Requiem's Song (Book 1) (23 page)

"But now, in this night, I
am a dragon."

She clawed the air and flew
north, gliding on the wind.

 
 
ISSARI

When
Issari returned to her bedchamber, she found the witch waiting inside
with a bucket of leeches.

"Hello,
princess," said the crone, hissing out that last word like a
taunt. She smiled, revealing toothless black gums, and sniffed
loudly. Her bulbous nose quivered, the hairs on its moles twitching.
"Yes, yes, I can smell it. Smells like ripe fruit." She
smacked her lips. "The blood of a princess—a more powerful
elixir than the ichor of gods."

Issari
stood at the doorway. Instinctively, she pulled out her amulet and
held it before her. "Leave this place!" Her heart pounded,
and cold sweat trickled down her back. "You are not to enter my
chambers again, old woman."

The
crone cackled—Shedah was her name, Issari remembered. "Your
amulet cannot work on me, sweetling. I have no demon blood. Old I am,
and ugly I must appear to you. Yes, you are young and fresh and
delectable." She licked her lips, reached into her bucket, and
plucked out a squirming leech. "Yet I am no barbarous brute. I
crave not your high breasts, your soft skin, or the warmth between
your thighs. I seek a greater prize—the blood of a princess for my
potions."

Issari
entered the room, shoulders squared, trying to ignore the pounding of
her heart. She grabbed the old woman's arm. "I will escort you
downstairs to the chamber my father gave you."

"Oh,
feisty, are we, young thing?" Shedah would not budge. Her squat
form seemed as immovable as Issari's canopy bed of carved olive wood.
"Your sister was feisty too, but we broke her spirit soon
enough. I am over two hundred years old, did you know? The blood of
princesses feeds me, keeps me alive, keeps me fresh. Your sister fed
me for years. She came to love the leech, for when she bled, I did
not beat her. It was a relief for her pain." Shedah's eyes
narrowed. "You too can choose—pain or blood."

Though
Issari trembled, she managed to raise her chin and speak clearly. "If
you try to leech me, it will be your blood that spills."

Across
her bedchamber, Issari could see signs of the crone's presence. A
glob of spit bubbled on the floor. The chamber pot was full and foul.
Drool covered some of Issari's stone figurines, mostly the ones
representing Nahar, the shapely goddess of fertility. The witch
seemed to have slept in Issari's bed; the sheets—soft silk
embroidered with birds—were unkempt and damp. Issari had promised
her father to remain in her chamber, safe from the demons that even
now shrieked outside the windows. How long had the witch lingered
here, and would she report Issari's absence to the king?

Shedah
stepped closer, raising the leech in one hand. Her other hand reached
toward Issari, her fingernails like claws about to strike.

"Your
father himself promised me your blood," Shedah said. "That
was the price of my tidings. He flies now to bring Laira home. Once
the harlot is here, she can bleed too. For now . . . you will have to
feed me alone." She spat. "Your sister is a small, weak
little maggot, her blood thin; I have perhaps drained her too often.
But you are ripe. You are strong and fresh."

Issari
paled to think of Shedah beating her sister, draining her blood, and
mixing it in her potions. She turned to leave. She would summon her
guards. They were perhaps her father's men, but they were loyal to
her too.

"I
will have you tossed into the dungeon for your impudence!" she
said and headed toward the doorway.

Before
Issari could step outside, Shedah snapped her fingers and the door
slammed shut. The walls rattled. Several clay tablets engraved with
letters—poems Issari had written in her childhood—fell from alcoves
and shattered. Issari grabbed the knob and twisted. The door was
locked.

"You
cannot flee me, child." Shedah drew closer and placed a leech on
the back of Issari's neck.

The
clammy creature latched on. Issari gasped and spun back toward the
witch, one hand trying to pluck off the leach. It clung hard, and she
could not remove it.

"Guards!"
Issari shouted.

Shedah
only laughed. "They cannot hear you. I have blocked this chamber
from sound. Hush. Listen. Do you hear?"

When
the crone fell silent, Issari listened. She heard nothing. The trees
no longer rustled below in the gardens. Though she could see demons
flying outside her windows—winged, oozing creatures—she could no
longer hear their shrieks.

"Guards!"
she cried again, and she knew they could not hear. She reached into
her cloak, drew her dagger, and held the blade before her. "Stand
back."

Ignoring
the blade, Shedah drew another leech from her bucket. She tossed the
squirming worm, and Issari winced and leaped back. The bloodsucker
landed on her cheek, attached itself, and began to feed.

Issari
cried out. Before she could reorient herself, pain flared on her
wrist. Through wincing eyelids, she saw Shedah twisting her arm.

"I
must whet my appetite . . ." The crone leaned in, and her rotted
gums cut into Issari's wrist.

"Release
me!" Issari shouted, but Shedah kept biting, and blood gushed,
and the crone's throat bobbed.

She's
drinking my blood.

Issari's
fingers uncurled.

Her
dagger fell to the floor.

Issari
had never fought anyone before. All her life, she had been sheltered
from the scraps so many children fought on the streets of Eteer. But
today she balled her free hand into a fist. Today she was no mere
princess; she was a savior of weredragons, an heiress to a crown, and
she would not let this filthy creature defile her.

She
drove her fist forward.

Her
knuckles connected with Shedah's head with a
crack
.

Shedah
released her wrist and hissed, opening her mouth to reveal bloodied
gums. Her moles twitched and her brittle, white hair thrust out like
a halo. The crone leaped forward, claws outstretched, and barreled
into Issari. The two crashed onto the floor.

"Feisty,
yes indeed." Shedah grinned above. Her gnarled knee drove into
Issari's belly. "Your blood is as hot as your temper. It is
delicious." A long, white tongue unfurled from the crone's mouth
to lick Issari's cheek, smearing her with bloody saliva. "I will
eat all of you."

Shuddering
with disgust, Issari struggled, trying to kick off the witch. But the
small, frail woman seemed stronger than a warrior. Issari could
barely breathe. The crone's knee drove deeper into her belly, and
Issari thought she would split in two, that her every internal organ
would shatter. She reached across the floor, pawing for her dagger,
but could not feel it.

Shedah
raised a third leech and dropped it. It attached itself to Issari's
neck. She felt it pulse as it sucked her blood.

"With
your blood, I will brew potent potions, yes." Shedah spat. The
glob landed on Issari's cheek, sizzling like acid. "They will
make me live for many years."

Issari
could barely breathe. The crone's hand wrapped around her throat,
constricting her. The second wizened hand tore at Issari's tunic, and
Shedah placed a new leech upon her; it sucked at the top of her
breast. Weakness flowed through Issari, and her head spun. She felt
blindly for the dagger, desperate to find it.

I
have to stop her. I have to. Or she'll do this to Laira again.
Tears budded in Issari's eyes.
She
did this to my sister so many times. I must stop her.

Her
hand connected with something wet and soft—the toppled bucket of
leeches, she surmised. Blindly, she grabbed one of the worms.

"Perhaps
your father will let me keep you, princess." Shedah grinned her
bloody grin. "You will be mine—my giver of life, my toy to
torment, my—"

With
a choked gasp, Issari thrust up the leech she held.

She
slapped it against Shedah's eye.

The
worm squirmed, latched onto the eyeball, and began to suck.

The
crone screamed.

It
was an inhuman sound, the buzz of a thousand insects, the cry of
shattering bones and ripping souls, the cry of steam, of cracking
wood in fire, or burning men. The witch stumbled back, and Issari
gasped for breath and pushed herself to her elbows.

Shedah
stood, grabbed the leech with her knobby fingers, and ripped it off.
The leech came free with the eyeball still attached, leaving an empty
socket.

No.
Don't faint.
Issari
sucked in breath.
Fight
her.

She
spotted her fallen dagger near the bed; it lay among several smashed
statuettes. Issari grabbed the hilt, leaped up, and pointed the
blade. "Stand
back!"

But
Shedah, enraged, leaped forward. She rose into the air and hovered
for a moment, a creature of blood and rage and drool, more demon than
human. Then she plunged down, claws extended, blackened gums bared.

Issari
grimaced, blade held before her.

Claws
slashed her shoulder.

Issari
screamed.

Her
blade thrust into the crone, tearing through leathery skin and into
crackling, dry flesh.

For
a moment Shedah hung upon the blade, suspended in the air like some
deformed, bloated sack. Then she crashed down, twisting, writhing,
screaming. Smoke rose from her and worms escaped her wound.

"I
. . . I'm sorry." Horror pulsed through Issari. "I didn't
mean to stab you. I just . . ." Her heart thumped and she knelt
by the witch. "I can heal you. I know some healing. I—"

She
gasped when Shedah clutched her arm. The witch stared with her one
good eye. Ooze dripped from where the second eye had once peered.

"I
curse you, child." The witch spat. "I curse you with the
pain of a thousand deaths in fire. I curse you to become a creature
like your sister. I curse you with the heat of demons and the blood
of reptiles. You will forever be unclean."

With
a last spasm, Shedah retched, clawed ruts into the tiled floor, and
lay still.

Issari
stood, trembling, the bloody dagger still in her hand.

I
killed.

She
took a shuddering breath and her head spun.

I
sinned. I promised to save lives. Now I've taken a life.

To
be sure, she had taken a foul life. She had ended a creature that had
tortured and betrayed and hurt many. But it was a life nonetheless.
Issari had sinned. Murder was an abomination unto Taal, and when she
touched her amulet, it felt so cold it hurt.

"I
have to hide this."

She
looked around the room. It was a mess of blood, ooze, and spilled
leeches. Some of the worms were still attached to Issari, and she
winced.

First
I must take them off.

Knees
shaking, she rummaged around for her tinderbox and lit a candle. Eyes
narrowed, she held the flame to the bloodsuckers. With hisses, they
burned and fell off her skin, bloated with her blood.

Next
she stared down at the dead crone.

Do
I burn her too?

If
anyone discovered Shedah's corpse here, Raem would hear of it. Shedah
had served the king, delivered Laira's location to him.

He
will beat me bloody if he knows I slew her.

Issari
did not know what to do. A princess, she had no friends to call upon,
only guards and servants—men who would report to her father. Her
only friend was her brother, and he languished in his cell. She bit
her lip. She could not burn the body, not without raising a pillar of
smoke for all to see. She considered dragging the corpse through the
streets and out the city, but how? Even if Issari wrapped up the
body, the city folk would smell it; Shedah had smelled bad enough
when living, and her corpse already stank of rot and human waste.

The
demons can get rid of her.

The
thought chilled Issari. She remembered seeing the demon by the well
chewing upon a dog. She remembered hearing Angel, the fiery queen of
the creatures, begging her father for human flesh.

Issari
tightened her lips, swallowing down her fear. She grabbed hold of
Shedah's corpse. She tugged. The body was surprisingly heavy, and
Issari grimaced as she pulled it inch by inch; it felt like dragging
a sack of iron ore. She opened her sliding doors, grunted, and
dragged the corpse out onto the balcony.

At
once, as if attracted by the stench, three demons came flying toward
her.

One
of the creatures looked like a strip of dried flesh, its insect wings
buzzing. Another could barely keep airborne; its bloated belly swung
beneath it like a sack, and its red eyes burned in its pasty face.
The third creature looked like flying entrails, warty and red and
squirming as it flew, wingless. They were as large as horses,
festering and reeking.

Issari
took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and pointed at the dead
crone. "Eat." She clenched her teeth and stepped back. "Eat
until nothing is left."

One
of the demons—the bloated creature with the swinging belly—gazed at
her and hissed. "King Raem has forbidden the Children of the
Abyss to feast upon the flesh of mortals."

Issari
forced down the urge to gag; the stench of the creatures was
overwhelming, even worse than the corpse. "King Raem has flown
across the sea! I am his daughter, Princess Issari. I sit upon the
throne in his absence. I give you leave to eat one mortal—this body
alone! Feast upon it, then demand no further flesh."

The
demons descended like buzzards and tore into the meal. Gobbets of
meat flew. Bones crunched. The thin demon tore off the crone's jaw
and gnawed.

Issari
stepped back into her chamber, grimacing. As she watched one demon
tear into Shedah's entrails, she couldn't help it. She doubled over
and gagged. Her body trembled and it was a long moment before she
could straighten again. Covered in blood, she stumbled back toward
the balcony and gripped the doorpost for support.