Song of the Summer King

by Jess Owen

  Shard blinked, staring as Kjorn, with a groan, rolled to his feet. “You’re not …”

  “I’m furious,” Kjorn whispered, then shook himself of pine needles. “But I understand.”

  A strange calmness crept into Shard. He should have known his wingbrother would understand. Of course he understood. Shard let his beak open but no words came. “You won’t tell your father?”

  Kjorn laughed, sharp, single and harsh. “No. But you have to stop. Halvden’s mother has been banished. You have to stop flying at night.”

  “Halvden’s …”

  “Mother,” Kjorn said, flexing his wings to test for bruises and breaks. His face darkened. “This morning she left a fish outside my father’s den as an insult. Then she flew to Windwater to tell Halvden that now she was free of his father, she wouldn’t pretend to be an Aesir anymore. She said, ‘The song has been sung.’”

  Shard shifted his talons against the pine needles. Catori had asked Stigr that. The song has been sung. Ragna the white Widow Queen, trying to call forth the Summer King.

  My mother, he realized. She was trying to tell me who I am.

  Kjorn rounded on Shard, tail ticking back and forth. “A traitor, Shard. So Caj has us practicing battle against our own kind in case there are more. And then I learn that you’ve been flying at night.”

  “To …” Shard let the lie fall to the ground and spoke the truth. “To meet an exiled Vanir who helped me learn our ways. To make myself stronger. I did it for your father,” Shard whispered. Our ways, his mind babbled back at him, like a raven. Am I a Vanir? “I did it for you.”

  “I think,” Kjorn murmured, standing close enough now that Shard remembered he would never grow as tall or strong, “that I believe you.”

  The breath left Shard. “Brother, I shouldn’t have let things go so far.” Already the wolves and their singing and his conversation with Stigr seemed a distant thing.

  “No. But here you are, now. That’s all that matters.”

  Straightening, Shard extended his wing, speaking the words of the wingbrother pledge. “Wind under me when the air is still.”

  “Wind over me when I fly too high,” Kjorn murmured, stretching his wing to eclipse Shard’s, though he didn’t quite meet Shard’s eyes.

  “Brother by choice.”

  “Brother by vow.”

  They spoke the last words together. “By my wings, you will never fly alone.”

  Prompted by such sudden relief at Kjorn’s grace Shard blurted, “I know where the wolves make their den.”

  Instant regret drowned his mind, amber eyes, the faces of the young wolf pups.

  Where will you stand? Rumbled the wolf king’s voice.

  The prince’s eyes lit and he searched Shard’s face, then seemed to let the reason go. Unquestioning. A true wingbrother. A true prince.

  And here I stand, one foot on the Sun Isle, and one in the wolf den. And traitor to both. He didn’t feel right about keeping information from Kjorn or from betraying the wolves’ trust.

  There must be an answer. Mind awhirl, he barely heard the prince speaking.

  “Come,” said Kjorn, a wry edge to his voice. “We must speak with my father.”

  “You won’t tell him?” Shard followed Kjorn turned to walk free of the trees. “About me flying at night?”

  “No. But don’t worry, Shard. Even if he ever knows, he wouldn’t banish you.”

  Shard perked his ears, hopeful that he had finally made himself useful in the king’s eyes. Sverin must’ve seen his work at Windwater, or his new skills as a warrior and hunter. He must see that I’m loyal. For a moment Shard thought maybe his old doubts were foolish, and it was time to turn from wolf and Vanir ways altogether.

  “He truly wouldn’t?” They stepped out of the trees and a cool gust hit their faces. Kjorn laughed as he bounded forward.

  “Of course not.” He paused to glance back at Shard. “You’re my wingbrother!”

  The prince lunged from the ground into the sky to fly back to Sun Isle. Shard stood frozen, letting the wind whip his face. Wingbrother to the prince. That’s all I’ll ever be. He crouched to fly as Kjorn keened at him to hurry.

  Wingbrother to the prince. Son of Baldr the Nightwing. Son of Ragna the White.

  Prince of the Vanir.

  The Summer King.

  Who will you be, Shard? Stigr’s voice asked in his head.

  Somewhere in the woods a raven called, another answered, and the birds broke into chorus as Shard shoved from the grass to follow Kjorn.

  A storm hovered out to sea, checked by winds around the islands. When they reached the Sun Isle, Kjorn invited his father to fly with them to the birch wood. He told him that Shard had information to end the war quickly.

  As they walked under the dappled birch, Shard told all that had happened over the spring and summer, with a twist. It wasn’t a lie, but a half-truth. A riddle, a raven story. He told that the wolves hadn’t attacked him on the boar hunt, but instructed him how to kill Lapu. He told the king he’d been spying, that the wolves trusted him.

  He told everything he knew of them, which turned out to be very little, but it was more than any other gryfon had known of the wolves since the Vanir were conquered, and so the king was impressed and grateful.

  Doubt wriggled in Shard’s mind, but he had done all he could. Haven’t I been fair? I have to serve my king. I have to stand by my wingbrother.

  And yet. Even as he’d flown with Kjorn, Shard thought of a way to salvage what he’d done, and imagined himself strong as stone to see it through.

  At the very end, he told the king where the wolves made their den.

  Please let this work, he thought, watching Sverin.

  They stopped walking at a trickle of stream. Small animals fled their presence, leaving the wood silent and still, waiting for the next storm. Dry, cool wind brushed them, bringing the smell of the sea and rain. The king paced between two birch trees and his red feathers shocked against the pale bark and green summer grass.

  “A pity you didn’t take a mate. We need more clever warriors like you.” He drew up in front of Shard, tail swinging.

  He’s so tall, Shard reflected, though oddly Sverin reminded him of no one so much as the wolf king, Helaku. His golden eyes were like the sun, and Shard feared he could see everything Shard truly was.

  Staring back at the king, Shard saw in his eyes nothing but war, power, more land than they needed, and nests lined with dragon gold. Kjorn will be different …

  “Thank you, my Lord,” he whispered, lowering his head. Sverin lifted his beak slightly, measuring Shard, and paced away.

  In that moment, Shard knew he had done the right thing. It had to work. He wouldn’t really be betraying anyone.

  “Now,” murmured the king, eyes blazing in the dimming light. “Tell me, based on what you know, when will be the best time to attack them.”

  Shard met the king’s eyes and hoped his terror didn’t show. “Three days.”

  Three days. Surely, that would be enough time.

  ~ 24 ~

  He Flies in the Night

  That night in the rain, Shard flew. All through the cloudy sunset he had sharpened his talons, sparred, made an appearance at preparing for battle. Kjorn watched him and seemed relieved, but Shard didn’t speak to the prince at all, afraid Kjorn would see betrayel. As darkness fell Shard waited, waited, restless, and was grateful for the storm that drove the pride into their dens as night closed its wings around them. No one would stir that night. Not with the rain. Not with the battle so close.

  The rain that was soft on the earth lashed harder in winds above the islands, doubling Shard’s night blindness. Weary, wings aching from flying in bad conditions and no sleep, Shard angled himself starward, aiming toward the looming black lump that was Star Island.

  Once, he nearly dropped from the sky after falling asleep, despite the wind shoving him. Pumping his wings hard, he peered through the murky air and drifted lower. His wingtips b
rushed spiky pine needles and he snapped in frustration, unable to see a meadow or even the shadows of more trees. He would have to land blind in the forest.

  He flared, beating his wings to hover, and kicked his hindlegs down to feel what lay below. Three trees grew there, with little space between. Shard folded his wings and dropped, flared halfway to soften his landing, and thumped hard on wet pine needles.

  He ran in a circle, bumping his wings on rocks and trees, and released a rasping, breathless laugh. I landed in pure dark, in the rain! If only Stigr could have seen.

  For a moment there was nothing but the beat of his heart and his own breath. The rainwater rolled from his wings like a gull’s. He could have flown again without trouble, but it was too dangerous. He folded his wings and crept forward, feeling his way carefully, straining to hear.

  I’ll never find them in this!

  “Help me,” Shard whispered to the night, to Tyr who was far away in his daylight temple, to Tor, hidden behind heavy clouds. He lifted his face and shouted Catori’s name into the forest, his eagle’s crying ringing and then falling dead in the rain. He barely knew which side of the island he was on, if he was near their den or far away, close to the sea, or in the middle of the woods. He called for Helaku, for Ahote or Ahanu or the ravens.

  I should have brought Stigr. He would have known what to do.

  Feeling foolish and desperate, with his plan only half formed, Shard shifted his feet, and then lifted his face, forming a roar in his chest that he shaped into a kind of wolf howl, as Stigr had done. The low, strange note in his chest carried through the rain and the trees.

  All fell silent.

  Then birds twittered uncertainly, in the night and rain. Shard strained, listening for anything, anything through the constant patter of rain on leaves and pine needles.

  Voices, small, whispering, twittering voices flickered to him, soft as the rain.

  “He sings!”

  “He speaks.”

  “Is he a thief? A thief?”

  “But he sings.”

  “Like her.”

  “Like she who speaks to us.”

  Shard straightened and turned about in a circle, peering through the dark. “Who’s there? Who speaks?”

  “We!”

  “Us! Too small for him to see.”

  “He’s blind.”

  “No, he sees.”

  “He hears.”

  “He listens to all who speak.”

  “He speaks to all who hear.”

  “I saw him kill Lapu.” The whispers came from above, like little winds, moving about. Shard perked his ears.

  “I saw him fight Ahote.”

  “I saw him fall—”

  “I saw him fly—”

  “She calls him the Star King.”

  “I lined my nest with his feathers.”

  “Your chicks will be strong!”

  “Bold!”

  “Then we owe him thanks.”

  “Who are you?” Shard flared his wings, bashed them against two trees, and winced.

  “But he is angry—”

  “He is young—”

  “Be silent, fools. He is Vanir.”

  That last voice was lower, slower, female but cracked with age. Yet those voices all sounded more like the ravens than the wolves, more like gryfons or eagles.

  Birds, Shard realized, heart leaping. They’re birds. None of them are witless. I just haven’t been listening. He remembered the first time he had seen Catori, and those voices that seemed to echo her words in the wind. Birds.

  Movement ghosted in front of Shard’s face and he crouched back, hissing a warning. Then he blinked twice, and through the dark, saw a rare sight.

  A great winter owl landed before him on the ground, so silvery pale that her white face glowed through the gloom. Such creatures rarely flew out of the high snowy mountains on the Sun Isle before winter. She reminded him of Ragna. My mother. Shard lowered his forelegs in a bow and mantled his wings.

  “Please. I need your help. I am Rashard. Son-of-Baldr,” he nearly choked on the words, the first time he’d uttered his true, full name. “Prince of the Vanir. I must find the wolves tonight.”

  The owl tilted her head around until she peered at him upside down, then righted her face and bobbed once. “I see the son of the Nightwing, who was my friend. Follow me.”

  Deliriously grateful, trembling with exhaustion, Shard forced his muscles into a lope to follow the star-pale owl through the night and rain. Far off, a low wolf’s note finally answered his call, and his heart filled with dread and joy. It felt as if he ran for hours. Wet brush slapped his face, he tripped over tangles and rocks and rose again to follow the white owl as she flew silent and low over the ground.

  Then, he wasn’t running alone. A shape moved alongside him, shouldering him clear of obstacles, nudging him on. Catori’s breath panted with his, her familiar scent sifting faintly to him under the rain.

  She led him to the wolf den. The white owl flew off into the wet sky.

  Catori shouldered him out of the rain into a musty cave where he collapsed. He tried to speak but she set a paw on his wing, gently pinning. “Rest, my friend.”

  “No,” mumbled Shard, shoving to his feet. “I must speak with your father. I know when Sverin plans to attack.”

  ~ 25 ~

  He Speaks to All Who Hear

  “So this is your great plan.”

  Helaku the wolf king paced in front of Shard. Behind him sat Ahote and Ahanu, ears perked toward their father. The storm broken, faint moonlight glanced on them now and then between the trees and windblown clouds. Catori stood at Shard’s side.

  “I couldn’t think of another way.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t yours to think of,” Ahote snarled.

  Ahanu tossed his head. “We don’t need gryfons to tell us how to fight.”

  “Be silent.” Helaku perked his ears toward his sons, hackles lifting to make him look even larger, a huge indigo shadow. All around them rose the smell of wet earth. Thunder rumbled, the late summer storm rebuilding. Shard kept his wings folded, resisting the urge to open them so he felt larger and stronger.

  “There’s a cave entrance on the starward side of this island, but covered by tide during the day. On the low tide, you can lead your pack—”

  “I can flee with my pack, you mean.” The old wolf turned back on Shard, baring his long fangs. Shard lowered his head, wings twitching. “I don’t like this plan. I don’t think I like you. Stigr and my daughter spoke so highly, and had such hope, but I see that all the son of Baldr the Nightwing has amounted to is a strapling, bowing coward.”

  “I’m trying to avoid a war!”

  “Sometimes wars must be fought. Even your father fought—”

  “When he had no choice. Don’t you see? They know how you fight. They know where your den is because I had to tell them. Either way, they’ll come. In three days.”

  “So you say. Or you’re deceiving all of us, and intend to lead me into a trap.”

  “No,” Shard whispered, and heard Catori’s soft growl of disgust at her father’s stubbornness. “That’s not what I’m trying to do. You can be safe in the caves during the day, have the run of the islands at night without gryfon interference.”

  “Forever? Crawling in and out of the caves at night like rats? Or do you have a plan beyond tucking tail and running?”

  “I don’t know,” Shard whispered. The ghosts of Black Rock whispered from the corners of his mind. He realized now those dead kings and queens were truly his ancestors. His history. He had a responsibility to their legacy as well. “Yet. But I will—”

  “I don’t need a gryfon to help me lead my pack. It stinks of trickery and cowardice.”

  “Then I must be trying to trick you too, Father,” snapped Catori, lifting her ears and tail. “For I believe him. I trust him. My visions—”

  “Your dreams,” rumbled Helaku, “are fantasies planted by an old, defeated exile who is living in
the past. He has been turning you to his own devices since you were a cub. I respected Stigr once, too, but he has nothing left. There is no fight left in him, only wishes and dreams and the weak history of a conquered pride.”

  “And is that all that’s left in you, Father? Fight? Will you become like Lapu, witless and violent? Let Shard lead us to safety, and fight when the time is ripe!”

  “Silence.” Helaku snapped his jaws. Shadows stirred. More wolves emerged from their dens. Shard stepped forward, remembering how Stigr had addressed Helaku.

  “Great Hunter, if you’ll only listen to me—”

  “I listened to Baldr!” The wolf king’s roar silenced the forest. Shard stood still in shock. “I listened when the Nightwing promised me peace, promised that the wolves had nothing to fear from the Aesir, that in summer the Vanir would rise with the strength and honor of the Aesir and the old ways blended together. Yes, he had great visions too, your father, and so I listened and bided my time.” The great wolf stalked up so that his face nearly touched Shard’s. “But he died before he could keep his promises.” A jolt lanced down Shard’s spine as he stared into the wolf king’s eyes. Reflected there, he saw two gryfons battling in the sky, and saw what Helaku spoke of.

  “The grandsire of the prince you call brother killed him in mid-air, and he fell into the sea. I saw it. All his visions died with him there, and this I know for sure. You are no Prince of the Vanir, no Summer King. You are nothing at all.”

  Shard had felt it, felt his father’s death in his own skin, any time he tried to dive toward the water. He remembered knowing for certain his father’s bones and spirit didn’t dwell on Black Rock with the others. His body was lost in the sea. Trying to catch his breath now, Shard struggled against twin fears of the wolf king and reliving another’s death.

  “Don’t you see,” pleaded Catori, shouldering between them. “Father, Baldr wasn’t speaking of that war. The Vanir have a vision of the far past and far things to come. In summer. He was speaking of now, of his own son, and the pride that lives on the Silver Isles now—”

  “I will hear no more of this. No more Vanir magic, no more watery moon visions from my pups.” The old king paced away and his two sons stood, ears lifting. When Helaku turned to face Shard again, he looked as solid as a mountain, his sons at his sides.