FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  Issari took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and pointed at the dead crone. “Eat.” She clenched her teeth and stepped back. “Eat until nothing is left.”

  One of the demons—the bloated creature with the swinging belly—gazed at her and hissed. “King Raem has forbidden the Children of the Abyss to feast upon the flesh of mortals.”

  Issari forced down the urge to gag; the stench of the creatures was overwhelming, even worse than the corpse. “King Raem has flown across the sea! I am his daughter, Princess Issari. I sit upon the throne in his absence. I give you leave to eat one mortal—this body alone! Feast upon it, then demand no further flesh.”

  The demons descended like buzzards and tore into the meal. Gobbets of meat flew. Bones crunched. The thin demon tore off the crone’s jaw and gnawed.

  Issari stepped back into her chamber, grimacing. As she watched one demon tear into Shedah’s entrails, she couldn’t help it. She doubled over and gagged. Her body trembled and it was a long moment before she could straighten again. Covered in blood, she stumbled back toward the balcony and gripped the doorpost for support.

  All that remained of Shedah was a red stain.

  The demons stood upon the balcony, necks bobbing as they swallowed their last bites. They gazed at Issari, eyes red, saliva dripping down their chins.

  As she watched, they began to grow.

  The living strip of meat lengthened, widened, sprouting higher and higher upon the balcony until it wavered like some malformed tree of rot. The pale creature with the swinging belly ballooned in size. Its abdomen extended so widely Issari thought it might burst, and through its translucent skin, she saw snakes coiling between its organs. The last creature, tube-like, bulged and lengthened into an obscene tapeworm the length of a boat. They could no longer fit upon the balcony but flew to hover before it.

  They are as large as dragons, Issari thought, reaching under her tunic for her amulet. That’s why they craved human flesh. It makes them grow.

  They hissed at her, smacked their lips, licked their teeth, and reached out their tongues.

  “We want more.” Their voices were dry as old bones. “We want your flesh too.”

  She pulled out her amulet and held it before her.

  “Leave!” She took a step closer, letting the sun gleam against the talisman. “You may never eat more human flesh. Nor will others of your kind. Leave!”

  They flew closer, almost reaching her. One’s claw caressed her cheek. Another demon’s tongue licked her neck. She refused to cower or flee.

  “We want more.”

  “You will have no more!” She raised her amulet as high as she could. “Here is the sigil of Taal, the god who banished your queen five thousand years ago. I banish you too! Leave this city. Fly to the sea and nevermore return to this land. Leave now or feel Taal’s light.”

  The amulet shot out a beam, blinding, crackling, searing. The demons screamed, beating their wings madly, slamming against the balcony railings, ripping into stone, clawing at their faces. One demon ripped out its own eye, a horrible mimicry of Shedah’s mutilation.

  “Leave!” Issari shouted.

  They’re too strong, she thought. They’ve grown too large. They will not be cowed. Yet she snarled, stepped closer, and placed the amulet against one’s flesh.

  “Feel this burn and flee this place.”

  The demon skin sizzled, raising foul smoke. The amulet blazed red, and Issari cried out, for it burned her hand. She would not release it. She pulled the amulet back—it tore free with ripping skin—and placed it against another demon.

  The creatures howled.

  They wept blood.

  They turned and fled the balcony.

  Issari panted, her hand burning. She stared at the bloated demons; they were the size of the ships in the canal. They flew across the city, wobbling, crying out in anguish. The smaller demons watched from below, cawing up at their swollen friends. Only once did the three turn back, and when Issari held out her amulet again, they turned and kept fleeing. She stood watching from the balcony, shining her light, until they fled across the shore and vanished over the sea.

  She dropped the amulet. It clanged against the floor, red-hot. When she looked at her palm, she saw the sigil of Taal branded upon her.

  She stumbled back into her chamber, fell to her knees, and trembled for a long time.

  TANIN

  TANIN WOKE UP UPON A dragon’s back, saw only sea around him, and yawned.

  “Still no sign of land?” he asked, tapping his sister’s scales.

  He rubbed his eyes, yawned again, and sat up. He was in human form, but his sister flew as a dragon, her scales green, her horns white, her mouth full of fire. She looked over her shoulder at him, and her eyes narrowed.

  “Are you blind? No land. No damn land. Not a sign for three days now.” Maev blasted flame over his head, nearly searing his hair. “And we’re running low on food. We turn back.”

  Tanin cracked his neck and rose to his feet upon the dragon’s back. He wobbled and held out his arms for balance. Since leaving the southern coast, they had seen only water. Their packs—which rested behind him—held enough fresh water, ale, and food for perhaps another three days.

  “We’ll find land.” He shielded his eyes with his palm and stared south. “According to my map, Eteer is near.”

  Maev growled. “A charcoal drawing on tattered old buffalo hide isn’t a map.” She sighed. “Maybe Grizzly was right. Maybe Eteer is only a myth. Maybe—“

  “Oh, be quiet and get some sleep,” Tanin said, interrupting her. With another yawn, he leaped off her back.

  He fell through the sky, the wind whipping his hair and clothes. He smiled, enjoying the freedom of it. Somehow falling felt even better than flying. He was only a small seed floating in the air, trapped in a world of blue—the water below, the sky above, and his sister a mere little annoyance. Sometimes Tanin wished he could fall forever.

  Yet the sea grew near, and his sister waited. Tanin sucked in his magic and shifted. Beating his wings and blasting smoke, he soared as a red dragon. The green dragon dived from above, positioned herself above him, and aligned her wings with his. She descended slowly, finally landing on his back, her limbs draped across him. The weight nearly shoved Tanin back down toward the sea.

  When Maev shifted into human form, the weight vanished. As a woman, she seemed to weigh almost nothing. When Tanin looked over his shoulder, he saw her on his back, a human again.

  “One more day!” she said, her hair streaming in the wind. “If evening falls and we still see no land, we turn back home. Agreed?”

  He grumbled and spat out fire, knowing they had no choice. Failure was better than death.

  And yet I don’t want to turn back, he thought, and a sigh rattled his scales. What did he have to return to? Life in a cave? Juggling in town squares as people booed and tossed refuse his way? Flying south was dangerous. He had already battled rocs, and who knew what other dangers awaited. Yet Tanin was willing to keep flying, to keep fighting, to drown his fear under hope.

  Maybe I have no home, he thought. Not unless I find others. Not unless we build a tribe.

  He looked back toward the southern horizon. “Agreed. But I still say the map was accurate. I—“ Tanin blinked. “Maev . . . what is that?”

  Three creatures were flying toward them across the sea. Tanin gasped. Rocs? Other dragons? When he squinted, bringing them into focus, his breath died.

  “Stars above,” he whispered.

  Wings beat and scales clanked above him—Maev shifting back into a dragon. She moved to fly at his side, the sunlight bright against her green scales. She wrinkled her snout. “The stench of them. What are they?”

  “They’re . . .” Tanin grimaced. “Stars, I don’t know.”

  The creatures were large as dragons, maybe larger. One was a bloated thing, its belly swinging like a sack, gray and bristly with hairy moles. It wings seemed impossibly small upon its ridged back, and a doz
en red eyes blinked upon its swollen, warty head. A second creature was slimmer, cadaverous, barely more than a skeleton. Black, wrinkled skin clung to its knobby bones, and it beat insect-like wings. The third creature looked like a clump of flying entrails, red and wet, coiling forward, a parasite the size of a whale.

  Maev hissed, filled her maw with fire, and flew toward them. “Whatever they are, they’re in my way. They will burn.”

  Tanin growled, beat his wings madly, and flew alongside his sister. He let the fire rise in his belly and crackle in his throat.

  The three creatures were close now. Their stench wafted, smelling like rotted meat and mold. Their mouths opened and they shrieked, a cry like shattering metal, like snapping bones, like a world collapsing. One of them—the bloated, sagging thing with the swinging belly—emitted a gagging sound and spewed out yellow liquid. The jet flew toward the two dragons.

  Maev and Tanin scattered, and the jet blasted between them. Heat and stench like vomit assailed Tanin. Droplets landed against him, and he screamed. Each drop felt like an arrow, and smoke rose upon his scales. A hole spread open in his wing.

  Acid.

  With a roar, Tanin soared toward the sun and swooped, blowing fire. At his side, a second flaming jet pierced the sky—Maev raining her heat.

  The inferno cascaded onto the demons.

  They screeched, the sound so loud Tanin thought his eardrums would shatter. Two of the demons ignited, but they kept flying, balls of flame. The cadaverous creature, mere bones and skin covered in black hooks, shook off the fire. It swooped toward Tanin, its mouth opening wider and wider, splitting the creature in two, peeling it open. Its jaw seemed to extend across its entire body, down to the tailbone, until it formed a great mouth full of teeth. Human limbs filled the obscene maw, half-chewed.

  For an instant, Tanin could only stare in horror. He had faced rocs in battle, great hunters of the north. Yet here was no earthly terror; this was a creature of nightmares.

  “Tanin!” Maev cried somewhere above.

  He snapped out of his paralysis. As the demon charged toward him, Tanin soared and blasted flames.

  The jet crashed against the creature, filling its mouth, roasting the meal within. The demon spun and soared after him, covered in smoke. Its flesh was too dry to burn, Tanin realized with a grimace.

  He tried to see Maev, but smoke and fire filled the sky, and the demon jaws charged again. Tanin growled, swooped toward the creature, and lashed his claws.

  He screamed as his claws banged against the creature’s flesh. He might as well have attacked a boulder. Sparks rose and the creature seemed unharmed; Tanin felt like his claws had almost torn off. The creature snapped its great jaws, and Tanin fluttered backward. The jaws managed to close around his wing.

  He howled. Tears of pain filled his eyes. The jaws chomped down, grinding his wing, and Tanin screamed and leaned in to bite. His own jaws were large enough to swallow lambs whole; they seemed puny by this beast. Yet still he bit, and his teeth drove through mummified flesh and scraped against bone.

  The creature released him. Tanin fell through the sky, his left wing pierced with holes; wind whistled through them.

  “Maev, some help!” he shouted.

  He glimpsed her battling two creatures above. Both were still smoking and crackling with fire. Blood covered Maev’s leg.

  “I’m battling two already!” she shouted down to him. He could swear he saw her roll her eyes. “Grow up and fight your own battles.”

  Before he could reply, the gaunt demon swooped again, mouth opening wide, splitting the beast down to the tailbone like a halved fruit.

  Tanin gritted his teeth, growled, and soared.

  He flattened himself into a spear, driving upward. The creature dived down, cackling, raining drool and bits of rotted flesh.

  Heartbeats away from a collision, Tanin grimaced.

  He roared as he soared, driving into the creature’s mouth, shoving himself into the beast.

  The jaws began to close around him. Tanin kept soaring, horns pointing upward.

  The force of his onslaught split the creature at the tailbone, tearing the great jaws apart.

  The demon’s two halves tumbled through the sky. Each wing beat independently. The broken pieces spun wildly, shrieking their own cries, until they crashed into the sea and vanished.

  Tanin spat. “Stars damn it.”

  Wincing, his wounded wing a blaze of agony, he rose higher.

  He found Maev spinning in a circle, scattering flames, holding the remaining two demons at bay. Cuts ran along her leg, and a gash bled upon her forehead. Still she managed to glare at him.

  “Are you done playing your games, brother?” She swiped her tail, clubbing one of the beasts. “Go on, choose one and kill it, damn you!”

  The two demons hissed, their flesh charred, fires still burning upon them. Their skin had peeled back and their muscles blazed; through the flames peeked black, jagged bones. Yet still they flew, cackling. The slimmer one, a creature like discarded entrails, thrust toward Maev, snapping its teeth. The obese demon, his charred belly swinging like a tumor, turned to fly toward Tanin.

  The demon’s many eyes blazed like cauldrons of molten metal. Its mouth opened, lined with sword-like teeth. Its wings—so small they were almost comical—flapped mightily, propelling the creature toward Tanin like some obscene bumblebee toward a flower. It pulsed as it gagged, spewing another stream of acid.

  Tanin grunted and swerved.

  The jet blasted above him, its raining droplets searing his scales.

  The creature dived, snapping its teeth.

  In midair, Tanin flipped upside down, dipped several feet, and raised his claws. The demon shot above him, unable to stop. As it flew, Tanin’s claws drove along its swinging belly, gutting the beast.

  Snakes, worms, and maggots with human heads spilled from the wound, smacking their lips and biting at Tanin like ticks. He screamed and shook himself, knocking them off, and blew his fire again.

  He caught the demon as it was turning back toward him. The flames entered the gutted creature through its wound, filled its innards, and blasted outward like a collapsing pyre. With a final shriek, the creature tumbled from the sky. It crashed into the sea with hissing smoke.

  Tanin looked over his shoulder, panting, to see his sister bite into the last demon’s rotted flesh. The green dragon tugged her head back, ripping out a chunk of flesh, and spat. Gurgling, the creature tumbled. It gave a pathetic whimper before crashing into the water. It vanished into the depths.

  “Well, well,” Tanin said, tongue still lolling as he panted. “Looks like your older brother can still teach you a few things. I believe my count is . . .” He feigned counting on his claws. “Two demons. And you . . . well, technically one demon, though he was the smallest.”

  Maev roared, flew toward him, and barreled into him. Blood dripped down her chin, and her eyes flashed.

  “The smallest—“ She blustered, for a moment unable to form more words. “You only killed two because I burned them! They were already wounded.”

  He nodded. “Sure, Maev. It was only because you helped.” He patted her with his wing. “You’re a real warrior.”

  Suddenly he winced. Pain drove through his wing where the creatures had cut it. Maev was wounded too, several of her scales chipped.

  “What were they, Tanin?” she whispered, fear replacing the anger in her eyes. “They . . . they were even worse than rocs, I think. Evil spirits. Demons.” She winced. “What kind of land are we flying to?”

  Tanin looked south. There upon the horizon he saw it—a faded tan smudge.

  The southern coast.

  The kingdom of Eteer.

  “We’re about to find out,” he said.

  They flew toward that distant coast, silent. Even as they left the smoke and stench behind, the demon shrieks echoed in Tanin’s ears and he shuddered.

  LAIRA

  SHE FLEW UNTIL THE DAWN, letting no fire fill her
maw. She was weary. Her cuts still hurt. Her forehead burned even in the cold air, the infection blazing through her. She felt lost and afraid; she had never been alone before escaping her tribe, and she did not know if she’d live much longer. It was the longest, coldest night of her life.

  It was also the best night of her life.

  “I am strong,” she said into the wind, and her laughter clanked her scales. “I am fast and high and I am free.”

  Tears flowed down her scaly cheeks. Zerra would nevermore slap her, shove her into the mud, or spit upon her. He would nevermore shear her hair, clothe her in rags, and give her only scraps to eat. For ten years, he had mistreated her, turning her into a short, scrawny girl covered in mud and tatters, a creature he made, a pet to torment.

  And he will nevermore bed me, she thought. Scales clattered as she shivered. That night returned to her—the night she had stepped into his tent, selling her body for a chance to hunt. She remembered the burnt half of him pressing against her, his tongue licking her cheek, his manhood thrusting into her.

  “Nevermore,” she swore. “You will nevermore use me, hurt me, torture me. You kept me hungry for years, and perhaps I will never grow taller, and I will always be the size of a child. But I can be a dragon too. That you cannot take away.”

  Her eyes stung, her wings felt stiff, and she bared her fangs. As she flew in the night, she made another vow.

  “I will have revenge.” Fire filled her mouth. “You killed my mother. You hurt me. Someday we will meet again, Zerra . . . and you will feel my fire. I will finish what my mother began.”

  Dawn rose in the east like dragonfire, a painting all in orange, yellow, and red. The autumn forest below blazed with the same fiery majesty, rolling into the horizon. Laira looked around, seeking pursuit. Up here in the air, she would be visible for many marks. She saw only a distant flock of birds, but she felt it safest to descend.

  A silver stream cut through the forest, and she dived down toward it, the wind whistling around her. She landed on the bank, dunked her head into the icy water, then pulled back with a mouthful of salmon. She gulped down the fish for breakfast, then drank deeply. Back in the Goldtusk tribe, as the lowest ranking member, she would always eat last, and always only scraps. She could not recall the last time she had eaten a whole fish. Since her mother had died, fish had meant nibbling on bones and chewing rubbery skin. She dipped her head underwater again, caught another salmon, and swallowed it down, relishing the oily goodness.