by Jess Owen
Shard’s heart beat so thunderously through his ears he was surprised it didn’t frighten the boar in the wrong direction. Shadows moved in the corner of his eye. He stopped, looked, clamped his will against a warning snarl.
“Now!” Thyra’s shriek dragged him back to the hunt.
Shard hadn’t even seen the boar, and the wind was wrong for him to smell it. But he trusted her, ramped up to stand on his hind legs and flared his wings, only to knock them against two trees. He stamped his feet to earth and bellowed, a young lion’s roar deep in his chest. Kjorn’s fierce cry answered his across the woods. The brush rustled between them and Shard leaped forward.
He saw a flash of hard gray hide, snarled and snapped his beak in threat. The boar wheeled to charge Kjorn. Shard leaped after it, and Thyra shouted.
“Stay! It’s only threatening. We’ll drive it out of the trees over there!”
Shard looked. Ahead, the trees broke to a rockier, grassy expanse of meadow. He heard Kjorn’s shriek and forced himself not to run to help. He kept to the plan and waited, crouching, ready to harry the boar if it came back his way. The bright shine of gold ahead was Kjorn, and Shard watched over the underbrush. He heard Thyra fighting through underbrush and trees to get closer, trying to distract the boar away in the right direction.
Shard trotted forward. The woods remained still and silent. He lifted his ears, scented. The wind shifted and the boar’s scent struck like a wing blow. Shard froze.
Brush rustled and he saw the hump of the creature’s back. He braced and roared a challenge.
The boar broke from the heavier brush straight to the trees where Shard crouched. His throat clamped against another roar. The boar’s cloven hooves tore the earth. He stood as tall at the shoulder as Shard and glared with tiny, wet, red eyes. Skin as thick and hard as rock sheathed the muscled body, all as Caj said. Unable to roar, Shard ducked his head and opened his beak in a long hiss, clawing the damp earth.
The boar squealed. Shard knew Thyra and Kjorn had to hold their own ground. It was up to him to drive the beast back. In all the tales ever told of hunts, courage and glory, no one had ever warned of the tight, cold feeling Shard felt in his belly.
He forced a step forward, then another, raising his wings to make himself look bigger, stronger, and fearless, though terror arced through him.
The boar shook its ugly head and squealed, a split, three note, horrible sound. A horrible sound that, to Shard’s awe, dissolved itself into words.
“I will not die for your glory, thief.”
Stupid, boars are supposed to be witless! Shard had no chance to balance his shock. The boar stamped the ground and charged, thundering forward through the brush. He drove through tangle and thorn, tusks tearing, hard shoulders snapping twigs.
Panic and confusion burst inside Shard and he flared his wings without thinking, shoving up from the ground. The bare, wiry birch caught his wings, tangled his feathers. Rowan limbs bent and snapped. He could not beat the air to gain height. He clawed at the trunks and branches around him like a panicked kit, like a lesser wildcat, a squirrel. A coward. More branches snapped under his wings. The boar rammed its shoulder against the birch. Shard clung and tried mustering a roar. Nothing came.
The boar struck again. Bark and birch twig fluttered to the ground. Shard shoved his hind legs against the birch trunk, leaped and caught purchase on a thick, twisted juniper. Only one leap off the ground, but the boar couldn’t reach him. It rampaged past with an evil, laughing squeal.
The colors of other gryfons flashed in the meadow beyond the trees. Braver gryfons. Einarr and Halven were already proving themselves warriors.
Roars and shrieks met Shard’s ears. Relief tingled in him, then shame. Cautiously he slid down from the tree, leaving long talon scars in the red trunk. He flexed his wings and found them undamaged, if a little bruised, and he felt calmer knowing he could fly. A broken paw mended easily. A broken wing mended with the help of a gryfon healer, or not at all, and being stranded flightless on Star Isle could mean death.
Shard turned toward the meadow, ready to make up for his cowardice.
“Only a fool would stand ground alone against old Lapu,” a female voice said. Shard whirled, hissing, and saw no one. “I’m glad to see you aren’t a fool, Rashard son-of-the-Nightwing.”
“Show yourself!” He turned in a circle, wings half open, though he didn’t dare try to fly in the woods again. All the other gryfons pursued the boar to the meadow. He was alone. A scent washed him, musky, woodsy.
Wolf.
When he stood still at last and moved only his ears he heard her, and turned.
In the woods she blended as well as a shaft of sunlight, or a shadow, or a leaf. The wolves of the Star Isle grew nearly as large as gryfons. Unlike the lesser beasts that ranged the little forests of the lesser islands, they also boasted bold coloring, had names, and spoke. What he could see of her coat was like the red heather of summer, but those spots in the sunlight shifted color like gryfon feathers, iridescent gray and gold. She stood under the tallest of the rowan trees.
“Who are you? Speak!”
She stepped forward, ears up, alert but not threatening, amber eyes bright. Her hackles remained smooth, her stance passive.
“I am Catori. Why do you hunt the great boar?”
“For meat,” he lied, then, thinking of Kjorn, angled his head proudly. “For the great kill, to prove our worth. For the glory of the king.” Even as he spoke he wondered why he was explaining himself to her instead of attacking, or leaving to join his fellows.
“Which king?” She stood rooted as a pine tree, inscrutable as the whispering birch. Shard hesitated. The wind shifted through the naked branches and pine boughs and seemed to echo her in tiny voices, Which king? Which king?
Snapping his gaze up, he saw only branches rustling in the whispering breeze, and birds. He looked back to the she-wolf, narrowing his eyes.
“The only king. Sverin son-of-Per, king of the Silver Isles.”
Her nose wrinkled, showing the sharp points of her teeth. “King of the Sun Isle, you mean. King of thieves. There is already a king on the Star Isle. Gryfons don’t belong here.”
“We belong wherever we wish. Wherever we fly. Fight me if you don’t think so.”
Movement caught his eye and he looked up. A raven sat in the branches above, bobbling back and forth and chuckling. Shard wondered if it the same as earlier that morning. Did it track me, tell the wolves, cause this trouble?
“I have no wish to fight you.” The wolf drew his attention back down. “Though you trespass here, and your king has hunted my family.”
“Trespass?” Shard forced a bold laugh, thinking of Kjorn. These islands belong to us. “As for the king, Sverin hunts wolves because you harry our hunts on Star Isle. It’s your own fault.”
“A vicious circle.” She tilted her head. “But which came first, Rashard, the mountain, or the sea?” Above, the raven guffawed and sidled on his branch, echoing her.
Shard hesitated and fluffed. Her answer made no sense, and yet with the words came a memory, the low and thrumming voice of a male gryfon. My father’s voice?
Which sprang first, Rashard, the mountain or the sea? Not even the eldest could tell, whether first came wave or tree.
“Which came first?” The raven winged to another branch.
Words Shard didn’t remember learning clawed his mind and he whispered, “The silence, or the song…”
“Not even the rowan could say,” murmured Catori, “had it a voice, and lived so long.”
Shard backed down two steps, wanting to flare, to fly, staring at the wolf before him. This was madness, all of it. He needed to return to Kjorn’s side.
Then an idea struck like skyfire. He could take a wolf as his prize today. Kjorn had said it himself. What honors might Sverin give me, then? He stamped a taloned foot.
“Enough of this wolf witchery. Drive me off if you don’t like me here. Fight me. I challenge you!”
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He snarled, flattened his ears and opened his wings. The wolf didn’t move. Then he saw why. More movement. More shadows. The scent clouded him and warbled growls and mutters mocked him from the trees.
Wolves surrounded him. He just hadn’t seen them.
“Now answer me truly, Rashard.” Her eyes glowed in the slant of sun. “Why do you hunt the great boar?”
Aching to fly, to escape, or to leap and fight, Shard shifted, unable to stand still. Why did I think I could hunt and fight alone?
His breath short, he answered the truth in anger. “To prove my worth as a warrior. To earn a place in the pride, so I won’t be exiled.”
“Exile,” murmured the she-wolf. He wondered if she would be so brave if she didn’t have the support of the wolves in the trees. He doubted it. He noticed, after seeing the raven, that Catori wore two long, dark feathers twisted neatly into the heavy fur of her neck. Only bird talons could have done that work. She was in league with ravens.
“Exile might not be so bad, Rashard.”
“Stop saying my name,” he snarled. “How do you know me?”
She turned one ear to the raven, who cackled and babbled his name over and over. “For your honesty, and for your family, I will tell you how to kill the boar.” Her amber eyes seemed mischievous, then fierce and sad. Shard grew alert in spite of himself. “He has had a life so long that he has outlived any kind of joy. Even we would be glad not to lose more cubs to his hooves.”
Shard lifted his wings. “We know how to kill the boar.”
She tilted her head. “Do you?”
He hesitated. It had to be some kind of wolf trick, to keep him away from the hunt, to keep him from helping Kjorn. But then, wouldn’t they have attacked by now? The vicious wolves Caj described did not seem to be the same kind of wolf that stood before him now, speaking with quiet reason. He also hadn’t expected the boar itself to speak. Shard feared more surprises. Do we truly know how to kill the boar?
The thought of attacking this wolf who knew his name, who had spoken as reasonably as any gryfon, didn’t feel right.
Today was about the boar, about Kjorn, about supporting Kjorn. If this wolf knew how to kill the boar, then Shard had to learn.
“Tell me what you have to say.” He lifted his head. A breeze sifted through the woods, ruffling his feathers. “Then leave me.”
She yipped a laugh, then, to his surprise, stretched down and lowered her head in a mocking bow. “Why, yes, great gryfon. Yes, of course, we will leave you to your most important business.”
More yips rose, then full howls of laughter. Their ghostly voices sent shudders through his chest and the skin under his feathers flushed. Then the red she-wolf stepped forward from under the rowan tree, her soft fur making her silent in the underbrush, until she stood so close he could have stretched a talon to her throat.
She wasn’t afraid of him, Shard realized. He knew then that she wouldn’t be even if she faced him alone.
That near, her amber eyes glowing in the sun, she told him what he must do to kill the boar.
~ 4 ~
Lapu’s Last Words
The small meadow roiled with gryfon colors. Old Caj and Kjorn burned bright, blue and gold like the sky, Halvden green as the grass, Einarr as copper as stone. The females stood at four points on the edge of the meadow to guard against the wolves they’d heard and to keep the boar from escaping.
Lapu, the she-wolf had called him. She told Shard to remember his name, that he would answer to it.
Shard loped into the clearing with a shrieking snarl and heard Kjorn answer in relief. The boar stood in a ring of the males, his hide barely scored from their claws. The gryfons panted strategy to each other over his head. They didn’t know what Shard knew. They didn’t know Lapu understood their words.
There were three things he must do.
You must not speak what you don’t want him to hear, the she-wolf had said. Or he will know your plans. Lapu is proud, the wiliest creature on all the Star Isle, and he does not know fear.
Shard shoved himself into the air, relieved that the meadow was wide enough. He keened a signal to Kjorn, whose head snapped up in surprise. Caj barked at him to come down—hadn’t he said they couldn’t hope to kill from above? But Kjorn listened. He leaped from the ground and Shard saw in dismay that his shoulder seeped blood under the bright feathers.
You must make him charge, the she-wolf said. In a rage, he is half blind.
“Listen, Kjorn, my prince,” Shard spoke over the wind, high where Lapu couldn’t hear.
“Where were you? We heard wolves!”
“I’m fine. Fly higher with me. We’re going to kill this monster.”
Kjorn peered at him, then huffed and followed him up. Shard told him what he knew, Kjorn listened with surprise, and they made their plan.
Shard dove down and landed on the far side of the meadow near Thyra.
“Nest-sister! Do you think the boar is too stupid to run toward the trees, or just blind?” He forced a laugh, speaking too loudly. Thyra swiveled her head to stare at him. Then she also saw Lapu the boar whirl, thrusting tusks at old Caj, who was nearest. The blue warrior leaped aside, hissing.
“What are you doing?” Thyra flapped her wings once, and Shard saw in her face she knew that Lapu understood them. “If he charges, we’ll lose him in the trees again.”
Shard flattened his ears. “Trust me!” He crouched. Lapu is proud. “Einarr!” The younger gryfon’s ears snapped up, heeding Shard even as Caj shouted at them. I must make him charge. I must make him charge. “Why do you think the other creatures of Star Island avoid this old beast?”
Einarr’s eyes widened and he looked from Thyra to Caj and then ramped up to his hind legs, flashing his wingtips wide. He locked eyes with Shard, doubtful, but in a ringing voice snapped, “It must be the smell!”
Shard laughed, breathless. Lapu shrieked and whirled, swinging his tusks. The gryfons took up the insults. Shard dared him, called him a coward. Lapu is proud. You must make him charge.
His heart beat the words. Why am I trusting the word of a wolf? She’s probably trying to get me killed. But if that were true they would have simply killed him in the trees when they had him outnumbered. They were using the gryfons to kill the boar. They wanted to be rid of him. Shard didn’t care, as long as it worked.
“I wonder why there are no young boars around?” He shouted toward the field, and paced four steps before crouching. “Maybe the old beast is too ugly. Or to stupid to find a mate. Or too blind.”
“His brain is made of stone like his hide,” one of the females called, and laughed. She squawked and darted aside as Lapu stamped and feinted an attac. Thyra shrieked in alarm as the boar broke through the male gryfons in the middle of the field.
“Shard!”
“Or not strong enough to get piglets on a sow?” Blood pumping wild, Shard flung his wings open, taunting, trying to draw Lapu’s gaze. The other males harried the old boar at his sides, but he spun and slashed with his tusks until they fell back.
Before Shard could think of another insult, Lapu lowered his head, bellowed a squealing challenge that rocked the air, and charged.
Shard’s breath left him. He crouched, digging his talons into the earth. I will not fly. Not this time. I will not—I will not. Gold flashed above him. He held his ground, flared his wings, lowered his head and hissed. To his own surprise, it deepened to a roiling, deep roar from his belly and then his chest, a sound like thunder over the sea.
Lapu’s red eyes flickered at the sound. His step caught.
I must make him charge.
“Second thoughts, coward?” The air shifted and rustled above Shard.
“Never!” Hooves gouged the earth. The boar pounded down the last length of empty grass between them.
The scent washed him. The sight of blood on those long tusks.
The gleam in tiny, wet red eyes.
I will not fly!
A ball of sunlit fire and fe
athers slammed into the boar from the side, sending him rolling across the dirt. The crash of their impact sent flocks of birds from the trees, crying alarm.
Thyra leaped past Shard. “Kjorn!” The others ran forward now that the boar was off its feet.
Shard stood shuddering, then blinked and surged forward, leaping into the fray. There are three things you must do, Catori had said.
Three things.
You must not speak what you don’t want him to hear.
Shard knocked Thyra aside. She fell back, surprised, but bowed her head to let him pass.
You must make him charge.
Caj stood in his path. “Move!” Shard bellowed, and strained his wings open to shove the blue warrior out of his way. He fell aside out of shock, then laid back his ears and shouted warning. But Shard was not clawing for glory. He saw only his friend, his prince, gold Kjorn rolling across the earth with an ancient, battle-scarred boar now mad for a kill. You must not speak. You must make him charge. Three things.
You must say these words.
Then the she-wolf had murmured gibberish into his ear. It was the language of wolves, boar, deer, and other mudding creatures bound to the dirt. He didn’t understand it. She’d made him repeat the murmuring, throaty words three times to her even though he didn’t understand.
You aren’t listening, she had said. It was wolf language. It was earth language, mud language, not spoken by gryfons; not spoken by voices of the sky. Of course he wasn’t listening. But he learned the words to say them.
Madness. I shouldn’t have trusted her. But the boar was down, and Kjorn was in danger. There was no other choice. He couldn’t take two steps down her path and then turn. It had to be done.
Kjorn shrieked in pain and Shard leaped over Halvden’s head, landing nearly on top of the gray and gold tangle that was Kjorn and the boar.
“Lapu!” Shard slapped talons against the stone hide. Lapu shrieked and bellowed. “Hear me!”
Kjorn flicked a narrow look to him, panting, half mad with hunt-anger and fear, his ear torn from a slash that could have taken his eye. Lapu gurgled, struggling to rise to his hooves. Shard skidded around to his head.
