Requiem's Prayer (Book 3) Page 19

  "You will destroy all life!" he cried. "You will turn the world aboveground into more of the Abyss!"

  They roared with approval, their cries echoing, and Raem gnashed his teeth so powerfully they cracked. Soon all dragons would die. Soon even the starlight would vanish from the sky. And then, finally, he would find peace, an end to the eternal torture that coiled inside him like a parasite.

  ISSARI

  The dragons of the south flew.

  A thousand beasts of scales, claws, fangs, and fire, they dived across the sky. Their tails streamed like banners. Their wings stretched wide. Metallic dragons of silver, gold, copper, bronze. Colorful dragons with scales of green, blue, red, lavender. Small dragons, barely more than children. Old beasts, their fangs long fallen, their wings perforated with holes. All flew this day. The dragons had risen from the city-states of the south—from the ruins of Eteer, from the inferno at Goshar, from the devastation of Tur Kal, from the civilizations that sprawled between sea and desert. For years, they had hidden, ashamed, the outcasts of thirteen cities. Now they flew united. Now they were no longer afraid; they were dragons of Requiem.

  Issari and Tanin flew at their lead: a slim white dragon, her horns small and her eyes green, and a long red dragon, his eyes dark, a hole in his wing. A Princess of Eteer and a Prince of Requiem. A southern woman and a northern wanderer. White and red fire. Twin rulers of a motley nation. Behind them flew the multitude, the greatest flight of dragons the world had seen.

  Below stretched the open plains of wild grass. The shadows of the thousand dragons raced across the land like a herd of astral bison. They flew over the city of Tur Kal where scaffolding covered walls and towers, where workers bustled to rebuild after the nephil attack. They flew across hills, valleys, a river, and fallow fields until they reached the mountains. There they flew over Goshar, a ruined city nestled in the mountain range, guardian of the northern desert—the place of Issari and Tanin's captivity, now a place of dust and fallen bricks. They flew over the desert, the lifeless realm where once they had wandered, hungry and afraid, leading the Eteerian exodus. They flew without rest until finally, in the sunset, they saw it ahead.

  "A shadow upon the land," Issari whispered. "A stain of evil." She shuddered, feeling that evil emanate from the darkness ahead like strands of nightmares rising from one's deepest fears at night. "A pit of terror."

  Flying at her side, Tanin grunted and flexed his claws. "The ruins of Eteer."

  Once a proud city had stood here, an oasis of civilization. Over the past hundred years, the humble seaside tribe of Eteer had risen to a great nation. Thousands of homes had sprawled along cobbled streets, gardens flowering upon their roofs. A canal had driven into the city, thick with ships from distant lands bringing in fabrics, sweet wines, exotic fruit, and toys of wood and clay. A palace had risen upon the hill, home to Issari, its blue columns capped with gold, its hanging gardens a marvel whose beauty spread in tales across the world. This had been a place of splendor, of learning, of culture—the first civilization to develop writing in clay, to build boats, to map the lands north of the sea.

  Eteer—Jewel of the Coast. Fair Daughter of Taal. Kingdom of Light.

  Today Eteer was a stain of ruin and shadow.

  Little more than the walls surrounding the city remained standing, and even they were cracked and punched full of holes. Within this crumbling shell lay ruin. The houses had fallen. The gardens had burned. The temple to Taal had collapsed, as had the fortress of the city garrison. No more ships sailed in the canal; great boulders and piles of bricks filled the water now, rising like cairns.

  Issari lowered her head. My home.

  But the city was not lifeless. Nephilim still lived here. The half-mortals nested like hives of disease upon ruined flesh. They had raised huts of leather, bone, and the rotting flesh of their human victims. They dug through piles of bricks and peered from hovels. They danced upon the crumbled walls and they rutted on the beach north of the city. The city was still distant, but even from across the marks, the stench hit Issari's nostrils.

  Her belly cramped and her eyes stung. Is my son among them? Is the child I birthed one of the city's new denizens?

  Her throat constricted and her belly twisted as she remembered that night, remembered the creature leaving her womb, fleeing her, darting off into the night, an aborted child who needed her, whom she had betrayed. A monster. Her son. Issari did not know anything about his father, the deceiver who had visited her in her tent, but if she found his son here, would she be able to burn him?

  She focused her attention back toward her task. She pointed.

  "Do you see the hole upon the hill?" she said to Tanin. "That's where the palace once stood. That is the crack of the Abyss. Through that hole is where we'll find him."

  Little of the palace remained, only the broken stems of a few columns; they rose like shattered teeth from the hill. The walls, the roof, the balcony where Issari had stood so often—all had fallen and lay strewn across the hillside. The memories of her home stung her, more powerful than the jabs of arrows.

  Only a couple of years ago, she had stood upon her balcony in this palace, and she had gazed upon the sea, and she had imagined adventures in distant lands. She had been only a child then, a soft youth clad in cotton, a golden headdress resting upon her hair. Innocent. A child who dreamed of heroes and legends, who had never heard of the evil of the world.

  My own adventure showed me this evil, she thought. And the distant lands I found were full of more terrors than heroes and legends.

  She returned now to Eteer, but she was not the same child. She had grown into a woman, hardened, emptied, something missing from inside her, a child lost. An innocence lost. And she knew that even should the palace rise here anew, she would nevermore be able to gaze upon the sea again, nevermore imagine adventures, never more feel that innocent joy, nevermore dream like a child dreams, full of wonder.

  Behind Issari, the other dragons grumbled, prayed, and blasted out smoke. They all saw the pit now. As they flew closer, Issari got a clearer view. The hole gaped open between the shattered columns of the palace—a chasm that seemed to delve down eternally. It was not merely dark. Darkness was only the absence of light. It was not merely black. Black was only the lack of color. This pit was an emptiness, a despair, a sinkhole crafted from the nightmares and anguish that tugged at the soul in the middle of the most silent, lonely night. Smoky tendrils rose from the deep, twisting like the tentacles of some subterranean creature reaching up to the sky. Evil itself seemed to be rising from the underground, a pain that clutched at the heart, that Issari felt deep inside her. It was the emptiness of her life, of her womb.

  The nephilim upon the walls seemed to notice the dragons. They screeched. A few cowered. Others took flight and hovered over the city. Soon hundreds rose like flies from a disturbed carcass, yet they did not yet swarm to attack.

  Issari darted ahead, then spun around, the city to her back, and faced the army of dragons.

  "Hear me, Requiem!" she cried. "Hear me, dragons! The creatures of the Abyss crushed our homes. They swarm across all thirteen city-states of Terra, devouring, destroying. Their king lurks in darkness, festering in his pit. We will find him. We will slay him. For dragonfire, for justice, for Requiem!"

  The dragon army returned her call, a thousand voices rising. Issari turned back toward the city and beat her wings, flying toward the ruins, gaining speed. Behind her, the thousand dragons streamed forward, roaring, smoke blasting from them. They hid the sky behind their wings. Their shadow covered the land.

  In the city, the nephilim screeched, took flight, and flew toward them. The rotting creatures stretched out their lanky limbs, and their fangs shone. Their flesh was shriveled like that of mummified corpses, but their eyes blazed with hatred. They beat their insect wings, crying out for blood to drink, for bones to snap, for flesh to eat.

  Which one of you is my son? Issari thought.

  She blasted out her dragonfire
.

  The two hosts slammed together above the ruins.

  "Slay them all!" Tanin shouted at her side. He blew his fire, torching two nephilim, and clubbed a third with his tail. Blood rained around the red dragon. "Slay every nephil you see!"

  Suddenly Issari wanted to turn back. She wanted to stop Tanin, wanted to stop this assault. Slaying demons—as lurked inside that hole—was one thing. But suddenly she could not bear to kill nephilim. Here were the sons of mortal women! Here somewhere was her own brother, the creature Ishnafel, born to her father and the Demon Queen. Here somewhere might fly her own son. How could she slay them?

  And yet Issari slew them.

  She fought with tears in her eyes.

  As the cackling, snapping creatures flew toward her, she burned them. She ripped out rotted flesh with her claws. She snapped their bones between her jaws. She slammed her tail against them. Their black blood rained upon the ruins.

  Around her, the other dragons of Requiem fought with fang and fire. They bellowed as they fought, torching enemies, clawing nephilim apart. Even the old, the young, the weak fought under the setting sun, their fire bright. They slew many . . . but their blood too spilled.

  Three nephilim landed on a young green dragon. The half-demons cackled as they disemboweled the beast, tugging their claws along the dragon's belly. With a scream, the Vir Requis returned to human form and tumbled down, a gutted woman. Several other nephilim landed on an old gray dragon, tore off cracked scales, and drove claws into flesh. The dragon lost his magic and fell, a screaming graybeard. The body thumped down onto the ruins, shattering against the piles of bricks. More bodies rained—men, women, children, their magic gone, their human forms shattering across the ruins.

  "To the pit!" Tanin cried. He blasted forward a path of fire. "Dragons of Requiem, cut through them! Into the Abyss!"

  The red dragon roared, scattered dragonfire every which way, and slashed with his claws. The dragons rallied behind him, driving through the enemy, making way toward the pit on the hill. Bodies fell before them. Issari flew at Tanin's side, burning nephilim, moving closer to the pit. She could see it gaping open ahead between shattered columns, a mouth with broken teeth, a chasm leading into the underworld.

  "Fly, dragons of Requiem!" she cried. "Into the darkness! Into—"

  Her words died.

  He rose before her from the ruins, large as a dragon, a rotting man with black wings, a toothy jaw, and piercing green eyes. He had grown to monstrous size, but Issari knew him. Her son.

  The creature rose in the sky, wings outstretched, ringed with fire. His long, serrated jaw opened wide, revealing rows of fangs. His flesh was so rotted it hung loosely, revealing ribs and a beating heart. A halo of unholy fire crackled to life around its brow. The nephil cackled.

  "I am son of Sharael the Deceiver, rightful King of the Abyss!" he cried. "I was born from the womb of Issari Seran, a Queen of Eteer, the Priestess in White. I will lead you, nephilim. I am Legion! Slay the dragons for my glory."

  The dragons roared and blasted fire.

  "Kill it!" Tanin shouted. "Kill the creature!"

  Blasting out their dragonfire, the dragons flew toward the nephil.

  Issari hovered in midair, staring at Legion. He met her gaze. His eyes seemed so human to her; they were her own eyes.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered, then raised her voice to a shout. "Tanin, no! Dragons, to me! Leave him!"

  But the other dragons seemed not to hear her. Nephilim rallied around Legion, cackling, grinning, licking their chops; a few were gnawing on Vir Requis limbs. Their wings raised a buzz like a swarm of locust. Tanin and the other dragons flew toward them, and their jets of flame blasted forward. The fire washed over the nephilim, and Legion screamed, wreathed in the inferno.

  "No!" Issari cried. She darted forward, soared, and placed herself between the combatants. Dragonfire washed over her, and she screamed and closed her eyes against the horrifying heat. She heard her scales crack.

  "Dragons, hold your fire!" Tanin shouted somewhere beyond the inferno. "Issari!"

  The flames died, and Issari coughed and shuddered but kept beating her wings. Her silver scales were black with soot.

  "Into the Abyss!" she shouted to Tanin and the others. "Leave the nephilim to me. Go! I order you, by the light of Taal and the stars!"

  She raised both front feet, and light blasted out from them—the white light of Taal from the amulet embedded into one foot, and the light of Requiem from the star-shard embedded into the other.

  "I'll hold them back!" Issari shouted. "Go!"

  She spun back toward the nephilim, and her twin lights blazed over them, starlight and godlight. The unholy horde screamed. They covered their eyes. They buzzed and tried to attack but could not fly through the light.

  "Go!" Issari shouted over her shoulder.

  Tanin nodded and spun back toward the pit. He flew down toward the darkness, and the other dragons followed. One by one, they plunged into the pit, heading into the Abyss.

  Issari returned her gaze to the nephilim. The creatures were screaming in pain as her light bathed them. She beat her wings, flew closer, washing them with the light of the gods.

  "Back, nephilim!" she shouted. "Leave this place. Away! Away or I'll burn you." Her tears streamed as her son wailed in pain. "Away! Leave!"

  Legion screamed, the light washing over him, and his voice sounded almost human to Issari, almost begging, pleading with her for mercy. She thought she could hear words in his cry. Why, Mother? Why do you hurt me? Issari wept but she flew closer, blasting him with the light of Taal and the light of stars. His skin burned.

  "Leave, nephilim! Leave this place, Legion!"

  They screamed as she herded them away, burning them, burning her son. She drove them from the city, but she could no longer kill them, and when finally the nephilim had fled over the walls, Issari wailed in pain, for she had hurt her son, and she had driven him away from her once more.

  JEID

  They flew over the sea, twenty dragons carrying men and women on their backs, heading toward the demonic hive.

  Jeid's wings stretched wide, gliding on the wind. Laira and Maev slept upon his back, both in human form. Around Jeid, the other nineteen dragons also carried sleepers. The last survivors of Requiem had been traveling across the sea for days now, taking turns flying, the dragons carrying the humans upon their backs.

  Now, after so long aflight, Jeid saw the distant shore of Eteer.

  The sun touched the horizon, casting last flickers of red light like blood spurting from a dying man's mouth. But the ruins of Eteer burned with their own light. Scattered fires blazed among piles of bricks, cracked columns, and fallen walls. The city must have once been massive—truly a place to dwarf every village in the north combined. A white dragon flew above the ruins, and two beams of light blasted out from the beast, one white and the other silver. Thousands of demonic creatures shaped like giant, desiccated men fled from the rays, screeching until they vanished into darkness.

  Those in human form woke up upon the dragons. They stared toward the distant ruins.

  "Issari!" Laira cried, clinging to Jeid's neck. "It's Issari!"

  The Vir Requis who were in human form leaped off the dragons' backs and shifted. The dragons' numbers swelled to fifty. All but Laira shifted; the queen remained in human form, her magic gone, clinging to Jeid's horns.

  "Issari!" Laira cried again, rising to stand on Jeid's nape.

  Hovering over the ruined city, the white dragon turned toward them. She lowered her feet, and her two beams faded.

  The northern dragons reached the coast and shot over the beach. Below lay the corpses of many nephilim and men, and blood stained the toppled city walls. Beyond lay hills of rubble. The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving them in darkness.

  "The others have gone into the pit!" Issari said when they reached her. The white dragon pointed at a hill that rose from the ruins. Shattered columns rose here in a ring like broken tee
th, surrounding a chasm like a black mouth. Dark light seemed to emanate from the pit; though black as tar, Jeid could clearly see the columns, the ruins around them, and the chasm, as if staring at an astral world, a painting in many shades of darkness. He did not need to ask to know; here was the pit of the Abyss. A sickening, gut-twisting energy rose from it, palpable evil like smoke that invaded his nostrils. He was reminded of the demonic miasmas the sphinxes could spew; the same unholy aura clung to this place, invisible but just as sickening.

  "Where's Tanin?" Jeid said, looking around for the red dragon, praying his son was not among the dead on the beach.

  "Leading the assault into the Abyss," said Issari, beating her wings in front of him. "I remained behind to drive off the nephilim, the spawn of demons and mortal women. Let us follow into the darkness." The white dragon's eyes flicked up toward Laira. "Sister, shift too! Into a dragon!"

  Laira said nothing, perhaps lost for words. Jeid answered for her. "Laira will ride me into battle, firing arrows from my back." He looked over his shoulder at her; his wife stared back, her eyes determined, and reached for her bow. Jeid cried out, his voice ringing across her and billowing her cloak. "Dragons of Requiem, follow! Follow into darkness and fear no demons. We fight for Requiem!"

  He pulled his wings close together and swooped toward the hill. The columns shook and tilted below like teeth in a widening mouth, and it seemed to Jeid as if the hill were a great beast eager to swallow him whole. He narrowed his eyes, blasted down dragonfire, and shot into the darkness.

  Silence engulfed him.

  His dragonfire could not pierce the darkness.

  As he dived down, Jeid looked over his shoulder. The other dragons had faded into smudges, shadows flecked with shards of light, figures beyond a dream. They too were blowing fire, short blasts of white and blue that flickered more like lightning than flames. Strands of blackness coiled everywhere, a soup of a foul, invisible smoke. The world had changed, time stretched and slowed and quickened, a world of muffled sounds, of blotches of darkness and light, of distant screams.