"Stars damn it!" Maev said. "The bastards found their way here."
The gruff wrestler spat, leaped into the air, and shifted. Green scales clattered across her, wings burst out from her back, and Maev soared, a dragon blasting fire. An instant later, the others shifted too. Tanin soared as a red dragon, Jeid as a copper beast. They crashed through the treetops, heading toward the demonic octopus.
Laira hesitated for a moment longer. Her brother needed her. Sweet Sena lay dead at her feet; how could she leave him to the crows?
Above the trees, the demon stretched out three tentacles, wrapping each one around a dragon. Scales cracked and Laira's friends cried out above. Their fire crashed into the octopus, only to slide off its slick, wet body. The blood of dragons spilled.
Today the living need me more.
Laira leaped into the air and shifted.
She beat her wings, her golden scales chinked, and she crashed between the treetops before soaring toward the battle.
The deformed mollusk shrieked ahead, wreathed in flames that did not burn it. Its tentacles were squeezing the three dragons, and the mouths upon them—round and toothy like lamprey jaws—tore into flesh. Maev roared and slammed her tail against the creature, but it was like trying to cut a pile of jelly; the octopus's body kept reforming. Jeid and Tanin were beating their wings uselessly; the demon was flailing them around like a man swinging cats by the tails.
Laira growled and streamed toward the fray.
"Requiem!" she cried. "Our wings will forever find your sky!"
She drove toward the demon, opening her maw wide to bite, to tear into its flesh.
A tentacle snapped toward her.
Laira banked, dodging it, but a second arm slammed into her and wrapped around her neck.
She floundered in the sky, choking. She tried to breathe fire but could not; the tentacle was constricting her throat, blocking both air and flame.
"Stars damn it!" Jeid howled, tossed around by the tail. The burly copper dragon was clawing at the beast, unable to harm it. "Tanin, Maev—you told me these demons are small as horses."
"They were!" Maev shouted back, her green scales chipped. "Most of them."
Laira sputtered, only sparks leaving her maw. She lashed her claws, tearing at the tentacle, but whenever she pierced the boneless digit, it reformed. The grip tightened around her neck, and the small mouths upon it—each as large as a human mouth—tore at her scales, tugging them off her neck. Blackness spread across her.
Do I die here too? she thought. Do we end up as food for demons and crows?
Tears stung her eyes; she could barely see. They had founded Requiem, a kingdom for dragons, only this winter; did this dream of a nation now end?
She managed to hiss.
No.
She beat her wings madly.
I did not pass through fire and blood to die above my home.
She gritted her teeth . . . and released her magic.
A human again, slim and small, she squirted out of the octopus's grip and tumbled through the sky.
The beast shrieked, a sound so loud Laira thought her eardrums might shatter. It reached out more tentacles and grabbed her again, but she slipped from its grasp like a minnow from a man's fingers. She flew through the sky, spinning, and reclaimed her magic.
A golden dragon again, she soared with a howl, dodged the tentacles, and crashed into the demon's belly.
Her horns tore through translucent, sticky membranes. The demon's stomach tore open above her, and Laira managed to grin, sure she had killed it.
An instant later, a thousand baby octopi spilled from the slashed belly, raining onto her.
Laira screamed. Each of the spawned creatures was large as a wolf, their tentacles bloody and lined with clattering mouths. They fell upon her, clinging like parasites. Their mouths tugged at her scales, tearing them loose, and her blood showered. Several landed upon her wings, tugging her down toward the forest. She screamed, fell, and slammed against the treetops. She yowled as a branch drove into her thigh. As she crashed through the branches, the demon spawn tore free from her wings, allowing Laira to flap and soar again. The creatures were feeding at her flanks, sucking her blood like leeches. She whipped her tail, knocking them off. When finally she removed the last creature, she saw the spawn—there were hundreds of them—racing through the forest, tearing down trees, and dragging themselves toward King's Column. Their slime covered the holy ground of Requiem.
She beat her wings, rising higher, and returned her eyes to the main battle. The mother octopus still lived, lashing her tentacles; only four of the arms remained. The other three dragons had managed to free themselves, though blood covered them and their scales were chipped.
"Laira!" Maev shouted down to her. Blood and slime filled her mouth and she spat. "You have to bite through the tentacles. Grab them near the body and bite!" With that, the green dragon shot toward the octopus, dodged one tentacle, and grabbed another's base between her jaws. She began to tug like a pup on a rope, tearing off the slimy arm.
The octopus flailed in the sky, spraying black liquid like tar. A stream of the foul ink crashed against Tanin, and the red dragon bellowed and dipped in the sky, wiping off the ooze with his claws. When the octopus spun toward Laira, she banked, dodging most of the attack. The jet of ink sprayed over her head, but some droplets landed against her. They stung like a rain of lava, and she yowled but kept flying.
Hovering before her, the octopus met her gaze. Its mouth opened in a toothy grin. At first, Laira had thought this a mindless beast, but now she saw cunning and recognition in its eyes. A voice emerged from its maw, shrill as trees cracking under ice, as the cries of dead souls, as her innermost nightmares. It licked its chops, tongue long and blue, as words fled between its teeth.
"Laira . . . I recognize you, Laira Seran." It hissed at her, grin widening. "Your father, King Raem Who Lies with Demons, sends his regards."
Laira froze in the sky, terror constricting her.
It knows me. It knows my name.
Its remaining tentacles lashed, holding back the other dragons, as it hovered closer toward her. Its tongue reached out, stretching as long as its arms, blue and dripping saliva. It licked her cheek, then grabbed her horn and tugged her closer. Its mouth opened wider and wider, so large she thought it could swallow her whole. Its uvula swung and its gullet bubbled with acid.
Laira screamed and blew her fire.
Her flames crashed into the creature's mouth, splashed against its palate, and ignited its stomach acid. The creature screamed but would not release her. Its tongue still tugged her horn, dragging her toward the inferno.
She raised her claws, grabbed the tongue, and tore it apart with a shower of blood. Free from its grip, she flew backward a few feet, blew more fire, then drove forward with a scream.
Her horns pierced the creature's eyes with wet pops, sank through flesh, then pulled back coated with jiggling globs of brain.
The misshapen mollusk hovered for a moment longer, staring at Laira with empty eye sockets, then crashed down toward the forest.
When it hit the trees, branches and trunks drove through its flesh, tearing the creature apart. Gobbets of flesh, chunks of tentacles, and blood rained, thick with worms.
Wobbling and bleeding, Laira descended, all but crashing through the canopy. She landed in a patch of bloodied snow, yellow grass, and rotted globs of flesh, and her magic left her. She stood shivering in her fur cloak, a human again. The other dragons landed too and resumed human forms: Jeid, a grizzly bear of a man, his beard thick and his hair shaggy; his daughter, Maev, her chin raised in defiance, her tattooed arms crossed, and her yellow hair scraggly; and finally Jeid's son, Tanin, a tall young man with a shock of brown hair.
We are four, Laira thought, staring at the family, perhaps the only other Vir Requis in the world, the only other souls who could become dragons. Yet once we were five. Her eyes stung and the hollowness of losing her brother filled her with more pai
n than her wounds.
"What was that thing?" Laira whispered. She looked at Maev and Tanin; the two had flown to Eteer to save Sena, and they had battled demons there. Their quest felt so meaningless to Laira now; all the blood they had shed to save Sena, all in vain . . .
Maev kicked a fallen chunk of octopus. "A scout. A big one too. This one ate human flesh; it's the only way they can grow this big." She kicked the glob again. "Your father's looking for us, little Laira. But he won't hear any news from our friend here."
Laira closed her eyes and lowered her head, the pain too great to bear. Her chest tightened and her belly felt full of ice.
My mother—burned at the stake. My brother—dead at his own hands. My father—a ruler of the demons that hunt me.
Even standing here among her fellow Vir Requis, Laira felt alone, too hurt to open her eyes again, too broken, too scarred. The grief was a weight she could not carry.
But no, she thought, eyes stinging. I'm not alone.
Her memories returned to her last days in Eteer, a child of only three. Those memories were vague, mere hints of pictures and sounds, but among them Laira saw a babe, an innocent girl. A younger sister.
"You're still out there, Issari," she whispered. "My little sister. You're still in Eteer, and I'm so afraid for you." She raised her head, opened her eyes, and looked at the others. She spoke louder. "We must bury Sena. We will bury him with the others—with little Requiem and Eranor. He will rest with them forever. His soul will rise to the Draco stars."
Stepping through puddles of blood, she made her way downhill, moving back toward the place where she'd left Sena's body. When she reached the oak, she froze and sucked in breath. A cluster of the octopus spawn still lived. They were piled together, feasting, guzzling down meat.
Laira shifted into a dragon, roared, and raced toward them. She whipped her tail, knocking the demonic brood aside. They slammed into tree trunks, hissing, blood on their mouths, gobbets of Laira's brother stuck between their teeth. When Laira leaped toward the place where Sena's body had lain, she found it gone. Nothing but blood remained.
She howled. The sound tore through her throat, tore through her soul, a cry of more mourning than she'd felt since her mother had died.
She blew her flames.
She torched the octopus spawn.
They burned, squealing, tumbling over, reaching out their flaming tentacles toward her. They seemed almost to beg.
She could not bury her brother; she would give him a funeral in fire.
By the time the other Vir Requis joined her, the creatures lay as charred clumps, and Laira knelt in the burnt grass, shaking and too hurt to weep.
Goodbye, my brother, she thought. Fly to our mother and be at peace . . . a peace I've never felt.
She looked back at the others. They stood together in human forms, watching her, hesitating.
"He will send more demons," Laira said, her voice sounding hollow to her ears. "My father will never stop hunting us. With blood and flame, we forged a kingdom among the birches. Now our war of independence begins."
DORVIN
Dorvin stood above the creature's corpse, spat on it, and kicked the diseased flesh.
"Arse-biting, mammoth-shagging piece of shite." Dorvin gave the beast another kick, his foot sinking into rotted flesh. "What the Abyss is this son of a whore?"
He stared down at the creature, disgust swirling through him. Dorvin was only twenty-two winters old, but he'd fought hundreds of beasts already—mammoths, saber-toothed cats, the cannibals of the east, and even wild rocs. Back in his tribe, the fabled Clan of Stonespear, he'd slaughtered more beasts than even the chieftain. Yet he'd never seen a creature like this.
He brushed flecks of its flesh off his fur tunic. "By the Sky Mother, it's an ugly piss-drinker, it is."
The creature was large as a dragon, and four wings grew from its back, each covered with a rug of human fingers—thousands of fingers that grew like grass. Even in death, those fingers twitched as if trying to grasp him. The creature's body was lank and tumors covered its face, some of them leaking. This was no animal. This was an unholy terror from another world.
A soft voice rose behind him. "A demon. A demon from the Abyss."
Dorvin turned to see Alina, his sister, approaching. The young druid—she was only two years older than him—wore lavender robes and moccasins trimmed with fur. Her long auburn hair spilled from under her hood, and her eyes gleamed, large and deep purple. She held a staff formed of a great oak root; at its tip, wooden tendrils clutched a blue crystal. A necklace of beads hung around her neck, and a bracelet of true bronze—a priceless metal—encircled her left wrist.
"A demon?" Dorvin shook his head in amazement, shoved down his spear, and pierced the corpse's flesh. "Bloody mammoth shite."
Alina came to stand beside him, looked at the creature, and closed her eyes. She reached into a leather pouch that hung from her belt, pulled out blue powder, and sprinkled it into the wind. She whispered prayers to the dragon constellation, her goddess.
"Bless us, stars of the Sky Dragon," Alina said, looking up into the sky. Daylight shone and the stars slept, yet Alina claimed that they always listened. "Watch over your children."
Dorvin muttered under his breath. Stars. Goddesses. Demons. What did he know of these things? He was a hunter. He dealt with blood and fire. Let his sister pray to spirits. His task wasn't to follow spiritual leaders but to be a leader himself.
He turned away from the corpse and faced the others, his group of vagabonds. They stood clustered together between patches of melting snow, nineteen souls—elders, children, a pregnant mother, a few young men and women . . . all outcasts. All cursed. All like him. Weredragons.
"What is it, Dorvin?" said Old Nan, seventy winters old, her white hair streaming in the wind. Fear filled her eyes.
"It said it's hunting weredragons!" called out Bryn, a young woman with red hair and blazing brown eyes.
They all began to mutter, glancing around, whispering, weeping, praying. Tears flowed. Panic began to spread. Every one of these souls carried memories of abuse, exile, and fear, and Dorvin had promised to lead them to safety. He would not let this group crumble.
"Silence!" he roared. He sucked up his magic and shifted.
Silver scales rose upon him, his fangs and claws sprouted, and he beat his wings. He rose to hover several feet above the ground, scattering snow, and blasted a jet of flame skyward. His roar shook the forest. All the others froze and stared at him, finally falling silent. Dorvin landed in the snow again, staying in his dragon form. He stared at his people, one by one, smoke pluming from his nostrils.
"By the Sky Mother's swollen teats!" he said. "After all we've been through—fleeing our tribes and villages, trekking through the wilderness all winter, nearly freezing our arses off—are you going to let one little demon frighten you?" He spat a glob of fiery saliva; it burned, digging a hole into the ground. "I am Dorvin, son of Karash, a hunter. I told you I'd lead you to safety, and stars damn it, I will. We will find a new home. We will find this place called Requiem."
Alina stepped up to stand by Dorvin. Still in human form, her purple robes fluttering in the wind, she addressed the crowd. While Dorvin's voice was loud and fast, she spoke in a smooth, slow lilt like the music of flutes.
"Children of Starlight." She pulled back her hood, and her auburn hair billowed. Her eyes shone, deep purple flecked with gold. "Let no fear fill your hearts, for the Sky Dragon constellation shines upon us. The stars of our magic bless us. They will keep us safe. Shift with me, my friends. Become the dragons, take flight, and find the sky."
Smiling softly, Alina shifted and soared, a lavender dragon with white horns. Her scales gleamed in the sunlight, and a stream of fire rose from her mouth, white and blue and spinning as it crackled. Dorvin beat his wings and rose to fly at her side, and they spun together, two dragons, silver and lavender, wreathed in flame.
"Rise, dragons!" Dorvin shouted. "Show me your stre
ngth."
The frightened, hungry people—exiled from their homes for their curses—summoned their magic. Nineteen more dragons rose into the sky, their scales of many colors, and their flames rose, many columns of a fiery palace.
"Like this we are strong!" Dorvin roared.
Alina flew above him. "Like this we are blessed."
Dorvin turned in the sky and began flying north, leading the others, leaving the corpse behind. He knew that some among them feared the sky—the sky was full of rocs, pteros, and now demons—but Dorvin would have them conquer fear.
For too many years, we were afraid, he thought. For too many years we dared not shift. Now the sky is ours.
Pain welled inside him, and he growled and spewed flames. The damn memories would not leave him. Even here, in the sky, a proud silver dragon, he remembered his old tribe's hunters mocking him, calling him a creature, a reptile, a cursed one. He remembered their Elder Druid, a proud old man with a bald head and stern eyes, striking Alina, spitting upon her, banishing her from their order because of her magic. Everyone who flew behind him had such a story to tell. To the world they were monsters, but Dorvin refused to treat them so.
"We are dragons!" he called out to them now, flying at their lead. "We are proud and strong."
Gliding beside him, Alina smiled. "We are blessed with starlight."
As they flew onward, Dorvin's eyes stung and watered. He told himself it was only the cold wind.
"Do you think it's truly out there?" he said to his sister, his voice too soft for the others to hear. "A kingdom called Requiem, a home for our kind?"
Beads of sunlight glimmered on her lavender scales. "Travelers whisper of Requiem. The demon we slew spoke the name. A place for dragons." She nodded, tears in her eyes. "Requiem exists. We will find her fabled column of marble, and we will find a home."
Dorvin took a shuddering breath, trying to imagine it. An entire kingdom of weredragons! A place where they would be accepted, no longer feared or spat upon. Nobody would call him cursed there. Nobody would strike his sister. In the clouds, Dorvin pretended that he could see this fabled new kingdom, a sanctuary founded only this winter. In his mind, he saw soaring columns of stone, palaces of gold, cobbled streets, statues, and thousands of others like him. Raised in a tribe of hunter-gatherers, Dorvin had never seen a city before, but he had heard tales of cities—they said some existed beyond the sea—and that was how he imagined Requiem. A city of marble, gold, and dragon magic.
Requiem's Hope (Dawn of Dragons) Page 2