by Jess Owen
Gray light found its way through the darkest halls of the forest. Shard and Stigr followed Catori through the woods, over broken crags where little creeks ran, past meadows and even along the shore, until they ran so deep into the forest that Shard couldn’t see the sky.
Catori led them to a clear, mossy space under a dark canopy of trees, and stopped in front of a face of rock that thrust up from the forest floor. A rowan tree crowned the broad slab of short cliff, one so tall and vast that Shard had to tilt his head back to see its full height. He tried to recall ever having seen it from the sky.
Holes riddled the jagged rock face but the gnarled roots of the rowan grasped it together like long, spindly talons. In some places the rock was broken just in narrow cracks, in others, the ancient rowan root had grown and twisted so it thrust the cracked stone apart to make a cave. It crouched there, solid, gripping and hunched against the rock like a beast about to leap.
Shard realized in a beat that Catori had brought them to the very heart of wolf territory. Their den. And the rowan tree guarded their home.
As he stood in awe, witless birds flittered in and out of branches, calling, laughing at his shock. A squirrel drew his eye up the trunk, so squat and broad that, had he tried, Shard wouldn’t have been able to wrap both wings around it.
The trunk spiraled away in a mass of twisting, peeling gray bark, and burst into a thousand green branches to form the canopy over their heads. Now Shard knew why he couldn’t remember seeing the place from the air. From above, the guardian rowan must look like a thousand different trees.
Shard lashed his tail, stepping forward to get a scent. Beside him, Stigr sniffed and peered around for signs of more wolves. Shard turned to thank Catori and found she had slipped away. His talons brushed a bump of root and the shock of knowing it snaked from the tree paused him again.
Shard peered behind him into the woods, trying to see how far the roots stretched, shook his head, and looks back to the tree itself.
Scars from wolf claws and lightning strikes lined the long trunk. Marbled browns and grays in the bark displayed its history–indeed, the history of the islands–droughts, providence, hard dry winters and short sweet summers.
“They call it the First Tree,” Stigr murmured as they stepped forward. “The wolves say its roots touch the heart of the world, that it connects them to Tor, gives them dreams, protects them. Show respect.”
Shard had never seen a living thing from the First age. He had seen relics; mountains, rock, and fossil bone all told the history. So did this tree, Shard understood. The first wind had carried its seed from the Sunlit Land long before any of them, and it would remain long after they were gone.
Stigr inclined his head low, and so did Shard.
“Now what?” he whispered, feathers ruffled, anxiety tightening every muscle under his skin.
In answer, Stigr raised his head and bellowed a lion’s imitation of a wolf howl. Then he called words, earth words, Shard found if he listened intently he could interpret their meaning.
This wingbrother greets you, Stigr called toward the den. Here to treat with the great hunter, your king.
Wolf scent drenched them. Shard turned around once, wary as he heard faint sounds, like fur brushing leaves in the undergrowth.
“I come peacefully!” Shard called. “To speak with you.”
A chorus of voices answered them. Ghostly faces peered out of the dens, between tree roots. Shard whirled again when he heard a wolf rushing behind him, but didn’t see it. Then all fell silent. Shard held his breath. A sound whispered behind him. Stigr turned calmly, opening his wings, and so did Shard.
A massive wolf stood before them. He stood of a height with Sverin the Red King, and had long, strong legs, and shoulders like slabs of wind-beaten rock. His gray fur deepened to black along his back and glinted indigo when he shifted. Shard met his eyes. His old, chiseled face and muzzle were star-light pale, and his bright amber eyes as familiar as the moon.
Shard bowed before Stigr had to tell him to.
“Helaku,” Stigr spoke as he straightened, folding his wings. “You honor us.”
“You’re bold,” rumbled the old wolf. “To walk into my home. My family is not happy to see you. We hear whispers. The birds whisper. The winds whisper. There is trouble tangled on the Sun Isle and they think we can’t see or hear.” His amber gaze settled on Shard, taking him in critically. “You’re a fool, to come back to this place. Didn’t my sons run you off, the last time?”
“I am a fool,” Shard said, digging his talons into the earth. “But I had to speak with all of you. Catori brought us here.”
“Do you think my daughter’s friendship with gryfon liars and thieves pleases me? That I’m honored that you stoop to speak with her?”
“I am no thief,” Stigr growled. “I’ve never hunted on Star Isle, and Shard knew no better until now.”
“But you fail to stop them.” Helaku bared his long yellow teeth. “Outcast. Exile. Beaten warrior. Your people are conquered, half bred out, too ashamed of their defeat and afraid of the Red King to speak.” He lowered his head, ears perked toward Stigr. “You will all be gone within a generation. Broad-winged, afraid of the night, and blind. I have seen it.”
“None of that is cast in stone. Even the stars can fall.” Stigr stepped toward the wolf king, wings opening. “The time wasn’t ripe. You should know that.”
“And now the time has passed.” The wolf lowered his head, ears perked toward them, amber eyes glinting like bright gems as he circled them slowly, sniffing, taking their measure. His voice thrummed as deep as a rockfall. “Your nephew has grown into a liar and a thief and coward bowing to the Red King like all the others. You promised—”
“It takes time,” Stigr snarled. Shard laid back his ears, grinding his beak to keep from growling at the wolf king. Stigr spoke on as wolves crept out of their dens, out of the woods. Shard had never dreamed of so many. The more they gathered, he saw that the pack rivaled Sverin’s pride.
“Gryfons don’t grow as quickly as wolves. His mother kept him from me. She wanted his heart to grow as well as his strength, and Sverin is too watchful. I haven’t yet had time to teach him—”
“Teach him now.” The wolf king snapped his jaws. “Teach him. Tell him the truth. I see in him that he doesn’t know.”
“Of course he—”
“You are blind.” Helaku lifted his head, a quick, hunter’s movement. “Tell him everything now. Teach him everything now. Now. Then let him answer. And then I will pass judgment for your presence here.”
“Great Helaku—”
“Tell him!” A growl almost buried the wolf king’s words in his chest. Shard thought of old Lapu, the boar, and how his words had barely been discernable. He has outlived any kind of joy, Catori had said of him. Shard feared that Helaku was becoming the same.
He stepped forward, burning to know what Helaku hinted he didn’t know, but wary of his uncle’s hesitation to tell him.
“Honorable Helaku,” he began, pausing when a red shadow flitted in the corner of his eye and Catori’s scent shifted to him on the morning breeze. She had brought him here. Trusted him. The dawn light was rising and he was a gryfon, son of burning Tyr. The day was his. He raised his head.
“Whatever I need to know can wait. Whatever has happened in the past can wait, because I came to tell you that the whispers and rumors you’ve heard are true.”
A disturbed rumble rippled through the wolves. Yips and growls and murmurs. Stigr lowered his head while Shard went on.
“Hallr’s death angered the king beyond reason.”
“That gryfon came into our woods,” Helaku said. “Stole our prey without honor or repay or gratitude. Then he hunted us, hunted our new cubs on a hallow day. I killed him.”
“However it happened,” Shard forced his voice to stay calm, “Sverin plans to attack you before the end of summer, to drive you out.” He took a breath. No. That’s not the whole truth. He forced himself
to look around, to meet every pair of harsh golden eyes, even the pups with their soft faces. “He plans to kill you. To kill all of you, and claim the Star Island.”
“Why tell us?” Helaku raised his head, his expression half twitching to a snarl. “You are a proud warrior of the Sun Isle.”
“And I’ll fight for the Sun Isle.” Shard forced himself to meet Helaku’s eyes rather than bow his head. Hearing the words aloud, a shiver of terror at his own treachery slipped down his back. “But you should be prepared.”
“You still support Sverin?” Another male voice snarled. Shard turned to face it, and saw one of the wolf brothers, Ahote or Ahanu.
“He’s my king. My family. Would you turn on your father?”
Every wolf shifted. Shard’s own confidence quivered. He was almost sure it was Ahote who growled on.
“Why tell us? Why not run away to exile like your uncle? Are you hoping we’ll beg for peace? Are you afraid your people will lose?”
“No!” Shard opened his wings. “No. I come because I want you to be prepared. I come because once, you helped me. You helped me earn a place among the gryfon warriors by killing the boar Lapu.” He looked around again. “I come because even when you meant me harm, Ahote and Ahanu, you made me stronger.”
Shard took a breath, his nerves like skyfire through him, beak opened as he panted, and turned to speak his final words to Catori. “I come because one of you has tried to become a friend, and I should have accepted.”
The wolves shifted, silent.
“And when the battle comes,” thrummed Helaku’s voice like crumbling stone, “where will you stand?”
“When the battle comes, I’ll fight as honorably as I can, even if I must fight you. But I hope to bright Tyr it never comes to that.”
Silence gathered for a heartbeat, and then a bird sang. The woods glowed gold with the dawn. Shard folded his wings. Catori bounded up to stand on an outcropping of rock.
“You see, Father? Didn’t I tell you he was the very image of the Vanir, the old legends? He will bring us peace!” She lifted her face and howled as if the moon were high. Old Helaku lowered his head, turning his ears toward Shard.
“Your words are bold. Now that you’ve told us, what will you do to help?”
“Whatever I can,” Shard whispered, for he had no plan beyond this. “I’ll think of something.”
Stigr walked up beside him. “Helaku. He has a true heart.”
“He has ignorance. He is ignorant and he should not be,” rumbled the old wolf. “I see it in him now…that he is the Nightwing’s son.”
Shard’s feathers prickled up. He had broken every other vow. He could keep the last promise no longer.
“Who was the Nightwing?”
Stigr blinked at him, huffed a sigh. “Another name the Vanir among Sverin’s pride are not allowed to speak. He was your father.”
“Obviously,” Shard growled, tail lashing. “But who?”
Stigr tilted his head. “Who? His name was Baldr. The Nightwing, mate to my sister—”
“Sigrun,” Shard murmured.
Stigr went still. His face lit and then shadowed as if he suddenly understood many things. “Sigrun?”
His whisper cut into Shard’s heart like frost. Why does he sound like that? The older gryfon walked around in front of him and spoke low, soft, as if they were not surrounded by wolves.
“No, Shard. My sister is Ragna.” He perked his ears as a shudder chilled Shard’s muscles. “Mate to Baldr, called the Nightwing. Dead king of the Sun Isle. Ragna is my sister, the white widowed queen. And you are their son.” Stigr mantled and bowed his head low. “Prince of the Vanir.”
Shard had no words. His breath panted out, he flattened his ears, tightened his wings to his sides.
“I thought they had told you,” Stigr’s voice barely caught about a whisper. “Long ago, Sigrun told Per the Red that you were her kit so that he would spare you. He would never have let Baldr’s son live. Never. But I thought at least she would have told you, prepared you…surely Ragna would have told you …”
“No,” Shard growled. “No one told me.”
“But you know now!” Catori’s strong voice cut into their words as she leaped down from the rocks to his side. “You know, son of the Nightwing, who spoke all tongues, who even my father says ruled with strength and grace and honor. And you are his heir. The true king. The Summer King.”
She turned to face her own people. “Some said Baldr the Nightwing was that one that gryfons call the Summer King, and we call the Star King. Yes, we sing of him too, Shard.” She yipped a laugh at his surprise. “I think all children under the sky have a song of him. One will rise higher. Now the birds whisper that the Red King named Kjorn the Summer King.”
She left Shard’s side and every wolf was silent, watching her. The daughter of the king. “But I say he has come to us now. I say he may still be learning, but he is courageous and true. I say he is learning to speak to all creatures as the song says he will. I’ve seen him fly in the night and the day, and his wings are like light on water.”
“Daughter,” growled Helaku. She ignored him and raised her face to the trees.
“I say our Star King is Rashard, son of Baldr the Nightwing and Ragna the White, prince of the Vanir, true king of the Sun Isle, and only he will bring us peace!”
A fierce rumble trembled through the wolves, through the very earth. The birds fell silent. Shard half-crouched, readying himself for attack as the wolves around him rose, even the pups. But they didn’t attack.
They raised their faces to the sky and sang, laughing, long notes of agreement.
For a moment Shard crouched in shock. He looked to Stigr and old Helaku the king, who stared. Then both old warriors raised their voices with the others. The sound echoed through the vast forest of the Star Island and across the seawater and crashing waves to all the Silver Isles touched by the rising sun.
~ 23 ~
A Heart Like the Sun
Quick winds blew as Shard flew from the wolf den. Dark clouds stalked along the nightward horizon.
Shard looked down as he gained height against the gusts, and memorized the look of the rowan tree that cradled the wolves’ den. From the air it did look like many trees. No wonder they had never noticed it.
He will bring us peace, Catori had howled into the morning. Straining muscles, Shard pulled higher into the sky. Cooler air bit his face. Far off in the air over Windwater, he saw multiple gryfons wheeling and circling. He perked his ears to the sounds of sparring. Are they aerial fights? Caj hadn’t made them practice fighting other gryfons in the air since…
“Shard!”
Kjorn’s cry from above sounded like an eagle call. A furious eagle. Shard slipped to the side just in time to dodge Kjorn’s dive. Talon caught his left wing feathers and he jerked down, pulling into a quick dive. Kjorn snapped his beak and banked to circle and gain height again.
“What was that for?” Shard peered back and saw mad light in his friend’s face. Fury. Kjorn shrieked and drove forward, his flight more powerful but always clumsier than Shard’s, who easily swung down and to one side to avoid him again.
“Where have you been?”
“Hunting,” Shard barked into the cooling breeze. The lies came too easily now. The scent of rain flickered, though the storm would hit late in the night, he thought. Two storms in one day, and from different quarters of the sky made for a bad omen. Now his wingbrother was attacking him. He spun and dove under Kjorn, seeking a draft to rise up before he ran out of maneuverable air.
“Stop lying to me!”
“I never—”
Kjorn knocked into him from the side and Shard snarled, clawing for purchase on Kjorn’s wing or talons. They locked briefly, tails lashing, wings battering as they spiraled down.
“Let go!” Kjorn shrieked, snapping his gaze to the trees rushing toward them.
“Will you listen?” Shard jerked and thrust himself back, clapping his wings together
around Kjorn to throw them both head over tail toward the trees. It was a move Caj taught them. Only Shard, because of his swiftness, had ever been able to do it, to throw another gryfon over his head in flight.
As Kjorn rasped, “Yes,” Shard unlocked his talons and let the gold prince spiral and thrash his way upright in the sky.
Shard tucked his wings into a controlled descent and Kjorn shoved above him, his wings powering better lifts. Before Shard could duck, the prince locked talons to his wingjoints, attacking again like a gryfon gone mad.
“Kjorn!”
The trees lunged up.
“Tell me the truth! Tell me why you fly at night, wingbrother.”
Kenna. She had to have told him. Or Halvden. It didn’t matter. Shard thrashed and his hind paws hit the tops of towering juniper and pine. “I don’t—”
Kjorn snapped Shard’s ear, and they dropped lower. Pine branch slapped Shard’s belly and face. Kjorn couldn’t drag him aloft much longer. No gryfon was strong enough to bear another alone.
“To learn the way of the Vanir!” Branches snapped and slapped and stung against his legs and face. “To be stronger!”
Kjorn released him and Shard dropped one wing beat into the trees before he caught himself. Pounding his wings, he tangled in the pines before finding a branch to shove off from. Furious, he mounted the air and tried to snag Kjorn’s tail feathers. The prince whirled with a snarl and stooped, dropping on Shard like an eagle to a hare. They crashed through the forest, snapping branches and wrestling until they hit the bed of needles on the ground. Birds scattered and small animals leaped deeper into the green.
Both gryfons lay still.
Suddenly terrified, Shard stirred, fresh scrapes and cuts pinching every part of him. “Kjorn?”
The prince’s ribs rose and fell with breath. Shard fluffed his wings in relief. Then Kjorn lifted his head and stared at Shard with summer blue eyes.
He is more a Summer King than I could ever be, Shard thought. He suddenly hated the song, the war, the wolves and himself. He waited for Kjorn to name him a traitor.
