Requiem's Song (Book 1)

by Daniel Arenson

  Three creatures were flying toward them across the sea. Tanin gasped. Rocs? Other dragons? When he squinted, bringing them into focus, his breath died.

  "Stars above," he whispered.

  Wings beat and scales clanked above him—Maev shifting back into a dragon. She moved to fly at his side, the sunlight bright against her green scales. She wrinkled her snout. "The stench of them. What are they?"

  "They're . . ." Tanin grimaced. "Stars, I don't know."

  The creatures were large as dragons, maybe larger. One was a bloated thing, its belly swinging like a sack, gray and bristly with hairy moles. It wings seemed impossibly small upon its ridged back, and a dozen red eyes blinked upon its swollen, warty head. A second creature was slimmer, cadaverous, barely more than a skeleton. Black, wrinkled skin clung to its knobby bones, and it beat insect-like wings. The third creature looked like a clump of flying entrails, red and wet, coiling forward, a parasite the size of a whale.

  Maev hissed, filled her maw with fire, and flew toward them. "Whatever they are, they're in my way. They will burn."

  Tanin growled, beat his wings madly, and flew alongside his sister. He let the fire rise in his belly and crackle in his throat.

  The three creatures were close now. Their stench wafted, smelling like rotted meat and mold. Their mouths opened and they shrieked, a cry like shattering metal, like snapping bones, like a world collapsing. One of them—the bloated, sagging thing with the swinging belly—emitted a gagging sound and spewed out yellow liquid. The jet flew toward the two dragons.

  Maev and Tanin scattered, and the jet blasted between them. Heat and stench like vomit assailed Tanin. Droplets landed against him, and he screamed. Each drop felt like an arrow, and smoke rose upon his scales. A hole spread open in his wing.

  Acid.

  With a roar, Tanin soared toward the sun and swooped, blowing fire. At his side, a second flaming jet pierced the sky—Maev raining her heat.

  The inferno cascaded onto the demons.

  They screeched, the sound so loud Tanin thought his eardrums would shatter. Two of the demons ignited, but they kept flying, balls of flame. The cadaverous creature, mere bones and skin covered in black hooks, shook off the fire. It swooped toward Tanin, its mouth opening wider and wider, splitting the creature in two, peeling it open. Its jaw seemed to extend across its entire body, down to the tailbone, until it formed a great mouth full of teeth. Human limbs filled the obscene maw, half-chewed.

  For an instant, Tanin could only stare in horror. He had faced rocs in battle, great hunters of the north. Yet here was no earthly terror; this was a creature of nightmares.

  "Tanin!" Maev cried somewhere above.

  He snapped out of his paralysis. As the demon charged toward him, Tanin soared and blasted flames.

  The jet crashed against the creature, filling its mouth, roasting the meal within. The demon spun and soared after him, covered in smoke. Its flesh was too dry to burn, Tanin realized with a grimace.

  He tried to see Maev, but smoke and fire filled the sky, and the demon jaws charged again. Tanin growled, swooped toward the creature, and lashed his claws.

  He screamed as his claws banged against the creature's flesh. He might as well have attacked a boulder. Sparks rose and the creature seemed unharmed; Tanin felt like his claws had almost torn off. The creature snapped its great jaws, and Tanin fluttered backward. The jaws managed to close around his wing.

  He howled. Tears of pain filled his eyes. The jaws chomped down, grinding his wing, and Tanin screamed and leaned in to bite. His own jaws were large enough to swallow lambs whole; they seemed puny by this beast. Yet still he bit, and his teeth drove through mummified flesh and scraped against bone.

  The creature released him. Tanin fell through the sky, his left wing pierced with holes; wind whistled through them.

  "Maev, some help!" he shouted.

  He glimpsed her battling two creatures above. Both were still smoking and crackling with fire. Blood covered Maev's leg.

  "I'm battling two already!" she shouted down to him. He could swear he saw her roll her eyes. "Grow up and fight your own battles."

  Before he could reply, the gaunt demon swooped again, mouth opening wide, splitting the beast down to the tailbone like a halved fruit.

  Tanin gritted his teeth, growled, and soared.

  He flattened himself into a spear, driving upward. The creature dived down, cackling, raining drool and bits of rotted flesh.

  Heartbeats away from a collision, Tanin grimaced.

  He roared as he soared, driving into the creature's mouth, shoving himself into the beast.

  The jaws began to close around him. Tanin kept soaring, horns pointing upward.

  The force of his onslaught split the creature at the tailbone, tearing the great jaws apart.

  The demon's two halves tumbled through the sky. Each wing beat independently. The broken pieces spun wildly, shrieking their own cries, until they crashed into the sea and vanished.

  Tanin spat. "Stars damn it."

  Wincing, his wounded wing a blaze of agony, he rose higher.

  He found Maev spinning in a circle, scattering flames, holding the remaining two demons at bay. Cuts ran along her leg, and a gash bled upon her forehead. Still she managed to glare at him.

  "Are you done playing your games, brother?" She swiped her tail, clubbing one of the beasts. "Go on, choose one and kill it, damn you!"

  The two demons hissed, their flesh charred, fires still burning upon them. Their skin had peeled back and their muscles blazed; through the flames peeked black, jagged bones. Yet still they flew, cackling. The slimmer one, a creature like discarded entrails, thrust toward Maev, snapping its teeth. The obese demon, his charred belly swinging like a tumor, turned to fly toward Tanin.

  The demon's many eyes blazed like cauldrons of molten metal. Its mouth opened, lined with sword-like teeth. Its wings—so small they were almost comical—flapped mightily, propelling the creature toward Tanin like some obscene bumblebee toward a flower. It pulsed as it gagged, spewing another stream of acid.

  Tanin grunted and swerved.

  The jet blasted above him, its raining droplets searing his scales.

  The creature dived, snapping its teeth.

  In midair, Tanin flipped upside down, dipped several feet, and raised his claws. The demon shot above him, unable to stop. As it flew, Tanin's claws drove along its swinging belly, gutting the beast.

  Snakes, worms, and maggots with human heads spilled from the wound, smacking their lips and biting at Tanin like ticks. He screamed and shook himself, knocking them off, and blew his fire again.

  He caught the demon as it was turning back toward him. The flames entered the gutted creature through its wound, filled its innards, and blasted outward like a collapsing pyre. With a final shriek, the creature tumbled from the sky. It crashed into the sea with hissing smoke.

  Tanin looked over his shoulder, panting, to see his sister bite into the last demon's rotted flesh. The green dragon tugged her head back, ripping out a chunk of flesh, and spat. Gurgling, the creature tumbled. It gave a pathetic whimper before crashing into the water. It vanished into the depths.

  "Well, well," Tanin said, tongue still lolling as he panted. "Looks like your older brother can still teach you a few things. I believe my count is . . ." He feigned counting on his claws. "Two demons. And you . . . well, technically one demon, though he was the smallest."

  Maev roared, flew toward him, and barreled into him. Blood dripped down her chin, and her eyes flashed.

  "The smallest—" She blustered, for a moment unable to form more words. "You only killed two because I burned them! They were already wounded."

  He nodded. "Sure, Maev. It was only because you helped." He patted her with his wing. "You're a real warrior."

  Suddenly he winced. Pain drove through his wing where the creatures had cut it. Maev was wounded too, several of her scales chipped.

  "What were they, Tanin?" she whispered, fear
replacing the anger in her eyes. "They . . . they were even worse than rocs, I think. Evil spirits. Demons." She winced. "What kind of land are we flying to?"

  Tanin looked south. There upon the horizon he saw it—a faded tan smudge.

  The southern coast.

  The kingdom of Eteer.

  "We're about to find out," he said.

  They flew toward that distant coast, silent. Even as they left the smoke and stench behind, the demon shrieks echoed in Tanin's ears and he shuddered.

  LAIRA

  She flew until the dawn, letting no fire fill her maw. She was weary. Her cuts still hurt. Her forehead burned even in the cold air, the infection blazing through her. She felt lost and afraid; she had never been alone before escaping her tribe, and she did not know if she'd live much longer. It was the longest, coldest night of her life.

  It was also the best night of her life.

  "I am strong," she said into the wind, and her laughter clanked her scales. "I am fast and high and I am free."

  Tears flowed down her scaly cheeks. Zerra would nevermore slap her, shove her into the mud, or spit upon her. He would nevermore shear her hair, clothe her in rags, and give her only scraps to eat. For ten years, he had mistreated her, turning her into a short, scrawny girl covered in mud and tatters, a creature he made, a pet to torment.

  And he will nevermore bed me, she thought. Scales clattered as she shivered. That night returned to her—the night she had stepped into his tent, selling her body for a chance to hunt. She remembered the burnt half of him pressing against her, his tongue licking her cheek, his manhood thrusting into her.

  "Nevermore," she swore. "You will nevermore use me, hurt me, torture me. You kept me hungry for years, and perhaps I will never grow taller, and I will always be the size of a child. But I can be a dragon too. That you cannot take away."

  Her eyes stung, her wings felt stiff, and she bared her fangs. As she flew in the night, she made another vow.

  "I will have revenge." Fire filled her mouth. "You killed my mother. You hurt me. Someday we will meet again, Zerra . . . and you will feel my fire. I will finish what my mother began."

  Dawn rose in the east like dragonfire, a painting all in orange, yellow, and red. The autumn forest below blazed with the same fiery majesty, rolling into the horizon. Laira looked around, seeking pursuit. Up here in the air, she would be visible for many marks. She saw only a distant flock of birds, but she felt it safest to descend.

  A silver stream cut through the forest, and she dived down toward it, the wind whistling around her. She landed on the bank, dunked her head into the icy water, then pulled back with a mouthful of salmon. She gulped down the fish for breakfast, then drank deeply. Back in the Goldtusk tribe, as the lowest ranking member, she would always eat last, and always only scraps. She could not recall the last time she had eaten a whole fish. Since her mother had died, fish had meant nibbling on bones and chewing rubbery skin. She dipped her head underwater again, caught another salmon, and swallowed it down, relishing the oily goodness.

  She could not walk through the forest in dragon form, not without toppling trees, and she was not ready to become a human yet. She yawned, releasing a puff of smoke, and shook her body to hear her golden scales rattle. She squeezed between a few oaks, curled up on a bed of dry leaves, and laid her head upon her paws.

  "Maybe I'm the only one left," she whispered to herself. "If I am, I will live like this, wild and free and solitary like a saber-toothed cat. But I will never stop searching. I will seek the fabled escarpment in the north, and if more dragons fly there, I will find them."

  She yawned again, closed her eyes, and slept.

  When night fell again, she flew.

  For three days and nights she traveled, sleeping in the sunlight, flying the darkness, until at dawn on the fourth day she saw it ahead.

  The escarpment.

  It rose across the land, stretching into the horizon, a great shelf of rock and soil thick with birches, oaks, and maples. Waterfalls—thin white slivers from here—cascaded down its cliffs, disappearing into the forest before emerging as streams to feed a rushing river. It was as if half the world had sunk, dropping the height of a mountain, leaving the northern landscapes to roll on to a misty horizon, unscathed. Countless birds filled the sky, fleeing from the sight of her—a golden dragon large enough to swallow them whole. Mist floated in valleys, and boulders rose gray and thin from the forest like the fingers of dead stone giants.

  "It's real," Laira whispered upon the wind, not even caring that she flew in daylight. Tears filled her eyes. "The place where rocs dare not fly, the place even Zerra fears. A place of dragons."

  Geese and doves fleeing before her, the golden dragon glided on the wind. Soon she flew along the escarpment. The highlands rose to her left, the cliffs plunged down beneath her, and the landscape rolled low to her right. Every movement in the sky sent her heart racing, but it was always a hawk, seagull, or other bird. The escarpment stretched into the horizon. If others lived here, others like her, did they hide as humans?

  She flew for a long time.

  "Dragons!" she called out and blasted fire, a beacon for her kind. "Answer my call! I seek dragons."

  Only birds answered, calling in fright and fleeing the trees.

  Laira flew as the afternoon cast long shadows, as clouds gathered, and as rain fell. A few marks ahead, the escarpment sloped down into the land. She had traversed it all and found nothing.

  A lump in her throat, Laira turned around and retraced her flight, moving back west, surveying the escarpment a second time.

  "Dragons!" she cried out. Maybe she had missed them. Maybe they had been out hunting and were now returning home. "I seek dragons!"

  The sun dipped into the forest, and orange and indigo spread across the sky. The rain intensified and soon hail pattered against Laira's scales and wings. A gust of wind nearly knocked her into a spin. Yet still she flew, calling out, hoping, dreaming.

  There.

  Warmth leaped inside her. Her eyes moistened. She blasted fire.

  "Another dragon."

  She trembled and smoke rose between her teeth. She could barely keep her wings steady. It was hard to see in the shadows, but when she narrowed her eyes, she saw it again—the dark form of a dragon perched upon the escarpment, all but hidden under the trees.

  Smiling shakily, Laira dived.

  She had still not mastered landings. The past few attempts, she had smashed through trees, shattering half their branches and often their trunks. This evening she billowed her wings, letting them capture as much air as they'd hold, slowing her descent. With a few more flaps, she steadied into a hover, pulled her legs close together, and gently lowered herself between the boles. At least it was gentle compared to her earlier landings; she still shattered a dozen branches and sent down a rain of wood and leaves, but at least the trees remained standing.

  The dark dragon rose ahead, perched upon the escarpment's ledge, staring south across the cliff. A waterfall crashed below the shadowy figure, vanishing into darkness. If the dragon noticed her—and how could it have not?—it gave no sign, only kept staring into the distance.

  Laira sniffed, and her scales chinked as she trembled. Another dragon. I'm not alone.

  Panting, fire sparking between her teeth, she hobbled toward the hulking shadow.

  "Fellow dragon!" Joy leaped inside her, emerging from her eyes with tears. "I knew there were others. I knew it. You're not alone, my friend. You—"

  She drew closer . . . and froze.

  A statue.

  Her tears of joy became tears of frustration.

  She reached the statue, placed her claws against it, and yowled.

  "Just a statue. Just . . . just a totem long forgotten."

  Her spirits sank so low she lost control of her magic. She became a human again, slid down onto her bottom, and lowered her head.

  "There are no dragons here." She balled her hands into fists and pounded her lap. "Just a
legend. Travelers saw this statue and told stories of dragons. But there are no other dragons. Only me."

  Tears streamed down her cheeks—all her unshed tears from all her troubles. They were tears for Zerra burning her mother—the tears she could not shed as the woman had burned. They were tears for years of pain, of suffering under Zerra's heel. They were tears for her wounds, her weariness, her loss of hope—a diseased girl, lost, alone in a world that had no place for her.

  "Because it is a curse." Her voice shook. "It is a disease. This curse had me banished from Eteer. This curse had me fleeing Goldtusk. This curse dooms me to forever be an outcast." She turned back toward the statue and pounded her fist against it, bloodying her knuckles. "A curse!"

  She was panting, her head lowered and her chest shaking with sobs, when the voice rose behind her.

  "Easy on the statue, stranger! I'm still working on it. Don't scratch it."

  Laira froze.

  She spun around.

  Night had fallen but firelight blazed between fangs, reflecting in large dark eyes, copper scales, and white horns. Among the pines and oaks, staring down upon her, stood a living dragon.

  RAEM

  Flying upon his demonic mount, King Raem stared down at the barbarian tribe, grimaced, and brought a handkerchief to his nose. Truly this was a benighted land.

  It was the tribe he sought, had been seeking for days. A wooden totem pole rose upon a hill, and upon its crest hung a gilded mammoth tusk. Tents sprawled around the pillar, dotting the hills and valleys like warts, crude things of buffalo skins stretched over cedar poles. Raem came from a land of stone towers, lush gardens that grew atop palaces, and a canal that drove into a city in a wonder of architecture. Below him festered a hive of worms.

  The tribesmen themselves were no more impressive than their tents. Back home in Eteer, soldiers wore breastplates and bore bronze khopeshes, yet these northern warriors wore only animal pelts, and they bore humble spears and arrows tipped with flint. Their beards were long, and tattoos and piercings marred their forms, abominations unto Taal's teachings. Perhaps this distant land was beyond Taal's reach.