Free By the Silver Wind by Jess E. Owen

managed not to laugh. “I know.”
    He looked surprised, then dipped his head.
    She didn’t explain her reason to these young warriors, her petty reason that she wanted Sverin to feel guarded, imprisoned, his every movement watched and judged, as the Vanir had been the last ten years.
    Tor light my heart, she thought desperately as she and Halvden flew from the den.
    She hoped that seeing her own son again would drive away some of her resentment. She hoped seeing Shard take his rightful place as king would correct the sorrow in her heart. Her desperate hope was that he would be a balm to all the pride, his love and acceptance of both Aesir and Vanir enough to balance against all the wrongs of the Conquering. But part of her feared she would never know balance again.

~7~
Leaving the Lake
    A SWEET BREEZE TRICKLED THROUGH the morning over the lake, smelling of water, fish, and just a breath of warmth. The longest winter of Shard’s life was coming to an end.
    “Don’t let him bear over you,” Stigr instructed firmly, as he and Shard walked through the nesting hollows where the Vanir were given quarters. “I don’t care if he becomes king of the whole blazing windward quarter of the world. You are a prince too, and you do as you see fit.”
    Shard stopped walking, turning to face Stigr. They stood between hillocks, and dawn light touched the highest tips of the grass and shone off the nearby lake. “I wish you could come too, Uncle.”
    “If wishes were wings, wolves would fly,” his uncle intoned.
    Shard knew what truly bothered his Stigr, and it was no longer his friendship with Kjorn. During the Battle of Torches, he’d at last gotten to see the courageous, noble side of Kjorn that Shard loved. Stigr was no longer blinded by him simply being a brightly colored Aesir, and the only son of Sverin, the War King. No, it was that no matter how fast he might run, he couldn’t keep up on the journey, could not accompany and advise Shard as he’d once done.
    “I’m sorry you have to stay, but I’m even more grateful that you’ll be here for the Vanir.”
    Stigr grumbled. “I’d send Valdis to keep an eye on you, but—”
    Shard laughed, imagining Valdis along, a sort of nest-aunt now. “No. I think she needs to keep an eye on you. I’ll have plenty of eyes on me, between Kjorn, Brynja, Asvander, Dagny, and the others . . .”
    “You’ll need every single one of them.” Stigr watched him, appraising. “And this dream weaving, this wyrm . . .”
    Shard perked his ears, attentive. It was Stigr who’d first taught Shard about Vanir visions, that Tor granted them, that Shard’s father Baldr had also been a seer. But they both knew Shard had surpassed his father by far. “Yes? What do you think?”
    The old Vanir’s single, keen eye seemed to look through Shard, and he slanted one ear thoughtfully. “Mind how you put things to her. If you truly are dreaming to her, remember we don’t know how she thinks. She isn’t using words. Everything you say to her could be misunderstood.”
    Shard hadn’t thought of that. “I will, Uncle. Kjorn thinks the priestess of the Vanhar might be able to help me.”
    “Good. Yes, that’s good.” Stigr was gazing at him oddly and Shard shifted his talons in the grass. Around them, sleepy Vanir emerged from their dens, stretched, and climbed to the tops of their hills to watch the sun rise, respecting bright Tyr. “You’ve become so much more than any of us thought, Shard. Well, maybe Baldr knew. Who can say now.”
    “I’m just following the wind,” Shard said quietly.
    “But what wind?” Stigr mused. “I only hope it never carries you too far from us. I thought I waited ten years to help guide you to your kingship.”
    “You did,” Shard said, firmly, “I am.”
    “But it’s more now, and even I can’t pretend it’s not. You’ve traveled and had such visions . . . Ah, well. Let the others care for you, Shard. Don’t shut them out. There’s no