DIES IRAE
He pushed himself to his feet.
He stared at the blood seeping down his leg.
Jaws clenched, he walked out of the cave, stood upon the mountainside, and saw the weredragons disappear into the distance.
Bodies lay around him, blood painting the snow. Some of the men were burned, their skin peeling, their flesh red and black. Thousands of living soldiers stood there too. They froze when they saw Dies Irae, stood at attention, and slammed their fists against their chests.
He surveyed the scene for a long time, silent. Then Dies Irae left the cave, and walked through the snow to the body of a wounded soldier. The man was missing a leg. The wound looked like a dragon bite. Clutching the stump, the man stared up at Dies Irae.
"My lord," he whispered.
"Give me your sword," Dies Irae said.
The man raised his sword with a bloody, trembling hand. Dies Irae took the weapon, then drove the blade into the man's chest.
He raised his eyes and stared around him. The men still stood at attention, stiff, pale.
Dies Irae approached another wounded soldier. This man lay curled up in red snow, weeping and whispering for his mother. He clutched his spilling entrails, as if he could force them back into his belly. Dragon claws, Dies Irae knew.
"A weredragon attacked you," Dies Irae said.
The soldier wept and nodded.
"And you failed to kill it," Dies Irae said.
The soldier looked up with teary eyes, and Dies Irae drove his sword into the man's chest, pushing him into the snow.
The mountain was silent now. The weeping stopped. The only sound was the wind and swirling snow. Dies Irae looked over his men, the dozens of wounded, the dozens of dead, and the thousands that still stood.
"Has anyone else failed to kill a weredragon today?" he asked.
They stared, silent.
"All who killed a weredragon, raise your hands."
The men stood stiffly, pale, a few trembling.
Dies Irae called forward his captains, the commanders of the ten companies he'd brought to Fidelium. The captains stepped toward him, clad in plate armor, and slammed gauntleted fists against their chests.
"Hail Irae!" they said.
Dies Irae barely acknowledged them. He moved his eyes over the rows of soldiers in the snow. "My men disappointed me today. Decimate them."
The captains breathed in sharply.
"Decimation, my lord?" whispered one, a burly man with a battle axe. "That punishment has not been handed out since the Gray Age."
Dies Irae slowly turned his head, his armor creaking, and examined the man. "You are displeased with my command?"
The captain shook his head and saluted again, fist on breastplate. "Decimation, my lord. As in the days of old."
As Dies Irae watched, the captains arranged their companies into formation. The men stood in rows, ten men deep, fists against their chests. The captains raised their eyes to Dies Irae.
He frowned, thought a moment, and said, "The seventh row."
The soldiers in the seventh rows shifted uneasily. Sweat appeared on their brows. The captains pulled the first men from each seventh row, placed them in the snow, and swung their axes.
Blood splashed, and heads rolled.
The captains pulled the next men from formation.
Dies Irae stood, silent and still, watching as it continued. Some men of the seventh rows tried to flee. The captains shot them with crossbows. It took two hours of blood, grunts, but no screams. Not one man screamed. Dies Irae had taught them well.
When it was over, three-hundred heads were collected into a pile. Three-hundred bodies were stacked by them.
"Leave them here for the snowbeasts," Dies Irae said. "They will provide fresh meat for a while." He began walking down the mountainside, heading to the camp below. "We go to the ruins of Requiem, and we march hard. The weredragons will be heading there. I can feel it."
Soon his army snaked across the land, silent and bloody, leaving the bodies behind. Dies Irae rode at their lead on his courser. They bore the nightshades in shadowed wagons; the beasts screeched and fluttered inside them, rattling the wagon walls. When they were a half a league down the road, Dies Irae looked over his shoulder, back to the mountains.
Snowbeasts were feasting.
Dies Irae smiled thinly.
KYRIE ELEISON
As they collected firewood, Kyrie couldn't stop glancing at Gloriae. She would notice his glances, raise her eyes, and give him a stare so deep, so meaningful, that he had to look away. He knew what her eyes were saying. Today. Again.
He muttered and leaned down to collect twigs and branches. There wasn't much kindling here in the ruins of Requiem. Most of the trees had burned to ash. What branches they found were old, blackened, and would probably only burn for seconds.
"What we need are logs, an axe, and some rabbits to roast," Kyrie said. He tried to imagine the heat of a roaring fire, and the smell of dripping meat. It wasn't because he missed those things—though he did—so much as it beat thinking about Gloriae. And he was thinking a lot about her. About her naked body in the sun, her lips against him, her—
"Kyrie, you've dropped your sticks," she said. She was standing only a step away. He hadn't even noticed her approach, and he started, muttered under his breath, and leaned down to collect the wood.
"I think we have enough firewood now," he said, not bothering to mask the gruffness in his voice. "At least, all the firewood we'll find in this place. The whole kingdom is a wasteland."
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Kyrie—" she began.
He walked away, ignoring her. He pointed at three fallen columns, a smashed statue of a dragon, and bits of a wall. Ash, bones, and mud littered the place. If there had been a floor, the dirt now covered it.
"This is the place," Kyrie said. "The hall of Requiem's kings. At least, I think it is. To be honest, all of Requiem looks more or less the same to me now."
She walked up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. When he turned to face her, she cupped his cheek and kissed him. "It's time," she said. "Now."
Roughly, he removed her hand and held her wrist. "Gloriae, no."
Her eyes flashed with sudden anger, and her jaw tightened. But then she calmed, leaned close, and kissed his lips again. "You know we must."
"But—"
She pressed a finger to his lips. "No buts. Down, Kyrie. Here by the columns."
She began to remove her clothes, staring into Kyrie's eyes all the while. First she doffed her priestess robes. Then she removed her breastplate and dropped it to her side. It clanged against old tiles. Still staring at Kyrie, she unlaced her shirt, her lips parting. She had begun unlacing her pants, too, when footfalls sounded behind.
Agnus Dei stepped toward them.
Kyrie's heart galloped.
"Agnus Dei!" he said. He gasped and his cheeks burned. He wanted to rush to her, but something in her eyes held him back.
Agnus Dei stood still, mouth open. She held a sword in one hand, and a crossbow in the other. She held the crossbow aimed at them, and it was a moment before she lowered it.
"What's going on here?" she asked, eyes narrowing.
Gloriae turned to face her sister. Her hair was down. Her shirt was unlaced to reveal most of her breasts. She removed her hands from the lacing on her pants, which she had begun to undo, and took a step toward Agnus Dei.
"Sister!" Gloriae said. She reached out to embrace Agnus Dei, who still stood frozen.
Kyrie too stepped toward her, arms outreached. "We're so glad you're alive, Agnus Dei. Thank goodness you're here."
She turned to look at him, but said nothing. Her eyes remained narrowed.
More footfalls sounded, and Lacrimosa and Benedictus stepped around a smashed wall toward them. Lacrimosa called out, and ran to them, and embraced Kyrie and Gloriae. Tears filled her eyes. Benedictus too joined the embrace, and for a moment everyone was talking at once, and sharing their stories, and mumbling their relief.
All but Agnus Dei, that was. She stood apart from them, staring from Kyrie to Gloriae and back again. Her black curls cascaded down her back, and ash covered her bodice and leggings. Scratches and bruises ran along her arms. She looked so beautiful to Kyrie; even more than he'd remembered. He walked toward her.
"Agnus Dei," he said. He wanted to take her hands, or embrace her, or kiss her, but she still held her sword and crossbow before her.
She nodded and gave him a small, mirthless smile. "Kyrie."
Kyrie cursed himself. He cursed Gloriae. This was not the reunion he'd imagined. In a thousand dreams, he'd imagined him and Agnus Dei running to each other, embracing, kissing. She'd call him pup and muss his hair, and then he'd kiss her again, and they'd be as they'd always been. Now Agnus Dei seemed icier than Gloriae.
"I... I've missed you," he said to her. "I love you."
She nodded curtly, then turned to her parents, and began talking to them about firewood and sharpening stones and unpacking their food.
Kyrie stared at her, aching. She knows, he thought, his cheeks growing hot. She knew he had slept with Gloriae. She knew everything; she had seen it in his eyes. Guilt filled him, suffocating. He could have stopped Gloriae. Even drunk on spirits, he could have stopped her, pushed her off him, stormed downstairs. And yet... he had stared at Gloriae's naked body in the sun. He had desired it. He had let her kiss him, let her undress him, let her lie with him.
"It's my fault," he whispered to himself. "I'm sorry, Agnus Dei."
Nobody heard him, and Kyrie felt anguish tearing inside him like griffin claws.
They stacked what kindling they had. Benedictus had carried firewood in his backpack all the way from Osanna, and soon a campfire crackled. They warmed themselves by the flames, ate old bread and turnips, and talked of their journeys.
Kyrie opened his backpack and pulled out the books Mythic Creatures of the Gray Age and Artifacts of Wizardry and Power.
"We borrowed these from Confutatis Library," he said. "Our friend Dies Irae edited them a bit."
He showed the others how the original parchments had been tweaked, some words scraped away and overwritten. When Agnus Dei saw the illustration of the hero taming the nightshades, his head replaced with the likeness of Dies Irae, she snorted. Kyrie looked up at her over the fire, hoping she'd laugh and smile at him, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.
Kyrie finished by reading from Artifacts. "'Lir Irae prayed to his father, the Sun God, for light to tame the nightshades. The Sun God, of infinite wisdom and power, created the Beams and filled them with his light and fire, so that Lir Irae might tame the nightshades in his name.'" Kyrie cleared his throat and slammed the book shut. "In short, we don't know much. The part about the Beams is the original text. The words 'Sun God' and 'Lir Irae' are new, overwriting the original text. Who actually created the Beams, and who used them? We don't know."
For the first time, Agnus Dei spoke. "We do know."
She met Kyrie's eyes over the fire, but there was no emotion in them. They were colder and sharper than her sword. She tore her eyes away and unrolled a burned, tattered scroll. She showed them the text, which was badly damaged, missing many words.
"In the days of the Night Horrors, King T______ite journeyed to the southern realms of G____nd sought the Loomers o_______olden pools. The Night Horrors stole the souls of Osanna, and cast them into the d___ness, and Ta__________________________omers, who were wise above all others in the land. He spoke with the Loomers, and prayed with them, and they crafted him th_________________e returned with th_________anna, an_____________m upon the Night Horrors. He tamed them, and drove them into Well of Night in the Marble City, and sealed it. He placed guards around it, armed wit___________________cape."
Kyrie thought for long moments, staring at the scroll, and trying not to stare at Agnus Dei and Gloriae. He could feel both girls watching him, and his cheeks burned, and he forced his mind away.
Instead of looking at them, he looked over the fire at Benedictus and Lacrimosa. The two sat holding each other, the firelight orange against them.
"So we know who created the Beams," Kyrie said. "The Loomers of the olden pools, in some realm that starts with a G."
Benedictus nodded. "And we know that a king of Osanna used the Beams. We know his name started with 'T', and ended with 'ite'." He scratched his chin. "We should visit the tombs of Osanna's kings; they stand in a valley a few leagues from Confutatis. We might find answers there."
Kyrie rose to his feet. He could no longer stand sitting there, feeling Gloriae and Agnus Dei staring at him. He could imagine their thoughts: Gloriae thinking of lying with him and having his child, Agnus Dei suspecting and simmering. Kyrie didn't think he could stand their eyes on him one moment longer.
"Great," he said, brushing dust off his pants. "We go back to Osanna. I'm up for a journey. We'll find out who this king is, and research him, and see how he found the Beams."
Benedictus gave Kyrie a long, hard stare, eyes narrowed. "Kid, you okay? You look like a scorpion bit your backside."
"I'm hot by the fire," Kyrie said. "I'm going for a walk."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left the campfire. He walked past toppled bricks and earth, and felt the others looking at him. He didn't care. His eyes burned, and he wanted to be alone. Dust rose under his boots, and he clutched the hilt of his dagger. Soon he entered a copse of burned birches. Most had fallen, but some still stood, blackened. Kyrie's boots stepped around arrowheads, shattered blades, and a helmet with a skull still inside. He knew that the ash and dirt hid many more memories of the war.
Soon he came to an old wall and tower. Only about ten feet of the tower remained; the top part had fallen over, and its bricks lay among the burned trees. The wall too had crumbled, leaving a stretch only several feet long. Around the wall, Kyrie saw the skeleton of a griffin, half buried in earth. Its ribs rose like the teeth of dragons, and Kyrie stared at it. He thought of his childhood in this land, when it had still bloomed with life. He thought of Lanburg Fields, where so many had died around him, where he lay wounded in his blood. He thought of the Lady Mirum finding him, raising him in Fort Sanctus, dying at the hands of Dies Irae and Gloriae.
And he thought of Agnus Dei. When he'd met her, his life seemed good again, full of promise. In her eyes, he found a future, a meaning to his survival.
"I love you, Agnus Dei," he said softly. "I'm sorry."
Her voice spoke behind him. "I love you too, Kyrie."
He turned to see her standing by the toppled wall, her sword sheathed. Her eyes were moist, her hair dishevelled. He walked toward her, but she raised her hand, as if to hold him back.
"Agnus Dei, I—"
"Tell me it's not true," she said. "Tell me what I suspect is wrong."
Kyrie wanted to lie. It would be so easy to. He could tell her how he'd never slept with Gloriae, tell her it was only a misunderstanding. She would believe him, he knew. And yet he could not bring the words to his lips.
Agnus Dei lowered her head, and a tear streamed down her cheek. "Why, Kyrie? She's my sister."
As Kyrie searched for an answer, Gloriae too stepped from behind the wall. Her golden hair was still down, but she wore her gilded breastplate now, and rested her hand on the hilt of her sword. Her leggings were tattered, her left boot torn, and her cloak muddy.
"Because I forced him to," Gloriae said to her sister.
Agnus Dei snarled, drew her sword, and charged.
Gloriae drew her own sword and parried. The blades clanged and locked.
"You slept with him," Agnus Dei said and snarled.
Gloriae nodded, still holding her blade against the blade of her sister. "Yes."
Agnus Dei pulled her sword back, then attacked again. Gloriae parried. Sparks rose.
Kyrie ran toward them.
"Don't fight!" he said and placed himself between them. He held his hands out, one against Agnus Dei, the other against Gloriae. Both girls shoved him aside, barely acknowledging him. He tripped on a brick, fell, and banged his elbow against a rock.
"I knew you wouldn't change, Gloriae," Agnus Dei said. Tears filled her eyes. "We should have killed you long ago. I will kill you now."
The blades clanged a third time. Gloriae narrowed her eyes, and her cheeks flushed. "Agnus Dei, listen to me. Kyrie loves you. I knew it when I lay with him. And it's still true."
The blades clashed. "So why did you two... you two...." Agnus Dei grunted and sobbed. "It's disgusting."
The blades clanged, raised sparks, and Gloriae kicked. Her foot hit Agnus Dei's shin.
Agnus Dei fell into the dirt, and Gloriae stepped on her wrist, holding the sword down. Agnus Dei tried to kick and struggle, but Gloriae pressed a knee into her chest, pinning her down.
Kyrie stood up and watched them, rubbing his elbow. He wanted to intervene, but knew he shouldn't. He knew he must only watch now, and let the sisters battle it out.
"I seduced him," Gloriae said to her sister, face blank, eyes cold. "I got him drunk, and I seduced him. He had little say in the matter."
"Why?" Agnus Dei demanded , lying pinned below her sister.
"Because he loves you," Gloriae said. "That's why. Because he missed you. Because he talked about you all the time. Because I knew that, as soon as you two reunited, you'd be together forever, you'd get married, you'd have children. I needed his child before that happened."
Agnus Dei snarled. "His child?"
Gloriae nodded. "We need more Vir Requis. There are only three females left, and we need to bear children. All of us. Lacrimosa, you, and me. I saw my chance. I took it. It only happened once, Agnus Dei, and against his will. I wanted to lie with him more times, but he wouldn't let me. If you must hate somebody, hate me, not him. He loves you. He doesn't care for me; you are all he wants."
Agnus Dei's eyes softened, and she loosened the grip on her sword. It fell from her hand.
"Get off me," she said to Gloriae. "I won't hurt you."
Gloriae removed her knee from Agnus Dei's chest and stood up. Agnus Dei also stood and stared at Gloriae, her eyes red and watery.
"Are you pregnant?" she asked.
"I don't know," Gloriae said.
Agnus Dei gave her sister a long, searching stare. Her face was hard. Gloriae stared back, face blank, ash darkening her hair. Finally Agnus Dei spoke again.
"Leave us."
Gloriae nodded, sheathed her sword, and turned to leave. Soon she disappeared behind the ruins.
Agnus Dei turned to Kyrie. His heart pounded when her eyes met his. Those brown eyes seemed full of so many emotions: Kyrie saw love, hate, rage, and fear there. Agnus Dei trembled. He walked toward her and embraced her.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She squirmed, trying to free herself. "Don't touch me. I can only imagine you touching her."
He kissed a tear off her cheek. "I know. I hate myself for it. I was stupid. I was wrong. Please forgive me."
She slapped his face. Hard. White light flashed, and stars flew before his eyes.
"Don't you dare kiss me," she said.
He held his burning cheek.
"Agnus Dei—" he began, reaching out toward her.
She brought her knee into his stomach. He doubled over, and she punched him. Pain exploded. He fell to the ground, moaning, the stars swirling before him.
"Agnus Dei, stop—" he said, but felt her grab his hair. She pulled him up, and he groaned, and stood again before her. She backhanded him, knocking him back two steps.
"Kyrie," she said, " if you hurt me again, I'm going to hurt you badly. This was nothing. This was only a taste. If you ever touch another girl, I swear by the stars, I'm going to give you the beating of a lifetime. It would make this one look like a caress."
He cursed, voice hoarse. He felt blood tickle down his chin and a bruise spread under his eye.
"Bloody stars," he managed to say. "Deal, all right? Now do you forgive me?"
She grabbed his face, digging her fingers into his cheeks. Kyrie thought she would hit him again. She snarled, eyes blazing.
"I will never forgive you," she said, "but I still love you."
She kissed him on the lips. He kissed her back, and wrapped his arms around her. She embraced him, and they kissed for a long time among the ruins. Finally they broke apart.
Kyrie took her hand.
"Marry me, Agnus Dei," he said.
She snorted. "Pup, go marry a nightshade."
They walked back to camp, hand in hand.
DIES IRAE
He stood, hands on hips, staring at the wagons. They were large wagons, twenty feet tall and a hundred feet long. Bulls with clawed feet and fire in their nostrils stood tethered to them, backs whipped and maws muzzled. The bulls were impressive beasts—Dies Irae had once sicced them on Lacrimosa—but today he cared not for the creatures who pulled the wagons. Today he cared for the creatures inside.
"My pets," he whispered and heard them shriek. "My lovelies."
Black cloth draped the wagons, and that cloth fluttered now, and bulged with strange shapes. The shrieks inside the wagons made grass and trees wilt. The nightshades were angry. They would get angrier. A smile spread across Dies Irae's lips. He stepped toward one wagon, grabbed the black curtains, and pulled them open.
Sunlight drenched the nightshades. They screamed. Steam rose from them. They spun and swirled in the wagon, slamming against its steel bars.
"You will stay in the wagon," he told them. He knew they could break the bars if they pleased, or flow between them. His power over them—the power of Osanna's throne—kept them trapped. "You will suffer the light."
They snapped teeth, howling, and began to eat one another. A few began to eat themselves, wispy teeth of mist tearing into their inky bodies. They had blood like steam.
"Had enough?" he asked them.
They screeched, begging for mercy. Dies Irae watched them for several long moments, savoring their pain. Then he closed the curtains. The nightshades squirmed and hissed inside the wagon, hating him but serving him.
"You will learn, my pets, to tolerate sunlight," Dies Irae said. "You will learn to hunt the weredragons by day as by night. You will learn that I am your master, the giver of pain and mercy. You will fly into the sun should I ask it of you."
Dies Irae moved to the next wagon. He drew its curtains and watched, smiling thinly, as these nightshades screeched and hissed too.
"You will soak up the sunlight," he said, "until it is like moonlight upon you."
Dies Irae nodded, waiting long moments before closing the curtains. Sunlight burned them like fire against men, Dies Irae knew. But it would not kill them. It would not stop them. There was only one light, he knew, that could harm these creatures. Only one light that could truly tame them.
And that light Dies Irae kept buried and forever extinguished.
As he watched the third wagon of nightshades rattle, he thought of his daughter.
"Thank you, Gloriae," he whispered, gazing into the west, to Requiem. She flew with the weredragons now. She had betrayed him, stabbed his heart, gone to evil. But she had given him the nightshades. She had done that. "Thank you for my lovelies."
If he ever met Gloriae again, he decided that he would not kill her. He would lock her in the wagons with the nightshades, and allow them to bite her, to rip her soul to shreds, to play with her.
"Then you too, Gloriae, will beg me for mercy. But I will give you none."
He left the wagon and walked between rows of soldiers who stood at attention, fists on their chests. One man, he saw, had a nervous tic. His left eye kept winking. Dies Irae approached him.
"Is that involuntary?" he asked.
"Yes, Comma—" the man began.
Dies Irae swung his left arm, his iron arm, and shattered the man's head. He fell. The other soldiers stood still, not daring to breathe.
"I don't care," Dies Irae said to the body.
He stepped into his tent and shut the curtains behind him. Golden vases, jewelled statues of eagles, and other fineries filled his tent. The girl was there too, sitting on a divan, eyes pleading.
"Please, my lord," she began, tears filling her eyes. "Please, is my brother—"
"Your brother is dead. You'll be dead soon too."
She wept, covering her face with her hands. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hands free.
"I want to see your face," he said. He leaned down and stared at her. She looked back, trembling. He had found her in the nearby ruins of a village, cowering with her brother in a barn.
"Yes, you look just like her... just like my Gloriae."
She shivered. "My lord, I don't know Gloriae, I—"
He backhanded her. She fell to the floor, bleeding.
"You will suffer, Gloriae, for betraying me," Dies Irae said. "You disobeyed me. You freed the nightshades. You fly with the weredragons."
The girl trembled on the floor. "Please, my lord, I don't know who Gloriae is. My name is Alendra, I... I...." She wept. "I'm only a peasant girl, my lord."
"You are a betrayer, Gloriae," he told her, and when she tried to rise, he beat her down. "You will suffer now."
The nightshades screamed inside him. He could feel their maggots squirm in his wound, the gaping hole of his left eye, the eye Benedictus had taken from him. The light of the maggot eyes burned, painting the girl a blood red. She whimpered and cowered, and Dies Irae laughed. The smoke of nightshades danced around his fingertips as he grabbed her, shook her, hurt her.
He soon stood above her dead body. Blackness like ink coiled in the air around him, and he laughed.