Dies Irae kicked him. Benedictus doubled over, coughing.
"Silence!" Dies Irae screamed, "I do not remember. That boy is dead. Gone!" His voice was like a swarm of wasps. "There is power now, and light and darkness across the world. That is who I am. I am a god, Benedictus. I am a god of wrath. You are a worm. You die. You die groveling at my feet."
Black tears flowed down Dies Irae's cheeks. His veins pulsed, darkness swarming within them. Teeth bared, his good eye wild, Dies Irae raised his mace over Benedictus's head.
KYRIE ELEISON
Embedded into the doors, the three golden skulls stared with glowing orbits. When Kyrie reached toward one, its glow brightened, and its jaw moved. Its glow was the glow of Loomers, blue and white and warm.
Kyrie wasn't sure how he'd pry the skull from the door. It was embedded deep into the iron. When he touched the skull, however, it clanked and fell into his hands. Its glow brightened, nearly blinding him, and a hum came from its jaw, a sound like spinning Loomers.
Kyrie turned to the twins, the Beam in his hands. The light bathed the girls; they appeared angelic, ghostly, beings of starlight.
"It's warm," he said. "There are two more. One for each."
Gloriae sheathed her sword and took a second skull. It hummed in her hands. Its glow suffused her face and billowed her hair.
Agnus Dei took the third and last skull. Her hair too flew, she tightened her lips, and her eyes narrowed.
"How do we use them?" she asked.
Kyrie hefted the skull in his hands. "In Mythic Creatures of the Gray Age, the drawing shows a man holding them up. Rays of light shoot out and tame a nightshade."
He turned the skull in his hands, so that it faced a wall. He held it high, hoping rays of light would burst from the eye sockets and sear a hole through the stone. The skull still glowed, but there was no great, searing beam of light.
"Do we need to utter a spell?" Gloriae asked. "Artifacts of Wizardry and Power said nothing about that."
Agnus Dei marched toward the tunnel they'd come from. "Father and Mother are in trouble. We'll figure it out on the fly. Come on."
Holding the skulls, the three ran up the tunnels and staircases. They sloshed through blood and leaped over the bodies of soldiers. It was a long climb, but eventually they emerged back overground. They entered a wide hall, its tapestries tattered, its walls bloody. Bodies, broken shields, and shattered blades covered the floor. Outside the windows, nightshades screeched, lighting flashed, and thunder rolled. Griffin bodies covered the ground.
"Benedictus and Lacrimosa are behind those doors," Kyrie said. Stars, I hope they're still alive. He began running toward the heavy oak doors.
A hiss rose, and a nightshade slithered from a shadowy corner. It screeched and rushed at them.
Heart thrashing, Kyrie raised his Beam.
Light exploded. The sound cracked the walls. Beams of light shot from skull's eye sockets, drenching the hall. The world was nothing but white light, searing, blinding him. Kyrie nearly dropped the skull; his hands burned. He screamed, but heard nothing; the humming light overpowered all sound.
He could see the nightshade, wisps of bright gray in the light. It screeched. Its eyes burst into white fire. It struggled as if trying to flee, but seemed caught in the beams. It howled like a dying boar, hoarse, horrible. Walls shattered. It flipped onto its back, writhing, screaming.
Kyrie jerked the golden skull sideways. The beams from the orbits veered, tossing the nightshade against the wall. The bricks shattered. The nightshade wept. Kyrie had not imagined they could weep. He waved the skull again, and the beams tossed the nightshade into the corner. It lay there shivering, shrivelled up like a slug sprinkled with salt.
Agnus Dei too pointed her golden skull. More light blazed, spinning, screaming. Walls shattered. The nightshade's eyes melted. It howled. It begged them.
"Please," it cried, its voice like ripping flesh. "Please, mercy, please."
Gloriae raised the third golden skull. Beams shot from its orbits, and the nightshade burst into white flame. Smoke rose from it, it wept and shivered, and then collapsed into ash.
The Beams dimmed.
Color returned to the world.
The sound died.
The skulls vibrated gently, and once more, their eye sockets glowed a delicate, moonlight glow.
"Well," Kyrie said, "that sure beats dragonfire."
For a moment silence blanketed the world.
Then a thousand nightshades screeched outside, crashed into the hall, and swarmed around them.
Kyrie lifted the Beam, and it burst into light again. A nightshade swooped. Kyrie pointed the beams of light at it, and it screeched and flew back. More nightshades flew to his right. He spun the beams around, and they sliced through the nightshades. They screamed and curled into the corner like halved worms.
The twins were also spinning their Beams. The light seared the world, and nightshades screamed. Once caught in the light, they could not escape. They sizzled, trapped, weeping and begging for mercy in beastly grunts. Kyrie swung his Beam like swinging a club, tossing the nightshades aside.
"Don't bother killing them now!" he shouted over the roaring Beams and dying nightshades. "Knock them aside. We must reach Benedictus and Lacrimosa. They're behind those doors. They need us."
He began plowing forward, step by step, knocking nightshades aside. They screamed and fizzed and shrivelled up around him.
"Agnus Dei, beside me!" he shouted. "Gloriae, watch my back."
He could barely hear himself, but the twins seemed to hear him. Agnus Dei stood to his left, Gloriae to his right; both swung their Beams forward and backwards. They formed a sun, casting light to all sides. His golden skull trembled so violently, Kyrie clung with all his strength. For every step, he battled a dozen nightshades. Their screams and smoke filled the hall.
It seemed ages, but finally Kyrie reached the doors.
"Stars, please," he prayed as he kicked the doors open. "Let Benedictus and Lacrimosa still live."
The Beams drenched the hall beyond the doors. Agnus Dei and Gloriae behind him, he stepped through.
Kyrie's belly went cold.
The room was a mess. The columns were smashed, a wall was knocked down, the tiles on the floor were cracked. Blood covered the floor.
"Where are they?" Agnus Dei shouted. The Beams still rattled and hummed. The nightshades crowded at the doorway behind, but Gloriae held them back with her Beam.
Kyrie stared. There was a stain of blood below a cracked column. Lacrimosa's bluebell pendant lay there, its chain torn. Kyrie lifted it.
"Lacrimosa was hurt here," he whispered.
He moved down the hall. By another stain of blood, he found black scales and a fallen dagger. Kyrie could hardly breathe. The horror pulsed through him, spinning his head.
"Benedictus was hurt here. This is his dagger."
He looked up at the sisters. Both stood with Beams in hands, holding back the nightshades. Both stared at him with wide eyes.
"Are they dead?" Agnus Dei whispered. Her voice trembled, and tears filled her eyes.
Kyrie looked at bloodied footprints. They led from the hall out the doors, into the city.
"Those are Irae's prints," Kyrie said. "They're too large to be Lacrimosa's, and Benedictus has flat boots; these are heeled." A nightshade swooped through the window, and Kyrie tossed it aside, searing it with his Beam. He spoke with a quivering voice. "Dies Irae hurt them. He took them from here."
"Where?" Agnus Dei demanded. "Where did he take them? Are they dead?" She trembled. Nightshades screeched and fell around her.
Gloriae tightened her jaw and began marching toward the palace doors. Nightshades fell and sizzled around her. She looked over her shoulder.
"Follow me," she said. "I know Dies Irae. I know where he took them."
She left the palace and ran down the shattered streets between dead men and griffins. Nightshades covered the skies, howling under the Beams.
Kyrie and Agnus Dei ran behind her, waving their Beams at the walls of attacking nightshades, clearing a way between them.
"Where?" Kyrie demanded, boots sloshing through griffin blood.
Gloriae looked at him, her eyes blank. Her face was pale.
"To his amphitheatre," she said. "He's putting them on trial."
LACRIMOSA
"Court is in session," screeched the voice.
But no, she thought. This was no voice. It was whistling steam, and steel scratching against steel, and demon screams—an inhuman cacophony that formed words. She convulsed at the sound. Lacrimosa tried to open her eyes, but darkness tugged her. Where was she?
"All hail Judge Irae!" spoke the voice, impossibly high pitched, a voice that could shatter glass. A thousand screeches answered the words, a sound like a thousand slaughtered boars.
Lacrimosa felt something clammy wrap around her. She felt herself lifted overground, and she moaned. Her head pounded. Her eyelids fluttered, and she finally managed to open her eyes.
She gasped.
Above her floated a figure from nightmares. It was Dies Irae, but more monstrous than she'd ever seen him. Nightshades wreathed him, holding him ten feet above her. He wore a judge's black robes and a wig of white, squirming snakes. He held a circle of jagged metal, Osanna's wheel of justice, its spikes cutting his hand. Storm clouds thundered above him.
"The trial of weredragons begins!" he cried, that sound like steam and metal leaving his mouth. The veins of his face pulsed, as if insects tunnelled through them. Pus and blood dripped from his empty eye socket. Nightshades screamed around him, holding him in the air, coiling around his legs, wrapping around his shoulders. He banged his left arm, the steel mace, against his breastplate. The sound rang out even over the screeches.
"Ben," Lacrimosa whispered.
She saw him across from Dies Irae. Nightshades wrapped around him, holding him upright. Blood dripped from his mouth and leg, and his left eye was swelling, but he lived. He saw her. He tried to speak, but nightshade tendrils covered his mouth. Lacrimosa tried to reach out to him, then realized that nightshades wreathed her too. They pinned her arms to her sides, and held her an inch above the ground.
Dies Irae laughed above them, his wig of snakes hissing. "Here, in this arena, before this crowd, we shall judge the weredragons for their crimes against mankind."
Lacrimosa looked around her, and saw that they stood in the amphitheatre, the same place where Dies Irae had once unleashed beasts upon her. All around, upon the rows of seats, nightshades slithered and grunted and watched the trial. Lightning crackled between them.
"Benedictus," Lacrimosa said again, pleading, and tried to reach out to him. She couldn't free her arms from the nightshades that encased her. One nightshade licked her cheek with an icy, smoky tongue. She shivered.
Dies Irae slammed his mace against his breastplate again. "Silence in the court! Today we judge Benedictus and Lacrimosa, the Lord and Lady of Lizards." His voice was howling winds, raising his words' last syllables into screeches. Clouds thundered and crackled above him. The snakes on his head hissed.
"Dies Irae!" Lacrimosa called, finding her voice. "Cease this mockery of justice. You only mock yourself."
"Silence her!" he screeched, an electrical sound rising into a crackle.
The nightshades covered her mouth, and she shouted into them, but no sound escaped. Dies Irae cackled. He unrolled a scroll and read from it.
"Your crimes, Lizards! I shall read you your crimes. You are charged, verily, of burning alive the children of this city, and eating them, and roasting them, and biting into their innards to suck upon them." He laughed hysterically. Nightshade maggots filled his mouth. "How do you plead, Lizards?"
Benedictus managed to free his head from the nightshades cocooning him. "Dies Irae, you are no judge. Stop this show."
Dies Irae slammed his mace again. "Silence in my court! Silence, I say. Bring forth the children." His voice was a tornado, buzzing with electricity. His 'r's rolled like a rod dragged against cage bars. "Bring forth the victims."
The nightshades across the amphitheatre—there were thousands—squealed. Three swooped from the high tiers to the dusty arena. They carried burned, bloodied bodies in their smoky arms. They tossed the bodies at Dies Irae's feet.
Lacrimosa looked away too late. The image seared her. Three children, burned and twisted, black and red. Who had done this? Had Dies Irae murdered these children as mock evidence for his mock trial?
He was fully mad now, Lacrimosa realized. He knew not fantasy from reality. The nightshades had festered in his brain and broken it. Did he truly believe she and Benedictus had burned these children?
"I find you guilty!" Dies Irae cried. The nightshades lifted him higher. Lightning crackled around him, and the snakes on his head screamed.
"Dies Ira—" Benedictus began, but the howls of nightshades and the booming thunder overpowered his words.
Dies Irae floated upon the nightshades ten feet back, and approached a structure hidden beneath a black curtain. What horror lies there? Lacrimosa thought. What more could Dies Irae reveal to still shock her?
Dies Irae ripped off the curtain, and Lacrimosa wept.
It looked like a gallows heavy with bodies. But these bodies were not hanged. They were gutted, bled, and hung on meat hooks. Some bodies were but children. A makeshift butcher shop for humans.
"Behold!" Dies Irae cried. "The weredragons have prepared these bodies to feast upon them. They stole our women, our youths, our children. They butchered them. They planned to eat them. They dined upon them in their halls of scales and flame."
Lacrimosa lowered her head, shut her eyes, and wept. How could such horror exist? How could such evil fill a man? How could a human, for Dies Irae had been human once, sink into such insanity? She shivered. All she had ever wanted, ever fought for, was the song of harps, a life of peace, of leaves and earth and sunlight and stars. How had she come to here, this trial, this stench of blood and fire?
"Ben," she whispered. She would die here, she knew. Close to him, but unable to hug him, to kiss him one last time. The nightshades tightened around her, and she opened her eyes, and looked to Benedictus.
Their eyes met.
"I love you," she whispered to him. He mouthed the same words back to her.
Nightshades flowed into her mouth, but she kept her eyes on her husband. I wanted to grow old with you. To watch our children get married, have children of their own. That's all I ever wanted. But we end here in pain and horror.
"I find you," Dies Irae said, "guilty. Guilty! Guilty as charged!"
He banged his mace against his breastplate, and the nightshades howled as if cheering. Winds flowed among them, and the clouds roiled.
Dies Irae kept reading from his scroll. He read of the earthquakes they caused, of the temples they toppled, of the illnesses they spread. He shouted about how they destroyed the world, and stole the souls of millions. As he read, he laughed and screamed.
"Guilty! Guilty to everything!"
Finally he tossed the scroll aside, and pulled a sword from his robes. It was a black sword, raising smoke, a jagged sword that sucked in all light.
"Behold the sword of the executioner," he said, and held it aloft, presenting it to the crowd of nightshades. "Behold the bright blade of justice."
Benedictus was struggling against the nightshades. His face was red. He was trying to shift; Lacrimosa saw scales appear and vanish across him. The nightshades were crushing him.
She saw her husband, and she heard the birches rustle. She could see them again, wisps of golden leaves, and harpists between them, and columns of marble. She saw Benedictus in green and gold, and she walked with him arm in arm, as dragons glided above through blue skies. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she clung to that memory, those ghosts of a land destroyed and burned. She would die with those memories, that love of her home, that love of Requiem.
"Goodbye, Benedictus," she whispered.
"Goodbye, Requiem. May our wings forever find your sky."
Wreathed in nightshades, Dies Irae floated above Benedictus.
"Now, in this arena...," Dies Irae said, speaking slowly, theatrically, savoring every word. "Now, we carry out the punishment. Death. Death. Death!"
Silence fell.
The thousands of nightshades leaned forward, licked their lips, and stared.
The clouds ceased to grumble.
Dies Irae smiled a small, thin smile.
"Death," he whispered.
He raised his sword above Benedictus.
Lacrimosa closed her eyes. She would not watch this. She would remember Benedictus among the birches, smiling and strong, her king. That was how he would remain forever in her memories.
Light fell on her eyelids, and she smiled as she wept, for it seemed to her that the light of Requiem's stars glowed upon her.
A buzz hummed, angelic in her ears, like the sound of dragon wings.
"I'll be with you in our starlit halls, Ben," she whispered. "I'll watch over you, Agnus Dei and Gloriae. I'll watch you from the stars, and be with you always."
"Mother!" they cried. "Mother!"
She smiled. The memories of their voices seemed so real.
"Mother, you're alive!"
Lacrimosa opened her eyes... and she saw them.
She shouted and wept.
"Agnus Dei! Gloriae! Kyrie!"
At first, Lacrimosa thought that she floated through the starlit halls, the spirit Requiem beyond the Draco constellation. White light washed the world, bleaching all color, banishing all shadow. But no. This was still the amphitheatre, now drenched in light. Three dragons were flying toward the amphitheatre. Gloriae. Agnus Dei. Kyrie. They held the Beams in their claws. Lacrimosa knew they were the Beams; great light burst from them, spinning and singing. The world hummed and glowed.
The Beams' light hit the edge of the amphitheatre. The nightshades there, upon the top tiers, screeched and writhed. They turned sickly gray and thin in the light, and their screams shook the amphitheatre. Cracks ran along the stones.
Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy Page 49
