"I want to learn again."
Kyrie sighed. "Gloriae, first let's learn how to defeat these nightshades, or ink monsters as folk here seem to call them. All right? Now where's that library?"
"I'm taking us there. Be patient."
They kept riding deeper into the city. Gloriae couldn't help but frown at the devastation. Statues of Dies Irae lay toppled in every square. Most of the buildings were nothing but rubble, and blood seeped from beneath them. Several times, Gloriae saw hands, heads, and legs peeking from the rubble. They were rotting and raising a stench. Around one fallen column, she saw several survivors huddling around a fire, eating what seemed to be a dog. Gloriae covered her mouth, looked away, and rode by.
Soon they rode by the palace. A colossus of Dies Irae had stood here once, marble and gold, gazing over the city. Today the statue's head lay on the road, ten feet tall. As Gloriae rode around it, she wondered where the real Dies Irae was. Did he still sit on the Ivory Throne, encased in nightshades?
She looked up to the palace. Several of its towers had fallen. The main hall's walls were cracked, but still stood. Gloriae stared, feeling a chill.
"Dies Irae is in there," Kyrie whispered, echoing her thoughts.
Gloriae nodded. "Yes. How did you know?"
"I can feel it. Let's not go there. I don't want to get anywhere near Irae. At least, not until we figure out how to hurt his nightshades."
"Agreed. The library is behind the palace. We're almost there."
As they rode around the palace, they saw guards manning the walls and remaining tower. More guards patrolled the streets, crossbows in hand. Kyrie and Gloriae muttered prayers at them, raising their hands as if to bless them. The guards bowed their heads, whispering prayers in return. Their eyes swam with fear.
What has happened to my home? Gloriae thought. She felt close to tears. She had spent years in this palace, since she was only three. Here she had trained with blade, arrow, and fist. Here she had lived with May, her handmaiden and sweet friend. Where was May now? Did she still live in this palace, or had she fled the city? Gloriae had never had a friend but May.
"We must enter the palace," Gloriae whispered.
Kyrie groaned. "What? You're crazy, Gloriae. There's no way I'm going in there."
"So stay here. I... I must look for somebody."
"Who, Dies Irae? I thought we were going to avoid him."
"No. My... friend."
Kyrie snorted. "You have a friend? What, your favorite sword? A man-eating tiger? An iron maiden? Forget it, Gloriae. Benedictus sent us to the library."
"We'll go to the library. It'll only take a moment."
Kyrie moaned but said nothing more. Gloriae led her horse under a gateway, nodding to the guards.
"We've come to bless the palace with the light of the Sun God," Gloriae said to them.
They nodded and bowed their heads, and Gloriae and Kyrie rode through. They drew rein in a courtyard. Gloriae remembered that Dies Irae had once chained Lacrimosa here and tortured her. Pushing the memory aside, Gloriae dismounted, helped Kyrie off the horse, and they entered a back door into the palace.
The palace interior had fared scarcely better than its exterior. Suits of armor, tapestries, and swords had fallen. Bloodied prints covered the floor, and ash coated the walls. A servant lay soulless by a doorway, drooling, eyes staring.
"Not the best house guests, nightshades," Kyrie muttered.
Gloriae stared at the servant, a chill claiming her. Would she find May like this too, mindless and drooling?
"Come, Kyrie. Quickly."
They walked down several hallways and up three sets of stairs. Here, the third floor of the eastern wing, was Gloriae's domain, the place she had ruled for fifteen years. Almost running now, her boots clacking, Gloriae headed to the corner by the tower staircase, where May had a small room.
The door was closed. Gloriae paused outside it. She placed her hand on the knob, but dared not open it.
Kyrie caught up with her, muttering and glancing around nervously. When he saw her hand on the doorknob, his eyes softened. He sighed.
"Do you want me to look?" he said quietly.
Gloriae looked at him. His eyes, normally angry, now seemed concerned for her. Caring. Gloriae gritted her teeth. She needed nobody to care for her. She could do this. Whatever she found behind this door, she would deal with it.
She opened the door to May's room and stepped inside.
May lay nude on her bed. Her skull was broken; the wound looked like a mace's work. Her arms were bound.
"Stars," Kyrie whispered.
Gloriae stared at the scene, eyes dry. "She was raped," she said. Her voice sounded dead to her ears. She examined the wound on May's head. "A mace did this. My father's mace."
Kyrie placed a hand on her shoulder. "Gloriae, I'm sorry. Was this girl close to you?"
Gloriae spun to face him. He had removed his white mask. She saw herself reflected in his eyes.
"She was my best friend. My only friend. She... she was with me since childhood."
Kyrie tried to embrace her, but Gloriae shoved him back.
"No," she said. "Spare me your pity. I need no pity. I am Gloriae the Gilded, even now." She drew Per Ignem. "My father did this to her. When I was a child, and did poorly at a lesson of daggers, or at target practice, Dies Irae would be furious at me. He never beat me, though. He would beat May and make me watch. I watched. And I cried. And I knew that he desired May. I could see him staring at her, especially when we grew older." She looked back to the girl, and her voice softened. "But he can't hurt you anymore, May. Wherever you are now, you are safe from him."
Kyrie covered May with a blanket and looked at Gloriae, his eyes haunted. "I'm going to kill Dies Irae," he said.
Gloriae shook her head. "No, Kyrie. You will not. I will kill him."
They took May out of the palace, and built a pyre in the courtyard using firewood from the kitchens. They watched as the pyre burned, the fire drying her tears. You're with the Sun God now, Gloriae thought, staring into the flames. Pain like she had never felt filled her. The world entire was on fire. I'll avenge you, May. I swear. I love you.
She turned from the fire and lowered her head. Her fists clenched at her sides.
"Come," she said to Kyrie. "The library is near."
They walked silently around the palace, past a cobbled yard, around several toppled statues, and across a bridge. Gloriae breathed out in relief. The library still stood. It was an ancient building, three stories tall and round, topped with a bronze dome. She and Kyrie climbed the stairs, opened the doors, and stepped into a shadowy chamber.
For a moment they froze, gaping.
"Wow," Kyrie finally said, finding his voice.
Gloriae nodded. "Indeed."
She had never been inside the library. Only monks and priests would go here, not maidens of sword and shield. Gloriae had always imagined some dusty chamber full of moldy parchments. What she saw spun her head. Rows and rows of shelves lined the walls, rising all the way to the domed ceiling. Tens of thousands, maybe millions of books covered the shelves, all bound in leather. Gloriae's head spun. Dies Irae never read, but the old kings of Osanna must have loved the written word. She had never imagined so many books could exist.
"Look at the ceiling," Kyrie said, pointing with his dagger.
Gloriae raised her head, and a gasp fled her lips. That ceiling was painted with scenes of stars, clouds, and griffins. Filigree and jewels made the figures glitter.
One part of the ceiling was chipped away. It looked like somebody had painstakingly chiseled at the artwork, as if to efface a scene. The chisel-work resembled the shape of a dragon.
"A Vir Requis was once painted there," Gloriae said. "I'd bet anything. Dies Irae must have ordered it chiseled off, but you can still see the shape."
"I'd like to chisel something of his off," Kyrie muttered. He shook his head, as if to clear it. "So, Gloriae my dear. How in the name of the Draco stars
are we going to read all these books?"
She looked at him, placed her hands on her hips, and raised an eyebrow. "Never learned how to read, little boy?"
He groaned. "I can read faster than you."
She gave him a crooked smile. "You're on."
They began attacking the books, and soon realized the shelves were organized by category. One shelf was devoted to herbalism; they felt that shelf safe to ignore. Same for the shelf on astrology and theology. That left an entire wall of books on history, magical creatures, black magic, and warfare. Gloriae figured that information on nightshades might exist in one or all of these sections.
"I'll search the magical creatures shelves," she said to Kyrie. "You peruse the history section; there might be books about how the nightshades were sealed."
Kyrie nodded. They began pulling down books, opening them on the floor, and turning the pages. The books were heavy, ancient tomes, two feet long and often ten inches thick. Bound in leather, their pages sported delicate calligraphy. The scribes had treated these codexes as works of art not inferior to the ceiling. Every letter was a masterpiece, and every page featured colorful illustrations.
"Look at this book," Kyrie said. He sat cross-legged beside her, frowning into a dusty tome. "It's called Early Kings of Osanna by a monk named Lodinium." He scratched his chin. "Somebody's tampered with this book."
"What do you mean?" Gloriae asked. She looked up from a book called Elder Beasts, which was open to an illustration of a warty roc.
He pushed the book closer to her and sat beside her. "Take a look at this. See these pages at the front? They're frail, tattered, crumbling. Now look. Around the middle of the book, the pages are new. This parchment isn't ten years old, I'd wager."
Sitting on her knees, Gloriae leaned down and scrutinized the book. Kyrie was right. Some pages looked a thousand years old, the others new. "Could it be the author, this Lodinium, added older pages into his book?"
Kyrie shook his head. "No. The binding is old too. It's falling apart. And Lodinium lived over seven-hundred years ago; his date of birth appears on the first page." He looked up at her over the pages. "Somebody changed this book. Recently."
"Why would anyone do that?" Gloriae asked.
Kyrie shrugged. "I reckon there was information they didn't want people to find. Here, look. The first pages tell of Osanna's early days, before there were kings. There were just ten tribes here then. Look how old these pages are—tattered with faded ink. Now look." Kyrie flipped the pages. "Just around the time the first king is crowned...."
"New pages," Gloriae whispered. The parchment was flawless, the ink dark and clear. The handwriting was different too. She read aloud. "In the year 606, Taras Irae built the Ivory Throne of Osanna, and founded the Irae dynasty. The old tribes united under his wise rule." She flipped more pages, tracing the ancestry of the kings. They led from Taras Irae, to Theron Irae, and to many more kings, until finally the last page featured Dies Irae. She looked back to Kyrie and shrugged. "So what? I know this story already. I had to study the Irae dynasty as a child; I myself am... was heir to it."
Kyrie snorted so loudly, it blew dust off the pages. "Don't you get it, Gloriae? Dies Irae, the man who claims to be your father, is the first emperor of his line. I mean, the man's a Vir Requis. Sure, he lacks the magic. He can't shift into a dragon. But he's still from Requiem. He's still Benedictus's brother. He killed Osanna's old kings and only pretends to be her son."
Gloriae understood. "He doesn't want people to know he's Vir Requis. Of course. He hates the Vir Requis. He wants people to think his family has always ruled here." She slammed the book shut. "The bastard rewrote history."
"Or threatened the scribes to rewrite it, to be more exact," Kyrie said grimly. He shoved the book aside. "Early Kings of Osanna is useless now. Let's keep looking."
Kyrie drew another book off a shelf, and Gloriae returned to Elder Beasts, which still lay open on the floor. As she flipped the pages, searching for nightshades, she noticed oddities with this codex too. There were no replaced pages, but some existing pages seemed modified. When she reached a page featuring the Vir Requis, she narrowed her eyes and leaned down, so that her nose almost touched the parchment.
Gloriae gasped. Some words had been scraped off, it seemed. The parchment was thinner and rougher here. New words, their ink deeper, overwrote the old ones.
The weredragons are hideous beasts, the book read. But it seemed like the words "weredragons" and "hideous" were new, replacing older words, which had been scraped off. For all Gloriae knew, it could have once read, The Vir Requis are noble beasts.
She read the next line. They murdered the sons and daughters of Osanna, and destroyed their halls. Only it seemed like "murdered" and "destroyed" were new words. When Gloriae leaned close and squinted, she could see scratches where the older words had been effaced.
Meanwhile, an entirely new sentence was scrawled in the bottom margin. The ink was darker, the calligraphy similar but not identical. Dies Irae, noble king of Osanna, defeated the weredragons and banished their darkness from his kingdom of light.
"Well," Gloriae said, pushing the book aside in disgust, "Elder Beasts is useless too. Dies Irae rewrote this one too."
Kyrie groaned. "Stars. Will we find nothing useful here? Was the whole library rewritten to glorify Irae?"
Gloriae sighed. "The entire city was remade to glorify him. Maybe the entire empire. What's one library? But let's keep looking. We've come all the way here. I don't want to give up yet."
The afternoon sun cast long shadows into the library. They found candles between the shelves, lit them on the floor, and rummaged for new books. In every book, they found similar alterations. Some books had pages torn out. Others had new pages sewn in. Some were like Elder Beasts; their original pages still existed, but somebody had carefully scraped away some words, then replaced them with others. Gloriae and Kyrie read all afternoon, but found nothing about nightshades. The entire library painted a picture of a heroic Dies Irae, the defeater of weredragons, a noble hero whose line had ruled Osanna for two thousand years.
Finally Kyrie tossed aside a book in disgust. It crashed into a corner, raising a shower of dust. "Great," he said. "Just great. You know, that Dies Irae of yours is a real griffin's backside."
Gloriae scrunched her lips and stared at the Magical Creatures shelves. She tapped her fingers against her thigh. "He is, but we can still find information here."
Kyrie clutched his head. "How? We can't trust anything these books say. Even if we do find a book about nightshades, what's the use? It would probably just tell us that Dies Irae, ten feet tall with muscles of steel, single-handedly tamed the nightshades over breakfast, using nothing but his butter knife."
Gloriae allowed herself a small smile. "Funny, Kyrie. But one can still read between the lines."
They searched the books until they found one called Mythic Creatures of the Gray Age. Gloriae wasn't sure what the Gray Age was, but she was certain it was not during Dies Irae's reign; his reign was nothing but white, gold, and blood red.
"Let's try this one," Gloriae said. She opened the book and began reading.
This book, like the others, had been modified. For the first time, however, Gloriae found a chapter speaking of nightshades.
"Look, Kyrie!" she said. She grabbed his arm and pulled him over. They leaned over the book. On the parchment, a drawing of three nightshades stared up at them. The artist had skillfully captured the smokiness of their bodies, and the glint in their burning eyes. Bodies were drawn beneath them, mouths open, eyes blank, limbs limp.
"Those are our boys, all right," Kyrie said.
Calligraphy appeared on the opposite page. The text wasn't far off from what Kyrie had imagined. It didn't quite speak of Dies Irae taming the nightshades with a butter knife, but it did describe a fictional ancestor of his—Lir Irae—taming the nightshades with something called "The Beams".
Gloriae frowned over the calligraphy. "See here, Kyrie
. Some of these words are old—the original text. Others are new."
In some areas, the ink looked old, cracked, fading. In other places, bits of parchment had been scraped clean, and new letters appeared here. These letters weren't as cracked and faded. It was truly a masterwork; Gloriae had to turn the pages in the light, squint, and touch the parchment to distinguish the old words from the new.
"This part about these Beams is the original text," Kyrie said. "But what are they?"
"Great rays of light, it seems," Gloriae said. They turned the page to see another illustration. It showed a man holding something—what, they could not see, for drops of ink had fallen there, obscuring the drawing. Whatever the man held, a ray of light shot out from it, and seemed to slay a nightshade. The hero's original face had been scraped away, and replaced with a face that resembled that of Dies Irae's.
"Great!" Kyrie said. He rose to his feet. "So all we need to do is find these Beams, and point them at the nightshades, and kill them. Seems easy enough. So where do we find them?"
Gloriae sighed. "That's the complicated part. Look what it says here. According to this text, the Sun God created the Beams. Which is utter nonsense. The Sun God didn't even exist back in those days; the religion is only a hundred years old. According to the cover, this book is a thousand years old."
"So who did make the Beams?" Kyrie asked. "If we can find whoever made them, they can make us new ones."
Gloriae groaned. "Think, Kyrie! The book is a thousand years old, remember? Whoever made the Beams must be long dead."
"Fine, fine! Well, does it say how to make new Beams?"
Gloriae glared at him. She wanted to throttle him. "I'm trying to read, but it's hard with you talking so much. Do shut up. Honestly, I don't know how my sister puts up with you."
Kyrie grumbled, but otherwise remained silent and let her read. Mythic Creatures of the Gray Age spoke more about the nightshades and their powers, and offered gory illustrations of nightshades devouring people's severed heads, but didn't explain more about the Beams.
"The Beams are definitely the key," she muttered. "It speaks of them again here." She read aloud. "'Lir Irae rode against the nightshades, wielding the Beams of power, and he blinded the nightshades, and drove them into the Well of Night, and sealed them there.'" She scratched her cheek. "But it says nothing about who made the Beams, or how they're used."
Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy Page 36