“We would only get injured,” she said defensively, to answer Kjorn’s curious glance. He looked around as five of the new gryfons landed, reforming into a semi-circle around them. The second half of the group, shoving a bruised and disgruntled Rok up against Fraenir, closed the circle.
Kjorn gazed at the new gryfons. They were not Aesir. The tallest of them stood a head or two shorter than himself, and he watched as they folded their wings, the long, sculpted wings of sea eagles. Their colors ranged from gray to a variety of pale hues, almost white, and soft, dove browns. They weren’t Vanir either, he knew at once, there was something quite different, but a resemblance lingered.
Perhaps
, Kjorn thought as a pale female stepped forward, eyes narrowed,
the Vanir did originate from the Winderost after all, sometime long ago
. His mind spun, but that was wonder for another time.
“I am Nilsine, daughter-of-Nels, huntress and sentry of the Vanhar.” Her voice dipped in a rolling dialect, like the native gryfons of the Silver Isles, but much stronger, older, Kjorn thought. “Declare yourself.”
“I am Fraenir—”
“You are known, thief,” snipped a male from the ring of gryfons. “Fraenir, son-of-Lars. Frida, daughter-of-Frey. Rok, son—”
“So you know us,” Rok said. Two gryfons held him pinned. Nilsine looked mildly from him, back to Kjorn. Her eyes shone almost red, like the forest falcons he’d seen on rare occasion back home.
Home.
This was my home,
he thought again.
My true home. This was the first place my talons touched earth, this was the first air I breathed.
“You are known.” Nilsine looked at Rok again coolly. “I speak to the stranger.”
Kjorn inclined his head to her. “I am Kjorn. Son-of-Sverin, who is the son of Per.”
Her ears perked, tail twitched, but otherwise she gave no expression. “If that is so…” Her gaze traveled between Rok and Kjorn, surely wondering at the story—but she had to have seen them fighting, known that Kjorn had meant no trespass, was not banded with the rogues. “It’s an interesting claim.”
“My lady,” one of the gryfons holding Rok said. “Nilsine, look…”
She looked over and so did Kjorn, and saw that the warrior had lifted the gold chain in one talon. Rok snarled.
“Well.” Nilsine looked back to Kjorn. “Perhaps. Time will tell. If it’s true, then welcome home.”
Not feeling entirely welcome, Kjorn stood tall under her searching look.
Her gaze rolled to the sky, searching. “I see no warriors with you. Lost at sea?”
The cutting edge of her voice didn’t seem mocking, but Kjorn couldn’t name the tone. It almost sounded like disappointment. That gave him a little hope.
Perhaps there are some who would be happy to see me…
“I’m alone,” Kjorn said.
One ear laid back, then she cocked her head. “This land is in turmoil. Your forefathers chose to forsake it in the hour of need, and others have taken your place. Now you return, declaring your true name and heritage as if you expect to deserve something.”
“I don’t expect anything,” Kjorn said. The female’s cool, powerful demeanor reminded Kjorn of Thyra, and his heart ached for home. His old home—the Silver Isles. Or at least his mate. “I’m looking for my wingbrother, Shard, also of the Silver Isles.”
“I don’t know that name. If he was traveling alone, he might’ve passed this way like a rogue and we wouldn’t have known.”
“You would have known,” Kjorn said wryly, “if he’d come this way. He’s memorable.” At her un-amused look, he dipped his head again, remembering that he was not a prince here. “I’ve come only to search for him and I ask leave to do so in your lands.”
Nilsine regarded him again, as if to determine whether he was telling the truth. “It’s not my leave to give. The council will deal with you. You’ll come with us.”
“Good,” Kjorn said. “Yes, take me to your king.”
Nilsine eyed him sideways and laughed. “King?”
Kjorn hesitated. “Your…leader.”
She shook her head, opening her wings. “You have much to learn.”
“S
h
ARD!
I
WENT SWIMMING
!”
Shard blinked out of a dream. In the dream, he’d stared into a pair of blind eagle eyes, staring hard through him, and had heard a voice whispering, asking if he was the Summer King.
He hadn’t been able to answer, in the dream, but he felt as if the milky, un-seeing eyes searched his heart still.
He sat up and shook himself. “Did you?”
Hikaru undulated around him, flicking water from every scale and off his silver mane. “It was wonderful! But I don’t like this taste. Is it salt?” He smacked his jaws. “Sea salt? Here.”
Proudly, the young dragon deposited a fish in front of Shard’s beak.
“Oh!” Shard shook his head of the dream and the whispering voice, invigorated by Hikaru’s happiness. Eyeing the horizon, he got his bearing on dawn, still a mark or so off. Like Shard, it seemed Hikaru enjoyed those few dark hours before the sun came up, as if all the earth held its breath and waited. “Well done. Did you go very far out?”
“No!” Hikaru coiled around him and told the tale of his early morning fishing, while Shard picked apart the fish. He savored the meat. After their ordeal in the cave, he would always be grateful for fresh meat. Silently, he thanked the fish for its life.
“Must we go?” Hikaru asked when Shard had finished and stood to stretch his legs and wings. “It’s so wonderful here, and the more I think of it, the worse it sounds everywhere else, with wars and Nameless wyrms and lies, and all of that.”
“It is wonderful here, Hikaru.”
“Can we stay?”
“For a little while. So you can get stronger.” He eyed Hikaru’s growth, the strong muscles forming under his feathers after long days of flying, the long curve of his neck and budding horns. Equal in strength and energy to a gryfon fledge, Shard thought. Soon he would be ready for a flight over the sea.
Hikaru seemed satisfied with staying a “little while” longer, and ruffled his wings happily. “I remembered another song.”
“Sing it to me,” Shard said, and Hikaru did.
A chilly wind crisscrossed them from the shore, and Shard thought of the warm fires of the Dawn Spire. Perhaps the dragons of the Sunland would know more about fire—if they were even willing to share the information. The memory of Amaratsu’s story about the dragons troubled Shard. If they had indeed sequestered themselves away from the world to avoid greed and violence, Shard didn’t know what they would think of a gryfon coming to them again. But for Hikaru’s sake…
“Come fly, Shard,” said the dragon, his face looming down in front of Shard’s. “You look worried. And you always look happy after we fly.”
Shard ducked his head, and chuckled. “Yes, you’re right. You’re right of course.”
Hikaru warbled and uncoiled, slithering around into a long line before leaping from the cliff where they nested. Shard watched him take off. Still a little rough, finding the wind, and controlling his strokes. Shard leaped out after him, then climbed higher. He soared up, and up, with Hikaru laughing below and encouraging him on.
Shard’s purpose was not mere practice or fun. He stroked up until the air grew thin and he could see the vast lay of the forest and the line of the marshland beyond. All lay dark in morning starlight still, and Shard relaxed his gaze, scanning only for movement.
A grim haze still clung to the farthest horizon, the ash and smoke from the Horn of Midragur. He saw no sign of the wyrms. Tilting his wings to bank around, he scanned the distant sea for land or flying creatures, or some other vision he might not expect, but the waves and sky lay empty as far as he could perceive.
With a breath of relief, he tucked his wings and fell down through the cool air. Hearing Hikaru’s squeal of delight, Shard folded himself like a falcon so the wind wouldn’t stall his wings. Showing off his speed, he adjusted his angle to aim for the water, far out from shore. A sea dive still quickened his heart. Any number of things could go wrong. But he’d done it before. He closed his eyes and stretched out his talons.
The water shocked him, the force like breaking through hard rock. Molded to a compact dive, he shot down through the water like a tern.
Bubbles exploded beside him as Hikaru plunged in beside him, shoving him back in a wave. Shard oriented to the dim light and swam up, up, broke the surface and gasped, streaming salt water. Hikaru’s head popped out of the water a leap or two away from him, riding a big wave, laughing. Shard sucked in a breath, and shook water from his head.
“Well done, Hikaru!”
The dragon laughed and made toward Shard with surprising speed. Something large bumped up under him. Hikaru’s tail. Shard gripped and climbed up to grasp the dragon’s wings gently, for Hikaru folded them and swam like a serpent through the waves. In that manner, he transported Shard back to the shore and bucked him off into the sand.
Shard rolled, snarled playfully and leaped back at him. Hikaru reared his head back, shook the water from his mane and displayed his long, fine teeth. When Shard kept charging, the young dragon whipped around into a coil, using his tail to deflect and shove Shard away.
“Good work,” Shard said, prowling around him. Hikaru weaved his head, tracking Shard warily. “But many foes won’t attack from the ground.” He shoved up and lashed at Hikaru’s face, only to catch his claws on a hard, bright horn. Hikaru had ducked his head. “Well done!”
Shard broke off, and they sparred until they were hungry. After another swim in deeper water, with Hikaru giving him a ride to shore, they watched the sunrise. They preened the salt from each other’s feathers as Tyr warmed and dried them. Shard combed his talons through Hikaru’s wings and mane, and the dragon vibrated with warm noise like a gryfon purring. Shard wondered if dragons did that naturally, or if Hikaru was imitating him.
“Shard,” Hikaru began hesitantly. “It’s so nice here. What if we stayed here forever?”
“Forever?” Shard twitched his tail, feeling edgy, for the dragon echoed a thought he’d had before.
“Yes, we could stay here, eating fish and swimming and flying, just us, with no wyrms to harry us. I know there’s a larger world, but I like it just fine here.”
Shard was quiet for a few moments, and Hikaru didn’t interrupt his thoughts.
The clear, windy morning should’ve eased his heart, but it only reminded him of the growing unease in the world. There were things he needed to do, or try, and he didn’t know what would happen if he waited or—as he’d thought more than once—didn’t do anything at all. But that was a cowardly, selfish idea. He’d thought once of trying to leave Hikaru behind, but the dragonet could help him in the Sunland. More than that, Hikaru’s destiny was not Shard’s decision, and he’d made a promise to Amaratsu. When he truly pictured the idea of staying at least the single year of Hikaru’s life on that safe shore, he knew it might have been wonderful.
But it was also impossible to leave things, forever, as he had. He’d made promises.
Sharp determination swooped through him. He would see Kjorn again and resolve their differences, their kingdoms, and the wyrm’s silent war on the Aesir.
He would avenge Stigr. He would see Brynja again.
Cold waves crawled over their hind feet and tails.
“We have to go,” Shard said quietly.
Hikaru’s claws went still against Shard’s feathers. “I understand,” he said. “I know we do. But I don’t understand why. We have peace here.”
“I know, Hikaru.” He craned his neck to meet the young dragon’s large eyes. “We do have peace. You and I. But not everyone does. And that is why we must go.”
Hikaru lowered his head, considering that.
After long moments, broken by the unnerving cries of sea birds that sounded, to Shard’s ear, like gryfon kits, the dragon raised his head to a proud angle. Sun broke the horizon in silver and gold, outlining the waves, the cliffs, and Hikaru in light.
“I know you’re right. And I’ll make you proud, Shard. We’ll speak to my kin in the Sunland, and they’ll help. They’ll know what to do. We’ll make everything right. I had a nightmare of the wyrms last night and I was being cowardly, but I know you’re right.”
Shard nodded once. Not so very long ago, he’d had fine, simple plans like that, too. He didn’t dare dim the fire in Hikaru’s heart by suggesting it might not be all that simple. He would need every bit of that fire to make the long journey, to keep his hope bright, to say what he needed to say.
“Remember, when we meet the other dragons, you are Amaratsu’s son, Hikaru. She told me that’s how dragons introduce themselves.”
Hikaru’s head bobbed, eyes gleaming. Then he stilled. “And I shall introduce you as my brother. I want them to know. I want everyone to know.” The dragon extended one long black wing, and a jolt skipped down Shard’s spine as he met Hikaru’s gaze. “Since we are not brothers by blood, then we’ll be brothers by vow. I remember.”
“You remember?” Shard didn’t open his wing yet, though Hikaru watched him expectantly.
“The wingbrother vow. It was one of the first rhymes you taught me when I hatched. “
Shard had no memory of saying it. He must’ve sung all the songs and tales he knew and unknowingly included the wingbrother pledge.
But Hikaru was right. If anyone, anywhere, asked him, Shard would say without hesitation that they were brothers.
And there in Tyr’s light, he would swear it.
Haltingly, thinking briefly of Kjorn, he opened his wing to eclipse Hikaru’s narrow black feathers. In no history or tale that he knew of did a gryfon have two wingbrothers—but neither did any history or tale say he couldn’t. Nor did any say he couldn’t pledge to someone who wasn’t a gryfon.
“Wind under me when the air is still.”
Hikaru watched his face solemnly. “Wind over me when I fly too high.”
“Brother by choice,” Shard said.
“Brother by
vow.
”
Tyr’s light glowed around them, and Shard pressed his wing to Hikaru’s.
“By my wings,” they said together, eyes locked, “you will never fly alone.”