by Jess Owen
Shard flew high, at point. The first wave of gryfess hunters and initiated males followed in a wedge behind. He had never led a flight before, and felt as if every sharp eye behind him watched each nervous twitch in his feathers.
He huffed at himself. Me, nervous of flying. Sigrun often said Shard was born to fly, if nothing else. He fledged early, flew, could fly nearly any trick in the air that anyone dared him to.
If everything else about the settlement business failed, Shard decided, it would not be his flying.
Clear, cool morning air lifted him and he stretched into it, letting his wings relax and roll against every gust and updraft. Kjorn had once compared him to an arctic tern, small but swift. Longing to tilt into a roll, and dive spinning toward the gulls far below, he checked himself and glanced back and around to make sure the others kept up. Halvden and Einarr, also chosen by the king, proudly flew at the first points behind him, keeping pace better than the other full-blooded Aesir with their broader, slower wings.
Star Island loomed, enormous and bursting with green spring. A fortnight of scouting, squabbling and snap decisions had led them to a suitable nesting place on the windward face of the isle, mirroring nesting cliffs on the Sun Isle.
Shard keened a call to descend into the wind and stooped to dive toward the chosen gray face of rock far below.
The winds calmed the lower he flew, and were still by the time he touched paw to earth. Einarr lighted closer, and Halvden in a rolling lope farther off. The gryfess hunters landed and remained in a rough wedge, awaiting command with the other warrior males. Last to land was Hallr, a stocky, lumbering, gravel-voice warrior of blue-green coloring. Halvden’s father.
“All well then?” Hallr called across the flight. Murmurs of agreement. Ears perked toward the forest, a safe ten leaps off, now in bud and even deeper and gloomier than when they had hunted the boar. As everyone answered, Shard mentally reviewed his plans. He and Kjorn had exhausted each other with lessons on leadership over the last days. His wingbrother would see him succeed or kill them both trying.
The first order of business ought to be seeing to the dens, he thought, cleaning and digging them out deeper. His ear twitched toward the forest, though. A raven shifted in the trees and Shard raised his wings for attention.
“I think—”
“You lot,” Hallr addressed the young female hunters, who perked, “find provisions for the night. The rest—”
“I think,” Shard said, louder, voice catching against his heart in his throat, “that we’d be best off all scouting the field and forest for the next sunmark before we settle in. Wolves can appear without warning.”
Ears swiveled his way. Hallr looked as if Shard had told him he was a flying mouse. Hallr was almost twice his size, shorter but wider even than Caj. But somehow, Shard had survived wolves twice, alone, and the king had appointed him to this position for a reason. He met Hallr’s stare.
“You can begin in the woods.”
“There’s plenty of space between us and the woods,” Hallr said. Shard could see where the easy edge of arrogance in Halvden’s voice had come from. “A wolf who tries to ambush us by crossing that field will be sorry for it.”
“There are other creatures than wolves,” Shard said evenly. “And they know secrets of the Star Isle that we have yet to learn.”
The older warrior’s ear twitched and he looked away.
“Whatever you think is best. Of course.” Laughter edged his voice and Shard was almost there with him. Who am I, to tell an experienced Aesir conqueror what to do? Shard hated to question the king, but he wasn’t sure his appointment was the best idea.
But then, the Aesir hadn’t conquered the Star Island.
“Lead a group to the woods,” Shard ordered, more boldly than he felt. “Explore at least a league in, on foot. Find the best trail to the streams.”
Be sure of yourself, Kjorn had taught him. Or at least pretend to be. If you don’t trust yourself, no one else will.
Shard raised his voice. “Einarr, take a group along the cliff edge.” He glanced to the female hunters and picked the one who looked least doubtful. “And you …”
“Kenna.” She straightened, looking more attentive, her feathers rich blue-violet in the midmorning.
“Kenna,” he said, dipping his head. “Take a third group to the shore below the cliffs. Be sure there is no way for mudding paws to sneak up on us in the night.”
A few rough chuckles at his language filled Shard with relief. Tails twitched, gazes wandered. “Well? Go on,” Shard said, trying to summon up the way Kjorn sounded when he gave firm orders. “Back in a sunmark. The rest with me to the dens.”
To his relief and amazement, they went. Halvden followed his father and five others into the woods, Einarr chose four to patrol the long edge of the cliff, Kenna flew down with her group to the shore, and Shard led the others into the dens. There was digging, cleaning, and exploring to do.
For the first time since Sverin’s surprising appointment, excitement, not dread, winged in Shard’s chest.
The days slipped into lashing spring winds and pelting rain. What time the gryfons didn’t spend huddled in their caves they spent hunting and sparring. The wolves didn’t show themselves, but Shard was sure they watched. Ravens flew over the nesting cliffs, which the settling group had collectively decided to call Windwater. That was all there was to their new colony, it seemed. Wind, water, and the forest crouched at their backs.
On visits to Sun Isle, Shard didn’t speak to Sigrun about Stigr again, or ask any questions that might mean he was anything but thrilled about the thought of conquering Star Island. Truthfully, the more days they went without trouble, growing fit with the warm weather and easy hunting, the more he thought Sverin’s vision was greater than any of them could know.
And, Shard decided, why shouldn’t gryfons have a home on Star Island? As Shard relaxed, so did the others. Their patrols became shorter. Their wanderings into the woods less alert. They ranged farther and farther starward into wolf territory to find prey.
The sliver of moon grew to a fat egg moon that hovered in the day and night sky. Shard watched it rise from his den, but always turned his face from it before he fell asleep.
“Shaaa-aard.” Kjorn flared a wing in Shard’s face to get his attention. Kjorn, Caj and others from the Sun Isle flew to Star Island every other day or so to practice fighting. “What’s the matter with you today?”
The full moon. The moon tonight. Shard shook his head and faced off from Kjorn again, assuming a crouched, fighting stance. He hadn’t decided whether or not to fly to Stigr, and the indecision drove him to distraction.
“I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.” That much was true. Ever since coming to Star Isle he suffered restless nights with vivid dreams that he forgot on waking. He was sure most of them involved wolf teeth and ravens, feeding.
The golden prince swiveled his head, studying him closely, blue eyes keen. “You aren’t getting off so easy. You need more help than most of the fledges.” He snapped his beak and trilled, amused with himself. Shard gave a weak huff and chuckle, wishing it wasn’t true.
Around them, gryfons sparred. Furrows and claw marks bruised the field of high yellow grass and brave spring flowers. For once, the wind was still and the day warm and dry. At the far end of the field, Caj demonstrated movements to fend off up to three attacking wolves.
Hallr and Halvden stood off to the side, muttering. Shard perked his ears. Watching them, he thought of the father he didn’t remember. Sigrun never allowed Shard to ask if his father had been a warrior, or, a great flyer, like Shard. Shard wondered about the exile Stigr. My uncle.
Though the settling seemed to be going easily, Shard felt unease grow with each warming day. Why, seemed the silent question among all the gryfons, hadn’t the wolves attacked them?
Kjorn was watching him, and Shard pretended fascination with Caj’s fighting technique.
“He’s amazing,” Shard murmured. Kjorn ruffled besid
e him.
“He taught my father to fight, and me. While you were off flying, he taught fighting, that’s all. You just need practice. You should ask him for help.”
Shard’s ears flattened and he swiveled away. It was almost middle mark and the horizon was crisp, pale blue. “He would laugh.”
“Why? He’s your mother’s mate. Your nest-father, if not your true father.” Kjorn sat, seeming to accept that Shard wouldn’t be sparring more at that moment. “And my father’s wingbrother. And you’re my wingbrother.”
“That doesn’t amount to him owing me any special treatment.” Shard clawed loose a root of grass, and yelped when Kjorn nipped his shoulder to keep his attention.
“He’s training everyone. If all of our warriors are prepared, then skirmishes here will be no trouble. I’m sure he’d even be pleased if you asked for his help.”
Shard looked across the field at Caj again. The gryfon whirled and fought like cobalt skyfire, fast and wily for his age. His younger foes were quick and numerous, but he seemed to know how they would attack even before they did.
“He leaves himself open,” Kjorn muttered. “He knows what they’ll do because he makes them do it. See, there, to draw them in, then—”
They both winced when one of the young “wolves” took the bait of Caj’s exposed flank to lunge. The blue gryfon whipped about, swiping talons inches from the younger one’s eye. He often went for the eyes, the only sure weakness of any creature.
“I’ll never fight like that,” Shard whispered, fanning his tail.
“Well.” Kjorn stood again, looking intent on joining that group. “Caj will never fly like you. But you’d better do your best.” He peered at Shard, ears perked. “I don’t plan on losing my wing brother on this cursed island.”
Far afield, Halvden and Hallr turned and lunged into flight toward the forest. Shard shifted, but decided against speaking up. If they wanted to patrol, he didn’t need to stop them. The father and son were the best fighters of their little settlement, so he certainly couldn’t demand that they stay to spar. They flew nightward.
Shard narrowed his eyes, and Kjorn nudged him.
“Shard, I said, why don’t you go sort yourself out,” the prince murmured, and his next words were amused, but worried. “You’re useless today.”
Shard forced a chuckle. “I know. I’m…going to fly a patrol. Make sure Caj doesn’t bruise Einarr too badly for me. I think he’s the only one here who takes me at all seriously.”
Before Kjorn could answer, Shard sprang from sitting into flight, wings beating hard in the still air. He followed the cliff face, soaring low along the coast until the cliff dwindled into broken rock and a long grassy beach that built itself back into forest farther inland.
Shard glided around the rocky coast to the gryfess settlers’ favorite spot for hunting. The silvery gravel-strewn beach lead to sloping lowland, bursting with yellow and violet flowers. Thanks to his mother, Shard knew their names and what they were good for, besides sheltering rabbits. Spring runoff found its way to the sea in a hundred broken streams, which Shard supposed sourced somewhere in the heart of the isle.
Keeping his flight low, he peered along the coast and into the woods. It hunched, dark and still. He saw scattered deer, birds quarreling over nesting materials and even, once, what he thought was the shadow of a young boar.
Thank you for my good death, brother.
Shard took a deep breath, angling higher to regain the height he’d lost on his long turn around the edge of the island. On his right stood the Star Island, and to his left, Sun Isle, where he could see motes of color flying about their business. The other smaller islands spread in a neat line before him, Black Rock last among them on the nightward edge of the scattering of isles.
Glancing toward Star Isle, Shard pushed back a flicker of guilt for lying to Kjorn about where was going. But he had to scout Black Rock in the day if he ever planned to fly there at night, and pretending to patrol was the only way.
The king’s words floated through his mind. Wingbrothers should never have to wonder where the other has gone. But Shard couldn’t explain to his wingbrother why he wanted to see Black Rock Isle, after so long, not caring about it. No. For now, it has to be secret.
It took a whole sunmark to fly there, hugging the chilly northern coast of the Sun Isle. It would have been warmer, but slower, to fly the windward route, and he might attract attention from gryfons in the nesting cliffs. He didn’t need any more attention. Shard rose higher as he drew near, better to see the lay of the island.
It appeared to be nothing more than its namesake, black rock. Shard fidgeted his talons together as he peered down. There was no feature to it, no woods, just some stunted grass and a clump of stubborn juniper here and there but otherwise bare as the tumbled rocks of its neighboring isle, Pebble’s Throw.
The surface had an odd gray tint and roughness to it like shale. Was the island active with earthfire, like Pebble’s Throw? Shard had never seen an eruption, only some slow red trickles of liquid fire that ran themselves cold into the sea.
Shard didn’t fly too low, in case Stigr was there, or some other beast. Circling once, he figured a gryfon could walk across the whole island in less than a day. Tiny, compared to Sun Isle, which had reaches Shard hadn’t even explored; the great hills beyond their nesting cliffs, rivers, the stark White Mountains and the barren coast beyond.
Having made his circuit, Shard decided the windward side of Black Rock, in the lee of the Sun isle, would be more habitable for a gryfon.
If he went at all that night, he would start there.
With the island scouted, Shard turned into the wind, stroking the air to gain height. They would be wondering about him. Maybe. Shard suspected that no one particularly noticed when he wasn’t there, since they scarcely listened to him when he was. Young Einarr made an effort, and violet Kenna, but both were easily swayed by louder words from Hallr.
Shard narrowed his eyes, letting the cold, higher air give him energy. The king had appointed him this post. He would see it succeed.
As he arrived again over Windwater he saw a large knot of gryfons gathered near the cliff edge. Caj and Kjorn were not in sight; it looked like sparring was over for the day. He would have no support from them if something was wrong. Shard tried to imagine himself as strong, sharp ice, and stooped in a quick descent to see what was happening.
“Aside.” He shouldered a young female and another male, who blinked at his tone and shuffled away. Others parted for him. “What’s going on here? We have patrols, and hunting—”
Hallr stood over the bloody carcass of a young wolf. Shard tensed, wings lifting, and disturbing relief washed him when he found he didn’t recognize the fierce, lifeless face. He snapped a look to Halvden.
“We were attacked?”
To his surprise, Halvden’s gaze flickered to Hallr, and the older gryfon answered for him. “In the woods. My son and I were hunting, and this one had at us.”
Shard tried to lock a stare on Hallr that would rival Sverin’s. The turquoise gryfon met his eye calmly until Shard had to look away, back to the dead wolf. It was large, no doubt, fur silvery blue, hinting at violet where the wind flickered through it.
Maybe it did attack them, Shard thought, anger crawling up his spine as he remembered Ahote and Ahanu attacking him. Another, odd irritation crept through that thought. But Hallr ranges too far into wolf territory.
Every gryfon stared at him, waiting for his response.
“A mighty kill,” Shard finally said, his gaze traveling the length of the wolf body, down lanky forelegs that ended in paws yet too large for them. A young wolf. Foolish, maybe, thinking to drive gryfons off his hunting ground.
What do I care? Shard thought wildly. Young, old, a wolf is a wolf and our enemy.
We lived here peacefully, Ahote and Ahanu had told him. But Shard didn’t know if that was the truth.
This is vengeance.
For our brother, Ahanu had
said. Our nephews, all our kin—
Shard shut out the memory, tore his gaze from the dead wolf and reformed himself as strong ice.
He lifted his head, addressing all. “We will restrict our hunting to the windward banks of the river.”
Hallr chuffed. “Because of one wolf? Are you afraid of them, son-of-Sigrun?”
“There is no reason,” Shard ground out, “to go so deep into wolf territory. Spring is here. The forest overflows with game in every direction.”
“Shard,” Halvden began, and Shard snapped his beak, opening his wings as anger lunged like an alien creature through his body.
“You will bring them down on us!” The voice felt not his own, roiling deep from his chest, as it had when he faced Lapu. Tall, bright Halvden crouched back, ears perked in surprised attentiveness. “There is no reason,” Shard repeated, struggling at the anger in him that felt almost not his own, as if another claimed his voice and muscles. “No reason. When they’ve left our settlement alone.”
“Shard,” Hallr rumbled.
Shard whirled on him, ramping up to his hind legs. “Hallr,” he snapped. “The king chose me. Heed. Restrict your hunting windward.”
“The king will hear of your cowardice,” growled the old warrior.
“Then the dishonor will be mine. Not yours.” He looked around at the assembled and saw that most of the young gryfons had backed out of their semi circle, some closer to Hallr, and some to Shard. “All of you. This is my post by Sverin the king. Heed my decisions, or face the consequences.”
Bold words, a nattering voice in him mocked, sounding almost like the raven. How will you back them up, when insolence comes to call? Who are you, to order this warrior around as if he were a fledge?
Shard didn’t know. He met Hallr’s stare one last time, then turned and stalked away as Halvden stepped forward to claim the wolf meat and pelt.
He didn’t know at all how to back up his words without running to the king, and that would not do. He needed skills of his own. He needed something Hallr didn’t have, things Hallr didn’t know. He needed strength.
