Sweat soaked Jaren, and his head wouldn't stop spinning. He had to do something, to bury it, to find Elory, to save her if she still lived. He had to lean against the wall, and blackness spread across him.
Shivering, he stepped out into the night.
The huts of Tofet spread around him in the blackness. The land was silent but for the scattered sounds of weeping and moaning. The air was hot, soupy, and his sweat wouldn't dry. Jaren forced himself to walk, each step a struggle, each breath a battle, until he reached a patch of dry earth. He buried the ear there, buried a piece of his daughter, and the memory of burying his wife filled him, a memory like a demon, clawing inside him. He fell to his knees in the dirt between the huts, and his tears fell.
I spend my nights healing others, but how can I heal my daughter? How can I stop this pain?
He lowered his head and closed his eyes.
Please, stars of Requiem, if you can hear my prayers from this place, show me mercy, show me your light.
And in the darkness, the light of stars shone.
Kneeling in the dust, Jaren raised his head, and above him he saw columns woven of starlight, pale birches coated in frost, a glittering hall all in light. The pain, the fear, the weariness, all seemed to fade in this place, and Jaren floated through the halls of ancient Requiem.
Figures were moving between the columns, appearing, vanishing, cloaked in white. Harp strings played, echoing, fading, notes from many songs. He glimpsed ancient kings and queens, heroes and heroines, warriors and priests, the ghosts of old Requiem, those who had fought the demons, the griffins, the phoenixes, the countless enemies who had tried to topple these halls. All now memories, myths, beams of starlight, and fragments of song.
Ahead Jaren could make out three figures, all cloaked in light. When he drew closer, they came into focus, the light parting to reveal their forms.
A woman sat on a throne, golden locks framing her pale face. Her eyes shone blue-green, and she wore pale armor. Here was Queen Gloriae Aeternum who had raised Requiem from ruin and restored her to glory. At her left side stood a young prince, his yellow hair falling across his brow, his brown eyes eager—Kyrie Eleison, guardian of the throne. At the queen's right side stood a young woman, tall and clad in leggings and a tan vest, her mane of black curls cascading across her shoulders—Agnus Dei, the queen's twin sister, a woman who had slain many enemies of Requiem.
My ancestors, Jaren thought, kneeling before them. The great warriors of Requiem who rebuilt our nation from only seven survivors.
Queen Gloriae rose from her throne and held up her hand. "Rise, Jaren Aeternum, son of Requiem."
At her side, Agnus Dei tilted her head and squinted. "He looks a bit like me. Same noble eyes."
Young Kyrie snorted. "There are warthogs who look nobler than you do, Agnus Dei. Don't insult the man."
Her eyes widened, and Agnus Dei let out a roar. "Be quiet, pup! Or I'm going to ram into you like a warthog."
"You're thinking of bulls," Kyrie said. "Bulls ram. Warthogs just rut in the dirt and mud."
"Oh, you enjoyed rutting in the mud last time we went out on a hike," Agnus Dei said, smiling crookedly, and Kyrie blushed a deep crimson.
"Hush, Agnus Dei!" the boy said.
Queen Gloriae glared at the two. "Hush the both of you!" She returned her eyes to Jaren, and her gaze softened. "Forgive their frivolity, my son, for here is a realm where all worries, all pain have ended."
Kyrie snorted. "Not when Agnus Dei slaps me. That still hurts."
Agnus Dei raised her fist. "I'm going to pound you to prove it, pup."
"Hush!" Gloriae said again. She stepped closer to Jaren, placed her hands on his shoulders, and smiled. The starlight clung to her, spreading out to warm him, to soothe him. "Your stars do not forget you, Jaren. Nor do the souls of your ancestors. We've heard your prayers, and we weep for the pain we see in the world. We weep that we cannot fight for Requiem anymore, for our wars have ended, and the torch has passed. To you, Jaren. To your children. They are alive, my son. They still quest for hope, though the road is full of many dangers, and much darkness must pass before the light shines upon them. Do not abandon your hope, for hope shines even in the greatest darkness. So long as you can draw another breath, take another step, live for another heartbeat—there is hope." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Sometimes you cannot see the stars, but they always shine. Even when blinded, even in total darkness, there is always light."
That light now grew brighter, streaming all across Jaren, blinding him, healing him, and when he could see again, he was back in the dirt of Tofet.
Had he fainted, merely dreamed? Or had he seen a true vision of the celestial Requiem beyond the stars? He didn't know. A voice seemed to echo within him, perhaps his own, perhaps the voice of Queen Gloriae, fading like the last note in a harp's song.
There is always hope. There is always light.
"You're alive, Elory," Jaren whispered. "I know that you're alive. Stay strong, my sweet daughter. I love you. I will see you again."
Dawn broke. Jaren rose to his feet, and his work continued.
VALE
He woke up at sunset, lying on the sand, Tash nestled against him.
Soon their journey would continue, but Vale just wanted to lie here, to never get up. A blanket of fronds covered them, hiding them from the world; should any seraphim fly above, they'd see nothing but some scattered branches on the beach. The waves whispered, and between the palm branches, Vale could see the sky fade to deep blue and gold. He lay on his back, and Tash still slept, her cheek against his chest. Her leg was tossed across his, and his arms were wrapped around her, his hand resting on the small of her back. She slept naked, her skin soft and warm against him.
He looked at her in the dying light. When awake, Tash was always speaking, singing, mumbling to herself, and prancing around. Yet sleeping, she seemed so peaceful, so young, almost fragile. She knew so much more about the world, but Vale realized how young she was—barely more than a youth.
As am I, Vale thought. Yet I feel so much older.
On their journey, Tash had spoken of healing him, of bringing joy back into his life. But right now, lying here, Vale felt that it was his task to protect her, to heal her, to fight the world for her.
I love you, Tash, he thought and kissed the top of her head. I've never loved another, and you light my life. You light my life of darkness. For you, I will fight armies, I will burn the world to protect you.
She mumbled in her sleep, lips scrunching together, and opened her eyes. She smiled at him.
"Where's my morning tea?" she asked.
He ran his fingers up and down her back. "We have a few sips of water left. How's that?"
She pouted. "I demand that you fetch me tea and cupcakes, my handsome servant."
He gave her backside a playful pat. "Once you fetch me my slippers, my lovely maid."
She gasped. "You did not just do that! Not you!" She grinned and bit her lip. "I am teaching you to have fun, aren't I? I knew I could do it! Soon you'll be whistling and dancing."
"Not likely," he said.
"I'm going to make you dance. Make you!" She crawled atop him and chomped down on his nose. "A special kind of dance, at least."
As the sun set, she tossed back her head, straddling him, moving atop him. He held her slender waist, then ran his hands across her body, marveling at every curve of her, at the softness of her skin, and she grasped his chest so tightly it almost hurt. When he could not bear it any longer, he rolled her over, and she lay beneath him, wrapping her limbs around him, and he clutched her hands and squeezed them, and she cried out his name.
They lay together, breathing deeply.
"You are a good dancer," Tash said.
"I'm still not singing."
She nibbled his bottom lip. "Next time I'll make you burst into song. That's my new goal." She grew serious, then wrapped her arms around him and held him close, nuzzling his neck. "You're the best I've ever
had, Vale. All the other men . . . that was work. Same as your work in the fields. You're the first man I ever made true love to." She rose to her feet. "So let's go find this Chest of Plenty, because I want to do this many, many more times."
He nodded and reached for her breasts. "How about Plenty of Chest?"
She groaned and slapped his hand away. "Now you're making jokes! Lovely." She looked down at her chest. "And sadly, these little pups aren't nearly plentiful enough." She tugged him to his feet. "So let's keep going."
As the sun vanished, they walked along the beach. Only the moon lit their way. The waves rolled across their bare feet, and sea shells gleamed in the moonlight. Tash reached out and held his hand, and Vale wondered what it would be like to be free—truly free, no collar around their necks, no people waiting for them to return with a magical chest. To just . . . go out some nights with Tash and walk. Walk as far as they wanted, for as long as they wanted. To make love whenever they pleased.
And to shift into dragons.
Vale thought back to that day—that most wonderful and horrible of days. For the first time in his life, he had been without a collar, tasked with carrying heavy stones to the top of columns. For the first time, he had used his magic, become a dragon, flown into the sky, battled his enemies. The day ended with his blood, with nails driving through him, with his death upon the wall and resurrection at the hands of Issari, the Priestess in White. That day he had learned that he still had a battle to fight.
Someday I will fly again, he thought. Someday we all will, not in battle, not for glory or blood. We'll fly together in peace, Tash and I under the moonlight.
As they walked, they talked of the Requiem that had been, the Requiem from the stories. He spoke of the first King Aeternum, his ancestor, who had founded a kingdom for those outcast, those hunted, those who could become dragons, and of that ancient king's war against an army of demons. Tash then spoke, telling him that she was descended from the great Kyrie Eleison, a prince of Requiem who had survived the griffins, who had fought with Queen Gloriae herself to rebuild Requiem from ancient ruin. They spoke too of the legendary King Elethor and Queen Lyana who had defeated the phoenixes, the wyverns, and the nephilim, and they told tales of Requiem's tragic civil war, and how Rune and Tilla, star-crossed lovers, had fought against each other in one of Requiem's darkest hours.
"Do you think that in hundreds of years, people will tell tales of us?" Tash asked.
Vale nodded. "They'll probably tell the story about how you ate centipede shit."
She gasped. "No!" She shoved him. "Never tell anyone that story. That tale will be buried in time. Damn goldshitters!"
Vale was about to say more when a shrill cry rose in the distance.
He froze.
Tash shivered. "Ghosts," she whispered.
"There's no such thing as ghosts," Vale said.
She rolled her eyes. "Giant centipedes with human faces who poop out golden coins are real, but you think ghosts aren't."
They continued walking along the dark beach. The banshee cry did not return. The only sounds were the waves and the wind. Perhaps that's all that they had heard; the wind, no more. No clouds glided above, and the moon hung low, full and bloated and white as bone. Its light spread across the sea like a spine, rising and falling, and it seemed to Vale no longer a soft, beautiful light but sickly.
They walked onward until they saw a pale glow ahead on the beach, strands of greenish light wreathed around shadows. As they walked closer, they saw fluttering movements, dark spikes like blades, a living organism of light and darkness beached on the sand. A cry rose again, shrill and inhuman, a sound like an echo in deep chambers, soon fading.
Tash squeezed Vale's hand, staring ahead. Her face was pale in the moonlight, her lips tight.
They walked closer until details emerged, and they stood before it: a shipwreck on the beach, large as a palace. When working in Shayeen, Vale had seen many ships sail along the Te'ephim River, but he had never seen a ship so large. When still seaworthy, it must have held a thousand men. The hull now tilted, many of its planks shattered, the stern missing. The bow jutted upward, and the ship's figurehead reared toward the moon, forged of iron, shaped as a nude woman with the head of a goat. Black masts still rose, tilted, coated in mold, dripping strands of rotted rope and scraps of sails. The tattered canvas billowed in the wind, rising and falling like pale ghosts in the night. The wind moaned through the ship's hull, rattling the shattered planks, emerging from portholes and rusty cannons in a frosty haze like breath. The wreck seemed alive, moving, moaning, breathing, creaking. The moonlight limned its form, but a different light—greenish and gray—seemed to lurk within its ancient hull, seeping between the planks and bristly deck.
"We found it," Tash whispered, staring up at the wreck with wide eyes. "The ship of ghosts."
Vale grunted. "No ghosts, Tash. Just wind moaning through the hull and billowing the sails."
"There are ghosts." Tash shuddered. "Ghosts who guard the Chest of Plenty. It's in there, Vale!" Her eyes shone. "It has to be! Just like the tales. The greatest treasure in the world, a chest that can duplicate any treasure you place inside it, turning but a single coin into a hoard. And the dead guard it."
"I fear the living, not the dead. I fear the searing sunlight, not the darkness." His voice darkened. "I died in Shayeen. I died upon the ziggurat. There is nothing to fear from the souls of the departed, no more than there's reason to fear the shadows."
"But I'm afraid." Tash gulped. "We can fight the living with blades, with tooth and nail. But how can we kill those who are already dead? Many have tried to claim the Chest of Plenty, and none have succeeded." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "But we will. We have to. Meliora might fix her key, but we'll need half a million keys—one for every Vir Requis—if we're to ever rise together. And so I will enter this ship, and I will fight whoever guards that old treasure, and I will bring it back."
"Hopefully we won't have to fight anything more than wind and maybe a few crabs." Vale hefted the axe he had found in the centipedes' lair. "Whatever's inside, I'm ready for it."
Tash did not draw her dagger. "I doubt steel can cut whatever's inside. It didn't help those warriors from the tales who came to this place." She winced. "I'd wait until sunrise, but the sun brings seraphim. So we enter in darkness, seeking light."
They stepped closer across the sand. Until now the night had been sweltering hot, but now the air was icy. Vale couldn't suppress a shudder; he had never felt cold before, only heard of "cold" from the northern stories, yet now an iciness ran up his feet, trailed along his bones, and filled his belly. The sand felt like ice. Tash too was shivering.
As they moved closer, Vale looked at iron cannons that thrust out from the broken hull. He had never seen cannons before—the armies of Saraph did not use them—but he'd heard of these weapons from ancient Requiem tales, great guns that could blast out metal and fire.
"This ship belonged to men," he whispered. "Perhaps to Vir Requis. It predates Saraph's conquest of the world."
Tash nodded. "And now it belongs to the dead."
They crossed the last few feet of sand, and they reached the back of the ship. The stern was gone, perhaps lost in the shipwreck centuries ago. In its place gaped open a cavern, cloaked in shadows, leading into the hull. The moonlight did not reach this place; Vale saw nothing but darkness inside. Creaking, a whisper, and moaning wind rose from within. The air grew even colder, and their breath frosted.
Vale lifted the tinderbox and dragon-head lantern he had found in the centipedes' lair. He sparked flint against firesteel, then lit the lantern's wick. Orange light flickered through the iron dragon's eyes and mouth.
He glanced at Tash. She looked back, the light reflecting in her brown eyes, and she raised her chin. Holding the lantern before them, they entered the ship.
A nave of rotten wood awaited them. Vale had thought the ship looked large from outside; from in here, it seemed twice the size, large
enough for dragons to fly through. All around rose curved planks like the ribs of a wooden whale. Portholes rose high above, peering out to the night sky; the moonlight filtered in, beams like pale fingers. Moss and algae hung from a bannister high above, and the skulls of men lay strewn across the sandy floor.
Tash started and drew her dagger with a hiss. She pointed. Vale looked and saw shadows scurrying, and he hefted his axe and raised his lantern. But the orange light only revealed a crab scuttling away. He lowered the lantern, heart racing.
"See any chests?" Vale said. He only spoke softly, but his voice seemed loud as a shout in here, echoing between the beams.
Tash winced and put a finger against his lips. Her eyes darted.
A shriek sounded across the ship.
The cry rose louder and louder, impossibly high pitched, until it shattered and broke apart into a thousand little cries that faded. In the silence that followed, Vale's ears rang.
"Still think it's the wind?" Tash whispered.
This time Vale wasn't too sure. "Let's find the chest and get out of here."
They kept walking, moving deeper into the ship. Ahead rose an anchor, taller than a man, the iron covered in barnacles and moss. Water pooled by a smashed balustrade, and white eyes shone there, then vanished with a pattering. A face in the shadows, stern and pale, made Vale start and raise his axe, but it was only an old painting still hanging from a wall, half the canvas rotted away.
Tash knelt, brushed sand away, and lifted a dark object. Vale brought his lantern closer, revealing a skull, snails nesting in its eye sockets. Tash grimaced and tossed it away. It knocked into femurs and scattered them.
They froze as the bones clattered, waiting for another shriek.
Instead they heard a deep voice.
"Go . . . go . . ."
Vale spun around. The voice had spoken right behind him. He raised his lantern and the flame swayed, casting dancing shadows like demons. Nothing. Nobody there.
"Did you hear that too?" he asked Tash.
She nodded. "It sounded so mean. I thought . . ." She peered into the shadows. "But nothing. Whoever spoke is gone."
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