by Colt, K. J.
“For long days, I languished in a cell,” Sena cried out. “I watched as you and your kind destroyed my city, my kingdom, my home. My father is away, and I am Prince of Eteer, and I banish you back into the Abyss. Leave this place!”
Angel only laughed and tossed another ball of fire. Sena beat his wings, rising above the flaming missile, and blasted his own flame. The jet crashed into Angel and Sena swooped. The blue dragon slammed into the demon, biting and clawing. Smoke and flame enveloped the two.
“Sena!” Issari cried from Tanin’s back.
Through strands of smoke, Issari glimpsed the demon spinning, clawing, ripping off scales. Sena’s cry rose, torn in pain. Blood rained. The blue dragon and the Demon Queen fought within a sphere of light and heat.
Tanin was flying toward the melee, but it was too late. Sena fell from the inferno, scales cracked, and slammed into a house below. The roof collapsed under him, and the dragon-prince vanished into a pile of rubble and dust. Only his tail rose from the debris, flicking weakly.
Smoke rose from Issari’s hand as the amulet seared her. The pain drove up her arm and along her ribs, and the tip of her braid crackled with fire. Clutching the dragon tightly between her thighs, she raised her chin, and she held her amulet high.
“Hear me, Angel!”
The demon looked toward her, eyes white-hot, searing, blinding Issari. All the princess could see was the white light, two unholy suns.
She shouted louder, “Angel, hear me! I am Issari Seran, Princess of Eteer, a priestess of Taal, heiress to the throne. My father flies across the sea. My brother is fallen, maybe dead. I rule Eteer now. You will stand back! You will let us pass!”
She gripped Tanin’s horn, and she rose to her feet upon the dragon’s nape. She raised the amulet as high as she could, and it blazed to life, humming in her hand. The fire spun all around. Rings of flame burst out, thudding into her dragon, and wind whipped Issari. Burn marks spread across her tunic, and her skin reddened. Yet still she shouted.
“Stand back, Queen of the Abyss! I am Issari Seran, and you are bound to my house. In the name of Taal, god of purity, I banish you. Stand back or my light will burn you!”
The Demon Queen screamed. An inferno of fire and wind, greater than typhoons, burst out from her. The shock waves slammed into Issari, knocking her down. She clung to Tanin’s horn, her legs swinging over open air. The dragon rolled in the sky, wings beating, trying to steady himself. The world spun around Issari—a flaming sky, collapsing buildings, and everywhere that horrible light of the underworld, those two white eyes, those great bat wings.
“You will be my whore!” shrieked Angel, lava spraying from her mouth. “I will take you into the Abyss, Princess of Eteer, and I will break you, and I will feast upon your living flesh, and my demons will thrust into you, and you will feed us. Your blood, your pain, your sex, your flesh; they will be ours to feast upon, and you will scream forever in the depths.” Angel beat her veined wings, rising from the holocaust, and came flying toward her. Her claws stretched out, and her teeth gleamed white in her red, fiery smile. “You will scream for mercy. You will scream for thousands of years. And I will answer you with more pain—your soul, your sanity, your secrets—all will be mine to shatter.”
Overcome by the fiery winds, Tanin howled and began to fly backward, fanning back the smoke.
“Fly to her, Tanin,” Issari said softly, straddling his neck. She patted his cracked, hot scales. “Fly to her and be brave.”
“We must flee, princess!” he said, panting. Blood filled his mouth.
Issari shook her head. “I will not flee from her. Fly, my friend. For Eteer and for Requiem.”
As Angel laughed, spitting out flame, Tanin roared—a roar so great it tore across even that demonic laughter. Cobblestones below shattered. Palm trees cracked and fell. And Tanin, red dragon of Requiem, drove forward into the blaze.
Angel hovered before them, wings churning the smoke.
Issari rose to her feet upon the dragon’s head, clinging to his horn, and leaped forward.
She sailed through the air, legs kicking, and slammed into Angel.
It felt like falling into the sun.
Issari screamed.
The heat and light engulfed her. Wings wrapped around her, and claws slashed her, and those eyes peered into her, those white forges tearing through her veins. She closed her eyes, but still that light blazed.
She felt herself fading.
No. No, Issari. A voice spoke within her—perhaps the voice of her lost mother, perhaps of her soul. You will not die here tonight. For Laira. For our home.
Issari screamed and opened her eyes.
She dug her fingers into a crack on Angel’s body. Clinging on, she drove her amulet forward. The metal slammed into Angel’s face, shattering stone, and light flared out in a dozen beams.
Angel screamed again, and this time it was no scream of rage. This time she was hurt.
Stone cracked and melted. The light of Taal flared, washing over the world, and silence fell. Issari heard only the ringing in her ears.
She plummeted.
She smiled as she glided between sky and earth.
Above her Angel writhed, clawing at her face, and shards of stone fell from her. The demon let out a shriek so mighty that buildings shook. In the distance, Aerhein Tower cracked and fell with a shower of dust and bricks. Above, caught in the winds, Tanin beat his wings, spinning.
Issari’s back slammed down against a palm tree.
She crashed through the fronds, fell through hanging vines, and thumped down onto a patch of grass.
She lay in the rooftop gardens of her palace, she realized. Plants burned around her. Smoke unfurled and flames spread, drawing closer. When she looked aside, she saw Maev lying beside her. The Vir Requis was in human form again, her hair singed; she coughed and rose to her knees.
“I’m alive,” Issari whispered, lying in the grass, the ringing still filling her ears. When she looked at her hand, she found the amulet fused with her flesh, embedded into her palm like a jewel into a crown. “Taal saved me.”
Wings beat above. A red dragon and a blue one—Tanin and Sena—landed in the gardens.
“We must leave,” Tanin said, panting. “Now. Angel retreated but she still lives. She will summon a new horde of demons.” He lowered his wing by Issari like a ramp. “Climb onto my back.”
Issari rose to her feet, shaky. Past the flaming gardens, she caught glimpses of her city—pain and terror still filled it. She could not abandon this place.
She shook her head. “I stay. You are children of Requiem. Go north, find safety, and build yourself a home. But I don’t share your magic. My battle is here. My home is in Eteer.”
The blue dragon shifted back into human form. Sena approached her, hair singed and face sooty. He held her hands.
“Are you sure, sister?” the prince whispered. Tears filled his eyes. “You can come with us. Please come with us.”
Tears streamed down Issari’s face. “I don’t know where Father flies upon his demon; perhaps he has found Requiem, and you will meet him in the north, and perhaps he heads back home, and I will face him in the ruins of Eteer. But I know this: Here is my battlefield, and here is the kingdom I must fight for.” She embraced her brother. “If you find Laira . . . if you find our sister . . . tell her that I love her. Tell her that I will fight for her.”
Scales clanked as Maev shifted and took flight. “Come on, let’s fly out of this place!” She growled. “Demons are gathering. Boys, shift and fly for pity’s sake! No time for goodbyes.”
Sena gave Issari a last look—a look that said everything, that spoke of his love for her, of their loss, of their fear. He kissed her cheek, stepped back, and rose as a dragon.
Coughing in the smoke, Issari made her way to the roof’s trapdoor, entered the palace, and walked down corridors and staircases. She stepped onto her old balcony, the same place where the demons had eaten the crone, the same place she would
always stand and gaze toward the sea and think of her missing mother and sister. She stood gazing at that sea now, hand raised.
In the darkness, almost invisible in the night, three dragons flew across the water.
“Goodbye, Tanin and Maev,” Issari whispered. “Goodbye, my brother. I love you.”
The light blazed out from her hand, a beacon of farewell.
LAIRA
WARMTH.
SAFETY.
LOVE.
FOR SEVERAL days now, these strangers—these foreign feelings, these new spirits—surrounded her. And for several days now, Laira had been scared.
Life in the escarpment felt like a dream, like a strand of gossamer trembling in the wind, ephemeral, vanishing when the light caught it wrong. She spent nights in a cave by a fire, not a muddy pen of dogs. She ate real food—stews of wild game and mushrooms, bowls of berries, apples, wild grains—and not once did she root in the mud for bones or peels. No one beat her here. No one scolded her. Jeid and Eranor told her tales by the fire, wrapped warm blankets around her at night, and tended to her wounds. They treated her not as a creature, but as a friend.
And Laira had never felt more afraid.
Love and warmth. These were new feelings for her. She didn’t think she was worthy of this love. Whenever Jeid approached with a bowl of stew, she expected him to toss it at her, not serve it to her. Whenever Eranor approached with healing herbs, she flinched, expecting him to strike her, not heal her.
“I’m not worthy of love,” she would whisper every night, curled up in the cave, the fire warming her. “I’m ugly. I’m deformed.” She shivered. “Why do they love me so?”
Every morning she expected it to end—to wake up, to realize it had been a dream, a cruel joke, a trap. She kept waiting for Zerra to step out from a cave, to reveal that he’d been working with Jeid and Eranor all along, to shout, “Maggot, how dare you flee me?”
One night as she lay shivering, thinking these thoughts, she heard Eranor and Jeid whispering above her. They thought she was asleep, but how could Laira sleep? How could she dare sleep when so many nightmares filled her—visions of her mother burning, of Shedah and her leechcraft, of Zerra and his fists? And so she lay still, eyes closed, and listened.
“The poor child,” said Eranor, and she could imagine the old druid stroking his white beard. “When will we see her smile?”
Jeid sighed. “My brother shattered her jaw. Maybe she can no longer smile.”
“She could smile with her eyes, but still they are sad.” Eranor too sighed. “I can heal the wounds of the body. The wounds in her soul run deeper. Those may never heal.”
Jeid grunted. “To heal wounds, first the poison must seep out. Healing hurts. Her soul is healing now and it pains her. And I promise to the stars: I will protect her. I will keep her safe until she is healed.”
That night, for the first time since arriving in the escarpment—perhaps for the first time in her life—Laira slept the night through, no nightmares haunting her.
The next morning, Jeid and she went into the forest to collect wild apples, berries, nuts, and mushrooms. They walked atop the escarpment’s ledge, the trees rustling around them. It was late autumn, and many of the leaves had fallen, but small apples still grew upon the trees, and mushrooms still peeked from the carpet of red and orange leaves. A waterfall cascaded, raising mist, and geese honked above.
Laira wore the new fur cloak Jeid had given her, the best garment she had ever worn, and leather shoes—the only shoes she had ever owned—warmed her feet. As she walked, she gazed upon piles of fallen branches, mossy stones, and leaves that lay within bubbling streams, imagining faces. She had often played this game, seeking eyes, mouths, and noses in the forest, imagining that someday one of these creatures—perhaps with boulders for eyes, a log for a nose—would open its mouth and speak to her, an ancient spirit of the woods.
For a long time, Jeid walked silently. There was sadness in him too, Laira thought—something deep, dull, older than her pain but no less potent. Whatever his pain was, he never spoke of it. And Laira never spoke of hers. And so they walked silently, and that silence comforted her.
Finally, upon a slope thick with brush, he spoke. “Here, look. Wild apples.”
Laira smiled to see the apple tree. She began to collect what fruit had fallen. Jeid—burly and tall, his arms almost as wide as Laira’s entire body—proved surprisingly agile at climbing the tree. He tossed the fruit down to her, and she collected them in a pouch.
“I didn’t know grizzly bears could climb!” she said, and for the first time in many years, she felt something strange, something that tugged at her crooked mouth. For so many years, her slanted mouth had remained closed, stiff, sad. Yet now warmth spread through her, and her lips tingled, and Laira smiled.
Jeid smiled down from above—a huge grin that showed his white teeth. “Grizzlies are excellent climbers. We—“
Suddenly he wobbled. Laira gasped. The branch he stood on creaked, and Jeid fell. He landed hard on his feet, wobbled for a moment, then fell onto his backside. He blinked up at Laira, seeming more confused than hurt.
“I guess not,” he said.
Laira sat down beside him, the leaves crunching beneath her. She leaned against him. He was beefy and huge; she was a wisp of a thing. She thought that if anyone passed by, they would mistake them for a gruff old bear and a scrawny little fox.
“I like it here.” Her voice was quiet, and she played with a fallen oak leaf. “I like the rustle of the wind in the trees. I like the cold wind. I like . . . I like who I am here.”
He held her hand in his—a pale lily in a paw—and something broke inside her. The pain flooded her, gushing out like blood from beneath a scab peeled off too soon.
And she told him.
She needed to talk.
She needed to share this with him or she thought it would never leave her.
She told him of fleeing Eteer when she had been three, almost too young to remember, but old enough for the fear and pain to linger. She told him of Zerra burning her mother at the stake as she watched. She spoke of Shedah leeching her for potions, of Zerra beating her, of years of hunger, cold, neglect, and pain. Of the shattered bones, of the shivering nights in rain, and of her hope—her hope to find others, to find the escarpment, to find him. Her voice remained steady, and her eyes remained dry, and she simply spoke—remembering, sharing, healing.
He listened. Sometimes his eyes widened, and sometimes he gasped, and at other times he seemed both mad and pained. But he did not speak until she was done. And then he simply held her, silent.
They returned to the canyon. Laira had learned that many tunnels and caves ran underground here. There were chambers for sleeping, for cooking, for storing supplies. There were secret rooms for defense; their walls had small openings like arrowslits, outlets for a dragon to blow fire into the canyon. There were secret traps of boulders to topple onto invaders. There were deep caves for hiding when danger came. It was both a secret, magical labyrinth and a fortress of stone and moss.
That night, Jeid and Laira lay down to sleep in one of the caves, a fire burning beside them, its smoke wafting out a hole in the ceiling. Eranor stood outside upon the watchtower—that pillar of stone that rose between the trees, affording a view of the valleys below. Firelight painted the cave, but Laira still felt cold.
She rose, wrapped in her fur blankets, and settled down beside Jeid, and he held her in his arms. They lay together, sharing their warmth. She laid her head against his chest, and his one hand held the small of her back. She felt safe. He would not hurt her. He would not try to lie with her as his twin brother had.
“I will keep you safe,” he whispered. “Always.”
She believed him. And she loved him. She did not know if she loved him as she loved a foster father, a man, or a friend. It did not matter. She loved him and that was enough.
I’m happy here, she thought. This is my home.
She was drifting
off to sleep when she heard the shrieks.
She jerked up, sure she was dreaming.
She knew those shrieks. They still filled her nightmares.
When Jeid sat up, eyes wide, she knew it was no dream.
“They’re here,” she whispered. She leaped to her feet and grabbed a burning stick from the fire.
A shadow darted and Eranor rushed into the cave, gasping.
“Rocs!” the old man said. “Rocs outside!”
Laira ran. She bolted past Eranor, raced out into the canyon, and looked up into the night sky. A hundred of the foul vultures flew above, larger than dragons, their riders bearing torches and bows.
The Goldtusk tribe attacked.
JEID
HE ALLOWED HIMSELF ONLY AN instant of fear.
My brother attacks.
The rocs no longer fear us.
We will die under stone.
The thoughts pounded through Jeid. His fingers shook and his heart thrashed. Then he took a deep breath. He clenched his fists. He turned toward his companions.
“Laira, you stay in this cave. When I give the signal, blow fire through the exit. The rocs won’t be able to enter.” He unclasped his sword from his belt and handed it to her. “And take this blade. If you must race into the tunnels, you’ll only fit in human form; you’ll need a sword.”
His voice was soft, and he worried that Laira would tremble, that her fear would overcome her. But the young woman nodded firmly. She took the short, broad sword and held it steadily. She raised her chin and stared back. “They will not enter.”
This one has been fighting all her life, Jeid realized. She is perhaps the strongest among us.
He nodded and turned toward his father. The old man stared back grimly, eyes dark beneath his white brows.
“Father, hurry down the tunnel to the pantry,” Jeid said. “Wait for my signal, then blow your fire too.”
Jeid pointed to the two tunnels at the back of the cave. The left one led to the pantry, a hidden chamber full of their nuts, dried meats, fruits, mushrooms, and other foods for winter. The right tunnel gaped open beside it; that one dived underground, twisted under the canyon floor, and emerged into a chamber in the opposite cliff.