LACRIMOSA
As the four dragons streamed between the clouds, Lacrimosa shook her head. We're on a fool's quest, she thought. Chasing a legend, a dream.
The clouds filled her nostrils, tickled her cheeks, and stung her eyes. She could see Agnus Dei's red tail ahead, lashing from side to side. Benedictus and Kyrie flew by her, but the clouds hid them; she glimpsed only flashes of sunlight on their scales.
We're safe here, she thought. No griffins would see them in these clouds. Still Lacrimosa shivered as she flew. She wished she were in human form, walking upon the land; it was safer that way. Griffins could fly far, and Dies Irae would never stop hunting her, Lacrimosa knew.
We're risking our lives. And why? For a bedtime story I'd tell Agnus Dei years ago. A story, that's all. And for hope.
Lacrimosa sighed. The clouds darkened and moisture covered her. Maybe that is enough. Maybe Agnus Dei needs some hope, a journey, a future to cling to. There might be no true dragons, but if I can give Agnus Dei hope, even fools' hope, maybe that will help her. Maybe that will soothe the pain inside her.
As if to answer her thoughts, Agnus Dei turned her head. The clouds veiled her, but Lacrimosa could see her daughter's blazing eyes and the fire in her mouth. "Come on, catch up!" she said. Excitement, even joy, filled her voice. It had been years since Lacrimosa had seen her daughter happy, and she felt droplets on her cheeks, and knew it was not the clouds, but her tears.
"We're flying as fast as we can," Lacrimosa called back, and couldn't help but laugh and cry. "I'm old and slow, Agnus Dei."
That was a lie, of course; Lacrimosa was neither old nor slow. But Benedictus was, and his wing was torn, and he was too proud to admit weakness. Lacrimosa looked at her husband and smiled. He looked at her with one eye and grunted. The clouds flowed around him.
Kyrie, a stream of blue scales through the clouds, gazed anxiously at Agnus Dei. His claws flexed, and Lacrimosa knew he was aching to fly ahead by Agnus Dei, to spend time alone with her among the clouds. But the young Vir Requis looked at Benedictus, tightened his lips, and kept flying by the black dragon.
As much as my daughter's charmed him, he worships my husband more, Lacrimosa thought with a sad smile. He was like so many young Vir Requis in the war, so many who had fought for Benedictus. I myself once worshiped him thus; he was a being of legend to me. Maybe he still is.
Lacrimosa sighed and turned her gaze to her husband. He flew solemnly, staring ahead, his torn wing wobbly. The wing Dies Irae tore with his spear. Lacrimosa closed her eyes as she remembered that day so long ago, that day more terrible than any other. Benedictus had returned from Lanburg Fields, bleeding. He was half dead, and he only said to her, "It is over." Then he collapsed and slept for days, and Lacrimosa thought he would die, and she wept so many tears. Their race had died then, its last remnants fallen upon the fields, the elderly and the children. Only her family had remained: her husband, her daughters, and herself.
But no, Lacrimosa thought as she flew through these clouds. Kyrie Eleison survived. Our leader, Benedictus the Black, still flies. We still fly by him. And one day Gloriae will return to us, and fly with us too.
Lacrimosa tightened her lips and blinked tears out of her eyes. Sometimes she felt like a youth again, a youth in love with her prince.
"I still fly with you, my lord, my love," she whispered.
When night fell, the Vir Requis flew down under the clouds, cloaked in darkness. Agnus Dei's nostrils glowed with fire, and Lacrimosa nudged her until the girl sniffed back the flames.
"Do not blow fire, do not growl, fly like a shadow," Lacrimosa whispered, and Agnus Dei nodded.
Lacrimosa scanned the darkness. In the distance she saw the lights of human fires; it looked like a town, but it still lay leagues away. Below them Lacrimosa saw no lights, no sign of life. She glided down, silent, and landed in a field of wheat. The others landed by her. The youths landed silently and gracefully, but Benedictus hit the ground with a thud and muffled grunt.
Lacrimosa glanced around, hoping nobody heard. In dragon form, her eyes were sharp, but she could see nothing but wheat and a farmhouse half a league away.
"Mmm, a barn!" Agnus Dei whispered, drooling. "I'm going to get us some sheep."
"Go in your human form," Lacrimosa whispered. "All of you—shift now. It's safer."
Lacrimosa let her magic fill her, tickling all over, and shifted. Her scales vanished, her claws and fangs retracted, and soon she stood on human feet. It was suddenly cold, and she shivered in her thin, white dress and hugged herself. Around her, the others too shifted, even—with a grumble—Agnus Dei.
Lacrimosa walked toward her daughter and embraced her. Agnus Dei grunted and tried to shove her off, but finally capitulated and just sighed. Lacrimosa didn't care. It felt so good to see her daughter in human form again, taming her wild side. It had been so long.
"You flew well today," Lacrimosa whispered into her daughter's mop of curls. "I'm proud of you. I love you."
Agnus Dei wriggled out of the embrace. "Mother, really. I'm not a child."
She was right, Lacrimosa knew. Agnus Dei was no longer a child. The girl was eighteen now, and as tall as Lacrimosa. When I was eighteen, I was already married and had two daughters. Agnus Dei, I'm so sorry I raised you in this world, that you grew up in caves and tunnels. I'm so sorry we couldn't give you a better world.
"Mother, will you stop looking at me like that?" Agnus Dei demanded, eyes fiery. "Wipe your tears away. Stars above, I'm fine, okay? You're always worrying. Even when you say nothing, your eyes are nagging me."
Lacrimosa laughed. "Okay, Agnus Dei, okay. Go grab us some chickens or sheep. And here, take this." She pulled a silver coin from her pocket. "Don't let the farmers see you, but leave this in place of the animals you take."
Agnus Dei's eyes flashed, and she seemed ready to complain, but Lacrimosa glowered at her so severely, that her daughter only sighed, snatched the coin, and stormed off.
"I'll go with you," Kyrie offered and followed her. "You'll need help carrying back the grub."
When the young ones vanished into the shadows, Benedictus and Lacrimosa sat down. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he placed an arm around her, kissed her hair, and sighed. For a long time they sat together, staring into the night. The clouds thickened and a drizzle fell, so light it barely wet them, but cold enough that Lacrimosa trembled. Stalks of wheat rustled around them, and Lacrimosa wrapped her arms around Benedictus, seeking warmth from his body. He was all muscle, bones, and scars, but there was warmth and softness to him too.
"How are you, Ben?" she finally asked.
He stared ahead into the night and said nothing. Lacrimosa waited. She knew that he needed time to gather his thoughts, to form his words. Benedictus rarely spoke freely. When he spoke, it was because he had considered every word and meant it. After a long moment, he spoke into the darkness.
"I'm scared," he said.
Lacrimosa looked at him and bit her lip. Benedictus the Great, the Black Fang, the King of Requiem—scared? Lacrimosa touched his dark curls lined with gray, and her hand seemed so small and soft against his gruff, tousled head.
"I'm scared too," she whispered.
Benedictus ran his hand against her thigh, a rough hand, the hand of a hunter and fighter, calloused. "The kid, he... he believes in me, Lacrimosa. He looks up to me; worships me, even. I used to demand that from young Vir Requis. I used to expect it. They died under my command, Lacrimosa. Thousands of kids like Kyrie died under my banners. If anything should happen to Kyrie, or to our daughters...."
Our daughters. Lacrimosa closed her eyes, the secret of her shame burning within her. Yes, Agnus Dei and Gloriae are ours, mine and Ben's, and not grown from Dies Irae's seed.
Sometimes Lacrimosa ached to tell him, could almost speak her secret. Tonight she wanted to whisper to her husband, to hold him, touch his hair, speak of that night long ago. Tell him what Dies Irae had done. But she could not. Not yet. The pain still burned too strongly, even after all these years.
She kissed his stubbly cheek. "They may die," she whispered. "I know that. And I want to protect them. But how much longer can we hide, Ben? We've hidden for years, but they keep hunting us, sending us fleeing. You know how Agnus Dei was. Half mad with cabin fever and pain. I watched her and I wept and feared. I thought she would become wild, untameable, that she would become fully mad with rage. I thought that she would fly with fire and let the griffins find her. You sent men to die, Ben, yes. And you sent women to die, and children, and I know, my lord, I know how much blood covers your hands, and how it haunts you. But you are a hero to Kyrie. And you are a hero to Agnus Dei; she will not admit it, but I know it's true." Tears filled her eyes, and Lacrimosa smiled. "She always tells me: I am not fair and graceful like you, Mother, I am strong and proud like Father. That is how she loves you. You are brave, and noble, and you are doing right. If you were not scared, you would be heartless. Your fear speaks of your goodness."
He smiled in the dark, one of those rare, soft smiles of his. "You were always better at words, my love," he said, and she leaned her head back against his shoulder.
The sounds of stomping feet and crackling wheat filled the darkness, and Lacrimosa stiffened, suddenly sure that Dies Irae had found them... but it was only Kyrie and Agnus Dei walking back toward them.
"Pup, you are wrong as always," Agnus Dei's voice carried through the night. "The word for sheep meat is mutton; lamb is what you call a baby sheep."
Kyrie grunted. "So why do you call them lamb chops, not mutton chops? Lamb is the meat; the child sheep is called a kid."
"You're thinking of goats, pup," she said.
"Stop calling me that!"
Lacrimosa rose to her feet and shushed them. They were a dozen feet away, and when they saw her, they closed their mouths and approached silently. They carried lambs under their arms. Lacrimosa found herself again smiling with teary eyes. Are you going soft, Lacrimosa? she asked herself, but she couldn't help it. For the first time in years, she saw two Vir Requis, a boy and girl, walking together through a field, talking, happy. Memories of the old days, of her own youth among her kind, flooded her so that she could barely breathe.
They dared not make a fire, so after scanning the field again for unfriendly eyes, they shifted into dragons and ate the meat raw. They then lay on their backs, digesting, letting the drizzle fall upon their bellies. Lacrimosa nestled against Benedictus, while the young ones whispered to each other. Lacrimosa could not hear them, but she smiled because she knew that, for the first time in years, Agnus Dei had a friend.
"I'll guard first," Lacrimosa said. "Best we sleep as dragons tonight, at least until we digest those lambs. But stay low, and try to look like haystacks."
"I'll guard second," Agnus Dei said, licking her lips. "If any griffins show up, I'll pound them!" She clawed the air and snarled.
Kyrie agreed to guard third, and Benedictus last. When they all slept, Lacrimosa watched them, smiling softly. The drizzle fell upon them, and their scales glinted wet, but they seemed not to notice. All three slept soundly, and Lacrimosa felt warm even on this cold, wet night. We are family, she thought, and we are together again. Kyrie too is part of our family now.
The Eleisons had been a proud line, and close to her own blood, Lacrimosa remembered. Kyrie's parents had been blue too, fiery like their son. They are gone now, gone like so many others, bones and ash in our burned forests. But we will look after you, Kyrie. We will protect you like a son.
She thought, too, of her lost daughter, of Gloriae. The fair twin. The babe who rarely cried, who stared, who seemed lost in thought even in her cradle. I will find you, Gloriae. I will bring you back to our family.
Weariness tugged Lacrimosa. She wanted to stand up and walk to keep awake, but dared not. She would not walk in dragon form, not so close to a human farm, not even on a starless night. Nor did she dare turn human again, not until she digested the meat in her belly. So Lacrimosa bit her tongue, twisted her tail, and tried to recite old poems to ward off sleep.
Then she saw something that made the poems die on her lips.
Lacrimosa stiffened, frowned, and stared.
A shadow in the sky. No, only her imagination. Or maybe.... Lacrimosa raised her head and her claws. There! She saw it again. A snarl came to Lacrimosa's lips, and she wanted to wake up Benedictus. She nudged him.
"Ben," she whispered.
He moaned but did not wake. Lacrimosa stared into the sky, seeking that shadow, that black patch against the clouds. She saw nothing. It was gone.
It was just a shadow in my mind, a fear in the night. She kept watching the sky for a moment longer, then blew out her breath.
Nothing.
Then—
Griffin wings spread open above. A bolt of metal shot down, and pain stung Lacrimosa's neck. She opened her mouth to scream, but could not utter a sound. Ilbane flowed through her, and her eyes rolled back.
"Ben!" she tried to call, but no voice found her lips. She fell back, trembling, and griffin talons clutched her.