by Jess E. Owen
Kjorn just watched him, wary, and waited for him to say more.
“The first day,” said the wolf. “The first day we found you. You said you were looking for Shard.”
Kjorn shifted, his blood quickening. “Yes.”
“You’re a friend of Shard?” the wolf asked. “The Star-sent, the wolf and lion brother?”
“Yes,” Kjorn said cautiously, thinking Shard had been busy indeed. “Though we’ve made mistakes against each other, he was my closest friend and my wingbrother. I’ve come to find him and make amends. I am a friend of Shard,” he confirmed again, since it was what the wolf had asked.
The wolf’s gaze flicked in the direction Frida and Fraenir had gone, then toward the water, where Rok was now a distant speck over the gray waves. Kjorn’s muscles bunched, ready for anything. The wolf stretched out on his belly so that his powerful jaws were a talon’s breadth from Kjorn’s throat.
“I am Makya, of the Serpent River pack.” Dark eyes considered Kjorn’s face. “I, too, am a friend of Shard, though I forgot myself for a time.”
“I’m honored,” Kjorn managed, smelling old meat on the wolf’s teeth. “How did you know Shard?”
“I watched as he faced down a great wyrm and tried to avenge the death of my leader and pack mate, Nitara. Then fear overcame me and I forgot myself, and I ran. But now I remember,” the wolf said quietly, “and I remember Shard, and I hope he survived.”
Kjorn shuddered at the mention of a great wyrm, recalling a nightmarish vision he’d had earlier that winter, and tried to picture Shard standing against such a foe. Cautiously he said, “Then we are friends, you and I.”
“Yes,” Mayka agreed, baring his teeth wider. “Now, you must do exactly as I say.”
He bent his head in, jaws opening to reveal long, sharp fangs. Kjorn flinched—then perked his ears as Makya set his teeth to the seaweed binds.
~ 7 ~
The Nightward Coast
SHARD AND HIKARU HUDDLED under a sprawling pine, escaping the worst of the rain. It turned out that Hikaru couldn’t fly forever, though he’d done his best. It was Shard who had called a halt, when it was clear Hikaru might drop from the sky in exhaustion. Ash coated the air for leagues and leagues, though they’d flown for an entire quarter into the early afternoon. Shard caught a rabbit, and now they waited for Hikaru’s wings to stop aching, and the rain to slack.
“This is delicious,” the dragonet purred, again, crunching the last of the rabbit bones. Shard watched him, certain he needed five times the food. “Much better than dry fish, much better.” He sat back on his haunches, licking his front toes and claws clean.
Shard watched him in a weary, mesmerized daze. Everything about him was like watching water—liquid and graceful. Or fire. Shard remembered the sight of the dragon’s blood, steaming in the hot air, and how it had burned the murdering wyrm’s hide bright red.
Has he grown larger? It seemed impossible.
“Thank you, Shard.” Hikaru dipped his head to bump against Shard’s wing.
“Of course.” Shard blinked to alertness, realizing he’d almost dozed. “And don’t worry. We’ll find much more food.” He didn’t know quite where, for the forest so far had only boasted small game, but if they both hunted they’d do better.
Hikaru’s eyes seemed to glow at him through the dim light, and Shard felt keenly, once again, that he did not deserve the young dragon’s admiration. “I’m not worried.”
Shard fluffed his wings and chuckled. “I’m glad one of us isn’t. Why don’t you take a little rest? I’ll wake you before long, and if you feel like pressing on, we’ll fly more.”
“Or walk,” Hikaru said, even as he rolled himself into a neat coil around Shard. He had grown larger. “If we really must keep moving, then I am happy to walk, and learn everything about the ground that you know.” He laid down his head and shut his eyes.
Shard sat within his coils and peered out into the gray. Under the large pine the ground was dusty, dry, and cool. Gray mud, tainted by volcanic ash, slithered in rivulets around the rest of the forest floor. They did need to keep moving, to stay ahead of the wyrms if they eventually tried to follow. Shard could not lead them to the Dawn Spire again. The land starward seemed barren and inhospitable. He would follow his instinct nightward, hope it was Tyr and Tor who led him, and teach Hikaru as quickly as he could.
“Shard?” the dragon murmured. Shard looked down, but Hikaru’s eyes were still closed.
“Yes,” Shard said, at first thinking the dragon only wanted to be assured Shard still sat within his coils.
“I don’t understand something.”
“Ask anything,” Shard said quietly.
A great sigh heaved the black-scaled ribs, but Hikaru’s eyes remained closed. “When you spoke of meeting my mother, you said she told you the Tale of the Red Kings, the tale of Kajar that you told to me.”
“Yes.” Shard cocked his head, listening to the forest for danger with one ear and Hikaru with the other.
“You said you didn’t understand why Kajar chose power over friendship, but then when my mother offered you the choice, you hesitated.”
“Yes…” Shard remembered the moment. He looked down.
Hikaru’s eyes were open now, watching him. “Why?”
Shard pressed his talons to the earth, then sat back and raised them to gently stroke Hikaru’s wing. “That’s a very good question. I think it sounded easy when it was happening to someone else. We think we know what we’ll do in any challenge. But then when it happens…” Shard recalled multiple times he’d made decisions that may or may not have been the right decisions. Speaking to the wyrms. Lying to his wingbrother.
Releasing Sverin and diving into the sea.
Hikaru’s whole body reverberated with a warm, rolling sound that mimicked a gryfon’s purr as Shard combed talons through his feathers, but his gaze was intent on Shard’s face, waiting for a better answer.
“When something like that happens,” Shard said, “you realize it’s harder to make the choice than you thought it would be. You realize all the things that could go wrong, you realize how your choice will affect other things.”
Hikaru shifted, his gaze flitting out toward the rain. “You thought she might deceive you.”
“Yes. In the moment she challenged me, I doubted everything. But I decided to trust her.”
Hikaru raised his head so quickly that Shard jumped. He loomed over Shard, his whiskers twitching, testing the air. “I’m glad you did.”
Shard chuckled, resettling his feathers. “So am I.”
Hikaru’s lips pulled back in fanged amusement like a wolf, then he dipped his head low, looking worried. “Shard. What are we? That is, I know that I am Amaratsu’s son, but you were the one I saw when I hatched. What are we?”
Shard shifted, lowering his talons to the earth. Rain pattered on the boughs above, only a few drops slipped through to hit the ground, or their backs. “You and I?” Hikaru’s head bobbed once in a nod. “Well, it wouldn’t really do to call you my nest-son, although that’s what gryfons do. In few months you’ll be able to pick me up off the ground with one paw!”
Hikaru laughed, then the concerned expression returned.
Shard let his laughter fade. “You and I,” he said firmly, “are brothers.”
“Brothers,” Hikaru said. Pleased with the word, he laid his head down again and for all Shard could tell, surrendered to sleep, satisfied with his new answers.
Shard remained awake in the dragonet’s black coils, staring out into the rain, listening for the sound of anything, anyone, who might wish them harm.
Freed from the mountain and his primary concern of escape, his thoughts delved toward difficult things, friends he’d left behind, the choices he’d made that were wrong. He wondered what had happened to Brynja, the huntress to whom he’d offered his heart. He could see her face, bright as morning, with fierce eyes and freckles of vermillion on the pale feathers under her eyes. Sometimes, she
fluffed with laughter at his wit or her wingsister’s antics before returning to quiet dignity again. Vividly Shard recalled her voice, the night he had tried to pledge to her, to offer her everything he had if she would stay by his side until the end of their days. He also recalled her voice, regretful, saying it couldn’t be. She had duties, and she was promised, like a rabbit pelt in a trade, to another.
But she had also spoken of caring for him.
I’ve fought for my family, for my islands, for my friends. I will fight for her, if I must.
He drew his talons through the pine needles, knowing that wouldn’t be easy, for the gryfon who was promised to Brynja was also a friend. Asvander, First Sentinel of the Dawn Spire.
He wondered what had become of all of them—the gryfons who’d aided him and Stigr, who’d offered even to betray their own king—Valdis, Asvander, Dagny.
And Stigr. Shard closed his eyes for a moment, seeing it again. For one brief moment, his uncle laughing, triumphant in battle, then felled by the brown wyrm. His wing, sliced clean from his shoulder. They’d called healers.
Shard opened his eyes, curling his talons into the pine needles.
If they’d called healers, there was a dim, distant chance that his uncle was alive. That would be reason enough to return to the Dawn Spire. When the time was right. Shard looked down at Hikaru’s peaceful face.
For the moment, he had other responsibilities, and Stigr would not want him to shirk a promise he’d made.
For three days they traveled through the expanse of forest nightward of the Horn of Midragur. Alone, Shard would have covered twice the distance—but they went at Hikaru’s pace. The young dragon flew valiantly during the day, sometimes as long as three marks of the sun before he tired or grew ravenously hungry. During the day, they flew and hunted. Shard knew the dragons of the Winderost hated the sun, or were shamed by Tyr, and wouldn’t travel during the day. At night, he and the young dragon walked as far as they could before their muscles gave out and they slept until dawn.
Shard taught him the basic hunting that he knew, though he sensed that Sunland dragons, like Vanir, were built better for fishing. They found a single deer on their trek, ran it down and killed it. Shard taught Hikaru to honor any creature he killed, whether for food, or in battle.
“Do you think I will ever see a battle?” Hikaru consumed most of the deer before a mark of the sun had passed.
“I hope not.” Shard ate his fill and was amazed at the dragon’s appetite. His body from shoulder to rump had grown to twice the length of a gryfon, and his neck and tail stretched well beyond that. His whiskers drooped handsomely from his snout and the budding horns between his ears shone silver in sunlight.
They sat in a sunny clearing ringed by towering cedars. The forest—Shard recalled an eagle of the Winderost mentioning the Forest of Rains—boasted dense ferns, crawling greenery and bright songbirds. Shard smelled a fox trail here and there, but no wolves, no gryfons or other large predators. No wyrms.
After appearing to think about Shard’s answer, Hikaru asked, “Why not? They seem exciting.”
“Some creatures like to fight, and they’re good at fighting.” Shard thought of his rival, Halvden, who before Shard’s self-exile had become a deadly foe. “Some think it’s better to do everything possible to avoid a fight.”
“What do you think, Shard?”
The weight of Shard’s answer sat heavy in his chest, for by Hikaru’s bright gaze, he knew that whatever he answered could become Hikaru’s answer too.
“I think it’s important not to fight for the sake of fighting.”
Hikaru bobbed his head, as if that made sense. “Because you could be hurt.”
“Yes. Or you could hurt another, and that’s another kind of pain.”
“Then,” Hikaru began slowly, “if you don’t fight for the sake of fighting, what do you fight for?”
The question was so innocent, yet so wise, Shard laughed, then butted his head against Hikaru’s shoulder. The sunlight of the clearing felt good after the dark cave and the cold rain, the dense trees like a green cavern over their heads. “That’s a good question, and no one has the truest answer.”
Hikaru shook his short mane. “What do you fight for, Shard?”
Shard thought back. “I have fought for my honor—which isn’t always worth it, depending on who you’re fighting. I fight to defend the weaker, I fight for my family and my friends.”
“Your gryfon pride,” Hikaru said eagerly, and Shard fluffed his feathers. “Because you’re a prince.”
“Yes.” Shard had a pride waiting for him, hoping for his return so that he could be their king. With that thought and the sun shining on him and Hikaru’s gaze shining at him, he did feel like a prince, though his pride was far away. “Well, yes, that’s right. My pride.”
“And you fight for truth.”
Shard tilted his head. “Truth?”
“Yes. You told me you hoped to find the truth of why the wyrms are angry and hateful, that you’ve argued for them. You fight for truth. I will, too.”
“Oh, Hikaru. You’re brave. Your mother hoped you could bring peace and friendship to the Winderost wyrms, but it won’t be easy. They seem more interested in fighting and spreading fear, and we don’t know why.”
“They’re angry,” Hikaru said. “I wish they would say why, instead of just attacking. But I will learn the truth, with you.”
Shard picked at a bit of bone from the meal. “I’ll need all the help I can get. I tried to speak to them once, but they didn’t listen, or they didn’t understand.” The stormy night came back to him, the terror, the attacking wyrms and their pursuit of him all the way to the Dawn Spire.
Hikaru’s tail coiled around Shard’s feet—to comfort Shard, or himself, Shard wasn’t sure. “They didn’t listen to me either,” the dragon murmured, “in the cavern.”
“Well,” Shard said, ruffling off the memory of the battle. The last time he’d seen his uncle, his friends, and Brynja. “You might endure a battle yet. Aesir gryfons like battle. They win acclaim and honor, and titles.”
Hikaru considered that. “I don’t want all that. I just want to be with you, and to help the wyrms find peace.” He lowered his head on level with Shard’s. “But I would fight for you, Shard.”
Shard touched his beak to Hikaru’s nose. “I would fight for you, too.”
It occurred to Shard he’d never sparred with the dragon or attempted to teach him anything about it. He made a plan to do so.
Hikaru lifted his head, then stood and stretched his wings. After glancing at what was left of the deer carcass, scraps of hide and the bones sucked clean of their marrow, he looked at Shard. “What should we do with her?”
Shard twitched his tail, surprised. “Do?”
Hikaru hesitated. “Yes. It doesn’t feel right to eat of her flesh and then just leave her there.” His brows scrunched down, as if he was trying to remember something.
“Oh.” Moved, Shard stood and looked down at the bones. “It’s all right. She’ll feed the crows and return to the earth in her own time. It is the way. In the Silver Isles, the Vanir leave their dead on the isle called Black Rock.”
“I see.” Hikaru considered his own toes for a moment. “Do we return to the earth when we die?”
“All flesh does. Our Voice sings on, in the winds, in the sky. Our spirit flies to the Sunlit Land of Tyr.”
Hikaru sat back, considering the bones of the deer, then the clear circle of sky far above. “I don’t know if dragons go to the Sunlit Land.”
Shard cocked his head. All spirits went to the Sunlit Land. It was a very strange thing to say. “What do you mean?”
Hikaru folded his claws together. “I feel as if…well, I don’t know if I can explain. But I feel as if I’m remembering things from…from other times I’ve lived.” His large eyes focused on Shard. “I think dragons are born again, and again. I think our spirits dwell here forever.”
Shard flexed his wings, a
nd tilted his head, indicating that they should walk on, under the cover of trees. He didn’t know what to say at all, so he spoke carefully. “That could be, Hikaru. I know that dragons are different. Your blood is like fire. You…well, what kinds of things are you remembering?”
Hikaru walked by his side, in graceful, undulating movement like a rising and falling wave. “Songs, mostly. Songs you didn’t teach me. Sometimes I remember other dragons, or things. I had a dream of a red stone gilded with bright gold.”
Shard navigated a path through the damp ferns, shaking off the dew every few steps and pondering. Privately, he thought that Hikaru might be a seer, like himself, that they weren’t memories but visions. But dragons were very different, and who was he to say?
“What songs do you remember?” Amaratsu had said that the songs of the Sunland would be in Hikaru’s blood. Shard hadn’t realized he would actually remember them, from a past life, through what power he didn’t know. If he was remembering them at all, and not hearing them through some power in the wind. It had happened for Amaratsu, and for Shard himself.
Hikaru’s warm voice broke the silence like a deep birdsong.
“The noble draw wind from the water
The brave will call fire from stone.
The foolish seek gold in the mountain
The last know that wood grows from bone.”
“It’s beautiful,” Shard murmured. “I’ve never heard it before.”
“It’s a dragon song,” Hikaru said, certain of himself. Shard wasn’t going to argue. “Where are we going?”
“Nightward.”
“Yes.” Hikaru trailed him through the ferns, up a long slope through the hulking, ancient cedars. “But where?”
Shard climbed, opening his wings and checking the position of the sun that glinted through the pine needles high above. “For now, just away.” He pondered whether to tell Hikaru his true destination yet, for he wasn’t certain how to get there, or if it was the best idea. At that moment, it was the only idea he had. “Away from the Winderost,” he continued, “away from the wyrms, and the Dawn Spire.”
