by Jess E. Owen
As they glided down to land, Brynja told Shard that her bloodline laid particular claim to that territory. It was the ancestral home of the line of En, the legendary huntress from the ballad they’d heard at the Ostral Shore. Shard inquired about the early kings of the Winderost, but Brynja told him that little was known about them.
“Many of those tales are lost,” Brynja said as she set her hind feet on the ground, flapped once, and folded her wings. “But any who claim noble blood must at least be able to trace their kin back to En, Maj, Ingmar, or Oster.”
“I remember those names,” Shard said, landing beside her. He watched all around as the Vanir of the company landed. “From the Wild Hunt, when King Orn divided the hunters by family. Orn is from the line of Ingmar?”
“And Kjorn’s line would trace back to En,” Brynja said, watching the prince land and give his orders to ready their camp. “Through Sverin. The bloodline of En has always ruled at the Dawn Spire, until now. Surely it’s what the land and the gods know is best. Things have never been so out of balance before.”
“We’ll set it right,” Shard said, and saw Ketil coming toward them. He forced himself not to flatten his ears. “Kjorn will set it right, I know he’ll do well by this land. Fair winds, Ketil,” he said as the gryfess approached.
“My lord.” She mantled. “My daughters and I are prepared to hunt.”
Shard deferred to Brynja, who knew the land. She inclined her head. “I’ll gather some of mine. We hunted here often.”
Ketil hesitated, but her gaze remained on Shard and she dipped her head. Even she wasn’t so foolish as to wander in a land she didn’t know.
“Keep alert,” Shard said. “We’re farther from the Ostral Shores now. There may be scouts from the Dawn Spire, and I think we’d all rather not have them see Kjorn just yet.
“Yes, my lord.” Ketil inclined her head again.
As she left, Brynja leaned over to touch her beak to Shard’s neck. “I miss the days when you hunted with me.” Usually it was the duty of gryfesses to do the bulk of hunting for a pride, for they were more skilled and worked better in teams. To earn himself a place at the Dawn Spire that autumn, Shard had hunted with Brynja and the others.
He ducked his head, his heart quickening. “We’ll have those days again. Right now, I need to—”
“I know. Go, plan with your wingbrother.” She preened three feathers on his neck, then bounded away, calling for Dagny and two others. He glanced around and spotted Asvander a few leaps off, instructing his band to gather kindling. Toskil and the Vanir fell in with them, and Shard caught Asvander’s gaze. The big Lakelander lifted his beak in acknowledgement, looking more confident and settled than he ever had before.
Kjorn trotted up, ears alert. “Ketil and Brynja seem to be getting on better?”
“Ketil won’t insult her directly,” Shard murmured, watching the huntresses gather from the assorted clans, decide a direction, and lift back into the air to hunt. “But she barely looks at Brynja, and I know she wishes I spent more time with Keta.”
Kjorn hesitated, then asked, “Has Keta approached you herself?”
Shard dug a talon against the chalky earth. “No. I doubt if she’s even interested, and I pity her.”
“Or she’s waiting for her mother to clear a path to you. Or, perhaps it’s none of that and you’re a self-absorbed jackdaw. Have you considered that?” Kjorn’s voice was light, teasing.
Shard flattened his ears, looking over only to realize that Kjorn was enjoying the drama, and purposefully goading him. He growled, low. “I’m glad you’re entertained.”
“Do you think I faced no opposition to choosing Thyra?” Kjorn asked, studying his face. “A half Vanir?”
Surprised, Shard shook his head. He hadn’t thought so. He hadn’t thought anything about it but to be happy, for he loved them both.
The summer Kjorn and Thyra had mated, Shard had been so self-absorbed with learning he was a Vanir and learning from Stigr and trying to sort his place in the world, he hadn’t known Kjorn had faced opposition at all. To all appearances, everyone had looked pleased with the match. Shard couldn’t think of a thing about Thyra, his own nest-sister, to object over.
Then, he couldn’t think of anything to object over about Brynja either. “But surely, because she was Caj’s daughter—”
“No, Shard. There will always be someone who is unhappy with what you do, so you can only keep doing what is right.”
Shard huffed a sigh. “I know it. Thank you for the counsel, Your Highness.” He offered a dramatic mantle, and Kjorn cuffed his ears.
“Come now, let’s get everyone settled.”
The early evening light revealed scant kindling for their fires, so they lit only one. The huntresses returned before long with a single pronghorn, remarking that the herd seemed skittish, as if others had recently hunted there.
They set their usual watch, four gryfons posted around the perimeter, and the gryfesses divided the meat sparingly among the band. Shard walked among his Vanir as dusk washed the sky with indigo, and shadows pooled in the wells of the rolling hills. He spotted the Vanir sentry, standing on a low rise, outlined against the sky. When he realized who it was, he took a deep breath and climbed the rise to speak to her.
“Keta.”
She turned, blinked at him, and mantled quickly. “My lord. All stands quiet.”
“Thank you. You hunted, so you don’t have to stand a watch, you know.”
“I like it.” She straightened and watched him respectfully, but not meekly. “I like knowing where everyone is, and seeing what’s out there.”
Shard inclined his head. She was a lovely gryfess. He felt strong affection for her, but in the manner of a younger sister or simply the bond of being Vanir—being part of the Conquering, reunited, and reforming their pride.
“I need to speak with you,” he murmured.
“You are speaking with me, my lord.”
Shard laughed, perking his ears. “Yes, true. I think you know what I mean.”
She looked toward the sky, ruffling her wings, and stated, “My mother hopes you will cast off Brynja, and mate with me the next Daynight.”
Shard hadn’t planned to stoop so quickly on the topic, but since she had . . . “And you know Brynja and I love each other.”
“Yes.” Keta tilted her head to study him, then looked back across the landscape, eyes alert. “I won’t lie, my lord. When we found you by the fire in the Outlands, and you declared yourself, and I knew we were going home at last—home, to a place I had only dreamed of—I admit for a little while I was smitten with you. The dashing prince who came to find us in our exile.” She didn’t look at him, but resolutely ahead, her nares blazing pink. “Yes. I’m sure I told my mother I was in love, and that probably got her on the scent.”
Shard wanted to laugh, but held it in. He remembered how he’d felt when he’d arrived in the Outlands, after a long flight over the sea, and couldn’t imagine that “dashing” was how he looked at all.
“And now?” he asked, amazed and appreciative of her honesty. But then, she had faced harder and more terrifying challenges than speaking honestly with a fellow gryfon.
“And now I love you as my prince, and I understand the difference.” She turned fully to look at him, wise and wiry from her years of struggle. “And I would like to get to know my own home again, and my own heart, before I go on to choose a mate, whomever that might be.”
Shard felt a swell of love and protectiveness that was completely unlike what he felt for Brynja or any other female he’d known. He wondered if this was the love a king felt for his pride. “I think that’s wise,” he said quietly. “I also waited longer than others in my year to mate.”
Her eyes gleamed. “And it went well for you.”
“It did.” Shard perked his ears, watching her fierce eyes. “I am proud to know you, Keta.”
“And I you, my lord.”
Shard wanted to correct her, to tell her to use
his name, but he managed to hold back. Stigr wouldn’t approve. He had to remain a prince. “Thank you for speaking to me. I’ll have Toskil relieve you in two marks.”
“That will do,” she agreed. Shard turned to go, feeling suddenly buoyant with that weight lifted, when she turned, opening a wing to get his attention. “My lord, one more thing?”
Curious, Shard stopped. “Yes?”
Keta ducked her head, submissively, and her tail twitched. “My nest-sister . . .”
“Ilse?”
“Yes. My mother found her starving in the Outlands, she raised us together. Though she was born in the Winderost, she also dreamed of the Silver Isles as I did. I know she is Aesir, but she fears you won’t allow her to join us when we go home. She fears—”
“Tell her not to fear,” Shard cut in firmly. “My wingbrother is Aesir. My nest-father is Aesir. My own father had a vision of our prides uniting in peace, and one of his last wishes was that I be raised among the mixed pride, even under the conquering Red Kings, so that I’d know them as my family.”
Keta watched him with wide eyes, almost quivering with emotion.
Shard extended his wing to brush hers, meeting her gaze squarely. “Keta, all are welcome in my pride. Tell Ilse. And I will tell her too.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Fair winds,” Shard said, and left her to her quiet post.
Walking back to the main group of the camp, he took pleasure in seeing all the gryfons settled, talking amongst themselves, though some were grumpy over the scant food. When one Lakelander hollered that the huntresses had been lazy, Ketil suggested he go hunt for himself, and that was the end of that.
The groups—Vanir, Lakelanders, and the exiles of the Dawn Reach—melded decently. They’d been together at the Ostral Shores and for the most part overcome many of their differences, though Shard noted that they still claimed distinct, separate areas.
“Counting heads?”
Shard turned to see Asvander trotting up, and ducked his head. It felt lighter between them. They were comrades again, as they had been at the Dawn Spire before the issue of the arranged mating came up between them.
“If anyone’s missing, I don’t know who it could be.”
“You were missing.” Asvander gave his shoulder a friendly bump. “Kjorn hates losing sight of you, you know, afraid you’ll slip away on another dragon quest. Have you eaten?”
At the question, Shard couldn’t recall. The huntresses had returned and he’d helped pass around the food. His belly snarled, answering for him.
Asvander fluffed, and laughed. “Well that’s settled. Too bad, there’s absolutely nothing left.” He gave a heavy sigh.
Shard shook his head sadly. “To think I’ve come all this way just to die of starvation.”
Asvander laughed. “You know Brynja saved you a choice bit.”
“At least someone cares.” Shard searched his face for tension at the mention of Brynja, but there was none. They were settled, and Shard felt lighter still.
They turned and walked together toward the middle of camp, passing clumps of Lakelanders and Vanir. In the grasping glow of twilight he caught sight of Ilse with a group of the other young Vanir, and paused.
“I’ll meet you at the fire,” he told Asvander.
“I’ll wait here.” Asvander glanced at the sky, then around. “Kjorn said Vanir disappear in the dark and I want to see if it’s true.”
“He did not,” Shard said, almost laughing. “Anyway you had plenty of chances to see us disappear at the lake.”
Asvander watched him with suddenly less humor, searching, his falcon mask giving him sternness in the low light. “You do tend to slip away when no one’s looking, Shard.”
Shard chuckled, then hesitated, realizing it wasn’t a joke that time. “What do you mean?”
Asvander looked across the camp. “From all you’ve told us, don’t you realize? You said you challenged Sverin, then left your home. You came here, stirred up the Dawn Spire, and left—”
“You told me to leave,” Shard said, surprised and wary. “All of you, you told me to run, and I had a vision to seek.”
“I know.” Asvander watched him, his expression turning hard. “But Shard, we couldn’t find you earlier, and my first thought was that you’d left again.”
“That’s not my fault,” Shard said, his ears slipping back. “I was speaking with one of my own. Must you know where I am every breath I take?”
“Yes. You’re prince of an ally pride, and my friend. I must know where you are.” Asvander tilted his head, then leaned in, head low in a posture to soothe Shard’s defensiveness. “Shard, you’re my friend and I respect you. But you do seem to have your own ends, and none of us know what you’re going to do next. The way you tell it, you even left your dragon hatchling to fend for himself after riling up all the dragons in the Sunland. Do you realize you always leave right when the trouble begins?”
Shard began to answer, then stopped as heat flushed under his feathers and all along his spine. “I hadn’t . . . thought of it that way, exactly.”
“Think about it.”
Shard stared at him, wondering how long he’d wanted to say that, wondering if he was right. Just when he’d felt things were settled . . . “I will. Excuse me.”
He turned, not waiting for an answer, and walked to Ilse and the group of Vanir. They fell silent at his approach and some began to stand.
“Don’t get up,” he said quickly. “This will only take a moment. I just wanted to thank you again, all of you, for accompanying us and helping me to see Kjorn to his rightful place.” Thinking of Keta, he met each of their gazes and added, “Know how glad I am to have found you. Know that the very moment our work is done here, we will fly home. All of us.”
He didn’t single out Ilse, didn’t make a point of speaking about the Aesir and the Vanir, but let his gaze linger on hers for a moment. Her eyes shone, and she ducked her head with the others, murmuring appreciation.
When Shard turned to go, Ketil rose from the group and trotted to him. Eyeing Asvander, she asked quietly, “What was he saying to you, my lord?”
Shard didn’t look back at Asvander, but watched Ketil. “Maybe something that needed to be said. Don’t worry over it.”
Ketil ruffled, eyes narrowing. “Well. Thank you for saying that just now, for Ilse.”
“Of course. And Ketil, your daughter and I have spoken.”
Her gaze lit, then shadowed when she appeared to read his expression. “Oh?”
“Even if I were of a mind to change mates, she wants time. She wants to go home. I think we all ought to focus on that.”
She stiffened a little, then inclined her head. “Of course, my lord.”
“And Ketil?” Shard glanced around at the camp, thought of what Kjorn had said earlier, and looked back to her. Her ears perked but she stood wary, defensive. “Thank you for coming with me. Thank you for all you’re doing for the Vanir. I’m very grateful you came to my beacon.”
Surprised, she lifted her head. “Of course.”
“Fair winds.”
“Fair winds, my lord.”
As he walked away he felt she still stood there, watching him. He wondered if she too thought he would disappear in the dark. I did leave the fire, he thought, suddenly gloomy. I gathered them all and left to hunt down a missing gryfess . . . then stirred up the wyrms again.
He met Asvander and they walked in silence to the single bonfire where Kjorn, Brynja, and Dagny sat talking. Stars mingled with incoming clouds above, and Shard flopped down hard between Brynja and Kjorn.
“All well, Shard?” asked the golden gryfon.
“He needs to eat,” Dagny said wisely.
“Don’t worry,” Brynja said. “We saved you some.”
“I heard,” Shard said gratefully. He felt Kjorn’s gaze on him, searching, and knew he couldn’t hide his mood from his wingbrother. He would ask Kjorn about Asvander’s comment later, in private, if he had
the chance.
The chance didn’t come then. He ate the last of his meat, the camp settled as true dark claimed the Reach, and they all gave in to the exhaustion of a full day’s flight.
Shard’s gaze lingered on the red embers when the fire flickered low and Kjorn stretched out next to him, pressing his back against Shard’s. The weight and pressure was comforting, but the moment Shard closed his eyes, he knew he should try to reach Rhydda.
Remembering Groa and her dream net, Shard slowed his breathing and pictured a spiral of sinew in a distant cave at the bottom of the world. He imagined flying along it, grasping at strands that became swirling stars, then eddies of wind. He touched the dreams of the gryfon camp with a sense of wonder and flew higher, then, feeling a touch of murky anger from somewhere, he stooped.
As he slid toward true dreams, he felt her. The hot, searing mind, devoid of words or reason and ravaged only with blood and fury and fear.
Fear.
Their bellies always felt hollow. Burning thirst cracked their tongues and hardened their hearts. The memory of green hills rolled in her mind, then confusion, a memory of soft piles of gold upon which they’d slept. Plump deer, fish, and birds on which they’d feasted.
Now, everything was lack, thirst, and fear.
Through her eyes Shard saw her brood, realized that he was dreaming, but she was awake, and in her mind, he was a daydream. He watched as they hunted in the night.
Rhydda. Did you hunt well? Did you feed your brood?
Darkness loomed like wings around his mind. Black boulders thrust up before him. She wasn’t listening. Shard tried again, differently, instead imagining the warm scent of red flesh, the taste of pronghorn and what it must feel like to be a fat, sated wyrm.
Her thoughts turned to him, answering in an image. He saw blood spilling, splashing in dry dust, a sense of satisfaction so pure and whole he shivered.
That hoofbeast had a name, he thought softly to the she-wyrm. Did you honor him? We honor all those we kill, even the simplest fish.
