by Jess Owen
“Don’t think I won’t toss you into the sea,” Stigr growled. What a fool he was. His sister had been wrong, so wrong, to want to raise him among the Aesir, to think there could be balance.
“You are short-sighted,” said the second raven, drifting up more gracefully on Stigr’s left. “He rages like a new kit into the world. Clinging to the past, uncertain of the unknown.”
“You two speak too much in riddles,” Stigr muttered.
“He awakes,” the calmer raven murmured, flipping happily in the wind.
“He sees both paths,” rasped the first, with a mocking edge.
“But he must choose.”
“But he does not know the true choice. He doesn’t truly know himself.”
“He does,” Stigr said stubbornly. “He must. They would have told him.”
“He doesn’t.”
“You must tell him.”
“You must be there for him when he chooses.”
“You be there,” Stigr snapped. “He won’t have me anymore.” He shoved forward, finding a tailwind to outpace his riddling advisors into the dawn.
~ 18 ~
The Daynight Hunt
The Daynight dawned red.
Even from his windward-facing den, Shard saw streaks of rosy fire flaring out from the dawnward sky, sun lighting the last wisps of clouds from the night. Still half in his dreams, he lay still, letting everything come back.
Stigr was gone from his life. He’d done that much. He had chosen. The relief of it felt too much like regret for him to feel proud of all he’d learned, to feel excited at the skills he had to offer the king and Kjorn.
Vanir skills, part of his mind babbled. Forbidden skills. But Shard had learned them in the name of the king, to serve Sverin. No one could deny that he was already a better fighter, and that was due to Stigr. In time Shard could try to convince Kjorn, and so, Sverin, that if times were lean they could fish from the sea …
I thought the knowledge would change you, Stigr had said.
“Into what?” Shard whispered to the breeze that trickled into his den. He inched forward to peer out into the morning, and froze when he caught voices on the wind, the strong, tense voices of arguing males. He perked his ears.
“—enough of this ridiculous charade. It should have been Halvden. Everyone thinks so. This whole thing is a joke.” It was Hallr, but who was he arguing with?
“I didn’t come here to speak with you.” Caj.
Their voices echoed down against the rock, drifting clearly to Shard. He stood and jumped from his den, caught the morning wind and flapped up to the top of the cliff where the two older males stood. He refused to hide from Hallr, or listen to his complaints.
“There’s our noble leader now,” Hallr scoffed as Shard landed and trotted toward them.
“Fair morning, Hallr,” Shard muttered. With Caj watching him, Shard raised his head higher, lifting his ears. “Is all well? Nest-father, welcome.”
“Thank you.”
“You both know,” Hallr said quietly, a dangerous edge to his voice, “this colony should have been my son’s appointment.”
“Tell that to the king,” Shard said.
“The king, the king,” Hallr echoed like a raven. “Always threatening with the king, because you can’t back up your own words? You couldn’t challenge me, whelp.”
Shard stared at Hallr, his hackle feathers lifting. But Caj spoke first.
“He could challenge you.”
Shard blinked at Caj, but Hallr barked laughter and the wind swept it out to sea. “He would lose.”
Heat crawled under Shard’s skin, goading him to leap forward and challenge Hallr right there. “I did well enough against Halvden, last we sparred.”
“A spar,” Hallr said. Caj lifted his wings.
“This isn’t a contest of strength, Hallr. We aren’t nameless, witless beasts. Obey your king. Keep your honor. Is this the only reason you’ve bothered me? To complain of your duty? I came to speak with my son, not you.”
My son. The words shocked down Shard’s back. Not, my adopted, nest-son. My son.
“I wanted to warn you,” Hallr snapped, “That if your nest-son crosses another line with me, or dishonors my son again, he will pay. The weight of a full-blood Vanir drags down this pride and I see it even if the king will not.” Hallr turned from Caj and watched Shard, his feathers sleek as a serpent’s back, bright eyes pinpointed as if to attack. “You live only because you’ve somehow weaseled your way into Kjorn’s good grace.”
“And you, who have no wingbrother?” Caj’s voice grew cooler. “You wouldn’t understand the love between brothers.”
Shard forced his feathers from ruffled back to smooth. He marveled at Caj’s calm. How does he stay so quiet and still?
“There is no one worthy of such trust and honor from me,” growled Hallr.
“You couldn’t have the king’s ear,” Caj rumbled, “so you’ll have no friend at all, is that it?”
Shard’s anger cooled as curiosity wriggled up. Caj has the upper claw, that’s why he’s calm. It was confidence, Shard saw as if in a blazing light. Caj was unafraid. Bright, unbidden admiration flared for his usually distant nest-father.
Hallr didn’t answer, and turned to face Caj fully as if Shard was no longer there. “You’re a disgrace. Letting the whelp of a conquered Vanir witch live just because she begged. Or did she bewitch you?”
Caj’s gaze slipped sideways to Shard, then he dipped his head. “It wasn’t I who let Shard live.”
“She witched Red Per, then!” Hallr stamped a taloned foot and Shard could tell he wanted to fight, or fly. “He is a curse on us, and Tyr will show us before long.”
“He is still of my nest.” The tense crawl of anger at last cut Caj’s voice. “Do harm to him, and I consider it harm to me.”
“I don’t fear you,” Hallr snarled. “You’re soft. Under the wing of your soft Vanir mate, who you didn’t even properly win.”
“Shard,” Caj said quietly. “Go wait for me in the forest.”
“No.”
Caj turned on him, raising his wings higher. “I said go—”
“No. I’m not a kit. What does he mean, didn’t properly win?”
“Most Aesir,” Hallr’s growl broke up their argument, “were strong enough to kill the mate of the gryfess they desired. But not gentle Caj.”
Caj’s eyes narrowed and he hesitated, gaze locked on Shard. When Shard didn’t move, Caj turned on Hallr. “I didn’t kill her mate, so I didn’t properly win her, is that it?”
The breath swept out of Shard. Sigrun had never told him who killed his father. Once, she had told him it wasn’t Caj to make him obey the blue gryfon, and warned him never to ask of it again. He’d always thought she was lying. That was the way. The conquerors came and won the spoils—lands, dens, and widowed gryfess mates.
“That’s what I mean. Noble Caj. Even the conquered call you so. You didn’t even fight for her. Just swept in after the fighting and scooped her up and now you’re true mates and love each other, is that it?”
“Yes,” murmured Caj. “That’s it. Should we all have done as you, and killed our mate’s Vanir warrior in front them? Then their kits?”
“At least my mate hasn’t bewitched me.”
“I have no time for this,” Caj growled. “It is the Daynight. If you have only more windblown words to throw at me, then be off.”
“Watch your nest, noble Caj,” Hallr warned, his words nearly lost in a growl as his gaze pierced toward Shard. “It rots under you.”
Without another word, Hallr shoved into the dawning sky. For a moment, only soft wind and the sweet, tangy scent of pine lay between Shard and Caj.
“Well,” the blue gryfon huffed, not meeting Shard’s eyes. “I came to speak with you this morning. To tell you to be careful. You’ve made enemies. But I think you’ve probably figured that out.”
The words blurted. “You really didn’t kill my father?”
“No
.” Caj’s tail flicked slowly. “I really didn’t.”
“Who then?” Shard could have cared less about Hallr in that moment. “Did you see him? Did you ever know him?”
Caj was silent, looking wary. Then, “I saw him. But I never knew him.”
“Who killed him?”
“Shard,” Caj murmured. Shard could scarcely believe the regret in his voice. Caj’s gold eyes watched him steadily. “Will it help you to know?”
“I don’t know,” Shard whispered. Too many regrets grasped him. The fight with Stigr, knowing the truth of Caj, fear of Hallr’s true hatred. “But I need to know.”
“Just remember that it’s in the past.”
“I will.”
The rising sun edged Caj’s blue wings with gold, and his low, calm voice filled Shard’s head, as it had, he realized, since he was a kit. Caj had tried to tell him stories of the windland, tried to teach him the way of the warrior, but Shard had preferred to learn as much as he could on his own. He wasn’t distant from me, Shard realized in that moment. I was distant from him.
“Your father was the last to fight against our king,” the blue warrior murmured. Shard stared at him, breath halted.
“Sverin…?”
“Per himself,” Caj said. “Remember, he was king before Sverin. He was king during the Conquering.”
Is he making it up? A grand warrior’s death, to make my father seem better than he was, to appease me?
Dawn light caught Caj’s gold eyes and Shard saw that he was telling the truth.
“Per the Red himself slew your father, and he …” he hesitated, as if thinking whether to tell Shard the truth, or not. “He had been so loved by the rest of the pride, that his death ended the war. Your mother begged for your life, and Per knew that killing you would start the battle again. So you live.”
Winds brushed between them, smelling of the pine forest and of the sea. “Thank you,” Shard whispered, looking away.
“I also came this morning to tell you that I’m proud of you.” Caj was nearly whispering. Shard had never heard his voice so quiet. Voices fluttered to them, other gryfons emerging from their dens to catch the dawn wind and stretch their wings. Some called a greeting to Caj, but he focused only on Shard.
“You’ve done well here, and I know it hasn’t been a flight in fair weather. Kjorn told me you’re not going to mate this year, and that’s fine, Shard.”
Shard blinked back up at him, rising from his thoughts. For some reason, he’d thought Caj wouldn’t have paid attention to whether or not Shard chose to mate, that he wouldn’t care.
“It’s good to hear you say that.”
Caj dipped his head a little. Shard shifted his feet in the grass, trying to think what else to say. He’d never spoken to Caj this way, though he knew Sigrun had always wanted them to be closer.
“I would’ve been a father to you,” Caj said abruptly. Utter silence stooped in, and now Shard could only stare at the seedy tops of the grass. “But even as a kit you wouldn’t have me. I think you already knew your father’s voice.”
“I was too young …” It sounded weak, even to Shard, and he didn’t look up. He held his breath, let it out, thought of his nights with Stigr, and Sigrun’s insistence that he mind Caj and try to learn from him, her single denial that he had killed Shard’s father. Shard perked his ears when Caj shifted, and looked up.
“I’ll do my best to keep making you proud,” he whispered, staring at the gold eyes that had terrified him as a kit, judged him as a fledge and now, he realized, did gleam with approval.
“Your best will always make me proud,” Caj murmured. “It always has.”
“I didn’t know,” Shard said, feeling lost. I kept him at wing’s length, not the other way around.
“Now you do.” Caj watched him, then, seeming satisfied that Shard had no words for that, backed up a pace. “Remember what else I said. Be safe. We’ll see you at the feast.”
“Fair winds,” Shard managed, and watched him lope away and leap into the sky. And Stigr calls all of the Aesir killers and thieves. Shard didn’t know what was right anymore.
A flawless sky stretched blue above, hazy with the high, white light of summer. Darkness would not fall tonight. All morning, gryfons soared back and forth from Windwater to the nesting cliffs on Sun Isle, restless, exchanging plans for food and games, and gossip over who might be mated with whom.
In the last quarter of the afternoon they would all settle on Sun Isle to celebrate there. Some had spoken of traveling to Windwater as a show of strength, but in the end even Sverin declared it would be too dangerous to leave the new mothers and their kits alone, and even more so to take them to Windwater. Rogue gryfons might have at them on the Sun Isle, and it would give the wolves a perfect chance to attack if the gryfons celebrated at Windwater.
Shard wanted to argue the point. He imagined the wolves would be busy with their own celebrations. And from what he knew of Catori, he couldn’t see her attacking months-old gryfon kits. Also, Stigr was the only exiled gryfon he’d ever seen in the islands, and no other exiles who might’ve lived in the isles had ever attacked the pride. He supposed they might be in hiding, because he’d never seen Stigr until the exile revealed himself.
That made him wonder what became of the rest, those who weren’t killed in the war. Shard had no idea where they would have gone, if not into hiding somewhere in the Silver Isles. There were so many questions he’d never asked Stigr.
When those thoughts rose in his head he went silent for the rest of the planning. Their answer would have been laughter. Instead, he proceeded with plans for five separate hunts on Star Isle, to bring a feast to the Daynight celebration. Two groups from Windwater hunted the woods, while three bands from the Sun Isle ranged along the fields and coast. Shard hunted with a group in the woods.
Flashes of russet through the heavy green trees showed him a herd of deer and he signaled to the others. Together with Hallr, Kenna, and Einarr, he descended in a diamond around the herd and closed in.
Practiced now at landing among trees, Shard angled his wings and dove. Just above the trees, he tucked his haunches, folded his wings and dropped, hind paws hitting first. The deer roamed ahead in a scatter of pine. They hadn’t noticed his landing through the shadows and wind. Brighter colors flashed, violet and teal, and then disappeared in the healthy undergrowth. Shard didn’t see Einarr land, for his colors blended with the juniper. As one, the herd tensed, heads up, ears flickering. Shard crouched, waiting until they calmed, gaze darting through them to seek the weakest.
An old female picked at the edge of the herd, unconcerned, a slight hobble in her step. Kenna would have seen her first, and Einarr would follow. Shard trilled softly. The hunters had started imitating birds to call to each other through the woods. After listening to ravens imitate and tease other birds, Shard came up with the idea and he was still proud of it. The gryfess hunters loved it, the males grudgingly admired. A jay’s call answered him. Einarr. Then a mourning dove. Kenna. They had seen the deer. Shard perked his ears, waiting for Hallr’s call.
None came.
“A pity,” rasped a voice behind him, and Shard startled, whipping around. The deer herd froze again, heads up. Hallr crouched behind Shard, tail swinging back and forth. Why isn’t he at his corner of the diamond? Fear clenched Shard’s belly and he glanced around.
“Pity?”
“That the wolves ventured so close to our hunting ground.” His low, growling voice was almost a purr. “It will break my heart to give the prince the news.”
The instant Shard understood, Hallr leaped. Shard rolled, fighting panic. The commotion spooked the deer and they fled, hooves tearing ferns and brush in the opposite direction. The others were too far off to see Hallr, the deer herd and thick woods in the way.
“Einarr!” Shard shouted. Hallr swung around, crouched, and lunged again. Shard was already away.
Einarr’s call answered Shard distantly but he sounded farther away than be
fore. Dread tightened Shard’s heart. Einarr was moving away, thinking Shard meant him to chase the herd. Kenna would follow.
Shard sprang away from Hallr’s third charge. At least I’m still faster. If he could get to a clearing, or find Einarr or Kenna, they would see.
But they’re after the deer. Already the sound of hooves grew distant. Shard bounded through the trees and Hallr barely kept pace, swiping at his tail feathers.
“Yes run,” he snarled. “That’s what your kind are best at. Just don’t come back—”
Shard pivoted and slammed into the bigger gryfon. Hallr shrieked and tried to rear back, but Shard clung to his back, snapping at his ears.
He should have known. Caj had warned him.
Hallr dropped to his side, slamming Shard against the ground. The breath knocked from him, he lost his grip and Hallr staggered away.
“My son should be in your place,” Hallr growled.
Shard dragged himself up and yelped when Hallr’s talons caught his rump, digging into flesh. Hallr shoved forward and flung Shard back to the ground on his side. Before he could move Hallr jumped over him, crouched on Shard’s hind legs to pin them and held Shard’s free leg and wing with his talons. Shard’s other wing and foreleg were smashed against the ground.
“You should’ve died ten years ago,” Hallr hissed, trying to get a killing bite at Shard’s throat.
Shard struggled against Hallr’s grip, tucking his head to avoid the snapping beak, looking wildly for anything, anyone.
A raven stared at them through the trees. It hunched its wings, dancing back and forth along a pine branch.
Think of the fox, said his uncle’s voice. Hallr’s bulk crushed the breath from him.
Shard writhed but couldn’t break Hallr’s weight or hold. Root and stone jammed into his ribs. Hallr clutched his foreleg, threatening to crush bone.
Think of the mother bird, Stigr’s voice said. Who draws away with a false broken wing.
Shard gasped against Hallr’s grip, and his gaze found the raven again. Thinking of wolves, thinking of Lapu, he managed to speak from his chest, speak in the language of the earth.
