be inside soon. They would attack.
Knowing that, Shard made his decision.
“I choose friendship.” He met her eyes squarely, digging his talons against the floor. “Even if it means my death. I will die trusting.”
“As Kajar’s dragon friend did,” Amaratsu murmured, lifting her wings. The crystal light glimmered on and through the feathers like sunlight on ice. “As your father did.”
“As I will?” Shard whispered. With a flick of her talon, she could end his life.
For a moment she poised above him, a serpent of ice and blinding white wings.
A beautiful, terrible death.
Her soft, joyous purr rumbled the ground beneath him.
“Oh no,” she breathed. �
�No, Shard of the Silver Isles. I was right to sing you here. You are the Summer King and we will be great friends, you and I. For a brief time.”
“A brief time?”
“I called you here with the Song of Last Light,” she reminded.
Shard realized that her soft voice wasn’t like the wind, it was like winter, growing brittle and weary. She wasn’t young and beautiful. She was old, white as bone. He saw in her eyes a time when her scales shone the color of spring buds. In summer, those scales had shed to a golden like buttercups, and then the rich brown of loamy soil in autumn, her mane the blazing red of a rowan berry.
“The song was for you,” Shard breathed. “You’re dying.”
“I was born in the spring,” she murmured, ears twitching to the violent sounds at the entrance to the cavern. “So I would die in the spring, except that I choose to give my life another way.”
“Fighting them? No, we can fight them together! I will fly with you!”
“Oh, Shard.” She touched his feathers, her talons gentle as a mother gryfon. The tapping sound, like a claw on rock, gently resumed. Relief swelled at the back of Shard’s mind even though he didn’t quite know why. He only knew that noise from the pearl was good, was hopeful.
“Dragons of the Sunland live only one cycle of seasons before returning to the elements. I will die in the spring, anyway. But if I sacrifice, I will have power to protect you, and my—”
“Only one cycle of seasons?” Shard stared at her as it dawned on him, impossibly. Her wisdom. Her naiveté. Her seeming age and her strange youth.
“You mean, you were born last spring? You’re one year old? How is that…but you knew of Kajar, of all of it…”
“Of course. The tale is told to all, as a warning. That is why we are still shut away from the world.”
“But…a year? One year, of life?”
She dipped her head. “We don’t need as long to live this life. We suffer joy, love, sorrow, live as part of the earth and sky and return to it again. Gryfons and birds and other creatures lead such long lives, even our cousins, wrought again and again with trouble, challenge and sorrow. We bring with us all the songs of our previous life, we are born again and again from the spirit of the world.” She tilted her head around. “Perhaps if you learned more quickly, you would die sooner, as well.”