LACRIMOSA
The mountain winds howled around Lacrimosa, threatening to topple her. They billowed her cloak, flapped her hair, and stung her eyes with snow. With shivering fingers, she tightened her cloak around her, but its white wool did little to warm her, and her fingers looked pale and thin to her. My bloodline was never meant for snow and mountains, but for glens and glittering lakes, she thought. Her family had always had pale skin, pale eyes, silvery hair; they were the color of snow, and brittle like it, but with a constitution for sun and meadows.
"Agnus Dei," she whispered, lips shivering. "Please."
She stared at the cave, but could not see inside. She saw only darkness that fluttered with snow, deep like the chasm that had opened in their family, their home, their people.
"Agnus Dei," she whispered again, voice so soft, she herself could not hear it. "Please."
The mountains rose above the cave, disappearing into cloud—cruel, black mountains covered with ice and snow, bristly with boulders like dragon teeth. The snowy winds danced around their peaks like white demons, and even when Lacrimosa turned to gaze below, she could not see the green of the world she had fled.
She dared take a step toward the cave, but it was a trembling step. She was afraid. Yes, afraid of her daughter, afraid of what Agnus Dei had become. The girl was eighteen now, no longer a child, and she had become like a stranger to Lacrimosa, as wrathful as her father.
Lacrimosa smiled sadly. Yes. Agnus Dei was like her father, was she not? So strong. Proud. Angry. Tough enough to live in forests and snowy peaks, while she, Lacrimosa, withered in these places and missed the warmth of their toppled halls and the song of their shattered harps.
Does Agnus Dei remember those halls, where marble columns stood, where fallen autumn leaves fluttered across tiled floors? Does she remember the song of harps, the poems of minstrels, the chants of our priests? Does she remember that she is Vir Requis, or is she full dragon now, truly no more than a beast of fire and fang?
"Agnus Dei," Lacrimosa tried again. "Let us talk."
From inside the cave came a growl, a puff of smoke, a glint of fire. Yes, she was still in dragon form. Why did she never appear as human anymore? She was such a beautiful child; not pale and fragile like Lacrimosa, but dark and strong like her father. Lacrimosa still remembered the girl's mane of dark hair, her flashing brown eyes, her skin always tanned, her knees and elbows always scraped. A wild one, even in childhood. She had been seven when her uncle destroyed their world, when Dies Irae shattered their halls, and the harps were silenced.
Seven is too young, too young to understand, Lacrimosa thought. She was too young.
She felt a tear on her cheek. And I was too young when I married Benedictus, too young when I had my children, the loves of my life, my Agnus Dei and my Gloriae. She had been only fifteen when she married Benedictus, twenty years her senior, to become a princess of Requiem. She had been only sixteen when she gave birth to the twins. We were all too young.
She sighed. But that had been so long ago. Now this was all that remained. This mountain of boulders and snow, and this cave of darkness, and this husband who hid in exile. One daughter kidnapped. The other lost in darkness and rage.
"Agnus Dei," she said and took another few steps toward the cave. She could see inside now, see the fire that glowed in Agnus Dei's dragon mouth, see the glint of it against red scales. Red—a rare color in their family. Lacrimosa became a silvery dragon, as had her father and forefathers, while Benedictus and his line had forever become black dragons. Yet Agnus Dei's scales glinted red, a special color, the color of fire.
"It means she is blessed," a monk said when Agnus Dei first became a dragon at age two, drawing gasps and whispers at her color. "It means she will forever be as wildfire."
Lacrimosa wanted to believe. She prayed to believe. When she looked at Agnus Dei's dark hair and flashing eyes, she told herself that she saw Benedictus there. Again and again, on darkest nights, she would pray to the Draco constellation. "Let Agnus Dei and Gloriae be the daughters of my husband, the daughters of Benedictus."
Yet in the deepest halls of her soul, Lacrimosa's fears whispered. She would remember the day Dies Irae found her, grabbed her, forced himself upon her. The day she swore to never reveal, to die with her secret. Had this been the day her daughters quickened within her?
Lacrimosa shook her head, banishing those memories, that old pain. Agnus Dei and Gloriae are the daughters of Benedictus. They are good at heart like him, angry and fiery like him. They are his, and let those whispers of my heart never cast their doubts again. She tightened her lips, the snow stinging them, and clutched the bluebell pendant she wore around her neck, the pendant Benedictus had given her.
She took another step, so that she stood at the cave's mouth. She felt the warmth of her daughter's flames, and though she feared the wrath and wild ways of Agnus Dei, she could not help but be grateful for the heat. A wry smile tickled her lips. We silver Vir Requis of the warm glens; we'd welcome the fury of our offspring to escape the snow and winds of banishment.
"Hello, daughter," she said softly.
Agnus Dei crouched in the cave, smoke rising from her nostrils, flames fluttering around her fangs. Her tail flicked, and her claws glinted. A growl sent ripples across those red scales. The girl spoke in a low, dangerous voice. "I am staying a dragon."
Lacrimosa sighed. She stepped toward her daughter and touched her shoulder, feeling the hot red scales. Agnus Dei growled and pulled away, flames leaving her nostrils. Lacrimosa caught her reflection in her daughter's brown, burning eyes. A slender woman, of long fair hair, of delicate features. Eyes that were haunted, too large, too sad. She was the opposite of Agnus Dei; soft while Agnus Dei was strong, sad while Agnus Dei was dark, reflective while Agnus Dei was angry. But then, she had not seen Agnus Dei for a year now, not in human form at least.
"You'll have to become a girl again sooner or later," Lacrimosa said. Her eyes moistened. "You can't stay like this forever."
Agnus Dei growled. "And why not? The true dragons of Salvandos have no human forms. They live upon great mountains of gold, and they fear no one." She growled and blew flames from her mouth. Lacrimosa stepped aside, heart fluttering, and watched the flames exit the cave to disappear into the snowy winds.
Lacrimosa shook her head, hair swaying. "The true dragons live thousands of leagues from here, and some say they are but a myth. Agnus Dei. Daughter. Beloved. You cannot stay in this cave forever, hidden in darkness, rolled up into this ball of flames and scales. You—"
Agnus Dei roared, a sound so loud, Lacrimosa covered her ears. "If I were pale like you, I could fly outside, is that right, mother? But I am red. Red like fire. And I would burn like fire upon the mountainside, a beacon for our enemies to see, a call for them to hunt us. I say let them come! I fear no man. If Dies Irae arrives, I will burn him." She bared her fangs, and her eyes blazed.
Lacrimosa again placed her hand against Agnus Dei's scales. "You could not fight Irae, my child. With a hundred thousand Vir Requis we fought him, and we died at the talons of his griffins, at the sting of his swords."
Agnus Dei smiled bitterly. "Oh, but we did not die, did we, Mother? No. Not I, the daughter of Benedictus the Black. Not you, his young wife, the girl who married the legend. No. We were the family of royalty. We were kept in safety." Her voice rose to a yell, and her fire filled the cave. "As the multitudes died, as they fought and perished, we remained hidden. As King Benedictus called the hosts to his service, led countless to die under his banners, he hid us. So we lived, Mother. Yes, we lived. We should have died, but we were blessed, were we not? Blessed with royal blood, blessed to be the family of our king, and look at our blessed life now." She gestured at the cave walls. "To live in a hall of royalty."
Lacrimosa had heard this before, had heard her daughter's rage a hundred times in this cave. "Agnus Dei, please—"
The dragon shook off Lacrimosa's hand, rising as tall as she could in the cave, this cave too small for a dragon's body. Tears filled her eyes. "I should have fought with them! I should have died with them, now drink and dine with them in the halls of afterlife."
"You were a child—"
"I am eighteen now, and I am old enough. I will fight Irae now." She growled again, flames shooting, and Lacrimosa had to step back. "I am a dragon. I fear no one."
"You are a Vir Requis—"
"I am a dragon! A true dragon. I have no more human form. I have not taken my human shape in a year, and I never more will. Vir Requis are weak. Vir Requis are gone. Let me be a true dragon—like those of the west—and I will never more hide in caves."
Sometimes Lacrimosa thought that Agnus Dei did not know who she raged against. Was it the Vir Requis? Was it her mother, her father? The color of her scales? Her life while so many others lay dead? Maybe it was all these things, and maybe Agnus Dei was simply like wildfire, and needed kindling to burn, any kindling she could find. And so in this cave she flared.
"The new moon approaches," Lacrimosa tried again, as she did every month. "Let us travel to Hostias Forest. Let us see Father, like we used to. We'll become dragons together for one night. We'll be a family again."
But like every month for years now, Agnus Dei shook her head and roared. "I don't want to see him. He could live with us here if he pleases."
"You know Benedictus cannot live with us," Lacrimosa said. "It's too dangerous. He would place us in danger."
Agnus Dei stretched her wings so that they hit the walls of the cave. She seemed like a caged beast, barely able to move. "I would welcome danger. I would welcome a fight. I would welcome death, even."
Lacrimosa cried. She had lost her parents, her siblings, and her home in the war. She had lost her husband, could see him only one night every new moon. She had lost her daughter Gloriae; Dies Irae had kidnapped her, raised her as his own, raised her to hunt Vir Requis. How had she lost Agnus Dei too? Only a few years ago, Agnus Dei loved her mother, would play with her, listen raptly to her stories, travel with her in human form to visit Benedictus. She had always been a wild child, bruised and dark and angry, but cheerful too, loving and beautiful. How had this happened? How had Agnus Dei become this enraged beast?
Lacrimosa closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, trembling, tears still on her cheeks. Her voice was but a whisper. "As the leaves fall upon our marble tiles, as the breeze rustles the birches beyond our columns, as the sun gilds the mountains above our halls—know, young child of the woods, you are home, you are home."
She hugged herself, trembling. The song of her childhood, of her people, of those marble halls now shattered, covered in earth and burned trees. The whispers of their fallen race. Her voice shook. "Requiem. May our wings forever find your sky."
When she opened her eyes, Lacrimosa saw her daughter regarding her, silent, staring. Finally Agnus Dei spoke.
"There are no more marble tiles; they are shattered and buried, Mother. There is no more breeze to rustle the birches; it stinks now with smoke and death. The halls are gone, and the golden mountains are but a memory. I remember them, Mother. But I wish I did not. I wish I forgot that I am Vir Requis. It is a dead race. You can look to the past. I will not. I will be as a true dragon—wild. Goodbye, Mother." A tear streamed down Agnus Dei's cheek. "I love you."
And then, so fast Lacrimosa could not stop it, could barely react, Agnus Dei leaped out of the cave. She shot into the howling winds, roaring, breathing fire.
"Agnus Dei!" Lacrimosa cried. She raced outside the cave and saw Agnus Dei already aflight, already distant, a comet shooting through snow and wind. Sobs shook Lacrimosa's body. She had already lost one daughter; how could she lose Agnus Dei too?
"Agnus Dei! I love you, daughter. Goodbye! I love you."
She did not know if Agnus Dei could hear. The red dragon flew, churning the clouds, roaring and breathing fire. And then she was gone... gone like the halls of Lacrimosa's youth, gone into memory.
Lacrimosa fell to her knees and wept.