His eyebrows rose so high they almost touched his hairline. "Wolves? You're out of your gourd. There are no wolves here." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "But say, have you seen any outhouses? I've really got to piss bad. Thought I found a few places—a few trees to water, if you will—but everywhere people are looking at me, and I can't piss with anyone looking at me." He winced and danced around. "Damn it, I got to go, or I swear I'll explode. I—" He reached down to his crotch, then froze. "It's . . . Oh, stars." He paled, trembled, and reached into his pants.
"Dorvin!" Maev groaned. "That's disgusting, even for you."
"Mammoth Arse, be serious!" He rummaged inside his trousers. "It's gone. My manhood. It's been cut off." Tears filled his eyes.
"You had a manhood?" she asked.
He fell to his knees, trembling, pawing at himself and blubbering. Before Maev would say more, Alina raced toward them from an alleyway. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she panted, knelt, and trembled.
"Maev, a cloak!" she said. "Please. My clothes just vanished. They can all see me naked." The druid looked up with entreating eyes. "They can all see me."
A chill washed over Maev's belly. Alina was still wearing her flowing, lavender robes. What was the woman talking about?
Maev understood.
"Dreams." She growled and clutched her head. "We're asleep. We're dreaming!"
Before Maev could say more, the loose tooth in her mouth fell out. She reached up to touch her gums, and more teeth fell, crumbling to the touch. No. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
"Maev, help me!" Dorvin begged, reaching toward her. "Help me find it. Help me sew it back on."
Alina trembled. "Please, Maev, a cloak."
"Listen to me!" Maev said. "We're just dreaming now—all of us. We're having a nightmare. Maybe we're asleep or maybe . . . maybe something in this city has us dreaming when we're awake." She grabbed the siblings by their collars and yanked them up. "Hurry up. We must find the Vir Requis who live here, then leave this place. Follow me and remember: Whatever terrors you see are not real."
As they kept walking through Bar Luan, Maev forced herself to ignore the nightmares: the growling wolves, her falling teeth, her arms dwindling to rubbery strands, and the visions—more terrible than any other—of her family burning, dying, begging for her. Tanin crawled along the cobblestones, cut off below the ribs, his entrails dragging through the dust. He reached out to her, pleading for death. Her father hung from a tree, his neck stretched, his tongue hanging loose, his eyes staring at her with condemnation, blaming her for his death. Her little sister, fallen Requiem, was still alive here, still only a toddler, racing toward Maev only for arrows to pierce her flesh.
Just dreams, Maev kept telling herself. Just waking nightmares.
They kept walking, soon reaching a wide, cobbled courtyard larger than the entire village of Oldforge. A single tree grew from the center, taller than any tree Maev had ever seen; it must have stood three hundred feet tall. Its trunk and branches were black, and its leaves were deep blue. Golden pollen glided from the tree like countless fireflies. Many Bar Luanites—at least a thousand—moved in circles around the tree, all clad in white robes, all praying. They reached out to touch the black trunk, and they breathed deeply, inhaling the pollen, chanting out a word again and again: "Shenhavan. Shenhavan."
The three Vir Requis walked slowly into the courtyard. The crowd swept them up, tugging them into the circular movement. The chants rose, and the people wept as they prayed to the tree.
"I think it's their god," Dorvin said.
Alina smiled wryly. "You yourself have some magical powers of insight."
One Bar Luanite turned toward them. He was an old man, his face oval, his eyes wide, so short he barely reached Maev's shoulder. He wore white robes and a silver necklace. Or was he old? No wrinkles marred his face, and Maev wondered if he was even older than her; like most Bar Luanites, he seemed ageless.
"Pray," he said; Maev was surprised to hear him speak her tongue. "Pray to Shenhavan. Shenhavan always listens. Pray in your mind."
With that, the man vanished into the crowd as quickly as a drop of water into a maelstrom. Maev moved her tongue in her mouth, feeling more teeth crumble. She looked up at the tree, and the tree seemed to stare back. Every one of its blue leaves seemed like an eye. The soul of the tree thrummed through her, ancient and all knowing, invading her like cold wind cuts through flesh, like icy water sends chills through bones. She saw the tree and it saw her.
Please, Shenhavan, she prayed. Let this be a dream. Let my teeth grow back.
She had never believed in prayer. Her grandfather had prayed to the stars; he had fallen in the escarpment. Alina prayed every day and Maev had yet to see a miracle. Yet today she prayed, for today she was afraid, far from home, and caught in a waking nightmare. The tree seemed to grow larger, towering over Bar Luan, consuming her life. The crowd, the city, the world itself seemed as meaningless as insects beneath this god of wood and leaf.
Please, Shenhavan. Let this just be a dream.
She reached into her mouth and found her teeth restored. She shook with relief. The old Bar Luanite's voice echoed in her ears: Shenhavan always listens.
She looked at her side. Dorvin and Alina were praying to the tree too, eyes closed, palms pressed together. When they opened their eyes, they breathed out in relief. Their prayers seemed to have been answered. Dorvin patted his groin and whispered feverish thank-yous to the tree, while Alina gratefully stroked her robes.
Maev took the two by the hands. "Come, friends. To the pyramid."
They stepped out from the swirling crowd, walked down a road, and approached the towering structure. Statues shaped as men with reptilian heads rose from grass, flanking the way to a staircase that ran up the pyramid. The stairs led to a gilded archway hundreds of feet above. Maev began to climb, leading the way. Dorvin and Alina walked close behind. As they climbed, leaving the city below, the air grew cooler, easier to breathe. After a hundred steps, Maev found the fog in her mind lifting; clarity filled her as after a good, long sleep. She indeed felt as if she were waking up from sleep, leaving stifling blankets and the strange whispers of her mind. When she looked back down at the city, she still found a place of wonder—of many streets, towers, and walls—but it had become again a physical place, untouched by the surreal edges she had seen while walking through it. There was no labyrinth below, only simple streets. There were no wolves, only birds that fluttered between the trees. The great god Shenhavan no longer towered over the world but grew no taller than any other tree; its leaves were still blue but no longer invaded her like staring eyes.
She looked back up toward the archway upon the pyramid's crest. As she drew closer, she saw two guards stand there. They wore tortoise-shell breastplates, and tiger pelts hung across their shoulders. They held long clubs, the round heads spiked. When the three Vir Requis reached the archway, winded after the long climb, the guards stepped closer together, blocking the entrance.
Maev did not speak their language, but she thumped her chest and said, "Maev! Maev of Requiem." The guards remained stone-faced, and she took a step closer. "Let me through. I've come to see your leader. I've come seeking dragons."
At that last word, the guards' eyes widened. They spoke in urgent tones. "Draco! Draco!"
Maev nodded. "Yes, dracos." She raised her chin. "I myself am one among them. Let me through."
The guards sucked in breath and turned toward Alina. They stared at the druid with wide eyes. One reached out, lifted her amulet, and stared at the jewels shaped as the dragon constellation. The man dropped the talisman as if it burned him. The guards raced around the Vir Requis, blocking their descent, and unstrapped copper-tipped spears from their backs. They goaded the Vir Requis toward the archway.
"Hey, watch where you point that!" Dorvin said, shoving a spear aside. The young Vir Requis reached for his own spear. "My spear is longer than yours, and I'm going to stick it so far up your arse,
it'll clean the guck between your teeth."
"Dung Beetle!" Maev shoved his spear down. "Stop that. Walk. Into the pyramid. Let's find who's in charge."
The guards prodded them with their spearheads, and the companions stepped through the archway and into the pyramid. A vast triangular chamber awaited them. It was easily the largest chamber Maev had ever seen; which, she supposed, wasn't saying much, as she had spent most of her life in a cave. Still, the place made her lose her breath. Statues lined the walls, depicting robed priests, their eyes closed, their palms pressed together. Murals of beasts covered the walls, and live beasts stood chained to columns. Maev had never seen such animals; they looked like dogs but were large as horses, and their necks were longer than their bodies, coiling toward the ceiling. At the back of the room rose a throne of granite, gold, and jewels, and upon it sat a man as strange as the animals. Clad in robes of blue and gold, he sported a white beard that flowed down to his feet. His fingernails were as long as his arms, coiling inward, and his eyebrows thrust out several inches, white as snow. Rings circled his neck, stretching it to thrice the usual length.
The guards goaded the Vir Requis down the hall toward the old king. They spoke harshly in their tongue; Maev only recognized the word "draco."
When she stood before the king, Maev raised her chin defiantly, crossed her arms, and spoke so loudly her voice echoed in the hall. "I am Maev of Requiem! We seek dragons. Do you understand my words?"
The old king leaned forward in his throne, staring down at her. His eyes narrowed, and a mirthless smile split his face. He spoke with a thick accent. "We have captured the Reptilian Ones. Their dark magic brought nightmares to our waking life." His grin widened, showing many sharp teeth. "The Reptilian Ones now languish in our dungeon, clutched among the roots of wise Shenhavan. They have cursed the glorious land of Bar Luan; they will never see daylight again." He stared at Alina. "The druid wears the Draco amulet. You three bear the black magic. You will join your brethren in darkness."
Maev growled and Dorvin raised his spear. The king snapped his fingers. Warriors emerged from shadows and unleashed the strange, gray dogs with the coiling necks. With howls, the creatures stormed forward.
JEID
He sat on the mountainside, looking south toward the hills, swaying grasslands, and misty mountains. The sun was setting, shadows and light spread across the land, and distant sheets of rain fell like curtains of gossamer. Somewhere over that southern horizon, the demon army was advancing, sniffing them out. Raem's scout had seen them; the full wrath of his host would soon swarm over Two Skull Mountain. Yet despite the fear of that southern, shadowy wilderness, Jeid preferred gazing at it than at the mountainside around him. Upon the stony slopes, the tribes of Goldtusk and Leatherwing were preparing for a wedding—a celebration that to Jeid felt more like a funeral.
He sighed and spared the wedding preparations one more glance. To his left side, the Goldtusk tribe had raised a tent upon the mountainside. Warriors guarded it, clad in the bronze breastplates Raem had given them under Zerra's rule. Laira was inside that tent now with the tribe's elder women; they would be painting her face, combing her hair, cladding her in finery, and preparing her body for her wedding night. Behind the tent rose the tribe totem pole, the gilded ivory tusk gleaming upon its crest—the god Ka'altei forever overlooking his people. The rocs of Goldtusk perched upon boulders and aeries across the mountain, staring south, and upon them sat the tribe hunters, weapons in their hands. It was a wedding, and it was a preparation for war—Jeid didn't know which coming event he feared the most.
He turned toward his right side. Here the Leatherwing tribe too prepared for both wedding and war. Chieftain Oritan stood among his people, dressed in a tiger pelt. One by one, his people approached to draw a line in white paint across his chest—a show of respect and servitude. A golden vessel lay at Oritan's feet, and every tribesman placed a gift within it—a seashell from far in the south, a metal bracelet, or simply a piece of fruit. Behind, high upon the mountain, perched the great pteros of the tribe, beasts as large as rocs, waiting for the demons to arrive.
A voice spoke behind him, high and soft. "Do not worry about her. Laira is strong. She does what she thinks is right for Requiem."
Jeid turned around. Behind him upon the mountainside sat his own people, the Vir Requis. All of Requiem, this so-called kingdom he had forged, was smaller than either tribe. Only twenty people followed him—a handful of elders, children, and young men and women. Barely a tribe, yet they were his people, and looking upon them soothed Jeid's heart and filled him with pride.
It was Bryn who had spoken, one of those Dorvin had led to Requiem. A young woman of fiery orange hair, she gazed upon him with brown eyes. Freckles covered her face, as plentiful as dandelions upon a spring field. She wore deerskin breeches, a gray-blue tunic, and a leather belt.
"Laira is the strongest woman I know," Jeid replied. "And for that I worry. She deserves more than to be a chieftain's wife."
Bryn sat down beside him. They stared south together at the misty landscape. Bryn pulled her knees to her chest and laid her chin upon them. "I lived in a village somewhere beyond the horizon, I did. Tended to sheep and all. Lived in a little hut with a leaky roof. Sometimes I gathered berries in the forest, walking barefoot like a beast. But Laira is a great leader of a great tribe; she will now become a queen of two tribes." Bryn smiled softly. "A queen of two tribes! What could be greater in the world?"
"To be a queen of Requiem," Jeid said firmly.
Bryn looked at him. She raised an eyebrow and smiled crookedly. "You are Requiem's king; would you have her be your wife instead?"
"That's not what I meant," Jeid said. "I mean that Laira is one of us—a Vir Requis. The first one to have joined my family. She suffered, fought, and rose to power, and now . . . now Requiem loses her."
The wind ruffled Bryn's curly red hair. "I had a boy I loved once. Foolish thing, he was. Wandered aimlessly about the village most days, charming girls when he should have been tending to crops. I chased him for years until he married another." She sighed and tsked her tongue. "Sometimes they get away."
"That's not what I meant!" Jeid repeated, feeling his cheeks flush. Of course he didn't want Laira to be his own wife. It was preposterous. First of all, Laira was far too young for him, only half his age. Secondly, Jeid only loved one woman—his late wife, the beautiful and wise Keyla, her hair golden, her eyes kind. He loved Laira as a friend, as a great light of Requiem, and he wanted more for her. He wanted her to fly at his side, a leader of dragons. Not to surrender herself to Oritan, to sacrifice her joy for her kingdom. That was all . . . wasn't it?
He closed his eyes. He thought back to the first night Laira had come to him—starving, wounded, half-dead and half-naked, a waif covered in cuts and burns. He had healed her. He had slept with her in his arms. He had loved her from the first moment she had stumbled into the escarpment. He had watched her grow from that broken, dying girl into a strong woman, a leader, a great warrior for Requiem.
And now she will be his wife. Now she will belong to a stranger.
His throat constricted.
I love you, Laira, he thought. And I can't bear to lose you to him.
Bryn was looking at him, her eyes soft, and Jeid had the strange feeling that she could read every thought in his mind. She wiggled closer and placed her hand on his knee.
"You are our king," she said, her brown eyes earnest, her hair like a pyre of flame in the sunset. "And you will lead us to victory. I do not know if Dorvin and the others will return. I do not know if Issari will claim the throne of Eteer. I do not know if Laira's heart will lie among the stars of Requiem or the might of her tribes. But I know this: I will fight for you, King Aeternum. I will forever fly by your side." She raised her chin. "Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky."
Jeid repeated the prayer, but it felt hollow to him. Tonight he wanted to be strong, proud, a great leader for Bryn and the others to follow. But he fel
t afraid. When he looked into the southern horizon, he wanted to think of King's Column rising there, of the glory and light of Requiem. But he only thought of the demon menace, of the host of many terrors flying here, of King Raem whom he would face in battle. For all her proud words, would Bryn die in this battle? Would he lose her and the others like he'd lost so many—his wife, his daughter, his father? Jeid's heart sank and he could barely breathe, and even the sight of Bryn's earnest eyes could not soothe him.
ISSARI
She marched toward the palace, leading an army of a thousand men, prepared to tame a demon.
The city of Eteer lay in ruin around her, eerily silent. Only a few cypress trees still grew upon the once-lush hills; most lay charred. Once hundreds of ships had sailed in the canal that flowed below the western hills; now only a few military vessels patrolled the water, all the merchants gone. Once many city folk had bustled on this very boulevard where Issari walked; now the people hid in their brick homes, the doors and windows barred. Even the great temple of Taal—she could see its columns a mark away upon the Hill of Vines—had lost its glory. The claws of demons had scarred its columns, and soot darkened its walls.
Tanin walked at her side, his eyes dark. He held his dagger before him. "Whatever happens, I will fight for you, Issari—with blade and with fire."
She looked at the young northerner. The sight of him—tall, a little awkward, clad in fur, his hair in disarray and his face so earnest—soothed her. Evil darkened the world, but Tanin was good. Tanin was loyal. Tanin was perhaps the brightest beacon of her heart.
"When we face Angel, I don't think bronze or dragonfire can help us." She opened her palm, revealing the amulet embedded into the flesh. "If there is any power to tame her, it lies with Taal."
Yet she heard the doubt in her voice. If Taal was truly the Father of All Gods, a great deity who loved Eteer, how had he let this evil befall them? Was Taal himself aligned with these demons? After all, some old books of lore claimed that Angel was Taal's daughter. Raem too worshiped the silver god, and he commanded an unholy host. How could Issari stake the future of her kingdom on a god whose love she doubted?
Requiem's Hope (Dawn of Dragons) Page 11