BENEDICTUS
"Get up," Benedictus said to the others. "We move."
The twins still lay on the ground, embracing. Lacrimosa and Kyrie were hovering around them, hugging and laughing and crying. Benedictus too wanted to cry, to laugh, to hug them, but forced himself to his feet. He pulled a burning branch from the ring of fire, and held it as a torch.
"What do you mean 'move'?" Kyrie asked, tearing himself away from the twins. "It took us three hours to build this ring of fire. We're safe here for the night."
Benedictus grunted. He drew his dagger and pointed at the sky. "Safe from a scout nightshade, maybe. We have enough light to send one fleeing. But you heard Gloriae. Dies Irae controls the nightshades now, and whoever controls them can see through their eyes. Dies Irae knows we're here. There's likely an army of those creatures heading our way as we speak. Up! On your feet, everyone. Agnus Dei, you too. We move."
"Where will we go?" Kyrie demanded, clutching his own dagger. "Where can we flee that's safer than here?"
"Anywhere is safer," Benedictus replied, glaring at the boy. "We move until sunrise. There will be no safety this night."
They collected their things with numb fingers. They didn't have much—a few blankets, a pot and pan, some ale and bread and salted beef. Gloriae gave her dagger to Agnus Dei, and her crossbow to Lacrimosa. She kept her sword, holding it drawn.
"We should all be armed," she explained. Still, she kept eyeing her crossbow as if she missed it, or didn't trust Lacrimosa fully, or perhaps both.
"Grab torches from the fire," Benedictus told the others. "These will serve you better than weapons tonight."
Soon they were walking along the valleys and hills, burning branches in hand. They wrapped tattered bits of a blanket around the branches' tops, fashioning torches. Benedictus kept glancing around for nightshades, but it was hard to see in the dark. Once he thought he saw one, but it was only a pair of stars behind a cloud.
As he walked, he also kept looking at Gloriae. The others did too. They all walked near her, surrounding her, glancing at her. For so many years, Gloriae had hunted them. To have Gloriae the Gilded, the Terror of Osanna, walk among them.... It was surreal, Benedictus thought.
My lost daughter. Benedictus felt a lump in his throat. She's back.
She saw him gazing at her, and turned to look at him. Her eyes were quizzical. Little emotion showed on her face, and Benedictus guessed that she often looked this way. It was the look of a warrior, a killer trained to feel no compassion or pain.
"When you were three years old," he said to her, "you argued with Agnus Dei over a rag doll. You pulled one end of the doll, Agnus Dei the other, until it split. Agnus Dei ran to her room, crying. That evening you brought all your dolls to Agnus Dei, ten of them or more. You gave them to her. I was proud of you."
Gloriae's eyebrows rose. "I played with dolls? I was raised on swords, arrows, and shields. I don't remember playing with dolls."
Benedictus felt an ache in his chest. "I'm sorry, Gloriae. I'm sorry for how my brother raised you. To fight. To hate. To kill. For many years, I wanted to storm Confutatis, to steal you back, but... I knew that was impossible. I knew Dies Irae was raising you, looking after you. Not as I would, no. And cruelly perhaps. But you were alive. You were well. That comforted me. I'm sorry we couldn't save you, return you to us earlier."
Gloriae stared into the distance, and for a long time, she said nothing. Finally she spoke. "Let's not talk of my childhood yet. I'm still confused. I still don't know what to think of Dies Irae. Is he my father? Are you my father? I don't know." She looked at him. "I was raised to kill you, Benedictus. That was my purpose. Give me time."
He nodded. "I will. When you're ready to talk, we'll talk. For now, you're safe here, Gloriae. At least, as safe as I can make this world for you. That perhaps is not saying much, but know that we love you. Fully. Forever."
She nodded but said nothing more. She walked staring blankly into the night, the starlight in her hair.
They saw wisps of pink dawn in the east when the nightshades shrieked.
Benedictus spun around and stared to the west. An army of nightshades flew there. There must have been thousands—tens of thousands.
"Oh great," Kyrie muttered beside him.
Benedictus shifted into Black Fang, the great dragon. "Fly!" he said. "It's almost dawn. Fly to the sun!"
The others shifted too. Lacrimosa became a silver dragon, Agnus Dei a red one, and Kyrie blue. Gloriae, however, remained standing in the field, arms limp at her sides.
"Gloriae, can you shift too?" Benedictus asked. "Or should I carry you?"
The nightshades screeched. The world trembled. They were getting closer, crackling with thunder and lightning. Gloria stared at them, shivered, then looked at Benedictus.
"I shifted once," she said. "I didn't fly then, but... I can do it. I think so. I'll try."
"Well, you better get a move on, sweetheart," Kyrie said, tapping his claws. "We haven't got all night."
Gloriae nodded, clenched her jaw, and shifted. She did so slowly, hesitantly. Golden scales grew across her. Wings unfurled from her back, trembling, growing larger and larger. Fangs grew from her mouth, then claws from her fingertips. Finally a beautiful, golden dragon stood in the grass, her eyes emerald green.
"Now fly!" Benedictus bellowed as nightshades howled behind. "All of you."
They began flying to the east, even Gloriae. The girl flew slowly, wobbling, and Benedictus kept tapping her with his tail to guide her. The nightshades were gaining on them. When Benedictus looked over his shoulder, he saw them like a puddle of oil, covering the land. Countless eyes burned in their darkness.
"We're almost there," Benedictus said to Gloriae. She was growling and flapping her wings mightily. Her jaw was clenched. "You fly very well."
She snickered. "I spent my life on griffinback. This is surprisingly similar."
When they reached the dawn and flew into sunbeams, the nightshades screamed behind. A few flew into the light, then screeched and turned back. The Vir Requis turned to watch. The nightshades bellowed. Lightning flashed between them, and stars swirled. Finally they turned to flee, and soon disappeared into the west, back to darkness.
"Yeah, keep running!" Agnus Dei shouted after them. She blew fire.
The land here was rocky, strewn with pines and mint bushes. Benedictus led the others to a hilltop. They landed by an ancient oak tree and shifted back into human forms. Kyrie and Agnus Dei began arguing about who had flown faster. Lacrimosa busied herself dividing their meager food. Gloriae stood by the oak, one hand upon its trunk, and stared silently into the west.
Benedictus approached Lacrimosa.
"Both our daughters returned to us today," he said to her softly. "Our family is whole."
His wife smiled at him. "I knew it would be so some day." She lowered her eyes. "I just wish it were on safer days."
After long moments, Gloriae left the tree and approached her parents. Finally Benedictus saw her in daylight. Her leggings were torn, her boots were bloody, and ash covered her cheeks. And yet she walked with the stately, powerful stride of a warrior. Her armor still shone. Her eyes were steel, her face beautiful but cold and deadly. Gloriae the Gilded.
"Benedictus," she said to him. "I... I am to blame for this. The nightshades were entombed in the Well of Night, in a dungeon below Confutatis, and... I freed them. I thought I could control them, use them to... well, to kill you. I'm sorry. I will leave now, and return to Confutatis, and reseal these creatures in the Well of Night."
Benedictus lowered his head. My daughter destroyed the world in an attempt to kill me; how could such darkness have befallen our family? He sighed, her words stinging. "Daughter, you cannot control these creatures. Not anymore. How would you seal them in the Well?"
Gloriae lowered her head too. "I don't know." She looked up again, eyes flashing, pleading. "But I must do something. I caused this. I must fix it."
The others stood around them, watching silently. Lacrimosa gazed with moist eyes. Agnus Dei and Kyrie stood holding hands, silent. Benedictus looked over them, then back to Gloriae.
"How were they originally sealed?" he asked. "Do you know?"
Gloriae shook her head. "Father— I mean, Dies Irae spoke of heroes sealing them in the Well of Night thousands of years ago. It sounded like there was a great struggle, that sealing them was a great triumph. But I don't know how it was done. Irae might be able to reseal them; he controls them now. But how are we to do it? I don't know."
Benedictus turned to the west. He gazed past the hills and valleys, as if seeking Confutatis and his brother. Finally he turned back to the others.
"It's time," he said, "that we hold council, and decide what to do. Sit down, we'll build a fire, and we'll talk."
Once they were seated around a campfire, eating the last of their rations, Benedictus spoke again.
"We must rebuild Requiem, our home among the birches. We must rebuild the Vir Requis race. But we cannot do so while these nightshades hunt us, as we could not while griffins hunted us. We freed the griffins, and now we must seal the nightshades in the Well of Night, as Gloriae said. First we must learn more about them. We know they steal souls. We know they fear light. But where are they from? How were they first sealed? How can one reseal them?"
Kyrie rolled his eyes. "So we're on a quest for knowledge now? I prefer a straight fight, like with the griffins. Bite, scratch, kill. That's my kind of mission."
Benedictus glowered at him. "Quiet, kid. Don't speak unless you have something smart to say. In other words, don't speak at all." He sighed and his voice softened. "When I was prince of Requiem, and the old kings still ruled in Confutatis, I would visit the city. I especially liked exploring the city library. I recall great chambers full of scrolls and books. Dies Irae has no use for books, but the kings he usurped had collected them. Gloriae, does the library still stand?"
She nodded. "Yes, I've seen it. The books are still there. Irae does not read them. Nor would I, or anyone else. But the library is a beautiful building, of marble columns and gilded ceilings, so Irae left it standing."
Benedictus grumbled. "Maybe if Irae spent more time reading books, and less time polishing swords, his empire would prosper. The library might contain books about nightshades. We might find the answers we need there." He placed a hand on Gloriae's shoulder. "Daughter, you know Confutatis better than we do. You know its alleys and secret halls. You will travel there, in disguise, and seek books about nightshades. We must learn how the elders sealed them."
"Great!" Kyrie said, rising to his feet. He seemed thrilled to get rid of Gloriae. "Gloriae will go read some books, and meanwhile, the rest of us will fight the nightshades. Right? Right, Benedictus?"
Benedictus shook his head. "Sorry, kid, but no. You're going with Gloriae—to protect her on her way."
Both Kyrie and Gloriae began to protest, voices raised and hands waving.
"I don't need some callow boy to protect me!" Gloriae said.
"I don't want to go to some dusty library, especially not with her!" Kyrie said.
Benedictus scowled. "I haven't asked what you want, or what you need. I tell you what to do. You obey. This isn't a request, this is a command." Then his voice softened. "Gloriae, you are strong and brave. But you sleep at night, don't you? You'll need a companion to guard while you sleep, at least."
"I am not a bodyguard," Kyrie said.
"No," Benedictus agreed. "You are a strong fighter. I've seen you fight, and I can tell you: You fight as well as the greatest warriors I've commanded. I need a good fighter like you for this quest."
Kyrie beamed with pride. His cheeks turned red, his chest puffed out, and he seemed to grow an inch taller. "Very well. When you put it that way, I suppose it makes sense. We'll go to Confutatis. We'll find books for you. But if I see Dies Irae, I'm going to kill him."
Benedictus nodded. "If you see him, you have my blessing to do so."
Agnus Dei had sat silently throughout the meeting, chewing a piece of dried meat. Now she stood up, shook her black curls, and snorted. "So Kyrie and Gloriae go on a quest. What about the rest of us? What, we just wait here and hope the nightshades don't kill us?" She shuddered. "I don't want to meet those nightshades again. Not after what they did to me."
Benedictus shook his head. "You have a task too, Agnus Dei. You will join me. We go to Requiem."
The others gasped.
"Requiem?" Agnus Dei whispered. "Dies Irae will know to seek us there among the ruins. He knows we want to rebuild our courts. The place will be swarming with his men, and probably with nightshades too."
"Maybe," Benedictus said. "But we must seek knowledge there too. Not only Osanna has books. The Vir Requis elders were wise. They wrote much of their wisdom onto scrolls. They did not keep the scrolls in libraries, but in underground tunnels. Those tunnels might have survived the fall of Requiem. They might still contain scrolls. We will seek knowledge of nightshades there."
Agnus Dei shuddered again. "Tunnels beneath ruins, in a land swarming with nightshades. Lovely."
For the first time, Lacrimosa spoke. The dainty woman, Queen of Requiem, stood up. She wrapped her cloak around her, shivered in the wind, and said, "And I will fly to seek the griffins."
They all gaped at her. Kyrie rubbed his eyes.
"It's official now," the boy said. "Lacrimosa has gone mad."
"My love," Benedictus said to her. He walked to his wife and held her hands. "Are you sure? The griffins still hate us. They no longer serve Dies Irae, but they remember centuries of servitude to Requiem's kings. They were slaves to my father, as they were slaves to Dies Irae. They hold no love for Requiem, even now."
Lacrimosa nodded. The wind played with her pale hair. "I know. But we need them, Benedictus. Not to be our slaves. To be our allies." Wind blew, and she shivered again. "If we're to rebuild Requiem, to raise her from the ruins, we'll need allies. We cannot face Dies Irae alone, just the five of us. Even if we seal his nightshades, he'll still have men, horses, armies. The salvanae are our allies, but they live far in the west, and might not readily fight with us again. The griffins hate us? Maybe. But they will hate Dies Irae more. I will speak to Volucris, the prince of griffins. He served as Irae's mount. He will hate the man. I will have him join our war."
Benedictus embraced her and kissed her forehead. "The griffins live many leagues beyond the sea. They dwell on islands no Vir Requis has visited in centuries, maybe millennia."
Lacrimosa nodded, staring into the east. Geese flying south for winter reflected in her eyes. "I know. I will find them."
Benedictus pulled Agnus Dei into the embrace. After a moment's hesitation, Kyrie and Gloriae joined too. The five Vir Requis, the last of their race, held one another, huddling together in the cold. The grass and trees moved in the cold autumn winds.
"The moon is full tonight," Benedictus said. "In two more moons, we meet in Fidelium Mountains. We meet in the cave where Agnus Dei and Lacrimosa hid throughout the summer."
They nodded, embraced again, and whispered teary goodbyes. Benedictus hugged and kissed Lacrimosa.
"Come back to me," he whispered.
She nodded and caressed his rough, stubbly cheeks. "Now and always."
Kyrie and Agnus Dei embraced too, and when they thought nobody was looking, they shared a kiss. Benedictus pretended not to see. He wanted to grumble and throttle the boy, but he only grunted and looked away. Agnus Dei had found a good man, he knew. Kyrie was a man now, seventeen this autumn. As much as Kyrie irked him, Benedictus knew his heart was true.
"It's time," he said softly after the goodbyes were said. "We go. Keep to human forms. Shift into dragons only when nobody can see, and only when you must. The skies are watched. The ground is safer. Remember that."
They nodded. Everyone but Gloriae had moist eyes; hers were cold, almost dead.
Kyrie and Gloriae began moving downhill, armed with dagger and sword. Lacrimosa, holding the crossbow, headed east.
Benedictus held Agnus Dei's hand. "We go north, daughter. We go to the ruins of Requiem."
They began walking. The winds moaned, ice cold. Winter was coming.
KYRIE ELEISON
"First thing we'll need is a good horse," Gloriae said.
Kyrie rolled his eyes. They were only minutes away from the hill they'd camped on, and already she was complaining.
"Walking not good enough for you, princess?" he asked.
Gloriae glared at him. Her eyes flashed with green fire, and blood rushed into her cheeks. "Watch your tongue, boy. You are not my family. I owe you no fealty, and if you speak out of line, I will bash respect into you."
Kyrie snorted. "Spare me. You might have been high and mighty in Osanna. But if I recall correctly, Dies Irae banished your backside. Out here on the run, you're no more important than me."
She gritted her teeth. "I am the daughter of King Benedictus, Lord of Requiem, am I not? You are Vir Requis. I am your princess. You will show me respect, and you will obey me."
Kyrie couldn't help it. He burst out laughing, which seemed to only further infuriate Gloriae. Her cheeks were deep pink now.
"My princess? Oh, pardon me, Your Majesty," Kyrie said. He sketched an elaborate bow. "How shall I serve the princess? Shall I fetch thee thy slippers? Perhaps some tea and pastries?"
She tried to slap his cheek. Kyrie caught her wrist, blocking the blow. They stared at each other. Gloriae was thinner than him, but almost as tall, and her eyes blazed. Golden flecks filled her green eyes, he noticed, like sparks from fire.
"Release my wrist," she said.
Kyrie shook his head. "Depends. Will you slap me again?"
"Maybe."
"Then I'm not letting go."
She kicked his shin. Kyrie yelped and released her arm, and she punched his chest. He couldn't breathe. She kicked him again, and he fell to the ground.
He grabbed her leg and pulled.
Gloriae fell, and before she could recover, Kyrie was atop her. He pinned her arms down and snarled.
"Do I have to tie you up again, princess?"
She tried to bite him. He pulled his head back, narrowly missing her teeth. She spat at him instead, hitting his eye.
He grunted, rolled off her, and rose to his feet. She stood up too, eyes now icy, fists raised.
"Had enough, boy?" she asked. A crooked smile found her lips.
Kyrie wiped her spit off his face. "I think I'm going to be sick."
Gloriae shook her mane of golden hair. "Look, kid. I don't like walking. I don't like blisters. I like riding. If I can't ride a griffin, and if Benedictus said we can't shift into dragons, I want a horse." She pointed to a town a league away. "They'll have horses."
Kyrie looked at the town. He couldn't see much from here, only stone walls and chimney smoke. "And I suppose you'll walk in and demand they give you one, because you are Gloriae the Gilded, Maiden of Confutatis?"
She shook her head and sighed. "Those days are behind me. But I have gold in my pouch. Not much, but enough to buy a horse and some food. We'll buy disguises too. Come, Kyrie. We go to town."
Kyrie grunted. He doffed his cloak and handed it to her. "Wear this. You don't want people seeing that gilded, jewelled armor of yours. You'll stick out like a golden thumb."
Gloriae took the cloak and sniffed it. "This thing stinks, and there are moth holes in it. God, don't you ever wash it?"
"Sorry, princess, but when you're on the run from griffins and nightshades, laundry isn't exactly a priority."
Wrinkling her nose and groaning, Gloriae donned the cloak. She coughed. "Now I think I'm going to be sick."
"Just don't throw up on my cloak."
"Not that it would make it any dirtier or smellier."
They walked downhill toward the town, pebbles crackling beneath their feet. Ant hives and mole burrows littered the earth. Crows and geese flew above. The wind kept blowing, rustling the sparse grass and mint bushes. When they were closer to town, Kyrie noticed that something was wrong.
"That smoke... it doesn't look like chimney fire."
Gloriae shook her head. "This place is burning."
They found a dirt road leading to the town walls. They followed it to the gates, which were open. The guards lay slumped by them, eyes staring blankly, chests rising and falling, mouths open and drooling.
"Nightshades were here," Kyrie whispered.
Gloriae rolled her eyes. "Sir Obvious saves the day again."
Kyrie glared. "Why don't you show some respect? People died here."
Gloriae shook her head and hitched the cloak around her. The wind moaned, scattering ash. "No, they're not dead. They probably wish they were, though."
They entered the town and walked along its streets. Many of the buildings had burned down. Some still smoldered, flames crackling within them. Bodies littered the streets. Some were burned. Some had fallen upon swords. Most were still alive, but soulless.
"They must have realized the nightshades hate light," Gloriae said, walking down a cobbled street between smoldering shops. She coughed and waved smoke away. "They knew firelight scares them. They ended up burning down the town."
Kyrie shuddered. "Lovely creatures, the nightshades. Let's get out of here."
Gloriae shook her head. "We came for horses. We'll find them."
Kyrie wanted to throttle her. "Horses? How can you think of stealing horses from this place? This is a graveyard, Gloriae. I don't like it here. Let's leave."
Her eyes flashed with rage. "If there are horses here, they'd die alone. Would you leave them to starve? Let's find a stable."
They kept walking. The devastation worsened as they walked deeper into town. When they reached town square, they found a hundred bodies on the cobblestones, twisting and drooling. The shops surrounding the square smoldered. Many had shattered windows and doors; people had looted them.
Kyrie pointed with his dagger. "That temple is still standing."
It looked like an old building, round and crumbling. Kyrie guessed it had once been an Earth God temple, now converted to Dies Irae's new religion. A bronze Sun God disk crowned its dome.
"Do you think the priests are alive inside?" Gloriae asked.
"I don't know, but I have an idea. Follow me."
They entered the temple and winced. Hundreds of people were crammed inside. Many were dead and stinking. Others were alive, but soulless. Ash and smoke clung to the walls, as if nightshades had rubbed against them.
Gloriae covered her nose. "God, it's awful."
Kyrie pointed at two priests, a man and woman, who lay slumped upon a stone altar. "White cloaks. White masks. Disguises."
Gloriae glared at him. "Stealing from dead Sun God priests? You're mad, Kyrie."
He snorted. "The Sun God can go kiss Dies Irae's wrinkled old backside. And besides, those priests aren't dead. They're just... missing their souls. Look, Gloriae. We can't just saunter into Confutatis as we are. Dies Irae knows my face. He'd recognize you too, even in that smelly old cloak. But if we enter with the robes and masks of priests, well... the city will be ours. Nobody would try and stop us."
Gloriae sighed. "Fine, but I hope the Sun God forgives us." She closed her eyes and muttered a prayer.
Kyrie groaned, rolled his eyes, and went to the priests. Soon he and Gloriae were walking down the town streets, clad in white silk. They kept the white masks in their backpacks; there was no point wearing them now, not with the whole town soulless. They walked until they found stables by a manor. Half the stables were burned and smoking.
"Think there are any horses alive in there?" Kyrie asked.
"Let's see," Gloriae said.
They stepped into the stables to another ugly scene. Many horses had burned. Others had died in the smoke, or maybe the nightshades had attacked them too. The beasts lay on the ground, buzzing with flies. Only one horse lived, a chestnut mare with a white mane.
"There there, girl," Gloriae whispered to the horse. It whinnied and bucked, but Gloriae kept patting its nose and whispering soothing words into its ears. Finally it calmed, and Gloriae kissed its forehead. "Good girl, good girl."
"If only you were so sweet with people," Kyrie muttered. As Gloriae kept patting the horse, Kyrie couldn't help but stare at her. She looked so much like Agnus Dei, the girl he loved, and it confused him. True, Agnus Dei had tanned skin and black curls, while Gloriae was all paleness and golden locks, but otherwise, the two were identical. Even their tempers and the fires in their eyes were the same.
Kyrie shook his head to clear it. Cool it, Kyrie, he told himself. Gloriae might be beautiful, achingly so, but she was Agnus Dei's sister. And he loved Agnus Dei more than anything. He didn't want anyone else. So stop thinking about Gloriae like that right now, he told himself. He didn't care if she was the most beautiful woman in the world; she was a snake, and he didn't trust her. For all Kyrie knew, Gloriae still worked for Dies Irae.
Kyrie remembered that day at Fort Sanctus. The Lady Mirum had raised him there since Dies Irae had murdered his parents. For ten years he had lived with her at the seaside fort... until Dies Irae and Gloriae arrived. Until they murdered Lady Mirum. To be fair, Kyrie told himself, Dies Irae had landed the killing blow. But Gloriae had been there. She had watched, smirking. Kyrie vowed to never forgive her for that. Benedictus and Lacrimosa might have forgiven Gloriae, but they had to; they were her parents. Kyrie, however, was unrelated. He knew that once a killer, always a killer; he would always hate Gloriae.
"All right, stop cooing to that horse, and let's go," he said. He ached to leave this town. The whole place stank of blood and fire.
Gloriae saddled the horse and mounted it. She patted the half of the saddle behind her. "Well, come on, little boy. I thought you wanted to leave. Up you go."
Kyrie raised an eyebrow. "I'm not riding that thing. I'll walk."
She snorted. "I intend to gallop today. You would not keep up walking. Into the saddle. You're not afraid, are you?"
Kyrie had never ridden a horse, and in truth, he was a little afraid. But he refused to show it. "All right, all right," he muttered. He tried to mount the saddle, slipped, fell, cursed, and tried again. Gloriae watched, silent, eyes never leaving him. Kyrie cursed and grumbled and struggled. Finally he pulled himself into the saddle and sat behind Gloriae.
"Comfortable?" she asked.
He wasn't. His legs felt stretched, and the saddle pushed him against Gloriae. His torso was pressed against her back, and her hair covered his face.
"I'm fine," he said.
"Then we ride."
Her boots were spurred, and she nudged the horse. Soon they were riding through the town. Kyrie had never felt more uncomfortable. The saddle hurt his legs. He felt ready to fall off any moment. He kept sliding around, and had to wrap his arms around Gloriae's waist to steady himself. The vertigo and wide saddle were bad enough. Worse was feeling Gloriae's body. To have her bouncing up and down against him, her hair in his nostrils, was just... wrong. It felt intoxicating and horrible.
"You okay back there, kid?" she asked, leading the horse out of town and into the countryside.
"I wish we could just fly," he muttered.
"You heard Benedictus. Too dangerous. Irae's men would see us for leagues."
He snorted. "I'd prefer they saw us. I'd prefer a fight to this slinking around. Can you please take your hair out of my face?" He spat out a lock of the stuff.
"I could wear my helmet, but it would bash your nose in. I think you would prefer my hair."
Kyrie moaned. The horse clipped down a road, wilted willows and elms at their sides; the nightshades had flown here too. "Why did I have to go with you?" he lamented.
Gloriae looked over her shoulder at him. Her cheeks were pink with wind. "Because Benedictus doesn't want two young female Vir Requis together. He wants me and Agnus Dei apart."
Kyrie glared. He hated those green eyes of hers. He hated every freckle on her nose. "Why? You two are sisters. Doesn't your dad want you two to bond or something?"
"Kyrie," she said, "you really are dense. I hope your dagger is sharper than your mind."
Kyrie bristled. He opened his mouth to speak, but Gloriae cut him off.
"There are only three Vir Requis females left," she said. "We can bear children. We can continue the race. You think Benedictus wants to place all our eggs in one basket? What if only death awaits in Confutatis? Then Agnus Dei and Lacrimosa can still bear more children. What if the underground below Requiem collapses, killing Agnus Dei? Well, then maybe you and I will survive, and can have children."
Kyrie felt hot in the face. He was keenly aware of Gloriae's body pressed against him, bouncing in the saddle, and of the smell of her hair in his nostrils. He cleared his throat. "Well, why didn't he send Agnus Dei with me, then?"
"You know why. Agnus Dei doesn't know Confutatis. She wouldn't find the library. I know the city."
Kyrie wanted to say more, but could not. To bear children with Gloriae? He hated himself for it, but couldn't help imagining Gloriae naked, lying against him, her breasts in his hands, and—
No. He pushed the thought aside. He loved Agnus Dei. And he hated Gloriae. Didn't he?
"Do you think we'll find anything in Confutatis Library about how the elders sealed the nightshades?" he asked. "Lady Mirum had a library too, at Fort Sanctus, but it was all prayer scrolls and—"
He bit his words back, realizing what he'd said.
Gloriae looked over her shoulder at him. Then she halted her horse and dismounted. She stood in a patch of grass under an elm. Hills rolled around them.
"Off the horse," she said to Kyrie. "Talk time."
"Look, Gloriae. Forget it. All right? We both know what happened, and—"
"Off. The. Horse."
He dismounted, fingers shaking slightly, and stood before her. Gloriae stared at him, eyes icy, cheeks pinched. The wind streamed her golden locks. What she did next shocked Kyrie so badly, he lost his breath.
Gloriae the Gilded, the Light of Osanna, the Killer of Vir Requis... hugged him.
"Kyrie," she whispered into his ear, "I know you're always going to hate me. Maybe someday I will hate myself too. You were an enemy to me. You and the Lady Mirum. I was raised to hate my enemies. To crush them. That is what we did at Fort Sanctus. I show no mercy; you already know that about me. That was true then, and it's true now."
"Gloriae, forget it, really," Kyrie said. He squirmed out of her embrace. "Can we not talk about this now?"
"Fine, Kyrie. Just remember that I didn't know I was Vir Requis then. I thought the Vir Requis were monsters, that they killed my mother. That's what Dies Irae told me. You may hate me and judge me harshly. I just ask that you remember that. Do I regret what I did? I don't know. I'm still confused. Just promise me I won't wake up one night with a knife in my throat."
He groaned. "I was going to make you promise the same."
"I promise. I won't kill you, Kyrie."
Her words sounded both comical and chilling. He nodded. "I won't kill you either. And... I understand. About Dies Irae. At least, I'm trying to. That doesn't mean I don't hate you. I'll always hate you, Gloriae. But I won't kill you in the night. Deal?"
She shook his hand. "Deal. Now back on the horse."
They kept riding, soon moving into a forest of old oaks. Kyrie felt hopelessly lost, but Gloriae seemed to know the way. "I would normally fly over these lands on griffinback, but I can find my way on horseback too," she explained.
In the evening, they reached a crossroads, a tavern, and a well. They heard no sounds of life, but smoke rose from the chimney. The tavern's iron sign read "Oak Cross"; it swung in the wind, creaking.
Kyrie sniffed the air. "I smell beef stew." His mouth watered and his stomach grumbled. "Think there's anyone alive in there?"
"What do you think, Kyrie?"
He sighed. "You know what I think. But I don't care. I'm hungry enough to dine among bodies."
They dismounted, led their horse to the tavern stables, and found no stableboy or horses. They tethered their horse, fed it hay, then stepped toward the tavern.
Gloriae drew her sword, Kyrie drew his dagger, and they stepped inside.
Kyrie grunted.
"I knew it," he said.
Bodies lay slumped against the tables and bar. They were not dead, merely soulless, but that didn't stop two rats from gnawing on one's face. The man had only a bit of cheek and forehead left. The rats screeched, teeth bloody, and fled. Kyrie covered his mouth, nauseous.
"Lovely," Gloriae said, looking a little green. She gestured with her sword to a doorway. "The kitchen would be back there. Let's eat."
Kyrie hesitated. "It's almost night. Do you think the nightshades will return?"
Gloriae shrugged. "They might. But I'd rather face them here, with a burning fireplace and food in my belly."
Kyrie wanted to argue, but he could smell beef stew and bread, and that overcame all other thoughts. They stepped into the kitchen to find a cook slumped on the ground. They propped him up against a wall, found a pot of simmering stew and bowls, and returned to the common room to eat. They filled mugs from a casket of ale at the bar. As they ate, Kyrie kept looking outside the windows. It was getting darker. Soon night fell.
"Let's add some logs to the fire," he said.
Gloriae nodded. Soon the fireplace blazed. They found oil and lit the tin lamps around the common room. Wind rattled the shutters, and the lamps swung on their chains, swirling shadows like demons.
"It's still not very bright in here," Kyrie said. He clutched his dagger, as if that could stop the nightshades. As if anything could stop them, he thought.
"No," Gloriae whispered. She was pale. The firelight danced against her face.
They returned to their table and sat silently, weapons drawn.
"At least we had one good, last meal, huh?" Kyrie said.
Gloriae regarded him with eyes that were clearly not amused.
A log in the fireplace crackled.
Lamps swung.
Outside, nightshades shrieked.
Gloriae stiffened, and her hand tightened around the hilt of her sword. Kyrie bit his lip and struggled not to shiver. It was a horrible sound, so high pitched it raised his hackles. Even the bodies on the floor and tables shivered, as if they could still hear.
"Glor—" Kyrie began.
"Shh!" she hushed him. Her face was a mask of pain and rage.
The nightshades kept shrieking, and soon Kyrie could see them out the windows. They swirled around the inn, rustling the trees, creaking the walls. Please, Draco stars, send them away, Kyrie prayed. Let them leave this place.
Had nightshades found Agnus Dei too? What about Lacrimosa? Kyrie clenched his jaw. Would they all die this night?
A window smashed open in the kitchen.
A nightshade shrieked, its shadow spilling into the common room.
Gloriae slumped onto the tabletop, her arms sprawled at her sides.
No! Kyrie thought. The nightshades got her.
"Gloriae," he whispered and clutched her.
She glared at him. "Down, you idiot!" she whispered. "Play dead."
Kyrie slumped across the table too, closing his eyes to slits. Just then the nightshade burst from the kitchen into the common room. It was a huge thing, twenty feet long, maybe thirty. It snaked around the room, sniffing at the bodies. When it neared the fireplace, it shrieked so loudly, the casket of ale rattled and shattered. Ale spilled across the floors.
Kyrie wanted to shift. He wanted to blow fire. He wanted to flee. But a thousand nightshades filled the forest outside. He knew that if they attacked too, he would die. He kept lying against the tabletop, not moving, peeking beneath his eyelids. Gloriae was slumped against him, her hair once more tickling his face, her hand under his.
The nightshade moved from body to body, sniffing. It cackled, a sound like the fireplace. It then moved its great, wispy head of smoke to Kyrie and Gloriae.
The head hovered over them. Kyrie had never seen one so close. He had often thought them made of smoke, but he saw that was false. They were made of black, inky material that swirled. Stars seemed to shine inside them. Their eyes were glittering stars, so bright they burned him.
Go away, he prayed. Leave this place.
The nightshade sniffed him and Gloriae and seemed to be considering. It had passed over the other bodies quickly, but it paused over them.
It knows we're alive, Kyrie thought. Stars, it knows.
The sound of hooves sounded outside.
"Back, demons!" cried a voice outside. Several other voices screamed. "Back!"
The nightshade over Kyrie and Gloriae screamed. It was so loud, Kyrie's ears thrummed. With a jerk, the nightshade left them and flowed outside the window.
Kyrie raised his head an inch. Gloriae did the same, staring at him. Her eyes were ice, as if she felt no fear.
"Is it gone?" Gloriae whispered.
Kyrie nodded. "For now. But they'll return. It smelled a ruse. Let's move upstairs, it might be safer there."
They hurried to the tavern's second floor and entered a bedroom. They found a single bed, two bodies within it.
"Under the bed," Kyrie whispered. "They might not find us there."
"Kyrie, these are nightshades. They're smart enough to look under a bed."
Kyrie glared. "If you have any other ideas, I'd like to hear them. I don't think they're that smart. If they were smart, they'd have caught us in the common room. We leave the bodies in the bed. We hide beneath them. If a nightshade enters the room, it'll see the bodies and leave."
Gloriae sighed. "Well, I don't have any better ideas, so we'll try it."
They crawled under the bed. It was dusty, dark, and cold. They crept into the middle and huddled together. The nightshades shrieked outside, and soon the screams of men died. Kyrie could hear the nightshades smash tables and plates in the common room below. He pushed himself deeper into the shadows under the bed, close to Gloriae.
As Gloriae huddled against him, Kyrie found himself cursing the endless circumstances he found himself pressed against her. First there was the horse, then the table, now this. He tried not to think about her. He tried to ignore the smell of her hair, the curve of her body, the beauty of her eyes. But damn it, how could he ignore all that when he kept finding himself huddled against her?
Cool it, Kyrie, he told himself again. This is hardly the time or place. And it's Agnus Dei you love. Only her. Not Gloriae.
As the nightshades screamed downstairs, Kyrie thought of Agnus Dei. He remembered the softness of her lips against his, the warmth of her hands, her mocking eyes. He missed her so much, he ached. He couldn't wait to get back to her, to get away from Gloriae.
Someday you and I will live together in a reborn Requiem, he thought, willing his thoughts to travel into her mind. We'll be together forever, Agnus Dei. I love you.
The door burst open, and two nightshades flowed into the bedroom. Kyrie froze, not daring to breathe. Gloriae clutched his hand so tightly, it hurt.
The nightshades screamed and swirled across the room. The curtains swung, and the lamp on the bedside table guttered. The nightshades sniffed the bodies on the beds, screeched, and then they were gone.
"It worked!" Gloriae whispered.
Kyrie nodded. "Let's stay under here for tonight. We might be safe here if they return. You sleep for a few hours, and I'll watch. I'll wake you for your watch."
He had barely finished his sentence before she was asleep, her face on her hands. Kyrie could barely see her in the darkness. Once, when the moonlight flowed through the window, it touched her cheek. Kyrie marvelled at how soft and white it looked.
Then shadows covered the moon, and the night fell into long, cold darkness.
LACRIMOSA
She walked through the country, watching leaves fall from wilted trees. They glided before her, danced around her feet, and reminded her of the birch leaves that would fall in Requiem. My home.
She smiled sadly as she recalled the light that had shone between Requiem's columns, and the harpists who walked in white silk, and the birches she would play among as a girl. Those columns were smashed now, and the birches burned, and so did Osanna now lie in ruin.
Everywhere she looked, Lacrimosa saw the nightshades' work. Smoldering houses. Fallen temples. Bodies lying along the roads. When she saw these empty shells, she wiped the sweat and dirt off their faces, and closed their eyes lest flies nest within them, and prayed for them. She no longer knew if the stars heard her prayers, if they still lit the world. How could such horrors exist in realms where stars still shone? Perhaps their light was not holy, but mere memories of old gods, dying flames.
Icy wind blew, ash fluttered, and Lacrimosa felt coldness spread inside her.
"All the world has fallen. Can I still find starlight under the sky? Can I still find joy here for my family?"
Two more leagues down the road of ruin, and Lacrimosa came upon the soulless body of a knight. He was middle aged, his face weathered, his beard rustling with insects. A swooping vulture was emblazoned on his shield. House Veras, she knew, and lowered her eyes. Her heart felt colder, the world darker. She had seen this coat of arms before. Griffin riders bearing these banners had descended upon her home once; it seemed a lifetime ago. The blood of her parents and siblings had splashed these vulture shields.
"Are you the man who killed my family?" she asked the body.
For once, no tears found her eyes. The pain seemed too great for tears; it froze them dry. Had her stars truly abandoned her? Or worse, did they mock her by showing her this knight, this murderer?
A glint caught her eye, and she stared down. The knight bore a jewelled sword. Sapphires shone upon its hilt, arranged as the Draco constellation. The scabbard was filigreed with silver birches. This was no sword of Osanna. Now tears did fill Lacrimosa's eyes, and streamed down her cheeks. She smiled through them. She fell to her knees and raised her eyes to the sky. She laughed and trembled.
"You have not abandoned me, my stars," she whispered. She laughed again and clasped her hands together. "I will never more lose hope in your glow."
She reached gingerly toward the sword, as if reaching for a holy relic. It hissed as she drew it, and its blade caught the light. It shone upon her face like the Draco stars, like the souls of her slain family. This had been her father's sword.
"I will never more lose faith, Father," she whispered. She took the scabbard and hung it from her belt. "I will never more fear, not with your sword on my waist. I will never more walk in darkness, for I know that your light shines upon me. Thank you for this gift."
Vir Requis fought as dragons; their swords were beacons of honor, of ceremony, of beauty. Stella Lumen, her father had named this blade. The light of stars. The light of her soul.
"I will carry your honor. I still fight, Father. For your memory. For your grandchildren. For our lost home. I love you forever."
She kept walking through swirling ash and dead leaves, her hand on the hilt of her sword.
That evening, she found a farmhouse among burned fields. The peasants burned their crops to ward off the nightshades, she thought. The sunset red around her, Lacrimosa entered the farmhouse, and found a family there. The nightshades had robbed them of their spirits. The parents huddled over three children, eyes still wincing, mouths still open as if in screams.
Silently, Lacrimosa moved the bodies away from the hearth, and laid them side by side. She gave them water from her wineskin, closed their eyes, and covered them with blankets.
Night was falling. Lacrimosa scanned the room and saw a chest by the wall. She hid inside, closed the door, and waited.
She did not have to wait long.
The nightshades emerged as the sun set, howled, rattled the house, and shook the chest. Lacrimosa shivered inside, hugging her knees, prepared to leap out if she must, to shift into a dragon and breathe fire. But the nightshades did not sense her. Perhaps they saw the soulless farmers, and knew they had already claimed this house, and moved on.
She slept fitfully inside the chest, and emerged at dawn with stiff muscles.
She missed her family. It ached in her belly. Hunger ached there too, but there was no food in this house. If there had been any before the nightshades, looters had taken it. Lacrimosa moved on. Once more she walked through desolation. She wore her father's sword on her hip, and kept her hand on its pommel.
In the afternoon, she saw the place she sought. The sea, and the port of Altus Mare, lay before her.
She had never been to Altus Mare, but she knew it from stories. Poets sang of its crystal towers that gazed upon the sea; its thousand ships of wood, rope, and canvas; its wharfs where sailors, peddlers, and buskers crowded for space. In the stories, it was a place of exotic spices; shrimps cooked on seaside grills and served hot in fresh bread; dancers from distant lands, clad in motley; and a hundred bars where patrons told ten thousand stories of pirates, sea monsters, and adventure.
Today Lacrimosa saw no life here. Smoke rose from the city, and vultures circled above it.
She walked the road toward Altus Mare, and found that its walls had fallen, and no guards defended it. She walked in and saw looted shops, children cowering in a gutter, boarded windows, and everywhere—soulless bodies.
She walked through the narrow streets, hiding her sword under her cloak. There were survivors here, but they huddled indoors. Lacrimosa could see them peeking between shutters, daring not speak to her. She kept walking, found a tavern, and stepped inside. It was empty, and she ate and drank from the pantry, then resumed her walk to the sea.
When she reached the wharfs, she found that most ships were gone. The poets had spoken of a thousand ships here. Lacrimosa saw only four, and between them—row after row of empty wharfs.
"They fled this city," came a voice behind her.
Lacrimosa spun around, drawing her sword.
She found herself facing a man with rough stubble, a shock of brown hair, and dark eyes. He appeared to be her age—somewhere between thirty to forty—and his weathered face spoke of years at sea.
He nodded at her sword. "A fine weapon," he said, "but it won't help you here. Not against the creatures who sent these ships fleeing."
Lacrimosa nodded, fingers trembling, and sheathed her sword. "Forgive me," she said. "I startle easily these days."
The man squinted and gazed over the empty wharfs. The soulless bodies of several sailors lay there. Vultures were eating them alive.
"This place is a graveyard, my lady," the man said. "Flee into the countryside. Hide in the hills. Or better yet, fall upon that pretty sword of yours. The death it will give you is kinder than the vultures." He gestured his chin at the birds, then lifted a rock at tossed it at them. They scattered, hissed, then returned to feast.
Lacrimosa gave the man a closer look. He was dressed as a sailor, she saw, in canvas pants and a leather tunic. A short, broad sword hung from his belt.
"Why do you not flee then?" she asked. "Why don't you fall upon your sword?"
He drew that sword, and pointed the blade to one of the remaining ships. She was a small cog, smaller than Lacrimosa's dragon form, with a single mast. She sported the wooden figurehead of a griffin, its paint faded.
"My ship," the man said. "I sail east today, seeking lands where no nightshades fly. Her name is Leo, after the star." He bowed his head to her. "And my name is Marcus."
She examined the ship. She creaked as the wind rocked her. Lacrimosa turned back to Marcus and raised her eyebrows.
"Marcus," she said, "the stars shine upon us. I have five copper coins, and one of good silver. Would you accept this payment? I would sail with you."
"When ruin covers the world, what could coins buy?" Marcus said. "Smile for me instead; smiles are worth more these days."
An hour later, they sailed the sea.
A ship bearing a griffin figurehead, to sail to the land of the griffins. A ship named Leo, to sail to Leonis. Surely she was star blessed, Lacrimosa knew, standing on the ship's bow, gazing into the horizon. The wind whipped her hair and caught Leo's sails.
She did not know much about sailing, but she learned, and she followed Marcus's orders, and the ship cut through the waters. They sailed east. East to Leonis. East to hope. East where the sun rose, and griffins dwelled, and perhaps Lacrimosa could find aid.
Marcus joined her at the prow, and placed a calloused hand on her shoulder, and gazed into the sea.
"You think the griffins can truly fight nightshades?" he asked, squinting.
Lacrimosa saw old pain in his eyes. For so many years, she had lived the pain of Requiem's loss. Did Marcus feel the same now, his own home destroyed?
"Do you have a family?" she asked him softly.
He scratched his cheek. "A wife," he said, voice low. "Once."
He turned away, entered the ship's belly, and soon returned with a bottle of wine. He opened it, drank, and passed the bottle to Lacrimosa. She drank too. It was strong and thick, and only several sips made her head fuzzy.
"I'll teach you a song," he said, and began to sing a song about randy sailors, and buxom maidens, and unholy deeds that made Lacrimosa laugh and feel her cheeks burn.
"You should not sing such songs to a lady!" she said, but could not stop laughing. The song got ruder and ruder as they drank, and soon Lacrimosa sang along, voice loud, singing words she'd normally blush to utter.
She had not laughed in so long.
When the bottle was empty, and Marcus had taught her several more songs, she finally fell silent. She gazed into the sea, wrapped her cloak around her, and whispered.
"The sun is setting."
Marcus's eyes darkened. "Would nightshades fly this far out to sea?"
Lacrimosa clutched the hilt of her sword, remembering Marcus's advice. Fall upon it. She shivered. "I don't know."
Soon they sailed in darkness. It was a quiet night. Lacrimosa heard nothing but the water, gently lapping against Leo, and the creaking of wood and rope. The breeze was soft, and the stars shone above. She saw the Draco constellation in the north, and smiled sadly. Requiem lay beneath those stars.
Marcus stood beside her, hand on his sword's hilt. For a long time he was silent. Finally he spoke, voice soft.
"My wife's name was Aula." He stared into the night. "I buried her at sea with my unborn child. I loved her. I don't know why I tell you this. I want to tell someone before...."
He froze.
He spun around.
Lacrimosa followed his gaze and felt her insides wilt.
Two stars moved toward them from the night. Eyes. Nightshade eyes.
The creature screeched, and the ship rocked, and Lacrimosa bit down on a scream.
"Did it see us?" she whispered.
Ten more pairs of eyes opened in the dark. Screeches jostled the boat, and this time Lacrimosa did scream. Marcus drew his sword, grabbed her arm, and pulled her.
"Into the hull!" he whispered, pulling her downstairs. "We hide."
They raced into the shadows, and leaped behind caskets and a roll of canvas. A lamp hung from the ceiling, swaying madly. Lacrimosa's heart pounded and cold sweat drenched her. The shrieks grew louder, and the ship rocked, nearly capsizing. Barrels, rope, and jugs rolled across the floor.
Marcus gripped his sword. "I won't let them take us alive." His eyes were dark, his jaw tight.
The ship jolted.
Splinters flew.
Lacrimosa screamed, and the ship swayed, and something slammed into it again. More splinters flew. The lamp fell and shattered, and the floor began to burn. A third time, something crashed into the ship, and wood shattered. The head of a nightshade burst into the hull, screaming, eyes blazing. Water followed it, crashing into the ship. A second nightshade slammed into the hull, and the world became fire, water, and smoke.
The nightshades began tugging her soul, and Lacrimosa howled and fought them. Through the fire and darkness, she saw Marcus draw his sword. He was burning.
"You will not take us alive!" he shouted.
He thrust his sword into his chest.
Lacrimosa screamed.
Tears filled her eyes.
With a howl, she shifted.
Her body ballooned, until she was forty feet long, and the ship shattered around her. Tears in her eyes, anguish in her chest, she dived into darkness. She swam into the black water, seeing nothing, trembling, Marcus's cry echoing in her mind. Her tail flapped behind her, driving her deeper and deeper.
The nightshades screamed behind her.
Lacrimosa swam until her lungs ached, and she hit the seabed. She would need to breathe soon. When she looked above, she saw nightshade eyes scanning the darkness, a dozen pairs.
Do I die here, at the bottom of the sea? Do I die alongside Marcus?
Her lungs screamed. She trembled. The nightshades swarmed above, and in the light of their eyes, Lacrimosa saw Marcus's sword. It sank slowly, hit the sand beside her, and was still.