By the Silver Wind

by Jess E. Owen

  In all, their traveling party had swelled to nearly fifty. Ketil and her daughters, Toskil, and two other, older exiles who had been friends to Shard’s father. Brynja and nine of her huntresses who’d been exiled from the Dawn Spire, twenty exiles from the Dawn Reach who answered to Valdis and went for Brynja’s sake, Dagny, Asvander and ten of the Lakelanders who felt an unwavering loyalty to Asvander and to Kjorn’s bloodline all waited to depart.

  All in all, Shard thought they made a respectable company, a good escort for the future king of the Winderost, and large enough to handle almost any trouble. He took a moment to thank the other Vanir who had chosen to come, though he wondered, in the bottom of his heart, if Stigr and Frar had not insisted they go just to watch over Shard.

  Given all he’d been through, he almost didn’t mind, though it still took him off guard to be bowed to, and addressed as ‘my lord’.

  “Shard.” Stigr approached and mantled. He eyed the company of gryfons and nodded once, looking satisfied. “Fair winds. We’ll see you again at the Narrows.”

  “Take care of yourself, Uncle.”

  “Don’t worry about me. And Shard . . .”

  “Yes?”

  He looked thoughtful, then fluffed his wing. “Be careful.”

  It was so simple, Shard laughed, then took a deep breath against the pang of regret that Stigr would not be at his side on the journey. “I will.”

  “Good. Then I’ll see you soon.” He stepped back and mantled his good wing, fanning the end of his long tail. Shard dipped his head.

  Brynja approached them, and Shard realized she’d been standing off, waiting for them to finish speaking. “All stand ready, my lord. My huntresses, those of the Reach, and the Vanir. Asvander and Kjorn are speaking to the clan leaders of the Ostral Shore, arranging our meeting at the Narrows.”

  “If they actually show up,” Stigr muttered.

  “I have no doubt,” Brynja said, “that they will honor their oath.”

  Shard nodded once, and Brynja cast him a reassuring glance as Asvander and Kjorn approached.

  Kjorn caught Shard’s eye, looking encouraged at the site of their traveling band, and nodded once. “All stand ready?”

  “All ready,” Shard and Brynja chorused.

  Kjorn opened his great, golden wings to the sun. “Then we fly.”

  ~8~

  Return to Star Isle

  RAGNA FLEW WITH HALVDEN to a long cliff on the coast, where last summer the pride had attempted to begin a colony of gryfons on the Star Island. She recalled being bitter when Sverin had put Shard in charge of it, for it was practically exile from the nesting cliffs. Now, she thought Sverin had inadvertently granted Shard the opportunity to learn some leadership.

  Ragna hoped it was serving him now, wherever he was, whatever he was doing.

  “Fresh snow,” Halvden remarked as they landed. “This will be good for spotting tracks.”

  Ragna said nothing. She had never hunted on land, always in the sea. After the Aesir forbade fishing, others had brought her red meat so that she wouldn’t have to. She let Halvden show off his knowledge, and tried to look thoughtful.

  “Hopefully the deer will be less skittish, since we’ve been gone from the isle for so many days.” Halvden didn’t appear to notice her silence, and trotted toward the tree line. A long swath of snow stood between them and the trees, soft on top and crunchy with ice below. The first indication of spring, Ragna thought, the melting and refreezing of the snow. It would be a grueling trek through the forest.

  “Wait.”

  Halvden stopped at her voice, looking back. Snow still fell, speckling his emerald feathers.

  Ragna lifted her beak and mimicked a raven’s call, then, the best she could manage, a wolf’s howl. Halvden’s feathers puffed and he laid his ears back, looking disturbed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “This isn’t our land.” Ragna scanned the tree line. “Did you think I would hunt here without speaking to the wolves?”

  Halvden didn’t answer, but looked warily toward the trees. Though he had worked together with Caj and a young wolf to track down Sverin less than a moon ago, he was no friend to wolves.

  Ragna made her calls again. A black shape flapped up from the trees, chortled, and dove again. A raven had heard her. She sat in the snow, closed her eyes, and waited. Slowly, Halvden followed her example.

  A light wind licked up as they waited, and Ragna breathed in the mingled scent of pine forest and ocean. She glanced toward the horizon, but there was nothing to see but endless gray ocean. She heard Halvden shifting impatiently in the snow.

  “We usually hunt in threes,” he said.

  Ragna didn’t open her eyes. “As I said, no one else would hunt with me. We’ll have to make do.”

  “You should have ordered them. You should have told Thyra to order them. Are you not queens?”

  At those words, her temper flared, but she would not give him the pleasure of seeing her baited. She held still, eyes closed, and spoke softly. “Tell me who in this pride, who is actually able, should I force to hunt for Sverin anymore? Males of your year, driven so hard to hunt and kill wolves this winter they turned on each other and neglected their own mates?”

  She sat still, but opened her eyes to stare at him, ice closing over her heart again. “My wingsister, the healer, who treated all the wounds caused by his tyranny? His own Aesir, driven here by his cowardice? Eyvin, who’s son died at Sverin’s talons? Who, Halvden, shall I order to hunt for this warmonger? I will not become a tyrant to feed one.”

  Halvden ducked his head, ears slicking back, and didn’t answer.

  It was just as well, for Ragna caught sight of movement in the trees.

  She stood, lifting her ears, though she couldn’t yet see who stalked close. “Hail, wolves of Star Island! I am Ragna, daughter-of-Ragr, and I come to ask a great boon.”

  A cluster of ravens shifted in the trees and Ragna’s gaze snapped to them. She hadn’t noticed them before. Halvden stood, feathers prickling up with unease.

  “Stand proud,” Ragna told him. “Show respect. These are friends.”

  “Forgive me,” Halvden rumbled. “From the time I was whelped to just this winter, I’ve been taught they are enemies.”

  “Learn quickly,” Ragna said, feeling cool and not at all sorry for him. He was more cunning and ruthless than most gryfons of his year. “I trust you can.”

  From the woods fluted a rich female voice. “Hail Ragna, queen of the Vanir. Welcome back to the Star Isle.”

  It was with relief Ragna saw a red she-wolf step from the trees, her paws making little sound even in the deep snow. Two long, black feathers flicked at her neck, braided into the thick fur there. Ragna knew them to be Stigr’s. Another wolf moved behind her, and Ragna recognized him as Tocho, who had helped Caj in his hunt for Sverin. A quick flash of blue at his neck confirmed this—a small, cobalt feather given as a sign of trust.

  “Catori,” Ragna said. “You are a good friend to the Vanir, and to my son, and my brother. I wish your brother was here for me to ask a favor. Might I see him?”

  Catori stood still as a reed in ice, having grown a bit taller over the winter, Ragna thought, filling out long legs and a graceful neck. She stood out like a fox against the snow, her amber eyes impeccably peaceful. “He sent me, and I can grant you what you wish. He means you no disrespect.”

  “None is taken,” Ragna said.

  Halvden shifted and Ragna glanced at him sidelong, relieved and surprised to see him maintaining a pose of respect, his tail low and ears lifted.

  “Fair winds,” he said, very quietly, when the wolves looked his way.

  “Halvden,” greeted the gold wolf from the tree line.

  “Tocho.”

  Ragna looked back to Catori, feeling marginally better. “The ravens brought you my word? We seek red meat to sustain Sverin until his son and my son return, and he can face justice.”

  Catori canted her head, watching fo
r a long moment while falling snow frosted her blazing fur. “Ahanu wishes to know if the War King will face any justice before Shard returns, or if that whole duty falls to him, to the Summer King.”

  Ragna shifted, surprised, and managed to keep her tail from twitching. “Sverin is imprisoned, bound. There is little else I can do to make him face his crimes yet.”

  “If the chance comes, Ahanu hopes you will take it. Spring is in the wind, but winter is still in his heart. I fear, without justice, there will be no thaw.” Catori dipped her head and sniffed lightly at the snow.

  Ragna lowered her head in acknowledgement. She hadn’t expected a request in return, but perhaps she should have. Halvden remained mercifully silent.

  “I will consider what punishments I can offer,” Ragna said quietly. “But starvation and mockery of his grief is not one I consider honorable. Will you permit me to hunt here? Oaths older than I prevent me from hunting on our home island.”

  Catori lifted her head again, and now Tocho emerged fully from the trees to stand beside her. A handsome pair, Ragna thought, unable to avoid motherish thoughts. She wondered if Catori would have pups of her own, or if that duty fell only to Ahanu’s mate. It seemed impossible that such a huge pack would have a single mating pair. All very nosy questions for another time.

  “You have our permission to hunt here,” Catori said. “We recommend you range along the dawnward quarter of the woods, remaining close to the river. Though the deer remain secretive, the snow draws them out, and we have had luck there.”

  “Thank you.” Ragna let out a slow breath, and bowed her head. Halvden followed her lead.

  “Good hunting,” Catori murmured, then held very still, sniffing the wind. “Also, you should know . . . while I have not had dreams of Shard, I do hear him in the wind. I know he is well. I know he will return before the spring.”

  Ragna’s heart quickened and she stepped forward, lifting her wings. “How do you know this? Please, tell me anything you can of Shard.”

  “I did.” Catori looked regretful, as much as a severe wolf face could, and flicked her ears as if to banish nagging thoughts. “I do wish I could tell you more. I miss him too, and Stigr, who was a good friend to me. I hope for their return, and for Shard to bring harmony to all of us.”

  Halvden made a low noise that Ragna thought was a derisive snort, but when she look over, his head was bowed in apparent respect.

  She looked back to Catori. “I hope for this too.”

  “I wish we could stay to help, but we have our own hunting to do for a hungry pack.” She crinkled her nose, showing the points of her teeth. “We won’t interfere with your hunt.”

  “Thank you,” Ragna said. “Good hunting.”

  Catori turned to go, then paused and circled around to step toward them, looking solely, deeply at Ragna. “Know that I miss Shard, and I believe he is the Summer King, and he will help us to achieve peace. Ahanu believes this too.” She seemed to hold a breath, watching Ragna, and Ragna’s heart quickened. “But he allows you to hunt here because he believes we should not wait for Shard to begin.”

  With a glance at Tocho, she bowed to Ragna, and so did he. Before Ragna could answer, they loped and disappeared into the trees.

  “What did she mean by that?” Halvden demanded, speaking in a full voice again and fluffing his feathers.

  “She was clear.” Ragna turned to walk toward the tree line, dawnward as Catori had suggested. “Let us treat each other well now, and make peace now, before Shard even returns.”

  “Have you thought what will happen if Shard doesn’t return?”

  Ragna managed to keep walking, and said quietly, “No.”

  “You should.”

  She paused, only glancing back at him for a long moment, until he looked away with narrowed eyes. Ragna resumed walking, and didn’t speak again.

  Once they entered the trees and began carefully scenting and searching, it was Halvden who picked up the first deer trail. He alerted Ragna with a flick of his bright tail, and they followed the tracks easily through fresh powder. At the sight of new droppings, Ragna’s blood leaped. It felt almost the same as seeing a flash of silver under the water. She wrestled with a squirm of shame at hunting on land, but hoped that bright Tor knew her heart.

  Halvden’s movement caught her eye and he jerked his beak up to indicate a meadow three leaps ahead of them. Through the falling snow, Ragna made out the rough shape of a deer. She thought it was a young buck, though its antlers were long since shed.

  “Go around,” Halvden breathed. “I’ll signal you with a crow call. You leap out and frighten it, get its attention, and I’ll come from above before it can run.”

  Ragna nodded once, though she wanted to correct him on what to call the buck. He, she thought. He probably has a name. A father. A mother.

  But so did the fish in the sea, though she didn’t know them to speak or act beyond instinct. I eat meat, she thought, prowling through the snow as she waited for Halvden’s signal. I must always respect the life I take.

  She found a patch of shallow snow under a sprawling pine and huddled beneath a bough. The buck, unaware, stripped at bark on trees at the edge of the meadow. Ragna realized if she leaped out from where she was, he would bolt immediately into the tree line. Rising slowly, she slunk through the snow. Every touch of her talons made her wince, though the deer didn’t seem to hear.

  A crow called in the woods. Ragna froze, ears flicking, and looked up. She didn’t see Halvden in the air. Perhaps it was a true crow. Creeping forward, she tried to slide her talons and hind paws in silence. The call came again, louder, from the air that time, but it held the rasp of a gryfon voice.

  The buck’s head flew up, his body stiff and straight and ready to leap. Ragna knew she was in a poor position, so rather than leap from where she was, she bolted forward around the trees, skirting the clearing. The buck would be alert for scent and sound. He didn’t catch sight of her at first, her white feathers against the woods and snow, but he heard her.

  He sprang, sprinting not to the middle of the meadow, but around the line of trees, probably trying to catch sight of what he’d heard. Ragna sprang from her spot with a shriek, trying to force him to the middle where Halvden could dive at him.

  “No!” Halvden shouted from the air. Now Ragna saw him, green and diving fast through the flurries of snow. The buck dodged, swerving toward the trees. Halvden swore from the sky.

  Ragna leaped straight up and flapped hard, hoping to land on the other side of the panicked buck. She would be too slow. She swooped forward, swiping talons, as he leaped between two pines and was gone into the trees.

  “Curse it!” Halvden swung an angry circle above her. “I called twice! You didn’t trust—”

  “I was in a bad position.” Ragna dropped to the ground, shaking snow from her wings. “We’ll get the next one.”

  “The next one?” Halvden shrieked. “You don’t have any idea how hard it is to find one in the open! This was a gift from Tyr himself, a grown buck in a clearing, and you ruined it!”

  “I?” Ragna shook herself, containing her temper, for she had ruined it. Halvden was right and she knew it. She knew nothing of hunting in the woods, hunting running game through the snow.

  “You did it on purpose,” Halvden snarled, landing hard in the snow. “You never wanted to feed the king.”

  Ragna looked at him coldly. “That isn’t true—”

  Just then, the buck burst back into the meadow as if driven by demons. Ragna stumbled back in the snow, amazed. The buck saw them just before it ran them over and shied up, flashing his hooves in threat.

  Before Ragna could blink, Halvden pivoted and leaped like skyfire. He swiped to block the flailing hooves and slashed the deer’s throat with his beak, knocking the big body to the snow.

  A swift, clean kill.

  Ragna stared at him. Her blood slammed through her body and she flattened her ears, embarrassed, amazed. Then she shook herself and jumped forward
to the buck’s head.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, though certain she was too late. Perhaps his spirit would hear. Halvden watched her, but said nothing. Flashing, copper movement caught her eye and she saw a gryfess loping toward them from the woods.

  “I thought you might need a third,” Eyvin said as she trotted into the meadow.

  Ragna ducked her head in gratitude. “We did. Thank you.”

  “I did it for my own honor,” she said, then eyed Halvden. “You’ve come far, son of Hallr. Very far. A good kill.”

  Halvden looked pleased, and dipped his head.

  “This will see Sverin through some time,” Eyvin said to Ragna, though she looked at the meat longingly. All of the pride, Aesir and Vanir alike, had vowed not to hunt on land again unless granted permission.

  “Why did you change your mind?” Ragna asked, still feeling numb with surprise. The whole ordeal was very different than fishing. Blood stained the snow, making her think less of food, and more of battle.

  “I could not accuse you of cowardice and then withhold my help.” Eyvin held her head at a proud angle. “The Aesir don’t dwell in the past. I’m not loyal to Sverin, but to Kjorn now, who I’m sure wouldn’t wish for his father to starve.”

  Ragna nodded once. Halvden began quartering the meat, butchering limbs with quick, violent jerks of his beak and talons.

  “Thank you.” Ragna watched Eyvin’s cool, hard face, and thought of Catori’s words. Let us begin now. “I had spoiled the hunt. I haven’t the skill and I know we couldn’t have done it without you. I’m grateful.”

  Eyvin eyed her, perhaps deciding if she meant it. After a moment, she nodded once, satisfied, and set to help Halvden with his work. Ragna moved in to help where she could, and Eyvin quietly instructed her in where to separate the joints, and how best to use one’s talons to slice the meat cleanly.

  Halvden spoke, green feathers nearly white with snow, except for his red beak and talons. “With three of us, we should be able to carry it all in one flight.”