A Shard of Sun (19 page)

Mischief stole over the fox’s face. “You’ll see. Come. We will have food and maybe songs.”

Tingling relief threatened to make him collapse. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

Iluq laughed and trotted a circle around him, his wide, flat paws not breaking the crust of snow. “Come with me. You can fly above if it’s easier. We must go to the mountain.”

“I’ll fly,” Shard said, following the point of Iluq’s nose to see that he indicated the
far
wall of mountains. It would take two marks for him to hobble there. Much swifter if he flew and Iluq ran.

The lights wavered into pure, summer green as they traveled to the mountain. Shard wondered, with tingling anticipation, who the fox’s nest-mother might be, and then he remembered the milky eyes from another dream, eagle eyes.

Gryfon eyes?
Shard would’ve thought it impossible, but he was learning to use that word carefully.

He followed Iluq’s darting form across the valley until they reached the foot of the mountains, where Shard landed. There he had to walk, for Iluq led him up a narrow trail that cut into the mountain, and he would’ve been unable to follow by wing. Shard continually slipped and tripped on the snow, biting back curses he’d learned from Stigr, until at last they reached a crack in the mountainside.

“Home!” Iluq announced.

Shard’s first instinct would’ve been to carefully smell the entrance and be wary of danger or a trap, but he only stared at the familiar, orange light that glowed from deep within the cave.

“Iluq,” he said hesitantly, “is that…”

“Oh yes,” gushed the fox, “it is
fire
! Mother and I keep it alive. Mother learned from the dragons how to make it, but we must feed constantly, because it’s so difficult for her to make, now, and I cannot make it at all.”

“Oh,” Shard breathed, and they stepped inside. The scent of wood smoke sent his mind reeling back to the Winderost, the bonfires, and, with a warm thrill, the memory of the gryfess Brynja.

For a moment he closed his eyes, for with the smell of wood smoke came the memory of her scent. He savored his last good memory of her, her eyes bright as he showed her a sky brimming with stars, her voice warm as she confessed to admiring him. With determination he pictured her standing at his side on the Copper Cliff, as queen of the Silver Isles, and tried not to think of all the reasons why that part couldn’t be.

He didn’t know what became of her after he fled, Nameless, from the Dawn Spire.

“Shard?” Iluq nosed a talon.

Shard shook his head. “Lead on.”

They walked into the stone cave, and the warmth overwhelmed him. The thick smoke overpowered any scent of animal, and so he had to wait for any hint about Mother until Iluq led him from the tunnel into a cozy chamber. It was roundish, with a crackling fire in the center and an enormous stack of wood along one wall. Two wooden poles stood upright like bare trees near the wood stack, with smaller poles rising between them in rungs, bound at the meeting points with sinew. On those rungs hung drying, smoked fish. Shard tilted his head, studying the clever frame, and Iluq slipped past him toward the fire.

Little bones littered the edges of the cave, some fish, some hare, some bird, and some larger, perhaps seal. They looked ancient and dusty, as if larger game hadn’t been brought to the cave in a very long time.

One pile of bones in the corner beyond the fire looked to be a wolf or some other larger creature, but Shard couldn’t identify them through the smoke, and then, something else caught his attention.

A ring of wood hung on the rock wall behind the pile of bones, a long sapling branch warped into a circle, holding together a strange web that looked woven of thin animal sinew. Bits of shell dangled from it, and several long feathers, some gryfon, one enormous one that Shard recognized from his first dream of the fox. The work was too clever for fox paws. Maybe dragon, raven or, perhaps…

“Welcome.”

A voice drifted, like the smoke, to Shard’s ears, though it was so faint he could’ve dreamed it, like the noises from Tor’s Wings, or the whisper at the head of the valley. Startled, he blinked, peering through the smoke. The whisper. It was the same, only it had become words. She had called to him. Shard stepped fully into the cave and sideways, out of the stream of smoke that followed the tunnel out. Peering across the fire, he saw the milky, blind eagle eyes from his dream.

He almost fell back, so surprised to see her sitting across the fire from him. Distracted by the fish, the fire and the bones and the strange false web on the wall, he hadn’t even noticed her, and realized too that she blended perfectly with the color of the cave around her. Now, he tried not to stare. Never had he seen a creature so ancient, so thin that her feathers, which no longer held their hue, seemed only draped over her skeletal frame.

Foolish words came out despite himself. “You’re a gryfon.”

A dry, wispy chuckle. “Welcome, Summer King. My, how you shine. Like sunlight.”

Iluq padded around the fire and settled next to the ancient gryfess, looking pleased with himself.

The gryfess seemed oddly still—but then, Shard thought, it probably took every bit of strength she had just to keep breathing.

“Tell me about yourself, Summer King. Your name. Your land. What brings gryfons back to the Sunland.” She shivered. Iluq perked his ears, leaped to the woodpile and snatched up a few sticks in his teeth to deposit them into the fire.

Shard took a careful seat at the fire, favoring his injured leg. He would have to set it later. Hopefully they would let him use a few of their gathered sticks and perhaps, if there was no clay to be had, some sinew to bind the sticks to his leg. “I’m Rashard, son-of-Baldr. I’ll tell you everything. But first, please tell me about you. This…I don’t even know what to ask. Who are you? Why are you here?”

A soft, dusty wind shuddered through the cave, somehow, making the fire dance and their shadows flicker to life. “I am Groa, daughter-of-Urd.” She took a breath. The names sounded old, like something from a legend. “I flew here seeking treasure, seeking adventure. I followed a starfire.” Shard bit back a sound of disbelief. The ghostly creature looked ready to disintegrate. There was no conceivable way she’d flown, following the same starfire he had.

Unless she
hadn’t
followed the same…

He guarded his voice. “I, too, followed a starfire. How did you…” He didn’t want to insult her, and stopped.

Amusement crinkled the corners of her blind eyes. “You don’t understand. I didn’t follow the same starfire as you, this autumn past.”

Shard watched her face, his amazement and understanding growing. Wind whispered and flittered through the cave and Shard tried to determine where it was coming from, then shifted closer to the fire. “Others have told me that it only flew once before.”

Groa fixed her blind eyes on him steadily as if, through the fire, she truly saw him. “Yes. I flew when last the starfire soared. I flew with the first band of gryfons to come here and meet the dragons.”

A quiver encompassed Shard’s entire body. “You mean…”

“Yes.” The fire shivered as Shard met her unseeing gaze. “I flew with Kajar.”

T
HE WARM, RED, MEAT
scent of pronghorn floated to the spot where Kjorn crouched in the grass. Flanked by Nilsine and the lioness Ajia, he waited, grateful he had some practice hunting on land in the Silver Isles.

As Ajia wished, they had waited for the egg moon, bright and nearly full. They had waited, as Ajia wished, for an infuriating three days. All the while, Nilsine assured Kjorn that even the Vanhar were rarely invited to hunt with the lions. He didn’t want to make an enemy of someone who claimed to be a friend of Shard’s and might know his whereabouts, so Kjorn accepted their hospitality and waited. Now at last, the hunt.

“The herd,” Ajia said, her voice a warm purr. “The herd grazes under the moon, and now the dark is high. The herd grazes under the moon, and one knows its time is nigh.”

The other lionesses echoed her, and they fell into a hunting chant.

Ajia’s voice woke something in Kjorn’s heart and muscles, a thrill along his back that made him not want to fly, but to leap and sprint along the ground.

“The eye of Tor watches, her light guides us on.”

“The breath of Tor whispers, we follow her song.”

Only he, Nilsine, and the other female Vanhar with them had been allowed on the hunt. The male lions did not hunt with them, and Fraenir and the male Vanhar remained behind as well. Beside Kjorn, even Nilsine seemed caught up in the chant, and just as she began to hum along, the lionesses fell silent. It was time to close in, time for quiet.

Without a word Ajia crept forward, and Kjorn blinked as she disappeared in the grass. Ever shifting to remain downwind, he crept forward to remain within earshot of the lions. He could see a little in the moonlight, but not like the lions, who saw, he knew, as if it were day. The pronghorns wouldn’t see them at all, but would hear or smell if they made a wrong move, possibly spot movement under the moon if they emerged from the grass.

Remembering all he’d learned of ground-hunting from Thyra, Kjorn stalked forward, placing his talons carefully, lifting his beak to smell through the hazy air. He spotted the herd, outlined in white moonlight. Several lookouts stood poised at the edge, and when they lowered their heads to crop a quick bite of grass, other heads raised, ears turning, ever alert.

A quiver slipped through Kjorn, a silent knowing. Tuned to the lionesses, he sensed and saw them fanning out. Ajia had chosen a target.

Kjorn saw it. An aged male with a crooked hind leg, a lookout at the far end of the herd. He and the Vanhar followed wordless cues from the lionesses and took up stations to flank the pronghorn.

Nilsine had told him they would not fly, that they were to hunt as lions. Another quiver trailed down his spine, some voiceless understanding that all the lionesses were in place. A liquid movement caught his eye, and he met Ajia’s glowing stare through the grass.

The great honor of running down and killing the pronghorn was to be Kjorn’s.

Under the piercing light of the moon, feeling suddenly as if perhaps the goddess Tor
did
watch his hunt with interest, Kjorn slipped forward. His breath tightened. He resisted the urge to hold it and breathed deeply and silently. Something larger seemed to poise on this hunt and his performance, and he meant to show well.

The old pronghorn’s head flew up. Kjorn froze. The pronghorn’s ears wagged back and forth. The wind shifted, bringing the scent of haze and meat, and Kjorn bellied forward. The pronghorn’s head turned, and he bleated a warning.

“Mudding…” Kjorn swore. The herd broke into a springing run in all directions. Kjorn locked on his prey, bounding fast and dodging panicked pronghorn who leaped around him.

One sprang over Kjorn, caught a hoof on Kjorn’s wing and went sprawling. Kjorn nearly turned to take that beast instead, but an electric bolt of pride shot through him. No. He would take the one the lions had chosen.

The old pronghorn had frozen rather than run, perhaps thinking Kjorn would lose him in the chaos. The lionesses hadn’t moved from their stations. Kjorn bolted forward again, bowling through pronghorn like an avalanche, knocking aside any who crossed him. The old one spotted him and broke into a sprint.

Hunt thrill shot down Kjorn’s chest and he surged to take chase. The pronghorn was fast, but Kjorn ate ground with huge, long leaps—wings closed—and the elder hoof beast tired fast.

With a chaos of bleating and leaping animals and the sudden blur of the lionesses and Vanhar falling in on all sides, Kjorn shoved into a final jump and crashed into his prey. He dug his talons into the hindquarters and yanked to one side, bringing down the beast and rolling with him to avoid a cloven hoof to the head.

Throwing his body on top of the pronghorn, Kjorn went for his throat. A splash of moonlight caught the creature’s eye. For a moment it glowed silver, meeting Kjorn’s eyes with terror, and knowing.

Flustered, Kjorn hesitated only a moment to stammer, “You ran well.”

The pronghorn closed his eye, and offered his throat.

Warm voices rolled behind Kjorn as blood and life spilled over his beak.

“The herd grazes under the moon,

and now the dark is high.

The herd grazes under the moon,

and one knows his time is nigh.

The eye of Tor watches, her light guides us on.

The breath of Tor whispers, we follow her song.

One goes now to the Sunlit Land

But his Voice in the wind sings on.
”

Kjorn wiped his beak in the grass, and stepped back from the carcass. He mantled as Ajia slunk forward. “For you, my lady.”

She dipped her head, rustling the feathers braided there. “You did well.”

“Not to offend, but this task was not hard. I don’t see the point of making me wait here for days, only to kill an old, simple hoof beast.”

He distinctly heard Nilsine sigh, and the Vanhar huntress emerged with the others from the grass.

“It was not the task itself,” Ajia said, “but how you carried it out.” When Kjorn said nothing, she confirmed, “You have proven yourself humble, and honorable. Let us feast.”