The Son of Summer Stars ft-3

by Meredith Ann Pierce

  The gryphon folded his wings, some of the feathers just brushing Lell’s back as they closed. “No fear, little darkamber,” he told her. “My pinions are strong. We gryphons do not let friendships lapse. But touching on your coming war, is it not high time your herd departed?”

  Lell nodded, her eyes on Tek far, far below. “We all hoped Jan would have returned by now. But he has not come. So Tek waits. But I heard her telling Dagg we can bide no more than another fortnight before we must begin our trek. I think we should wait! Yet all the herd champs to face the wyverns. We have been waiting four hundred years.”

  Jan felt himself rising away from the Vale. the air around him thinned and darkened. His view dimmed. He had the brief sensation of hurtling through stars, then of sudden descending. He became aware of himself underground once more, beneath the Hallow Hills. Lynex the wyvern king lay in his barren chamber, all seven snaking heads wakeful now. Despite the absence of fire, the den was lighter than it had been. Illumination from the lightwells had the warmer intensity of spring. The wyvern heaved his scarred and bloated form upright to stare at the charred fireledge. The single greatest head among the writhing tangle of necks pulled transparent lips back from splintery fangs.

  “First these stingless peaceseekers,” it snarled. “Then my queen slain. Now the last of our fire burnt out.” Its voice was deep, all gravel and broken flint.

  The tiniest head struck out at nothing, flattening its hoodlike gill ruff, hissing, “Burnt out. Burnt out!”

  “No thanks to you,” one of the middle-sized pates muttered, glaring at the smaller ones.

  The little nob turned, spat at its companions. “You!”

  “Silence!” roared the one great head.

  Five countenances flinched, but the sixth, the tiniest, turned and hissed. The large head snapped savagely at the little thing. With a shriek, the tiniest nob ducked. The great head eyed each smaller one in turn.

  “I hold you all responsible,” it snarled. “I might still cull the lot of you and rear a new crop of secondary skulls—ones with brains this time!”

  The last words were a shout. Again the smaller heads cowered. None spoke.

  “If only my queen lived still, she would know what to do. Winters have been so cold. Our torch dimmed, and the stingless freaks thwarted the wood gatherers. How they must have celebrated when they learned the torch was out. ‘Devour them all!’ my queen would have said.”

  The great head turned away, muttering. The half-dozen subsidiaries watched, all turning in unison as their leader wove. Jan was reminded suddenly of pacing among his own kind, or the random pecking of nervous birds. The wyvern shifted from one thick, badger-like forepaw to the other. Knifelike nails bit into the chamber’s crystalline floor.

  “So many of them now,” the great head continued peevishly. “Their mothers hide them from me. They even breed. Whole nests of stingless offspring from stingless progenitors! There must be away to find and seize them.”

  “A way,” one of the two middle-sized heads echoed warily. The great head ignored it.

  “Perhaps we should command loyal followers to hunt them, harry them from one end of the warren to the other,” the companion middle-sized pate suggested softly.

  Two of the other nobs nodded vigorously. “Harry them! A clean sweep.”

  “Yes,” the great head mused, picking at the ancient scars on the royal breast. “Yes. A sweep.” Abruptly the One frowned. The smaller pates tensed. “But not all with stings can be relied upon. Most have nieces or nephews who are stingless, sisters or brothers, even daughters and sons! Some have gone so far as to begin to believe the ravings of those…those barbless lunatics.”

  “Ravings,” the tiniest maw fizzed. “Lunatics!”

  “How do they stay alive?” the wyvern king’s largest pate exclaimed. “They will not hunt living prey. They must eat carrion!”

  “Carrion!” the littlest head spat.

  “What sort of existence is that for a wyvern?” the largest nob growled at a middle-sized head.

  “No existence at all,” it responded hastily.

  Preoccupied, the large one turned away. “They are reverting to what we once were, when we dwelled among the thrice-cursed red dragons: stingless rubbish clearers, eaters of the dead!”

  “Never again!” one of the small pates echoed.

  Its fellows joined it: “Such indignity.”

  “The degradation.”

  “All our woes are the unicorns’ doing,” one of the middle-sized muzzles ventured. “Had they not deprived us of our queen, the stingless ones would never have multiplied.”

  “We must wreak revenge against the unicorns as well,” the other middle-sized nob added.

  The largest, central head considered. “That we must,” it murmured. “But they only come in spring, and only a score or two, to keep their nightlong vigil by the wellspring atop the limestone steep. Truth to tell,” he mused, “they come a few weeks after equinox. It is that time now.”

  The wyvern king reared suddenly. The other heads jerked in surprise.

  “The stingless traitors can wait,” Lynex’s oldest pate said sharply. “We’ll arrange an ambush for the unicorn pilgrims instead. My loyalists shall have the meat—and I’ll know my supporters by who agrees to taste this living prey. Once we have feasted, time enough to fall upon the stingless and their collaborators!”

  “Yes! Yes!” the other nobs rejoiced. “We’ll lie in wait for unicorns along the path to their vigil pool. They will never sip its healing draught! We’ll rend the flesh of our enemies, then devour our own kind—stingless cowards and any others not wyvern enough to use their stings.”

  The seven-stranded laughter of the wyvern king echoed through the limestone hollows. Again Jan felt himself lifted, drawn up through tons of earth covering the wyverns’ dens, out into the light and air again. A blur of motion, the momentary feel of rushing. He found himself hovering above the Vale once more. Spring had advanced another half moon. Tek stood upon the council rise. Dagg and Ryhenna, Teki and Jah-lila, Ses, Illishar and Lell flanked her. Once more the whole herd stood assembled.

  “He is not yet among us, but he will return,” Tek told them. “We have waited as long as we dare. To delay more would betray his vision. I doubt not that Jan will rejoin us, but our march must now begin. We have just-weaned colts and fillies among us. This trek will last the remainder of the spring. It will be new summer when we reach the Hills, where wyverns wait our hooves and horns!”

  Shouts of approval rose from the press. The cry of “Jan, Jan the prince!” went up, while some—more than a few—shouted, “For Tek! Tek, regent and prince’s mate!”

  Aye, Jan thought with sudden bitterness. They should cheer her, for she is their rightful battleprince, not I. Regret seized him, and envy. Would that I were wholly other’ than who I am, he thought, some Renegade, even, not the late king’s son. Sooth, I could gladly give any office up if only I might keep my pledge with Tek. He shoved his painful thoughts aside. It was all hopeless. Below him, Tek cried: “Away” then. To our homeland! To the Hills.”

  She sprang from the council rise, her mane of mingled black and rose streaming. Her companions on the rise sprang behind her: red Jah-lila, painted Teki, dappled Dagg and his copper mate, Ryhenna, darkamber Lell with the milk-pale mane, and her mother, Ses, the color of cream with a mane like crimson fire. Illishar rose into the air in a green thrashing of wings. Sunlight flashed on his golden flanks. Beneath, the herd surged after Tek, all eager to depart the Vale, hearts bound for the far Hallows.

  Jan became aware of an echo, oddly hollow, as though originating deep underground. His view of the herd climbing the steeps of the Vale shrank, grew distant. Before them, he knew, lay the Pan Woods and the Plain. Once more he pulled back, traveling at speed. It seemed that darkness fell, until he realized he had merely come to himself in the vast and sunless dragon’s den. Glare of the molten firelake flickered across the pool of water in the red queen’s brow. The chanting
that had drawn him from the Vale echoed somewhere overhead, in the caves above. Awareness of himself and of Wyzásukitán once more faded as his mind floated upward to the source of the sound:

  “Now fare we forth, far Hallows bound…”

  Jan beheld the Hall of Whispers, burial crypt of Mélintélinas. He saw the Scouts of Halla dispersed among the old queen’s bones. Oro stood by the great skull with its pool of lustrous, dark water. He led the chant, bidding his comrades come forward one by one, take a single sup from that pool, which seemed never to run dry. Having sipped, each shaggy unicorn filed away across the great chamber, disappeared into shadows beyond the gleam of the dragon’s jewels. Their recitation never faltered.

  “When time betides, a way be found.

  Afar, ancestral comrades call.

  We answer ably, ardent all…”

  Their words puzzled Jan. They moved with orderly determination, as though embarking upon some quest. Far Hallows bound–could Oro’s fellows truly mean to cross Salt Waste and Plain? He distinctly remembered the dark maroon telling him no egress led from the Smoking Hills. How, then, did the Scouts intend to leave? Though the unexpected possibility of allies buoyed Jan, his skin prickled—for even if Oro and the rest managed to win free of these mist-enshrouded mountains, how would they avoid deadly wyvern stings?

  Unease swept him. He struggled, but found himself unable to rouse from this dream of the future unfolding before him in the dragon’s brow. The Scouts of Halla vanished from view. Lost in the underground caverns of the Smoking Hills, their chanting diminished, finally ceased. Darkness awhile. Then he beheld the Plain rolling before him, drenched in the sunlight of middle spring. He had no inkling how much time was to have passed.

  Before him, two groups of unicorns converged. The first, led by Tek, her particolored rose and jet unmistakable among the orange reds and sky-water blues, the occasional grey or gold. Narrow at the head, flaring, then tapering toward the rear, the herd flowed across the green grass Plain. Young occupied the center, flanked by their elders on every side. The steady, deliberate pace, Jan observed, enabled even the youngest to travel untaxed. Half-growns frisked and sparred along the fringes. Plainsgrass around them rippled and bowed.

  The vast warband of the Vale moved toward another group, far fewer, but much more widely spaced. The foremost of these stood dark blue with a silver mane. Jan recognized Calydor with his star-bespeckled coat. To one side stood the seer’s niece, Crimson, and her pale-blue filly, Sky. Crimson’s belly looked heavy and round, in foal again. Her companion, Goldenhair, was nowhere to be seen, but Jan spotted her father, Ashbrindle, on Calydor’s other side. Numerous Plainsdwellers flanked them. They stood awaiting the Valedwellers’ approach.

  Tek whistled the herd to a halt. Dagg flanked her, Ryhenna a few paces behind. Her mother, Jah-lila, stood at her other shoulder with Lell, Teki the healer, and Dhattar and Aiony with Ses well back of them all. Above, Illishar circled, his shadow passing over them from time to time.

  “Hail, Free People of the Plain,” the pied mare called. “I am Tek, regent and mate to Aljan Moonbrow, our prince. We come in peace and seek no quarrel.”

  “Hail,” the star-strewn seer replied. “I am Calydor, singer and farseer among my folk, who call me Alma’s Eyes. Some here have met your mate. I bid you safe travel.”

  “We seek to pass through your lands on our way to our ancestral home, which we mean to wrest from treacherous wyverns,” Tek continued. “Have we your leave to pass?”

  Calydor tossed his mane. “Though your goal is known to us, none here may grant you leave—for the Plain is not ours. We lay no claim. Rather, ’t claims us, the People of the Plain. Pass freely, as we do, and ask no leave.”

  The pied leader of the unicorns bowed her head. “I thank you, Calydor, and all your folk. I pledge my herd will not trouble yours as we pass. My mate has come before us and told our tale. Should any among you care to join our cause, my folk stand eager to accept allies. Once we have won back our Hallow Hills, all who fought alongside us will be welcome to share our newfound home.”

  Snorting, stamping, and a tossing of heads among the Plainsdwellers followed. Jan’s ears pricked, but he could not be sure he had heard a whicker or two, quickly bitten off. Solemnly, Calydor shook his head.

  “I thank you, Regent Tek, for your generosity. I know of none among my folk who would join you. We of the Plain are not reft of homeland. We stand content. Any of my fellows are, of course, free to embrace your cause. Perhaps in time some will make such wishes known. But we do not generally savor war. The vastness of the Mare’s Back settles our disputes. If others offend us, we leave them. But we wish you well for the sake of your mate, who impressed me greatly as an honorable wight.”

  Watching, high above them in dreams, Jan warmed to Calydor’s praise. Yet he sensed consternation among his own folk at the Plainsdweller’s reply. Most of those from the Vale, Jan suspected, had simply assumed these ragtag vagabonds would rush to join the herd’s battle march, praising Alma for the privilege. That their herd’s sacred quest might be viewed with cool detachment by outsiders baffled some. Jan himself could only smile. He admired Tek’s calm, collected response.

  “So be it,” she said warmly. “We welcome any who join us and bid fair weather to the rest. One other favor I would ask. My folk have traversed the Plain many times on yearly pilgrimage to initiate our young. But those bands numbered only warriors and half-growns, no elders or weanlings or suckling mares. The host before you moves far more slowly. We need guides to show us shelter from wind and rain, help us ward away pards and find sufficient water. Would any among you consent to the task?”

  Jan sensed interest stirring among the Free People of the Plain. Calydor stepped forward.

  “I myself will gladly escort you,” he answered. “I wot these parts well. Many of my companions may choose to accompany. We are, I confess, most curious, having heard many rumors of you, but rarely met Moondancers face to face.

  Tek nodded. “Very well,” she said. “Let us share path for as long as may be.”

  With mixed eagerness and hesitation, the two groups merged, colts and fillies boldest, half-growns boisterous. Full-growns and elders on both sides approached more warily. Yet the two groups did mingle, exchanged tentative questions, greetings. Only one among the Valedwellers did not stir, Jan noticed presently. One mare poised motionless. Others eddied around her, yet she remained rooted, eyes riveted on the star-strewn seer who, joined by his brother, niece and niece’s daughter, stood treating with Tek, Dagg, Ryhenna, Teki, Jah-lila and various Elders of the Vale.

  Calydor caught sight of her suddenly. She stood not many paces from him. Glancing up, his gaze fell upon her. He froze. He had not marked her before, Jan realized. She must have stood screened from his view during Tek’s initial greeting, or perhaps the pied mare had held the seer’s whole attention. But he glimpsed the other now. Jan saw the silver-flecked stallion’s eyes lock on hers. Half a dozen heartbeats, the pair of them stared mute. The mare’s fiery mane, red as poppies, beat against the pale ivory of her pelt.

  With a start, she wheeled and loped away. Not a word or a whistle, not a backward glance. Unnoticed by the others, the stallion’s eyes yearned after her. Plainly, he could not desert the parley. But why, Jan wondered, had the mare not joined them? As one of the youngest of the Council of Elders, she was entitled, indeed expected. Jan’s brow furrowed. The pale mare’s conduct baffled him. He would have thought her eager to speak with Calydor, learn all she could from the seer of the time he had spent with Jan. But she had fled away. The young prince could not fathom it. For the red-maned mare had been Ses, his own dam.

  18.

  Oasis

  A passage of time. Jan knew not how long. He had lost all awareness of the dragon’s den and of his own body, wholly absorbed in visions of events to come. He knew only that time had elapsed between the last future scene he had observed and the new one now beginning. The Plain still, but night shadowed. A brill
iant moon shone down. Tall grass swayed and whispered about a series of meandering waterways and interconnected pools. Jan spied unicorns of the Vale camped all around, most lying up near the largest waterhole. A few Plainsdwellers mingled with the herd. Others lay off in the tall grass or under trees flanking the fingerling pools.

  Sentries, both Valedwellers and Plainsdwellers, stood alert for pards. The fillies and foals lay surrounded by elders. Jan harbored no fear for them. Scenting the slight, sighing breeze, he found it free of all odor of predators. Nevertheless, he was keenly aware that this oasis—so vital to his folk—formed a maze of rills and rises, troughs and groves and irregular pools. Despite the sentries’ diligent watch, almost any creature—even one large as a unicorn or pard—might steal past undetected if it moved stealthily and luck ran with it.

  Shadows, movement among the trees. Far from the main camp, which lay barely within view through the close-spaced trees, Jan detected motion. Two small figures fidgeted among the treeboles, one black-and-silver, well camouflaged by mottled moonlight and shade, the other wholly white, pale ghostly as a dream. With a start of surprise, Jan recognized the tiny pair: Aiony and Dhattar, his own filly and foal. They stood taut, listening, straining to see through the moon blaze and shadow. Jan heard rustling.

  “Here she comes,” Aiony whispered to her brother. He nodded with a little snort.

  A third figure emerged from the trees, larger than the first two, but still much smaller than full-grown. For a moment moonlight glanced across her. Jan was able to discern the darkamber coat, the milky mane of his sister Lell. For a moment, Jan thought he sensed another presence, something larger than all three of them, moving behind Lell in the darkness of the trees—but the moment passed. No scent, no sound, no further hint of motion from that quarter. Lell shook herself.

  “There you are,” she hissed. “It took me best part of an hour, stumbling about dodging sentries, to find you.”