BENEDICTUS
Benedictus cursed as he flew.
He cursed such foul words, he thought birds might fall dead from the sky, and the clouds themselves wilt. He cursed his old bones, and the wound on his chest that ached in this high, cold air above the clouds. He cursed himself for sleeping while Dies Irae had kidnapped Lacrimosa. Most of all, he cursed his torn wing; it meant he flew so much slower than griffins, flew so slowly as Dies Irae bore Lacrimosa to imprisonment and torture.
"You got what you wanted, brother," he said as he flapped that wobbly, torn wing. The clouds streamed around him. "You got me out of hiding. I'm flying to meet you again."
He knew what he must do. He knew what he should have done years ago. He would meet Dies Irae, kill the man, and steal back the Griffin Heart. With the amulet, he could reclaim the griffins. With the amulet, he could topple Confutatis, that city of marble and gold and malice. With the amulet, he could save Lacrimosa, save his children, create a world safe for Vir Requis.
"I will face you again, brother, and kill you. I spared you last time. No more."
Benedictus sighed, a deep sigh that felt close to a sob. Were these but fantasies? In his mind, he saw himself biting his brother, spilling his blood, killing him for all the evil he'd done. He saw himself with the Griffin Heart, the old hero, King Benedictus risen to reclaim his glory.
He sighed again. Fantasies. Deep inside his old heart, he knew that he flew to his death, a death at Lacrimosa's side. I will die with you in the Marble City, Lacrimosa, but in our hearts, we will be in Requiem.
He thought of his daughters—of Agnus Dei, who grew hunted, and of Gloriae, who grew molded into evil—and a tear fled Benedictus's eye. It had been so long since he'd cried, and when he looked down to see where his tear fell, he saw the ruins of Requiem. Once those forests had rustled with countless birch trees, and Vir Requis children raced between statues, and wise elders walked in robes upon cobblestones. Now the birches were burned, still blackened, and ivy grew over smashed columns. So many lay dead there—a million skeletons burned and broken. His parents, his wise old uncles, his fussy aunts, the cousins he would wrestle and hunt with, his friends... all dead now, all bones and ash.
Benedictus forced his gaze away. He narrowed his eyes and stared east. Confutatis lay beyond that horizon.
Dawn was rising, the sky was clear, and this was griffin country. It's too dangerous to fly in the open, Benedictus thought.
As if to answer his thought, shrieks sounded below. Benedictus stared down to see three griffins upon a fortress.
Benedictus cursed. He tried to fly faster, but could not. As he watched, riders leaped onto the griffins, and they flew toward him.
Benedictus flapped his wings as powerfully as he could, but his left wing blazed with pain, and he grunted. "So much for out-flying them," he muttered.
He roared, reached out his claws, and then the griffins were upon him.
He took out the first one with a blaze of flame. As it fell burning, the other two griffins attacked, one at each side. Benedictus slammed his tail into the right griffin. He hit its rider, sending the man tumbling to the ground. The left griffin bit Benedictus's shoulder, and he roared.
He clawed the griffin, etching red lines down its flank. The right griffin was riderless, but still attacked, and Benedictus howled as its talons scratched him. He lashed his tail, bit, and clawed. He hit one griffin, and it tumbled. The second bit again, and Benedictus roared and blew fire. It caught flame, and Benedictus bit into its roasting flesh, spat out a chunk, and kicked.
The griffin's rider thrust his lance. It dug into Benedictus's shoulder, and he growled, clawed, and snapped the man's head. The body slumped in the saddle. Benedictus clawed again, and the griffin fell dead from the sky.
Benedictus looked around. Were the griffins all dead?
No. The first griffin he'd burned was still alive, fur and feathers blazing. It shot toward him, screeching, its rider also burning and screaming. The man had removed his armor, and his skin peeled and blazed. His eyes had melted, but his mouth was still open and screaming. Still the griffin flew at Benedictus, talons outstretched.
Benedictus blew more fire. The blaze hit the griffin, pushing it back. It tumbled a few feet, then again flew at Benedictus. It looked like some roasted animal now, smoking and furless, its skin red and black and blistering. The beak was open and screeching, the rider writhing and screaming, a ball of fire and blood.
Benedictus howled and lashed his tail, driving its spikes into the griffin, and finally it tumbled toward the ground. It fell like a comet, still screeching, until it hit the ground and was silent.
Benedictus turned and kept flying after Lacrimosa.
"Damn the fire, and damn the blood," he said, jaw tight. He had seen so many burned this way, so many dying in agony. What was one more to the weight already on his soul? His wounds ached, blood dripped down his shoulder, but Benedictus ignored the pain. What were more scars to those he already bore, and what was more pain to the weight of his memories?
He gritted his teeth and flew.
Distant figures flew a league ahead, mere specks. Benedictus narrowed his eyes. More griffins, he knew. He didn't have to get any closer to know these were no birds, but riders Dies Irae had sent after him. Benedictus cursed under his breath and turned south. Storm clouds gathered there, maybe two leagues away. They would serve as cover. It was out of his way, but clear skies swarmed with griffins. If Benedictus wanted to reach Confutatis alive, he'd have to take the long route.
"I'm sorry, Lacrimosa," he whispered. He flew south toward those storm clouds, glancing east toward the griffins until he no longer saw them. "I'm sorry, love of my life. You'll have to hold on a little longer, but I'm coming for you. I'll be there soon."
His wing ached more than ever, a searing pain that drove down his entire left side. Soon Benedictus flew through rain and thunder. He told himself that the drops on his cheeks were only rain, not tears. Again, as with his hope of defeating Dies Irae and saving his family, he knew that he was lying to himself.
DIES IRAE
As they flew, Dies Irae couldn't help it. He kept looking over his shoulder, scanning the distance for Benedictus. At times he thought he saw the beast, but it was only a distant vulture, or another griffin on patrol, and once—Dies Irae shook his head to remember it—even a crow had made him squint and stare and hope.
Soon twilight fell, and Benedictus had not caught up. Of course not, Dies Irae told himself with a grunt. His brother still had a torn wing; he could not fly as fast as these griffins. It was pathetic. Benedictus, great King of Requiem, was but a slow, lumbering beast.
Should I send griffins after him, hunt him down? No. He will come to me. He will follow.
The setting sun gilded the mountains below. Their western slopes, snowy and undulating, glimmered like beaten gold. Their eastern slopes melted into mist, deep blue and purple strewn with black lines where rocks broke the snow. Yellow and orange wisps ran across the sky, and the clouds burned. The glory of Osanna, Dies Irae thought, admiring the masterpiece that was his empire. My land, beautiful, no longer tainted by the scaled beasts that once covered its skies.
But of course, some weredragons remained. A moan sounded below, and Dies Irae looked down. Volucris still clutched Lacrimosa in his talons. Her scales were dented, and blood seeped from nicks and scratches that covered her. Why does she not take human form? Dies Irae wondered. Why does she remain this beastly lizard? Dies Irae wanted to see her human shape again—ached for it. He remembered that night in Requiem Forest, how he'd pressed his body against hers, grabbed it, squeezed it. His blood boiled at the thought. He wanted that human body again, to clutch it, crush it, hurt it. He'd wanted this for years.
"Down, Volucris," Dies Irae said and tugged the reins. The sun dipped behind a western peak, and though Dies Irae was tempted to fly through the night, he would not. His griffins needed rest. So did his men. And Dies Irae wanted something this night, wanted it now. He looked back down at Lacrimosa, imagined her human form, and licked his lips.
He found a snowy valley and began to descend. His men followed, leading their griffins down in spirals, until talons kicked snow and men dismounted with creaking armor. Volucris tossed Lacrimosa down, and she rolled in the snow, hit a boulder, and moaned. Chains still bound her limbs and wings, and a muzzle clutched her mouth.
"Set camp," Dies Irae told his men. "We spend the night."
His men scurried to raise tents, tether and feed griffins, kindle campfires, and distribute rations. As they bustled across the valley, and griffins gulped chunks of raw cattle, Dies Irae walked toward Lacrimosa. His boots crunched the snow, their golden scales glinting. A cold wind blew, rattling the tents and rustling Dies Irae's cape. He smiled thinly when Lacrimosa saw him approach and whimpered. Snow whitened her chains, and droplets of blood speckled the snow around her. Dies Irae saw the lines of Volucris's claws across her flanks, and his smile widened.
"Hello, Lacrimosa," he said when he reached her.
She stared up and said nothing. A tear streamed down her cheek.
"Darling," Dies Irae said. He placed his good hand upon her head. Her scales were cold, surprisingly smooth, shimmering like mother-of-pearl. "Will you not take human form? I've waited long years to see you again."
She stared up at him. Still she said nothing.
Dies Irae pursed his lips, looked aside, then with a sudden movement, he kicked Lacrimosa's head. She cried out and fresh tears sprung into her eyes. Blood dripped between the iron bars of her muzzle.
"Turn into a human," he said.
She snarled, smoke leaving her muzzle. Finally she spoke, voice muffled behind the iron. "I know what you'll do if you see my human form. I will not allow it. I will not let you rape—"
"I will not rape you," Dies Irae interrupted her. He snorted. "Look at you. Bloody. Covered in ash, snow, and mud. What kind of unclean creature do you think I am? I have my standards, Lacrimosa. Once you were fair; a princess in silk and jewels, young and beautiful, and yes, I took you then. Look at you now. Old. Filthy. What man would touch you?"
She stared at him, eyes blazing, and fire glowed inside her muzzle. Her tears dried, and her stare blazed with such hatred, that Dies Irae snickered. He raised his foot to kick her again.
Lacrimosa flinched, looked away, and shifted.
Her wings pulled into her back, her scales vanished, and she shrunk in size. Her chains and muzzle, shaped to fit a dragon, fell into the snow. She lay before him, bloody and wet, her silvery dress tattered. Her hair like moonlight covered her face.
Dies Irae was surprised by the force of his memories. They hit him so hard, he took a step back. Requiem rushed back into him, not Requiem today of ruins and ash, but the Requiem where he'd lusted for Lacrimosa, a land of passion and anger.
"Stand up," he said softly.
Lacrimosa raised her head to look at him, and Dies Irae saw that she was still beautiful. He hadn't seen her in... what was it? Fifteen years? And yet her beauty had only grown, even as blood and dirt caked her, even as her hair was tangled and her dress torn. He stared at the tatters of that dress, and at the flesh he could see through it. Her left thigh was bare, and he could see the tops of her breasts, pale and small. Yes, she was filthy, bloody, deplorable, but he wanted to renege on his promise, to grab her, hurt her, take her right there.
"You promised," she whispered to him.
He spat. "Stand up."
Legs trembling, she struggled to rise, and finally stood in the snow. She glared at him, chin raised, snowflakes in her hair. Her body shook; from fear or cold, Dies Irae did not know.
"You promised," she whispered again.
He grabbed her arm, digging his fingers into her white skin. "I lied," he said.
She glared and bared her teeth, as if she were still a dragon with fangs to flaunt. "If you touch me," she said, voice strained, "I will turn into a dragon. I will become one as you're in your passion, as you're inside me, and I will kill you."
Dies Irae hesitated. He hadn't considered that. It was possible, he conceded; she had nothing to lose. If he dragged her into his tent, and took her there, he'd be vulnerable. If she became a beast, her claws and fangs could tear him apart.
"Not if I drug you with ilbane," he said. "I'll fill your mouth with it, like I did that day."
She barked a laugh. "Try it then. I'm no longer fifteen, Irae. I've suffered enough ilbane to shift though its pain. You've given me this strength."
Damn it. Anger flared in Dies Irae, and he shouted and slapped her, knocking her down. Fresh blood speckled the snow. He stormed off, leaving her there, bloody.
"Chain her," he ordered his men. "And keep guard, three griffins around her at every moment. If she escapes, I kill every one of you."
Men and griffins rushed toward Lacrimosa, and Dies Irae entered the tent his men had raised for him. Inside the embroidered walls, he fumed and paced.
"You made a mistake, Lacrimosa," he said, though none were there to hear. "You will pay for it. You will suffer. Once we reach Confutatis, you will suffer more than any weredragon ever has."
Outside he heard her cry in pain, and he smiled, a mirthless smile.
The tent flaps flew open, and Gloriae stormed inside. She carried her helmet under her arm, and her cheeks were flushed—from anger or cold, Dies Irae did not know. Probably both, he thought.
"Let me kill her," Gloriae demanded, eyes flashing. "Let me kill the weredragon." Her chest rose and fell, and her hand trembled around the hilt of her drawn sword.
"In time," Dies Irae said.
"Now. She killed Mother. I will avenge her." Tears filled Gloriae's eyes. "Please, Father. I will kill her like you've taught me to kill."
She must never know, Dies Irae told himself. She must never know that Lacrimosa did not kill her mother... but is her mother. The truth would crush her, Dies Irae knew. If Gloriae learned she was descended from monsters, it would be a pain too great to bear. He would spare her this. He would keep Lacrimosa gagged, he decided, to stop her from speaking the truth.
He gestured at an upholstered chair in the corner. "Gloriae, sit down."
She shook her head wildly. "I will not. Father, I—"
"Sit down, Gloriae," he said again, a little more firmly.
She held her breath, bit her lip, seemed about to scream, then finally stormed to the chair and sat down. She still held her sword raised.
Dies Irae sat beside her in a second chair. "Daughter, you know that I love you."
"And I love you, Father." Her voice was ice over fire.
"If you love me, you'll stay away from Lacrimosa. You will not kill her. You will not remove her muzzle to speak with her. You will not even approach her."
Gloriae rose so quickly, she knocked back her chair. It hit the tent wall, and a flurry of snow blew in. "I refuse."
"Gloriae. Sit down." This time his voice was cold, and he raised his mace. When she was a child, he would never beat her. Instead, he would whip her handmaiden, bloodying the girl as Gloriae watched and bit her lip, stifling tears. The handmaiden's back still bore scars, and Gloriae still harbored a fear of him. Face pale as the snow, Gloriae righted her chair and sat again.
Dies Irae touched a strand of her hair. So golden, so beautiful. It was like his own hair. Inwardly, Dies Irae snorted. And Benedictus thought he was her father? That a beast like him could beget a child as fair as Gloriae? Benedictus could keep Agnus Dei, that beastly child of scales and flame. Gloriae was pure.
"You are beautiful, my child, and your spirit is still soft."
Gloriae glared. "My spirit is cold and strong as my blade."
"It is still soft. The weredragon would ensorcell you. She might even inflict her disease upon you, so that you too grow scales, wings, and turn into a lizard."
Gloriae narrowed her eyes and gasped. "They can spread their curse?"
Dies Irae nodded, forcing a sad expression to his face. "Most cannot, but Lacrimosa is fouler than her kin. She killed your mother, and so your soul is vulnerable to her black magic. I fear for you, daughter."
Gloriae snarled. "I don't fear her." She raised her blade. "She will fear my sword."
"Do it for my own fear, then," Dies Irae said. "I confess that I'm afraid. Please, Daughter. I grow old. In only several winters, I will be sixty, did you know? An old man. You are the light of my life, Gloriae. All that I do, all the wars I fight, all the cities I build... it is for you. I try to clean this world, to turn it into a empire of light and goodness, so that when I die—"
"Father!"
"Hear me out, Gloriae. I will die someday, maybe in a year, maybe in twenty years, but I will die. And then you will sit upon the Ivory Throne. I want to leave this a good world for you to rule. If you should fall to Lacrimosa's magic, I... I could not bear it."
"I will not fall to her curse."
Dies Irae caressed her hair with his mace. "You are brave, Gloriae, but I am not. Not when it comes to your safety. So do an old man a favor. Don't kill Lacrimosa; not until she lures Benedictus to us. Don't speak to her. Leave my men to hurt her."
"But I want to hurt her."
"If you do, you will hurt me. Do you want to hurt me, daughter?"
Gloriae stared at him, green eyes icy, face expressionless, and Dies Irae saw the answer in her eyes. Yes. She does.
"I will not kill her yet," Gloriae finally said, staring into his eyes, not blinking. "I will let her live until Benedictus flies to rescue her, until we catch and kill him, and Kyrie Eleison, and Agnus Dei. I will keep our bait alive. But once we kill the others, then, Father... then I will hurt her like she hurt me. Then I will kill her like she killed Mother."
Not waiting for him to reply, Gloriae rose to her feet and stormed out of the tent. Snow flurried in, and Dies Irae stared at the embroidered cloth walls for a long time. Finally he spoke, as if she were still there to hear.
"Very well, Gloriae." He sighed, remembering that day in the forest, Lacrimosa's soft skin, her screams, her hair in his hands. "Very well. Then you may kill her."
KYRIE ELEISON
Kyrie had never felt more pain.
He and Agnus Dei had not touched ground in a day and night. Through darkness and hail, and sunlight over burning cloudscapes, they flew faster than wind, higher than mountains. Again the sun was setting, blazing orange and red over a sea of clouds, casting rays between the Vir Requis. How far had they flown since that night Lacrimosa fell captive? It must be close to three thousand leagues, Kyrie thought. Maybe more. He had never flown so fast, so far.
His wings ached. His lungs burned. His joints felt like rusty metal hinges. He looked at Agnus Dei. She flew beside him, her scales blazing red in the sunset. Her eyes stared forward, narrowed and fiery. Her fangs were bared. Yet Agnus Dei too needed rest, Kyrie knew. Pain lived on her face alongside her anger, and her wings looked stiff and aching.
"Let's rest!" he called to her over the wind.
She glowered. "Not until we find the salvanae."
"Maybe they're below the clouds," Kyrie said. "Let's land and look for them on the ground."
She gave him a look that said, Nice try, pup, but no cookie.
Kyrie attempted to think of another argument, found none, and resigned himself to grabbing Agnus Dei and pulling her down.
"Let go!" she cried as they tumbled through the clouds.
But Kyrie would not let go. He wrapped himself around her and swooped through the clouds, into clear sky, and toward the earth. She wriggled in his grasp, and he tightened his grip, eyes narrowed and teeth clenched. Luckily she was too weary to break free.
No trees covered the land, and the grass was thin and yellow. Hills rose from the earth, round like upside down bowls on a tabletop. A stream ran between them, gray under the clouds, and deer drank from it. Still pulling Agnus Dei, Kyrie landed by the water. The deer snorted and fled, hooves kicking up dirt and grass.
"Let go, pup," Agnus Dei said, panting. She finally shook herself free from Kyrie. She looked to the sky, as if considering to take flight again, then shook her head and approached the stream. She drank deeply.
Kyrie joined her. He dipped his head underwater and drank. The water was icy, and it filled him with such goodness that he sighed. He drank until his belly bulged, then raised his dripping head from the water.
"I needed that," he said.
Agnus Dei gestured toward the next hill, which lay nearby. More deer stood there in the dusk, promising a meal. "I'm hungry," Agnus Dei said. "Feel like mutton?"
"Their meat is called venison," Kyrie said.
Agnus Dei rolled her eyes. "Now don't start that again."
They flew toward the hill where the deer grazed, and caught one before the others escaped. It was mostly skin and bones, and its meat was tough. After a day of no food, however, Kyrie wasn't complaining.
Agnus Dei swallowed her last bite and licked her lips. "Let's fly. Ready, pup?"
Lying on the ground, Kyrie turned his head toward her. He wanted to be ready. He wanted to fly, to find help, to find the salvanae. In his dreams, he saw himself leading an army of dragons to Confutatis, saving Lacrimosa, and avenging all those whom Dies Irae had killed. But were those only dreams? Kyrie sighed.
"What if there are no salvanae?" he whispered. "What if we're only chasing a myth?"
Agnus Dei's nostrils flared. Her eyes blazed, and flames escaped her lips. "Kyrie, you know how I feel. You know I believe."
Kyrie nodded. He wanted to believe too. After flying all of last night, however, he also ached for sleep. The thought of flying another night and day made his head, body, and soul hurt. Of course, that pain was nothing compared to what Lacrimosa must be enduring. Dies Irae would torture her; Kyrie knew that. He had to do something, anything, even if it was just chasing a dream.
"All right," he said. "Let's fly."
He struggled to his feet and stretched, his joints and wings aching. He looked at the setting sun; it would soon disappear behind the horizon. Kyrie sighed. It would be a long night.
Before he could take flight, however, a herd of deer upon a distant hill bugled. They began to run together, wailing. They fled toward Kyrie and Agnus Dei, as if mere dragons—hungry dragons who had just eaten one of them—were gentle compared to what chased them.
"What the—" Agnus Dei began, then her voice died and she stared.
Kyrie stared too. Four creatures emerged from behind a hill, dragon-sized and covered in bloodred fur. Bat wings grew from their backs, and their claws tore grass and earth. The beasts stared at Kyrie and Agnus Dei. Flames crackled in their eyes, and their fangs oozed drool. Their stench carried upon the wind, a stench like corpses. Lanburg Fields had smelled the same.
Kyrie growled and bared his fangs. Agnus Dei snorted a blast of fire. They stood side by side, silent and watching.
"Ugly buggers," Agnus Dei muttered to Kyrie.
"And smelly ones," Kyrie muttered back.
One of the four red beasts was larger than the others. A crest of black hair ran along its head and back, and three serrated horns grew from its brow. It took three steps forward, smoke rising from its nostrils. Saliva dripped from its maw.
"Are you griffins?" it asked, voice low, a growl like broken rocks.
"Not too bright, are they?" Agnus Dei whispered to Kyrie from the corner of her mouth. She then stared at the creature and raised her voice. "Griffins? Do we look like griffins? We hate those things. What are you?"
The creatures ignored her. The beast with the black crest, apparently their leader, snorted smoke. It licked its lips with two slobbery tongues.
"Are you dragons?" it asked with that low, crackling growl. The other three beasts growled too and scratched the ground, their claws red in the sunset.
"Dragons?" Kyrie said, narrowing his eyes. "We're Vir Requis. We seek the salvanae. Do you know where we can find them?"
The black-crested beast snarled and snapped its teeth. "You are Osanna stock. You may not pass the Divide. You may not enter Salvandos. We are dividers. We guard the Divide; it is holy. You have touched the Divide. Flee now, or you will die."
Kyrie took a step closer to the creature, this divider. Its stench was so powerful, he nearly gagged, but Kyrie forced himself to stare into its eyes.
"We must pass the Divide," he said. "We must enter Salvandos."
The dividers howled, a sound that shook the hills. Lightning slashed the sky, and dark clouds gathered. The chief divider snarled, eyes blazing, and took another step toward Kyrie. It now stood so close, it could claw Kyrie.
"No griffins may pass the Divide."
Kyrie gulped. The divider was sixty feet long; a good twenty feet longer than Kyrie. Muscles moved beneath its fur, and its claws glistened when lightning struck. Its tongues licked its chops again, dripping drool that burned the grass and sizzled, eating holes into the earth.
"I told you ugly buggers!" Agnus Dei said and stepped up beside Kyrie, flames leaving her nostrils. Her eyes blazed nearly as angrily as the divider's. "We're not griffins."
The dividers considered her. Their chief said, "You are dragons. No dragons or griffins may pass the Divide. We are dividers. The Divide is holy. Leave now, or we will feast upon you."
All four dividers licked their chops.
Agnus Dei rolled her eyes. She flapped her wings and said, "Oh, give me a break."
Then she took off and began to fly over the dividers' heads.
"Agnus Dei, no!" Kyrie shouted, ice flowing through him.
The dividers howled and leaped toward Agnus Dei, bat wings flapping.
Agnus Dei blew fire at them.
Kyrie cursed, kicked off the ground, and flew toward her.
The fire roared. It flowed over the dividers above, and then covered Kyrie. He shut his eyes, grunted, and veered left and out of the flames. The fire blackened the scales across his right side.
The dividers were blazing. If Kyrie's scales protected him from fire, the dividers' fur now crackled and burned. Kyrie expected them to die, or at least flee, but the fire seemed only to enrage them. They screamed, horrible sounds like slaughtered animals, and flew toward Agnus Dei. Their claws scratched and their teeth snapped.
"Hey!" Kyrie called. "Leave her! Take me on."
He swiped his tail at one blazing divider. He knocked it aside. The others were clawing at Agnus Dei, who was lashing her tail and snapping her teeth.
"Oh sure, save the damsel in distress, my hero pup," Agnus Dei called to him over the shrieking dividers. She lashed her tail and hit one divider, knocking it into a spin.
Two dividers turned toward Kyrie, maws open. Fire raced across them, raising sparks, but seemed not to slow them. They flew toward Kyrie. Kyrie lashed his tail and hit one, driving his tail's spikes deep into its side. The other bit Kyrie's shoulder. He howled. The divider's fangs pushed through his scales and into his flesh, and its fire blazed against Kyrie.
"Get off!" Kyrie grunted and shook, but the divider kept its fangs in his shoulder, shaking its head like a dog biting a bird. Kyrie shoved his claws into its side, grunting as its flaming fur burned him, and kept clawing until its innards spilled. Even in death, it kept its jaw locked on his shoulder. Kyrie could barely keep above the ground. The dead divider weighed more than him. Its entrails dangled.
"Agnus Dei!" he called. She was fighting above him. Scratches covered her, and five dividers surrounded her. Five dividers? Kyrie grunted. Where had more come from? Then he noticed that a dozen dividers now surrounded him.
"Damn it," Kyrie muttered. One flew toward him. Kyrie lashed his tail at it. The dead divider clung to his shoulder, jaw locked in its death bite, tugging him closer and closer to the ground. Kyrie growled, pulled its jaw open with all his might, and sent the body crashing down. Fresh blood spurted from his shoulder.
Kyrie was close to the ground now. Agnus Dei fought a good thousand feet above. Kyrie flapped his wings, shooting straight up, knocking through a crowd of dividers. They clawed and bit, and Kyrie clawed and bit back, shoving his way through them. Twenty flew around him. In the distance, he saw a hundred more flying toward the fray.
"Agnus Dei!" he shouted. "Let's get out of here!"
She was fighting above, scratching and biting and blowing fire. Her eyes blazed. Scratches covered her, and several of her scales were missing. A gash ran along her tail.
"Agnus Dei!" Kyrie cried. He blew fire at one divider, clawed another's face, and flew beside her. A hundred dividers surrounded them, a sea of red fur, fangs, and fire. Thunder boomed and lightning rent the sky.
"Hello, pup," Agnus Dei said as she fought. Blood trickled from her mouth. "What were you doing down there—taking a nap?"
Kyrie blocked a swipe of claws from a divider, clawed back, and grabbed Agnus Dei's shoulder. "Agnus Dei, this is no time for jokes. Come with me."
The dividers screamed around them, lashing their tails, and Kyrie grunted when one hit him. He wanted to blow fire, a Vir Requis's best weapon, but flames only enraged the dividers.
Agnus Dei shook him off. "We must enter Salvandos! I won't back down." She slashed at a divider, sending it crashing down, but one scratched her back. Her blood poured, and she cried in pain.
"Agnus Dei, come on!" Kyrie shouted, grabbed her again, and pulled her back. Maybe the pain of her wound changed her mind. She flew with him. They crashed through a dozen dividers, heading back toward Osanna.
The dividers followed, howling, bat wings flapping.
"We're back in Osanna!" Kyrie cried over his shoulder. "Leave us."
The black-crested divider leered. Its fur had burned off, revealing scraggly, blackened flesh covered with scratches and blood. Blood filled its mouth, and smoke rose from it. "You have touched the Divide," it said. "You will die."
The hundred dividers, eyes like raging stars, stormed forward.
Kyrie cursed under his breath, grabbed Agnus Dei, and pulled her with him. They flew east and down, moving close to the grass.
"Let go!" Agnus Dei demanded, squirming as she flew, trying to release his grasp. "I flee from no fight."
"I have an idea," Kyrie said. "Just do what I do."
Lightning crashed, and the clouds roiled. The dividers screamed, their bat wings churning the air. Kyrie flew behind a hill crowned with boulders. For a moment, he couldn't see the dividers behind him. The boulders shielded him and Agnus Dei from view.
Kyrie landed by a stream and turned human. His wounds ached even worse this way, and the deer meat grumbled in his belly.
Agnus Dei glared at him, still in dragon form. "What are you doing? They'll eat you."
"Agnus Dei, shift now!" he shouted.
She grunted, blew flames to the sky, and shifted into human form. She stood by him, her clothes tattered, her black hair a knotty mess.
A hundred dividers came roaring over the hill, flying east. They glanced down at the humans, barely registered them, and looked around in puzzlement.
"They went that way!" Kyrie shouted, pointing east.
The dividers howled. "Who are you?" their chief asked, its last patches of fur still burning.
"We're neither dragons nor griffins," Kyrie cried up to them. "We're only two-legged travelers. The dragons you seek fled east. You can still catch them. Fly, fly after them!"
The dividers hovered above them for a moment. It seemed like an eternity to Kyrie. Then they howled and flew east, a few still flaming.
Kyrie and Agnus Dei stood panting, watching them disappear into the distance.
"They're mean bastards, but they're dumb as dung beetles," she said. She sat down hard and took deep breaths. Blood dripped down her shoulder.
Kyrie collapsed onto the ground. His head spun, and his wounds ached.
Agnus Dei tore strips off her shirt, including both sleeves, and bound their wounds. Though Kyrie ached, and felt more weary than ever before, he couldn't help but notice Agnus Dei's exposed flesh. With her shirt mostly torn off, and her leggings tattered, only thin strips of cloth covered her. Her body was bloodied, bruised, and cut... but also tanned, lithe, and intoxicating. As Agnus Dei leaned over him, bandaging his shoulder, Kyrie's blood boiled. He gulped and looked away quickly.
"Cool it, pup," Agnus Dei said wryly. She tightened the cloth around his wound painfully enough that he winced. "Put your tongue back in your mouth before it hits the dirt."
Kyrie shut his mouth and muttered under his breath, face hot. He forced himself to stare at the ground rather than at Agnus Dei, but could still sense the mocking smile on her lips and in her eyes. Strangely, that look of hers, and that crooked smile, only boiled his blood hotter.
What was it about Agnus Dei? Kyrie had seen beautiful women before. Lacrimosa was beautiful, her beauty like starlight. Lady Mirum had been beautiful, a beauty like the sea. Gloriae was beautiful, a beauty of ice and snow. Yet Agnus Dei... she stirred something new inside Kyrie. She was no starlight nor sea nor snow; she was fire. And Kyrie liked fire.
"You're done," Agnus Dei said, bandaging his last wound. She punched his shoulder. "You okay?"
He nodded and looked back at her. "And you? You took a beating up there." Bruises and cuts covered her. The worst wound was behind her shoulder; it was a bleeding mess. "Let me help you with that."
He cleaned her wound with water from the stream, then bound it with cloth he tore from his shirt. Sweat covered her brow, and her jaw tightened when he bound her wound, but she made not a sound. When he was done, he wiped the sweat off her brow... and found himself smoothing her tangled hair. Despite its knots, her hair was soft, damp, and—
"What," she asked him, "do you think you're doing?"
He pulled his hand away, muttering. "You have blood in your hair."
She stared at him, eyes flashing. He stared back, jaw tightened. Why should I look away? Let her stare at me with that fiery stare; it won't cow me. She leaned forward, still staring, and grabbed the back of his head, painfully tugging a fistful of his hair. He grunted.
"You do too," she said, pulled his head toward her, and kissed him.
Her lips were soft and full, and her hand still clutched his hair, pulling it. Kyrie closed his eyes. He kissed her, head spinning, and placed his hand on the small of her back. She pushed him to the ground, and he grunted at the pain of his wounds, and then Agnus Dei was atop him, kissing him deeply, her tongue seeking.
The sun sank behind the hills, and the distant cries of beasts still carried on the wind, but Kyrie knew nothing but Agnus Dei, and fire, and her lips and body against him. Darkness and flame covered his world.