Dragons Reborn

by Daniel Arenson

  "Let this be a dream," he prayed, huddled up in the corner. "Please, Spirit, let this just be another nightmare. Let me wake up back in bed, back in Domi's arms."

  Yet he never woke. And the screams never died. And Domi never came to him.

  Domi had placed him here.

  Domi had placed these chains around his ankles, shoved him into this cell, left him to rot.

  "You did this to me!" He leaped to his feet, raising his arms as far as the chains would allow. "You did this, you filthy weredragon! I'm going to find you, Domi, and I'm going to break every bone in your body, and I'm going to toss your torso to the dogs! I—" Tears coursed down his face. "I'm sorry." He fell to his knees and curled up. "I'm sorry, Domi. I'm sorry. I love you. Please come back. Please free me."

  Yet she, like his mother and sister, never returned.

  He languished on.

  He lay for a long time, waiting to die. He realized that his mother had been serious; she would leave him here, not just for hours, not just for days, but for the rest of his life.

  Next time a guard arrives with a meal, Gemini thought, I won't eat. I'd rather die. In shadows. Alone. Without anyone. That's always been my life, a life alone. So let me die alone.

  He closed his eyes and thought of Domi, pretending that he held her in his arms, until he heard the heavy footsteps. He opened his eyes to slits, saw a guard's boots, and closed his eyes again.

  "I'm not hungry!" Gemini shouted. "I don't want the slop you serve. Get rid of it."

  Keys jangled, and Gemini squinted to see the barred door creak open. He grimaced. The guards had always shoved his meals between the bars, not opened the door.

  "Go away!" he shouted, shielding his eyes against the torchlight. "Get lost. I don't want to eat that filth."

  But the guard's boots thumped across the cell, and metal pieces jangled. Gemini blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light, and screamed.

  The guard was not bringing him food—but a toolbox of torture.

  "No!" Gemini cried, tears leaping into his eyes. "Spirit, no!"

  The burly, balding man lifted a pliers in one hand, a hammer in the other. He wore a leather apron splotched with old blood, and more dried blood encrusted his fingernails and clung to his hairy arms. He spat on Gemini. "High Priestess's orders. She said to treat you like any other prisoner." The man snorted. "I bet you'll scream louder than the others, though. Most don't scream till I get started, and you're screaming already."

  The torturer leaned down to grab Gemini's wrist.

  "Wait. Wait!" Gemini tried to tug back his hand. "Stop. Please."

  The guard ignored him, placed his pliers around Gemini's fingernail, and tugged.

  Gemini screamed.

  He screamed louder than he'd ever screamed.

  Across the dungeon, the other prisoners cackled and howled.

  "Please!" Gemini cried, weeping, shaking.

  The guard snorted. "You think I haven't heard men beg before?"

  "Not me! You haven't heard me." Gemini scampered back, chains rattling. "You haven't heard the son of a High Priestess. I can help you. I can . . . I can give you wealth! Riches! Women! Ask for it and it's yours."

  The torturer paused. He stared down at Gemini, eyes narrowed. "You're powerless. Your mother rules the Temple. Your sister will rule after you." He spat again and backhanded Gemini, knocking him to the ground. "You're nothing but flesh to break."

  Gemini stared up, tasting blood in his mouth. "I'm second in line to the throne. Free me . . . and I will kill Mercy Deus, and I will kill High Priestess Beatrix . . . and once the Temple is mine, you'll have more wealth than you, your kids, and grandkids would know how to spend." He reached up a shaky, bloody hand. "Do we have a deal?"

  The torturer grabbed his hand and squeezed so hard Gemini screamed again.

  DOMI

  She flew through the night, a dragon with three riders on her back, feeling like Pyre again, like a beast trained for war.

  Only this time, Domi flew against her old masters.

  The fortress of Castellum Luna rose ahead in the night, still distant, torches flickering on its walls. Here was one of Requiem's most ancient fortifications, built in the days before the great war with Tiranor over a thousand years ago. In the old books of Requiem, this had been a mere outpost rising from the forest. Today a town sprawled around the ancient fortress, a few scattered lanterns gleaming among its clay huts. Farms spread around the town, dark squares in the night: fields of barley, rye, wheat . . . and the cursed plant Domi would burn.

  "Tillvine," she whispered. She looked over her shoulder at the others. "Ready?"

  They sat on her back: Cade, Fidelity, Roen, all clad in their burlap cloaks and hoods. Four dragons would be too visible over the plains, even in the darkness. Domi was the smallest among them, and with only her flying, no firedrakes had noticed them yet. Black paint covered her scales; she vanished into the darkness.

  Her companions nodded. One by one, they leaped off her back, silently shifted into dragons, and fanned out.

  As practiced, Cade and Domi flew close together, gliding down in the sky. She looked at Cade, and he met her eyes and nodded.

  It will be our fire that blazes down.

  Meanwhile, Roen and Fidelity flew farther out, flanking them. Both bared their fangs and stretched out their claws, prepared for battle.

  And they will slay any enemy that rises to stop us.

  Domi stared ahead and bared her fangs. She saw the enemy there.

  "Firedrakes," she grumbled.

  Several of the beasts stood around the field, hulking black lumps in the night. They could have passed for great bales of hay if not for the fire in their jaws, flickering lights that reflected against their scales. Several human soldiers stood here too, patrolling the field, armed with longbows. Domi had flown here enough times as Pyre to know the defenses.

  The four dragons kept gliding downward, jaws shut, fire hidden, scales painted black, mere shadows in the starless night. The field grew close, and the fortress loomed ahead, a great shadow topped with fire. Domi could smell the tillvine already—an acrid, burning smell.

  Domi glanced at Fidelity, who flew to her right, and at Roen, who flew far to her left. She blew a single spark from her maw, a mere flicker . . . then swooped.

  The others swooped at her sides.

  Air shrieked around her, and the firedrakes below reared and their eyes blazed.

  "Remember Requiem!" Domi cried, and the other dragons answered her cry. "Remember Requiem!"

  She shot down toward the field. As the firedrakes burst into flight, screeching madly, Domi blew her flames.

  The jet crashed down toward the field, and an instant later, Cade sent down his own shrieking pillar.

  A row of tillvine caught fire.

  Arrows flew from below.

  The firedrakes rose and prepared to blow their flames.

  Instants before the great reptiles could attack, two shadows swooped. Fidelity landed upon one of the drakes, lashed her claws, and ripped out its throat. Roen shot toward the other drake, spewing flame. The two dragons, blue and green, rose higher, then plunged down and showered dragonfire against the soldiers below.

  Rows of tillvine blazed in the field, but most of the plants still grew, and more firedrakes came flying from the fortress above.

  "Again!" Domi shouted to Cade, then looked toward her sister. "More drakes from the fort!"

  Domi beat her wings, rose higher, and spun in the air. She dived and spewed more fire, igniting another row of tillvine plants. Cade glided at her side, his fire raining, and more tillvine burned.

  "Agai—" she began to shout when two firedrakes slammed against her.

  Domi cried out in pain. Their claws tore at her scales. One's jaws closed around her shoulder, biting deep. Paladins rode on their backs, thrusting lances. Domi screamed, blasting fire every which way, and dipped in the sky.

  A roar rolled down.

  A blue dragon swooped and crashe
d into the firedrakes, a mad beast, jaws snapping, claws digging into firedrake flesh. Fire blazed as Fidelity fought, ripping the drakes off Domi.

  "Fly, sister!" the blue beast shouted.

  Domi gasped, bleeding and burnt, but managed to soar and dive. She blew more fire onto the field. Another row of tillvine burned.

  "Slay them!" a voice sounded in the town. "Archers, fire!"

  Domi looked up and her heart sank. Archers were racing out from the town. They tugged back bowstrings, and flaming arrows flew through the night.

  "Roen, Fidelity!" Domi shouted and soared.

  She was too slow.

  An arrow slammed into her tail, and another shot through her wing. Domi yowled. These were longbows, their arrows thick and deadly, capable of punching through breastplates and dragon scales.

  Domi gritted her teeth and dived to burn another row of tillvine.

  She rained down her fire, then bellowed as an arrow scraped across her back. Another glanced off her horn.

  "Fidelity!" she shouted.

  The blue dragon streamed overhead, and Roen followed. Their fire blasted forth, hitting the archers. Cade swooped at Domi's side, scattering flames, burning more tillvine. The fire was spreading below now, engulfing the field.

  When Domi looked over her shoulder, she saw a dozen more firedrakes rising from the town, riders on their backs. Their cries shook the world.

  "We're done, let's get out of here!" Cade shouted.

  Domi nodded and beat her wings. Two arrows were still embedded into her. When she tried to fly higher, a firedrake flew her way, and she roared out her flames; they washed over its rider, and the man screamed, burning. Domi flew higher.

  "Come on!" she shouted. "Roen! Fidelity!"

  More arrows flew. More firedrakes cried out, and the beasts' flames shot across the night. The fields blazed below. The four dragons joined together and rose higher.

  "Remember Requiem!" Cade shouted and laughed. "Requiem is reborn!"

  The clouds spread above them, thick and charcoal. The dragons flew into their cover.

  "On my back!" Domi said.

  One by one, her companions flew above her, released their magic, and landed on her back as humans. The firedrakes still screeched behind, but only one small dragon, her scales painted black, Domi vanished into the clouds.

  "Find them!" rose a cry behind. "Find the weredragons!"

  Columns of fire rose through the clouds. Domi banked, dodging them, swerving left and right. The flaming columns rose everywhere, a burning cathedral.

  One of the drakes rose ahead of Domi, its black teeth ringing a maw of fire, and its eyes smoldered like molten metal. Domi hissed and dived, flying beneath it, then soared through the clouds. More fire blasted ahead; she glimpsed another firedrake flickering through the clouds, only flashes of its scales showing and vanishing. She soared higher, rising above it, and flew onward.

  Arrows whistled through the clouds, but the paladins firing them were blind in here. The firedrakes kept blowing their fire, revealing their locations. Streaks of orange and glowing red splotches spread everywhere. Domi flew like she had never flown, silent, barely letting her wings churn the clouds, dodging the flames, avoiding the light.

  It seemed hours before the sounds and lights of pursuit finally faded.

  Domi dipped in the sky, emerged from under the clouds, and beheld wild grasslands leading to distant mountains. No more firedrakes. No more flame.

  A weight lifted off her back. The other Vir Requis fell through the sky, then shifted and rose to fly around her.

  Even as she bled and hurt, Domi allowed herself a tight grin.

  For the first time in a hundred years of the Cured Temple's reign, the dragons of Requiem were fighting back.

  She spoke through the fire in her mouth. "Requiem is reborn."

  MERCY

  She stood in the Chamber of Birth, staring at the bursts of light appearing and fading on the map, at all those diseased souls flickering into a broken world.

  Her mother stood beside her on the balcony, staring down with her at the craggy landscape carved of white stone. "They are diseased." Beatrix's face was blank, her hands tucked into her long sleeves, but her rage showed in the slight downward curve of her lips, the stiffness of her back. "They are born diseased, and the beasts burned the only medicine to cure them. What do we do, Mercy?" The High Priestess turned toward her daughter, piercing Mercy with those cold blue eyes. "How do we deal with a poison when the anecdote has been stolen?"

  Mercy stared down from the balcony again. Whenever she stood here, Mercy felt like a goddess staring down from the clouds at the world. The chamber was massive, as large as an emperor's throne room, and a great map of the Commonwealth covered the entire floor. Hills and valleys, carved of white stone, rolled hundreds of feet across. Great mountain ranges, tall as a person, rose like the spines of dead dragons. Towns, cities, villages, farmlands—all rose on the map, their little buildings carved of clay. Directly in the center rose a crystal sculpture of the Cured Temple, a beacon of light.

  And other lights glowed here. Every moment, a light flickered to life somewhere on the map, glowed bright, then faded. Whenever such a glow appeared, scribes in other balconies—a dozen balconies rose around the chamber—scribbled into scrolls. Each flicker of light was a flicker of life, a child born in the Commonwealth—babes here in Nova Vita, babes in distant farmlands, even babes born in the wilderness.

  Babes diseased with dragon magic, Mercy thought, staring at the new life appearing in her empire. Babes we must cure with tillvine.

  "Well?" Beatrix said. "Solve me this riddle, Mercy. The dragons which you let flee, which you failed to kill, have burned five tillvine farms so far. Our stocks run short. How do we burn out the dragon curse?"

  "We dip into our stores." Mercy watched a light flicker in Lynport, an ancient city in the south. "We have plenty of tillvine in the cellars from last harvest, and—"

  Beatrix interrupted her. "That tillvine is meant to last until next harvest. That next harvest was coming up this month. It will be another year before the fields yield new crops. Our stores will not last until next autumn." She narrowed her eyes, staring at Mercy. "So I ask you again, daughter. Without enough tillvine this year, how do we deal with diseased babes?"

  Mercy stared into her mother's eyes, and she saw the answer there.

  "Spirit," Mercy whispered and took a step back.

  Beatrix smiled thinly. "So you understand."

  Mercy shook her head. "They are children of the Spirit, people of the Commonwealth. I will not do such a thing."

  The High Priestess's smile stretched a little tighter. "You will, my child. I have no tolerance for disobedient children. Ask Gemini how I treat a child who defies me. I will not tolerate the disease in my empire. Leave. Now. Seek them out. And . . . cure them." Beatrix turned to leave, then paused and looked back. "And Mercy? That babe you adopted, the precious little thing you call Eliana? If you fail at this task, it will be Eliana who pays the price. Get rid of these diseased babes . . . or I'll get rid of yours."

  With that, Beatrix left the balcony, robes swishing.

  Mercy stood for a moment longer, staring down at the map. Her jaw tightened and her fingernails drove into her palms. For that moment, all she could do was stand stiffly, barely able to breathe.

  Finally she shouted, "Give me the lists!"

  Within an hour, three hundred firedrakes took flight from Nova Vita, paladins on their backs, and flew to all directions of the wind.

  "To purification," Mercy whispered and leaned forward in the saddle. Below her, Felesar grunted and snorted out sparks of flames. The firedrake's wings creaked, and his scales clattered. He was an aging beast but the largest in the capital, scarred and sturdy and ruthless in a fight.

  As they flew beneath a shimmering sun, Mercy reached across the saddle to stroke Felesar's copper scales. They were hot and smooth, and Mercy thought back to her years riding Pyre. She had chosen Pyre becau
se of her scales; she had been the only firedrake of multiple colors, each of her scales a different shade of fire, ranging from deep red to bright yellow. What Pyre had lacked in size and strength, she had made up for in speed, stealth, and beauty.

  Mercy closed her eyes, trembling, disgusted, betrayed, shocked.

  For years I rode you, Pyre . . . and you were a weredragon. The weredragon Domi. The weredragon my brother bedded.

  Mercy wanted to gag.

  So many truths were collapsing around her. About Pyre. About her missing brother—Cade, a weredragon she had hunted, a weredragon who had fled her again. About her mother and the depths of her cruelty, a mother who'd send her out to slay innocent babes.

  "But I must protect you, Eliana," Mercy whispered, tears in her eyes.

  For the past few months, Eliana had become like a true daughter to her. Mercy had found wet nurses to feed the babe, servants to change her swaddling clothes, and priests to pray over her. But every evening, Mercy would enter the babe's chamber, lift her, hold her close, vow to protect her.

  Mercy shivered.

  "And now you would kill her, Mother? Kill her unless I slay a thousand babes?" She grimaced, eyes stinging. "How you know our weaknesses. How you use them against us, High Priestess. How you know how to terrify your children."

  A mile outside the city, Mercy spotted the farmhouse. Two other drakes flew with her, paladins upon them. They descended, their wings beating back the stalks of wheat, their cries ringing across the land.

  "Purification!" Mercy shouted, as she had shouted on so many missions. "Bring out your babe to be purified!"