by Jess E. Owen
Caj told Tocho of the warriors Ragna and Thyra had sent out.
“I imagine they’re onto us by now,” Halvden said.
Caj checked the sky, heavy with trundling clouds. “But they won’t know where to look.”
Tocho flattened one ear. “It was easy for me to find you. There has been no fresh snow, so I followed your tracks. If I’d known, I would have covered them.”
“You didn’t know,” Caj said, to mollify the young wolf as he grew distressed.
“There, look.” Halvden paused mid-step, jutting his beak forward. “We’re almost to the valley. Walking, it will take at least another day to cross it. Perhaps slower still, since the snows are deep.” He looked at Caj. “Though if Sverin goes out hunting, you might meet him sooner.”
Caj looked toward the valley. From there he could see it was long and narrow, as if carved by the claw of Tyr, bare of trees in the center but bordered on all sides.
In silence, they walked, the opening of the pass beckoning, silent and cold under clouds. Caj’s muscles slowly tightened and he moved his gaze and ears continually from the sky to the rock cliffs towering above, to the shadowy line of trees on either side of the valley.
At any moment he expected to see Sverin’s bright wings against the leaden sky, to hear again that awful, mindless shrieking.
Tocho whined at the gathering tension, and Caj shook himself of imaginary fears.
They all halted at the sound of a gryfon call.
Tocho went still, quivering and lifting his muzzle to the gray sky. “No scent of other gryfons.”
Halvden’s ears flicked to and fro and Caj stilled, searching the sky just above the river. He saw no sign of Sverin or other movement but for a pair of ravens, mucking about over the water. Tocho eyed the ravens, nose twitching.
“Ragna’s warriors?” Halvden asked, sounding unconvinced.
Caj shook his head. “If it is, they’re distant, or not well. Their calls sound strained.”
“I think it’s them,” Tocho said, thrusting his nose toward the ravens.
Caj looked over, perking his ears. “What reason would they have?”
“Or it is gryfons, giving bird calls,” Halvden said. “You know, the idea Shard gave us last summer…” He trailed off, ears laying back. Caj hid his own expression by looking away. “Is it true that Shard is coming back?”
“He will if he can,” Caj said, turning to face the narrow deer trail, a neat line of packed snow along the riverbank that led them deeper into the canyon. They were almost to the valley—he could see it opening out ahead, ringed with pines. “Anyway, let’s get under cover in case they are on our trail. You’ll have questions to answer for lying, and I’ll have to convince them to stay well back. I don’t think either of us will do very well.”
Thankfully, Halvden offered no further questions or opinions on Shard, or the pursuit of Ragna’s warriors.
As they trotted forward Tocho murmured to Halvden, “Shard will return. He is the rightful prince of the Sun Isle, and the Summer King.”
“Summer King,” Halvden snorted. “Vanir nonsense.”
“You should think carefully what you’ll say when he returns,” Caj said quietly. “He will be your king.”
“Sverin is my king.”
Caj sighed, and turned away. He didn’t know if Sverin, even returning to his senses, would ever be anyone’s king again.
“Oh, look there.” Tocho sprang to one side before standing straight and still, his long nose pointed up the canyon. Caj and Halvden stopped, looking up. At first he only saw clouds, then discerned three gryfons in a wedge formation, flying high. By their movement, Caj guessed they hadn’t seen them yet. Halvden loose a reverberating growl. Tocho whined. “I’m sorry, Caj. The wind was wrong, I didn’t smell—”
“No fault of yours,” Caj rumbled, edging under the scant cover of overhanging rock and hoping it would be enough. “Get to the trees, now.”
“You get to the trees,” Halvden said, and before Caj could stop him, the younger warrior turned tail and sprang away, leaping thrice and then into the air, to wing fast back the way they’d come.
“Coward,” Tocho said.
“No,” Caj said. “See, he’s going toward them.” Quietly, Caj cursed.
Tocho turned, perking his ears. It was true. Halvden soared up high, shouting, and the wedge of gryfons paused and banked to see him. All of them turned with a chorus of furious yells when they realized it was Halvden, and dove.
As the trio fell lower, Caj recognized orange Vald, a full blood Aesir and friend of Halvden’s, an older Vanir named Ingmer, and a female half-blood, nicknamed Rowan for her deep brown feathers edged with red. Strong warriors all, a good mix to represent both queens, Caj thought, and for a moment, he was transfixed by Halvden’s brazenness and stupidity.
“Come!” Tocho urged. “He’s giving you a chance to get to the valley. You know where Sverin nests, you can still reach him first, come.”
“I thought the queens sent five,” he muttered, more to himself than Tocho, and searched the strip of sky above the canyon again.
Tocho padded a circle around him, snuffling at the ground, though his gaze was locked on the sky. “Perhaps they’re still lost, or ranging behind. Come, my friend. Don’t waste Halvden’s diversion.”
Caj wavered. Halvden would suffer punishment for helping him and for lying about Sverin’s location. After a moment, he knew he had to press forward. Halvden risked himself to give Caj a chance, and he wouldn’t waste it. Trusting Thyra’s orders, Ragna, and the discipline of a Vanir warrior and two who had trained under Caj himself, he turned and loped, hugging to the rock face, toward the valley and the cover of trees. Halvden would suffer punishment—but not death.
And honestly he could use a little more punishment, Caj thought.
A cacophony of shouts and snarls filled the canyon and Caj nearly stumbled in surprise. He stopped and stared up and around, searching for the source.
Tocho burst into laughter at the seemingly invisible voices, sprinting ahead, then circling back and sniffing, ears turning about.
“Oh, look, what games? What it this? Caj, it’s ravens!”
Again, the small, strange gryfon cries scattered around the canyon. Glancing back showed that Ragna’s warriors had broken their formation and pursuit of Halvden to circle and look around. Caj pressed to the rock, holding still in the wet shadow of the towering cliff face.
Halvden taunted the warriors from down near the river, landing on the bank and flashing his emerald wings against the backdrop of rock and snow. “All right, you’ve caught me! Follow and I’ll take you to Sverin’s den!”
A laughing raven echoed him, the black bird spiraling down in flashy loops from above, and calling out in gryfon tones.
Noticing the ravens, Halvden mockingly called, “Which way?” to which the ravens responded gleefully with, “This way!” as they split in five separate directions.
Caj slanted one ear forward, and the other back. He heard Vald shouting curses at the birds, and got the feeling that the ravens had been pestering the gryfon warriors for their entire hunt.
But why?
He knew he should run, but for a moment he stood mesmerized, wondering why ravens would care about distracting the warriors, would care about helping him at all.
Soon the air filled with them. Ravens swooped and circled above the canyon, calling first in their own guttural voices, then, with laughing caws they each loosed a perfect, seemingly faraway mimic of a grown gryfon male. One had even nearly perfected Sverin’s own, deep-chested snarl.
Then Caj remembered Sigrun’s promise to help.
Sigrun, daughter-of-Hrafn. Hrafn, another name for Raven. In all their years together, Sigrun had avoided doing anything to make Caj uncomfortable or remind anyone overtly that her father had been a powerful, Vanir healer with mysterious ties to the nature of the isles—or that she herself possessed those same ties.
Did she call these ravens forward to
help me? To trick Ragna’s warriors?
“No this way!” cried a cackling female raven. “He shelters in rocks past the river of night.”
“He cowers from darkness and flies only in light.”
“He listens to none, and by none is heard—”
“The Red War King is nothing but a bird.”
Even though they taunted Ragna’s warriors, not him, Caj felt locked to ground as the raven jeers began to heat his temper. Tocho brushed against him, reassuring. Caj grunted acknowledgement, staring at the storm of ravens.
Knowing that Sigrun would stand against her own wingsister to help him stoked the determination in his chest. She believed in him. She believed that Sverin could be restored and she had done what she could to help him.
Their calls echoed on. “I have seen him, I have seen the Red King! He flies and shelters round and round and I have watched him up wander uphill—”
“—and down!”
“Silence, tricksters,” shouted the Vanir, Ingmer. “We’ve had enough of you.”
The ravens laughed on and on and scattered, still calling, mimicking gryfon growls and shrieks.
“Let’s go,” Tocho pleaded, and thrust his cold nose under Caj’s neck feathers to his skin.
“Ah!” Coming to his senses with a quick, breathless laugh, Caj butted his head against the wolf, feeling an affection and gratitude he would’ve never thought possible. He realized the other reason he’d hesitated, and met the wolf’s amber eyes.
“No. I will go on alone. Help Halvden distract them, and don’t let him do anything too foolish. It’s Sverin they want, not him, and certainly not you.” Tocho looked ready to argue. “Now go. I won’t let you face Sverin or come close. You’ve done enough, Tocho, for ten wolves, and I hope it brings you the esteem you desire.”
Tocho studied him, ears perked, and appeared to resist the urge to lick Caj’s face in deference, which Caj appreciated.
“I wish you luck my friend. Good hunting to you.”
“Thank you. Fair winds.”
They parted, Tocho breaking into a run back down the canyon, Caj slinking quickly along the rock face.
As Caj had hoped, the ravens soon clotted the air so thickly the warriors were forced back, higher, and away, and raw, laughing calls bounded through the mountain pass. Tocho’s howl joined Halvden’s voice, calling out to the warriors. Caj kept running, cold air cutting his chest, his broken wing aching. No matter. Soon this will end, one way or another.
After a few moments of breathless running along the river, the pass broke open, the mountains widening out at last. The river wound off and grew wider, cutting an icy trail down the middle. The walls of the mountains sloped into gentle sweeps of snowy fields, the foothills darkened by snow-covered evergreens.
Caj waded through snow, out of the pass and directly along the foothills to the tree line. He would’ve preferred to cut across the valley to the far side, but realized that not only was the snow neck-deep, but any of Ragna’s warriors would’ve spotted him easily from the air, if they ever made it past the ravens and Halvden.
With one last glance over his wing, he plunged under the cover of trees. Under the pine boughs, the untouched snow came only to his belly, and he slogged through the woods.
The valley beside him was silent, empty of bird, game, or rival predators. Only wind moved, rushing around in hurried gusts, now and then raising funnels of dry, sparkling snow.
Caj set his gaze toward the far end of the valley, showing through the trees. At last, as he had intended from the outset, he went on to meet the mad king, to meet his wingbrother, alone.
~ 32 ~
At the Shrine
OVER THE COURSE OF an Age, the dragons had hollowed the mountain range they called Ryujan, or the Mountains of the Sea, and their dwellings, workrooms, tunnels and intricate architecture of ice and stone stretched for an area larger than the Silver Isles. Everything was molded to their size and comfort, and Shard always felt tiny when he followed Hikaru through the vast caverns, tunnels, or between mountains.
Now they flew to the warrior shrine, for Hikaru to do his reflection, and then Shard planned to search for Groa’s dragon. He slipped talons under his feathers to touch the fire stones, to make sure they hadn’t fallen off during the spar.
Thanks to Hikaru, he understood their use, and how he would make fire. The once bright pyres of the Dawn Spire had been doused during the battle with the wyrms, and Shard planned to relight them when he returned, as a sign of his friendship, and other reasons.
First he pictured Kjorn’s face. Then he imagined, with relish, what Brynja’s reaction might be to see him wield and create fire, not just feed a skyfire spark, as the Dawn Spire gryfons had done. Brynja loved fire. She had thrilled to see him fly with torches, expertly lighting pyres without putting them out, without singing his wings, and had taught her to do the same.
He remembered foolishly thinking that such a display would be enough to win her. To ask her to leave her obligations and ties. To have her break a promise, to become his queen—for truly, that’s what he asked of her—to leave her birthplace and family and begin a family of her own far from home, all for him.
Shard took a deep breath. It was much to ask. It was too much to ask of anyone, and he didn’t know if love was enough to offer her. Rubbing a talon over the rabbit skin pouch and the stones within, Shard wondered what, if anything, would be enough.
One wing stroke, then another.
One foot in front of the other.
Stigr’s advice calmed his agitated thoughts.
It was still a distant thing, and many other obstacles stood in the path between them, no matter what way he looked at it. Shard tucked his talons together and laid his ears back, fiddling with the silver chain Groa had given him.
He and Hikaru winged in silence across the long, main mountain cavern, the quickest shortcut to the next mountain. Shard ignored the dragons who stared at them—still, though it had been weeks, and caught the scent of smoke and hot metal from one female who whipped by overhead, her claws overflowing with long golden chains.
With a shudder, he recalled the forges—a network of caverns and tunnels so hot and moist Shard was surprised there was any snow left in the Sunland.
Glimpses inside the stone caves showed him fire—fire and gold so hot it flowed like water, and the scent of hot metal and warm dragon flesh clotted the air. Smoke seeped out through cracks in the mountains but still clouded the forges, and any dragon who spoke to them had a voice rough with the months they’d spent breathing it.
Still, the dragons seemed content in the miserable conditions, doing their work. Shard had marveled how they, like the warrior dragons and the healers, performed each task, no matter how small, with careful, ceremonial attention.
Hikaru had shown him on the third day there, despite the empress’s warning. They’d been ordered away from the forges, but Hikaru saw no punishment from it, and Shard doubted anyone told the empress. Shard noticed how reluctant dragons were to truly punish their young, at least one as young as Hikaru.
Or perhaps it was something else. Perhaps it was Hikaru.
And you, winterborn, stay away from me.
He is winterborn, Amaratsu had said. Already a difficult fate.
“Shard, there!”
They burst from the exit in the main cavern and fresh cold wind brightened Shard’s thoughts as the sun glared down on them. He followed Hikaru’s pointing claw to behold the azure sea, stretching away and away beyond the mountain peaks. Shard breathed deeply, smelling mostly snow, but a whiff of salt air. It tempered his longing for home, and his determination to finish his business with the dragons as soon as possible.
From there they winged to a smaller, icy peak Shard had never entered.
They landed in the center of the mail cavern, and Hikaru led the way. “Each way of life has a shrine,” he explained, for Shard. “The warriors, the crafters and healers and so on. And the highest, of course, to Tyr and To
r and Midragur, is beyond the valley in another mountain.”
“Midragur is a god, here?”
“No, not like that exactly. Midragur is…the First.”
“The first dragon?”
“Yes. But we call him Ryu, the first son of Tyr and Tor.”
Shard looked around, wondering if the wyrms considered Midragur the First dragon also. If they thought of him all. If they thought at all. He hoped the dragon Groa had spoken of would know much more about them. His quest to find out about the Aesir had rewarded him greatly and let him better understand Sverin, Kjorn and the others. Shard was certain if he could learn more about the wyrms he could understand and either befriend, or know how to fight them.
The small, quiet mountain was mostly empty of dragons and immediately Shard felt calm, beholding the quiet patterns carved into the pillars of the main cavern. Natural tunnels and carved openings let in long shafts of sunlight from above, shining in great rough circles on the floor. Shard felt, oddly, the same as he did when wandering the deepest forest of the Star Isle.
Hikaru led him to an archway that bore an image of a Sunland dragon rampant, which Shard recognized now as the warrior dragons’ emblem.
“We must be quiet, in the shrine,” Hikaru said, though Shard had guessed, and they both bowed to the dragon image above the arch, and entered the passageway.
After walking for a moment Shard realized there had been no torches in the main cavern, only the shafts of sun, and none lining the tunnel where they walked. Instead, a familiar, pale light glowed from up ahead.
They emerged into an ice cavern much smaller than the empress’s throne room, but on a dragon scale nonetheless. Life-sized reliefs of battling dragons blazed on the curving wall. Now Shard recognized each principle of a dragon defending, evading, attacking, and flowing like water. He looked for a dragon to represent the principle of sky, but saw none. At the far end a raised dais was littered with herbs, smooth stones, carved gems, and other offerings, all overseen by an eternally glaring dragon carved from the stone and ice above the dais.
