"And now that magic is gone." She raised her chin, tightened her lips, and tasted her tears. "And so I will leave."
She took another step, her tears freezing on her cheeks. She turned around only once and gazed across the forest. The pillars of Requiem rose there, dwarfing the trees, white columns against a blue sky.
"Requiem," Laira whispered. "I leave your sky."
And my story ends here, she thought. After all my heartache, all the blood I spilled, all those I loved and hated . . . I am again alone.
She turned around. She took another step.
Farewell, Requiem.
"Laira."
The voice rose behind her, soft and deep. She turned around again and she saw him there. Jeid emerged from behind snowy birches, walking toward her. He wore thick bear pelts, and his hair and beard were growing back, still short, snow clinging to them.
"Why have you come here?" Laira said, voice hoarse. "Don't try to convince me to return. Don't even say goodbye, because parting from you will shatter what remains of my soul. Let me leave."
But he stepped closer to her, trudging through the snow. "I won't let you leave."
Her eyes stung with fresh tears. Her body shook. Her voice was barely a whisper. "I am broken."
She tried to keep walking, to escape him, but his stride was longer than hers, and he caught her, and he pulled her into his arms.
"Laira, where would you go?"
She tried to free herself from his embrace, but she felt too weak—too weak physically, too weak emotionally. "I don't know. Away. I'll travel north as far as I can go, into new exile."
His eyes softened. "You saved Requiem. And now you would leave it?"
She touched his cheek. "Jeid, don't you understand? All my life I searched for a home, for a place to belong. When I found Requiem, I found that home. I found kindred souls. And for the past year, I fought for Requiem with every fiber of my body, every drop of my blood, every horror that still claws inside my skull. The nightmares of the Abyss and the beauty of Requiem's columns will never leave me. Yes, I saved Requiem. I saved her for you. For Dorvin. For Maev. For Issari and Tanin. For every lost weredragon who is afraid, who is alone, who seeks a home. Requiem is saved. But not for me." She trembled. "My magic is gone, and I feel so hollow, so cold, but I gave the others a home. That will comfort me in my exile."
"Laira," Jeid said slowly, "when I first met you, I found a strong, wise woman. And for this year of war, I learned that your wisdom is greater than any I've known. But right now, you are speaking like a fool. By the stars, Laira. You're still Vir Requis."
"Even without the magic? Even without being able to shift into a dragon?" She snorted, tears in her eyes. "I'll never fly again, Jeid. I'll never feel the wind around me. I'll never see the forest from above. I'll never find our sky."
Jeid laughed softly. "Of course you will."
He took a step back and shifted.
The copper dragon stood in the snow, staring at Laira, the largest dragon in Requiem, his scales frosted, his eyes deep brown. Wordlessly, he lowered his wing, forming a ramp. He nodded.
Laira sniffed. She wanted to run. She wanted to forget him. But she found herself climbing his wing and straddling his back. Jeid kicked off, scattering snow, and beat his wings. Branches cracked and rained snow around them. With a few massive strokes, bending the trees and blowing back snow, Jeid cleared the treetops. He soared higher, caught a wind current, and glided.
Laira sat on the dragon's back, clinging on. The wind streamed across her, cold and fresh. The forests rolled below them, an endless painting all in white and silver, and Laira laughed and wept, for it was beautiful, and she was happy, and she was at peace.
"You will always fly, Laira," the dragon said. "We will always fly together. We will always find the sky."
The dragon turned in the sky, and they glided over the columns of Requiem. The grand hall seemed so small from up here, a mere toy, as if Laira could reach down and pluck the columns like a child lifting sticks. From up here, the palace seemed small but the sky was endless, blue, cold, and beautiful. Other dragons rose from below, and they all flew around her.
"Queen Laira!" they called. "May the stars bless our queen."
The wind blew her tears away, and Laira's voice rose in song. "As the leaves fall upon our marble tiles, as the breeze rustles the birches beyond our columns, as the sun gilds the mountains above our halls—know, young child of the woods, you are home, you are home." The others joined her song, and Requiem's prayer rose from many throats. "Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky."
She would always find this sky, she knew. And Requiem would always be her home.
JEID
Snow coated the graves of war, and new light and life filled the hall of Requiem, by the time the young blue dragon returned.
Fin glided on the wind, a small dragon with three normal legs and one leg shrunken. Jeid sat on the Oak Throne, staring up. The azure dragon circled the hall once, then glided down. Three of his feet clattered against the marble tiles; the fourth foot hung loosely, no larger than an apple. Smoke plumed from the dragon's nostrils, and he shifted back into human form, becoming a boy clad in rags, his left arm only several inches long. Face tanned and eyes wide, Fin stepped closer and knelt before Jeid.
"King Aeternum!" he said. "I bring news of Issari and Tanin."
Jeid rose from his throne so fast his head spun. His heart burst into a gallop. Laira, who stood by his side, rushed with him toward the boy.
"Tell me everything you know," Jeid said. "Where are they? Are they well? Are they—"
But Fin's eyes rolled back and he swayed. Jeid had to catch the poor boy before he collapsed.
I told the damn boy not to fly for days straight, Jeid thought as he cried out for food and water.
Fin lay on the floor, mumbling, only half-awake. Vir Requis rushed forth with a meal: wild berries, mushrooms, venison, and water infused with sweet leaves. The scrawny boy nibbled the food at first, gained some strength, then bolted down the rest. He spoke between mouthfuls.
The Vir Requis crowded around the boy, and for a long time, they listened. Whenever Dorvin interrupted with a question, Jeid cuffed the young man's nape, silencing him, and Fin spoke on. The boy spoke of Issari and Tanin traveling across the southern realms from city to city, gathering an army. He spoke of nephilim—the winged children of demons and mortal women—infesting the south and mustering for war. He spoke of Raem descending into the pit of darkness, of naming himself King of the Abyss, of wedding Angel in the shadows.
"Thousands of nephilim still fly in the south," Fin said, stuffing more mulberries into his mouth. "And real demons too! I saw some while flying north. Nasty creatures. They're all flowing out of Eteer. There's a gaping hole where the palace was, a pit leading right down into the Abyss. I flew over it." He shuddered. "And I looked down and . . . the Abyss seemed to look into me. Like a great black eye." His skin paled and he clutched Jeid's hand. "My king, she's going to fight him. Issari. She told me! She and Tanin and all the other dragons—they're going to fly right into that pit. Right into the Abyss. Issari said that's the only way to stop Raem." He wrapped his arms around Jeid and clung to him. "I told her not to. I told her it's too dangerous. But she won't listen. I had to come tell you so that maybe you can stop them." The boy's eyes gleamed with tears. "You can't let them fly into the Abyss. It would kill them."
The boy closed his eyes and fell silent, his cheek pressed against Jeid's chest.
Everyone else started talking at once.
"I'll fly into the Abyss right away!" Dorvin shouted and punched the air. "I'll slay a thousand demons while Tanin and Issari are wetting themselves with fear."
"Dorvin, you go fly into a gopher hole; that's more at your level." Maev flexed her muscles. "And Tanin wouldn't even be able to face gophers. I'll fly there to save my lump of a brother. We burn demons!"
Laira, meanwhile, was urging calm. The young queen leaped onto the throne and cr
ied out, "Silence, everyone! This is foolishness. We must seal the Abyss, not fly into it. That's flying into a trap. We must travel south and stop Issari."
Other Vir Requis spoke too. Some called for an end to war. Others demanded vengeance against Raem. A few spoke of digging new tunnels and spending their lives hidden away from the evils in the world.
Throughout it all, Jeid remained silent, listening.
Finally all eyes turned toward him, and the Vir Requis fell silent—souls weary from war, thin, clad in only ragged furs, the seedlings of a kingdom.
Jeid spoke to them, his voice slow and deep. "For many years I thought that my family was alone—the only weredragons in the world, cursed, outcast souls. For many years I sought others—others with the same curse, others to stand proud and strong, to unite, to forge a kingdom. And we found others; others here in the north, and now others muster in the south across the sea. Now we call ourselves Vir Requis, and we call our magic a gift, not a curse. And we stand within the hall of a kingdom named Requiem, and we are proud. But we're not yet strong. Not while Raem, King of the Abyss, still lives."
Some Vir Requis stared with dark eyes. Others cried out in approval, fists rising.
Jeid continued speaking. "It was Raem who sent the Goldtusk tribe to attack our old home in the escarpment. It was Raem who drove us to Two Skull Mountain and slew many of us upon the slope. It was Raem who sent the Widejaw tribe to shatter our columns. So long as Raem lives, we will never have peace in Requiem. So long as Raem lives, he will hunt us. We can no longer hide from him, no longer sit and wait for him to attack again." Jeid raised his chin. "We must join the southern dragons, and we must fly into the Abyss, and we must slay its lord."
A few Vir Requis stared at one another fearfully. But most stared back at Jeid, shoulders squared, eyes proud.
"We fight," Dorvin said. He stepped forward and stood at Jeid's side. "I will always fly with you, my king."
Maev nodded, eyes stern. Her dragon tattoos danced as she clenched her fists. "We fight." She came to stand at Jeid's other side. "I will always fight for Requiem."
Laira joined them—smaller, shorter, her magic gone—but she stood proudly, head held high. She spoke in only a whisper, but her voice carried the gravity of a great battle cry. "I've been fleeing my father my whole life. If you would let me ride upon you, King Aeternum, I would fly with you into the very pit of the Abyss, and I would face my father again. And I would tell him: My magic is gone, but forever I am a daughter of Requiem, and I will not let you defile her hall again."
The others stepped forward one by one—a few dozen people, all that remained of their kingdom.
But we're not alone, Jeid thought as they gathered around him. He turned his head and stared south between the trees. My son lives. Issari lives. And they found others, a great nation of dragons in the south. We will fly together.
RAEM
The craving filled him, overwhelming, maddening, tearing at his insides. He was a starving man. Dying of desire. The curse clawed inside him, begging for release.
The curse of dragons.
He gripped the arms of his throne—the wriggling, wet throne of the Abyss, a towering seat woven of thousands of living tongues. His fingers dug into the fleshy, wet armrests.
"Bring me another!" Raem shouted. "Another!"
Demons filled his hall. They clattered across the floor. They clung to the great ribs forming the chamber walls. They hung from the ceiling, dangling sacks of blood. Some creatures were furred, others scaled, some skinless. Some towered in the hall, globs of ooze, bony creatures with horned heads, living trees with branches of fingers. Other demons were small, scuttling underfoot, leaving trails of pus and slime. Some played musical instruments made from bones. Others babbled unintelligibly. A few rutted in puddles, screaming out in their lust. Some fed upon blood and bones, while others fought, tearing one another apart, and feasting upon severed limbs.
"Another!" Raem shouted from his throne.
The demons scurried aside, forming a path between them across the hall, leading from the throne to the tunnel that led into the hall. Two gray, pot-bellied demons framed the entrance. They began to beat drums made from human skin, and across the hall, demons joined the chant, thumping their feet and chests. Eyes lit up in the tunnel, and a demon clattered into the hall, a great isopod the size of a bull. Many tentacles and claws grew from its mouth, the tendrils wrapped around a struggling young man.
"Bring him here!" Raem cried, delight filling him. Good. Good! This would quell the desire.
The isopod clattered forward on its many legs, snorted, and dumped down its captive. The man struggled to rise, only to fall again. Blood dripped from many wounds across him. He was a man of Eteer, perhaps a fisherman, perhaps a farmer, one of the few souls who had stayed in the ravaged city.
Raem stepped toward the wounded wretch.
"Please, my king." The man bowed before Raem. "Please, great lord. Spare my life."
Raem's blood boiled. He stretched out his tentacle—his new left arm—and lifted the man's chin. "Look me in the eyes, my son." His voice was soft, barely containing his glee. "Keep looking into my eyes."
The man stared up, trembling, his eyes rimmed with red. With a sudden jerk, Raem thrust out his right arm—his lobster claw—and grabbed the man's neck.
Just as he squeezed the claw shut, severing the head, the man looked away.
Demons cheered.
"Gods damn it!" Raem shouted and kicked the head aside with his hoof. "Why did the fool disobey?"
As demons leaped onto the body and began to feed, Raem stomped away, moving on his hoof and talon. It was worthless this way. Why even bother to kill a man if he looked away? Killing was the most intimate connection one could make with another living soul. To gaze into the eyes of a man or woman, to take their life as they stared into you, as you stared into them, as you formed a bond just as the life slipped away . . . it was perhaps the only emotion that could quell the fire inside him, the need for the dragon magic.
"Fetch me another one!" Raem shouted, blood on his claw. "Another human!"
The demons bowed before him, quivering. One dared approach, a bloated red thing like a living boil with legs. "But my lord!" The creature bowed. "There are no more humans. All have fled. They hide in holes, or they hide in the desert, or they fled to find your daughter, the Priestess Issari, or—"
"You will not mention my daughter here!" Raem roared, swiped his claw, and tore into the demon. Blood spurted and entrails spilled. As the hall erupted with screams, Raem looked toward the others. "Fetch me another human to kill. Dig through the ruins of Eteer and find me a coward who hides. Trawl the coast for fishermen. Comb the desert for exiles. Whoever fetches me a mortal will feed upon his heart!"
The demons clawed over one another in their race toward the tunnel. Several dozen blasted out from the hall, traveling the darkness toward the great crack in the earth, the crack leading up into Eteer, his fallen kingdom.
Eteer was a ruin now, of course. A cesspool. A broken toy. Raem gazed around him as his hall. Now I am king of a greater realm. Of a—
The craving flared inside him so powerfully he nearly doubled over. The damn disease was growing stronger. It had been moons since Raem had shifted into a dragon. Back in Eteer, he would travel into the cisterns, he would shift in the shadows, would release the tension. But here in the Abyss there was no privacy, and the magic ached for release.
He stormed out of his hall, walked down a corridor carved into the living stone, and entered the nursery. Veined membranes coated the walls like tapestries, quivering and pumping with blood. A dozen of Raem's children sat here, curled up, sucking from fleshy tubes that ran from the walls to their mouths. The nephilim's throats bobbed as they drank, and the red light gleamed upon their warty skin, long jaws, and gleaming green eyes.
My children, Raem thought, looking at the half-demons. My legacy.
Among them lay Angel, Queen of the Abyss, and she held a neph
il to her bosom, nursing the rotting creature. Raem marched toward her, tore the nephil off her breast, and tossed the child aside.
Angel sneered at him and snapped her teeth. Smoke rose from her nostrils. Since feeding upon human flesh in Eteer, she had grown to monstrous size, a woman twenty feet tall, her wings wide as sails. Lava leaked from cracks in her stone body.
"We make more," Raem said. He gripped her arms. "Now."
She growled. "I am feeding your children now, my husband. I—"
He didn’t let her finish her sentence. He grabbed her with his tentacle, and he shoved her onto her back, and he mated with her here in the nursery as their children squealed around them. He screamed as he released himself into her, seeking relief from his magic, from the pain inside him, the pain of betrayal, of his children flying against him, of the disease that would not leave him, of Requiem that still stood in the north. He screamed and Angel howled and the overflowing desire nearly blinded Raem. Yet when he was spent, and his seed was planted, he found the curse still aching.
I need to shift. I need to become a dragon. I need to fly.
He shoved Angel away and left the chamber.
He walked through the Abyss, traveling through tunnels where skinned creatures screamed on the walls, hanging from meat hooks, where mountains of quivering bodies rose from chasms, where great birds dug their beaks into screaming meals, where all the nightmares of existence twisted and screeched and worshiped him. He was King of the Underworld, but he would have no peace—no peace while the dragon clawed inside him.
"I will find no peace," he said into the darkness, "while dragons live."
He stepped down a tunnel and entered a great chasm, a hall larger than all of Eteer. His new army mustered here, thousands of humanoid insects with hard shells like armor, with red eyes, with serrated claws, with venom that dripped from coiling tongues. An army to crawl over the world, to crush every city, to slay every living being.
Requiem's Prayer (Book 3) Page 18
