They said the north would be safe, Sena thought, the blade trembling in his hand. They said this would be a home.
But here too people hunted his kind. Here great vultures, each larger than ten demons, slew dragons.
“I can’t live like this,” Sena whispered, voice shuddering, as they stared at him. “I’m a prince. I’m a prince!” His tears flowed. “I can’t live in the wilderness, hiding in caves, hunted, hurt. Look. Look at the blood. Oh Taal . . .”
The dead spread around him. He saw scattered limbs blackened with fire, white bones thrusting from the torn flesh. A severed head lay before him. Globs of flesh and puddles of blood lay everywhere. A dragon claw had disemboweled a roc, and pink entrails spilled across the ground, wet and stinking.
A home? This was a morgue. This was a nightmare.
The burly, bearded man grunted in his grip. Sena held the brute tightly, pushing his blade closer against the skin.
“Be still!” Sena said. “Be silent! I will cut you.”
Upon the boulders, Maev leaped up and glared. “Sena! You pathetic little snake. You foul piece of pig shite. I saved your backside from that tower. You hold my father now!” She hopped across a boulder, moving closer. “Drop your knife or I’ll smash your head against the canyon wall.”
“You will stand back!” Sena said, staring back at her. Tears burned in his eyes, and his legs trembled. He pushed the blade a little deeper, nicking the man’s skin, and Maev froze. Blood dripped down Jeid’s neck. “Stand back, Maev, or your father dies.”
Ahead, a short young woman was holding a severed head. She had been shouting something earlier. Crouched in the forest among the dead, Sena had been unable to make out her words. The woman looked about his age, maybe older, but haggard and small, frail as if after a long illness. Her black hair was cut short, and her mouth was slanted, her chin thrust to the side. She stared at him, tilted her head, and approached slowly.
“Why do you do this?” she said. Her voice was vaguely slurred, perhaps due to her crooked jaw.
Sena glared at her, clutching Jeid. “I am a prince of Eteer! I don’t belong here. I can’t live in this place. I have to go home.” A sob fled his throat. “If I kill a weredragon, my father will forgive me. If I bring him this man’s body, his demons will sniff the weredragon curse. They will know I killed one. And my father, the king, will forgive my own curse. He will let me return to my palace. Maybe not as heir, but a prince again.” His chest shook and he cursed himself for weeping. “I want to go home. I just want to go home. Oh Taal . . .”
The young woman with the short, black hair stepped closer to him. She raised her emptied palms in a gesture of peace.
“You are . . . the Prince of Eteer?” Her voice was soft, and she tilted her head. “You are Sena Seran, son of Raem.”
He nodded, peering around Jeid’s shoulder, keeping the knife in place. The bearded man was silent save for his gruff breath.
“And who are you?” Sena demanded. “Another one of this man’s daughters who wants to crack my head?”
The young woman shook her head, and a tear streamed down her cheek. “My name is Laira.”
Sena snorted. “I had a sister named Laira once. It’s a name of Eteer, not this forsaken place. She was exiled years ago and—“
He froze.
Laira stared at him, eyes soft, and moved closer. She reached out her hands. “It’s me, Sena,” she whispered, tears falling. “It’s me. Your sister. I’m here.”
Sena lowered his head and closed his eyes. Sobs wracked his body.
My sister . . .
“Oh Taal. Oh righteous god of purity. What have they done to you, sister?” He looked at her through his tears. “We have to go home. Both of us. We have to kill the others so Father forgives us. I want to go home.”
Laira smiled tremulously. She stepped across the boulders toward him, reached out, and gently touched his arm.
“We are home, brother. We are home.”
A clank sounded below, and Sena realized he had dropped his knife. With a grunt, the bearded man moved aside, and somehow Sena was embracing his sister, crying into her hair. She was so short—the top of her head barely reached his shoulders—and he held her slim body, nearly crushing her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Laira, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
She looked up at him, smiling, tears spiking her lashes. She touched his cheek. “Hello again, dear brother. After so many years, hello again. I love you.”
He embraced her tightly and they stood for a long time, holding each other upon the boulder, a sea of blood around them.
JEID
ANOTHER VIR REQUIS HAD JOINED them. His twin brother was dead. The Goldtusk tribe was Laira’s to command. The world shook around Jeid, but he no longer cared.
He cared for only one thing now.
Back in dragon form, he dug through the rubble, tossing boulders aside. His eyes burned. He worked in a fury, unearthing dead tribesmen, a crushed roc, and puddles of blood. Boulders rolled around him.
“Help me!” he said. “Tanin, Maev!”
His children rushed forth, shifted into dragons, and dug with him. Their eyes were narrowed, their mouths shut tight. They were thinking the same thought as him, Jeid knew.
Eranor was missing.
Jeid ground his teeth. Last he’d seen his father, the elderly druid had been blowing fire from the pantry, the rough cave that was now buried under rubble. With a grunt, Jeid grabbed a great boulder—it was as large as a man. Tanin and Maev had to help, shoving against it, before it creaked and crashed down.
The entrance to the pantry, once a narrow cave barely large enough for a man to crawl into, lay shattered. Jeid tugged back stones, widening the opening, revealing the shadowy chamber.
“Father!” he called. No answer came.
His arms shook as Jeid shifted back into human form. He raced into the cave and felt his heart shatter.
Eranor lay in the cavern, in human form again, rubble upon him. The ceiling had collapsed, and a boulder buried the old man’s legs. Blood stained his long, once-white beard.
“Father!”
Jeid rushed forward and knelt by the old druid. Eranor was still alive, his breath ragged. The old man managed to focus his eyes on Jeid and clasp his hand.
“My son . . .” His voice was a mere whisper.
Maev and Tanin rushed into the cave too and knelt by their grandfather. Tears filled their eyes.
“Tell me what to do.” Jeid clutched his father’s hand. “Tell me how to heal you.”
Eranor smiled—an almost wistful smile. “This body cannot be healed. Do not weep for me. I am old and I’ve lived longer than most. I lived to see Requiem rise.” He closed his eyes. “In my mind I can see it—a great kingdom of dragons. You will lead them, Jeid. Lead them to hope, to light.”
“No.” Jeid shook his head. “No, Father. You will lead us. Don’t leave. Now is not your time.”
“I fly now to the stars, my son.” Eranor’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Tanin. Maev. Come closer. Be with me.”
They all crowded around him, holding on to the old man, tears in their eyes.
Eranor gave a last smile. “I fly now to the Draco constellation. I fly to those we lost. I—“
His eyes closed.
His breath died.
Jeid lowered his head, pulled his father to his chest, and held him close for a long time.
The last leaves of autumn scuttled across the hills, and the first snow began to fall, when Jeid buried his father. Wind fluttered his fur cloak as he stood above the grave. A third boulder rose here, a third tombstone coated in moss. By it lay the two other graves—the young Vir Requis who had lost his leg, a stranger and yet one of their family, and an older grave overrun with ivy, the grave of his daughter. Of Requiem.
“I don’t know how many more will die for our tribe,” Jeid said, throat tight. He clenched his fists at his sides. “But I will fight on.”
He looked at
the others who stood around him, faces pale, eyes cold. His people. His tribe. The ones he loved.
Maev had refused a cloak of fur. She stood in a simple tunic, her arms bare, displaying her coiling dragon tattoos. Snow frosted her golden hair. No tears filled her eyes, and as always, her bottom lip was thrust out in defiance. As always, bruises and scratches covered her. Yet Jeid knew that beneath that stony exterior lay pain, love, and hope. The young woman stared down at the grave, chin raised, a well of tears hiding behind stone walls.
Tanin stood at her side, his eyes red, snow filling his shock of brown hair. The tall young man wrapped his fur cloak more tightly around himself. His lips whispered silent prayers or perhaps goodbyes. The juggler turned warrior—now a man grieving.
I never wanted this life for you, my children, Jeid thought. I wanted you to grow up in safety, a true roof over your heads, a life without fear, without pain.
Perhaps this day he grieved for his children—for their life of exile and bloodshed—as much as for his fallen father.
The new members of his tribe stood here too. Sena—slender, his cheeks soft—stood wrapped in a cloak, pale with frost. He stared down at the grave, silent, thoughtful. Laira stood at his side, holding his hand.
You too are my family now, Jeid thought, looking upon them. I will fight for all of you.
He knelt and placed a single birch leaf upon the grave, securing it with a stone. His father had always loved birches, and it was the only gift Jeid had to give. The others followed, one by one, placing down their own leaves and stones. Snow dusted the gifts.
Jeid straightened and looked at his new people. Young. Afraid. Looking to him for guidance. He spoke softly as the snow fell.
“Thus, with leaf and stone, we say goodbye.” The others stared at him, eyes large, lips tight. “Thus, with blood and fire, we defended our home. We fled a village, a tribe, a southern kingdom. All over the world they hunt us—the people they call diseased, the cursed ones they call weredragons. But we are blessed. We are Vir Requis, and our magic comes from the stars.” He looked up at that sky as if, past the pale sunlight and clouds, he could see those stars. “For a long time, I called Requiem a tribe. Tribes move across the world, seeking safety, struggling to survive.” Jeid shook his head. “Requiem will be no tribe. We will be a kingdom.” He looked back at them, meeting their eyes one by one. “We will tell the world: You can no longer hunt us. We will no longer hide. No more will the children of Requiem hide underground, ashamed, afraid.”
They nodded. Maev growled and raised her fist. Tanin punched his palm and sneered. Laira’s eyes lit up, and she raised her chin, and even her brother straightened and gazed ahead with pride.
“We will stand proud!” Jeid said, his voice rising louder. “We are only five, but more will join us. Many more Vir Requis hide across the world, afraid, believing they are cursed. We will trumpet our cause and call our people home. We will raise a palace of stone, and we will tell all tribes and nations: If you hunt us, you will die. If you attack us, you will burn. Dragons will rise! The kingdom of Requiem will last ten thousand years.”
“Yes!” Maev said. The young woman shifted into a dragon, beat her wings, and soared. She raised a great pillar of fire, and her roar pealed across the land. “Requiem! I fight for you.”
One by one, the others shifted too. They took flight, roaring for Requiem.
Only Jeid remained on the ground, still in human form. He looked down at the graves, and his eyes stung.
For you, Father. For you, my daughter. For you, unknown warrior. For all those who’ve died.
He looked up at the sky, shifted too, and took flight. He joined the others. They hovered above the hills and valleys, and Jeid added his flames to theirs. Five jets rose, spinning and crackling with heat and light, wreathing together into a great column of fire, a beacon for hope, for life, and for a new home.
They flew through the day and night, five dragons no longer afraid, until they reached the great mountains of Dair Ranin. There their claws dug, cutting loose marble from the mountainside, a great round pillar they could not carry, but which they rolled across the hills and valleys upon a wagon of logs.
For long days they worked in the forest, carving, smoothing, sculpting, using both dragon claws and bronze tools. The rocs awaited them in the hills beyond, for here among these birches—here was holy ground, blessed with dragon starlight. Fresh snow covered the trees when finally their work was done. A great column rose between the birches, three hundred feet tall, its marble smooth and glittering like the snow, its capital shaped as rearing dragons.
They stood before the pillar, five dragons, dwarfed by the size of their creation. It seemed to Jeid that the pillar glimmered with inner light. A circle of marble tiles stretched around it, and birch leaves scuttled upon the polished stone. In the distance, rising above the forest, sunlight gilded the distant mountains.
“The Column of Requiem,” Jeid said. He shifted back into human form and placed a hand upon it. “A beacon to draw our kind to this forest like a lighthouse draws in ships.”
Laira shifted back into human form too. She held Jeid’s hand and leaned against him.
“Requiem is a true kingdom now.” She stared up at the pillar. “But we need a king.” She looked at him and touched his cheek. “You vowed to lead us. Be our king.”
The others gathered closer, also resuming human forms. They nodded, one by one.
Jeid barked a laugh. “King Jeid Blacksmith? Doesn’t sound very kingly.”
“It sounds bloody stupid,” Maev said and spat.
Laira smiled and placed her small, pale hand against Jeid’s wide chest. “You told us that Requiem will last ten thousand years. But Requiem will last for eternity. Give yourself a new name, not the name of a blacksmith but the name of a dragon. Become King Aeternum, a king whose song will echo through the ages.”
Beside them, Tanin nodded in approval. “King Aeternum. I like it. Future generations might even think Jeid was noble, not a grizzled, gruff grizzly.”
“The only thing eternal about Grizzly is his appetite,” Maev muttered.
Jeid sighed and shook his head. Ignoring his children, he looked back up at the column. It soared past the treetops toward the clouds, and the sun fell upon the capital, breaking into many beams.
I hope you are watching, Father, Jeid thought. I hope you are proud.
Laira let go of his hand, stepped forward, and touched the column. She smiled softly and closed her eyes. When she sang, her voice—passing through her crooked jaw—barely sounded slurred to her but high and pure.
“As the leaves fall upon our marble tiles, as the breeze rustles the birches beyond our column, as the sun gilds the mountains above our halls—know, young child of the woods, you are home, you are home.” She opened her eyes, smiled, and looked up at the pale clouds. “Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky.”
Jeid smiled too. He repeated the prayer, a new song, a holy song—Requiem’s song. The others joined in and their voices rose together.
“Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky.”
ISSARI
THE CITY-STATE OF ETEER—center of a civilization, a light to the world—lay charred and crumbled.
Issari stood upon her balcony, staring at the destruction. Aerhein Tower, the prison which had once held her brother, lay fallen, crushing houses beneath it. Blood and gobbets of demon flesh covered the city domes, courtyards, and cobbled streets. Half the trees had burned, and ash rained across the balcony, remnants of the fire upon the palace roof.
“Two dragons came to this city,” Issari whispered, the smoky wind invading her nostrils. “Three left. And here I remain, an heiress to a broken land.”
The demons too remained, still marring her city. Dozens had died in the dragon onslaught. But Angel, their queen, still crackled in the underground, moving through the city sewers, nursing her wounds and blasting flame and smoke through sewage holes. Hundreds of her minions still covered the ro
ofs, gardens, and streets, screeching and cackling. Hundreds of women walked the streets, dazed, holding their growing bellies; the spawn of demons festered in their wombs.
Issari winced in sudden pain. The welts on her back blazed with agony if she even breathed too deeply. When her father had returned to the city—only three days ago—he had beaten her, whipping her back until she bled.
“I left you here alone for a month,” King Raem had said, voice cold. “I left you, my heiress, to rule this city, and I return to find it in ruins.”
She had not wanted to scream. She had vowed to remain silent under his lash. Yet as he had beaten her, and as her blood had splattered the walls, she had screamed.
A sigh ran through Issari as she stood here now, gazing upon the hive of devilry and ruin. She raised her hand and gazed at her amulet. When she’d pressed it against Angel, it had embedded itself into Issari’s palm. Her flesh had healed around the silver sigil—a slender man within a circle. She had tried to pull the talisman free but could not. It was a part of her now—as much as her heart. The silver gleamed softly, crackling to life as a demon fluttered by the balcony. She closed her fingers around the amulet, and its glow faded.
“Forever I will be a bane of demons,” she whispered, though she did not know how one woman could fight so many. Even three dragons, blowing fire, had been unable to defeat Angel. How could she stop this? How could she save her kingdom?
She closed her eyes, trying to remember flying upon Tanin, the red dragon from the north. Like she did so many times, Issari again wished she too could shift. If she could become a dragon, she could fly north. To Requiem. She could join Laira, Sena, and the others. Her eyes stung, and Issari felt like she were the cursed one—lacking magic, plain, weak.
Do you like me like this, Taal? she thought. Pure?
She raised her head. Night was falling and the first stars emerged. The new constellation shone, shaped like a dragon. And for the first time in her life, Issari prayed to new gods.
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 143