By the Silver Wind

by Jess E. Owen

  His words chilled Shard, though. Dreams of war. He hoped the raven hadn’t seen such dreams from Kjorn, or the other Aesir.

  “I hope not,” Shard said out loud, then gave an exaggerated sigh. “Well, if you don’t know the tidings, I suppose I’ll have to find someone more clever. Someone who’s been paying attention. A gull, maybe, or—”

  Munin guffawed. “Gulls! Speak of tidings, of tides. Gulls know of fish. I know of war. What tidings do you want to know?”

  “The gryfons,” Shard said, his tail flicking. “How fares the pride? Where is the queen? Where is Ragna, my mother?”

  Munin made a garbling noise as if he was in distress. “The silver king thinks I have time to answer all these questions. Oh, poor, lonely me. Only one me, only poor old me. How does the pride fare? The pride fares on fish, under river, under stone.”

  “Madness,” Brynja murmured, amazed at how irritating the raven was. “I think I was better off not understanding.”

  Munin looked at her, then made a low, crackling noise that Shard interpreted as trying to sound spooky, like tree branches in a storm.

  “The queen waits on the king by the First Tree, and they both bend their ear to a serpent in the sky.”

  “Munin—”

  “Mind you look up!” He folded his wings, letting himself fall toward the woods, awking his long, echoing call across the tree tops. “Mind you look up, there are serpents in the sky.” He wheeled once, laughed, and left them, dropping into the pines.

  Even though Munin had tricked Shard before, he was not so foolish as to ignore him. Especially when he spoke so relatively plain.

  So Shard looked up.

  Brynja shook herself, flapping steadily. “Serpents in the—”

  “Look out!” Shard cried, as a massive silver form shot down from the clear air like skyfire. Shard folded a wing and knocked Brynja aside. She shrieked and fell back out of the way, diving toward the cover of the trees.

  Shard halted mid-air, wings stroking to hover, and stared. A serpent in the sky, indeed. A silver dragon, a Sunlander! He’d never seen a dragon such a color in their dwelling, the Mountains of the Sea, though the black wings, stark against the lightening sky, reminded him of Hikaru.

  Awed to see a dragon here, Shard ramped as best he could, flapping his wings in greeting, and called out.

  “Sunlander! Welcome to the Silver Isles! I am Rashard, son-of-Baldr, prince of—”

  A warm, musical laugh met his greeting. The dragon circled back and flew straight at him without slowing, his jaws splayed in wide laughter. Despite his silver color, realization shot through Shard’s heart that this dragon was as familiar as the stars.

  “Shard! Don’t you know me?”

  Before Shard could react, the silver dragon bowled into him, plucked him up as easily as a fish, and lunged higher into the sky.

  Shard reeled, breathless, but didn’t struggle. His heart could’ve burst.

  “Hikaru! Hikaru, my wingbrother!” Joy and confusion danced in his head, then just joy. He grasped his talons around a scaled silver wrist joint.

  The dragon spiraled high, with Shard clasped to his breast scales, embracing him tightly. He had grown. He was twice the size he’d been when Shard left him, long enough for twenty gryfons to stand along his length, delicate and sinuous in build. Shard wriggled, desperate to pull away and see his friend.

  Below, Brynja cried out in terror, and Shard managed to holler a reassuring call. “It’s all right! Brynja, he’s a friend!”

  Hikaru laughed again, his voice rich and deep with a familiar cadence and the accent he’d picked up by learning to talk from Shard. “You didn’t recognize me!”

  “No,” Shard gasped. “Your spring scales! They’re beautiful, Hikaru. You should let go, Brynja’s worried.”

  “Oohh,” Hikaru purred. “That’s Brynja? I like her. She looks so strong.”

  “Yes, and she’s going to attack you, Hikaru!” Shard wanted to laugh, could have wept, and at last Hikaru released him. Shard dropped, flinging open his wings.

  Brynja soared fast toward them, her talons splayed. “Shard!”

  “Brynja, this is Hikaru, my nest-son, I mean, my wingbrother.”

  Brynja veered off from attacking to circle them and stare. “The hatchling? The dragon hatchling you told us about?” Though Shard had told her how swiftly the dragons grew, she looked amazed that the dragon he’d told her hatched over the Long Night was now the size of a fully-grown cedar tree.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, huntress of the Dawn Spire,” Hikaru rumbled. Then his ears flicked. “I mean, of the Silver Isles.” He looked mischievously between her and Shard.

  Brynja’s gaze darted between them in turn, then Shard was relieved to see her awe and fear washed away by breathless amusement. “The honor is mine I’m sure! Shard, should we get under cover?”

  Before Shard could answer, Hikaru loosed a playful, challenging rumble, opened his talons in warning, then surged toward Shard as if he meant to spar right there.

  Shard let himself drop, diving for two breaths toward the forest. To show off for Hikaru, he shifted his wings delicately against the wind to avoid stalling, and fell, seeming out of control, flashing his wings in an artful spiral dive. He had forgotten about being subtle, forgotten the wyrms might be in his home, hunting, forgotten about his mother and his pride and his fear.

  For a moment of wild joy, it was only he and Hikaru again.

  A tail-length above the trees Shard whipped out of the dive. Above, Hikaru laughed again and looped in happy circles against the wind. Shard smoothed his flight and stroked the air, regaining height to meet Brynja and the dragon, dazzled by his metallic silver scales.

  As Shard turned, Hikaru took the opportunity to show off new things he’d learned—a series of increasingly elaborate spirals, dips, and turns, that looked to Shard like a dance, or as if he was battling and evading an invisible foe.

  “Isn’t he incredible?” Shard whispered to Brynja.

  “He is,” she murmured, but Shard looked over to realize she was watching only him, admiring, wondering. “I’m glad he’s here. Though I wonder why? And we should get under cover, as Istra said.” The words were pointed, and Shard came back to himself. There was danger. There would be a reason Hikaru had come. And Shard still needed to find Ragna.

  “I thought I would never see you again!” Shard called across the blue air.

  Hikaru slithered out of showing off and winged over beside him. “That was a silly thing to think. The world is so small.”

  Shard thought maybe the world seemed small to a dragon, but he didn’t say that. “Tell me all that’s happened. Why you’re here, and your scales—”

  “We’ll go to your mother,” Hikaru said briskly, and Shard noticed with a chill that his gaze slipped nightward, toward Pebble’s Throw. They had not heard another wyrm scream, which meant the beasts were hunting, in silence. “We should get under cover. We’ve been waiting for you. And Catori has waited, too, and—”

  “We? You and Ragna, and who else? She’s met you?” Shard felt he couldn’t keep up.

  “Let’s go!” Without waiting to explain or hear questions, Hikaru circled them once and dove to the nearest clearing. From above, Shard suddenly realized where they were.

  “Brynja, this is where Kjorn and I fought the boar! This was our initiation . . .” he realized he had so much to tell her, so many secrets and wonderful places to explore with her in his home, and they had no time at all.

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” she laughed at his hesitation and dove first, following Hikaru.

  Shard admired the young dragon’s landing, how he flared and wound into a tidy coil on the ground.

  “It’s beautiful,” Brynja said as Shard landed beside her, talons squishing in the mud and slushy grass. “I’ve never seen trees so large.” She raised her head to sniff, and Shard realized she was smelling pine for the first time, the sweet, heady scent of wet earth and evergreen needles. �
�This is the island where the wolves live?”

  “Yes.”

  “Speaking of wolves,” Hikaru said, lifting his head.

  Sinking his talons into the slush, Shard turned to see a russet blur sprinting at them from the woods. Black feathers flicked from the heavy fur of her neck, amber eyes gleamed, her fangs showed in a wolf grin.

  “My friend! Our Star King, our Summer King!” Catori stopped short of bowling into Shard and raised her voice in a howl.

  Before Shard could greet her or introduce her to Brynja, hearty wolf voices answered the howl. A long, low song carried through the pine forest. Ravens cackled and called, and shrill bird voices raised a chorus. After the silence, the sudden cacophony sent shivers down his back. Shard had no doubt all the islands would soon know of his return.

  “Catori,” he said, and they pressed their brows together, sharing a breath. Her fluffy tail waved and she sprang away, then back at him like a pup ready to play. “I want you to meet Brynja. We’ll pledge on the Daynight.”

  Catori’s ears perked, then she broke into a panting grin and stretched her long legs out, bowing down. “A gryfess of warrior blood, to match our prophet king. A good match. Fair winds, Brynja of the windland.”

  “Fair winds, Catori,” Brynja said, looking surprised and pleased at the friendly greeting and the honor Catori showed her. “Shard has told me all about you. His friendship with wolves of the Silver Isles helped teach us to befriend the painted hunters of our own lands.”

  “This makes my heart glad.” She snuffled the muddy pine needles, ears twitching, and her gaze traveled behind them, as if seeking someone else. Shard took a deep breath. Meanwhile Hikaru kept an eye on the sky, his ears flicking, and settled his body in a wide coil around them, like a barrier.

  “Catori, where is Shard’s mother?”

  “They’ve been hunting. They’ll return soon.”

  “Ah, good.” Hikaru ran his talons down his breast scales, peering into the forest.

  A thought struck Shard at the mention of Ragna. “Catori, I must tell you that Stigr remained in the Winderost.”

  She sobered, standing tall, and Shard stared at the black feathers she wore, needled through with regret. “I dreamed of Stigr. I feared you would come to tell me of his death, but I feel his love in the wind, still. I feel his dreams of home.”

  “He lives,” Shard said. “But . . .” He told her of the wyrm’s attack, of the battle at the Dawn Spire. He told her of how he and Stigr had slain a wyrm together, and then how Rhydda cut him down. He told her that Stigr would never fly home.

  Her ears slanted back, then shook herself, hard. “I will miss him. But we have all suffered loss in this fight against an old, old darkness. Stigr knew what risks he faced, but he is a warrior. I’m glad to know he lives.”

  “He lives,” Brynja said firmly, “and has a place of honor at the Dawn Spire.”

  “And he’s found a mate,” Shard added quickly, brightening, remembering all the good things about Stigr’s new life. “A huntress of the Dawn Spire.”

  Catori’s ears perked. “I would like to hear more, but we should wait for the rest. Your mother will want to hear.”

  “They’ll be here soon,” Hikaru said, his gaze roving the dark forest as if he could see much farther than any of them. Perhaps he could. He poked holes idly in the mud with one claw.

  Shard took the moment to sit down, and all his muscles seemed to sigh in relief. He opened a wing toward Brynja and the ruddy gryfess gratefully sat next to him. Her gaze remained trained on the sky. Hikaru noticed, and gave her a reassuring flick with the very tip of his tail. At first she winced, as if he might have a deadly sharp spade like the wyrms.

  “Don’t worry, Brynja,” Hikaru said. “They haven’t flown over Star Isle yet. They hunt on the Sun Isle, where they last saw gryfons.”

  Brynja shuddered. “I hope the others made it underground.”

  “They did,” Shard said with certainty. “They had plenty of time.” He turned to the she-wolf, who watched them quietly. “Catori.” He didn’t know how else to say what he needed to, so he simply said it. “I dreamed of the wyrm, who we call Rhydda. I showed her the Silver Isles in my dream and I’m afraid it’s my fault she’s here.”

  “That may be,” Catori said, walking over to sit beside them. She didn’t look surprised at all. Her warm presence and thick, red fur made a good buffer against a chilly breeze, and between her and Brynja, he was as warm as if he had a fire.

  Catori continued thoughtfully. “But it may also be not a bad thing that she has come.”

  “Gryfons have died,” Shard said bitterly. “Istra said they fought a battle, and gryfons died.” Suddenly chilled, Shard wondered who.

  Brynja pressed against him, but remained quiet, looking between them. He was grateful to her for understanding how he needed Catori’s counsel. Though the wolf was not much older than he, she was wise in the ways of dreaming, listening, and the earth. Shard hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this friend, the first to suggest he was more than he’d ever known, the first to lead him off the path of serving Sverin blindly and of blundering in his own arrogance, and ignorance. Hikaru watched all of them with huge, worried eyes.

  Catori lowered her head, ears flattening. “Yes. I know this. But I feel in these wyrms such an ancient fear, an ancient silence. They have No names, no Voices. Yet they feel anger. They came here hunting gryfons. If they can do that, then they can listen, Shard. They can. And they will listen to you.”

  “Yes,” Hikaru said eagerly. “Yes, they will listen to you. I learned more, Shard. I learned more from the chronicler and I came to tell you. But let me wait for the others.”

  Shard met Hikaru’s bright gaze, then Catori’s. “You don’t understand. I’ve tried. I’ve tried and failed—”

  “Did you fail?” Catori tilted her head, and he thought of last spring in the woods, when he’d met her for the first time. He’d thought she was infuriating, enigmatic. He still knew her to be those things, and wise, for she listened.

  And he also knew that sometimes she repeated his questions back to him not to infuriate him, but to make him ask himself, instead of others.

  “I must have. Rhydda hasn’t changed at all.”

  “That doesn’t mean she hasn’t heard you. He speaks to all who hear.” The amber eyes held summer in them, brightness, hope. Shard clung to the hope in Catori’s eyes. “It took you a little time to hear me. Remember that it took Kjorn a long time to hear you, too. It took Stigr time to hear beyond his hatred of the Aesir. Now, he will mate with one. Kjorn recognized Ragna, a Vanir, as queen before he left. Now, even the son of Per has spoken to wolves, Shard. If red Sverin will bow his head to my brother and ask forgiveness, I believe that Rhydda can hear you.”

  Beak opening at that news, Shard searched her face, even as she showed the points of her teeth in amusement. She’d meant to spring that on him, to surprise him.

  Sverin, speak to wolves? Sverin, bow to wolves?

  Movement turned all their heads to the trees, and Hikaru made a warm, purring noise of greeting.

  Happiness swept Shard as the scent of familiar wolves drifted to them and he stood again. He saw Ahanu, Tocho, and then, trotting behind them, was Ragna. He had nearly forgotten what an elegant gryfess she was, fit and lithe and pale as sea foam. She looked keen, wary, her ears fully perked as she stared at him hungrily. Her gaze flicked curiously to Brynja, then returned to him, now reserved. “My son. Welcome home.”

  “Mother. I’m glad you’re well.” He noted her look, and extended one wing to drape over Brynja’s back. “This is Brynja, daughter-of-Mar, an honored huntress of the Dawn Spire in the windward land. And . . . my chosen mate.”

  He said it all before he lost his resolve. For him it seemed easy and natural now, but the surprise on Ragna’s face looked as if he’d told her he might choose to mate with a dragon. Clearly, Brynja’s height, strong build, and ruddy feathers were not of the Vanir, and Shard realized how mu
ch Ragna had expected he would choose one.

  “Fair winds, my lady,” Brynja said, and mantled to the queen of the Vanir. Then she pressed a wing to Shard, as if for reassurance.

  Ragna, still looking struck, wavered between a mantle and bow. “Fair winds, Brynja. We’ll . . . come to know each other soon.” With a hopeful look, she turned back to Shard. “And my brother?”

  Again the weight sank onto Shard’s shoulders, his wings, his heart. “Stigr cannot fly home.”

  He told her all of it, and of how bravely Stigr had fought and fallen. Her hopeful look changed to one he knew better, the cool, impassive, regal expression of the Widow Queen that hid every other emotion. “I see,” she said softly, and then, nothing more.

  Shard stood witlessly, then Brynja nudged him. He knew should do something. It was time, he realized, time to be the son he never yet had the chance to be, to comfort her because her mate was dead, her brother was gone, and she had been waiting for Shard’s return.

  Suddenly overwhelmed with relief that she was all right, and grief for all she had lost, Shard bound the short distance between them and butted his head against her. She loosed a soft breath and ducked her head, nuzzling his neck feathers.

  “Welcome home,” she whispered again, with more warmth, genuine relief, and love. “I always knew you would come home.”

  Any more words would have to wait, for beyond his mother and the wolves drifted another scent, and Shard drew back with a sharp gasp.

  Walking slowly forward until he stood beside Ragna, right beside her, dwarfing her with his size, his majesty, his blazing crimson feathers, was Sverin. Shard drew back several steps, taking him in.

  Sverin, who had shadowed Shard’s life at every turn, Sverin, who had terrorized the Vanir, poached the islands, and killed the wolf king. The gryfon who once had struck awe and giddiness into Shard’s heart, a gryfon who should have been his greatest enemy, stood before him silently. He wore no gold. He stood beside Shard’s mother like a comrade, stood among wolves with whom he’d clearly just hunted, stood, and waited for Shard to speak. He inclined his head a fraction to Brynja, who offered the slightest bow in acknowledgement.