Dragons Rising

by Daniel Arenson

  He reached up and caressed her cheek. "Amity. My Amity." Her tears wet his fingers. "How beautiful you are. How strong and brave and wise. I'm proud to have known you, Amity, proud to have fought with you, to have loved you." The haze grew thicker around him. "Watch over the young ones, Amity. Watch over Cade and my daughters. Keep them safe. Help them rebuild Requiem."

  She growled at him. "You will help them! You will keep them safe."

  Korvin's smiled thinly. "I've lived long, Amity. I've had a good life. I saw two daughters grow into women. I met you. I saw the Temple fallen. And I can see it now. I can see it above."

  Amity was sobbing. "What, Korvin? What can you see?"

  He gazed up at them, and his smile widened. "The halls of starlight. The columns of Requiem rising beyond the Draco constellation. They are waiting there, Amity. Our fallen. Our ancient heroes. Our parents. They are calling me home. I go to them now, to drink wine and sing in their company."

  "Don't leave," Amity whispered, pulling him into her arms. Her tears dampened his cheek. "Please don't leave me. I love you."

  Scales flashed above. Golden scales. Blue scales. Scales in all the colors of autumn. Three dragons landed by him and became human. Cade. Fidelity. Domi.

  My children.

  "Father!" Fidelity cried, leaping toward him.

  "Father," Domi whispered, eyes tearing up.

  His daughters clasped his hands. Cade placed his hand over Fidelity's, joining the grip. The young man's eyes were huge and haunted, and he held a baby in his arms.

  "Korvin," Cade whispered.

  Korvin smiled at them. He could no longer speak, but he spoke to them with his eyes, and he knew they understood.

  I love you all. I will always look after you. I will always watch you from the stars.

  They wept, holding him.

  I have fought for many years, he thought, gazing at the people he loved. I go now to my well-earned rest. I go knowing that Requiem will rise again.

  The light washed over him, but it was no longer the cruel, searing light of evil. It was a soft light, comforting. Starlight. The light of Requiem. The souls of his ancestors gazed down from above, singing to him, calling him home.

  Goodbye, my family. Goodbye.

  He let the starlight flow over him, and after his many wars, Korvin rested.

  DOMI

  They stood on a hilltop outside the city, gazing down at three graves.

  It's a beautiful place, Domi thought. The snow glittered in the sunlight like a field of stars. Icicles hung from the branches of maples, birches, and oaks, gleaming like jewels. The sky was clear blue, the sun offering a little warmth, a little comfort, a little hope of coming spring. And when spring came, Domi knew, many leaves would sprout here, and the grass would rustle, and flowers would grow, and the song of birds would fill the air.

  They will forever rest in peace and beauty, Domi thought, gazing down at the gravestones. She read the names engraved into them.

  "Julian," she whispered. "Roen." Tears filled her eyes. "Korvin."

  Domi had not wanted to cry. She had shed too many tears during this war, and the war was over now, and her father was at peace. Yet she could not stop the tears from falling. Fidelity saw and stepped toward her, and her older sister held her close and kissed her cheek.

  "I miss him," Domi whispered. "I never told him how much I love him. I ran away from him--to be Pyre. To be something I was not. Did he know, Fidelity?" She looked into her sister's eyes. "Did he know that I love him?"

  Fidelity nodded, holding her close. "He knew every day. Every day, Domi. And he always loved you and missed you too." She looked up at the clear sky. "He's there now. In the stars. He's at peace, and he knows we love him."

  Cade and Amity stepped closer and joined the embrace. The four stood together, the four last Vir Requis. Sisters. A wild woman of the Horde. A son of the Temple.

  "We are the last survivors of Requiem," Domi whispered. "The last four who lived. The four who will rebuild. The Column stands." Now her tears were tears of joy. "Requiem rises."

  Gently, she stepped away from the embrace and stood in the snow. She summoned the ancient magic of her stars, a magic no longer forbidden, and became a dragon--no longer Pyre the firedrake but Domi, a proud daughter of Requiem. She spread her wings and rose into the sky.

  The others took flight around her. Amity, a red dragon wreathed in smoke, long and scarred. Fidelity, a slender blue dragon, spectacles perched upon her scaly snout. Cade, a golden dragon, a dragon Domi had come to love deeply, a love she would foster and see grow stronger every day. The four rose together into the sky, and Domi blew her dragonfire, raising a pillar of flame. The others joined their fire to hers, and the four jets rose together like new columns for their hall, four lights of heat, memory, and the dreams of dragons.

  With their loved ones at peace, the dragons returned to the city of Nova Vita, flying freely over the walls. Fidelity, Cade, and Amity stepped into the Temple where priests and paladins were shedding their robes and armor, knowing they could not fight the dragons and the firedrakes who now served Domi; where Eliana slept in the arms of her nurse; where the column rose within a shell that would soon be torn down. But Domi did not join her fellow Vir Requis. She did not wish to wander those jeweled halls, the place where she had been captive for so long.

  Instead, she walked through the city and visited a second place of memory. In the ancient graveyard of the priesthood, Domi stepped toward two other graves.

  She stood above them, staring down at the twin tombstones.

  Mercy and Gemini.

  Domi's eyes were dry now, but her chest felt tight. Fidelity had wanted to burn the bodies, to scatter the ashes into the wind, but Domi had insisted on burying them. They too were a part of Requiem's history, worth remembering. While Domi was no librarian like Fidelity, she knew that Requiem could only survive by remembering not only its ancient glory but also its sins.

  Mercy. The woman who rode my back for years. The woman I served as Pyre. Gemini. The man who beat me, then loved me. The man I hated. The man I pitied. The man I almost loved.

  Domi lowered her head. A chill breeze blew, and she stepped closer and placed her hand on Gemini's grave.

  "You poor fool," she said softly. "You sad, cruel, broken boy." She closed her eyes and remembered all those times she had lain in his arms, feeling safe in his embrace, their naked bodies huddling together for warmth, for comfort from the fear, for solace in pain. "Goodbye, Gemini Deus. Wherever you are, I hope you finally found some peace."

  Light snow began to fall. Domi turned and walked away.

  FIDELITY

  The snow fell, and the world turned, and the ice of winter melted. Spring came to the land, this realm no longer called the Commonwealth. Leaves sprouted and shaded the graves of the fallen, and for the first time in a hundred years, flowers filled the city of Nova Vita--peonies, lilacs, lilies, all the flowers the Cured Temple had forbidden during its reign. And for the first time in a hundred years, babes were born without paladins to burn their skin, to tear away their magic.

  Throughout this spring, dragons and firedrakes and men worked together.

  Wings beat as claws tugged at shards of crystal and glass, ripping them free and carrying them off to the plains. Within marble halls, men worked with chisels, chipping gold, platinum, and gemstones off the walls, filling wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow with the treasures, ready to distribute them to the people of the city. Tails lashed against walls, letting brick by brick fall. Day by day, month by month, the Temple was peeled away.

  On a warm night, the four last Vir Requis--the four first of a new Requiem--stood in their city and stared up at King's Column.

  The marble pillar soared above them, finally standing in the open, no palace hiding its marble. It rose hundreds of feet tall, dwarfing every other structure in the city. The Draco constellation shone above it, casting its silver light against the white stone.

  Fidelity stood in a blue dress-
-an actual dress made of cotton, no longer a tunic of burlap. Her new spectacles still rested on her nose, and flowers were woven into her golden braid. She stared up at the column, this most holy of relics, and her eyes stung.

  I wish you were here to see this, Father, Fidelity thought. I wish you were here with me, Roen and Julian.

  She turned around to face the others. Amity, a tall woman clad in cobbled patches of armor, a sword at her side--a warrior of Requiem. Cade, his hazel eyes wide with awe as he gazed upon the column, Eliana in his arms. Domi--broken, lost Domi finally returned home--her red hair no longer hiding her face, her eyes bright and proud for the first time in her life.

  And another soul is with us, Fidelity thought. She placed her hand on her rounded belly, and she felt the baby kick within.

  Your son or daughter, Roen. She smiled through her tears. A future child of Requiem.

  As the stars shone, Fidelity spoke softly to her family.

  "Thousands of years ago, a few scattered outcasts gathered together. They had been hunted, exiled, hurt--all because of their magic . . . the magic to grow wings, breathe fire, and take to the sky as dragons. King Aeternum and Queen Laira themselves raised this column in the forest, founding a kingdom for those with the magic of starlight. A kingdom called Requiem. For thousands of years, through war, through destruction, through fear and hope and dreams, this column was a beacon to our people. A pillar of hope. A hope that someday Requiem will stand tall, strong, and free. That we, the Vir Requis, will have a safe home. A sky to fly in." Fidelity raised her eyes to that starlit sky, then looked back down at the others. "For a hundred years, Requiem was a forbidden word, a forbidden dream. For a hundred years, they called this land the Commonwealth, and they tore our magic away. Tonight we say: Our magic will rise again. Tonight we say: The Commonwealth is no more." She raised her chin, and her voice grew stronger. "Tonight we say: Requiem rises."

  The others called out the words together. "Requiem rises!"

  "In the old days," Fidelity said, "birches grew around this column, a holy tree to Requiem. Tonight let us plant new saplings. Tonight hope will spring from this sacred earth."

  She knelt, dug a hole in the soil, and planted her birch sapling. New life grew within her belly, and new life would rise here around their column. The others knelt too, planting their own saplings.

  Fidelity straightened and closed her eyes, and she imagined that a great forest grew here again.

  "We will not live to see the new forest," she said, opening her eyes. "But our grandchildren will play in its shade." She placed a hand on her belly again, and she smiled.

  Cade stepped forward and seemed about to speak. He looked back, exchanging looks with Domi and Amity, then back at Fidelity. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

  "Cade?" Fidelity said softly.

  He cleared his throat. "I was thinking, Fidelity. We all were. We . . ." He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "See, in the old Book of Requiem, there were always kings and queens. But . . . we have no ruler now. The Cured Temple is fallen. The old dynasties--Aeternum and Eleison--are lost." He gulped. "We were all thinking, Fidelity, that . . . well . . . we thought that . . ."

  Amity groaned, stepped forward, and pushed Cade aside. "Quit your yammering, kid." The warrior looked at Fidelity. "You're going to be our queen, Fidelity. We've all decided it, so you have no choice in the matter."

  Fidelity's eyes widened and she laughed. "Your queen? I'm a librarian!" She looked from one to the other. "Why should I lead this kingdom? Amity, you're a great warrior! Domi, you fought in many battles! I . . . all I know is books."

  Domi stepped forward too and nodded. "Most of Requiem's kings and queens were warriors, generals, great fighters, strong and brave. But a new era begins. An era of peace, of memory. An era to tell old stories. To write new books." She clasped Fidelity's hands. "Perhaps the queen we need now is a librarian."

  Fidelity laughed again. "But . . . we're only four people! We don't need a queen, and . . ."

  "We are many more than four already," Domi said quietly. "Babies are being born across Requiem, and for the first time in a century, they're keeping their magic. In a few years, when they're old enough, they'll learn how to shift, to become dragons of Requiem. And they'll look to Queen Fidelity to tell them the stories of Old Requiem, to keep our history, our songs, our prayers alive." Domi knelt and bowed her head. "My sister. My queen."

  Cade too knelt before Fidelity, still holding Eliana. "My queen."

  Amity looked down at them, eyes wide, and grumbled. "I kneel before no one!" the warrior said. "I . . . oh, to the Abyss." She spat, drew her sword, and knelt with the blade held before her. "I vow to defend Requiem and to defend her queen. You have my sword."

  Fidelity looked at them kneeling before her, and her eyes stung. She turned to stare up at King's Column. The marble pillar soared toward the Draco constellation, and Fidelity imagined that she could see them there watching her: the heroes from her books, her lover, her father, and all the others who had fallen.

  Guide me on this path, she prayed silently. Guide me for I'm afraid.

  The light shone, warm and comforting, and some of Fidelity's pain eased. She looked at her friends and family. They stood up and she pulled them into her arms.

  "I vow to you," Fidelity whispered, "that I will lead Requiem well, and I will not stray from her path of starlight to the left or to the right." She raised her eyes to the stars. "Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky."

  The others repeated the words, tears shining in their eyes. "May our wings forever find your sky."

  AMITY

  "No! Form rank! Form rank, damn it!" Amity spat in disgust. "You call yourselves soldiers?"

  The men and women stood before her, clad in steel plates, holding shields and swords. They were hopeless. Utterly hopeless. Men and women? They were barely more than boys and girls still in their swaddling clothes.

  "I don't know what you learned under your last commander," Amity said, pacing the courtyard, "but I'm going to teach you proper discipline. You're going to become true soldiers, or I'll have you sent to the iron mines."

  She sighed as the soldiers struggled to form rank again. Some of them had served the Cured Temple, the paladins' foot soldiers. They were still used to those ridiculous, ceremonial drills their noble lords had taught. But most of the men here were the sons of farmers, tradesmen, even priests. Free of the Temple's yoke, they had flocked to serve in Requiem's new military.

  Within twenty years, these boys and girls will be obsolete, Amity thought, staring at them. Once the new crop of babies grew into adults, once they could shift into dragons, they would become great warriors of the skies. For now, these poor souls--their magic torn away with tillvine--would defend the city, would defend this new and very old kingdom named Requiem.

  "No, damn it!" Amity howled. "Triple formation! You in the back, move--no, to the left!" She groaned. "Oh bloody bollocks. All of you, drill's over. Go back to your barracks."

  With a sad shake of her head, she shifted into a dragon and took flight, blasting smoke down onto her soldiers. She soared high above the city of Nova Vita, capital of Requiem.

  Flowers bloomed across the city, the birch saplings rustled, and in the distance Amity saw them rising, soaring even higher than her flight: the columns of Requiem.

  Several new columns now rose alongside King's Column, twins to the ancient monument. They were carved of purest marble from the mountains, and their capitals were shaped as rearing dragons. As Amity watched, trained firedrakes were flying over the new columns, carrying sacks of bricks. Workers bustled about scaffoldings, raising the first hints of a roof.

  The ancient palace of Requiem, the fabled marble halls which had stood here for thousands of years, was rising again.

  It would be years until the building was completed, Amity knew. It would be years before the newborns of Requiem learned to use their magic, to fly again, to fill the sky that was their birthright.


  But I'm patient, Amity thought as she hovered before the rising hall. And I will be here to defend Requiem as she rises again.

  She flew down to land on a rounded silo, and she kept gazing at the columns as the sun set, as the stars emerged, as silence fell upon the city.

  As the last glow of sunlight faded, chinking scales broke the silence, and a golden dragon flew toward Amity. Cade landed on the roof with her, and he gazed with her at the columns that rose ahead toward the stars.

  "They're beautiful," Cade said, voice soft.

  Amity turned her head toward the golden dragon and puffed smoke onto him. "Aren't you normally with Domi during the nights?"

  Dragons could not blush, but Cade got as close as possible. His tail flicked nervously. "I saw you here. I . . . I often see you sit here alone at night. I wanted to come say hello, to see if you're . . . if you're all right."

  She glared at him. "Me? I'm always all right. What are you on about, kid?"

  His scales chinked as he moved closer to her. He tapped her gently with his tail. "I . . ." He lowered his head. "Can we talk in human forms? It's easier."

  She groaned and rolled her eyes, but she released her magic and sat on the roof as a human, legs splayed out. Cade shifted back into human form too and sat beside her.

  "Well, talk, kid," Amity said.

  He gulped. "Do you ever think about . . . about that night when . . ." Now he was definitely blushing. "When we . . . I mean, when . . ."

  "When you got drunk, tore off my clothes, and ravaged me?" Amity said, raising an eyebrow.

  "I wouldn't put it exactly like that. You did quite a bit of tearing yourself. And ravaging." He bit his lip. "It's just that . . . well, I wanted to clear the air. To see how things are between us. With you. With . . . with everything."

  Amity wriggled a little closer to Cade, smiling mischievously. She raised an eyebrow, bit her lip, and placed a hand on his thigh. She leaned close to him, playfully nibbled his earlobe . . . and then shouted into his ear.