DIES IRAE
He hovered over his throne, wreathed in nightshades. They flowed around him, through him, inside him. He could see through their eyes, the multitudes of them that covered the land. He saw the weredragons cowering outside the city, covered in leaf and filth. He saw them peeking, whispering, fearing him.
"Let us fly to him, master." The nightshades hissed, flowing into his ears.
Dies Irae shook his head. He patted the nightshade that flowed by his right arm. "No, my pets, my lovelies. Let them fly here. Let them crash upon my walls and towers."
The nightshades screeched, and he patted them, soothed them, cooed to them.
"Let us fly to them, master," they begged. "Let us suck their bodies dry."
Dies Irae shook his head. "They are like rats, my pets. They run. They flee. They hide. If you chase them, they will scurry into holes. Wait, my lovelies. They will come to me. They will try to kill me; they've been trying for years. When they fly to our city, we will be ready."
A knock came at the doors of his hall, and Dies Irae raised his eyes.
"Ah," he said, "your dinner has arrived." He raised his voice. "Enter my hall!"
The doors creaked open, and soldiers stepped in, clad in mail and bearing axes. They dragged peasants on chains. Dies Irae saw old women, young mothers holding babies, and a few scrawny men. When they saw the nightshades, the peasants' eyes widened, and a few whimpered. The nightshades screamed, writhed, and licked their lips with tongues of smoke.
"The nightshades have destroyed your farms," Dies Irae said to the peasants.
One of them, a young woman holding a boy's hand, nodded. "Yes, my lord. They toppled our barn and their screams wilted our crops. We have nothing now, my lord. We're starving."
Dies Irae nodded sympathetically. "If you have no more farms, you are useless to me. You cannot grow my crops. You cannot pay my taxes."
Another peasant, a tall man with black stubble, stepped forward. "Please, my lord, we'll do any work. We'll serve you however we can."
Dies Irae smiled. "Exactly! You will serve me the way I demand. You will feed my nightshades. They shall feast upon your useless souls."
They cried. They screamed. They tried to flee. They fell, the nightshades upon them. The creatures of inky darkness swirled over their bodies, tossed them against the walls, bit into their flesh. The peasants thrashed, weeping. The nightshades sucked out their souls, and spat out their empty bodies onto the floor. Dies Irae sat on his throne, watching, a smile on his lips.
The nightshades crawled back to him, bloated, and coiled at his feet. Dies Irae patted them.
"Full, my lovelies? Good. Good. And soon you will enjoy your main course. Soon you will feed upon weredragons."
KYRIE ELEISON
He walked with Agnus Dei between the bricks of a fallen fort. They walked alone, seeking supplies; the others had remained at camp.
It was, Kyrie realized, the first time he'd been alone with Agnus Dei since their fight in Requiem. He looked at her and his heart skipped a beat. She was scanning the ruins, eyes narrowed, lips scrunched. Her mane of curls bounced.
She's beautiful, Kyrie thought. More beautiful than anything I've ever seen.
She noticed him staring, frowned, and punched his shoulder. "What, pup?"
He put an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her cheek.
"Not now, pup!" she said, wriggling in his grasp. "We're on an important mission to find supplies."
"I know," he said, refusing to release her. "We really shouldn't."
He kissed her ear, then her cheek, then her lips. She struggled a moment longer, then placed her hands in his hair, and kissed him deeply. He held the small of her back, and whispered, "Do you know what else we're not allowed to do?"
She was breathing heavily, cheeks flushed. "What?"
"Shift into dragons."
She raised an eyebrow. "You can't be thinking...."
"Think it's possible?"
She gasped, but her eyes lit up. "You are one disturbed pup."
He nodded. "It would be horribly wrong, wouldn't it? In so many ways."
She clutched a fistful of his hair and stared at him, eyes fiery. Then she placed both hands against his chest, pushed him back, and shifted. She stood before him as a red dragon.
Kyrie shifted too. Blue dragon stared at red as they circled each other. She blew wisps of fire. Her scales clinked. Kyrie roared fire, and grabbed her, and she growled. Her scales were hot against him, and her claws dug into the earth. He clutched her shoulders, and pushed her down, and blew smoke. Bursts of flame fled her lips. Her wings flapped. His wings wrapped around her. Her tail pounded the dirt, and their necks pressed together. Smoke and fire enveloped them.
He pushed against her, again and again, and she moaned. Their scales rubbed together, chinking. Her wings flapped, but he held her down. Their smoke rose. Their tails lashed, knocking down trees. She tossed her head back, and a jet of flame left her maw. He dug his claws into her shoulders, and roared fire too. The ruins of the fort shook, and bricks rolled loose. Flames covered his world.
When he came to, they were lying on the ground, cuddling together as humans. Their clothes were singed and their faces ashy. Kyrie kissed her head.
"That was new," he said.
She nodded. "I like being a dragon."
He brushed a lock of hair off her face. "I love you, Agnus Dei. I'm so glad you forgave me. I'll always love you, and only you."
She punched his shoulder. "Oh, quiet, pup. I know you're madly in love with me. I always knew." She kissed his cheek. "Now let's get back to camp. Let's get this war over with, so we can do this again and again."
BENEDICTUS
Benedictus was teaching Kyrie to duel with swords when shrieks sounded above.
He and Kyrie, both panting, raised their eyes to the sky. They saw only the dead, snowy branches of trees. The sun was setting, burning red above the naked canopy.
"Those were griffin shrieks," Kyrie said, clutching his sword.
Lacrimosa and the twins were sitting by the stream, drawing maps of Confutatis in the dirt. They stood up and joined the men.
"They're here," Lacrimosa whispered, watching the skies.
Benedictus narrowed his eyes in the sunlight and saw them. He clutched the hilt of his sword. A thousand at least flew there, maybe two thousand. They darkened the eastern sky like a cloud.
Screeches sounded to the north.
"And those are nightshades," Benedictus said. "They've seen the griffins too."
He looked at the others, one by one. Lacrimosa stood with tightened lips, eyes staring back at him. Kyrie held his sword, eyes dark. Agnus Dei bared her teeth, and Gloriae stood expressionlessly, her hand on the hilt of her sword. Benedictus wanted to tell them that he loved them—all of them, even Kyrie. But today he would not be their father and husband. Today he would be their leader.
"Shift!" he said. "We fly. The battle begins."
The twins shifted first, becoming the red and golden dragons. Kyrie shifted only a second later, turning into a blue dragon. Lacrimosa gave Benedictus a last, deep look, then shifted into a silver dragon.
Benedictus nodded and shifted too, becoming the black dragon, and flew. He crashed between the branches and emerged into the sky. The others followed.
He saw the griffins clearly now. They flew from the east, shrieking, the thud of their wings like thunder. The sunset painted them red. When Benedictus looked north, he saw a thousand nightshades flying to meet them.
"We fight among griffins today!" Benedictus called over his shoulder.
The dragons flew toward the griffins, and Benedictus saw Volucris there, the King of Leonis, who had served as Dies Irae's mount. They met in the air, and stared into each other's eyes. The other dragons also took position among the griffins.
They turned to face the nightshades.
The creatures flew not a league away, moving fast. Their hissing rustled the dead grass and trees below. Their arms of inky smoke reached out, talons like shards of lightning.
Benedictus spoke to Volucris, not tearing his eyes away from the nightshades.
"These beasts work for Dies Irae. In the dungeons of his palace, he guards a weapon to defeat them. We must find that weapon."
Volucris nodded, screeched, and clawed the air. His eyes said to Benedictus, "We will find it."
Benedictus snarled. Only moons ago, he had fought Volucris above this city. Now they would fight here side by side.
The nightshades howled and lighting flashed between them. They were five hundred yards away now, eyes blazing.
"Dada, I love you," Agnus Dei said at his side. "I fight by you."
Kyrie nodded, roared, and blew fire. "Requiem flies again!" he called. "Hear the Black Fang's roar. King Benedictus has returned."
Benedictus roared too, and blew flames into the skies, and then the nightshades were upon them.
Benedictus swiped his claws, ripping through two nightshades. Another wrapped around him, and Benedictus felt it tugging, sucking his soul. He shook himself wildly, freed himself, and blew fire into its eyes. It screeched and fell back.
"To the city!" Benedictus shouted to the others. "We fly to Flammis Palace. We need those Beams."
Several griffins fell soulless to the ground. The others were ripping into nightshades with claws and talons. A few nightshades screamed in pain, and fell back, but did not die. Their inky bodies reformed, and they attacked again.
"To the city!"
They flew, the nightshades coiling around them, tugging at them, biting and clawing. The dragons blew fire, burning a path through their darkness. The nightshades were thicker than storm clouds, their eyes like stars, their claws and teeth everywhere. Darkness covered the sky.
From the corner of his eye, Benedictus saw three nightshades wrap around Lacrimosa. He flew at them, clawed their smoky bodies, and grabbed his wife. He pulled her free, and blew flame at the nightshades. They screeched, fell back, and Benedictus shook Lacrimosa. Her eyes opened. Her soul refilled her. She breathed fire.
"Come, Lacrimosa, to the city."
Kyrie and the twins were shooting fire in all directions. They were young and strong, their flames bright. The nightshades closed their eyes and screeched, blinded. The griffins did less damage, biting and clawing and tearing into nightshade smoke, but they were great in number, and clove a path forward. Many griffins kept falling, wrapped in nightshades, empty shells.
"Over the walls, into the city!"
They were approaching the city walls. Benedictus blew more fire—he was running low, but still had some in him—and cleared a passage between the mobbing nightshades. Soon the walls of Confutatis were beneath him.
But they flew too low. The nightshades would not let them fly higher; they covered the sky above. On the walls, the archers drew their bows.
"Kill the archers!" Benedictus shouted, but was too late. Hundreds of arrows flew. Benedictus swerved aside, but an arrow pierced his leg. Another cut through his wing, and he howled.
There's no ilbane on these arrows, he realized, but somehow that only chilled him. Does ilbane ruin our taste for feesting nightshades?
Those nightshades grinned; the arrows passed through them, doing them no harm. They attacked him, wrapping around him. Benedictus beat them off, flapping his wings to break their bodies. He felt them tug his soul, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to release it.
More arrows flew. Griffins screeched; a few fell dead. An arrow hit Kyrie's tail, and he roared.
"Stop those archers!" Benedictus cried. He blew flame at the walls. The archers caught fire. The other dragons blew fire too, clearing the wall of them. Griffins swarmed the city battlements, biting and clawing. The surviving archers drew swords and hacked at them.
Benedictus quickly surveyed the battle. Half the griffins had died. Cuts covered the Vir Requis. Lacrimosa flew with a wobble, and Kyrie's tail bled. The nightshades were unharmed; not one had died.
"To the palace!" Benedictus cried. "Hurry, we're being slaughtered. We need those Beams."
He hadn't much fire left. He blew weak flames, scattering the nightshades, and shot over the walls. The ruins of Confutatis spread below—toppled buildings, nightshades flowing through the streets, and soldiers at every corner. Crossbows fired, and quarrels hit Benedictus, knocking off scales. Griffins screeched and fell, thudding dead against streets and rooftops. Their blood splashed.
Benedictus saw the palace ahead, rising from a pile of rubble. Nightshades swarmed around it, forming a cocoon. One of its towers had collapsed. The rest of the palace seemed held with the inky smoke of nightshades. Their lightning crackled across the towers and walls, and their eyes streamed like comets.
Benedictus blew fire and swooped toward the palace. Arrows flew around him. They hit his chest, leg, and wing. Roaring, he ignored the pain, barrelling between nightshades, wreathed in fire, howling and biting.
Shouting, Kyrie flew at his side. His flames blazed, and his claws and fangs ripped through nightshades. Arrows clanged against him, shattering against his scales, nicking him, and he blew more fire. He swooped, scooped up archers as they reloaded, and tossed them against the parapets. The twins and Lacrimosa still flew above, wrapped in nightshades, biting and burning them.
Nightshades swarmed at the palace gates. Soldiers stood behind them, armed with pikes.
"Kyrie, the gates!" Benedictus called. "Fire!"
Kyrie nodded and blew flames at the nightshades and soldiers below. Benedictus added his own flames. The fire roared, and the soldiers below screamed. They fired crossbows and tossed javelins. Benedictus and Kyrie flew aside, dodging the missiles. Nightshades came flying at them.
Three nightshades wrapped around Benedictus. Three more grabbed Kyrie.
Darkness.
Stars swivelling.
Benedictus saw endless spaces, chambers like worlds, his soul ballooning, fleeing, flowing like night skies. Eyes burned there, and tar, and moons that fell beneath him.
Shrieks around him. Feathers. Beaks.
Griffin talons ripped smoke, and Benedictus saw his body there, an old black dragon, missing scales, scarred, bleeding. Nightshades wrapped around him, and griffins were clawing, trying to reach him, and talons grabbed his legs, and—
His body sucked his soul back in. He gasped. His eyes opened, and he saw the battle around him, the fire below, the nightshades that roared.
"Kyrie!" he called. The boy was fighting at his side. Lacrimosa and the twins swooped at him, clad in flame.
"We enter the gates!" he called to them.
He swooped, tearing into the soldiers below with his claws. They screamed, slammed at him with swords, and died between his teeth. He spat their bodies out, and drove his shoulder into the gates. They shattered, and Benedictus rolled into the palace.
He stood up to see a hundred charging soldiers. He blew fire, scattering them, and ran down the hall. He swiped his tail, knocking over several men, and bit another soldier in half.
Kyrie burst into the palace behind him, roaring fire. Blood flowed down his side, and his claws swiped, knocking over soldiers.
"Where are the others?" Benedictus asked, biting and clawing at swordsmen.
"Right behind you," came Gloriae's voice. She tumbled through the gates, a golden dragon. Agnus Dei and Lacrimosa followed.
Soon all the soldiers in the hall lay dead. Benedictus grunted; a sword had sliced his back leg. It hurt badly, and he limped. Ignoring the pain, he surveyed the others. Cuts covered them, but they were alive, panting, and awaiting his orders.
"Gloriae, do you know the way to the Well of Night and the Beams?"
She nodded. "The tunnels are narrow. We'll have to go in human form."
She shifted back into human. Blood and ash covered her, and her eyes were cold. She drew her sword, pulled down the visor of her helmet, and stepped toward a doorway. Agnus Dei and Kyrie shifted too, drew their swords, and joined her.
Benedictus looked at Lacrimosa. "Are you all right? We go underground. Are you ready?"
She looked at him, still in dragon form. Cuts covered her, and pain filled her eyes, but she nodded. "I'm ready. Let's go find those Beams. And then find Dies Irae."
Benedictus was about to shift when a voice spoke behind him.
"You have found me."
He turned slowly.
Wreathed in nightshades, his empty eye socket blazing, stood Dies Irae.
GLORIAE
She saw Dies Irae enter the hall, and their eyes locked.
"Father," she whispered, sword in hand.
But no. He was not her father anymore. She did not know if Dies Irae had fathered her when raping Lacrimosa, but she knew that he'd banished her. Hurt her. Lied to her. She snarled and raised her blade. She would kill him.
Dies Irae gave her a thin smile. She saw nightshade maggots in his empty eye socket, squirming, their tiny eyes blazing.
Then Benedictus blew fire at Dies Irae, encasing him with flame.
"Gloriae, get the Beams!" Benedictus shouted. "Take Agnus Dei and Kyrie. I'll hold him off. Go!"
Dies Irae laughed, the flames crackling around him. He raised his arms, collected the fire into a ball, and tossed it at Benedictus and Lacrimosa. The two dragons leaped back, howled, and charged.
Gloriae wanted to join the fight. She forced herself to turn away.
"Come, Kyrie! Come, Agnus Dei. We get the Beams. That's the only thing that can stop Irae now."
As she raced into a narrow hall, she thought, I only pray that Benedictus and Lacrimosa can hold him off long enough.
She raced down the hallway. Agnus Dei and Kyrie ran at her sides, swords drawn. Five soldiers charged at them, brandishing blades. Gloriae ran at them, screaming, Per Ignem in her right hand, a dagger in her left. She sidestepped, swung her sword, and cut one man open. A second soldier attacked at her left; she parried with her dagger, then stabbed her sword, impaling him. Agnus Dei and Kyrie swung their blades, and soon the five soldiers lay dead. The three Vir Requis leaped over their bodies and kept running down the hallway.
"In here," Gloriae said, opening a door. A stairwell led into darkness, lined with torches. She ran down the steps, Kyrie and Agnus Dei behind her. A soldier ran up from below. Gloriae tossed her dagger and hit him in the throat. Not slowing down, she ran past him, pulled her dagger free, and kept racing downstairs.
The stairwell led into dank, dark tunnels. They twisted underground like the burrows of ants. Gloriae's sword and dagger flew, cutting down all in her path. Their blood washed the floor. The Vir Requis ran down narrower, steeper stairwells, delving into the world's belly.
Finally Gloriae reached a wide tunnel, its walls cut from solid rock. The Beams lay ahead, she knew. Last time she'd been here, a hundred men had guarded the place. Gloriae tightened her lips. She would shift. She would burn them. And once I have the Beams, I will kill Dies Irae.
She burst into the chamber. She saw the towering, iron doorways that protected the Well of Night. Three golden skulls were embedded into the doors, their sockets glowing. The Beams. The chamber was empty.
Gloriae skidded to a halt. Agnus Dei and Kyrie ran to her sides and stopped, panting. They held their bloodied blades high.
"A hundred soldiers once filled this chamber," Gloriae said, staring around with narrowed eyes. "The Well of Night, where we must seal the nightshades, lies behind those doors."
Agnus Dei struggled to catch her breath and said, "Those skulls. Are they the Beams?"
Gloriae nodded.
Agnus Dei made to run at them, but Gloriae held her back. "Wait. Something is wrong."
Kyrie nodded. "Everything is wrong. Benedictus and Lacrimosa need us! I'm getting the Beams."
He shoved past Gloriae and made a beeline to the doors.
Shadows scuttled on the ceiling.
"Kyrie, wait!" Gloriae shouted.
She looked up at the ceiling and froze. Her heart thrashed, and tears sprang into her eyes. No, it couldn't be. Couldn't! She clenched her teeth and her sword, and struggled not to faint.
Kyrie saw the creatures too. He froze and stared at the ceiling, the blood leaving his face. Agnus Dei looked up and let out a shrill cry.
"What the abyss are those?" Agnus Dei whispered.
"They are us," Gloriae whispered. "Molded at the hand of Dies Irae."
The three creatures scurried down the walls like spiders, and stood facing the Vir Requis. They were sewn together from old, rotting flesh. Limbs of bodies had been attached with strings and bolts. The limbs, heads, and torsos were mismatched; they came from different bodies. Blood and maggots covered the creatures, and their teeth were rotten. Their eyes blazed.
Two were female. One had long, matted, yellow hair that swarmed with worms. The other had dank, stinking black curls. A third creature was male, a youth of yellow hair, rotting flesh, and one leg that came from a goat.
The females looked like decaying versions of Gloriae and Agnus Dei. The male looked like Kyrie.
"Welcome, living sister," said the rotting Gloriae. She opened cracked, bleeding lips to reveal sharp teeth. Maggots rustled inside her mouth. "Welcome, Gloriae."
Gloriae screamed, nauseous.
"Shift!" she screamed. "Kill them!"
She tried to become a dragon, but the magic failed her. She strained, but remained human. She looked at Kyrie and Agnus Dei; they too were struggling to shift, but could not.
The creatures laughed. "Your curse will not work here, no, darlings. You are in our realm now. We are mimics. We love you. You will join us."
Gloriae screamed and charged toward the creatures. Kyrie and Agnus Dei screamed too, and attacked their rotting doppelgangers.
Gloriae's sword drove into her mimic's chest. Its blood spurted, black, foul. The creature laughed, maggots spilling from its mouth. It dug its claws into Gloriae's shoulders, and Gloriae screamed. Poison covered those claws; they sizzled and steamed.
She pulled Per Ignem back and swung it. The blade sank into the creature's neck, and worms fled the wound, squirming up the blade onto Gloriae's hand.
She screamed, shook the worms off, and kicked. Her mimic caught her foot and twisted, and Gloriae fell.
Her mimic fell upon her and bit Gloriae's shoulder. She screamed. The creature's stench nearly made her faint. She kicked and struggled, and managed to punch her mimic's face. Her fist drove into the soft, rotting head, spilling blood and cockroaches. The creature laughed, and its claws clutched Gloriae's chest.
"You will be one of us soon," it hissed. "We will take you apart, and stuff you, and put you together again. Then we'll be together. Then I'll be with you always, Gloriae." Its bloated, white tongue left its mouth and licked Gloriae's cheek.
Gloriae kicked its belly. It grunted, and she grabbed its head and twisted. The neck, already cut from her sword, tore. The head came off, and Gloriae tossed it aside. She pushed the creature's body off her, rose to her feet, and stared down at it.
The body writhed, claws scratching. The head laughed in the corner, spurting blood. Gloriae drove Per Ignem into the torso, again and again, but it would not die.
She ran to the wall and grabbed a torch. The torso came crawling toward her, and she tossed the torch onto it.
It caught flame. The head, several yards away, also caught fire. It screamed horribly. The bugs inside it screeched too, burning. Smoke rose, and the stench nearly made Gloriae pass out.
She looked and saw that Kyrie and Agnus Dei still fought their own mimics.
"Burn them!" she cried. She grabbed another torch and tossed it at the rotting Kyrie mimic. It caught fire, screamed, and fell. She tossed a third torch at the final mimic, the maggoty Agnus Dei, and it too burned. The mimics twisted on the floor.
"It burns!" they hissed. "Why do they burn us? Why do our mothers hate us? Oh, they burn their children. How it hurts! You will burn with us soon. You murdered your children." Smoke and fire rose from them. "You will burn with us in the abyss."
Gloriae helped Agnus Dei to her feet. She had fallen, tears on her cheeks. Kyrie walked toward them, fingers trembling, eyes haunted. The three watched the mimics burn, until they were nothing but piles of ash.
Gloriae stared, eyes dry. Then she tightened her jaw and pointed at the Beams. The golden skulls seemed to stare at her, lights flickering inside their eye sockets.
"Help me pry those from the walls," she said. "We go kill nightshades."
BENEDICTUS
Dies Irae's arm swung. Nightshade smoke flowed from it, slamming into Benedictus. His scales cracked. He flew, hit a column, and fell to the floor. Marble tiles cracked beneath him.
Dies Irae stepped toward him, the nightshades swirling around him.
"My my, brother, you seem to have fallen," Dies Irae said. Veins flowed across his face, blue and pulsing. The nightshade maggots squealed in his eye socket.
Lacrimosa flew at him, screaming, her talons glinting. Dies Irae waved his arm, and the blow knocked her against the ceiling. Bricks showered down. Lacrimosa fell, hit the floor, and whimpered. Blood covered her scales. Dies Irae laughed.
"Damn you, Irae," Benedictus growled. The sight of his wounded wife blazed in his eyes, drowning his pain. He pushed himself up, his wounds aching. His eyes burned, and blood dripped into them. He could barely see, but blew fire. Dies Irae waved his arm, and the flames flew around him. Tapestries caught fire. They crackled, and black smoke filled the hall.
"Damn me, brother?" Dies Irae asked. "I am already damned. My daughter Gloriae damned me, infested me with these creatures. But I am powerful now, brother. More powerful than you ever knew me."
Dies Irae swung his left arm, the mace arm. The steel hit Benedictus's chest and knocked him down. Pain exploded. He saw only white light, then stars over blackness. He flicked his tail, and felt it slam into Dies Irae, doing him no harm.
Outside, Benedictus heard the griffins and nightshades. The griffins were shrieking in pain. The nightshades laughed. Benedictus blinked, and he could see again. He saw a window. Outside the griffins were falling from the sky.
"Yes, Benedictus," Dies Irae said. "They are dying for you. Once more, you've led thousands to die under your banners."
No, Benedictus thought. He could not allow another Lanburg Fields. He could not let Dies Irae win again.
"You murdered our father," he said, mouth bloody, and struggled to his feet. "You murdered millions. I hold you to justice now."
Dies Irae laughed again and swung his mace. Light and pain burst. Benedictus fell onto his back, cracking more tiles. He smelled his blood.
"Ben!" came Lacrimosa's cry, a world away, hazy, echoing. A streak of silver flew. Lacrimosa, a dragon of moonlight, leaped at Dies Irae. He slammed his mace into her, nightshades swirling around it. The blow tossed Lacrimosa across the hall. She hit a column, cracked it, and fell. She moaned, her eyes closed, and she hit the floor. Blood flowed from her head.
"Lacrimosa!" Benedictus cried. Tears filled his eyes. Was she dead? The blood dripping from her head horrified him, yanked his heart, pulsed through his veins. He tried to run to her. Dies Irae, still laughing, lashed his arms. Nightshades flew from them, knocking into Benedictus, tossing him against the floor.
Benedictus lay, bloodied, aching, tears in his eyes.
"Lacrimosa...," he whispered and struggled to his knees.
Dies Irae stood above him. "Lacrimosa," he said. "That is her name. That is the name I called as I raped her. She was only fifteen, did you know? I hurt her then, Benedictus. I hurt her badly. She bled and wept, and—"
Screaming hoarsely, Benedictus charged forward. Dies Irae swung his mace into Benedictus's head.
Light.
Pain.
Benedictus hit the floor.
The pain shattered his magic, returning him to human form. He lay bloodied and moaning.
"So sad, Benedictus," came Dies Irae's voice. "You've fought for so long... only to die now. Your daughters have died too. They seek the Beams. Yes, Benedictus. I know of your plans. I have known for many days, and have been waiting for you. I have placed a horror to guard the Beams, a horror I crafted especially for your children."
Benedictus struggled to rise. Dies Irae placed a boot upon his neck, pinning him down, that boot made of Vir Requis scales.
"They won't die so easily," Benedictus managed to say.
Dies Irae pushed his foot down, constricting Benedictus. He could no longer speak, could barely breathe. "Oh, they are dead already, dear Benedictus the Black. Rest assured, too, that they suffered greatly before dying. My special pets made sure of that. Your wife too is dead."
Benedictus could just make out Lacrimosa's form. She was human again—which meant she was dead, or badly wounded. She lay in blood, unmoving. Benedictus wanted to call her, to tell her of his love one last time, but Dies Irae's boot suffocated him.
Benedictus drew a dagger from his belt. Dies Irae's boot left his neck and stepped on his wrist. The dagger fell.
Benedictus took ragged breaths.
"Why, brother?" he managed to say. "Why? Gloriae, whom you loved, is Vir Requis. You too are Vir Requis, you—"
"I am no such creature!" Dies Irae screeched. His voice was inhuman, impossibly high-pitched and loud. Stained glass windows shattered across the hall. Dies Irae's face burned with green light, and the nightshades swirled around him, lifting him two feet in the air. "You are cursed. You are wretched. You are weredragon. I am pure, a being of light."
Benedictus struggled to his knees. Dies Irae kicked him down.
"No, Benedictus. You stay on the floor. You are a serpent. Serpents crawl in the dust." He raised his steel arm. "Do you see this deformity? You bit off my real arm. Do you remember, brother? Do you remember Lanburg Fields?" He cackled. "When you bit off my arm, did you ever imagine I would grow another one? A steel one that would kill you? Yes. You will die now, creature."
Benedictus looked into his brother's eye—one eye now an empty socket rustling with nightshades, the other bright blue and milky.
"Our father loved you, Di," he said.
Dies Irae froze. Di. His childhood nickname. The name their parents used to call him. The name Benedictus himself would use when the two were children.
Dies Irae stared down, face frozen. "What did you call me?" he whispered.
Benedictus lay at his feet, blood seeping, pain throbbing. "He... he could not give you the Oak Throne, brother. I know he hurt you. He did not know. He did not realize your pain. He loved you, Di. Our father loved you more than life. More than Requiem. He—"
Dies Irae trembled. His chest rose and fell like a hare's heart, thrashing. His voice was nothing but a whisper. A frightened whisper. The voice of a child. "What did you call me?"
Benedictus pushed himself to his knees. "We used to play in the temple, do you remember? The priests had left a chandelier there, out between the trees. We took the crystals from it, and pretended they were jewels, that we were rich. Us, the princes of Requiem, playing with fake jewels, when we could have a thousand real ones! Yet these were somehow more valuable; childhood's joy lit them." Now his own voice trembled, and tears filled his eyes. "Do you remember? Do you remember the trees, and the crystals? You are my brother, Di. I loved you. I don't know you now. But you can come back. You can remember. You can—"
Dies Irae kicked him. Benedictus doubled over, coughing.
"Silence!" Dies Irae screamed, "I do not remember. That boy is dead. Gone!" His voice was like a swarm of wasps. "There is power now, and light and darkness across the world. That is who I am. I am a god, Benedictus. I am a god of wrath. You are a worm. You die. You die groveling at my feet."
Black tears flowed down Dies Irae's cheeks. His veins pulsed, darkness swarming within them. Teeth bared, his good eye wild, Dies Irae raised his mace over Benedictus's head.
KYRIE ELEISON
Embedded into the doors, the three golden skulls stared with glowing orbits. When Kyrie reached toward one, its glow brightened, and its jaw moved. Its glow was the glow of Loomers, blue and white and warm.
Kyrie wasn't sure how he'd pry the skull from the door. It was embedded deep into the iron. When he touched the skull, however, it clanked and fell into his hands. Its glow brightened, nearly blinding him, and a hum came from its jaw, a sound like spinning Loomers.
Kyrie turned to the twins, the Beam in his hands. The light bathed the girls; they appeared angelic, ghostly, beings of starlight.
"It's warm," he said. "There are two more. One for each."
Gloriae sheathed her sword and took a second skull. It hummed in her hands. Its glow suffused her face and billowed her hair.
Agnus Dei took the third and last skull. Her hair too flew, she tightened her lips, and her eyes narrowed.
"How do we use them?" she asked.
Kyrie hefted the skull in his hands. "In Mythic Creatures of the Gray Age, the drawing shows a man holding them up. Rays of light shoot out and tame a nightshade."
He turned the skull in his hands, so that it faced a wall. He held it high, hoping rays of light would burst from the eye sockets and sear a hole through the stone. The skull still glowed, but there was no great, searing beam of light.
"Do we need to utter a spell?" Gloriae asked. "Artifacts of Wizardry and Power said nothing about that."
Agnus Dei marched toward the tunnel they'd come from. "Father and Mother are in trouble. We'll figure it out on the fly. Come on."
Holding the skulls, the three ran up the tunnels and staircases. They sloshed through blood and leaped over the bodies of soldiers. It was a long climb, but eventually they emerged back overground. They entered a wide hall, its tapestries tattered, its walls bloody. Bodies, broken shields, and shattered blades covered the floor. Outside the windows, nightshades screeched, lighting flashed, and thunder rolled. Griffin bodies covered the ground.
"Benedictus and Lacrimosa are behind those doors," Kyrie said. Stars, I hope they're still alive. He began running toward the heavy oak doors.
A hiss rose, and a nightshade slithered from a shadowy corner. It screeched and rushed at them.
Heart thrashing, Kyrie raised his Beam.
Light exploded. The sound cracked the walls. Beams of light shot from skull's eye sockets, drenching the hall. The world was nothing but white light, searing, blinding him. Kyrie nearly dropped the skull; his hands burned. He screamed, but heard nothing; the humming light overpowered all sound.
He could see the nightshade, wisps of bright gray in the light. It screeched. Its eyes burst into white fire. It struggled as if trying to flee, but seemed caught in the beams. It howled like a dying boar, hoarse, horrible. Walls shattered. It flipped onto its back, writhing, screaming.
Kyrie jerked the golden skull sideways. The beams from the orbits veered, tossing the nightshade against the wall. The bricks shattered. The nightshade wept. Kyrie had not imagined they could weep. He waved the skull again, and the beams tossed the nightshade into the corner. It lay there shivering, shrivelled up like a slug sprinkled with salt.
Agnus Dei too pointed her golden skull. More light blazed, spinning, screaming. Walls shattered. The nightshade's eyes melted. It howled. It begged them.
"Please," it cried, its voice like ripping flesh. "Please, mercy, please."
Gloriae raised the third golden skull. Beams shot from its orbits, and the nightshade burst into white flame. Smoke rose from it, it wept and shivered, and then collapsed into ash.
The Beams dimmed.
Color returned to the world.
The sound died.
The skulls vibrated gently, and once more, their eye sockets glowed a delicate, moonlight glow.
"Well," Kyrie said, "that sure beats dragonfire."
For a moment silence blanketed the world.
Then a thousand nightshades screeched outside, crashed into the hall, and swarmed around them.
Kyrie lifted the Beam, and it burst into light again. A nightshade swooped. Kyrie pointed the beams of light at it, and it screeched and flew back. More nightshades flew to his right. He spun the beams around, and they sliced through the nightshades. They screamed and curled into the corner like halved worms.
The twins were also spinning their Beams. The light seared the world, and nightshades screamed. Once caught in the light, they could not escape. They sizzled, trapped, weeping and begging for mercy in beastly grunts. Kyrie swung his Beam like swinging a club, tossing the nightshades aside.
"Don't bother killing them now!" he shouted over the roaring Beams and dying nightshades. "Knock them aside. We must reach Benedictus and Lacrimosa. They're behind those doors. They need us."
He began plowing forward, step by step, knocking nightshades aside. They screamed and fizzed and shrivelled up around him.
"Agnus Dei, beside me!" he shouted. "Gloriae, watch my back."
He could barely hear himself, but the twins seemed to hear him. Agnus Dei stood to his left, Gloriae to his right; both swung their Beams forward and backwards. They formed a sun, casting light to all sides. His golden skull trembled so violently, Kyrie clung with all his strength. For every step, he battled a dozen nightshades. Their screams and smoke filled the hall.
It seemed ages, but finally Kyrie reached the doors.
"Stars, please," he prayed as he kicked the doors open. "Let Benedictus and Lacrimosa still live."
The Beams drenched the hall beyond the doors. Agnus Dei and Gloriae behind him, he stepped through.
Kyrie's belly went cold.
The room was a mess. The columns were smashed, a wall was knocked down, the tiles on the floor were cracked. Blood covered the floor.
"Where are they?" Agnus Dei shouted. The Beams still rattled and hummed. The nightshades crowded at the doorway behind, but Gloriae held them back with her Beam.
Kyrie stared. There was a stain of blood below a cracked column. Lacrimosa's bluebell pendant lay there, its chain torn. Kyrie lifted it.
"Lacrimosa was hurt here," he whispered.
He moved down the hall. By another stain of blood, he found black scales and a fallen dagger. Kyrie could hardly breathe. The horror pulsed through him, spinning his head.
"Benedictus was hurt here. This is his dagger."
He looked up at the sisters. Both stood with Beams in hands, holding back the nightshades. Both stared at him with wide eyes.
"Are they dead?" Agnus Dei whispered. Her voice trembled, and tears filled her eyes.
Kyrie looked at bloodied footprints. They led from the hall out the doors, into the city.
"Those are Irae's prints," Kyrie said. "They're too large to be Lacrimosa's, and Benedictus has flat boots; these are heeled." A nightshade swooped through the window, and Kyrie tossed it aside, searing it with his Beam. He spoke with a quivering voice. "Dies Irae hurt them. He took them from here."
"Where?" Agnus Dei demanded. "Where did he take them? Are they dead?" She trembled. Nightshades screeched and fell around her.
Gloriae tightened her jaw and began marching toward the palace doors. Nightshades fell and sizzled around her. She looked over her shoulder.
"Follow me," she said. "I know Dies Irae. I know where he took them."
She left the palace and ran down the shattered streets between dead men and griffins. Nightshades covered the skies, howling under the Beams.
Kyrie and Agnus Dei ran behind her, waving their Beams at the walls of attacking nightshades, clearing a way between them.
"Where?" Kyrie demanded, boots sloshing through griffin blood.
Gloriae looked at him, her eyes blank. Her face was pale.
"To his amphitheatre," she said. "He's putting them on trial."
LACRIMOSA
"Court is in session," screeched the voice.
But no, she thought. This was no voice. It was whistling steam, and steel scratching against steel, and demon screams—an inhuman cacophony that formed words. She convulsed at the sound. Lacrimosa tried to open her eyes, but darkness tugged her. Where was she?
"All hail Judge Irae!" spoke the voice, impossibly high pitched, a voice that could shatter glass. A thousand screeches answered the words, a sound like a thousand slaughtered boars.
Lacrimosa felt something clammy wrap around her. She felt herself lifted overground, and she moaned. Her head pounded. Her eyelids fluttered, and she finally managed to open her eyes.
She gasped.
Above her floated a figure from nightmares. It was Dies Irae, but more monstrous than she'd ever seen him. Nightshades wreathed him, holding him ten feet above her. He wore a judge's black robes and a wig of white, squirming snakes. He held a circle of jagged metal, Osanna's wheel of justice, its spikes cutting his hand. Storm clouds thundered above him.
"The trial of weredragons begins!" he cried, that sound like steam and metal leaving his mouth. The veins of his face pulsed, as if insects tunnelled through them. Pus and blood dripped from his empty eye socket. Nightshades screamed around him, holding him in the air, coiling around his legs, wrapping around his shoulders. He banged his left arm, the steel mace, against his breastplate. The sound rang out even over the screeches.
"Ben," Lacrimosa whispered.
She saw him across from Dies Irae. Nightshades wrapped around him, holding him upright. Blood dripped from his mouth and leg, and his left eye was swelling, but he lived. He saw her. He tried to speak, but nightshade tendrils covered his mouth. Lacrimosa tried to reach out to him, then realized that nightshades wreathed her too. They pinned her arms to her sides, and held her an inch above the ground.
Dies Irae laughed above them, his wig of snakes hissing. "Here, in this arena, before this crowd, we shall judge the weredragons for their crimes against mankind."
Lacrimosa looked around her, and saw that they stood in the amphitheatre, the same place where Dies Irae had once unleashed beasts upon her. All around, upon the rows of seats, nightshades slithered and grunted and watched the trial. Lightning crackled between them.
"Benedictus," Lacrimosa said again, pleading, and tried to reach out to him. She couldn't free her arms from the nightshades that encased her. One nightshade licked her cheek with an icy, smoky tongue. She shivered.
Dies Irae slammed his mace against his breastplate again. "Silence in the court! Today we judge Benedictus and Lacrimosa, the Lord and Lady of Lizards." His voice was howling winds, raising his words' last syllables into screeches. Clouds thundered and crackled above him. The snakes on his head hissed.
"Dies Irae!" Lacrimosa called, finding her voice. "Cease this mockery of justice. You only mock yourself."
"Silence her!" he screeched, an electrical sound rising into a crackle.
The nightshades covered her mouth, and she shouted into them, but no sound escaped. Dies Irae cackled. He unrolled a scroll and read from it.
"Your crimes, Lizards! I shall read you your crimes. You are charged, verily, of burning alive the children of this city, and eating them, and roasting them, and biting into their innards to suck upon them." He laughed hysterically. Nightshade maggots filled his mouth. "How do you plead, Lizards?"
Benedictus managed to free his head from the nightshades cocooning him. "Dies Irae, you are no judge. Stop this show."
Dies Irae slammed his mace again. "Silence in my court! Silence, I say. Bring forth the children." His voice was a tornado, buzzing with electricity. His 'r's rolled like a rod dragged against cage bars. "Bring forth the victims."
The nightshades across the amphitheatre—there were thousands—squealed. Three swooped from the high tiers to the dusty arena. They carried burned, bloodied bodies in their smoky arms. They tossed the bodies at Dies Irae's feet.
Lacrimosa looked away too late. The image seared her. Three children, burned and twisted, black and red. Who had done this? Had Dies Irae murdered these children as mock evidence for his mock trial?
He was fully mad now, Lacrimosa realized. He knew not fantasy from reality. The nightshades had festered in his brain and broken it. Did he truly believe she and Benedictus had burned these children?
"I find you guilty!" Dies Irae cried. The nightshades lifted him higher. Lightning crackled around him, and the snakes on his head screamed.
"Dies Ira—" Benedictus began, but the howls of nightshades and the booming thunder overpowered his words.
Dies Irae floated upon the nightshades ten feet back, and approached a structure hidden beneath a black curtain. What horror lies there? Lacrimosa thought. What more could Dies Irae reveal to still shock her?
Dies Irae ripped off the curtain, and Lacrimosa wept.
It looked like a gallows heavy with bodies. But these bodies were not hanged. They were gutted, bled, and hung on meat hooks. Some bodies were but children. A makeshift butcher shop for humans.
"Behold!" Dies Irae cried. "The weredragons have prepared these bodies to feast upon them. They stole our women, our youths, our children. They butchered them. They planned to eat them. They dined upon them in their halls of scales and flame."
Lacrimosa lowered her head, shut her eyes, and wept. How could such horror exist? How could such evil fill a man? How could a human, for Dies Irae had been human once, sink into such insanity? She shivered. All she had ever wanted, ever fought for, was the song of harps, a life of peace, of leaves and earth and sunlight and stars. How had she come to here, this trial, this stench of blood and fire?
"Ben," she whispered. She would die here, she knew. Close to him, but unable to hug him, to kiss him one last time. The nightshades tightened around her, and she opened her eyes, and looked to Benedictus.
Their eyes met.
"I love you," she whispered to him. He mouthed the same words back to her.
Nightshades flowed into her mouth, but she kept her eyes on her husband. I wanted to grow old with you. To watch our children get married, have children of their own. That's all I ever wanted. But we end here in pain and horror.
"I find you," Dies Irae said, "guilty. Guilty! Guilty as charged!"
He banged his mace against his breastplate, and the nightshades howled as if cheering. Winds flowed among them, and the clouds roiled.
Dies Irae kept reading from his scroll. He read of the earthquakes they caused, of the temples they toppled, of the illnesses they spread. He shouted about how they destroyed the world, and stole the souls of millions. As he read, he laughed and screamed.
"Guilty! Guilty to everything!"
Finally he tossed the scroll aside, and pulled a sword from his robes. It was a black sword, raising smoke, a jagged sword that sucked in all light.
"Behold the sword of the executioner," he said, and held it aloft, presenting it to the crowd of nightshades. "Behold the bright blade of justice."
Benedictus was struggling against the nightshades. His face was red. He was trying to shift; Lacrimosa saw scales appear and vanish across him. The nightshades were crushing him.
She saw her husband, and she heard the birches rustle. She could see them again, wisps of golden leaves, and harpists between them, and columns of marble. She saw Benedictus in green and gold, and she walked with him arm in arm, as dragons glided above through blue skies. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she clung to that memory, those ghosts of a land destroyed and burned. She would die with those memories, that love of her home, that love of Requiem.
"Goodbye, Benedictus," she whispered. "Goodbye, Requiem. May our wings forever find your sky."
Wreathed in nightshades, Dies Irae floated above Benedictus.
"Now, in this arena...," Dies Irae said, speaking slowly, theatrically, savoring every word. "Now, we carry out the punishment. Death. Death. Death!"
Silence fell.
The thousands of nightshades leaned forward, licked their lips, and stared.
The clouds ceased to grumble.
Dies Irae smiled a small, thin smile.
"Death," he whispered.
He raised his sword above Benedictus.
Lacrimosa closed her eyes. She would not watch this. She would remember Benedictus among the birches, smiling and strong, her king. That was how he would remain forever in her memories.
Light fell on her eyelids, and she smiled as she wept, for it seemed to her that the light of Requiem's stars glowed upon her.
A buzz hummed, angelic in her ears, like the sound of dragon wings.
"I'll be with you in our starlit halls, Ben," she whispered. "I'll watch over you, Agnus Dei and Gloriae. I'll watch you from the stars, and be with you always."
"Mother!" they cried. "Mother!"
She smiled. The memories of their voices seemed so real.
"Mother, you're alive!"
Lacrimosa opened her eyes... and she saw them.
She shouted and wept.
"Agnus Dei! Gloriae! Kyrie!"
At first, Lacrimosa thought that she floated through the starlit halls, the spirit Requiem beyond the Draco constellation. White light washed the world, bleaching all color, banishing all shadow. But no. This was still the amphitheatre, now drenched in light. Three dragons were flying toward the amphitheatre. Gloriae. Agnus Dei. Kyrie. They held the Beams in their claws. Lacrimosa knew they were the Beams; great light burst from them, spinning and singing. The world hummed and glowed.
The Beams' light hit the edge of the amphitheatre. The nightshades there, upon the top tiers, screeched and writhed. They turned sickly gray and thin in the light, and their screams shook the amphitheatre. Cracks ran along the stones.
"It's over, Dies Irae," Benedictus shouted over the shrieking nightshades and humming Beams, his voice almost lost. "We have the Beams. It's over."
A nightshade still wreathed him, but it was hissing and squirming. The nightshade holding Lacrimosa spun around her, grunting. The Beams did not shine on them directly, but the light still burned them.
"Mother!" Agnus Dei cried above. She, Gloriae, and Kyrie had almost reached the amphitheatre now. The Beams' rays were moving down the rows of seats, like light through a temple window travelling across a floor.
"When the light reaches you, you're dead, Irae!" Lacrimosa screamed. "You've filled yourself with nightshades, and now you're going to burn."
Dies Irae was staring at the dragons. The nightshades around him squirmed and grunted and screeched. The snakes of his wig blistered, then burst. His good eye blazed, and his skin seemed stretched nearly to ripping. The beams had moved down the tiers of seats, leaving seared, dead nightshades. They were now travelling across the arena floor, stirring the dust. The beams were a hundred feet away, then fifty, then ten, then five....
Dies Irae screamed. An inhuman scream. The defeated cry of a demon.
He turned to stare at Lacrimosa, his good eye burning, his empty eye socket gaping.
"We will meet again, Lacrimosa," he said.
Then he turned and stabbed Benedictus through the chest.
"Ben!" Lacrimosa screamed.
"Father!" came a cry above.
"Ben! Ben!"
The nightshades wrapped around Benedictus burned and fled. The nightshades around Lacrimosa smoked and flew from her. She fell to her knees, weeping.
"Ben!"
She saw Dies Irae open a trapdoor in the arena floor, that door tigers, bulls, and other beasts would once emerge from. He disappeared into the tunnels. Lacrimosa rose to her feet, ran to her husband, and knelt by him. She held him.
"My love." Tears streamed down her cheeks.
He lay in her arms, the sword buried to the hilt in his chest. He looked upon her with glassy eyes, and a soft smile touched his lips.
"L— Lacrimosa," he whispered, blood in his mouth.
The beams washed them. Nightshades screamed and flew around them. Lacrimosa clutched her husband, touched his cheeks, wept into his hair.
"Please. Don't leave me."
He held her hand. "Watch over the young ones," he whispered. "I love you, Lacrimosa, daughter of Requiem."
Sobs shook her body. She embraced him. "I love you forever, my lord."
When his head fell back, and his eyes stopped blinking, Lacrimosa raised her head and howled, a dragon's howl, a cry she thought could rend the heavens. She did not know how much time passed. Nightshades screamed. Beams blazed. There was a great battle. Lacrimosa was aware of nothing but her husband. She cradled his body in her arms.
It seemed that ages passed, the turns of seasons and the reigns of kings, as she held her husband, until the nightshades fled the world and only soft light washed her.
Still holding her king, Lacrimosa looked up. In the soft light she saw her daughters approach, walking in human forms, their steps slow. Kyrie walked behind them, bathed in dying light.
The Beams dimmed.
Darkness covered the world.
Agnus Dei saw her father, and she let out a cry like a wounded animal. She ran forward and knelt by his body, weeping. She held his hand, saw that he was dead, and cried to the sky.
Gloriae stared, face pale, silent. Her mouth was open, her eyes confused, shocked, her hands open.
Kyrie fell to his knees by his king, and shook him, and cried his name. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Dada!" Agnus Dei cried through her sobs. Lacrimosa held her, desperate, digging her fingers into her shoulders. Kyrie embraced them. Gloriae knelt by them, looking around, dazed. They wept as one, trembling, their tears joining, falling upon the body of Benedictus.
"My king," Lacrimosa whispered to him. "My husband. My love."
"Dada," Agnus Dei whispered, running her hands over his face.
Lacrimosa kept waiting for Benedictus to open his eyes, to cough, to wake up, to hold her. She kept checking his breath, again and again, finding it gone, his life fled from her forever.
Eyes blurred, she saw Volucris lead the surviving griffins into the arena. So few remain. Blood covered them. The beasts saw her holding Benedictus, tossed their heads back, and cried in mourning. Their shrieks thudded against her ears, and Lacrimosa sobbed and held her husband.
Arrows flew. They clattered against the ground around them. Lacrimosa looked up, and through her tears, she saw soldiers streaming into the arena. They fired arrows and drew swords.
Agnus Dei and Kyrie howled, shifted, and blew fire. Gloriae and Lacrimosa soon joined them. Flames filled the arena that night, and blood washed it, and dozens of soldiers died by fang and claw. But many more soldiers streamed in, a city full of them, and Lacrimosa knew they could not win this fight.
She lifted Benedictus's body in her claws. He seemed so small, so light. She flew with him, the arrows whistling around her, until she was out of their range. Her daughters and Kyrie flew at her sides, tears flowing down their cheeks.
The Vir Requis fled the city, and flew over burned fields, over toppled farmhouses, over wilted forests, over the ruins of the world. No more nightshades flew here. Their darkness was gone, but the darkness of Lacrimosa's world seemed greater than ever, and she did not think any light could banish it. The light of her life had been doused.
The dragons flew into dawn, into night, into dawn again. Their wings scattered clouds, their roars pierced the sky, and the tears of Requiem fell as rain upon a ruined world.
The world, Lacrimosa knew, could no longer be mended. Not for her. Not for her children. Never more for Requiem and her life.
King Benedictus had fallen.
AGNUS DEI
They buried her father in the ruins of Requiem.
She stood above the grave, wrapped in her cloak. Snow fell. It filled her hair, turned her black cloak white, and covered the shattered statues, columns, and memories. The snowflakes glided, swirled in the breeze, and stung her cheeks. The world glittered under a soft sun.
"Requiem is beautiful again, Dada," she whispered.
Her tears fell, and she knelt in the snow, and placed a lock of her hair upon his grave. A ribbon held the strand, bright red, a single piece of color in a white world. Her tears made holes in the snow.
She straightened and stared at the grave. They did not bury him among kings; those mausoleums were gone now. Agnus Dei buried her father in a graveyard of soldiers, so he would rest forever in the company of bravery, and sacrifice, and other men of sword and fang.
"You were a hero to your men," she whispered, and a sob shook her. "A leader. A great king. You were a father to them too. You were a father to us all. Goodbye, Dada."
It seemed unreal, but a dream. How could he be gone? How could she carry on without him? How could she find strength within her to continue this war? Father had always known what to do, where to go, how to fight. How could she live without his wisdom, his strength, and his love? Anguish clutched her, so that she could not breathe.
With trembling fingers, Agnus Dei clutched the hilt of her sword. "I swear to you, Dada. I will rebuild Requiem. I will rebuild our home. I will continue to walk in your path, and not stray from it to the left or right. I love you, Dada. Forever."
She backed away from the grave, tears on her cheeks, snow on her lips. Her mother embraced her, and Agnus Dei buried her face against her shoulder. They wept together, trembling.
Gloriae stood by them, staring at the grave, eyes wide, disbelieving. She had not spoken since leaving Confutatis. She kept looking from the grave, to Agnus Dei, to Lacrimosa, and back to the grave. Finally a sob fled her lips, and tears sprouted from her eyes.
"Mother," Gloriae whispered and joined the embrace.
Kyrie stood, face hard, tears on his cheeks. He stared at the grave, lips moving silently. Agnus Dei left her mother, and clutched him, and wept against him. He held her, gently at first, then desperately.
"I'm going to look after you," Kyrie whispered. His tears fell. "I don't know how to carry on without him. He was my king, my compass. I don't know how to fight this war without Benedictus. But I promise you, Agnus Dei. However I can, I will look after you, and Gloriae, and Lacrimosa. You have my word. You have me forever."
"Oh, Kyrie," she said, and clung to him, her tears on his shoulder. Her heart seemed like a ball of twine, too tight, and she trembled.
She left Kyrie's embrace, and took a step back, and shifted into a dragon. She knelt before the grave, and tossed her head back, and blew flame. The column of fire rose into the snowy sky, spinning and crackling.
The others became dragons too. They stood in a ring, tears on their cheeks. They blew four pillars of fire, a farewell of sound and heat and light... for one fire extinguished.