She stared back to the stones, and wondered: Am I talking of this magic, or of myself?
Lacrimosa lifted one stone and held it to the light. It glimmered. "If we create life with them, will our creations serve us? Or will their loyalties still lie with Dies Irae?"
Gloriae remembered her days at Flammis Palace, serving the man she thought of as Father. Hunting for him. Killing for him.
She put her hand on Lacrimosa's shoulder and stared into her eyes. "Whatever beings we animate—they will not serve him. He animated creatures from dead soldiers who feared him; their loyalties continued in their mimicry of life. But we will animate the stones of Requiem. Our creations will fight for us." She nodded. "Broken statues cover this land. Let us find what statues are still whole, even if ash and dirt cover them. They will be Requiem's new soldiers."
Lacrimosa nodded. "King's Forest lies several leagues north, nestling the ruins of our palace. We will find statues there. Most will be smashed, but we might be lucky and find some whole. Kyrie. Agnus Dei. You two travel there, and take fifty Animating Stones with you. Raise us soldiers of stone. Gloriae, you will travel with me south, where our old temples once stood. We might find more statues among their ruins."
Gloriae nodded. "When Dies Irae returns with more mimics, and he will, he will find us ready this time. I hope he himself leads the next charge." She drew her sword and raised it. The light of Animating Stones painted it red. "If he does, he will meet this blade."
They collected the Animating Stones into packs, and with quick embraces, they parted. Gloriae and her mother began walking down the southern mountainside. Her sister and Kyrie disappeared down the other way.
For a long time, daughter and mother walked in silence.
They walked across valleys strewn with shattered blades, arrowheads, and cloven helmets. They moved through forests of charred trees, skeletons, and fallen columns. Silently, they passed by mass graves, where the wind whispered and yellow weeds rustled. Gloriae tried to imagine Requiem in her glory days: Proud columns of marble rising among birches, stone pools and statues among flowers, and white temples where priests played harps. Mostly, she imagined herds of dragons in the sky, roaring their song, a stream of color and fire and music.
I destroyed this land, she thought, remembering the dragons she had slain in her youth.
But no. She had been only a child when Dies Irae started his war. Three years old, that was all. By the time she was eight, most dragons were dead; only a handful of survivors remained for her to hunt.
"He did this," she whispered and clenched her fist around Per Ignem's hilt. "Not me. Him alone."
The memories swirling through her, Gloriae had forgotten about her mother beside her. Lacrimosa now touched her hair and smiled sadly. There was no accusation in her lavender eyes, only pain and love.
"I know, sweetness," she whispered.
For the first time, Gloriae realized that she looked like her mother. Lacrimosa had the same pale skin, the same golden hair, the same face Gloriae knew people said was beautiful.
"What do you know?" she whispered, and a tightness gripped her chest. She had spoken little; she had thought a lot. Could Lacrimosa see into her heart?
Lacrimosa took her hand. "You are my daughter, Gloriae. You don't have to speak for me to know your pain. You shield this pain in ice, but it pulses red as fire, and I can see its light."
Gloriae stopped walking. A tremble took her knees. "I hide nothing," she whispered.
But suddenly Lacrimosa was embracing her, and Gloriae allowed it. Suddenly tears stung at her eyes.
"I love you, Gloriae," her mother whispered into her ear. "You don't have to speak of your pain. Not until you're ready. I know what he did to you. I know what he made you do. And I still love you. I always have and I always will." She pulled back and looked into Gloriae's eyes. "You are forgiven, Gloriae."
Something salty touched her lips. She was crying. She, Gloriae the Gilded—crying. Her fingers trembled. No, she told herself. Stay strong. You are Gloriae the Gilded. You are a killer. You are a warrior of steel. You... you....
She fell to her knees, and another tear flowed, and Gloriae reached out to clutch at something, anything, and Mother was there kneeling beside her. She clung to her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her tears on Mother's shoulder. "I'm sorry, please. Please. I didn't know, I...."
She bit back her words. She knuckled away her tears.
"No," she said. "No pain. Not now. I'm not ready. We still have to be strong. To kill him. We must kill him, Mother."
Lacrimosa nodded and brushed back locks of Gloriae's hair. "We will kill him. Now let's keep moving. We have statues to find."
They continued walking through the ruins. Crows cawed above, the first sign of life Gloriae had seen all day. She look at Lacrimosa, this woman of pale frailty like starlight, and realized: For the first time, I called her Mother.
AGNUS DEI
"Pup, you're walking too slowly," she said. "Can't you hurry up?"
Kyrie glared at her. He looked to Agnus Dei like a porcupine, all bristly with weapons. A sword hung from his right hip, a dagger from his left. A bow, a quiver of arrows, and two torches hung over his back. Dented armor covered his forearms and legs, and he wore a helmet that was too large. With all this covering him, he sloshed through the snow like a drunkard.
"Agnus Dei," he said, "I swear. If you complain about one more thing, I'm going to—"
"What, give me a black eye?" She smiled crookedly. "Maybe a fat lip? I'd like to see you try, pup. I'm stronger than you, deadlier than you, faster than you—well, obviously faster than you, seeing how slow you're walking. Look at me. I'm bearing just as much armor and weapons, but I'm walking straight and fast."
"I might be slower, but you're whinier," he said, adjusting the strap of his quiver. "That's for sure."
"Who's whiny?" she asked and mimicked him. "Ow, Agnus Dei! My feet hurt. I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. I love you so much, that my heart aches, and my loins are about to burst into flame."
He groaned. "And what about you?" He spoke in falsetto. "Oh pup, I want to fight! No wait, I want to fly now. Actually let's kiss and roll in the hay!"
She snorted. "You wish." But in truth, she did want to fight, and fly, and... as Kyrie put it, roll in the hay. Any one of those things beat crying. Sometimes Agnus Dei felt that no more tears could flow from her, that no more pain could fill her. And yet the pain was always there, a rock in her stomach, ropes around her heart, smoke in her eyes. Fighting, flying, loving—that was better than pain. Wasn't it?
She sighed and took his hand. It was gloved in leather, and she squeezed it.
"All right, pup," she said. "I'll walk a little slower to match your small puppy steps."
They walked through the ruins, snow swirling around their boots. Soon they passed the mossy boulders that reminded Agnus Dei of dragons, and she looked to her right and saw the cemetery there. The ropes around her heart tightened, and she gave Kyrie's hand another squeeze.
I'm still fighting, Father, she thought. I'll be strong like you. Like you taught me.
Tears filled her eyes, and she wiped them with her fist. Kyrie saw, and his eyes softened, and for a long time they walked in silence. She looked at him once, and wanted to pester him, tease him, kiss him even... but none of it felt right. Not before, not now. How could she still find joy in this world, when her father lay buried, and monsters crawled the ruins?
But there was something she could do. I can fight.
"Do you think we'll find any statues?" she asked. She hefted her heavy leather pack, where she carried Animating Stones. "I've seen only pieces of statues in Requiem, feet or hands or heads."
Like the body pieces Dies Irae sews together, she thought with a shudder.
Kyrie scanned the northern horizon, as if he could see statues from here. "I don't know. But the ruins of Requiem's palace are a good place to look. If we find them anywhere, we'll—"
A howl pierced
the air.
Agnus Dei and Kyrie drew their swords with a hiss.
A second howl sounded—closer this time.
Scanning the ruins, Agnus Dei lowered her blade. "Wolves," she said. "They would roam my old mountain hideout; I'd recognize their howls anywhere."
She wished she could shift—she'd rather face a hungry wolf pack as a dragon—but the Animating Stones in her pack meant facing them as humans.
"Those aren't wolves," Kyrie said. He stared from side to side, as if seeking them. "There are no more wolves in Requiem."
A third howl rose, this one even closer. More howls answered. They still sounded like wolf howls, but... deeper, crueler. Agnus Dei shivered.
"Look!" Kyrie said and pointed with his sword.
Agnus Dei saw six figures in the distance. They seemed like men—they ran through the snow on two legs—but they howled like demon wolves.
"They saw us," she said. "Kyrie, let's light some arrows."
He already had his tinderbox in hand. "I like the way you think."
They switched from swords to bows, lit their arrows, and nocked them. The figures raced toward them. Their stench carried on the wind—the stench of bodies.
"More mimics," Agnus Dei said, jaw tight.
When the creatures were close enough to see clearly, she nearly gagged. Their bodies were from dead humans, stitched and stuffed. Their heads were the heads of dead wolves, sewn onto human necks, fur matted and eyes dripping pus.
"Let's burn those bastards," Agnus Dei said. "Fire!"
She loosed her arrow. Kyrie did the same. The flaming missiles flew in an arc. Agnus Dei cursed; her arrow missed. Kyrie's hit a mimic's leg. It screeched, fell, then rose and kept running.
"Fire again!" Agnus Dei shouted.
They lit more arrows. They shot again. This time, Agnus Dei hit a mimic in the chest, and she shouted in rage and triumph. The creature fell, and the fire spread across it. Kyrie's arrow grazed another's shoulder, searing but not killing it.
"Agnus Dei, light your torch!" Kyrie shouted. He was busy lighting his, and soon swung it as a flaming club. Agnus Dei managed to light hers as the five surviving mimics reached them.
She swung her torch and hit a wolf head. Sparks blazed. A second mimic bit at her left. Its stench stung her eyes and twisted her stomach. She leaped back and raised her arm. Its teeth banged against her vambrace, and it howled. She shoved the torch against its face. Its fur kindled and it screamed.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Kyrie battling his own mimics. Then one leaped onto her, knocking her down. She hit the snow and crossed her arms over her face. Wolf teeth bit at her armor. Drool dripped onto her face, thick with dead ants. Agnus Dei grimaced and kicked the creature's stomach.
The mimic fell off, and Agnus Dei jumped up. She slammed the torch into the fallen mimic, but another one leaped onto her back. Teeth ripped at her shoulder, and she screamed. Her thick, woollen cloak absorbed most of the bite, but those teeth still tore flesh.
She spun, swinging her torch, but was too slow. The mimic barrelled into her, and she fell again. Teeth closed around her forearm, pressing into the armor. The creature snarled, steam rising from its nostrils. Worms filled its fur.
The words of the mimic last night returned to her. We were made with drops of Benedictus's blood....
Rage filled Agnus Dei. She dropped her torch, drew her dagger, and shoved it into the wolf's eye.
It screamed and released her. She scrambled to her feet and shoved her torch into its rotting face. The head caught flame, and soon the whole body burned and writhed. She stared down at it, the fire stinging her eyes, and spat onto its body.
"Agnus Dei," Kyrie said, panting. "Agnus Dei, you're hurt."
She turned to see three mimic bodies at his feet, burned dead. Teeth marks peppered his arm; he clutched the wound.
"I hate these bastard mimics," she said and tightened her jaw. The smoke and heat stung her eyes. "I hate the damn things. I hate them."
He nodded. "I know. I do too. More than anything—other than Irae, maybe."
Agnus Dei tossed her torch aside, took three large strides, and embraced him. He held her in the snow and smoke, and she rested her head against his shoulder. His hand, bloody, smoothed her hair.
"I hate them, by the stars," she whispered, throat tight. "I hate their lies. I want to burn them all."
"We will," Kyrie promised.
She stared into his eyes. She touched his cheek, smearing ash and blood across it. "I love you, Kyrie. I'm sorry if I tease you sometimes, or call you a pup. You're a good fighter. And you're strong. Don't forget that, Kyrie."
"Okay, kitten," he said, and gave her a smile and wink.
She couldn't help but laugh. It felt good. She kissed his cheek, and pushed him back, and said, "Let's bandage these wounds, then keep walking. And try to keep up this time."
LACRIMOSA
The mimic scurried toward them like a starfish. It had no torso, no legs, no head. It was nothing but five human arms growing around a mouth.
Nausea filled her, and Lacrimosa screamed.
The creature raced toward her on five hands. The mouth in its center snapped open and closed, making sucking noises.
Gloriae shot her bow. A flaming arrow flew and hit an arm. That arm collapsed and burned, but the creature kept racing on its four good arms.
Lacrimosa wanted to gag. She wanted to run. Instead she raced toward the creature, shouted, and swung her torch.
The flames hit the creature between two arms, and it squealed, a sound like a child crying. She had expected a howl of rage; this high, pained mewl shocked her, and Lacrimosa lowered her torch.
The mimic leaped and wrapped its arms around her. It hugged her, crushing her, and its mouth came in to bite.
"Get off her!" Gloriae cried and stabbed it. The mimic squealed—a child's squeal. Blood gushed from it.
Lacrimosa struggled. The arms felt like they could snap her ribs. The mouth opened before her face, screaming, full of teeth. She tried to push it back, but it pinned her arms to her sides. Her torch fell to the ground.
"Burn, you freak," Gloriae said, lifted the fallen torch, and held it to the creature.
It screamed. The flames rose, intolerably hot. Lacrimosa grimaced and closed her eyes. She struggled and writhed, freed an arm, and shoved the burning mimic off.
It curled up at her feet, scurried, and fell. Flames and smoke rose from it. Still it cried, the sound of a human girl.
Gloriae nocked another arrow. Lacrimosa wanted to stop her. No, she wanted to cry. No, it's only a child! Don't kill it. But she knew that death was mercy for this thing, this starfish of arms growing from a crying mouth.
Gloriae shot her arrow into that mouth.
Blood flowed, and the creature convulsed, then lay still.
"Hideous thing," Gloriae said and spat onto it. "Disgusting."
Lacrimosa said nothing. She stared down at the burning mimic, wondering who it had been in life. Who had given it these five arms, this mouth? Soldiers? Farmers? Was one a child?
She forced a deep, shaky breath. "Let's get its Animating Stone."
Once they had its stone, they continued to walk between the ruins. Snow began to fall, coating their cloaks. Soon they entered the Valley of Stars, where the temples of Requiem had once stood.
Lacrimosa walked silently, head lowered. This was a holy place. Bricks lay strewn around her, white mounds under the snow. The capitals of columns lay fallen, glimmering with icicles. Part of a wall still stood, as tall as Lacrimosa, still showing the grooves of griffin claws. Lacrimosa clutched the hilt of her father's sword. Diamonds shone in that hilt, arranged like the Draco constellation. In the Valley of Stars, the diamonds seemed warm against her hand. This place still has some power, even as it lies in ruin.
Gloriae looked around with narrowed eyes, her mouth open, her cheeks kissed pink with cold. She turned to Lacrimosa.
"I remember this place!" she said. "I... I remember temple
s. They stood tall, as tall as Flammis Palace, all of white stone. Birches grew here." She knelt, reached into the snow, and lifted a glass crystal. "This crystal! It was part of a chandelier. Many of them hung in the temples. I remember."
Lacrimosa looked at her daughter, and memories flooded her too, but not memories of temples and crystals. She saw again a laughing toddler, her hair all golden curls, her eyes green and full of wonder at the world.
"I love you so much, Gloriae," she said, tears in her eyes. "Then and now. My heart broke when Dies Irae stole you. Let our hearts heal now. Together."
Gloriae opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to see something. Her eyes widened, and she pointed behind Lacrimosa. "Look!"
Lacrimosa turned, and a smile spread across her face. She had missed the statue at first; snow and icicles covered it. She walked toward it, cleared off the snow and ice, and her smile widened. It was a statue of a dragon, six feet tall. One of its wings had fallen, it was missing a fang, and a crack ran along its chest, but it was otherwise unharmed. It was the most complete statue she had seen in these ruins.
"Do you think it would work?" Gloriae whispered, coming to stand beside her. Snow sparkled in her hair.
Lacrimosa nodded. A tingle ran through her. "This one will be a warrior of Requiem."
She ran her fingers over the crack along the dragon's chest. It was the work of a griffin talon, or perhaps a knight's war hammer. In this wound, I will place its heart.
She took an Animating Stone from her pack. It thrummed in her palm, glowed, and its red innards swirled. It felt hot, so hot it almost burned her. Lacrimosa wedged the stone into the crack, until it stuck. It pulsed and glowed in the statue's chest, a heart of stone.
Lacrimosa took her daughter's hand, and they stepped back, watching.
The dragon statue was still.
Lacrimosa exhaled, feeling deflated.
"It's not working," Gloriae whispered.
Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy Page 56