LACRIMOSA
The young ones huddled under the archway, embracing one another. She had washed their wounds with spirits, bandaged them, and prayed for them. Now, as the youths whispered in the dawn, Lacrimosa could be alone with her thoughts, her grief, and her memories.
She walked to the edge of the courtyard. A bit of old wall, three feet tall, jutted there like a last tooth in the gums of an old dragon. Lacrimosa climbed atop it and stared into the dawn. Wind played with her hair. Snow fell lightly, kissing her cheeks. She looked toward the valley where her husband lay buried.
"I miss you, Ben," she whispered.
She missed his strong arms around her; his laughter, deep and rolling like distant thunder; the stubble on his face; the softness in his eyes when she kissed him.
"Watch over me, Ben. You walk now in our halls beyond the stars, with our parents, with our siblings. You're at rest now. I continue the fight for you."
The wind gusted, opening her cloak, chilling her. Lacrimosa hugged herself. It would be so easy, she thought, to lie down in the snow, close her eyes, and wait for warmth to take her. It would be like falling asleep, and she would be with Benedictus again. But Lacrimosa turned her head, looked back at Kyrie and her daughters, and knew that she must be strong for them.
"I must survive," she whispered into the wind. "I must guide them, and heal them, and fight for them. Who else would?"
They had so much to live for, she thought. Kyrie and Agnus Dei wanted to get married, to raise a family. Gloriae still dreamed of becoming a great leader, a queen of Requiem and defeater of Osanna. The youths spoke of rebuilding Requiem, of killing Dies Irae, of changing the world. In all this darkness, they saw light.
And what of myself? Lacrimosa thought. Do I still see light in the world? My light died and lies buried in that valley. My children are my light now—my daughters, and Kyrie, my adopted son.
"I don't know what strength I still have, Ben," Lacrimosa spoke to the distant valley. "But so long as I can, I will carry your torch. I will keep our children alive and their hope burning. I will do this for them and for you." Suddenly she was trembling, and tears flowed down her cheeks. "I miss you, Ben. I wish you were here with me. I love you."
When the wind gusted again, ash from a mimic's body swirled around her boots. Lacrimosa looked at the burned body, which lay in the courtyard, and saw a red glint. She frowned.
Wrapping her cloak around her, she stepped off the wall and approached the body. It was but a pile of ash and old bones. She stirred the ash with her boot, and saw the glint again—something red and glistening like a ruby. Thankful for her leather gloves, Lacrimosa reached into the ash and retrieved a gemstone the size of a chicken's egg.
She brushed it off and held it up. It sparkled strangely in the light. Shadows and stars seemed to swirl inside it, blood-red. It was heavy. Though small enough to fit in her palm, it felt much larger, like lifting a gourd.
"What's that, Lacrimosa?"
Gloriae walked toward her, eyes narrowed. Inwardly, Lacrimosa winced. She still won't call me Mother. I saved her from Dies Irae moons ago, but I'm still only Lacrimosa to her.
She hid her disappointment. "A gemstone," she said, holding it out. "I found it inside a mimic's body."
Gloriae frowned at the stone. "This looks familiar. I've seen this before somewhere." She scrunched her lips. "Yes. Artifacts of Wizardry and Power spoke of glowing red stones."
Lacrimosa nodded. "Gloriae, would you stay here and watch? You have the sharpest eyes. Call us if more mimics arrive. Kyrie, Agnus Dei! Come downstairs, into the cellars. We have some reading to do."
Soon the three stood underground by the hearth. The cellars looked strangely empty without the wood they'd been collecting for weeks. Her footfalls echoed. Sap, twigs, and pine needles covered the floor. They had few furnishings: A table and chairs Kyrie had built, a bearskin rug, and beds of straw. They had no shelves; their belongings, including their books Mythic Creatures of the Grey Age and Artifacts of Wizardry and Power, lay in the corner.
Lacrimosa set the gemstone on the table, then fetched Artifacts of Wizardry and Power. She placed the ancient, leather-bound tome beside the gemstone, blew off the dust, and opened it.
"Let's see," she said and sat by the table. Kyrie and Agnus Dei stood behind her, looking over her shoulders at the book.
"Does it say anything about gemstones from mimic guts?" Agnus Dei said. She reached toward the pages. "Give it here."
Lacrimosa slapped her hand away. "Be patient. I'm looking." She flipped to the first chapter. "This chapter is about the Griffin Heart."
Agnus Dei groaned. "We know all about the Griffin Heart. We destroyed it already. Come on, Mother, get to the gemstones."
Lacrimosa turned her head and glowered at her daughter. "Agnus Dei, calm down. I'm looking."
She flipped the parchment pages and reached the second chapter. "And this chapter is about the Summoning Stick...."
Agnus Dei groaned louder. "Mother, we already used the Summoning Stick when fighting the nightshades. Give me the book. I'm a fast reader."
Lacrimosa glared at her daughter. "Agnus Dei, you're making me angry. Will you please let me—"
Lacrimosa froze.
The table was shaking.
"Earthquake?" she whispered. The gemstone and book rattled on the tabletop.
Kyrie shook his head. "Only the table is moving. Look! Its legs."
Lacrimosa gasped. The table legs were curling inward, forming a shape like animal legs. Before her eyes, the table began to creep across the floor, insect-like.
"What the—?" Kyrie said. "Agnus Dei, look what you did. Even the table is mad at you."
"I did nothing!" Agnus Dei objected.
Lacrimosa rose from her chair and stared. Her heart raced and her fingertips stung. She didn't like this. The table crawled, reminding her of a spider. It seemed to... turn to face her. The book and gemstone slid and fell onto the rug.
The table froze.
"Look, the rug!" Lacrimosa said.
They crowded around it and watched. The bearskin rug twisted. Its head rose to glare at them with its beady eyes. Its mouth opened, fangs glinting, and roared. The body of the rug squirmed, as if the bear were struggling to rise and surprised to find that it had no bones left.
Kyrie whistled. "First the griffins and nightshades. Then the mimics. And now the furniture is turning against us. Can't we ever win?"
Agnus Dei punched his shoulder. "Pup, this is no time for being smart."
Lacrimosa lifted the gemstone off the rug. The bear gave a last growl, then fell flat onto the floor. Once more, it was still, its eyes dead and its mouth shut. The gemstone was now ice cold, nearly freezing Lacrimosa's hand. Red liquid swirled within it; it looked like blood.
"The gemstone brings things to life," Kyrie whispered, voice awed.
Agnus Dei snorted. "Sir Obvious saves the day again."
He glared at her. "You sound just like your sister, do you know?"
They raised their fists, and their eyes flashed. Lacrimosa stepped between them.
"Children! Stop fighting."
Agnus Dei flushed. "I'm not a child, Mother, I'm nineteen. The pup is only seventeen. He's a child."
Kyrie opened his mouth to object, but Lacrimosa put a finger against his lips.
"Kyrie, not now. No arguing. You two are children, and intolerable children at that." She placed the gemstone in Kyrie's hand. "Hold this. Now let's try this book again—quietly this time."
Lacrimosa turned several more pages, then nodded. "Here we are."
This chapter was entitled "Animating Stones". It featured an illustration of a battle. On one side fought knights, swordsmen, and archers. On the other side, a wizard commanded an army of statues. The statues seemed to move; they were tossing javelins and waving swords.
Lacrimosa read out loud.
"As there is no greater crime than taking a life, so is there no greater Magik than giving it. In all the lore of Ancient Artifacts, the Animating Stones are the most powerful, and the most dangerous. An Animating Stone can cause a river to rise like a serpent; a statue to march and fight; a corpse to escape the grave; or any other dead matter to take life, to move, to serve its master. Such is their might, that around Animating Stones, all other Magiks and Artifacts lose their power, and—"
"Look at this part," Agnus Dei interrupted. She pointed at the next paragraph. "About the Ancient Days."
Lacrimosa sighed and skipped forward. She kept reading. "In the Ancient Days, when the world was in chaos, the Ocean Deities created the Animating Stones, so they may mold the species from fire and water, and create a male and female from each. First they created the fish, then birds, and finally creatures to crawl upon the earth. They created Man and Woman last, him of fire and her of water, and placed the last two Animating Stones within their hearts."
Agnus Dei scrunched her lips. "It doesn't say when they created Vir Requis."
Kyrie shoved her. "The Draco stars created us, not any Ocean Deities. You should know that."
"Pardon me, oh wise scholar pup."
Lacrimosa continued reading. "When all creatures swam, flew, crawled, and walked, the Ocean Deities collected all the Animating Stones. They took them to a dark forest, and dug deep tunnels, and scattered them underground. None have seen them since."
The chapter was finished. Lacrimosa closed the book.
"So where is this dark forest?" Agnus Dei demanded. "How did Dies Irae find the buried Animating Stones?"
Kyrie mussed her hair. "If the book told us that, it would be too easy. And things are never easy. Haven't you learned that yet?"
"Stop messing up my hair, pup."
Lacrimosa stood up. She looked at the youths—Agnus Dei with her flushed cheeks and flashing eyes, and Kyrie who was like a son to her now. She thought of Gloriae, her golden daughter, who guarded above, strong and brave. For the first time since the mimics had attacked, Lacrimosa saw hope for her children.
"Let's return to the courtyard," she said. "We have Animating Stones to collect... and life to create."
TERRA
"Kyrie!" he called, flying over the hills of dead. "Brother! Kyrie!"
Lanburg Fields lay below him, a field of blood, shattered weapons, and shattered bodies. Five thousand dead Vir Requis lay here, the last of their kind, cut with arrows, talons, and griffin beaks.
Dead. All dead.
"Kyrie!"
Terra's eyes stung, and his wings shook so badly, he could barely fly. His sister flew beside him, weeping.
"Kyrie!" she cried too, flying over the desolation, trembling. "Kyrie, where are you?"
They landed among the bodies and shifted into humans. The stench of blood and death rose around them, spinning Terra's head. His fingers shook. Desperate, he began to rummage through the bodies, turning them over, shoving them aside.
"Kyrie!"
No. He couldn't be dead. Couldn't be.
"We should have been here," he said hoarsely. "We should have died with them."
But the tunnels had collapsed around him and Memoria. The darkness had trapped them. The Poisoned had fought them. They had spent a day digging for light and life... only to find darkness and death.
"I should have been here with you, Kyrie," he whispered, limbs shaking. He remembered bandaging Kyrie's knee only a week ago, after he had fallen. When you needed me most, I wasn't here.
He pushed over the body of a child, but it was a girl, her body burned, her face torn. As he held the girl, the wind died.
For a moment, the killing field was silent.
Memoria spoke behind him, her voice strangely soft, strangely beautiful.
"Terra... I found him."
He turned and saw her looking toward him, but not at him. She seemed to be staring a thousand yards away, her eyes huge and glistening. She cradled a small body in her arms. It was burned so badly, Terra could not recognize it.
But it had yellow hair. It was the right size. It wore the same orange scarf.
Terra... I found him.
Terra clenched his fists.
No.
He took a deep, shaky breath. Do not remember, Terra. Memories are wrong. Memories are pain. That life is behind you. Kyrie has been dead for eleven years; let him rest in peace.
Terra looked around him. No blood. No fire. Just ice, snow, and frost. Whale Hall rose around him, its pillars like ribs. The sun shone softly, a mere smudge behind the ceiling of ice. An end to pain, he thought. No more memories. No more blood. His life was ice now. He would fill his memories and soul with nothing but this endless ice.
Pain stung him. He winced and cursed.
Amberus, the Elder of Elders, smiled and clucked his tongue. He was sprinkling green powder into Terra's wound; the stuff burned like ilbane. As he worked, the old man chanted prayers to the Wind Goddess, or maybe it was the Sky Eagle or Old Walrus. Terra no longer cared about deities, not those of the north, nor the stars that had abandoned him.
"You will heal now," Memoria said, voice soft. She sat beside him, wrapped in furs, a hood pulled over her head. "Amberus is a wise healer."
Her eyes, large and brown, brimmed with concern. Terra felt his pain melt, both the pain of his wounds, and the pain within him. No, not everyone lay as burned skeletons. Memoria still lived. And it's for you that I still live, he thought. It's for you that I don't walk into the ice and never return. I'll stay alive for you, sister, and watch over you.
Amberus bandaged the wound and furrowed his brow. "Your wounds will heal, Son Terra, but an evil caused them. The Ice Mother weeps for them. There is dark magic in them, and poison, and secrets from far away. What caused these wounds, Son Terra? They trouble me greatly."
"Demons from under the ice," Terra said. His throat tightened at the memory, and he swallowed. "They were like dolls, sewn together from the body parts of dead men. They seemed to have dark magic to them, yes. Memoria and I could not become dragons around them, as if their magic undid ours."
Amberus closed his eyes and mumbled prayers. His feet tapped, silent against the ice. He chanted to Father Whale, a god of ancient times, and to Mother Turtle, whose northern lights glittered upon the Ice City.
Terra looked at his sister. Memoria stared back, her doe eyes so large, so sad. He could see his fear reflected in them. Was Dies Irae back? Was he hunting them again?
Finally Amberus opened his eyes. They were startling blue and glowed like the moon. Staring at nothing, he drew black powder from a hidden pocket, tossed it onto the floor, and slammed down his staff.
Terra watched, eyes narrowing. He caught his breath. The black powder stirred and raised smoke. The smoke swirled, flowed toward the distant ceiling of the palace, and raced around the columns of ice. Moaning like wind, the smoke dived to the floor, gathered, and formed into ten figures like men. No, not men, Terra decided. The smoke looked like mismatched bodies sewn together, their hair swarming like worms.
"The creatures we saw," Memoria whispered. She clutched her fur cloak.
The smoke dispersed, swirled in a maelstrom, then formed new figures. This time it formed thousands of small, smoky creatures that marched across the ice. More rotting demons, Terra thought. An army of them. The creatures howled, then dispersed into snakes of smoke. The smoke rose, swirled and raged, and finally collapsed into powder again.
Silence filled the hall.
"What does it mean?" Terra asked, looking up at Amberus.
"They are mimics," Amberus said. Wrinkles deepened around his eyes. "Mimics of life... and mimics of death. They flow with the stench of it. They hunt your kind, the sky warriors that you call dragons. They do not sleep. They do not tire. You cannot kill them. They will never stop hunting you and your kind."
"Do you see more of our kind, Amberus?" Memoria asked. She clutched Terra's hand. She looked at him, and Terra knew she was remembering the names the creatures had spoken.
Agnus Dei.
Kyrie Eleison.
Amberus shook his head, his necklace of icicles clinking. "That is hard to see now, as it always has been. If there are more dragons, they hide well; the Mother Turtle cannot see them. But these mimics... they hunt for dragons everywhere. Most flow to the old ruins, the place you call Requiem. If there are more dragons, they hide there."
Terra closed his eyes. His chest tightened, and cold sweat trickled down his back. He could barely breathe, and his pulse pounded in his ears. War. Destruction in Requiem again.
Terra... I found him.
For years he had struggled to forget, to banish those words from his memory. Now, once more, Terra felt the fire around him, smelled the stench of death, saw the small burned body.
"We have to go back," Memoria whispered.
Terra opened his eyes. "What?" he demanded. "Memoria, we do not return. Not now. Not ever. When we left, we left for good."
Memoria breathed heavily and her cheeks flushed. She glared at him. "Terra, when we left, we thought that we were the last. That they all had died at Lanburg Fields. But they didn't. Two at least still live. Agnus Dei... and our brother."
Terra clenched his fists and shook his head. His chest felt tight. "Kyrie is dead, sister. We buried him."
Memoria's eyes flashed. Her chest rose and fell as she panted. "We buried a body. The body of a burned child his size, with the same hair and scarf. But we don't know it was him." She clutched his shoulders, tears in her eyes. "Kyrie is alive, Terra. Kyrie and the princess Agnus Dei. I know it."
He looked away, throat burning.
Terra... I found him.
He looked back at Memoria, her face so pale, so sad. He couldn't let that happen to her. The loss of his brother still haunted him. How could he lose his sister too, see her body also burned, cry over her grave?
"Memoria," he said, and for a moment he could say no more. He tightened his jaw. For the first time since he'd buried Kyrie, he felt ready to cry. He refused to. He would shed no more tears. He had vowed to remain strong. It was a long moment before he could speak again, voice strained. "Memoria, I led us here to protect you. To hide you. To—"
"You fled here to escape death!" she said. "You came here to escape memory. To escape pain. To escape... to escape what we found at Lanburg Fields."
He shouted, voice echoing in the ice hall. "We ran to save our lives!"
She shook her head wildly, hair swaying. "That doesn't matter anymore. Our lives are threatened here too. Those creatures found us even here, a thousand leagues north of Requiem."
"Three mimics found us. Thousands march to Requiem."
"So we will return to defend it!"
Terra laughed mirthlessly. "With what? Our swords? We couldn't shift around those things, Memoria. Their claws tore through my armor as if it were wool." He looked at Amberus, who was watching them silently. "Elder of Elders, please. Tell her it's dangerous. Tell her she cannot go chasing that evil."
The old man nodded slowly, lips pursed. He looked at the powder on the ice, and his brow furrowed. His eyes darkened, and his wrinkles deepened. His knuckles whitened around his whalebone staff. Terra had never seen the old man look so troubled.
Finally Amberus looked up, nodded, and spoke in a low voice.
"It is time to reclaim Adoria's Hands."
Terra stared at him. "Adoria? Is this another deity of the north?"
Ambrus shook his head. His voice was soft, as if lost in memory. "She was an iceling sorceress who lived many seasons ago. She created magic to stop other sorcerers from casting spells upon her. She could hold out her hands... and stop magic. Fearing sorcerers, the giants killed Adoria and cut off her hands. The Giant King wears those hands as amulets; they hang on a chain around his neck. They still repel magic."
Terra felt the blood leave his face. "The Giant King...."
Amberus stared at him, his eyes suddenly blazing. "You cannot shift around mimics. Their magic stops your own. But if you owned Adoria's Hands, mimic magic would not touch you. You could become dragons around them. You could burn them all with dragonfire. If you want to save your friends, you must face the Giant King... and reclaim Adoria's Hands."
Terra turned away from Amberus. He looked at his sister—his small, frail sister, the person he loved most, the person he was sworn to protect. He lowered his head and embraced her.
"How can I face this again?" he whispered. "Memoria, how can I face the dead, their souls that still hover there? I was a bellator, a knight of Requiem. I vowed to defend them. How can I face their ghosts?"
Memoria held him, her grip tight, fingers digging. She whispered into his ear. "We don't return for the dead, Terra. We return for the living."
Kyrie! he had cried. Kyrie, do you hear me?
Could it be?
Could he still live?
Terra took a deep, shaky breath. His stomach knotted, and he could barely breathe. Kyrie, a child with yellow hair, only six years old, a somber child who saw too much war, too much pain. Kyrie, who'd be seventeen now, a grown man. Kyrie, who lived forever in his mind, even here, even as he struggled to forget.
Are you still out there, Kyrie? Do you still need me?
He tightened his jaw.
He nodded.
Agnus Dei. Kyrie Eleison.
"We'll need Adoria's Hands." He held his sister's shoulders. "We'll need to kill the Giant King."
GLORIAE
As Gloriae worked, collecting Animating Stones, she did not speak. The others conversed excitedly, imagining where Dies Irae was mining the stones, and how they could animate their own warriors, and about finding more firewood, and... Gloriae ignored it. She kept separate from the others. As they scoured the courtyard for Animating Stones, she walked along the mountainsides, rummaging through the ashes of the mimics her arrows had killed.
Mimics. Monsters. Creatures of death. Dies Irae's latest creations.
Before them, he had sent nightshades upon Requiem, creatures of darkness and evil.
And before the nightshades... he had sent her. Gloriae the Gilded.
For the first time she understood. She looked at the ruin around her, the ashes of demons, monsters, rotting things. She had just been one of his monsters.
"I am Gloriae the Gilded!" she would cry from her griffin. "I fight for light and life."
And thus she had killed. Thus she had tortured, and burned, and dealt death to Requiem. To her own people. Thus she had let Dies Irae mold her into just another monster, a creature of darkness and death. No different than the nightshades. No different than the mimics.
Gloriae came upon the burned, smoking body of a mimic. It rustled at her feet in the breeze. She kicked it, and the body scattered. She reached into the ash—it was still warm—and found another Animating Stone. The stone's innards pulsed red in her hand like a heart.
My heart too was made of stone, she thought. I was a creature like this.
Gloriae looked into the stone. Liquid seemed to swirl inside it like blood. In its patterns, she imagined the eyes of a child, a young Vir Requis wounded by griffin claws.
"Kill it," Dies Irae had said to her. "Draw your sword and kill the weredragon."
Gloriae had not wanted to. She wanted to go home. She wanted to look away from the child's weeping eyes, from the blood on his stomach.
"Run the creature through, daughter," Dies Irae had said.
"Yes, Father," she told him. He was a father to her then. She drew her thin sword, and stabbed the child, and stared at the blood with dry eyes. She was six years old.
Gloriae looked back at the ruins of Draco Murus. Her sister was chasing Kyrie, yelling at him for getting ash in her hair. Lacrimosa was trying to stop the girl, but it was like trying to stop a charging mare. Gloriae wanted to smile. She wanted to run too, to laugh, to play. But... those were fragile emotions, weren't they? Emotions regular people felt. Not warriors of ice. Not maidens of steel.
If I smile, if I laugh, if I love... I am human. I am guilty. My hands are bloody.
She stared. She kept her face still. She had to remain this warrior of steel; warriors did not feel pain, guilt, or shame.
"I must remain Gloriae the Gilded," she whispered to herself. "Hard as steel, ruthless as my blade. I will allow no weakness. I will not allow those child's eyes to haunt me. Dies Irae raised me a killer; to change would hurt too much, confess too much blood. I will remain what he made me. But I will not kill more Vir Requis." She turned to look east, toward the distant lands where Dies Irae ruled. "I will kill you, Irae. You made me a killer, and this killer will be your death."
"Gloriae! Gloriae, have you found the last ones?"
Lacrimosa was waving from the ruins, calling her. Gloriae stared back, hand on the hilt of her sword, and nodded.
Stay strong, she told herself. Even if she is your mother. Even if you love her. Love leads to joy, to memory, to guilt... and then pain.
"I found them," she called back. She walked uphill, the Animating Stones in her pack, and joined the others in the ruins.
They brushed off a few ashy cobblestones and placed their Animating Stones there. Gloriae counted them. A hundred shone and trembled at her feet. What ash blew toward them formed strands like snakes, which writhed until the wind blew them away. The cobblestones beneath them trembled.
Kyrie stared down at the Animating Stones and shuddered. "Nasty things, they are. Black magic."
Gloriae looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Black magic, Kyrie? According to our book, they created early life in this world. Death and life are closely linked; they are sides of the same coin. Or stone, in our case. Don't judge so quickly what is evil and what is good."
She stared back to the stones, and wondered: Am I talking of this magic, or of myself?
Lacrimosa lifted one stone and held it to the light. It glimmered. "If we create life with them, will our creations serve us? Or will their loyalties still lie with Dies Irae?"
Gloriae remembered her days at Flammis Palace, serving the man she thought of as Father. Hunting for him. Killing for him.
She put her hand on Lacrimosa's shoulder and stared into her eyes. "Whatever beings we animate—they will not serve him. He animated creatures from dead soldiers who feared him; their loyalties continued in their mimicry of life. But we will animate the stones of Requiem. Our creations will fight for us." She nodded. "Broken statues cover this land. Let us find what statues are still whole, even if ash and dirt cover them. They will be Requiem's new soldiers."
Lacrimosa nodded. "King's Forest lies several leagues north, nestling the ruins of our palace. We will find statues there. Most will be smashed, but we might be lucky and find some whole. Kyrie. Agnus Dei. You two travel there, and take fifty Animating Stones with you. Raise us soldiers of stone. Gloriae, you will travel with me south, where our old temples once stood. We might find more statues among their ruins."
Gloriae nodded. "When Dies Irae returns with more mimics, and he will, he will find us ready this time. I hope he himself leads the next charge." She drew her sword and raised it. The light of Animating Stones painted it red. "If he does, he will meet this blade."
They collected the Animating Stones into packs, and with quick embraces, they parted. Gloriae and her mother began walking down the southern mountainside. Her sister and Kyrie disappeared down the other way.
For a long time, daughter and mother walked in silence.
They walked across valleys strewn with shattered blades, arrowheads, and cloven helmets. They moved through forests of charred trees, skeletons, and fallen columns. Silently, they passed by mass graves, where the wind whispered and yellow weeds rustled. Gloriae tried to imagine Requiem in her glory days: Proud columns of marble rising among birches, stone pools and statues among flowers, and white temples where priests played harps. Mostly, she imagined herds of dragons in the sky, roaring their song, a stream of color and fire and music.
I destroyed this land, she thought, remembering the dragons she had slain in her youth.
But no. She had been only a child when Dies Irae started his war. Three years old, that was all. By the time she was eight, most dragons were dead; only a handful of survivors remained for her to hunt.
"He did this," she whispered and clenched her fist around Per Ignem's hilt. "Not me. Him alone."
The memories swirling through her, Gloriae had forgotten about her mother beside her. Lacrimosa now touched her hair and smiled sadly. There was no accusation in her lavender eyes, only pain and love.
"I know, sweetness," she whispered.
For the first time, Gloriae realized that she looked like her mother. Lacrimosa had the same pale skin, the same golden hair, the same face Gloriae knew people said was beautiful.
"What do you know?" she whispered, and a tightness gripped her chest. She had spoken little; she had thought a lot. Could Lacrimosa see into her heart?
Lacrimosa took her hand. "You are my daughter, Gloriae. You don't have to speak for me to know your pain. You shield this pain in ice, but it pulses red as fire, and I can see its light."
Gloriae stopped walking. A tremble took her knees. "I hide nothing," she whispered.
But suddenly Lacrimosa was embracing her, and Gloriae allowed it. Suddenly tears stung at her eyes.
"I love you, Gloriae," her mother whispered into her ear. "You don't have to speak of your pain. Not until you're ready. I know what he did to you. I know what he made you do. And I still love you. I always have and I always will." She pulled back and looked into Gloriae's eyes. "You are forgiven, Gloriae."
Something salty touched her lips. She was crying. She, Gloriae the Gilded—crying. Her fingers trembled. No, she told herself. Stay strong. You are Gloriae the Gilded. You are a killer. You are a warrior of steel. You... you....
She fell to her knees, and another tear flowed, and Gloriae reached out to clutch at something, anything, and Mother was there kneeling beside her. She clung to her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her tears on Mother's shoulder. "I'm sorry, please. Please. I didn't know, I...."
She bit back her words. She knuckled away her tears.
"No," she said. "No pain. Not now. I'm not ready. We still have to be strong. To kill him. We must kill him, Mother."
Lacrimosa nodded and brushed back locks of Gloriae's hair. "We will kill him. Now let's keep moving. We have statues to find."
They continued walking through the ruins. Crows cawed above, the first sign of life Gloriae had seen all day. She look at Lacrimosa, this woman of pale frailty like starlight, and realized: For the first time, I called her Mother.
AGNUS DEI
"Pup, you're walking too slowly," she said. "Can't you hurry up?"
Kyrie glared at her. He looked to Agnus Dei like a porcupine, all bristly with weapons. A sword hung from his right hip, a dagger from his left. A bow, a quiver of arrows, and two torches hung over his back. Dented armor covered his forearms and legs, and he wore a helmet that was too large. With all this covering him, he sloshed through the snow like a drunkard.
"Agnus Dei," he said, "I swear. If you complain about one more thing, I'm going to—"
"What, give me a black eye?" She smiled crookedly. "Maybe a fat lip? I'd like to see you try, pup. I'm stronger than you, deadlier than you, faster than you—well, obviously faster than you, seeing how slow you're walking. Look at me. I'm bearing just as much armor and weapons, but I'm walking straight and fast."
"I might be slower, but you're whinier," he said, adjusting the strap of his quiver. "That's for sure."
"Who's whiny?" she asked and mimicked him. "Ow, Agnus Dei! My feet hurt. I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. I love you so much, that my heart aches, and my loins are about to burst into flame."
He groaned. "And what about you?" He spoke in falsetto. "Oh pup, I want to fight! No wait, I want to fly now. Actually let's kiss and roll in the hay!"
She snorted. "You wish." But in truth, she did want to fight, and fly, and... as Kyrie put it, roll in the hay. Any one of those things beat crying. Sometimes Agnus Dei felt that no more tears could flow from her, that no more pain could fill her. And yet the pain was always there, a rock in her stomach, ropes around her heart, smoke in her eyes. Fighting, flying, loving—that was better than pain. Wasn't it?
She sighed and took his hand. It was gloved in leather, and she squeezed it.
"All right, pup," she said. "I'll walk a little slower to match your small puppy steps."
They walked through the ruins, snow swirling around their boots. Soon they passed the mossy boulders that reminded Agnus Dei of dragons, and she looked to her right and saw the cemetery there. The ropes around her heart tightened, and she gave Kyrie's hand another squeeze.
I'm still fighting, Father, she thought. I'll be strong like you. Like you taught me.
Tears filled her eyes, and she wiped them with her fist. Kyrie saw, and his eyes softened, and for a long time they walked in silence. She looked at him once, and wanted to pester him, tease him, kiss him even... but none of it felt right. Not before, not now. How could she still find joy in this world, when her father lay buried, and monsters crawled the ruins?
But there was something she could do. I can fight.
"Do you think we'll find any statues?" she asked. She hefted her heavy leather pack, where she carried Animating Stones. "I've seen only pieces of statues in Requiem, feet or hands or heads."
Like the body pieces Dies Irae sews together, she thought with a shudder.
Kyrie scanned the northern horizon, as if he could see statues from here. "I don't know. But the ruins of Requiem's palace are a good place to look. If we find them anywhere, we'll—"
A howl pierced the air.
Agnus Dei and Kyrie drew their swords with a hiss.
A second howl sounded—closer this time.
Scanning the ruins, Agnus Dei lowered her blade. "Wolves," she said. "They would roam my old mountain hideout; I'd recognize their howls anywhere."
She wished she could shift—she'd rather face a hungry wolf pack as a dragon—but the Animating Stones in her pack meant facing them as humans.
"Those aren't wolves," Kyrie said. He stared from side to side, as if seeking them. "There are no more wolves in Requiem."
A third howl rose, this one even closer. More howls answered. They still sounded like wolf howls, but... deeper, crueler. Agnus Dei shivered.
"Look!" Kyrie said and pointed with his sword.
Agnus Dei saw six figures in the distance. They seemed like men—they ran through the snow on two legs—but they howled like demon wolves.
"They saw us," she said. "Kyrie, let's light some arrows."
He already had his tinderbox in hand. "I like the way you think."
They switched from swords to bows, lit their arrows, and nocked them. The figures raced toward them. Their stench carried on the wind—the stench of bodies.
"More mimics," Agnus Dei said, jaw tight.
When the creatures were close enough to see clearly, she nearly gagged. Their bodies were from dead humans, stitched and stuffed. Their heads were the heads of dead wolves, sewn onto human necks, fur matted and eyes dripping pus.
"Let's burn those bastards," Agnus Dei said. "Fire!"
She loosed her arrow. Kyrie did the same. The flaming missiles flew in an arc. Agnus Dei cursed; her arrow missed. Kyrie's hit a mimic's leg. It screeched, fell, then rose and kept running.
"Fire again!" Agnus Dei shouted.
They lit more arrows. They shot again. This time, Agnus Dei hit a mimic in the chest, and she shouted in rage and triumph. The creature fell, and the fire spread across it. Kyrie's arrow grazed another's shoulder, searing but not killing it.
"Agnus Dei, light your torch!" Kyrie shouted. He was busy lighting his, and soon swung it as a flaming club. Agnus Dei managed to light hers as the five surviving mimics reached them.
She swung her torch and hit a wolf head. Sparks blazed. A second mimic bit at her left. Its stench stung her eyes and twisted her stomach. She leaped back and raised her arm. Its teeth banged against her vambrace, and it howled. She shoved the torch against its face. Its fur kindled and it screamed.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Kyrie battling his own mimics. Then one leaped onto her, knocking her down. She hit the snow and crossed her arms over her face. Wolf teeth bit at her armor. Drool dripped onto her face, thick with dead ants. Agnus Dei grimaced and kicked the creature's stomach.
The mimic fell off, and Agnus Dei jumped up. She slammed the torch into the fallen mimic, but another one leaped onto her back. Teeth ripped at her shoulder, and she screamed. Her thick, woollen cloak absorbed most of the bite, but those teeth still tore flesh.
She spun, swinging her torch, but was too slow. The mimic barrelled into her, and she fell again. Teeth closed around her forearm, pressing into the armor. The creature snarled, steam rising from its nostrils. Worms filled its fur.
The words of the mimic last night returned to her. We were made with drops of Benedictus's blood....
Rage filled Agnus Dei. She dropped her torch, drew her dagger, and shoved it into the wolf's eye.
It screamed and released her. She scrambled to her feet and shoved her torch into its rotting face. The head caught flame, and soon the whole body burned and writhed. She stared down at it, the fire stinging her eyes, and spat onto its body.
"Agnus Dei," Kyrie said, panting. "Agnus Dei, you're hurt."
She turned to see three mimic bodies at his feet, burned dead. Teeth marks peppered his arm; he clutched the wound.
"I hate these bastard mimics," she said and tightened her jaw. The smoke and heat stung her eyes. "I hate the damn things. I hate them."
He nodded. "I know. I do too. More than anything—other than Irae, maybe."
Agnus Dei tossed her torch aside, took three large strides, and embraced him. He held her in the snow and smoke, and she rested her head against his shoulder. His hand, bloody, smoothed her hair.
"I hate them, by the stars," she whispered, throat tight. "I hate their lies. I want to burn them all."
"We will," Kyrie promised.
She stared into his eyes. She touched his cheek, smearing ash and blood across it. "I love you, Kyrie. I'm sorry if I tease you sometimes, or call you a pup. You're a good fighter. And you're strong. Don't forget that, Kyrie."
"Okay, kitten," he said, and gave her a smile and wink.
She couldn't help but laugh. It felt good. She kissed his cheek, and pushed him back, and said, "Let's bandage these wounds, then keep walking. And try to keep up this time."