Requiem's Song (Book 1) (18 page)

Goldtusk.
The very thought of the word made her eyes sting and iciness wash her
belly. The tribe had been her only home since she'd been a toddler.
Laira had often dreamed of fleeing, of finding others like her, other
cursed ones, able to become dragons. Yet now that she had truly fled,
the fear would not leave her.

She sucked in breath and
tightened her lips.

You
can do this, Laira. You are ready. You are strong. You have dreamed
of this all your life, and now the day is here.

"Freedom,"
she whispered. "A chance for a new, better life. All I must do
is
live
."

When evening fell, she came upon
another stream. She had not heard pursuit since the afternoon, and
she deemed the filth covering her a greater danger than rocs. She had
been coated in the mammoth dung for two days now; if the rocs didn't
kill her, this poison would.

Wincing, she undressed and
stepped into the water. It was so cold it hurt like fire, and Laira
cried out in pain. Shivering, she submerged herself and bathed as
best she could. Teeth chattering, she then scrubbed her filthy furs
between smooth stones to clean out the dried flakes.

She climbed onto the
riverbank—trembling, naked, her skin pale blue. After hanging her
wet cloak upon a branch, she examined her wounds and grimaced.
Brambles had painted her with a network of raw, red scratches. The
fall through the canopy had covered her with bruises; some were as
large as apples, their blue centers fading into black rings. Cuts
surrounded her wrists and ankles, carved by the ropes. The worst
wounds were on her feet; the heat had raised welts on her soles and
toes, white and swollen.

The
sun was sinking rapidly and Laira yawned. It was an action so
mundane, so comforting, that it filled her with a little bit of
warmth even as she still shivered. Yawning was good. Yawning was
healthy. Yawning was
normal
.
Her furs wouldn't dry until tomorrow, not in this cold weather, but
she could curl up under dry leaves. She could sleep, regain some
strength, wake up and search for more food, then walk some more.

Tomorrow
she would hum a little tune as she walked, she told herself. She
would remember all the old jokes her mother had told her. It would be
a happy day—a day free from all the old pain. Zerra wouldn't be
around to beat her. Shedah wouldn't scratch her, spit upon her, or
leech her for potions. Laira would
live
—perhaps
for the first time in her life. She would find a new home and this
nightmare would be over. She wiped tears from her eyes, allowing
herself a shaky smile.

"I will be all r—"

A roc cried above. Laira froze.

Stars,
oh stars, I had just washed off the stench, and they're back.

She clenched her fists.

There
is only one above,
she told herself.
I
can fight one. I can shift into a dragon and burn it. I—

More shrieks answered. Three
rocs, maybe four—no more than a dozen. Laira's head throbbed. She
was too weary, too hurt to fight that many, even in dragon form.

The shrieks sounded again, and
she took a shuddering breath. The rocs were still far—a mark away,
maybe farther. They could not smell her from that distance. She only
had to remain silent, to remain hidden, to—

A growl sounded in the shadows
behind her.

Laira spun around.

Yellow eyes gleamed in the
brush.

The growl rose again in the
darkness.

Behind her, the sun vanished
behind the trees.

A shadow slunk forward, and in
the dying light, Laira saw the creature, and she felt the blood drain
from her face.

The saber-toothed cat bristled,
muscular and hulking, several times Laira's size. Its fangs shone,
large and sharp as swords. The beast took another step toward her and
growled again.

Laira gasped and took a step
back.

In the distance, the rocs cried;
they were moving closer.

Shift
into a dragon!
Laira told herself.
Become
a dragon and burn it!

Yet how could she? If she flew
or blew fire, the rocs would see her. Even just shifting would rattle
the trees like a mammoth stampede, raise a ruckus of clattering
scales, and reveal her location.

The saber-toothed cat growled
louder and crouched, ready to pounce.

Never removing her eyes from its
gaze, Laira knelt and grabbed a stone.

With a roar, the great cat
leaped.

Laira tossed her stone, hurtling
it forward with all her might. The projectile crashed into the cat's
forehead, and Laira leaped aside.

The cat stumbled backward into a
tree trunk, shook its head wildly, and faced her again. It padded
forward, a bleeding gash on its forehead.

Couched in the dry leaves, Laira
grabbed a fallen branch. She snapped it across her knee, then waved
the sharp end at the cat.

"Be gone!" She bared
her own teeth—pathetically small compared to its fangs. "Go!
Go!"

If she ran, it would chase. If
she showed weakness, it would pounce again. She waved the stick and
hopped around, trying to seem as menacing as possible. Naked,
scrawny, and wounded, she doubted she appeared like much of a threat.

Her suspicions were confirmed
when the cat leaped again.

Laira thrust her stick.

The cat brushed it aside with
its paw and slammed into her, knocking her down.

Laira grimaced. The saber teeth
shone and drove down.

I
have no choice.

With a hiss, Laira summoned her
magic.

Scales rose across her. The
cat's fangs slammed against them and bounced back.

As her body began to grow, Laira
shoved the beast off. She swiped her own paw, lashing her sprouting
claws against the animal. The saber-toothed cat whimpered and fell.

The rocs shrieked above, and her
body was still growing. A tail sprouted behind her, her neck kept
lengthening, and the trees shook as she banged against them. Laira
growled, baring her fangs, still only half-dragon.

The saber-toothed cat growled
back, then whimpered, turned tail, and fled into the shadows.

An instant before cracking the
trunks around her in a ruckus, Laira released her magic.

She shrank back into human form
and lay shivering.

The cries of rocs moved farther
away, and the last light faded.

Laira lay, enveloped in
blackness, shivering in the cold, naked and wounded. Around her in
the forest, she heard things stir and move, and a growl rose
somewhere to her left, and paws padded to her right.

She hugged herself, unable to
stop shaking.

"Please, stars of the
dragon, please," she prayed. "Look after me. Don't let me
die this night."

She dared not light a fire, not
in case the rocs returned. So weak she could barely move, she felt
around for her stick and used it to dig a little burrow. She curled
up inside and pulled dry leaves over her, hugging her knees for
warmth. She had never felt so cold, lost, and afraid.

"I won't die this night,
Mother," she whispered between chattering teeth. "I will
live. I will live."

She lay trembling and awake,
staring into the darkness as growls, snorts, and glowing eyes filled
the forest around her.

 
 
ANGEL

The
voices screamed inside her, shrill, deep, twisting, hoarse, rising
and shattering like glass.

We
don't want to die!

Feed
us entrails!

Attack,
fight, bite, eat, feed, tear, rip!

Pain.
Pain. Pain! This must end. Stop! Mercy!

Angel
sneered, smoke rising from between her teeth, and clutched her head.
The voices would forever fill her, she knew. Even here. Even risen
from the Abyss. Even upon the soil of Eteer, this kingdom
aboveground, the cries echoed.

They
hurt.

They
hurt us!

Hate!
Bite! Tear! Punish!

A
thousand voices, all her own. A child in shadows. A child chained,
whipped, broken, deformed. A creature risen to domination, to rule
upon a land of darkness, to govern minions of flayed skin, of rotted
flesh, creatures twisting and begging and laughing.

"I
have suffered, King Raem," she said, staring at the mortal. "I
have suffered like you cannot imagine. A thousand times I died and
rose from death. A thousand hurts coil inside me. A thousand voices
of my own scream inside my skull of stone." She unfurled her
wings until they banged against the walls of his bedchamber. Her
flaming hair crackled, and her saliva dripped from her maw to burn
holes into the rug. "Let me grow. Let me become the queen I am
destined to be."

Raem
stood by the window, staring out upon the city. The towers, domes,
and walls of Eteer spread below the azure sky. All over the city, the
cackle of demons and screams of mortals rose in a song.

"I
know what you would ask of me," the king said. "And I
refuse."

Angel
hissed, leaped toward him, and grabbed his shoulders. She spun him
around until he faced her. She bared her fangs, blasting smoke
against his face.

"Feed
us." She tossed back her head and roared. She dug her claws into
his shoulders, and his blood seeped. "Feed us the flesh of
mortals. Not weredragons." She spat. "Weredragons taste
like the piss of gods. We crave the sweeter meat." She licked
her chops, already imagining it. "Feed us the pure mortals of
your kingdom, the blessed forms of Taal, untainted with the reptile
disease. The silver god of purity is vain. For ten thousand years, he
laughed as I screamed in my prison. I would feast upon his sons and
daughters."

Raem
stared at her, and only the slightest sneer found his lips. "No.
You will not feed upon my kingdom. You may eat weredragons, and you
may eat the flesh of animals. But the people of Eteer are blessed
with Taal's form. I will not allow a horde of diseased, impure
creatures to consume my pure people."

Angel
sneered, the hunger for human flesh twisting in her belly. She needed
his blessing. She was still bound to him, still his prisoner, even
here in the sunlight. Even here the ancient laws bound her.

"Feed
us!" she screamed. She lashed her arm, knocked over a stone
vase, and shattered it. Sparks flew from her flaming hair. "Feed
us the flesh of Eteer. Feed us and we will grow. Your demons are
still small, King of Mortals. We have shrunk in our prison. We have
grown weak. Feed us pure man-flesh and we will become larger than
dragons. How can we fight dragons unless we grow to their size?"

Raem
snorted. "The weredragons cower. They hide in cellars and
sewers. You are more than capable of flushing them out, even with
your smaller forms. You will obey me, Angel. If I discover one drop
of pure human blood consumed, I will hold you accountable."

Angel
snickered. Fast as a striking asp, she thrust a claw, scratching
Raem's cheek. Blood spilled. Angel brought the claw to her lips. She
licked Raem's blood and a shiver ran through her. The cracks on her
body of stone widened, spewing droplets of lava.

"You
taste of reptile." She spat. "The weredragon disease flows
in your blood. Did you think I could not smell it? I knew of your
shame my first day here. You—"

He
slammed his sword against her cheek.

Her
stone face cracked, spilling smoke, and she laughed.

"You
forget your boundaries," Raem said, glaring at her.

Lava
dripped from her shattered cheek as Angel cackled. "You do not
like me speaking of your secret, do you? Perhaps I will trumpet the
news from the city walls. Perhaps all shall know that Raem, King of
Eteer, is a filthy were—"

"By the light of Taal!" he shouted, interrupting her.
"Angel, Queen of Demons, harken to me. As King of Eteer, I
hereby banish you back to the Aby—"

She
shrieked.

She
lashed all four arms, cracking his armor, shattering the room around
her. A clay urn shattered, spilling wine across the floor. She
leaped, swiped her claws, and knocked down a limestone statue of an
ancient, bearded king. Her arms spun, tearing down the room, digging
ruts into the walls and floor. Clay tablets bearing cuneiform
writings—epic tales of ancient heroes—fell off shelves, shattering
into a heap of shards. Her flames blasted out, and tapestries burned.

Raem
stood as she raged, calm, staring.

"Speak
your treasonous words again," the king said, "and I will
complete the banishment."

"Then
send me hunting outside your borders." Angel panted, tongue
lolling. "Send me to the deserts of Tiranor in the west. Send me
to the barbarous lands north of the sea. Send me to the city-states
in the south, your old enemies. I will find mortal flesh elsewhere."

Raem
shook his head. "You are not to leave this city, Angel. The
walls of Eteer are your boundaries. I have given you more freedom
than you've known in ten thousand years, but you are still my slave.
You will remain here until you've captured all the weredragons."

She
howled. "Your weredragons do not satisfy the hunger in our
bellies. Your flesh stinks of starlight."

"Once
they are all dead, I will send you hunting beyond my borders. Not
until then." Raem leaned down and lifted a small, obsidian
statuette of a winged bull. He placed it back on a shelf. "More
remain in this city. Still your demons unearth one every day. Your
servitude will continue." He turned back toward the window. "I
have errands in the north. I seek a particular weredragon across the
sea—a weredragon that betrayed me, a weredragon I will hurt. A
weredragon named Laira." He turned back toward Angel, and his
fists clenched, and his eyes hardened. "While I am away, you are
not to leave this city, nor are you to touch my people. My daughter
Issari will sit upon the throne until I return. You are to obey her,
even as the hunger eats through your belly."