By the Silver Wind

by Jess E. Owen

  Once, Shard would have bowed, mantled, groveled. Now he felt nothing at all. It was a strange relief. It was power, it was freedom, to feel nothing at all for the Red King.

  Like so many other things, this was not how he’d pictured their next meeting, but here it was happening. He raised his head high, lifting his chest, opening his wings. He was Rashard, son-of-Baldr, prince of the Silver Isles. His last barrier to kingship had already fallen, and now they faced a common foe.

  “Sverin.”

  Eyes as hard as dragon chains met his, searched him, seemed to scour his body and heart, to see who he was now, a different gryfon than when they’d last met, when they’d battled over the sea in a storm. A faint wind whispered through the tops of the pine trees, plucked at their feathers, stirred wolf fur and Hikaru’s silver mane.

  Then, Sverin spoke.

  “Your Highness.”

  Before Ragna, Catori, Brynja, Hikaru, and all the wolves, the son of Per bent his forelegs, mantled his wings, and bowed to Shard.

  ~42~

  The Shame of the Sunland

  THE SCREAM OF A WYRM jolted them all. Hikaru whipped up and herded the gryfons back under the cover of the trees.

  Still gathering his wits after seeing Sverin bow, Shard thought they must look a very odd collection of creatures. Hikaru slipped like a stream through the woods, surprisingly nimble, barely brushing the trees. Catori and Brynja flanked Shard, with Ragna ahead, and Sverin ahead of her.

  He probably should have said something when Sverin bowed, but there was nothing to say. It was with burning curiosity that Shard observed how Ragna and Sverin regarded each other, with open respect and quiet deference. Shard thought Ragna might be unaware of how she acted toward the Red King. Her attitude, he thought, showed more proof of how Sverin had changed than anything else.

  Partially because he couldn’t bear strained silence, and more so because he wanted news, Shard spoke up as they all trailed through the forest.

  “We had little time to speak with Istra in detail when we arrived. Ragna—” he paused, corrected himself, “Mother. Will you tell us more?”

  So as they walked, Ragna told them of the end of winter, told them frankly of Sverin’s penance, of the Vanir’s return. She spoke of the wyrms, and in her voice Shard heard shame. He tried to reassure her that almost no gryfon could stand up to them, and couldn’t help but look at Sverin. The red gryfon remained in stony, inscrutable silence.

  When Ragna had finished, Shard told her their tale, and by the time he was done, they had reached an opening in the woods where the ground was bare, but thousands of branches overhead gave some semblance of color.

  Sunlight glanced down through wiry, clutching, rowan branches, and the ground was muddy and all but bare of snow. Best of all, it appeared Hikaru had built a fire earlier, in a large ring of stones. Embers still burned, sending the fragrant scent of smoking pine through the air.

  “We will fetch wood for the fire,” said Ahanu quietly. He nosed Shard’s head fondly and Shard flicked a grateful wingtip against him, then the wolf king drew his pack away into the woods. All but Catori, who remained with them.

  “Hikaru,” Ragna said as the silver dragon coiled around the fire ring. “You must tell us what you know, now. Shard has returned. Tell us why you’ve come, and why you’ve kept Sverin with you.”

  Shard walked to the ring of stones and sat, relishing the heat as it seeped under his chilled feathers and his aching, exhausted bones.

  “It was for your protection,” Hikaru said matter-of-factly to Sverin, then to Shard, “I had to keep him close.”

  With the warmth from the embers, the long flight over the sea dragged at Shard once again. Brynja laid down beside him, and Ragna drew near but remained standing.

  Sverin, in his silence, remained at the opposite end of the stone ring, watching Hikaru now.

  Shard realized he hadn’t yet asked Hikaru why his scales were silver—about his spring shedding. Ragna hadn’t told him very much about the returning Vanir. There was so little time, it seemed. He wondered if he would ever enjoy the feeling of peace again, of relaxing, of simply being with friends again and not fearing an enemy attack, or another death.

  Hikaru looked around, and the tip of his tail flicked nervously. “Shard, Ume has made me her apprentice. Even though I’m from the warrior class, everyone agreed I was best suited. When she passes on this spring, I will be the chronicler.” He fluffed his wings proudly. “So, I had to come and tell you all I know, and to see the Silver Isles for myself. The new emperor has hatched, and I’ve made sure we’re friends, so that he knows the truth like I do.

  “I’ve seen all the histories now. I wish you could have seen the tale of the wyrms and Sunlanders, Shard, it was so intricate. I won’t be able to tell it as beautifully as Ume did when she showed me the pillars, so I’ll make it short, with the important things.”

  “That will do nicely,” Shard said quietly.

  The others remained quiet, deferring to Shard and the dragon. He realized that he was quickly growing used to the respect others showed him, that he enjoyed it, that he felt he had, most of the time, earned it. Certainly when it came to dragons, he knew more than any other gryfon in the world.

  Hikaru sat up on his haunches, his neck curved back and head tilted forward like an egret. He seemed suddenly shy of the others, and spoke mostly to Shard. “You know that Rhydda once flew to the Sunland. So wyrms did, once, fly in daylight. Oh, there were so many details . . .”

  “Just the most important things, Hikaru.” Shard lifted his wings in encouragement, and Catori nodded once in agreement.

  “The most important things.” Hikaru ran a claw down his belly scales, and ruffled his wing feathers. “In the Second Age, the Sunlanders explored the world and met with the wyrms. They discovered many caches of gold and silver, and other places in the world with gems, and when the wyrms brought them gems, they crafted them treasures in return. They gave them rich food, and names.”

  Shard tilted his head. “The wyrms never spoke?”

  “No. They responded to food, to beautiful things, and to kindness. They learned that the names referred to them, responded to them, and seemed proud to have them. Every year, the Sunlanders traveled to the nightland of the wyrms and gave them gifts, and named their new broods with names that seemed to suit their tongue.”

  Shard thought of the name Rhydda, how it was almost a growl, rich and earthy. He thought of her wild, shrieking brood.

  Hikaru seemed to relax to as the others listened respectfully. “Then, one year—”

  “The dragons didn’t come,” Shard said quietly, and Hikaru’s gaze grew bright as he nodded in agreement.

  “The dragons didn’t come. It was the year Kajar spent with them.” His gaze slid to Sverin. “It was the year we decided never again to leave the Mountains of the Sea. And when the dragons didn’t come, one wyrm came to us. I don’t even know how she found us.

  “She followed Midragur,” Shard said, and Catori glanced to him with a knowing look. He couldn’t meet her gaze, feeling a numb and weary.

  “She must have,” Hikaru said. “She came, but she couldn’t speak, and of course the new emperor didn’t know her, and was insulted. One elder knew her, knew her name, and she responded to it. Others tried to tell the emperor of the yearly pilgrimage, of the gifts, of the names. He wouldn’t hear it. He was still angry with Kajar. He and others chased Rhydda back to the nightland. She’d had a new brood, and she showed them to the dragons, thinking they would give her wyrmlings names and gold. Instead they . . . they . . .”

  He paused, lowering his head in shame.

  Sverin spoke. “Tell us, Hikaru. We all have things in our past we aren’t proud of.”

  Shard couldn’t help but looked at him in amazement. It sounded as if he were counseling a gryfon fledge.

  Brynja leaned into Shard, her face grim, and Hikaru went on, his voice pitched just louder than the crackling fire. “Instead, they drove the young
wyrms down into the mines and demanded they dig. If they came out with dirt, they were punished. If they came out with gold and jewels, they got food. If they tried to come out during the day, they were punished. The emperor and his guard only allowed them out at night.”

  “Until they learned never to fly in the day at all,” Shard breathed. “Until they thought daylight itself was dangerous.”

  “In a single generation, they learned to fear the daylight as if it burned?” Brynja sounded incredulous.

  There was silence. Hikaru, restless and self-conscious, tossed a few damp twigs on the fire. Smoke and popping sap filled the quiet.

  With a low, unconscious growl, Shard looked at Sverin. “It can be done. There once was a time I wouldn’t fly at night.”

  Brynja looked between them, and Sverin did not lower his gaze, but he didn’t speak, either.

  Hikaru looked between them uncomfortably.

  It was Ragna who said, “None of this explains why they hunt a red gryfon, which you promised you would tell.”

  “Oh, yes. Yes.” Hikaru sat up again, regaining his thread. “The emperor was growing old. They remained with the wyrms almost a full season, until they were obedient, until they had learned.”

  “Until they were slaves,” Catori murmured.

  “Until they were slaves,” Hikaru said darkly, not debating the point. “To our shame. Then, the emperor decided in his old and bitter age that he wanted revenge on Kajar. He had the craft dragons cast a gryfon in ruby and gold, and showed it to Rhydda. He took gryfon feathers and let her smell them, like a hunting wolf. He pressed it to her that the wyrms should find these gryfons, contain them, keep them from leaving their land. He had such powers, and a seer with them. Shard, she may have been able to dream with Rhydda the way you do, to tell her things.”

  All too clearly, Shard remembered Rhydda’s dream, her memory of a gryfon carved in ruby and gold.

  “So the wyrms went to the Winderost,” Sverin said. His voice, which had once been so familiar to Shard as ringing in command, sounded odd when thoughtfully quiet. “And they hunted at night.”

  “And all we can guess,” Hikaru said, “is that they were so angry, they hunted any gryfon who dared to fly, even though the dragons showed her a red one.”

  Sverin stretched out on his belly, his talons flexing against the cold ground. “Yet now, suddenly this Rhydda remembers that she can fly in the day, and so she’s brought her brood here, where she also suddenly knows the last red gryfon dwells.”

  “Yes,” said Hikaru, fidgeting with the end of his tail. “Just so.”

  “And how is it, I wonder, that she remembers she can fly in day, and she knows where the last red gryfon dwells?”

  It was not a question. Shard took his gaze from Hikaru to see Sverin staring directly at him.

  “Because of me,” Shard said quietly, and didn’t explain any further. Sverin inclined his head, as if that was all he’d wanted to hear. Shard could tell nothing from his expression, and felt frustrated that Sverin wasn’t surprised to hear it was Shard’s doing.

  “So . . .” Ragna’s voice was flat. “All they want here is to kill Sverin?”

  Flickers of ash floated up from the tiny fire, and the red gryfon looked at her, Shard thought, in wry amusement.

  “Yes,” Hikaru said. “Well, that’s what I think anyway. Maybe they’re just still angry. As soon as I figured it out, I came to tell you, Shard, but you hadn’t arrived home yet. I came across a different sea, a faster way around the bottom of the world. I met your Vanir, Maja, and the others she’d found, when I passed over the starward quarter.”

  “About my dying,” Sverin began, and Hikaru flicked his wings dismissively, patting a paw against the mud in a reassuring gesture.

  “Of course we won’t let that happen.”

  Sverin’s gaze found Shard again, and they stared at each other across the fire.

  Hikaru blinked his large eyes, his ears ticking back uncertainly. “Shard, you won’t let that happen.” His voice strained as he looked between them, as he seemed to remember their history.

  “No,” Shard said tightly, more to Sverin than to Hikaru.

  He had not stopped himself from dragging Sverin into the sea only to hand him over to the enemy now, and it had been an accident that led the wyrms to the Silver Isles, whether Sverin believed it or not. “Of course that’s not going to happen. No one else is going to die for these wyrms.”

  “And we don’t know if that’s what they want anymore,” Brynja said. “You said they came and slew gryfons at will.”

  Quietly, Ragna spoke. “We attacked first. When they came, we met them combatively. We don’t know what they would have done otherwise. But if they are Nameless, they could have only fought back like witless things.”

  Brynja shifted her feet, looking stubborn. “The lions and eagles believe wyrms are nothing but their anger and their hatred. We don’t know if they even remember what they’re angry about. They might be hunting Sverin, or they might be here because of Shard’s dreams, and remember nothing.”

  “I think Rhydda remembers,” Shard said, still watching Sverin. “But they don’t know that all their original enemies are dead.”

  “So,” said Sverin, “who’s going to tell them?”

  “Shard will,” Hikaru said firmly, and all looked to him in surprise. He ducked his head to a stubborn angle. “He will. He’s the Summer King. They’ll listen to him.”

  Shard stood, exasperated, loving Hikaru for his faith, frustrated with his innocence. “Why now, Hikaru? Why do you think they’ll listen after they have never listened before?”

  Hikaru blinked large eyes at him. “Because now, you know! Now you have the truth. Just as you hunted the truth about the Aesir in the Winderost and the dragons in the Sunland. Now you know everything that happened, so you understand why they’re angry. You understand them, Shard. They’ll listen.”

  Shard could only gaze at him, and Catori watched Shard’s face.

  Sverin broke the quiet. “And if he fails?”

  Hikaru raised his head again, his silver mane fluttering, and showed off teeth as long as Sverin’s wing feathers. “He will not fail.”

  “In the meantime,” Ragna said quickly, seeing the young dragon’s temper rising, “we should take Sverin underground. Hikaru, thank you for your protection, but he should be underground. Let me take him to Kjorn, let him see his son. And Shard—”

  “I need to think.” He stood again. “Mother, Brynja . . .” He looked at Hikaru, at his friends. “I need to think. Take Sverin to safety, and remain safe yourselves. I can’t go in those caves yet. I need to be here, in my old winds, in the forest, and smell the sea. And I need to be alone.”

  He looked around, and all appeared, with grave expressions, to understand.

  Brynja stood, and shoved her head under his neck. “Be well, Shard. Come to us soon.”

  “I will. Thank you. Tell everyone what’s passed. I’ll come to you in the morning, first light, I promise. Tell the Vanir I will come soon.”

  His words felt heavy. Soon things would be resolved, one way or another. He would try to dream again, now that he knew the truth of all that had happened. Perhaps, as Hikaru believed, knowing the truth would give Shard more power over Rhydda.

  They made their farewells.

  Catori paused near Shard. “Where will you go?”

  He thought of the high priestess of the Vanhar, and the things she had recommended he try when he needed more strength and clarity. He thought of Ajia, who had helped him remain rooted in himself. A place came to him. A place of power. The first place Stigr had called him prince, bowed to him, the first place he’d been struck by his true birthright, and realized all he wanted in the world was peace.

  “To the rowan,” he said. “If it won’t bother the wolves.”

  She nodded once. “No. They will understand.” She nosed his ear, then trotted to Ragna. “This way, great lady. This way, to the caves.”

  They
left Shard with Hikaru, who bent his head low, nuzzling Shard. “What will you do, brother?”

  Shard closed his eyes, grateful for Hikaru’s warmth, for his steady, unfailing heart, eternally grateful to see him again. “First, I’ll try to dream. I would ask you to come with me, but I need to be alone, Hikaru. Just for a little while. When all this is settled, I’ll show you every wondrous place on the islands I know.”

  Hikaru laughed, and with a farewell, Shard left him, walking deeper and deeper into the ancient forest toward the place the wolves called the First Tree.

  ~43~

  Under River, Under Stone

  CRAWLING DOWN INTO THE cold earth only reminded Ragna of earlier in the winter when they’d fled down the wolf tunnels to escape Sverin and his King’s Guard. Now, of course, all Aesir were following Thyra—and Kjorn, now that he’d returned with Shard.

  With grim hope, Ragna focused her thoughts on Shard. Oh, how he’d looked like Baldr, truly, grown into his final height and strength, though a bit lean from his travel, a bit worn. She saw new wisdom in his eyes, new care in his words.

  And Sverin had bowed to him.

  One small, hard part of Ragna’s heart relaxed, though it seemed that what she’d thought would be her greatest challenge had come and gone, and a new one had risen.

  She hadn’t slept much in the last days. The wyrm screams at night, the memory of her dead pride members, and the worry over Shard had kept her awake. Now she had her son, they had a dragon on their side, they even had fire. Tyr’s own fire, harnessed and brought to earth. She had to believe they would prevail. And if Shard decided to fight, she would fight, too. She would face the wyrms if he asked her to.

  All those thoughts kept her moving forward through the frozen, slick tunnel of mud and stone. She realized that in staying with Sverin and Hikaru, she still didn’t have all the news. She didn’t know all the gryfons who had died, and lived, and who was injured. She thought of Halvden, leaping to her defense, and the blood . . . She had to turn her thoughts away. She would know soon enough.