by Jess E. Owen
That was a conversation for another time, and the crowd of gryfons was too great now to speak more.
Fledges leaped around, bowling each other over. “The hunt, the hunt! The Wild Hunt!”
A whirl of commotion fluttered above and around them. A member of the Guard called to Stigr, and he left Shard, promising to meet after to plan. Shard loped along with a group of gryfons toward the towering rocks that formed the nightward border of the aerie.
“Welcome all!” King Orn’s voice leaped over the stones and Shard peered around, squinting against morning sun toward the tops of the rock towers. He saw the tawny king standing tall on a far spire and lifted his ears.
“Our scouts tell me the herds of greatbeast have reached the border of the Winderost.”
Greatbeasts? Shard’s heart pounded harder. Those were something Brynja never mentioned. A small part of him wondered if it was the dragons, but knew that couldn’t be. A danger they refused to even speak of could not be the target of a yearly hunting ritual.
Orn spoke on in the rhythm of a reverent song, for the benefit of the kits and fledges who didn’t know, and, Shard thought, for him and Stigr. “Each year the greatbeasts migrate from the Horn of Midragur, windward to their wintering home. Great Tyr guides them with the lowering of his wings, urging them down through the Winderost to give us game enough for winter.”
Shard lifted his wings unconsciously. The Horn of Midragur.
A warm scent pulled him from further thoughts of his vision. Brynja had walked up beside him and any thought of distant mountains or even his horrible dreams fluttered away like starlings.
Her gaze was bright, and energy bunched in every muscle from her tail to her ears. He hadn’t seen her look so intent and friendly since after their first hunt together.
“Are you ready, Rashard?”
“To hunt?” Shard managed not to sound confused that she was speaking to him suddenly, was proud of himself for being calm. “Always.”
“To hunt the greatbeast. They stand three times as tall as a gryfon, and twice as wide.”
“If I ask, I suppose you won’t tell me what they are?”
She looked at him ruefully, and fluffed her wings. “Shard, listen, I’m sorry I haven’t been…well I’m sure you’ve noticed. I’ve just had a lot of things to think about.”
Shard’s heart quickened and he shifted a little closer to her. “That’s all right. Is—is it anything I can help with?”
Her gold eyes searched him and he saw a spark of doubt that seemed out of place. “Oh, no. No I don’t think so.” She took a deep breath. “I just want you to know I consider you a good friend.”
“Me too,” Shard said, bumping his wing against hers, happiness rushing to fill in all the holes of doubt and fear left by his dream. “We’ll hunt together today?”
“Yes. I’d like you to hunt with my family.”
Shard inclined his head. “I’m honored.”
Far above, Orn was still speaking of hunts past, of the dangers, of the traditions of the Wild Hunt, and the feasting that would come after.
Midwinter feasting.
The time had flown. In the Silver Isles, it would almost be the Long Night. No wonder Sverin was growing more fearful.
“The greatbeasts are hoofed,” Brynja explained, for Shard’s benefit, pulling him back from his thoughts. Orn finished his history of the hunt and sent the heads of families out to divide up the hunters into groups. Talk rose and comrades called to each other.
“Hoofed,” Brynja continued, to get Shard’s attention, “and horned, and stupid. Their meat can feed a whole family of gryfons. We store their meat in the salt waste windward of the Ostral Shores, and it sees us through winter, when the herds are sparse, and the—” she checked herself and corrected, “when the hunting is more dangerous.”
Shard reeled back to his initiation hunt, when Caj had lectured that the boars of Star Island were stupid and dangerous. “Are you sure they’re stupid?”
She blinked at him, tail switching. “Of course they are. Witless, lesser, just like the deer, the goat, the eagles—”
“The eagles aren’t witless.” Shard stretched his wings, opening space for himself, nudging away a rollicking kit who was chasing grasshoppers and calling them greatbeasts. Brynja had no answer but to stare at him, as if reconsidering her choice to stand by him.
“They have names,” Shard said. “They name themselves like gryfons.”
“Well,” Brynja said, narrowing her eyes. “It doesn’t matter for hunting the greatbeasts. But you might’ve told me sooner. Perhaps you can tell me more after the hunt. Any knowledge can help us, Shard.”
Shard flushed under his feathers, realizing that he shouldn’t have kept his knowledge of the eagles to himself, that their intelligence was important and possibly dangerous to the Dawn Spire. “I will. I didn’t think you’d believe me, or care.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Shard considered that. “I’m not used to gryfons being interested in my opinion.”
She gave a short laugh. “After everything you’ve done here? Of course I’m interested in your opinion, and the things you know, and the tales of your homeland.” She stopped, beak grinding a little as if she’d said more than she meant to.
“Then spend time with me,” he urged, feeling hopeful.
She had no answer for a moment. Then she spoke carefully. “Shard, it’s been difficult, getting away.”
“Away from what?” He gained some satisfaction from her exasperated expression. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are,” she whispered, and something flickered in her eyes that sent Shard’s heart pounding.
“Then?”
She stared at him, a strange expression growing in her face, then shook herself and twitched her wings as if to leave, but someone called her name. She and Shard looked up at the same time to see Asvander gliding in.
Shard suddenly wished he’d remained with Stigr.
“Brynja!” Asvander landed gracefully and Shard had to admire that, at least. “Hunt beside me?”
“Of course,” Brynja said, with a glance at Shard. A breath of silence passed before Asvander spoke again, and to Shard’s surprise, Asvander addressed him. “You’ve had enough time to consider, Shard.” He held his iron-gray head at a proud angle, but watched Shard with a spark of respect. “We hunt in fours. I’ve already asked your uncle. Will you join us?”
It would’ve been foolish to refuse him, Shard knew, to give in to his pride and seek another group. He had hunted with Brynja and Stigr and knew he worked well with both of them. He wanted nothing more than to pivot tail and to prove himself alone. But that would be stupid, and he would only prove himself stupid.
“Thank you,” he ground words out of his beak. “I’m honored.” He dipped his head and relaxed his wings in a very casual mantle. Asvander was, after all, First Sentinel. Seeing him stand close to Brynja ran Shard’s feathers the wrong way, and he turned. “I’ll find Stigr.”
“No need,” Asvander said. To Shard’s surprise again, he sounded pleased. He’s probably looking forward to an opportunity to make me look bad. “He already waits at the meeting rocks.”
“Then let’s fly,” Brynja said, shifting her hind paws. “I’ve stood still too long.”
Asvander laughed. Shard, feeling heavy, shoved into the sky with them.
Morning sun spread long golden wings across the red desert, the grassland toward the sea, and even tried to pierce the hazy gloom of the Outlands. Long shadows lanced the ground where rock towers rose.
Rising on a cool wind, Shard stared out across the plain. He couldn’t see the Horn of Midragur. How far did Hildr say it was? How far to fly, how far on foot for a greatbeast? All around him, dozens of gryfons rose into the morning, falling into bunches grouped by family.
“Brynja just told me you’ve killed a great boar?” Asvander winged up beside him. “I’ve heard of them in legend, but I thought they’d left this land long ago
.”
Braced for mockery, Shard saw with surprise that he seemed genuine, ears perked, talons relaxed against his chest. “Yes, whatever she said was true.”
Shard checked himself from adding more, and flattened his ears. He had claimed other things when he’d arrived, and wondered how often Brynja thought of that, if she did at all. She hadn’t seemed to mention it to Asvander.
“I believe you, if that’s what worries you.” Asvander’s voice drawled, confident.
I made a fast judgment, Shard thought, glancing at him, realizing with chagrin that he might be less like Halvden than Shard had first thought. “Anyway, today will prove your skills by the end, whether we believe you or not.”
“Are the greatbeast like boar?”
“They’re like nothing else on the earth.” Asvander laughed into the wind and the thrill of the hunt gleamed in his eyes. Excitement stirred Shard’s breast.
If only Kjorn could see it all. This hunt was more his birthright than Shard’s.
“Hunters!” roared King Orn himself from the front of the lines. Shard straightened to attention, falling into a diamond formation with Asvander, Stigr, and Brynja leading on point. He noticed groups of three males with a female to lead them, and then groups of only females, all in fours, but no males hunting alone.
As a group they were over three hundred strong, and flew in a giant wedge built of the small diamonds of four. Such precision, Shard marveled. Such discipline and skill. How could they fear anything at all? He shuddered at the memory of dragon wings stretched taut across the sky.
“Prove yourselves!” challenged the king. “My blood kin, we will harry the front. Blood of Ingmar and En, to the dawn wind! Blood of Maj and Oster, to the windward flank! Let each clan show their strength today!”
The names flew by. Arranged by family, diamonds of gryfons banked with talon-tip precision, drifted into new wedges and soared away, ready to circle around and pen in the greatbeast herd from the sides. When he called Maj and Oster, Asvander and Brynja led them to peel off windward.
They flew sometime in silence and the ball of nervous energy rolled tighter in Shard’s chest.
At last as the sun reached its first quarter mark, a cloud of dust lined the horizon. Shard squinted, straining to see through. “Is that the herd?”
“Yes,” said Brynja, her voice husky with hunt-thrill. “Our kin will harry in from the side and drive them to the king.”
Shard’s heart began the slow, thrilled beat of focused hunting, his wings taut against the wind, the rising sun warming his flanks. He saw with awe how many gryfons claimed kinship to each other, however thin the bloodline.
Mind awhirl, he found himself looking for those who might be kin to the Aesir conquerors in the Silver Isles. Brynja, Shard still theorized, simply had to be a cousin of Sverin, no matter how distant, which made her kin to Kjorn. He wondered at the name of Oster, and Asvander’s link to it, and if that land and family had any link to Caj. The bloodkin of King Orn himself reminded Shard very faintly of Hallr and Halvden for their heavy builds and the faintest flicker of olive green that showed itself in the tawny feathers under sunlight.
“Are you with us?” Brynja had glided in close to murmur to him. “Shard? I see a look in your eyes often, as if you’re staring across the sea.”
“I’m with you,” he managed, and she tipped one ear back in amusement.
“Where do you stare?”
“Home.” For a moment it felt as if he was alone with her in the sky. She gazed at him, curious, questioning, a little frustrated, he thought.
All she said was, “I need you here, today. Hunt well.”
“And you,” he whispered, before his tongue went dry.
King Orn’s triumphant eagle cry filled the air. The greatbeast herd had seen them and began to turn.
“Down!” called Brynja, and ahead, in another small diamond, Valdis echoed her, then another.
A female several formations to Shard’s left ordered, “Down, down, hunters to the windward flank! Drive them from the side!”
The formation shifted again. Shard caught Stigr’s eye and together they fell into a new, large wedge. The satisfaction of hunting at full pride-strength was like nothing Shard had ever tasted before. To feel his own muscles and mind working full tilt and then to know he was only part of a larger, living, hunting thing, with every gryfon as a vital organ, flooded his mind with delight.
Valdis flew at the head, directing the quartets of hunters, and Shard caught Stigr casting her an admiring look. He laughed into the wind and Stigr slashed his talons through the air.
“Mind your flight!”
“Mind your own,” Shard muttered, and chuckled. Stigr was unimpressed.
“Stay alert. I won’t see you survive wind and sea and Aesir just to be trampled by a witless hoof-beast.”
Valdis shrieked the cry to dive in.
Wind slapped Shard’s face as a hundred gryfons turned their wings and the air slipped around them. He laid his ears back, stretched his talons forward and closed his wings to a dive. He possessed longer, slimmer wings than the native, broad-winged Aesir, and had to open his feathers to keep from diving too fast, from shooting ahead of the formation. Tempted to sweep ahead, to roll and flip and turn, to show Brynja again every flight move he’d ever perfected, Shard caught a breath and focused.
Through the dust and the thundering of the earth, he saw the greatbeast herd. He saw that Asvander was right.
They were like nothing else he’d ever seen.
Hulking shoulders sloped down steep backs to form mountain-like creatures with short, powerful legs. Their black and brown fur glimmered with a strange red iridescence. Witless panic shone in their dark eyes and they threatened the gryfons by shaking their curved, black horns.
Mad bellows bounded through the herd as they stormed across the plain. Shard tried to discern if they were speaking. He hadn’t understood earth language at first, when he first met Catori and then fought the boar, Lapu. Only when he listened closely could he hear it and speak it.
Torn between twin desires of the hunt and curiosity, Shard decided it was wise to remain in formation with Stigr and Asvander. The hunt-thrill was too powerful. He wanted to slam into the nearest greatbeast and fight to his or the other’s death. He clenched his talons.
“Just drive them!” Brynja ordered when Asvander and Shard both leaned into the wind, targeting the same older, hobbling beast near the edge of the herd. “Drive them to the king!”
Shard exchanged a quick look with Asvander and they both loosed a nervous laugh, regaining themselves.
As one, the clans of Oster and Maj harried the massive herd from the side. Far across the mottle of dark, galloping beasts Shard saw distant gryfons swooping at the other flank of the herd. Those must be the bloodkin of Ingmar and En, Shard thought, recalling the king’s directions, trying to remember names, ranks, things that were important the Dawn Spire. He might need the information some day.
They harried the beasts until the broad-ranging herd formed into a narrower stream, and ran them across the plain.
Like tiring out a massive fish, Shard thought, his mind reeling. Twice he flew in too close to drive a beast back into the herd and another nearly gored him with a thrust of its horns. It was easy to lose the buoyancy of the flight wind, so low to the ground. It took quick wing strokes like a hawk, quicker thinking, better flying to stay aloft.
“Shard! Look at this!” Asvander’s whoop caught his ears and Shard looked around, peering through the dust. There Asvander crouched, clinging to the back of a mountainous female greatbeast. Wings open, haunches low, he looked for all the sky as if he were riding her.
Shard laughed breathlessly, annoyed and awed at Asvander’s nerve. The beast bellowed and Shard blinked, staring at her dark, bright eyes. Fury burned there. Shard’s amusement twisted to shame. These were Named creatures. He knew it. The hunt-thrill and amusement drained from him. He tried to catch Stigr’s gaze but his uncle had someh
ow found his way to hunt closer to Valdis.
“Get in formation!” Shard called at Asvander instead. “To the edge! Don’t be stupid!” To his surprise, instead of questioning, Asvander shoved up, slapping the beast with his wings as he rose.
“Stop that foolishness.” Brynja’s clear voice rang through the thunder and dust. Too many gryfons had seen Asvander’s trick, and wild laughter and shrieks battered the line of greatbeasts, and others tried Asvander’s trick. The neat edge of the herd grew ragged as beasts broke through the undisciplined hunters.
“Shard!” Brynja called desperately. “Asvander! Stay with the plan.”
Shard looked around and saw Stigr, finally aware of the problem and calling to the nearest gryfons to bring them to themselves.
“Wild Hunt!” Stigr spat. “Wild my foot, stupid is more like! Back in line and drive them on. I won’t be trampled by a mudding beast today!”
The combination of Brynja and Stigr brought the hunters back to the serious work. Swooping hard, Shard worked to keep driving the greatbeasts in a stream toward the king and his kin, who poised leagues away, waiting to attack. Female gryfons shouted instructions to each other, reminded each other of the plan.
The herd shifted and for a moment Shard couldn’t figure out why their direction shivered just a tail’s breadth in the wrong direction. Then he knew.
They had heard the plans.
Every word, Shard thought. “Brynja!” He glided in close, pumping his wings hard to stay aloft so low to the ground. “Don’t you see, they understand. They’re trying to turn away!”
“Then those on the starward flank aren’t doing their job! Ingmar’s line are ever lazy, fat fools…”
Shard wheeled away. He knew it wasn’t his place to correct them, or to even touch the delicate family squabbles, but he could see clearly how the hunt might fail. He looked around and saw a surprising face tuned in to him. Asvander.
