Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy

by Daniel Arenson

  Lacrimosa turned several more pages, then nodded. "Here we are."

  This chapter was entitled "Animating Stones". It featured an illustration of a battle. On one side fought knights, swordsmen, and archers. On the other side, a wizard commanded an army of statues. The statues seemed to move; they were tossing javelins and waving swords.

  Lacrimosa read out loud.

  "As there is no greater crime than taking a life, so is there no greater Magik than giving it. In all the lore of Ancient Artifacts, the Animating Stones are the most powerful, and the most dangerous. An Animating Stone can cause a river to rise like a serpent; a statue to march and fight; a corpse to escape the grave; or any other dead matter to take life, to move, to serve its master. Such is their might, that around Animating Stones, all other Magiks and Artifacts lose their power, and—"

  "Look at this part," Agnus Dei interrupted. She pointed at the next paragraph. "About the Ancient Days."

  Lacrimosa sighed and skipped forward. She kept reading. "In the Ancient Days, when the world was in chaos, the Ocean Deities created the Animating Stones, so they may mold the species from fire and water, and create a male and female from each. First they created the fish, then birds, and finally creatures to crawl upon the earth. They created Man and Woman last, him of fire and her of water, and placed the last two Animating Stones within their hearts."

  Agnus Dei scrunched her lips. "It doesn't say when they created Vir Requis."

  Kyrie shoved her. "The Draco stars created us, not any Ocean Deities. You should know that."

  "Pardon me, oh wise scholar pup."

  Lacrimosa continued reading. "When all creatures swam, flew, crawled, and walked, the Ocean Deities collected all the Animating Stones. They took them to a dark forest, and dug deep tunnels, and scattered them underground. None have seen them since."

  The chapter was finished. Lacrimosa closed the book.

  "So where is this dark forest?" Agnus Dei demanded. "How did Dies Irae find the buried Animating Stones?"

  Kyrie mussed her hair. "If the book told us that, it would be too easy. And things are never easy. Haven't you learned that yet?"

  "Stop messing up my hair, pup."

  Lacrimosa stood up. She looked at the youths—Agnus Dei with her flushed cheeks and flashing eyes, and Kyrie who was like a son to her now. She thought of Gloriae, her golden daughter, who guarded above, strong and brave. For the first time since the mimics had attacked, Lacrimosa saw hope for her children.

  "Let's return to the courtyard," she said. "We have Animating Stones to collect... and life to create."

  TERRA

  "Kyrie!" he called, flying over the hills of dead. "Brother! Kyrie!"

  Lanburg Fields lay below him, a field of blood, shattered weapons, and shattered bodies. Five thousand dead Vir Requis lay here, the last of their kind, cut with arrows, talons, and griffin beaks.

  Dead. All dead.

  "Kyrie!"

  Terra's eyes stung, and his wings shook so badly, he could barely fly. His sister flew beside him, weeping.

  "Kyrie!" she cried too, flying over the desolation, trembling. "Kyrie, where are you?"

  They landed among the bodies and shifted into humans. The stench of blood and death rose around them, spinning Terra's head. His fingers shook. Desperate, he began to rummage through the bodies, turning them over, shoving them aside.

  "Kyrie!"

  No. He couldn't be dead. Couldn't be.

  "We should have been here," he said hoarsely. "We should have died with them."

  But the tunnels had collapsed around him and Memoria. The darkness had trapped them. The Poisoned had fought them. They had spent a day digging for light and life... only to find darkness and death.

  "I should have been here with you, Kyrie," he whispered, limbs shaking. He remembered bandaging Kyrie's knee only a week ago, after he had fallen. When you needed me most, I wasn't here.

  He pushed over the body of a child, but it was a girl, her body burned, her face torn. As he held the girl, the wind died.

  For a moment, the killing field was silent.

  Memoria spoke behind him, her voice strangely soft, strangely beautiful.

  "Terra... I found him."

  He turned and saw her looking toward him, but not at him. She seemed to be staring a thousand yards away, her eyes huge and glistening. She cradled a small body in her arms. It was burned so badly, Terra could not recognize it.

  But it had yellow hair. It was the right size. It wore the same orange scarf.

  Terra... I found him.

  Terra clenched his fists.

  No.

  He took a deep, shaky breath. Do not remember, Terra. Memories are wrong. Memories are pain. That life is behind you. Kyrie has been dead for eleven years; let him rest in peace.

  Terra looked around him. No blood. No fire. Just ice, snow, and frost. Whale Hall rose around him, its pillars like ribs. The sun shone softly, a mere smudge behind the ceiling of ice. An end to pain, he thought. No more memories. No more blood. His life was ice now. He would fill his memories and soul with nothing but this endless ice.

  Pain stung him. He winced and cursed.

  Amberus, the Elder of Elders, smiled and clucked his tongue. He was sprinkling green powder into Terra's wound; the stuff burned like ilbane. As he worked, the old man chanted prayers to the Wind Goddess, or maybe it was the Sky Eagle or Old Walrus. Terra no longer cared about deities, not those of the north, nor the stars that had abandoned him.

  "You will heal now," Memoria said, voice soft. She sat beside him, wrapped in furs, a hood pulled over her head. "Amberus is a wise healer."

  Her eyes, large and brown, brimmed with concern. Terra felt his pain melt, both the pain of his wounds, and the pain within him. No, not everyone lay as burned skeletons. Memoria still lived. And it's for you that I still live, he thought. It's for you that I don't walk into the ice and never return. I'll stay alive for you, sister, and watch over you.

  Amberus bandaged the wound and furrowed his brow. "Your wounds will heal, Son Terra, but an evil caused them. The Ice Mother weeps for them. There is dark magic in them, and poison, and secrets from far away. What caused these wounds, Son Terra? They trouble me greatly."

  "Demons from under the ice," Terra said. His throat tightened at the memory, and he swallowed. "They were like dolls, sewn together from the body parts of dead men. They seemed to have dark magic to them, yes. Memoria and I could not become dragons around them, as if their magic undid ours."

  Amberus closed his eyes and mumbled prayers. His feet tapped, silent against the ice. He chanted to Father Whale, a god of ancient times, and to Mother Turtle, whose northern lights glittered upon the Ice City.

  Terra looked at his sister. Memoria stared back, her doe eyes so large, so sad. He could see his fear reflected in them. Was Dies Irae back? Was he hunting them again?

  Finally Amberus opened his eyes. They were startling blue and glowed like the moon. Staring at nothing, he drew black powder from a hidden pocket, tossed it onto the floor, and slammed down his staff.

  Terra watched, eyes narrowing. He caught his breath. The black powder stirred and raised smoke. The smoke swirled, flowed toward the distant ceiling of the palace, and raced around the columns of ice. Moaning like wind, the smoke dived to the floor, gathered, and formed into ten figures like men. No, not men, Terra decided. The smoke looked like mismatched bodies sewn together, their hair swarming like worms.

  "The creatures we saw," Memoria whispered. She clutched her fur cloak.

  The smoke dispersed, swirled in a maelstrom, then formed new figures. This time it formed thousands of small, smoky creatures that marched across the ice. More rotting demons, Terra thought. An army of them. The creatures howled, then dispersed into snakes of smoke. The smoke rose, swirled and raged, and finally collapsed into powder again.

  Silence filled the hall.

  "What does it mean?" Terra asked, looking up at Amberus.

  "They are mimics," Amberus
said. Wrinkles deepened around his eyes. "Mimics of life... and mimics of death. They flow with the stench of it. They hunt your kind, the sky warriors that you call dragons. They do not sleep. They do not tire. You cannot kill them. They will never stop hunting you and your kind."

  "Do you see more of our kind, Amberus?" Memoria asked. She clutched Terra's hand. She looked at him, and Terra knew she was remembering the names the creatures had spoken.

  Agnus Dei.

  Kyrie Eleison.

  Amberus shook his head, his necklace of icicles clinking. "That is hard to see now, as it always has been. If there are more dragons, they hide well; the Mother Turtle cannot see them. But these mimics... they hunt for dragons everywhere. Most flow to the old ruins, the place you call Requiem. If there are more dragons, they hide there."

  Terra closed his eyes. His chest tightened, and cold sweat trickled down his back. He could barely breathe, and his pulse pounded in his ears. War. Destruction in Requiem again.

  Terra... I found him.

  For years he had struggled to forget, to banish those words from his memory. Now, once more, Terra felt the fire around him, smelled the stench of death, saw the small burned body.

  "We have to go back," Memoria whispered.

  Terra opened his eyes. "What?" he demanded. "Memoria, we do not return. Not now. Not ever. When we left, we left for good."

  Memoria breathed heavily and her cheeks flushed. She glared at him. "Terra, when we left, we thought that we were the last. That they all had died at Lanburg Fields. But they didn't. Two at least still live. Agnus Dei... and our brother."

  Terra clenched his fists and shook his head. His chest felt tight. "Kyrie is dead, sister. We buried him."

  Memoria's eyes flashed. Her chest rose and fell as she panted. "We buried a body. The body of a burned child his size, with the same hair and scarf. But we don't know it was him." She clutched his shoulders, tears in her eyes. "Kyrie is alive, Terra. Kyrie and the princess Agnus Dei. I know it."

  He looked away, throat burning.

  Terra... I found him.

  He looked back at Memoria, her face so pale, so sad. He couldn't let that happen to her. The loss of his brother still haunted him. How could he lose his sister too, see her body also burned, cry over her grave?

  "Memoria," he said, and for a moment he could say no more. He tightened his jaw. For the first time since he'd buried Kyrie, he felt ready to cry. He refused to. He would shed no more tears. He had vowed to remain strong. It was a long moment before he could speak again, voice strained. "Memoria, I led us here to protect you. To hide you. To—"

  "You fled here to escape death!" she said. "You came here to escape memory. To escape pain. To escape... to escape what we found at Lanburg Fields."

  He shouted, voice echoing in the ice hall. "We ran to save our lives!"

  She shook her head wildly, hair swaying. "That doesn't matter anymore. Our lives are threatened here too. Those creatures found us even here, a thousand leagues north of Requiem."

  "Three mimics found us. Thousands march to Requiem."

  "So we will return to defend it!"

  Terra laughed mirthlessly. "With what? Our swords? We couldn't shift around those things, Memoria. Their claws tore through my armor as if it were wool." He looked at Amberus, who was watching them silently. "Elder of Elders, please. Tell her it's dangerous. Tell her she cannot go chasing that evil."

  The old man nodded slowly, lips pursed. He looked at the powder on the ice, and his brow furrowed. His eyes darkened, and his wrinkles deepened. His knuckles whitened around his whalebone staff. Terra had never seen the old man look so troubled.

  Finally Amberus looked up, nodded, and spoke in a low voice.

  "It is time to reclaim Adoria's Hands."

  Terra stared at him. "Adoria? Is this another deity of the north?"

  Ambrus shook his head. His voice was soft, as if lost in memory. "She was an iceling sorceress who lived many seasons ago. She created magic to stop other sorcerers from casting spells upon her. She could hold out her hands... and stop magic. Fearing sorcerers, the giants killed Adoria and cut off her hands. The Giant King wears those hands as amulets; they hang on a chain around his neck. They still repel magic."

  Terra felt the blood leave his face. "The Giant King...."

  Amberus stared at him, his eyes suddenly blazing. "You cannot shift around mimics. Their magic stops your own. But if you owned Adoria's Hands, mimic magic would not touch you. You could become dragons around them. You could burn them all with dragonfire. If you want to save your friends, you must face the Giant King... and reclaim Adoria's Hands."

  Terra turned away from Amberus. He looked at his sister—his small, frail sister, the person he loved most, the person he was sworn to protect. He lowered his head and embraced her.

  "How can I face this again?" he whispered. "Memoria, how can I face the dead, their souls that still hover there? I was a bellator, a knight of Requiem. I vowed to defend them. How can I face their ghosts?"

  Memoria held him, her grip tight, fingers digging. She whispered into his ear. "We don't return for the dead, Terra. We return for the living."

  Kyrie! he had cried. Kyrie, do you hear me?

  Could it be?

  Could he still live?

  Terra took a deep, shaky breath. His stomach knotted, and he could barely breathe. Kyrie, a child with yellow hair, only six years old, a somber child who saw too much war, too much pain. Kyrie, who'd be seventeen now, a grown man. Kyrie, who lived forever in his mind, even here, even as he struggled to forget.

  Are you still out there, Kyrie? Do you still need me?

  He tightened his jaw.

  He nodded.

  Agnus Dei. Kyrie Eleison.

  "We'll need Adoria's Hands." He held his sister's shoulders. "We'll need to kill the Giant King."

  GLORIAE

  As Gloriae worked, collecting Animating Stones, she did not speak. The others conversed excitedly, imagining where Dies Irae was mining the stones, and how they could animate their own warriors, and about finding more firewood, and... Gloriae ignored it. She kept separate from the others. As they scoured the courtyard for Animating Stones, she walked along the mountainsides, rummaging through the ashes of the mimics her arrows had killed.

  Mimics. Monsters. Creatures of death. Dies Irae's latest creations.

  Before them, he had sent nightshades upon Requiem, creatures of darkness and evil.

  And before the nightshades... he had sent her. Gloriae the Gilded.

  For the first time she understood. She looked at the ruin around her, the ashes of demons, monsters, rotting things. She had just been one of his monsters.

  "I am Gloriae the Gilded!" she would cry from her griffin. "I fight for light and life."

  And thus she had killed. Thus she had tortured, and burned, and dealt death to Requiem. To her own people. Thus she had let Dies Irae mold her into just another monster, a creature of darkness and death. No different than the nightshades. No different than the mimics.

  Gloriae came upon the burned, smoking body of a mimic. It rustled at her feet in the breeze. She kicked it, and the body scattered. She reached into the ash—it was still warm—and found another Animating Stone. The stone's innards pulsed red in her hand like a heart.

  My heart too was made of stone, she thought. I was a creature like this.

  Gloriae looked into the stone. Liquid seemed to swirl inside it like blood. In its patterns, she imagined the eyes of a child, a young Vir Requis wounded by griffin claws.

  "Kill it," Dies Irae had said to her. "Draw your sword and kill the weredragon."

  Gloriae had not wanted to. She wanted to go home. She wanted to look away from the child's weeping eyes, from the blood on his stomach.

  "Run the creature through, daughter," Dies Irae had said.

  "Yes, Father," she told him. He was a father to her then. She drew her thin sword, and stabbed the child, and stared at the blood with dry eyes. She was six years old.
/>
  Gloriae looked back at the ruins of Draco Murus. Her sister was chasing Kyrie, yelling at him for getting ash in her hair. Lacrimosa was trying to stop the girl, but it was like trying to stop a charging mare. Gloriae wanted to smile. She wanted to run too, to laugh, to play. But... those were fragile emotions, weren't they? Emotions regular people felt. Not warriors of ice. Not maidens of steel.

  If I smile, if I laugh, if I love... I am human. I am guilty. My hands are bloody.

  She stared. She kept her face still. She had to remain this warrior of steel; warriors did not feel pain, guilt, or shame.

  "I must remain Gloriae the Gilded," she whispered to herself. "Hard as steel, ruthless as my blade. I will allow no weakness. I will not allow those child's eyes to haunt me. Dies Irae raised me a killer; to change would hurt too much, confess too much blood. I will remain what he made me. But I will not kill more Vir Requis." She turned to look east, toward the distant lands where Dies Irae ruled. "I will kill you, Irae. You made me a killer, and this killer will be your death."

  "Gloriae! Gloriae, have you found the last ones?"

  Lacrimosa was waving from the ruins, calling her. Gloriae stared back, hand on the hilt of her sword, and nodded.

  Stay strong, she told herself. Even if she is your mother. Even if you love her. Love leads to joy, to memory, to guilt... and then pain.

  "I found them," she called back. She walked uphill, the Animating Stones in her pack, and joined the others in the ruins.

  They brushed off a few ashy cobblestones and placed their Animating Stones there. Gloriae counted them. A hundred shone and trembled at her feet. What ash blew toward them formed strands like snakes, which writhed until the wind blew them away. The cobblestones beneath them trembled.

  Kyrie stared down at the Animating Stones and shuddered. "Nasty things, they are. Black magic."

  Gloriae looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Black magic, Kyrie? According to our book, they created early life in this world. Death and life are closely linked; they are sides of the same coin. Or stone, in our case. Don't judge so quickly what is evil and what is good."