"I'm ready," Meliora said. "My wounds are but a trifle compared to the pain inflicted upon those in Tofet. We march on. We have no boat but we have our feet." She smiled thinly at Elory. "We'll find the Keymaker. He'll fix the key."
Elory looked up at Meliora, no taller than her shoulder, weakened by years under the yoke, but her eyes shone with strength. "We'll find him together."
Vale and Tash emerged from the cave and joined them, both wrapped in their burlap cloaks. A tall man, young yet already haggard, his head shaved, his cheeks gaunt and his eyes simmering with endless rage. A young woman, her body softer, her hair long and brown, the fineries of the palace washing off her, as surely as they had washed off Meliora. Tash's hair no longer shone with scented oils, and perfume no longer sweetened her skin, and her only remaining jewels were her ring—its top engraved with a forged sigil—and the diamond in her navel.
"The time has come to say farewell," Vale said, and for once, his voice was soft, a voice like a flowing river more than a jagged stone. "Tash and I travel east to find the Chest of Plenty."
Meliora nodded. "And Elory and I travel west to find the Keymaker on the mountain. Let us meet back here in this cave, though I don't know how long our quests will take."
And I don't know how long the Vir Requis can still survive under Ishtafel's whip, she added silently.
She stepped closer to Vale, hesitated, then embraced him. At first he stood stiffly, but then he wrapped his arms around Meliora and held her in the darkness.
"I only just found you, my brother, and now I must leave you." She touched his cheek. "Sometimes I almost doubt that it's real. That you're real. That I have a brother who's kind and noble. A brother who saved my life in the river. Who fights with me for Requiem. I love you, Vale."
His embrace was warm. "And I love you, Meliora. I always have. All my life, my father told Elory and me stories of you, of our princess sister the seraph. Finally meeting you has been the best thing in my life. I know we'll see each other again soon. We will fly together as dragons, sister."
Meliora embraced Tash next, holding her close, and Elory hugged her brother and shed a tear. And then they were parted. Then they were torn apart in the darkness. Then Meliora was walking into the shadows, leaving Tash and Vale—the two souls who had saved her life, one after the other—in a world of darkness and fire.
She looked up at the sky, and though Meliora could not see the stars of Requiem from so far south, she prayed to them.
Please, stars of my father. Grant them safety. Grant safety to all of your children. Let me see Vale and Tash again. Let me fly with them and with all our people in the sky of Requiem.
VALE
"Are you sure you know where we're going?" Vale squinted, staring around him, struggling to see in the darkness. "I can barely see a thing, and your map is barely more than scribbles."
Tash placed her hands on her hips and glowered at him. "It's more than scribbles. It's a fine work of cartography. I do not draw scribbles, Vale. We just have to keep the Te'ephim River to our right, and it'll lead us to the sea. All rivers lead to the sea, you know."
Vale had not known that. He knew how to mix clay, bitumen, and straw, forming bricks for homes and granaries. He knew how to swing a pickaxe, carving out large stones for statues, columns, and temples. He knew how to endure hours of thirst and hunger, how to suffer the whip without falling, how to heal the wounds of whips across his family's backs. What did he know of geography, cartography, of anything in this world beyond the walls of Tofet—a world he had once thought a mere myth?
"I can't see the river," he said.
"I can." Tash pointed. "Do you see those glimmers in the distance? That's the moon reflecting on the water. And look, up there." She pointed skyward. "See that bright star? That's Kloriana's Star, holy among the seraphim, and it always shines in the east. We're going the right way."
Vale stared at her. In the darkness, Tash was merely a shadow, black on black. Aside from the moonlight on her hair, he might not have seen her. And yet he could smell her. Even after a night and day of flight, Tash did not smell like most slaves, the smell of sweat, blood, burnt flesh. She had a faint scent of jasmine, hintan, a touch of lavender, perhaps lingering remnants of the perfumes she had worn in the pleasure pits.
It would have been dark in the pleasure pits too, Vale thought. And Tash would be naked, perfumed, delighting men with her talents.
In the darkness, he felt his cheeks heat up again. He did not like these feelings. The old tales of Requiem were full of stories of lovers: the great King Aeternum and Queen Laira, founders of Requiem; the tragic story of Benedictus and Lacrimosa, torn apart by Requiem's great wars against the griffins, whose love lit the world; the tales of King Elethor and Queen Lyana who had fought the phoenixes and rebuilt Requiem from ruin; and poems of Tilla and Rune, lovers on opposite sides of Requiem's civil war. Those old stories were full of romance, but this had always seemed a mythical concept to Vale. In his twenty-one years, he had never spared a thought for love. What would he know of such things? No more than he knew about maps.
My only love is Requiem, he thought, hating the strange feelings Tash's scent stirred inside him, but proud that he could finally push thoughts of her away.
"So . . .," Tash said as they walked. "Ever poked a woman?"
Vale groaned. "What are you on about?"
He could just make out her turning toward him, and the moonlight shone on her teeth as she grinned. "You know, ever dropped your trousers, pulled out your spear—and I don't mean the one you're holding in your cloak—and poked a nice maiden twixt her nethers?"
He groaned louder. "I never knew pleasurers would use so many euphemisms."
Her eyes widened. "That means no! You're not even denying it." Tash nodded. "I wondered how much lovemaking you lot down in Tofet got to. When Elory came into the pleasure pit, she knew nothing. Nothing! I don't think she even knew she had nethers, or that boys have spears to stab them with. But I taught her." She leaned toward him, and her eyes turned sly. "I could teach you if you like."
Oh stars above, Vale thought. Tash—naked against him, kissing, caressing—
No.
He gritted his teeth.
He had no use for such things. They would distract him from his quest. He cared only for Requiem.
"Focus on finding the way to the shore." He turned to stare ahead as if there were anything to see in the darkness.
She nodded and touched his arm. "I understand. You're a little embarrassed. Not sure you could perform. Not sure you'd know what to do. You're all strong and tough and tall, a real man, and you're worried I'll think you're a boy, or maybe you're worried your reed will wilt. But I don't mind if it takes you a while to learn. We all have to learn sometime! Did you know—at my first time I was absolutely hopeless. The woman who taught me was a pleasurer too. I learned quickly. So will you."
Vale definitely did not want to think of any of those things—not himself "wilting" and certainly not the vision of Tash learning the ways of love.
"Why don't we walk silently?" he said.
She moaned. "Because it's boring! I'll grow bored to death on the way unless we can have sex. Vale, don't make me beg you! If you don't let me seduce you, I'm going to have to beg, and I'm really a horrible beggar."
He pointed ahead into the sky. "I suggest you focus your attention up at the sky, not down at your nether regions. Those aren't stars."
Three orange lights shone in the distance, moving closer, swooping down from the sky like comets. Distant cries rose from them.
Vale cursed and grabbed Tash's arm. "Down!"
She waggled her eyebrows at him. "Ooh, darling."
He groaned. "Be quiet and lie still. Under our cloaks. By that boulder."
He lay down and pulled Tash down beside him. They lay on their stomachs, pressing against a boulder, and pulled their hoods low.
Vale could hear the chariots fly closer, smell the brimstone and fire. Lying facedown, he
could only hope that he appeared like nothing more than part of the boulder. Tash lay beside him, her body pressed against his, and a strand of her hair tickled his lips.
The chariots streamed directly above, the firehorses' hooves thundering through the air, the flames crackling. Sparks rained and singed his cloak.
Tash's hand trailed down his leg. "Vale," she whispered, "let's do it now. While they're flying above."
He raised his head just an inch, saw her smiling at him, and glared. "Hush!"
She pouted.
Ash rained and finally the sound of the chariots faded. Vale rose back to his feet to see them in the distance.
"Maybe you like boys?" Tash said. "That's all right; I don't judge. We had a few boys in the pleasure pit, you know. Some of the seraphim favored them."
"Enough." Vale continued marching. "We keep going. Quickly now." He turned around. "Tash! Come on."
She placed her hands on her hips. "You go that way, Vale, right back to Tofet. I'm going to walk the right way." She pointed. "Follow the star, remember?"
He grumbled but he changed course. They walked onward through the darkness.
Thankfully, Tash stopped talking soon, though the young woman still hummed, clucked her tongue, and sometimes mumbled to herself as they walked. Vale began to regret agreeing to accompany her on this quest. He should have accompanied Meliora instead to find the Keymaker—it seemed that was where hope shone brighter—not gone on this wild-goose chase, stuck here with the insufferable Tash.
The woman had seemed sympathetic enough back in Tofet. After all, she had helped Meliora escape from prison, and for that Vale was grateful. But stars above, once alone with her, Tash had regressed back to, perhaps, her true self—a loquacious, flirty little minx who boiled both his blood and temper. She confused him. She infuriated him. He had agreed to accompany her out of some sense of nobility, wanting to protect the helpless maiden perhaps, like the heroes in the old tales. Now he wondered if Tash would lead him to nothing but madness.
They walked for hours, and when dawn began to rise, Vale approached the river.
"Going for a morning swim?" Tash asked. "Naked?"
"Going fishing." He hefted his spear. "We need to eat."
The light was still dim. Hints of pink and blue appeared in the eastern sky, and the world began to appear around him, all in gray, black, and indigo. He could make out the river flowing at his side, a few trees with curling branches, rocky hills, and Tash's slender form. Soon the sun would rise and its light would drench the land, and they would need to find shelter and hide—perhaps another cave, perhaps between boulders or trees. But for now, Vale needed food. He had not eaten in a night, a day, and another night, and his limbs already felt weak from hunger, and his stomach knotted. He had never eaten fish before, but he had seen the overseers consuming them. He stepped onto the riverbank and hefted his spear.
Beads of light glimmered on the water, and the fires had not spread this far yet. Reeds and grass swayed around him, and Vale waded between them, the water rising above his ankles. As the light kept brightening, he caught sight of his reflection in the river. The vision was smudged and dark, and he stared down at it. Vale had never stared into a mirror before—at most, he had seen his reflection at the bottom of wet mugs or upon the surfaces of polished stones. Looking at his watery reflection now, he seemed thinner than he'd ever been. A gaunt wretch, cheeks sunken, eyes too large. A figure close to death.
The old stories of Requiem, the ones his father would tell, would often speak of the beauty and vigor of youth, of young heroes scampering across fields and soaring, laughing, rolling through the sky in abandon, not yet burdened by the worries of age. Vale was only twenty-one—in Old Requiem, he'd be considered at the prime of his youth, barely older than a boy. Yet he felt old. He looked old. He felt ready for death, having suffered too many years of whips, chains, hunger, exhaustion, as if all those five hundred years of slavery—stretching back to the fall of Requiem—weighed upon his shoulders.
And yet I'm still here. Still moving onward. Still alive. Still fighting. He closed his eyes. I still remember you, Issari. I will never forget your starlit hands upon me, the love in your eyes. You told me that a great battle awaits me. I will live and fight on, my lady of starlight.
Splashing sounded in the water beside him, and Vale's eyes snapped open. He started and his heart thrashed. He found himself wincing, expecting the lash of a whip, a habit he didn't know if he'd ever shake. But it was only Tash wading into the water beside him, naked as the day she'd been born, aside from the jewel in her navel.
"Tash!" he whispered, looking away.
She splashed him. "Join me, Vale! Off with your clothes. It's time for a morning bath."
He glanced at her, then quickly looked away, the sight of her naked body seared onto his memory. He was about to reproach her, even grab her cloak and cover her up, when another splash—this one softer—sounded below him.
He looked down and his eyes widened.
A fish.
Vale lifted his spear.
The fish lazily swam between the reeds and rushes, fat and sluggish.
Vale thrust down the spear, piercing it.
"Got you!" He lifted his prize from the water, already salivating. "Tash! Hurry up and wash yourself. We've got breakfast. I'll see if I can catch another."
She stuck out her tongue, the water now blessedly up to her shoulders. "See if there are any pears baked in honey and wine down there, will you? Maybe some almond and butter cakes too."
He scoffed. "It's fish and some algae if you can stomach it. Better than what we ate in Tofet. You house slaves went soft."
He expected her to roll her eyes, to splash him again, maybe to make a joke, but instead anger filled Tash's eyes. She waded toward him in the water.
"Don't you tell me that I'm soft." She glared, her eyes red. "You don't know what I've had to endure."
"What?" He matched her glare. "Did you endure firewhips against your back? Yokes that crushed your shoulders? Eighteen hours of labor a day, carving bricks and hauling tar in the blinding sun? Or did you just have to suffer baked apples sometimes instead of honeyed pears?"
Her eyes dampened, but then her rage seared the tears dry. "I had to live through things you cannot even imagine. I was thirteen when I was tossed into the pleasure pits. You suffered the whip; I suffered the lust of the seraphim. I would have chosen the whip a thousand times over what they did to me, to a mere child." Her voice shook. "For years, I sank into a deep hole. For years, I smoked the hintan, lost in a stupor, barely alive, a giggling, drooling, vapid thing, mere meat, semiconscious, as the seraphim masters had their ways with me. But I crawled out of that pit. I shoved the comfort of hintan aside, and I learned to accept pain, because pain gives me clarity, pain gives me strength. So yes, Vale of Tofet. I ate honeyed pears instead of gruel, and I wore anklets of gold instead of shackles of iron. And I suffered more pain than I can remember without dying inside."
The fish flapped on his spear, and Vale felt his anger wan. Why was he so mad at the woman? Tash had been kind to Elory, protecting her in the pleasure pit. She had saved Meliora from the dungeon. She had fought bravely against the seraphim during their escape from Tofet, and she sought the Chest of Plenty not for personal gain but to duplicate the Keeper's Key and bring Requiem hope. Why had he spent the past night and day mad at her? Was it because of her body—and by the stars, she was naked now in the water, only inches away—that intoxicated him? Was it because she awakened something deep inside him, something frightening, something that was all soft warmth and joy, unlike anything he had ever felt, anything he thought he deserved?
He nodded. "Let's eat breakfast. I'll catch you a fish too. I promise it'll be tasty."
She nodded, her face calming. She stepped out from the river and pulled on her cloak, then paused.
She stared down, frozen.
"Tash?" Vale said. "Are you all right?"
She spun back toward him, eyes wid
e. "I found something. Oh stars above, Vale. I found something."
ISHTAFEL
In his dreams he was still there. In darkness. Five hundred years ago. Young. Scared. Fighting with her.
"The cowards flee, my love!" Reehan cried, laughing as she swung her twin xiphos swords. "Like worms digging deeper into their holes. Let us hook them!"
Ishtafel fought at her side, swinging his own twin blades. Blood covered his steel breastplate, his long blond hair, his face—every part of him, sticky, hot, red, coppery, sweet. Some the blood of his enemies. Some the blood of his friends. Some his own blood.
And in the tunnels ahead, they scurried.
The weredragons.
Ishtafel swung one of his short, wide blades, blocking a blow from a massive weredragon longsword. The beast roared before him, bearded, eyes wild, clad all in steel plates. The brute's armor was thicker than his own, his sword longer and sharper, and fear flooded Ishtafel—cold, all-consuming terror.
He thrust his blade again, trying to reach past the weredragon's defenses. The tunnel walls seemed to close in around Ishtafel. He couldn't breathe in here, couldn't see. Behind the barbarian ahead, thousands more—filthy weredragons—lurked in the darkness, just waiting to strike, to cut him down.
I can't do this, Ishtafel thought, tears budding in his eyes as he swung his blade. I can't survive on this world. We should never have rebelled, never have fallen from Edinnu. I'm going to die here in darkness.
The weredragon lashed at Ishtafel again, and his longsword slammed into his armor. Ishtafel cried out and fell to his knees in the tunnel, these holes far beneath the realm they called Requiem. The weredragon grinned and raised his longsword, prepared to land the killing blow.
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