Requiem's Hope (Dawn of Dragons) (18 page)

She raised her eyes and found Jeid staring at her across the mountain
path. His eyes were hurt, but she saw the love in them, and she
remembered the first time she had met him, how he had healed her, how
she had slept in his arms, how he had made her dream of dragons come
true. And Laira knew:
My home is Requiem. I may wear the clothes
of Goldtusk, and I may be a bride of Leatherwing, and I may be an
exiled princess of Eteer . . . but I am only one thing. A Vir Requis.
What I do today I do for Requiem.
She looked into her king's
eyes.
Even if I hurt you, Jeid.

Two scrimshawed mammoth tusks rose ahead, forming an arch. Strings of
beads, dried animal hearts, and raven skulls hung from them, swaying
in the wind, symbols of fertility and fortune. Laira approached the
ivory archway, walking slowly, all eyes upon her. Lokania walked
ahead of her, holding her jeweled bowl, sprinkling droplets of ram's
blood with every step. The blood stained Laira's bare feet as she
walked, blessing her path toward her new lord. The ram who had given
this gift burned in a fire pit upon the mountain, its smoke rising to
curl around Goldtusk's totem pole, a sacrifice to Ka'altei. A second
fire burned higher up near the mountaintop, its smoke thicker and
darker—a young woman of Leatherwing, given alive to the flame, a
sacrifice to the cloud-gods of Two Skull Mountain.

Thus do I buy hope for Requiem,
Laira thought, eyes stinging
from the smoke or perhaps from her grief.
With the life of a ram
and the life of a girl.

She reached the mammoth tusks. Chieftain Oritan stood under the arch,
clad in his armor of bones—an ape's rib cage around his chest, its
skull over his head. His blades hung from his belt, and a necklace of
scalps hung around his neck, trophies from his enemies. As Laira
looked at him, she saw a leader, a warrior, a killer, and she thought
of Jeid's kind eyes, and she steeled her heart. If Oritan hurt her,
she would bear it. If she suffered, well—she had already suffered
much in her life, and her heart was hardened. Her father flew toward
this mountain, perhaps only moments away. Laira needed this
chieftain's warriors, and she would sell herself to him, and she
would endure any pain for her kingdom.

Let the stars above know,
she thought,
and let future poets
sing, and let all generations of dragons whisper of Laira, a daughter
of Requiem—and the sacrifice she made for the light of King and
Column.

"For King and Column," she whispered and stepped under the
archway.

She stood before the chieftain, so small by his towering form.
Lokania stood at her side, holding her bowl, her eyes lowered. At
Oritan's side stood one of his servants, a young woman clad only in a
loincloth, her body painted white and red, a headdress of bones and
beads upon her dark hair. Lokania dipped her finger into her bowl,
then pressed the blood on to Laira's lips; it tasted coppery and was
still warm. Oritan's servant reached into a box of ashes—taken from
the burnt woman upon the mountaintop—and scattered them on Oritan's
chest, a blessing from the dead. A shaman of Leatherwing stepped
forth, an ancient man with a long white beard, three ape skulls
stacked together above his head. He chanted, scattered green powder
from a bowl, and prayed to the gods. And with that they were joined.
And with that Goldtusk and Leatherwing were one. With that Laira was
his.

The tribesmen cheered. Songs erupted across the mountainsides, even
with an enemy approaching, even with the darkness inside her. Men
drank spirits from copper-banded horns and skulls, and bison and deer
cooked in pits. An entire mammoth, hunted on the plains below,
roasted atop a great fire, the centerpiece of the feast. Men played
drums and lutes, and people danced, and the smoke and firelight stung
Laira's eyes. She wanted to return to her people, to the Vir Requis,
to stand among them, but perhaps they were no longer her people—only
in her heart. Today she had given herself fully to both tribes, and
so she sat upon the mountainside with Oritan, accepting the gifts the
people brought forth—pelts, beads, pottery, weapons, statuettes,
jewels. Food and spirits were brought to them, though she ate and
drank little; her belly was already full with fear.

And thus the beaten, half-starved girl has become a great leader,
she thought. She looked over the crowd, seeking Jeid.
Yet I would
gladly become a wretch again if I could be by his side instead.

The crowd cheered with renewed vigor as Oritan rose to his feet,
motioning for Laira to stand too. Tribesmen roared and raised their
weapons as he led her away. They stepped into a cave—the skull's
mouth—entering a cavern whose walls were lined with holes, each hole
a home. The crowd raced around them, sweeping them into a torrent,
taking them deeper into the cave, up a path, and toward one of the
alcoves. A curtain of bones hid the entrance, and a song rose as
Oritan led her into the chamber, leaving the crowd outside.

Laira took a shaky breath.
For Requiem.

She found herself in a round room, its walls painted with scenes of
running bison, saber-toothed cats, and herds of mammoths. Many
trophies filled the chamber: chalices of silver, shields of bronze,
gilded skulls, and many blades and bows. A bed of furs lay at the
back, and to there Oritan led her. The crowd still sang outside, but
the sound was muffled.

He stood before her, clad in his armor of bones. His helmet still hid
his head. He stared at her silently. She stood before him and met his
gaze.

"By the custom of my people," she said, "take my
blade, and cut my garment from me."

She handed him her bronze sword. He accepted the short, leaf-shaped
weapon, stepped closer to her, and slid the blade under her
embroidered bridal garment. With a single, swift movement, he tugged
the sword backward, slicing the fabric. The garment split open,
revealing her small, painted breasts. He cut again, and the tatters
fell to her feet, revealing her full nakedness and the totems painted
upon her. She was not wide of hips or heavy of breasts as most other
women of her tribe; she was small and slim, for she had spent so many
years as a servant, and many scars adorned her body. She expected to
see disgust in his eyes, but she saw only softness.

He dropped her sword, and Laira winced, expecting him to shove her
down, to thrust into her, to claim her as Zerra had. She braced
herself for the pain, and she inhaled sharply when he drew nearer.
But he only touched her cheek and caressed her hair.

"Laira," he whispered. He removed his helmet, leaned down,
and kissed her forehead.

She trembled as he took her into his bed of fur. For a long time, he
simply caressed her hair, stroked her body, and let his lips flutter
over her, tickling her with his breath. Even when he doffed his
clothes, he was not rough but held her delicately, exploring her as
if marveling at her body.

"You are strong but fragile," he whispered into her ear,
holding her close. "You are brave but timid. And I promise you,
Laira, that I will always praise your name, and I will always make
you proud to be my wife."

She closed her eyes, her fear easing, and she smiled softly as his
fingers trailed down her belly and reached between her thighs. And he
did not hurt her, but he loved her, and she buried her hands in his
hair, and for the first time in her life, Laira found pleasure in the
love of a man, and she began to understand those secrets the women of
her tribe would whisper in the nights. Here in their bed, he was no
warrior, no slayer of enemies; he was her husband, and it was good
and warm and safe. A demon army flew toward her, and the world
burned, but this night she slept naked in her husband's arms and she
did not dream.

 
 
ALINA

The
guards shoved them into the dungeon, and the stone door slammed shut
behind them, scattering dust.

Alina fell, banging her knees against the dirt floor. She coughed,
her robes tangling around her, the ropes chafing her wrists and
ankles. At her side, Dorvin and Maev thumped down into the dirt,
their limbs tied with thick ropes. The chamber was dark; only a small
hole in the ceiling let in a beam of dusty light. For long moments,
Alina struggled to reclaim her breath, to focus her eyes, to make
sense of her surroundings. She could see only shadows, but she sensed
a presence here, something very old, very strong. A power filled this
chamber, a great darkness, an ancient wisdom crushed under fear. It
was so thick it spun Alina's head; she had not felt such power in the
air since witnessing the magic of King's Column.

"Let us out!" Dorvin was shouting, struggling to rise, only
to fall again.

"Open that door and face us like men!" Maev cried, mouth
full of dust, and spat. "Cowards!"

Yet the stone door remained closed. The guards had manhandled them
here across Bar Luan, taken them into a tunnel that led to this
chamber beneath their holy tree, and entombed them in the shadows.

"This is all your fault, Alina." Dorvin glared at her. He
managed to rise to his knees, and his eyes blazed. "Mammoth Arse
and I wanted to burn the bastards. Why did you stop us?"

She glared back at him, her eyes still adjusting to the darkness.
"We've not flown here to slay men. We're Vir Requis, not
monsters."

"Well, now we're imprisoned Vir Requis." Dorvin huffed and
tugged at his bonds. "I hope you're happy."

Maev too grumbled. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree
with the dung beetle. We should have burned them. This is war. You
shouldn't have stopped us, Alina, and we shouldn't have listened to
you."

Alina's eyes stung in the flying dust, and her wrists blazed; the
rope was digging into them. She took a deep breath and stared at her
companions—her oaf of a brother and the brute Maev.

"War?" She shook her head, hair flouncing. "We're at
war with the demons of Eteer. Not Bar Luan. The people of Bar Luan
are scared. They've been suffering nightmares for too long; we all
suffered the same waking dreams. So they blamed the Vir Requis, us
among them. Out of fear."

Maev gnashed her teeth. "Fear always leads to hatred. It does
not excuse one's crimes." She grimaced, struggling to shift.
Scales began to flow across her, and horns began to bud from her
head. But when her body began to grow, the ropes dug into her wrists
and ankles, shoving her back into human form. "Damn useless."

Dorvin hopped toward the wrestler. "I can try to bite the ropes
off."

"Bite my backside, Dung Beetle."

"I'd love to. Meatier than a mammoth steak."

The two began to bang into each other, cussing and trying to bite.
Alina sighed and looked away from the pair, examining the rest of the
chamber. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and she gasped.

Stars above!

For the first time, she noticed that others were imprisoned here—all
staring at her silently. She knelt, staring back, eyes wide. Thirty
or forty other prisoners were here, huddled in the shadows—men,
women, children. All were tied with ropes. All were thin, pale,
haggard. All were Bar Luanites, short and slim, their hair pale,
their faces oval and their eyes large. Yet there was something
different about them. When Alina took a deep breath, she saw it
around them, limning their forms, the auras she knew no others could
see. Starlight. The glow filled her eyes and warmed her heart.

"Vir Requis," she whispered.

Her brother's voice rose louder behind her. "Stars damn it,
Mammoth Arse, stop biting my heels!"

Maev's voice rose in answer. "I'm trying to bite the ropes off,
you puddle of piss. Stop moving! By the gods, your feet stink worse
than a bloated dead marmot."

The other prisoners stared with wide eyes. Alina spoke softly.
"Dorvin? Maev? We're not alone."

"Damn right we're not alone," Maev said. "The stench
of your brother's feet is its own entity. Damn smell's more powerful
than any totem pole. I—" She bit down on her words, finally
noticing the other prisoners. "Oh soggy witch's teats."

Dorvin too finally saw the others. He spat and his eyebrows rose.
"Well, bugger me. Are these the other Vir Requis?" He
groaned. "Not an impressive lot, these ones. Why is it Vir
Requis are never the ones in charge, always the ones hunted, killed,
or tied up in a dungeon?"

Because we have no kingdom of our own,
Alina thought, gazing
at the others, and her eyes dampened.
Because we are scattered,
misunderstood, feared, hated. But Requiem will rise. A dawn of
dragons will light the world. We will unite and we will stand, and we
will escape the darkness.

"Hello, friends." She raised her amulet, and the jewels
upon it glowed, forming the shape of the Draco constellation. "Hello,
children of Draco, my people."

One among them stepped forth. He was a slim man, his cheeks gaunt,
his eyes and hair black. He seemed taller than the others, darker,
his face longer. He spoke in a heavy accent. "Hello."

Alina smiled softly. "You speak our tongue."

The man nodded. "My father is from the lands across the
mountains; he was a fisherman upon the River Ranin. I know your
tongue. I am Auben." He hobbled closer; his ankles and wrists
were tied like all the others. "Are you too a draconian?"

"I am." Alina bowed her head. "Though we call
ourselves Vir Requis—people of Requiem. A kingdom of us rises in the
east, blessed in the light of our stars—a kingdom called Requiem.
We've come here to find you, friends, and to bring you home."

The others whispered behind Auben, and he spent a moment translating
Alina's words. Voices rose higher. One man spoke in anger, and one
woman barked out what sounded like curses. Auben looked back at
Alina, his eyes dark. "They say they are proud Bar Luanites,
that this is their home. They scoff at a kingdom for our kind."
He shook his head sadly. "For many generations, we lived in Bar
Luan. Our ancestors built many of the pyramids above. Three
generations ago, some among us fell ill. We could become dragons,
take flight, roar fire. And for three generations, the people of Bar
Luan blessed us, worshiped us as gods. And then a few years ago . . .
it began. The
tanari kar
."