A Shard of Sun (5 page)

“We can escape,” Hikaru said quietly, his gaze moving to the dark beyond the walls.

“Yes,” said Shard. “Let’s fill the hole again. I don’t want the wyrms to suspect. Not all of them leave when they hunt. A few stay, to wait, but they do sleep. We’ll wait for them to sleep, and dig more.” He pressed his own talons to the rock, relieved and then terrified. He shivered, brightening his voice. “Are you ready for the rest of the world, Hikaru?”

“Yes.” Every little pointed fang showed. “I’m ready for everything.”

“Only the long day brings rest

Only the dark of night, dawn.

When the First knew themselves, the wise will say

They took their Names to the Sunlit Land

But their Voice in the wind sings on.”

G
RYFON AND WOLF VOICES
rose with the gusts of winter wind on the smallest, barren island of the Silver Isles, called Black Rock. Snow covered most of the surface of the isle, which was true to its namesake. On a high slope amid a half ring of broken boulders stood an odd gathering, a mix of Vanir, Aesir, half-blooded gryfons born from each, and several wolves from the Star Isle.

Caj stood at the back of the gathering, more keenly aware than ever how his feathers stood out against the snow, unnatural in that land—unnatural in any land, feathers the blazing hue of a sea in summer. Other Aesir stood just as bright, their feathers somehow divinely or sorcerously stained in outlandish hues. Supposedly it was a sign of their right to rule, their forefathers’ victory in a war with dragons at the bottom of the world. Caj had begun to doubt, and wondered if anything that he’d ever been told was true.

“Einarr’s voice will sing on.” Ragna’s declaration carried across the wind, and Caj shuddered at the sight of her. Gone was the false humility, the meekness, the quiet Widow Queen. Standing before the gathering now was the ruling regent, proud and powerful as the moon. She commanded the Vanir of the Sun Isle until their king returned.

Until Shard returned.

And what will I be then?
Caj wondered, unsure how his nest-son felt about him, in his deep heart. When first he’d heard that Shard survived his plunge into the sea, he’d felt relief and joy. Now, only doubt. Everything was doubt.

Ragna called out the other names, those who had fallen that winter, either to starvation, the cold, or the final clash with the mad Red King. Caj lowered his gaze to behold the bodies laid out in the snow, their wings stretched out as if they might, at any moment, lift from the snow and fly to the Sunlit Land. Pitiful keening made his ears twitch, and he looked over furtively to see Einarr’s widowed mate, white Astri, huddled between her wingsister Kenna, and Einarr’s mother, a full-blooded Aesir.

Caj looked away before any of them lifted their eyes to see him. He had failed the pride, failed to restrain his own wingbrother, and now they stood singing songs of mourning for the dead.

Sigrun pressed to his side, offering wordless reassurance. Caj shifted his wing against his mate, attempting comfort, then flinched at the pain. Hard mud and splint still bound his wing to form, the break not yet fully healed. He’d had to walk, following Sigrun and a wolf through the labyrinth of underground tunnels that connected all the islands. At least Sigrun had walked with him. At least he hadn’t borne the humiliation of being ground bound alone.

His gaze flicked to the wolves on the far side of the group. If not for them, he too would be among the dead.

Ragna finished her recognition of the fallen—Einarr, another elder of the Vanir who’d succumbed to hunger, another who’d died in the sea attempting to fish. She turned her attention to the largest wolf of the gathering, a tall, strapping male with black shoulders that blended down into gold and cream on his chest. Two gryfon feathers, braided into the thick fur of his neck, flicked in the breeze, gray and gold.

The feathers of future kings,
Caj thought, poetically, and managed not to scoff. It seemed a vain tradition, the wearing of gryfon feathers, that was growing in popularity among the younger wolves, but there were many things about wolves that Caj still didn’t understand. Still, they had saved his life that winter, and had asked only for his friendship in return. He supposed he didn’t need to understand them completely to befriend them. His sense of honor begged tolerance and curiosity for their ways, rather than disdain.

Ragna mantled to the young wolf king. “We thank you, Great Hunter, for attending our farewell. It honors our fallen. We hope you’ll join us for feasting on the Sun Isle. We know your hunting has been not much better than ours on land, but now that we’ve returned to the sea, we eat well.”

Ahanu, the wolf king, dipped his head.

Ragna cast a look to several fledges, who straightened to attention, then with her nod they trotted away to fetch something from behind the tall boulders at Ragna’s back. “And we also offer you a gift.”

Ahanu raised his head, as did the other wolves. The fledges reappeared from behind the boulder, dragging heavy pelts. Wolf pelts. Ahanu’s gaze drifted to them, then back to Ragna’s face, neutral, reserving judgment.

“The act of skinning was a desecration of your fallen kin,” Ragna said, her gaze slashing over the Aesir gryfons in the gathering. “We return these to you to lay to rest as you will. All those who fell under the conquerors’ reign.”

She will never stop punishing us,
Caj thought, meeting her gaze when it swept by him. He wondered how Shard would act when he returned—if he did return—if he would work toward restoration and harmony. He had grown up with the Aesir, after all. It was, apparently, what his true father had wanted, for Shard to be raised among the Aesir as a brother, so that when he learned his birthright, he could bring peace to the prides. Privately, Caj thought Baldr a coward, leaving his son a legacy he himself couldn’t bring to pass.

I made him strong,
Caj thought, a sense of injustice heating his chest.
I lied to Sverin and to Per, and took him under my own wing as my son, even if he never recognized it.

If Shard thought that justice would mean exiling Aesir who had made the Silver Isles their home, or more likely, kill them, Caj knew it would only be the vengeance of war. But, when he thought more reasonably about it, he couldn’t see Shard giving an order like that.

He wasn’t so sure about Ragna.

Caj couldn’t read wolf faces well, but thought Ahanu’s looked deeply troubled at the sight of the skins, but moved by the gesture nonetheless.

“Thank you,” murmured Ahanu. After a moment, as if he listened to some suggestion from the wind on the rocks, he said, “Let them rest here.” His gaze searched the face of the Widow Queen, then drifted to each wolf and gryfon gathered. “Let it all rest here. All that has passed. Black Rock is a place for the dead. Let our enmity be dead, here.”

The fledges exchanged glances, then respectfully bore the wolf skins to lay beside the dead gryfons. Caj shifted his feet, chilled without the warm down of a Vanir.

A waste, all of it.
A dead wolf had no use for its skin and they’d done better lining gryfon nests.

But then,
he reasoned,
how would I feel to know that my father’s feathers lined a wolf den?

The wolves raised their voices, and the gryfons shifted uncomfortably as the long, low notes soared through the air. Caj wondered how many, wolf or gryfon, would actually lay their prejudice to rest on that black isle. He’d had to leave his in the snows of Star Island, that night he’d awoken among caring wolves to find that they’d saved his life.

“Let us return,” Ragna said. “Those who wish to learn fishing, or still remember the ways and would help me, come to the Star Cliff. Others, shelter and keep warm. I fear another storm brews.”

With that dismissal, Ragna opened her wings and bounded into the sky. The fledges followed, eager for the adventure of the seashore and the strange art of hunting fish, as did several of the old Vanir. Caj noted, with interest, that Einarr’s mother left with them, after a last comforting word to Astri.

A coldness grew in Caj’s chest, the tight, horned discomfort of unfinished business.

The pride was well in wing, sorted out enough that Caj needn’t worry about anyone starving, nor fights breaking out. The Aesir who were left followed his daughter, Thyra, who carried Kjorn’s heir in her belly. The Vanir followed Ragna, Shard’s true mother. Though tensions and uncertainty strained them, Caj felt confident there would be no violence.

It was time. He took a deep breath, hoping it wasn’t too late.

“Will you make the rounds with me?” Sigrun murmured, brushing fondly against his feathers. “Your presence calms the females.”

She was happy, no longer torn between loyalties, relieved that she could provide the pregnant females of the pride with hearty meals of fish, though the regular hunting remained poor. A healer’s dream, Caj thought. Peace time, good hunting. He wished he could feel at peace, too.

Perhaps soon.

When he didn’t answer, she drew back to look at him. He studied her dove-brown feathers, her face, an older, more refined version of Thyra’s, her brown eyes strained from long years of worry. “What is it?”

“I won’t be going back to the nesting cliffs with you.”

Sometimes, he thought she could see inside his thoughts. Her expression darkened. “What are you planning? Your wing isn’t fully healed. Where are you going?”

“Some of this is my doing, Sigrun. I have to make right what I can.”

“You have. We’re at peace!”

“Not all of us,” he said quietly, his gaze lifting to the sky.

Her gaze followed his, and she drew a sharp breath. “No. Leave it be. It’s folly, it’s too dangerous. He’s witless and mad with grief, my mate, please, it’s too dangerous. There’s a reason that Ragna has not sent warriors after him. Let him return to you instead, if he ever comes back to his right mind.”

Caj rounded on her, raising his wings sternly. “What would you do, if it were Ragna? I don’t forget Sverin’s sins and mistakes. But I also can’t forget that he’s my wingbrother, my friend, and that I also left him alone and I lied. What part I played in his madness, I’ll never know. We all have mistakes to accept.”

“You’re too good for him,” she whispered. A few gryfons paused to watch their argument openly, then, at Caj’s sharp look, they moved along, either to walk with the wolves or lift into the sky. Sigrun butted her head against his chin. “Please…”

“I’m going to find him,” Caj vowed, ears swiveling forward in determination. “On whatever isle he shelters, or out at sea, or if he flies all the way back to our homeland. I cannot leave my wingbrother again, just as you would never betray Ragna.” He drew back to meet her eyes, firm. “I stood by you while you remained loyal to her.”

It was the right thing to say, though he felt it was cheating. She looked struck, then the cool, controlled look of the healer stole over her face. “Then, I’ll come with you—”

“No.”

Her hackle feathers ruffed slowly, showing her displeasure.

“My mate,” Caj murmured. “You see the sense of it. The females of the pride need you. And it’s better if I’m alone. If Sverin is witless, he would see two gryfons coming to attack. If he’s not, he sees you, who he…who…”

“He hates,” Sigrun supplied, matter-of-fact.

“Yes. And you’re not to send anyone else, either.” At her incredulous look he added, “I know it would be faster. But say someone spies him from the air, he could see and be gone, or attack. He sees only enemies, only threat. I’m his wingbrother. I have a chance, and I won’t risk anyone else in this.”

She was quiet for a moment, and Caj could nearly hear her trying to think of another way in. She almost found it. “What about Halvden?”

Caj flexed his talons against the snow and rock, a growl bubbling in his throat. “I would be very glad to meet Halvden again.”

She wasn’t impressed. “How will you search, then? You can’t fly yet.”

“I’ll use the tunnels to reach the different islands. The wolves are happy enough to lead us through.”

After another moment looking grim, he watched her expression relax. She realized, he knew, that he’d been planning to go ever since he learned that Sverin had flown, mad and Nameless, away from the pride.

She reached up to run talons gently over his mending wing. “Be cautious.” Her voice rose in pitch, trying too hard to sound light. “I won’t have my good work go to waste. I would hate to have to break your wing again.”

Caj laughed weakly and began to lift his wing, then thought better of it. “As would I.”

Before, when they’d all thought him killed by a boar, Caj’s wing had started to fuse wrong. To force it to heal correctly, Sigrun had to break it again. He would still fly again, but only if he let her splints do their work.

“I’ll stay,” she murmured. “But please, if it comes to a choice between danger and safety, between risk and caution—”

“Between him, and you?” Caj offered, glancing at her sidelong. Twilight dimmed the day. It would take Caj most of the night to walk, through the tunnels underneath the islands, to the next isle where he could search. It was time to get moving. “Only think what you would do in my place, and try to understand.”

Sigrun looked away. She had chosen her wingsister over him, once. Surely she couldn’t begrudge him this quest to find and save his wingbrother. She slipped her head under his chin and Caj nuzzled down, aware of wolf eyes on them, and the laughing calls of ravens in the distance.

“Just return to me,” she whispered. “I lost you once—”

“I’ll return,” he promised, and savored another moment close to her before drawing away, letting the cold come between them, and walking away.