Skyfire

by Jess E. Owen

  She didn’t mean it to be funny, but Shard forced himself not to laugh in disbelief.

  She was only one year old. It was absurd.

  Yet, sometimes Shard felt he’d lived a lifetime in the last year. Perhaps that was all a Sunlander needed. There were mayflies on the Sun Isle that lived but a day, but it seemed a dragon like Amaratsu should be different. Born in spring, mated, loving, losing her mate, all of that would be all she had of life.

  A roar shook the cavern, and a few glowing flakes of lichen fluttered down and went dim like dying embers.

  “Shard,” Amaratsu said quickly. “My friend. I was selfish to ask friendship of you but I need your help.”

  “Anything,” Shard breathed, shaking off his amazement. She had given his name back to him, told him the truth about the Red Kings. Given him friendship.

  “Soon my son will hatch. You must sing him all the songs of the world that you know.” She shifted to reveal the smooth, iridescent pearl within her coils.

  Not a pearl.

  An egg.

  “I—”

  “He will grow like a bird, more swiftly than you can blink, my friend. The songs and wisdom of the Sunland will be in his blood, but no knowledge of the world. He will learn quickly, and I wish him to learn from you, not my Voiceless cousins. They wish to steal him. Or worse. My son needs you, now, a kindred spirit.”

  “I won’t know what to do!”

  Her laugh fell like tinkling crystals. “Keep him warm. Be yourself. Be his friend. Remember what I said to you. Dragons of the Sunland shape the world based on the first songs they hear, the first things that they know of it. I wish him to know you, to know that all creatures can be his brothers.”

  “Why did you bring him here, if you thought your mate was dead?”

  For a moment she was silent, her coils gently shifting down, and down, so that the egg slid neatly between Shard’s feet. He could’ve wrapped both forelegs around it.

  “The Summer King song gave me hope for change. So long in the Sunland we have done the same things over and over. I believe if he learns of the world in a new way, he will face it in a new way. And so I brought him here when I sought my mate, and listened to the winds for sign of his first friend. It was you, Shard. Now my son will be winterborn, a difficult fate. He will need you.”

  “A son,” Shard whispered, awash with amazement. “A brother…”

  “A father,” Amaratsu corrected, misunderstanding why Shard said the words. His belly felt cold, then warm, terrified.

  At their voices, the tapping grew harder, more determined. My mother and father wished me raised among the Aesir, he thought, dazed, so that we could find peace as a pride. Amaratsu wished the same for her son, in a way.

  Shard raised his head. “What will his name be?”

  Relief flooded her gaze, and he saw within the wise depths of her eyes the plain, worried look of a mother. “Hikaru. If he ever journeys home to the Sunland, he must introduce himself as Amaratsu’s son, Hikaru.”

  Amaratsu’s son, Shard thought. Dragons trace their blood through their mothers.

  “Hikaru,” he whispered to the egg. “I’ll teach him,” he promised, back up to Amaratsu. “I’ll do my best, I swear to you.”

  “And so I will for you. Promise me, Shard, whatever happens now, that you will not move.”

  “I can fight—”

  “They will not see you at first. Only me. Promise me.” She set her forepaws on the stone and arched her back, uncoiling her long body. “You will not move.”

  “I promise…”

  “Tyr,” she thrummed, her voice growing in power. “Father. Maker of the sky. Tor, mother of Midragur…grant me the gift that comes with sacrifice.”

  Shard lifted a forefoot, surprised. “Amaratsu—”

  “Be well, my friend.” She touched her nose to Shard’s brow, then the egg. “My son.” Then she lifted her head toward the entrance to the cavern, and raised her wings.

  Shard made to follow but the egg began to roll. He caught it, shouting, “Wait! Amaratsu—” then he froze, remembering his promise.

  The wyrms of the Winderost crashed through the broken tunnel.

  Shard couldn’t count them all in the confusion of muddy dark wings, screaming and breaking rock. The cavern shook and stones rattled down. He stood over the dragon egg, wings flared.

  A dragon is shaped by the things he first hears.

  As Amaratsu ramped up to strike, her great wings stretched wide, Shard forced himself from a fighting stance to mantle over the egg.

  An insistent tapping resumed.

  “Not yet,” Shard said. “Not yet.” He touched his beak to the egg, and the tapping stilled. “Listen. Hear your mother’s power!”

  He made things up, he didn’t really know what he was saying. Something, anything to soothe the little life in the egg.

  In the mountain cavern the Winderost dragons had enough room to fly, to circle warily. At first they looked small, so high above. Then they circled lower, swooping to examine. Amaratsu warned them back, hissing, with sharp, bobbing movements of her head. Their responding roars sounded almost like bitter, venomous laughter to Shard. He hunched low, wings draped around the egg. Amaratsu was twice as long as the largest of them but more delicately built. If they attacked, they would kill her.

  They blocked the starry ceiling and Shard winced with each roar, each low swoop. Their stench filled the cavern. Rotting meat, sulfur, dirt. Old blood. Hatred.

  Shard clutched the egg to his chest.

  Amaratsu shrieked. At first Shard thought it a battle cry, then heard the sorrow in her voice.

  “My brothers, my sisters, Please! This is not you! My blood will not save you. My son’s blood will not give you what you want! You have names, strength, purpose—” rattling snarls and two dragons swooping down to threaten cut off her pleas.

  Shard wanted to shout, to call her back, but he realized they had not attacked him because they hadn’t realized exactly where he stood. Amaratsu blocked him. He blended with the stone floor, and his wings hid the egg.

  For now, but we’ll all die here! But he couldn’t shout, couldn’t disturb the egg so close to his heart, couldn’t draw attention.

  “Listen,” he whispered instead, his bones shaking from the roars, flinching as stones fell around, rocked loose by the cacophony. “Listen to your mother.”

  The egg was quiet and still, but instead of feeling relief, Shard worried. Amaratsu cried out again, and again was met with the baleful snarls of witless beasts.

  “Very well!” Amaratsu swore against the deafening roars. “Remain in the dark! But you will not have him.”

  Her voice shifted, and it was like no other creature in the world. The language of the wolves and boar, but deeper, colder, ancient. It was as if Amaratsu spoke with the very voice of the earth itself, the great shifting tremor of the First mountain and stone to rise out of Tor’s sea.

  “Great Spirits of earth, accept me back,” she intoned, the words falling over each other in an avalanche.

  The Horn of Midragur shuddered, tiny rocks skipping along the ground near Shard’s talons. Amaratsu’s voice swelled.

  “Earth and stone,” she breathed like a wind. “I am spring-born, I am your child and your sister and I will return to you. For my birthright, I give you my name and my voice. Miyo’s daughter, Amaratsu!”

  The Winderost wyrms dove as one.

  Amaratsu reared up, stretching her wings wide. Jaws bared open toward her, talons reached, the deadly tails whipped as the wyrms shot down at her.

  Shard cringed back, choking back an eagle scream, and prepared to make a last stand.

  Wyrms clouded the air and all was black and screaming.

  A strange creaking like massive, twisting ice tore the cavern.

  Amaratsu whipped around, her scales catching all the light like crystal, and coiled sharply around Shard and the egg, forming a dome of her body, closing her wings to a protective mantle.

  S
hard ducked and closed his eyes, ears flat, fatally certain the wyrms would tear her apart, then Shard and the egg.

  Roars battered the air, oddly muffled outside of the dome of Amaratsu’s body.

  Then all was still.

  And silent.

  Shard clutched the egg under his wings, too terrified to move. He had no idea what happened. He barely dared to breathe.

  After a moment he heard dull, angry roars again, but now they sounded far away, as if they had flown outside of the cavern to the tunnels, or out of the mountain completely.

  Another few breaths, and no louder sounds came. No talon touched him, no air around him stirred. Slowly, he lifted his head.

  He loosed a soft cry of disbelief.

  In her last moments, Amaratsu’s strange plea had worked. It took a moment before Shard finally understood what she had asked of the earth and gods. She still coiled over Shard and the egg, enough room for Shard to stand and walk six paces in a circle. Enough room for the egg to hatch.

  But the long body that seconds ago had been warm, sinuous and serpentine now glittered translucent, hard and cold, formed entirely of rough, shining crystal.

  The earth had accepted her back.

  “Thank you,” Shard whispered, straining for sense before he lost his voice and his wit completely. In dying for them, she had given them safety and time.

  The wyrms of the Winderost railed in fury outside, but the body of Amaratsu lay unbreakable, a solid, divinely-formed crystal.

  Trembling, Shard peered out through the gleaming facets to see the dark wyrms circling, smashing their talons and horns against the crystal. Not even a flake drifted free.

  “Well,” he whispered calmly to the egg, while his guts rattled like leaves inside him. “I think it’s…it’s safer now.”

  After a pause, the light tapping resumed.

  “Yes,” Shard whispered. “It’s all right now.”

  Not all right, his mind screamed. Amaratsu was dead, he was trapped, and the dragons waited outside. But he couldn’t panic again. He couldn’t fall Nameless again. This time, he could not fail.

  He’d made a promise.

  A dragon is shaped by the first things he hears. Amaratsu made sure he wouldn’t hear violence his first moments in the world, had left him, trusting, to Shard’s voice. He wondered if he should sing the Song of First Light as was their custom. Or Last Light, to honor Amaratsu, so that, born in a difficult time, the young dragon would understand death.

  He will be winterborn, Amaratsu had said. Already a difficult thing. She’d brought her son there to bring peace. To help her violent cousins, and to end the nightmare of the Winderost. Through that, Shard would set all right in the Silver Isles.

  Shard had thought it would all be connected, but he’d been more right than he ever could have guessed. Realizing that and growing calm, he knew what to do.

  “My name is Shard,” he whispered to the egg. “Son-of-Baldr. And Ragna,” he added, thinking that the Sunland dragons traced their bloodline through their mothers. The tapping paused, then resumed eagerly, scraping, tapping. “Prince of the Silver Isles. I have a tale for you.”

  A tiny, translucent black talon pierced the egg.

  A thrill unlike anything he had known swelled in Shard’s heart.

  “Well done,” he whispered. “Well done, Hikaru.”

  The talon disappeared. An onyx snout replaced it, tipped with a sharp hatching beak like a bird. Shard fluffed with pleasure and lay down comfortably, unafraid of the dragons outside, trusting Amaratsu. He opened his wing to cup the egg and create a shield of warmth.

  “This is the song that Tyr and Tor sang to the world when it was young as a fledging gryfon. As a gryfess sings to her kit of all the things to come, so they sang the world this song—of hope, of fear, of love.”

  The dragon kit stilled, then wriggled furiously to free his face. Shard couldn’t help but purr as the dragon hatched, safe from the nightmare beyond Amaratsu’s crystal walls.

  All too soon they would have their enemies to face, their destinies to meet. Hikaru’s life, Shard feared, would be very hard for the short time he was in the world. He would need friends, and strength.

  Safe inside the crystal chamber, Shard sang the first song that Hikaru would hear.

  The song that would shape him and what he thought of the world.

  “One will rise higher,” Shard’s voice thrummed low.

  Pearly eggshell dropped to the floor.

  “One will see farther.”

  The sleek black scales shone so brightly that strange light pulsed out from the breaking shell.

  “His wing beats will part the storm.”

  The small, blind dragon face sought his. Shard lowered his head. A tiny paw groped out to touch his beak as Shard’s voice filled their crystal chamber.

  “They will call him the Summer King

  And this will be his song.”

  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  Wow, we did it again! There's a lot of gratitude toward a lot of folks packed in this volume. Up front is Husband Man, Dax, who I gratefully acknowledge for his unending support in all areas. My mom and dad, for support both tangible and intangible. My fellow writer Tracy Davis, who got the first read, deserves kudos for taking it on in one large chunk, and for her thoughtful feedback.

  Thanks to my ARC readers who helped me round up the last of the typos, and for their work on early reviews.

  Big thanks to Kessie Carroll and Laura Nix, for the jokes that Halvden and Vald tell—I needed a little help on that one!

  My Master Mind team—artist Jennifer Miller for another piece of stunning cover art that once again brings Shard and his world to life. Thanks to TERyvisions for turning a typo-laden word document into a beautiful Book, and a big, big thank you to my editor Joshua Essoe. I owe him this one. His feedback and critique truly helped me wrestle this story into the sequel that I wanted it to be.

  Thanks to all the people who are currently giving shelf space to my book: Bookworks of Whitefish, Copperleaf Chocolate Company, Crystal Winters of Whitefish, Fact & Fiction of Missoula, Montana, and the Whitefish Community Library.

  Finally, this printed first edition wouldn't be possible without the enthusiasm and support of my friends and Kickstarter backers! Thanks to all of you, truly, deeply.

  I'd like to especially call out those who were willing and able to pledge $100 or more:

  Andrea Tatjana Kate Washington

  Sheryl R. Hayes Ella Lacey Bunsen

  Lauren Head Thaner Cox

  Lauren Pitt Christina McGinty-Carroll

  Sarah Brooks Alexander Mays Bizzell

  Jessica Thorsell Sarah Hermann

  Lorsey Clark Vicki Hsu

  Anne Williams (Tyrrlin) Edward Fan

  Chrissandra Porter Snowstorm

  Rhonda Harms Maddy Gralak

  Darryl Klippenstein Fride Holtgaard Digerud

  Cherice “Kota” McGhan Paul van Oven

  Tabitha Hazeltine Colin Trigger Whittle

  Cody R Kristina Busby

  Abigail Rice Galit A.

  Roberta Miller Amanda “Moon Wolf” Kennedy

  Melissa A. Hartman R. A. Meenan

  Sir Lynx Rhel ná DecVandé

  S. Miriam “SunGryphon” Halbrooks

  Signe Stenmark Linda van Rosmalen

  The Stumptown Historical Society

  And newlyweds Dwyn & Johnathan McIntyre, this being the honored first time where their married names appeared together.

  You are all the wind under me. See you in the Silver Isles.

  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, or the SOTSK facebook fan page, www.facebook.com/songofthesummerking .