By the Silver Wind (47 page)

Kjorn groaned, then, struck with a thought, called, “Caj!” The blue gryfon paused, looking back over his wing. “In the Winderost, did you and my father ever lose a fight to a lion?”

A moment of quiet, then, “Well. We were practically fledges.” He left without further explanation. Kjorn felt his own beak slip open to hear that Mbari’s wild tale was true after all, and he shook his head. Perhaps Caj would tell his version of it some day.

Thyra nudged Kjorn. “There’s a story in that.”

“Oh yes,” he said, and began to tell her.

W
ITH AN EYE NIGHTWARD TOWARD Pebble’s
Throw, Shard led Brynja in a low, fast flight over the endless pine forest. Now and then he spied the gnarled, twisting branches of a rowan, and he followed the trails of them over the woods.

A dark bird appeared out of the woods and glided under them for a time, then flapped up to Shard’s level.

“
Could this be? Do my weary old black eyes deceive?” The quorking, clattering voice was all too familiar.

“Ravens,” Brynja said dismissively.

“You’ll find different ravens here,” Shard said, eyeing the single, circling black bird.

When he realized who it was, fresh exhaustion washed over Shard. He would have welcomed anyone but the trickster and riddler, the dream king, Munin, whom he hadn’t seen in the flesh since he’d left. Still, he forced friendliness into his voice and called out.

“Your eyes see fine, I’ve returned. Hello, friend.”

“Ha! Friends, indeed, and such a lovely, lovely gryfess at your side, un-cursed Aesir!”

“What is he saying?” Brynja glided closer to Shard, ears perked. She tried, but could not always understand other creatures as clearly as Shard and the Vanir could.

“Nothing,” Shard muttered. “He likes the sound of his voice. Clever Munin,” Shard called, “I know it’s you, for you fly faster than your brother.”

“Such flattery. Such a sweet prince. Or . . .” He closed the last distance between them and looped around Shard twice, studying him with bright, fathomless eyes. “Or, or, do I spy a king? A silver king? If you were dragon-cursed, I think you’d be as bright as the son of the Red Scourge. Ha!”

Shard knew it would do no good to get frustrated, but he also knew that Munin made it his business to know important matters, portents, and patterns, and so while Brynja stared, Shard dipped his head in respect. “Munin. How good to see you in the waking world. Tell me, where does my mother wish to meet me? Will you tell us the tidings here?”

“Tidings? Tidings? The tide is in, the tide is in, but fire is in the water.”

Shard began to wish they’d taken one more meal at sea, but he hadn’t reckoned on untangling riddles upon first arriving home. “What fire?”

“The fire that buried Per!” he laughed. “The fire on Pebble’s Throw. Fire burns in the sea, snakes fly in the air while gryfons live under the river, under the stone. What days have I lived to see?”

“Great Tyr’s talon,” Brynja muttered, and Shard silently agreed, though he was happy she seemed to be understanding more now.

Still, he kept his voice neutral. “Is Catori about?”

“Is Catori about what? About the height of the shortest Vanir.” Munin flipped about in the wind, laughing. “Such dreams I saw over the sea, your band of war. Why don’t you weave them dreams of peace? Such dreams of war. They may yet come true.”

Never, in all his longing, had Shard imagined he would come home to this. Empty nesting cliffs, silent songbirds, no movement at all on the islands, except the creature which most liked to confound and frustrate him.

His words chilled Shard, though. Dreams of war. He hoped the raven hadn’t seen such dreams from Kjorn, or the other Aesir.

“I hope not,” Shard said out loud, then gave an exaggerated sigh. “Well, if you don’t know the tidings, I suppose I’ll have to find someone more clever. Someone who’s been paying attention. A gull, maybe, or—”

Munin guffawed. “Gulls! Speak of tidings, of tides. Gulls know of fish. I know of war. What tidings do you want to know?”

“The gryfons,” Shard said, his tail flicking. “How fares the pride? Where is the queen? Where is Ragna, my mother?”

Munin made a garbling noise as if he was in distress. “The silver king thinks I have time to answer all these questions. Oh, poor, lonely me. Only one me, only poor old me. How does the pride fare? The pride fares on fish, under river, under stone.”

“Madness,” Brynja murmured, amazed at how irritating the raven was. “I think I was better off not understanding.”

Munin looked at her, then made a low, crackling noise that Shard interpreted as trying to sound spooky, like tree branches in a storm.

“The queen waits on the king by the First Tree, and they both bend their ear to a serpent in the sky.”

“Munin—”

“Mind you look up!” He folded his wings, letting himself fall toward the woods, awking his long, echoing call across the tree tops. “Mind you look up, there are serpents in the sky.” He wheeled once, laughed, and left them, dropping into the pines.

Even though Munin had tricked Shard before, he was not so foolish as to ignore him. Especially when he spoke so relatively plain.

So Shard looked up.

Brynja shook herself, flapping steadily. “Serpents in the—”

“Look out!” Shard cried, as a massive silver form shot down from the clear air like skyfire. Shard folded a wing and knocked Brynja aside. She shrieked and fell back out of the way, diving toward the cover of the trees.

Shard halted mid-air, wings stroking to hover, and stared. A serpent in the sky, indeed. A silver dragon, a Sunlander! He’d never seen a dragon such a color in their dwelling, the Mountains of the Sea, though the black wings, stark against the lightening sky, reminded him of Hikaru.

Awed to see a dragon here, Shard ramped as best he could, flapping his wings in greeting, and called out.

“Sunlander! Welcome to the Silver Isles! I am Rashard, son-of-Baldr, prince of—”

A warm, musical laugh met his greeting. The dragon circled back and flew straight at him without slowing, his jaws splayed in wide laughter. Despite his silver color, realization shot through Shard’s heart that this dragon was as familiar as the stars.

“
Shard! Don’t you know me?
”

Before Shard could react, the silver dragon bowled into him, plucked him up as easily as a fish, and lunged higher into the sky.

Shard reeled, breathless, but didn’t struggle. His heart could’ve burst.

“Hikaru! Hikaru, my wingbrother!” Joy and confusion danced in his head, then just joy. He grasped his talons around a scaled silver wrist joint.

The dragon spiraled high, with Shard clasped to his breast scales, embracing him tightly. He had grown. He was twice the size he’d been when Shard left him, long enough for twenty gryfons to stand along his length, delicate and sinuous in build. Shard wriggled, desperate to pull away and see his friend.

Below, Brynja cried out in terror, and Shard managed to holler a reassuring call. “It’s all right! Brynja, he’s a friend!”

Hikaru laughed again, his voice rich and deep with a familiar cadence and the accent he’d picked up by learning to talk from Shard. “You didn’t recognize me!”

“No,” Shard gasped. “Your spring scales! They’re beautiful, Hikaru. You should let go, Brynja’s worried.”

“Oohh,” Hikaru purred. “That’s Brynja? I like her. She looks so strong.”

“Yes, and she’s going to attack you, Hikaru!” Shard wanted to laugh, could have wept, and at last Hikaru released him. Shard dropped, flinging open his wings.

Brynja soared fast toward them, her talons splayed. “Shard!”

“Brynja, this is Hikaru, my nest-son, I mean, my wingbrother.”

Brynja veered off from attacking to circle them and stare. “The hatchling? The dragon hatchling you told us about?” Though Shard had told her how swiftly the dragons grew, she looked amazed that the dragon he’d told her hatched over the Long Night was now the size of a fully-grown cedar tree.

“It’s an honor to meet you, huntress of the Dawn Spire,” Hikaru rumbled. Then his ears flicked. “I mean, of the Silver Isles.” He looked mischievously between her and Shard.

Brynja’s gaze darted between them in turn, then Shard was relieved to see her awe and fear washed away by breathless amusement. “The honor is mine I’m sure! Shard, should we get under cover?”

Before Shard could answer, Hikaru loosed a playful, challenging rumble, opened his talons in warning, then surged toward Shard as if he meant to spar right there.

Shard let himself drop, diving for two breaths toward the forest. To show off for Hikaru, he shifted his wings delicately against the wind to avoid stalling, and fell, seeming out of control, flashing his wings in an artful spiral dive. He had forgotten about being subtle, forgotten the wyrms might be in his home, hunting, forgotten about his mother and his pride and his fear.

For a moment of wild joy, it was only he and Hikaru again.

A tail-length above the trees Shard whipped out of the dive. Above, Hikaru laughed again and looped in happy circles against the wind. Shard smoothed his flight and stroked the air, regaining height to meet Brynja and the dragon, dazzled by his metallic silver scales.

As Shard turned, Hikaru took the opportunity to show off new things he’d learned—a series of increasingly elaborate spirals, dips, and turns, that looked to Shard like a dance, or as if he was battling and evading an invisible foe.

“Isn’t he incredible?” Shard whispered to Brynja.

“He is,” she murmured, but Shard looked over to realize she was watching only him, admiring, wondering. “I’m glad he’s here. Though I wonder why? And we should get under cover, as Istra said.” The words were pointed, and Shard came back to himself. There was danger. There would be a reason Hikaru had come. And Shard still needed to find Ragna.

“I thought I would never see you again!” Shard called across the blue air.

Hikaru slithered out of showing off and winged over beside him. “That was a silly thing to think. The world is so small.”

Shard thought maybe the world seemed small to a dragon, but he didn’t say that. “Tell me all that’s happened. Why you’re here, and your scales—”

“We’ll go to your mother,” Hikaru said briskly, and Shard noticed with a chill that his gaze slipped nightward, toward Pebble’s Throw. They had not heard another wyrm scream, which meant the beasts were hunting, in silence. “We should get under cover. We’ve been waiting for you. And Catori has waited, too, and—”

“We? You and Ragna, and who else? She’s met you?” Shard felt he couldn’t keep up.

“Let’s go!” Without waiting to explain or hear questions, Hikaru circled them once and dove to the nearest clearing. From above, Shard suddenly realized where they were.

“Brynja, this is where Kjorn and I fought the boar! This was our initiation . . .” he realized he had so much to tell her, so many secrets and wonderful places to explore with her in his home, and they had no time at all.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” she laughed at his hesitation and dove first, following Hikaru.

Shard admired the young dragon’s landing, how he flared and wound into a tidy coil on the ground.

“It’s beautiful,” Brynja said as Shard landed beside her, talons squishing in the mud and slushy grass. “I’ve never seen trees so large.” She raised her head to sniff, and Shard realized she was smelling pine for the first time, the sweet, heady scent of wet earth and evergreen needles. “This is the island where the wolves live?”

“Yes.”

“Speaking of wolves,” Hikaru said, lifting his head.

Sinking his talons into the slush, Shard turned to see a russet blur sprinting at them from the woods. Black feathers flicked from the heavy fur of her neck, amber eyes gleamed, her fangs showed in a wolf grin.

“My friend! Our Star King, our Summer King!” Catori stopped short of bowling into Shard and raised her voice in a howl.

Before Shard could greet her or introduce her to Brynja, hearty wolf voices answered the howl. A long, low song carried through the pine forest. Ravens cackled and called, and shrill bird voices raised a chorus. After the silence, the sudden cacophony sent shivers down his back. Shard had no doubt all the islands would soon know of his return.

“Catori,” he said, and they pressed their brows together, sharing a breath. Her fluffy tail waved and she sprang away, then back at him like a pup ready to play. “I want you to meet Brynja. We’ll pledge on the Daynight.”

Catori’s ears perked, then she broke into a panting grin and stretched her long legs out, bowing down. “A gryfess of warrior blood, to match our prophet king. A good match. Fair winds, Brynja of the windland.”

“Fair winds, Catori,” Brynja said, looking surprised and pleased at the friendly greeting and the honor Catori showed her. “Shard has told me all about you. His friendship with wolves of the Silver Isles helped teach us to befriend the painted hunters of our own lands.”

“This makes my heart glad.” She snuffled the muddy pine needles, ears twitching, and her gaze traveled behind them, as if seeking someone else. Shard took a deep breath. Meanwhile Hikaru kept an eye on the sky, his ears flicking, and settled his body in a wide coil around them, like a barrier.

“Catori, where is Shard’s mother?”

“They’ve been hunting. They’ll return soon.”

“Ah, good.” Hikaru ran his talons down his breast scales, peering into the forest.

A thought struck Shard at the mention of Ragna. “Catori, I must tell you that Stigr remained in the Winderost.”

She sobered, standing tall, and Shard stared at the black feathers she wore, needled through with regret. “I dreamed of Stigr. I feared you would come to tell me of his death, but I feel his love in the wind, still. I feel his dreams of home.”

“He lives,” Shard said. “But . . .” He told her of the wyrm’s attack, of the battle at the Dawn Spire. He told her of how he and Stigr had slain a wyrm together, and then how Rhydda cut him down. He told her that Stigr would never fly home.

Her ears slanted back, then shook herself, hard. “I will miss him. But we have all suffered loss in this fight against an old, old darkness. Stigr knew what risks he faced, but he is a warrior. I’m glad to know he lives.”