by Jess E. Owen
“Ask?” Caj just looked at him. “Ask who?”
“Anyone,” Tocho said, lifting his head to peer around.
Caj followed his gaze. Dull light filtered through the blizzard, promising that the snow might spend itself soon.
“Birds,” Tocho continued. “A hare, if you call in Tor’s name and they know you aren’t hunting, might answer.”
“I don’t speak with creatures like that. I don’t understand them. They flee.”
Bright, hungry wolf eyes focused on him. “You spoke to the horses. You only have to listen.” He padded forward.
“I don’t need help to find my own wingbrother,” Caj called after him, then broke into a lope to catch up. Wolves were swift on the ground. Caj was not, though his strength grew. If he could fly, the whole hunt would’ve been done by now.
His own father used to say that “if” was the most useless word under the sky.
“They won’t help me.” Caj caught up to Tocho, caught his bushy tail in his talons. Tocho paused to look at him. “They won’t help a gryfon, not me, of the Aesir. Not after everything.”
Tocho tilted his head. “Of course they will. You seek your brother, out of love. All creatures understand that. You seek redemption for the Aesir. You love a Vanir. Two actually.” He chuckled. “Give the islands a chance, and they will give you one.”
Caj huffed, lashing his tail. He caught a scent—red deer? He whirled, ears perking, and saw her, frozen as if her ruddy winter pelt might blend in with the snow. He tried to remember the feeling of speaking to the horses, feeling his feet firmly on the earth, unable to fly, as this creature was unable to fly.
“You there!”
Her ears perked, face blank and shocked, then she wheeled and bounded away into the snow. Caj swore and leaped after her, but Tocho’s laughter stopped him.
He whirled and bore down on the wolf. “This is funny to you?”
“Yes!” Tocho dodged away when Caj swiped at him. “I mean it was a good try. But maybe try someone closer to yourself, first. And maybe not so loudly.”
“Closer to…”
Tocho tilted his head back. Through the pelting snow Caj thought he made out the form of a bird, flapping fast to seek shelter.
“You there!”
“Would you answer if someone shouted at you like that?” Tocho’s quiet question burned under Caj’s skin. He splayed his good wing, digging his talons against the frozen ground under the snow just to feel them breaking into something.
“Hail! Little sky brother!”
The bird disappeared into the blizzard.
Caj loosed a breath, and had just turned a glare on Tocho, when the bird swooped back with stunning speed and landed before Caj, looking as surprised as Caj himself did. The sleek, small, sparrow hawk peered up at him and he realized he’d make a mistake calling her a brother.
“You called to me, lord?”
Well that’s more like it. Caj blinked in surprise at the little falcon, and she stared at him. “Yes, I did. You live on Talon’s Reach?”
“My whole life.” She looked back and forth between Tocho and Caj. “So it’s true! You seek the Red King.”
Relieved that she hadn’t called him the Red Scourge, and feeling more hopeful, Caj lowered himself to her level, sinking to his belly in the snow. “I do.” He didn’t even ask how she knew. News of his quest was traveling faster than he was. He glanced at Tocho, smothered his pride, and continued. “And I need help. I mean to redeem Sverin.” Caj met the falcon’s small, shining eyes. He recalled how Tocho had won over the horses. “In the name of…the Summer King, in the name of Shard, prince of the Vanir…will you help me?”
“It would be my honor.”
The quick answer surprised Caj, and he didn’t try to hide his gratitude. “What is your name?”
She loosed a little chirruping laugh. “We of the winds have no names.”
Caj’s ear twitched, and he tried not to be irritated. “Then what will I call you?”
“Call me friend. Come, come, then, slow ones.” She hopped into the air and hovered. “We have a large island to search.”
~ 12 ~
At the Vanheim Shore
SUNSET EDGED THE VANHEIM Shore in gold and red.
Kjorn stood on the edge of a cliff within the stronghold of the Vanhar, ringed by their council of twelve elders, half of them male, half of them female, and in their center a thirteenth. She was the oldest, tough and wiry as a falcon, with sharp, orange eyes.
“Kjorn, Son-of-Sverin. I am high priestess of the Vanhar. My council and I share wisdom, seek guidance from Tyr and Tor, and look for signs from the Four Winds, but it is I who have the final say in matters of our law. Do you understand this?”
“I understand.” Kjorn bowed low, looking around the half circle of faces. No wonder Nilsine had laughed when Kjorn mentioned a king, but they’d been anything but hostile. His wings were unbound, at his back lay the sea. They trusted that he would not fly. Anything he didn’t understand could surely be clarified at a later time. “It’s my honor to meet you. I wish only that I could have come upon this shore first, and met you in a better way.”
One ear slanted incredulously, but she appeared amused. The dozen elders remained quiet, only exchanging skeptical looks. “You understand that you are here to face judgment for keeping company with the criminal Rok, for trespassing, and to answer for your claim of being Kajar’s heir.”
“I understand.”
The elders conferred among themselves, and Kjorn took a deep breath, casting a brief look to the landscape beyond the half circle of gryfons.
The stronghold of the Vanhar was quarter mark’s flight along the coast from where the sentries had come upon Rok and his band. The land changed from barren rock with sparse plant growth into lusher grass slopes that nudged into dunes and slipped into the sea. The Vanhar nested not in rock dens but in those dunes and tall grasses, and now and again Kjorn glimpsed a curious gryfon face peering their way from a distance, or a fledge popping up to practice flight. Wind waved the grasses and sea wheat, seabirds cried, and sunlight sparkled gold over the water.
In all, the effect soothed Kjorn’s mood and gave him a hopeful outlook.
He’d been treated—if not like a prince—at least like a guest, fed and respected and trusted not to fly away, while Rok, Fraenir and Frida were guarded more closely. The Vanhar had taken time to reasonably explain their law to Kjorn, taking his word for the moment that he was indeed the grandson of Per and had little knowledge of how things fared in the Winderost.
“What proof do you have that you are Per’s grandson, Kajar’s heir?”
Kjorn looked to the gnarled, dusty gray male who’d spoken. “My coat and feathers are like my mother’s, who was the sister of a gryfess who remained at the Dawn Spire. She would vouch for me.”
The high priestess gave him a keen look. “You speak of Queen Esla. Mate to Orn, now.”
“Then she fares well,” Kjorn said, controlling his surprise. “I didn’t know she was queen.”
A female hacked a cough. “Didn’t know? That’s likely. She clawed up to the top to avoid being associated with her sister who fled with a coward—”
“I’ll ask you not speak of my kin that way.” Kjorn’s tail flicked and he rolled his shoulders, re-settling his feathers and pressing his talons to the grass. “Respectfully. I will answer for any cowardice.”
“Alone,” said the high priestess. “Why do you come alone?”
“I came alone to seek my wingbrother, Shard. A gray Vanir also from the Silver Isles.” He searched their faces, but as with Nilsine, saw no sign of recognition. Disappointment twisted in his chest, and he shifted his talons against the ground. So Shard hadn’t landed on this shore.
A couple of the elders nodded, accepting his reason. Two gryfesses bent their heads together, whispering furiously. One broke away from the other to say, “What brought your wingbrother to this land?”
“Tell us your tale,” said
the priestess.
“It starts much earlier,” Kjorn said, glancing around the circle again. The priestess merely dipped her head.
So Kjorn told them all he knew, including what he’d been told that was a lie—that Per led others away to conquer new lands, to expand their pride. He told them of his own mother’s death, and with a halting tongue, his father’s descent toward madness which even Kjorn couldn’t explain, except that he surely harbored secrets, guilt and shame about the way they’d left the Winderost. He told them about Shard, how he’d befriended the wolves and other creatures of the Isles, learned he was the son of the dead Vanir king, exiled himself from the pride. He told them everything.
“What other proof?” demanded a male at the end of the half ring of gryfons. “Anyone could have been groomed up with this story and claimed to be Kajar’s heir. We owe him nothing. Just another big outcast from the Dawn Spire, if you ask me.”
“With those feathers, Mirsk? Those eyes?”
“Trickery! I wouldn’t trust him on our lands. I’ll not—”
“Rok wears a chain,” Kjorn said. “A golden chain of dragon craft. It was my father’s. It’s the only proof I can offer other than my word and my family’s story.”
The priestess considered that. “We shall return it to you, then—”
“No.” Kjorn surprised her and himself. “Let him keep it, when or if you release him. It gives him some dignity and I think he has none left.”
For a moment they asked no questions, and Kjorn closed his eyes to listen to the cool wind in the grass. The elders conferred in quiet voices.
After long moments, the priestess opened her wings to silence the others. “Son of Sverin.”
He inclined his head.
“My elders have given me their opinions, and the Starwind whispers of new tidings.” She studied him closely. Kjorn almost felt as if the gods looked at him, at length, through her old eyes. “It is my opinion that you were raised well, courageous and true. It is my opinion that you’re telling the truth, that you were fed lies about Per’s history and, the very moment you learned the truth, you wished to make things right. Whether coming here is honorable or foolhardy, I’m not certain, but certainly you are brave. Our trusted sentry told us the very first moment she saw you, Tyr shone on your face. This is not a sign we take lightly. You say your only intention here is to seek your wingbrother to make amends?”
Kjorn’s tail flicked against the grass. “It is. With your leave, I’ll search your lands and make no trouble here.”
The elders muttered among themselves and the priestess fanned her wings to silence them. She folded them neatly on her back again and considered. For a moment, her dignity and strength reminded Kjorn of Shard’s mother, Ragna, the Widow Queen. It gave him some hope, for Ragna was a force to reckon with. She was only recently an ally, but a strong one.
“Very well. You have our blessing to pass through this land.”
The wind rushed across their backs and bent the grass into shimmering waves. Kjorn shivered at the sensation, then became aware that more Vanhar had crept through the grass to spy on the gathering. Young warriors, older mated parents, fledges—dozens of gryfon eyes gleamed in the last light, watching him, watching the elders.
“Thank you,” Kjorn said, his hackle feathers prickling as if something watched him from behind. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder toward the water.
“You don’t know this land well.” The priestess cast a look over her shoulder, lifting her wings once again as if to encompass all of the Vanhar who stood behind her. “If there are any who wish to aide the prince in his quest, you have my leave.”
A few whispers twittered through the grass.
Nilsine stepped forward from those gathered. “I will help him. I will, and any from my sentries who wish.”
Kjorn tried to read her reserved expression, wondered at her reasons, and noted the priestess’s look of approval. He dipped his head. “Thank you.”
The priestess raised her voice once again, addressing Kjorn. “Hunt, if you need to. Rest where you will.” A deeper, keen look came into her eyes as she watched him. “Do no harm, and none will come to you.”
Kjorn felt a sensation as of warmth on his wings, but now the air was still, the sun lowering enough to allow the cold of night. “Thank you,” he murmured again, the only response he could make.
“You have our welcome,” said the priestess. “We shall watch with great interest what will happen, now that the line of Kajar has returned to the Winderost.”
~ 13 ~
Sea Wolves
HIGH, THIN NIGHT AIR sucked every breath from Shard’s throat. Stars embraced their flight like thousands of distant torches of white fire. That high, the icy ocean below appeared to be only another distant sky, calm and flat with reflected stars.
Shard shook his head, breathing slowly, and looked over to Hikaru. The dragon, now seven times Shard’s length from nose to tail, soared alongside him. Free to eat his fill, he seemed to grow as Shard took breath.
It had been Hikaru’s idea to fly higher, to cover the leagues faster, and despite his shortness of breath, Shard had to agree. But he saw the dragon’s head nod.
“Hikaru.”
The dragon flapped his wings once, almost invisible in the dark but for the edges picked out in the starlight, and for the budding silver horns and mane.
“Hikaru!”
“I’m here.” He shook his head, Shard heard him gasp. “I’m awake. There’s ice on the water. Shard, look, ice!”
“Ice in the air, too,” Shard said, breathing deeply again. He had trained himself to high flying, challenging himself always, but he watched Hikaru as sharply as a falcon minded its eggs. He’d taught Hikaru the dynamic soaring flight of seabirds that he’d learned from an albatross named Windwalker, but once mastered, Hikaru had tired of it and insisted on high flight. Now he often drifted in and out of attention, and occasionally dipped in flight so Shard had to slap him awake. “I fear a storm,” Shard said loudly to get Hikaru’s attention.
“No, it means we’re close!” Hikaru scanned the dark horizon eagerly, as if land and friendly dragons and the answers to all their troubles perched just beyond the waves. “We may even see the shore by dawn!”
Hikaru looked up then, at the stars, naming them quietly to himself. Shard kept an eye on the dragon’s wings, on his forepaws tucked alertly to his chest, not drooping. “We must keep following Midragur,” Hikaru said. “That will lead us. I know it will.”
“I believe you. Hikaru, we should save our breath for now.”
Below, clouds piled in slowly from the dawnward quarter. If Shard and Hikaru maintained their current height, the storm posed no threat and they could fly over, above it all, if their strength held out. Shard suppressed a shiver at the memory of his last storm at sea.
“I’m hungry,” Hikaru announced, and without leave, turned and dove.
“Hikaru! Hikaru, slowly!” Shard shook his head, gasping a breath, and folded his wings to dive. He readied himself for the warmer air, the richer breath, timed his breathing, streamlined his wings to the freezing wind in his face. Hikaru flew well enough, but seemed more eager to get to the places he was going than to perfect his flight. Shard feared for him.
“Hikaru!”
Young, rolling laughter answered him, and Hikaru shot down like a falling star. The first layer of denser air was a relief, a shock, and Shard saw the dragon’s wings falter. Like surfacing from deep water, diving too fast posed its own dangers for the novice fledgling.
Fledgling, Shard scolded himself. He’s only a fledgling. I should’ve kept him closer, shouldn’t have agreed to this high flight.
Shard saw the moment when the wind stalled the dragon’s wings—he’d never had so much room to gain speed, never felt the air stall against him.
“Hikaru straighten out! Slow down!”
He saw Hikaru try, lashing his long body to flare, but throwing himself off balance instead. Chest
aching, Shard plummeted, hoping to catch him and force him into a flare. The ocean shimmered before him, reflected stars spinning in dizzying array, and he narrowed his focus to the shadow that was Hikaru. Shard knew panic, knew what it was when the world tilted and it was impossible to sort out.
“Use your tail to straighten out! I’m above you, ocean below! Point your nose to the horizon—”
As Shard yelled, he saw Hikaru following his instructions. Relieved, he called encouragement, pushing open his wings a little to slow his own dive. With an awkward, final thrash Hikaru pulled out of the dive, straightening into a glide.
Shard swooped down alongside him and slapped talons against his tail with a hiss. “Never do that again! Do you understand me?”
Hikaru laughed breathlessly. “I had to try it. You told me about all the diving you’ve done, and I wanted to try.”
Shard clenched his talons. “I understand, believe me. And…” He forced himself to calm down, to not act like a mother ptarmigan. They were both fine, after all, and Hikaru had corrected in plenty of time. A wind picked up and the waves sparkled, now only the width of ten gryfon leaps below them. “You did well. You were very brave, and you did just fine.”
Hikaru’s eyes shone with pride. “Thank you.”
“Just remember, I’ve been flying for many more years than you, and I’d been flying for many years before I ever tried diving into the sea from such a height.”
“I know.” Hikaru looked over at him. “But I have a much shorter time to practice.”
Shard huffed a breath, and could not answer that. By this time next year, he will be gone from the world. From my world.
The thought was enough to make him cringe that he’d scolded the young dragon at all.
The wet, frozen scent of snow filled the air. After a moment he managed to answer Hikaru’s trusting stare. “You did well. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, Shard. That means everything to me.” Dragon teeth gleamed in the star light. “Though I am still hungry.”
