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“I think so,” Shard said, distracted by the noise and commotion of the wolf pack after so many days alone.

  “Good!” Ahanu declared. “I would like to hear, but first, you’ll feast. Your uncle fishes along the shore to gather special meats for the Halfnight. We will honor bright Tor as she comes into her season. Then tell us what you saw on the mountain.”

  Shard dipped his head, then blinked. “Halfnight? What’s that?”

  Catori gave a soft wuff of surprise. “Sverin and the Aesir don’t recognize it? Your uncle didn’t teach you?” She turned in a circle, tail swishing happily. “The night when summer gives way to autumn. When Tor begins her reign. The nights grow longer. The days shorter. But this day and night, she and Tyr share equal time in the sky.” She trotted forward to sniff him, then stepped back. “Your ordeal was long. Your nights of fasting and the mountain climb changed your sense of day. All told, you’ve been gone a fortnight. Bright Tor is almost full.”

  “A good omen,” Ahanu declared. “Good that you returned this night. It is a rare Halfnight that we see her at her brightest.”

  A howl rose off in the woods. A shudder seemed to run through the pack, as if they shared a skin. The moon was calling. Shard perked his ears and suddenly Ahanu dodged away laughing, then whirled and braced his forepaws on the ground like a pup at play.

  “But come now. We have food to eat and songs to sing!”

  “Sing with us!” Catori bumped Shard’s shoulder. “Feast! You need meat. Stigr waits for us by the shore.”

  Ahanu spun around and loped into the forest. Wolves streamed past Shard to follow. Catori turned and followed her brother into the forest. The howls rose. Shard, slower than the wolves for his poor night vision, followed them on a well-worn trail through shadow-dappled forest toward the saltwater scent of the sea.

  The new song from Shard’s vision rolled through his mind in time with his quick footsteps.

  Which fades last, the birdsong, or the day…

  Several times, absorbed in his thoughts, Shard ran face-first into a sturdy fern or a bramble, and finally he focused on the night around him. Wolf laughter and panting filled his ears, the swish of fur in the undergrowth. He kept close to Catori until they burst out of the woods and trotted in a long line down to a beach on the dawnward coast.

  Waves crawled in and out. The moon perched imperiously above, huge and round as a pregnant gryfess, washing all in silky light. Wolf pups zigzagged around the adults as they reached the pebbly sand, bellies full, laughing and howling.

  A dozen wolves already occupied the shore, enjoying a meal and playing races and sparring. Shard scanned those gathered and saw the distinct silhouette of a gryfon among the wolf pack. He was stretched out on the sand, holding court to a group of yearling pups and telling tales of the Conquering and the days before, when he and Baldr the Nightwing had wild adventures from one end of the Silver Isles to the other.

  “Stigr!”

  “Hail, nephew!”

  Shard picked up to a trot then stopped, feeling suddenly dizzy.

  “Have a meal!” Stigr called, seeing that Shard wouldn’t be much good until he’d eaten. He remained where he was, with wolf pups climbing on him, begging to learn how to fish.

  Catori and Ahanu led Shard to the carcass of a deer that still held good chunks of meat. “We wanted to eat here,” Catori explained, “to bask in Tor’s full light.”

  “And we thought you and Stigr would enjoy it,” Ahanu said, his tail waving as he saw that Shard was, indeed happy with the arrangement.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Catori sniffed his ears, then stepped away. “We’ll leave you to eat and rest awhile, then hear your tale.”

  Shard inclined his head to them again, tore a haunch from the carcass and settled on a pile of mussel-crusted rocks where he could see all the activity.

  Their thoughtfulness for him struck a bright note in his chest, and in a strange way, made him feel more like a king. He knew they had done it because they were friends, not because they considered him the Summer King and heir to the Sun Isle, but it still made him feel undoubtedly regal. He would have to think of a way to show them the same regard.

  And remember to enjoy it, he thought, gnawing on the deer haunch. He stripped the meat slowly, wary of his tight stomach, and of eating too much rich meat too fast. Like Stigr, he only ate prey from the land when the wolves gifted it, or allowed him to hunt with them. He’d only learned a few moons ago that prey should always be honored and thanked before killing, that they had Names and a soul just as Shard had.

  The moon climbed in the sky, and Shard watched, hearing bits of tales that floated his way, letting his muscles relax and his stomach ease, and savor the feeling of returning home. The moon neared middlemark before he’d finish eating. He gazed at it, thinking of his mother, Ragna, wondering how she fared under Sverin’s reign. He’d had no chances to speak with her since he’d learned she was his true mother, and had lied to spare his life.

  One of the pups howled to Shard to stop staring at the moon and play, and Shard tossed him the thigh bone of the deer, promising, “Later!”

  Then he fell under the attack of two wolves who ambushed him from behind.

  Catori and Ahanu had leaped silently, but burst into laughter when they crashed into Shard. Squashed against the rock under their playful nips and growls, Shard cried traitors and summoned Stigr for aid. He managed to shove his wings open, and the wolves tumbled away, laughing.

  A rough wind buffeted them and Shard rolled to his feet, shook vigorously, and looked up to see that the wind gusted from Stigr’s wings, beating the air as he landed in front of them.

  The old warrior was taller than Shard, feathers as black as Ragna’s were white, hard and lean and bearing the long, shaped wings of a pureblooded Vanir. Scars laced his flanks but the worst mark came from the Conquering, from Shard’s own nest-father Caj. Where Stigr’s left eye should’ve been was only a nest of scar, and when he spoke he always swiveled his head to see whomever he was speaking to.

  “We’re allowed to disturb the prince now?” His single eye gleamed in the moonlight. He rumbled the jest kindly, Shard chuckled.

  “Yes. you are. I think I’ve got my head on mostly straight again now that I’ve eaten.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Stigr tapped his beak together, in a fine mood. “But you look better anyway.”

  Shard folded his wings neatly, lifting his head. He hadn’t realized how he’d missed his uncle, and his friends, until he was among them again. “Is this the respect you show your prince?”

  Stigr chuckled and made a show of bowing, mantling his black wings handsomely. “Perhaps if you’d show some respect to your elders…“

  “I’ll try harder,” Shard said. It was Stigr who had taught Shard better flying and fighting techniques. Stigr who’d waited alone in exile for Shard to come of age, sought him out and taught him everything he knew about the night, about Tor, about being a Vanir. Stigr, Shard thought, to whom he owed nearly everything—the good, and the bad. His birthright, and his exile.

  Ahanu padded up to bump Stigr affectionately, sniffed his wings, then turned to Shard, eyes bright under the moon. “Tell us of your vision quest.”

  “I’d like to hear it,” Stigr said, and sat.

  Shard glanced to Catori. He’d hoped to tell her alone, to get her opinion before he talked to Stigr. Ironically he recalled a time when he hadn’t wanted her opinion or even her friendship. Stigr, she feared, had a tendency to speak from bitterness toward all of the Aesir gryfons in the world.

  But Stigr will not be king of the Vanir, Shard thought, feeling edgy. I will.

  As the wolves below settled in for their own stories and songs and the wolf pups collapsed into sleeping, fuzzy heaps on the sand, undone by the excitement, Shard told Ahanu, Catori and Stigr his tale.

  He told them everything about the mountain, the owl, Aodh and even Einarr.

  Afterward they sat quietly, each considering, and
heard only the voices of the wolf singers below, telling the autumn tales.

  Shard broke the quiet. “The song from my vision. Is it something you’ve ever heard? Any of you?”

  “The Song of Last Light,” Ahanu said.

  “Song for the dying,” Stigr clarified.

  “Whoever sang it in my vision,” Shard said quietly, “felt as if they were trying to call me. What is the rest of the song?”

  Catori lifted her head, reciting toward the moon.

  “Which rises first, the night wind, or the stars?

  Not even the owl could say,

  whether first comes the song or the dark.

  Which fades last, the birdsong or the day?

  Not even the sky could tell,

  Whether last stills the sun or the jay.”

  Ahanu joined her, singing the last line, and indeed it was just like the Song of First Light that Shard had learned that summer.

  “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.”

  “What does it mean?” Shard whispered, shivering once.

  Catori lowered her face from the moonlight and shadow darkened her eyes. “Someone is dying.”

  Stigr huffed, tilting his head to watch Shard. “What does this have to do with anything?”

  Shard’s wings twitched in a shrug. “I don’t know. It’s the song that was coming from the mountain. But I know it was calling someone. It was calling me.”

  “It was calling nothing.” Stigr cocked his head, first at Shard, then at the wolves who stayed out of the argument. “It was a rhyme. A kit’s nest rhyme.”

  “A last song,” Catori argued.

  Shard met Stigr’s gaze. “I think…” He drew some courage from the moon and the endless sea. “I believe I’m supposed to find that mountain.”

  “You can’t leave the Silver Isles,” Stigr said flatly. “I know you don’t wish to fight your wingbrother. I know you fear the Red King, and you want the best for all. But sometimes you have to fight.”

  A strange coolness glided through Shard. “I don’t fear Sverin. I bested him once—unless you’ve forgotten.”

  Stigr’s tail lashed as he grew angrier and Shard fought the urge to shrink back, for he couldn’t be Stigr’s student forever. He let his uncle speak, meeting his gaze in silence.

  “Shard, son of my wingbrother. The fight is here. Your pride is here. Dagr and Maja will return in spring with whatever Vanir they can gather home. You must be here.” Stigr stood and paced, black wings opening halfway in agitation. His eye narrowed, his voice was low and firm. “Baldr didn’t fight until the end. If he could be here now, I truly think he’d council you not to wait any longer. Not to avoid the fight as he did.”

  The coolness in Shard’s blood revealed itself as confidence.

  “Uncle,” he said, making sure his voice carried the respect he felt. Stigr was his mentor, his uncle by blood, his friend, his father’s wingbrother and his own most steadfast ally. But Shard would be his king. “Thank you for your counsel. I need to think everything over.”

  The air seemed to thicken. The hackle feathers along Stigr’s neck stood up as if he faced a challenger. He realized, Shard knew, that Shard wouldn’t always do exactly as he said anymore.

  He wanted me to be his prince, Shard thought grimly, feeling a little regret at the betrayed expression in Stigr’s face. His king. Surely Baldr followed his own heart in the end.

  Though in the end, Baldr was killed.

  “My counsel,” Stigr growled at last, “is always yours. My prince.” He gave Shard a cool nod, glanced to Ahanu and Catori, then shoved from the rocks to glide back along the seashore. Shard leaped forward and opened his wings, biting back a shout. Catori whined and Shard whirled instead to face her.

  “He has no right to be angry. He wants me to be a prince and make decisions, but only when it suits him!”

  “That isn’t true,” she said. “He only fears for you.”

  “For the Silver Isles,” Ahanu added.

  Shard sighed and folded his wings again. He inclined his head to Ahanu. “Brother, I’d like to speak to Catori alone.”

  Ahanu yipped a laugh. “Of course. I must let the seers have their counsel.”

  “Thank you again for the feast,” Shard said quickly, swishing his tail in the way of a pleased wolf. Ahanu bowed, stretching long legs out toward Shard.

  “Of course. For the next feast you can bring me fat salmon from the sea.”

  “I will,” Shard promised.

  The wolf king left them, loping down to the shore to settle a dispute over the last of the deer carcass. His stern, rolling growls prickled the skin on the back of Shard’s neck. There had a been a time when they were not friends, and he remembered those growls.

  Catori stood next to him on top of the rocks, ears perked toward her pack as well. Shard noticed that some of the wolves were pairing off and trotting up the beach, or away up the footpath and into the woods again. Catori looked over her shoulder at Shard as he sat, and her eyes caught the light of the moon.

  “You’re wondering about the things Aodh said.”

  Shard shifted, surprised. “How did you know?”

  “It’s natural.”

  “A son, a brother, a father? I’m not even mated. Does it mean I’m to find a mate?”

  “You will be king,” she said, dipping her head to sniff idly at the mussels bunched on the rock. “You’ll need an heir.”

  Dismayed, Shard stood. “But there’s no one in the Silver Isles who I’d want or who would want me, no one—and it makes it sound as if I have to be a father before I can fulfill the promise of the Summer King.”

  Her ears twitched to and fro. “It may not be exactly that. Perhaps it means you’ll be a father to the Vanir. A king. Perhaps your mate will be among the returning Vanir.”

  Shard hadn’t thought of that. Hesitant excitement warmed his chest. He was not the last pureblooded Vanir in the world. Two gryfons of his pride, Maja and Dagr, had flown to gather any lost Vanir they could find from other corners of the world. Maybe among them would be a young huntress who might…

  He shook his head.

  “That won’t be until spring.”

  Catori shook herself, sat, her forepaws tucked together, and looked at him a moment, as if trying to see through him. “I think it will be revealed to you, Shard. You’re already a son and a brother, without trying. There is obviously some other task for you that has been whispered in the wind. A task for the Summer King.”

  Restlessness crawled up his skin. Instead of clarity, he had more riddles. “Stigr thinks my task is here.”

  “You answered the call of the Summer King. I think if you are called again, you will answer again.” She displayed the points of her teeth in a playful expression. “I do know that the snow owls speak to very few. We wolves know they are the closest creatures to Tor, that they see her when she is dark and the sky is only stars. They know of death, and of the future.”

  Shard considered his conversation with the owl. Below their rocks, a young male wolf told a raucous joke that left all the males howling, and the females scattered them with indignant nips and growls.

  “She seemed very practical to me. She only said to do what I thought was right.”

  “Sound advice,” Catori said, lifting her nose to the wind. The scent of autumn came to them, a distinct, frosted edge to the air.

  Catori stared into the wind. “One day,” she whispered, her face and amber eyes traced by the moon, “I see a fine, gray king, as humble and strong as the washing wave, as steady as the mountain, with a hunting queen and strong fledging warriors under his wing. We are not yet who we will be, Shard.”

  She looked at him and a chill soared up Shard’s back. For a heartbeat he was back in the rowan grove where he’d met her. He saw be
hind her eyes that she listened, like Aodh, and heard things no other heard, saw things in the moonlight and the dark that others didn’t.

  “It will be the paths you run,” she paused in amusement, nose crinkling to reveal the points of her teeth , “or fly, that temper you. The battles you fight. The foes you conquer.”

  “Or don’t,” Shard muttered, thinking of how he’d rabbited when fighting Sverin. He could have kept his grip and dragged the fanatic king into the sea and drowned him. He could have ended it then. “I should have ended it. Sverin should have died in the sea as my father died in the sea.”

  “Or not,” Catori mused, and Shard’s throat felt dry. “We all have a voice in the song. Sverin may yet have an unfinished destiny.”

  “And what’s that?” Shard scoffed. “To kill all the Vanir of the world before he dies in glorious battle somewhere?”

  Just as he realized he sounded more like his uncle than himself, Catori hopped to her feet and nipped his ear. “If anyone should hate Sverin, it’s me. I think you speak out of regret and fear. But Shard, you aren’t weak because your aren’t a conqueror or a killer. Because you consider the ripples of the stones you drop doesn’t make you a coward.”

  Shard lifted his wings, and had no answer. He looked down to the beach, perking his ears at the wolves. Two more pairs circled each other as if in a dance, laughing, and disappeared up the shore into the woods.

  “Are they hunting again?”

  Catori threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, no. It is on the Halfnight that we choose our mates, as gryfons choose theirs in summer.”

  “Oh.” Shard shifted uncomfortably. A son. A brother. A father.

  “When there is peace,” Catori said, looking politely away from him, “I know you will find a fine huntress to help lead your pride. Don’t worry.” She stretched. “Myself, I think I’m not ready either.” She tilted her head, watching the wolves cavorting, and pups stumbling through all their legs. “It has been my duty to watch and dream for my pack.”

  Shard sensed her changing the topic from his visions and he was grateful for the respite. They both knew what he was going to do in the end, but it wasn’t her opinion on it that he feared.