Requiem's Prayer (Book 3)

by Daniel Arenson

  There are no stars here in the mountain, he thought. Only fading light. Fading hope.

  Jeid kept walking, passing by more people until he reached Dorvin. The young man leaned against a wall, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides.

  "Dorvin." Jeid placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Why are you here? It's almost your shift. Go replace Bryn at the entrance."

  The black-haired young man raised his eyes. A dark fire blazed in them. "There's no word of her yet?" His lips twitched. "No word of Maev?"

  Jeid felt his belly tighten, the fear stretching inside him like a growing demon. "No word. Not from Maev. Not from Laira." He clutched Dorvin's arm. "But we have to believe they're alive out there. We have to."

  Despite his words, Jeid noticed that his hand was trembling around Dorvin's arm. His teeth knocked together, and even breathing became a struggle.

  Maev, his daughter, and Laira, his wife—the two women he loved most in this world—missing.

  A thousand times since arriving in these caves, Jeid had summoned the memory, seeking clues. The sphinxes had crashed into them two marks south of here. Fire and blood had stormed over the trees. The enemy had flown among them, plowed through their lines, tore the dragons apart.

  "Laira!" Jeid had howled. "Maev!"

  He had caught only glimpses of their scales, and then sphinxes had slammed into him. The dragons had fled into the caves in a mad route, a chaos of screams and wails.

  I thought you were behind us. I thought I'd find you here among the others. Now you're gone.

  "Let us fly out," Dorvin said. He bared his teeth. "Let us fly out in glory and find them. And if they're fallen, let us avenge them."

  A year ago, I would have flown with you, Dorvin, he thought. A year ago I didn't care for my life. But today the people of Requiem need me. They need us. They need leaders. They need warriors.

  He shook his head. "Dorvin, go replace Bryn. Now. We will not fly out, not until our very last breath. Not while there is life here to protect."

  Dorvin's eyes flashed. "And we hide here—for what? To die of starvation, of thirst? There is no hope here!" His eyes reddened. "At least I would die a warrior, crashing against the enemy. I—"

  "So long as the sphinxes are besieging these caves, they're not hunting Laira and Maev. If nothing else, our presence here—even if we have no hope—keeps the enemy off their tails. But I believe there is hope, Dorvin. There is always hope, even in the shadows, even when all light seems lost. Go. Relieve Bryn. Protect the cave."

  Dorvin gnashed his teeth and clenched his fists. Thoughts seemed to be racing through his mind. Finally, with a grunt, the young man nodded and stormed off.

  Jeid watched him leave. He is young and fiery and loves my daughter. Please, stars of Requiem, if you can hear my prayers, shine upon Maev and Laira. Shine upon us all.

  Soon his shift at the cave entrance would begin again, and he'd blow fire at the sphinxes, holding them back until Bryn replaced him and another cycle began. Only fifty Vir Requis here were well enough to shift and blow fire, and each could only produce flames for several moments. The others—half the survivors—were too young, too old, too hurt.

  Jeid kept walking among them. He smiled at children, trying to cheer them in the shadows. He prayed for the wounded. He embraced those who grieved for the fallen or trembled with worries for the missing. He kept traveling through the labyrinth of tunnels, passing by each of his people. He could not remember when last he had slept. Since arriving here—it had been at least two days, maybe three—he had alternated between blowing fire and consoling his people.

  I need sleep. I need food and drink. I need Maev and Laira here with me.

  He was talking to a trembling mother, her son fallen, when the scream echoed through the caves.

  Jeid froze. He spun toward the sound. He began to run.

  He raced down the tunnel, passing by pale, trembling people. The smell of blood guided him. He rushed around a corner, froze, and nearly gagged.

  Stars . . .

  One of his people lay slumped against the wall, his chest cracked open. The ribs had been tugged outward like swinging doors. The innards had been scooped out—the heart, the lungs, all missing—leaving a hollowed cavity. Splatters of blood covered the wall. It took Jeid a moment to realize: those were no random splatters but rather a painting. The blood formed the shape of the Draco constellation.

  Bryn came walking down the tunnel, mumbling to herself, her shoulders stooped with weariness. When the young woman saw the corpse, she stepped back and covered her mouth, stifling a scream.

  "Who did this?" she whispered, pale and trembling.

  Jeid stared down at the corpse. His chest constricted. He looked at Bryn and forced the words from his mouth: "We are not alone in these caves."

  RAEM

  Raem Seran, King of Eteer, stepped into the halls of the Abyss with his demon bride.

  Today I sink into the very depths of the underworld, he thought. Today I rise to my greatest heights.

  A tunnel stretched before him, its walls formed of skin and veins. As Raem walked upon his hoof and talon, the floor bended and bled beneath him. It felt like walking through the vein of a giant. Prisoners were sewn into the walls, floor, and ceiling—some were humans, some were demons, and some were something in between. Their mouths smacked. Their eyes shed tears. Those who could speak begged for death; those that could not simply whimpered or screamed. Raem smiled at the poor creatures.

  "They are witness to the marriage march of a king and queen," he said to his bride. "They weep for our glory."

  Angel—daughter of Taal, Queen of the Abyss—crawled at his side. Since consuming human flesh, she had grown to monstrous size. Her stone body was still shapely, her waist narrow, her hips full, but her limbs had stretched out, too long to let her stand upright in this tunnel. She crawled on all fours. Drool dripped between her sharp teeth, and cracks glowed upon her craggy body, revealing the lava within.

  "All in the Abyss and the worlds above will see our love." Angel licked her lips. "Our love will burn the world."

  Raem draped his left arm, the squirming tentacle, across her back. His right arm, the lobster claw, clanked at his side. His hoof stepped on a gaping face in the floor, crushing the poor soul's teeth. His talon drove into blinking eyes. They kept walking, accompanied by the chorus of screams.

  After walking for what felt like eras, the tunnel opened up into a great chasm—the throne room of the Abyss.

  Here was a sister to the throne room of Eteer, a dark mimic buried marks underground. Festering ribs, hundreds of feet tall, formed its foundations. Craggy rocks grew between them like boils. Many creatures hung from the walls and ceiling, bloated to obscene size, their bellies distended and threatening to burst; here were the living blood-sacks of the abyss, creatures to feed the warriors of the underworld.

  A throne rose ahead, taller than three men, made of many tongues woven together. The severed muscles twisted, licking, drooling, coiling together, stolen from humans whose words were forever silenced. That great throne now cried out with thousands of voices, unintelligible, laughing, slobbering, wailing, smacking together.

  Creatures scuttled around this throne, danced across the floor, clung to the ceiling, and flew through the air. The dragons of Requiem had slain a thousand demons, but many still filled these halls. Blobs of slime dragged themselves along the walls, leaving glistening trails. Furry balls with red faces tore the limbs off feathered men, crunching the bones and sucking the marrow. Horned, hoofed creatures with bearded faces copulated on the floor, thrusting into shrieking red swine with vulture beaks. Centipedes the size of men flew on translucent wings. Lanky giants lumbered across the room on many-jointed legs, their bodies turned inside out, organs pulsing and dripping.

  "My hall of nightmares," said Angel. After crawling through the tunnel for so long, she finally unfurled to her full height. The stone woman towered over Raem; his head only reached her hips.

&nb
sp; "Our hall," Raem said. He stroked her. "My bride."

  Several demons rolled forth, balls of metal, and unfurled into tall beetles. They raised bone horns and blew out clarion calls. All across the hall, the demons hissed and howled and knelt. Bones creaked and saliva spilled. Smoke wafted from nostrils. All the demons gazed as the bride and groom walked through the hall.

  "My queen!" piped a little demon, no larger than a cat, fluttering toward her with bat wings. "Hail Angel, Queen of the Abyss, and hail—"

  Angel grabbed the little creature and stuffed it into her mouth. She chewed. Blood dripped down her chin like gravy.

  They reached the throne of fluttering tongues. A child stood beside it—a beautiful, noble child, his skin covered in boils, his jaw hanging halfway down his chest, his eyes green and curious.

  Raem reached out to him. Already his son was taller than him.

  "Ishnafel," Raem said, clasping the boy's shoulder. He kissed the warty cheek. "My precious son."

  Angel stood with her back to the throne. She raised her arms, and fire burst out from her, forming wings of flame. Smoke rose from her mouth, and lava leaked from her eyes. The cracks on her body blazed with red light.

  "I've chosen a husband!" she shouted, her voice high-pitched, a storm like thousands of boiling seas. "I've chosen a mate, a male whose seed has quickened in my womb. No longer is Angel, Queen of the Abyss, barren. I have brought forth a son!" She lifted Ishnafel and displayed the twisted creature to the crowd. "For the first time in thousands of years, Angel, daughter of Taal, has created true life." She tossed back her head and laughed, the sound so loud it shattered several of the living sacks upon the ceiling. Blood rained. "And Raem will give me many more spawn. Step forth, Priest of the Abyss! Step forth and join two into one."

  Fleshy doors opened in the wall like a cervix ready for birth. The priest emerged, stepping forth on black talons. His body was lanky and black, and his head flared out in a crown of spikes. A vertical mouth split the head from chin to forehead, filled with metal hooks, and eight spiderlike eyes stared from its sides. Chains of iron—metal unknown to the mortals aboveground—hung around the priest's neck, holding amulets infused with the blood of Taal, blood Angel herself had shed centuries ago.

  Raem smiled. And thus I rise—from the king of a mere city-state to the lord of the underworld. He laughed. Oh, but if only my mortal children could see me now! If only the dragons knew of the power I gain!

  The priest reached them, so tall its head nearly brushed the ceiling; it had to bend down, creaking and raining dust, to stare at Raem and even at the towering Angel. Its mouth opened wide, red and raw, and its words oozed out like pus from a wound.

  "Two shall be joined. In the name of fear, of pain, of the unholy, of those cast from Taal's light, I will join your souls eternally like twins conjoined in the womb. I—"

  A voice tore across the hall, interrupting the priest. "You will not! They will not join. I refuse it! You will not."

  The crowd of demons hissed and screeched and pointed. The crowd parted, and a man came walking down the hall.

  Raem narrowed his eyes.

  The man is me.

  At least, the figure approaching was the man he had been—Raem Seran before the war, clad in bronze, his original limbs still attached. The demons across the hall, from the smallest fluttering insects to the largest lumbering beasts, cowered as the doppelganger walked toward the throne.

  Angel hissed and shoved Ishnafel behind her back, protecting her spawn. Raem stared, his tentacle twitching and his claw clattering.

  "Who are you, imposter?" he called out.

  His doppelganger reached him and smiled thinly. Crow's feet spread out from the green eyes across the tanned skin. Black, coiling strands emanated from the man, and he began to melt, to twist, to change. The smoke spread out, then pulled back inward, coalescing. The man twitched madly, then with a single pulse took a new form. While before the creature had looked like Raem, now it was Issari who stood before him.

  It was a mirror image—the large green eyes, the smooth olive-toned skin, the raven braid, the white tunic fringed with gold. Raem couldn't help it. A twinge of sadness stung him, of memory, of love.

  You were my youngest child, the purest thing in my world, he thought, staring at his daughter. His old life thudded back into him: the smell of fig and date trees in the courtyards, his palace of blue columns capped with gold, the good and warm sunlight, the whispers of the sea, the love of his family. Of Issari. Of his dearest child.

  "Hello, Raem Seran of Eteer," the creature who looked like Issari said. Even her voice was the same—high and pure and musical. "Hello, Father."

  Now rage filled Raem, replacing the bittersweet memories. He snarled and raised his lobster claw.

  "How dare you take the form of my daughter?" He took a step closer to the imposter. "Show your true form! Reveal and name yourself!"

  Smoke rose from the creature and it shifted again. This time it took the form of Prince Sena, a noose around his neck. The eyes bulged out. The tongue hung loosely. The face was gray and bloated with death, rustling with flies.

  "Do you like this form better, Raem?" the corpse asked. A centipede fled from its mouth. "This is what happened to your son."

  Angel stepped forward. Her feet slammed down, shaking the hall. "Enough of this! Sharael, leave this place. I have forbidden you from entering my hall. Leave now or I will tear out your lying tongue and add it to my throne. Leave now or your bones will crunch between my jaws, and your blood will feed my wedding guests. You are not welcome here, Deceiver."

  The corpse smiled thinly, lips flecked with blood. Ignoring Angel, he stared at Raem. "Oh, but this is my true form, mortal. I am pain. I am memory. I am deceit. I am Sharael, the Deceiver, the cold terror that lurks inside every soul. Before you drift off to sleep, when the seed of awareness rises inside you, the realization of the great pits of agony that lie beneath your safe world—that is me. When in a moment of silence fear strikes, true understanding, true sight of the enormity of agony—that is my whisper. I am worlds untold, undiscovered, waiting, sharpening my blades, nurturing my darkness. I am the dark hills beneath the mind where no life grows, where souls shatter, where vast spaces expand beyond all that mortals can know, beyond all that minds can comprehend. My true form?" He cackled. "Upon seeing my true form, your eyeballs would shatter, and your mind would shriek. A man cannot comprehend great numbers of multitudes, great sizes like the space between worlds, or minute universes within grains of sand. The minds of both mortals and demons are limited. But I am unlimited. If you saw my true form, it would engulf this hall, the Abyss itself, the world above, and you would beg me. You would beg me to take the form of your dead child again, Raem Seran."

  A chill ran through Raem. His tentacle twitched. Angel, however, growled at the shapeshifter.

  "Your skull is worth less than a pot to piss in," the Demon Queen said. She reached out her claws. "I've banished you from this hall and you've returned. And now your pain begins."

  She leaped toward the demon.

  Sharael changed again.

  He grew taller, slimmer, brighter. Silver light flowed from him. His body became smooth and naked, formed of liquid silver. He lowered his bald head, and his palms opened at his sides, facing outward. His light, pale like the moon, grew brighter than the sun.

  "Taal," Raem whispered.

  The light fell upon Angel, and the Demon Queen shrieked in pain. Cracks widened across her body.

  "Deceiver!" she shouted.

  Sharael laughed. "You still cower at the sight of your father! I am mightier than Taal, mightier than you, mightier than this mortal you seek to wed. I will be your husband. I will be the King of the Abyss. I am more than a demon. I am a god. I will rule this underworld, and you will be my wife. You will be my slave, my whore." The shapeshifter turned toward Raem. "And you, mortal. I will find your precious Issari, the girl you still love. Oh yes, I saw your love for her when I took her form. I wil
l find her . . . and I will make her suffer. I will twist her."

  Raem had heard enough. Angel perhaps feared the light of Taal—even the fake light of an imposter—but Raem had always served the silver god. He thrust his lobster claw into the light, grabbed Sharael's throat, and sliced through his neck.

  The silver head clattered to the floor.

  Sharael shrieked. He shifted again. The silver head bloated and melted, took the form of Issari, of Sena, of Laira, of a waterlogged boar, of a rotting dragon, of a skull caked with charred skin. The headless body convulsed, changing from woman to man to animal to demon.

  "Grab him!" Angel cried to the demons across the hall. "Add him to the walls. Pump him with blood."

  A thousand demons screamed and flew toward the fallen Sharael, reaching for the head and body.

  Sharael still lived. Smoke blasted out from the demon, and he shifted again. The body became that of a great dark bird, feathers oily, talons serrated. The headless bird grabbed the severed head—it was still changing forms, the transformations so quick they blurred into one another. With a great shriek, the towering vulture flew across the hall. Demons tried to reach it, but the bird's wings and talons held them back. With a last, echoing screech, Sharael flew through the doors and vanished. Only the demon's final cry lingered in the hall: "You will break, Raem Seran! The Throne of Tongues will be mine!"

  "Find him!" Angel shouted. "Bring him to me! Break him!"

  A thousand demons cried out, scuttled, leaped, wept, screamed, and drained through the doorway in pursuit. Globs of saliva, pus, and fat remained behind them. The demons' cries echoed in the hall, a last reminder of their presence.

  Angel trembled with rage. She tossed back her head and screamed so loudly that more living sacks burst upon the ceiling. The red rain showered. Flames burst out from Angel in rings, searing the demons stitched into the walls and floor. The Demon Queen spun toward the priest, the only demon remaining.