A Shard of Sun (2 page)

He didn’t realize he’d opened his wings until he saw that Hikaru’s black wings also stretched wide, opening and fanning in exercise.

“Flight.” Hikaru’s voice was breathless with hunger. One of the first things they’d spoken of was flight, of the sky, of freedom and joy in the wind.

Hikaru continued reviewing words and objects, like a lullaby. He did it often, usually putting himself to sleep that way. Relief filled Shard that the dragon had no more questions, and he simply watched, correcting here and there and thinking of how Hikaru’s voice differed from Amaratsu. Her quiet, winding voice had the strange accent of a bird from a land he had never seen and didn’t know. Hikaru’s voice lovingly mimicked a gryfon’s, more rasping, with the soft rolling rhythm of a cluster of islands in the starward corner of the world. Shard’s home.

“Fish,” Hikaru said, touching the dry, smoked planks of meat on the ground. Shard saw his eyelids slipping and so he settled himself, stretched out on the ground on his belly, and opened a wing. Hikaru slithered forward, purring, and curled against Shard’s warm flank. Shard closed his wing around the dragonet.

“Feathers,” Hikaru murmured, combing Shard’s wing feathers with gentle talons. “Talon. Pebble. Rib.” He yawned widely, then his jaws snapped shut. He bared his tiny, sharp teeth in what Shard had learned was an expression of amusement. “Tired.” It reminded him of Catori, his closest wolf friend in the Silver Isles, and he longed for home.

“Friend.”

Shard waited, knowing it was the last word that Hikaru uttered each night, a word that brimmed with affection and admiration Shard wasn’t sure he deserved. Small, articulate dragon talons curled around his foreleg and Hikaru nuzzled his head against Shard’s feathered shoulder. His final word for the evening rolled from between his little teeth in a warm sigh.

“Shard.”

A dream bore him a vision of a snowy valley lit by a celestial green glow. He’d never seen the valley or mountains in the Silver Isles, nor the Winderost. In the center of the valley, he beheld a ring of stones. A pale star glowing down on the earth darted to and fro amongst the stones, and then away toward the mountains on the far side of the valley.

Before Shard could explore the vision further, something grabbed his wings, shaking him, demanding his attention.

“I’m awake,” Shard grumbled, grasping Hikaru’s forelegs and wrestling him off. “I’m awake!”

Hikaru laughed and coiled his tail around Shard’s chest, baring his teeth in challenge. Groggy, but determined not to lose a playful spar to a dragonet half his size, Shard rolled to his back and Hikaru fell with him, scrambling to stay on Shard’s stomach. Shard arched up to kick his hind legs against Hikaru’s belly, lifting him off the ground. The dragonet loosed a long, laughing
scree
like a seabird and flared his wings. At full spread they were as long as Shard’s, despite his smaller size.

“I’m flying!”

“Well done!” Shard laughed, still holding Hikaru’s forefeet. The dragonet uncoiled his tail and set his hind feet on Shard’s paws and his front feet in Shard’s talons, so he stood braced against an imaginary wind, flapping his wings hard. Shard gripped the little forepaws firmly, encouraging this exercise. The only way they would escape the cavern was to fly, and Hikaru would be too big for him to carry. He had to build his strength.

After another moment of “flying,” Hikaru broke free with a shove and leaped, gliding the small expanse from their side of the chamber to the other. Shard flopped over to his belly and watched the little dragon glide, flap and flare. He looked to have the instinct for it, though he flared too late and smacked into the far wall instead. Shard rolled to his feet and trotted over as Hikaru crawled to a sitting position.

“Are you hurt?”

“Oh. No.” He ran his little talons nervously down his belly scales, and Shard detected a flush at the end of his soft nose, which was more like a deer’s nose, and had no scales. “Mother caught me.”

Shard lifted a foot, taken aback, then chuckled gently. “Yes she did. Well done though. Next time—”

“I know.” Hikaru’s eyes slitted and he lashed his tail against the dirt, “If I
think
it’s time to turn or stop, it’s already too late.”

Shard nodded once. “Well remembered.”

“Next time I will.”

A tremor vibrated the earth under their feet. Pebbles shivered on the rock, and pure cold washed Shard’s skin.

Hikaru perked his ears at the ground. “What was that?”

“Earthquake,” Shard said. The tremor stilled, and he managed to keep his voice calm. “This is an ancient volcano, a hollow mountain. It’s not uncommon for that to happen.”

Hikaru patted his paw against the ground, as if to make the earth shake again. “Is it dangerous?”

Shard hoped not, and to answer he said only, “It won’t matter if we get out, soon. Don’t worry. I’ve felt small earthquakes in the Silver Isles. Are you hungry?”

Shard hated such an obvious change of subject, hated to deter Hikaru from his questions or seem to be lying, but he didn’t want the dragon to fear things over which they had no control. For the first time, Hikaru hesitated at the question. He glanced at the dwindling stash of meat. “Should we save it?”

Shard drew a deep breath. “No, Hikaru. You’re growing fast and you need to eat.”

Hikaru’s eyes narrowed further, the delicate ridges drawing down in a reptilian frown. “When did you eat last?”

“I’m fine,” Shard said firmly. “Eat a fish.”

Hikaru’s tail twitched again, then he did as Shard told him. Shard tried to remember the last time he had eaten, himself, and when he couldn’t, decided he’d better have something. He ate a smaller fish as well, watching how Hikaru made an effort to chew slowly and savor the meal.

I can’t wait to show him a true meal. A real fish. Real meat.
Judging by his wings, Shard guessed Hikaru might be able to dive and fish, and the prospect of teaching the young dragon excited him.

First things first.
He waited for Hikaru to get sleepy, as he usually did, after eating. Then he could work on the hole to get them out. But Hikaru didn’t curl up right away. As if he’d been thinking of something for a while, he left the fish pile and pressed his paw to the crystal wall, angling his head to watch Shard closely.

“My mother gave her life for me. And for you.” He searched Shard’s face. “Why?”

“She was your mother,” Shard said, struggling to answer the new, more complicated question. The previous days all Hikaru had asked about were the names for things, and when they might have fresh fish. At last Shard sat, fidgeting his talons against the rock. “She wanted me to teach you of the world, and of dark and light, and the songs, and of her.” He took a deep breath, watching Hikaru’s quiet, eager expression. He’d known the moment would come, and he’d already decided what to do. Shard’s own past had been a mystery to him his entire life, with others secretly hoping for and expecting things that he might do without telling him everything he needed to know.

He had vowed never to do that to Hikaru.

“Hikaru, the dragons of your kind have kept to themselves for many years in the Sunland, not visiting the rest of the world as they once did. Your mother hoped that by bringing you here and letting you befriend other creatures, you might help to change things.”

Hikaru tilted his head. “How could I change things? And why would she want me to?”

Shard tilted his head in an unconscious echo of the dragonet, and flicked his long, feathered tail against the ground. “I’ll tell you, but it’s a long story.”

Hikaru nodded gravely, then, stretching his wings, said, “I shall like to hear it. But could I have one more fish?”

“I knew you were hungrier than that.” Shard laughed, and reached forward, slipping his talons gently under the dragon’s wings to lift and spread them wide. “Yes, but just one more or you’ll get too plump to fly!”

“Ha!” Hikaru squirmed back and flapped once, hopping away. A sudden memory blinked through Shard’s mind so swift he almost missed it. Himself, being swept through the air, as a laughing, deep, male voice praised the shape and health of his wings, proclaiming that he would be a fine flier.

But the voice in his memory wasn’t his true father’s voice, Baldr the Nightwing, dead king of the Silver Isles.

Shard caught a breath, and realized Hikaru had wanted him to chase, so he did, pouncing forward. The dragonet squealed in delight and leaped back to the dried fish, his wings still stretched wide.

Shard scrambled for the memory again while Hikaru picked through the fish. He’d been so young—
why didn’t I remember this before?
Strong talons had swung him through the air, and when he looked down, he met the fierce, guarded eyes of his nest-father, Caj. Caj, one of the conquering Aesir, wingbrother to the Red King who had committed so many crimes against Shard’s pride. Caj, who had also kept the secret of Shard’s true parentage from the king himself, and raised Shard as his own.

A number of regrets surged forth and Shard shook himself of them. He had enough things to focus on, namely, feeding Hikaru, and escape. After that would come decisions.

So many decisions.

The weight of his own birthright sat more than ever like stones across his wings, the amount of wrongs to set right and matters to settle.

“I’m ready for the tale,” Hikaru announced, dragging a long strip of fish back to Shard.

Shard fluffed his wings, focusing on the one thing that was important in that moment.

“The story of our being here,” he began, lifting his gaze to the crystal wall and the shadows beyond, “begins a much longer time ago. In a place called the Dawn Spire.”

Hikaru watched him, entranced, and Shard met his eager gaze.

“And a young prince named Kajar.”

W
AVES SMASHED AGAINST SHARP
, wind-battered rocks along the inner curve of a crescent coastline. The worst of the storm had already passed, but pale clouds still gusted low, raining on the ruined shore. The rocks hugged small patches of gravel beaches, some ten leaps long, others wide enough for only a single gryfon to stand. Dead and dying sea creatures littered the small beaches, tangled in mats of seaweed or sprawled on the sand. Fish, seals, a handful of unfortunate seabirds.

Four scavengers ranged among the sea-wrack—three winged, and one on four paws. The painted wolf found the first fish and, with an eye to the gryfons above him, bolted it down without offering to share. If they found out, it would be his hide. But they wouldn’t find out. He chuckled to himself and picked up to a lope, stretching his full belly and licking his jaws.

The gryfons shouted above and he saw the source of their excitement. A dead seal. Large enough to feed three starving, rogue gryfons, and one painted wolf. The storm had been the worst one all season, but it left riches for those who knew where to hunt.

A scent on the wind distracted him. As the gryfons fell on the dead seal, the wolf turned back into the wind, ears perked. Downwind, he raised his nose and followed it.

Rocks scattered at the edge of the beach and lanced out to sea, forming a barrier between him and the next beach. But the scent came from the next beach. Gingerly, not wanting to slip, the wolf climbed up the rocks, ignoring gryfon shouts for him to come and eat. He spotted his quarry crammed in the rocks unnaturally, not as if it had washed up, but as if it had swam, or desperately crawled, at low tide, into the shelter of the tide pools. Oh, he’d been correct. The scent was worth following.

He quirked his head, thinking.

“What’s all this?” demanded Rok, winging up to hover over the wolf. “Ha. A fallen exile? We could use more talons. Is he alive?”

Rok didn’t land at first, eyeing the gryfon warily, and the wolf shifted, lowering his head to sniff. Both of them studied the washed-up gryfon in the rocks. Large, big-boned, with golden feathers micah-bright against the stone and seawater.

“Breathing,” Rok confirmed. He landed near the wolf, carefully gripping the stones. “Healthy. Big. Looks to be outcast from the Dawn Spire, if I had to wager. This could be good for us. Can you haul him out?”

The wolf tilted his head the other way, studying. “Halfway,” he grunted. Words were always an effort. He roamed Nameless so often these days…”You can pull him the rest.”

“Good enough.” Rok looked back over his shoulder. “Hey, you worthless, lice-infested vultures,” he called affectionately to the other two in their band, “over here!”

The two gryfons, a young female of plain brown coloring and a male her age with feathers like sand, ignored him to continue eating. Meanwhile, the painted wolf negotiated his way down to the hollow, to the water, and the washed-up gryfon.

As he drew close, something brighter than the feathers caught his eye. He thrust his face under the feathers to loop the strange material over his nose, and tilted his head toward Rok.

“Rok. What is this?”

The gangly rogue cocked his head. “Hm. Is it metal? I think it’s called…a chain.” A strange light brightened his eyes.