Dragons Rising (25 page)

Fidelity
stood in a blue dress--an actual dress made of cotton, no longer a
tunic of burlap. Her new spectacles still rested on her nose, and
flowers were woven into her golden braid. She stared up at the
column, this most holy of relics, and her eyes stung.

I
wish you were here to see this, Father,
Fidelity thought.
I
wish you were here with me, Roen and Julian.

She
turned around to face the others. Amity, a tall woman clad in cobbled
patches of armor, a sword at her side--a warrior of Requiem. Cade,
his hazel eyes wide with awe as he gazed upon the column, Eliana in
his arms. Domi--broken, lost Domi finally returned home--her red hair
no longer hiding her face, her eyes bright and proud for the first
time in her life.

And
another soul is with us
,
Fidelity thought. She placed her hand on her rounded belly, and she
felt the baby kick within.

Your
son or daughter, Roen.
She smiled through her tears.
A
future child of Requiem.

As
the stars shone, Fidelity spoke softly to her family.

"Thousands
of years ago, a few scattered outcasts gathered together. They had
been hunted, exiled, hurt--all because of their magic . . . the magic
to grow wings, breathe fire, and take to the sky as dragons. King
Aeternum and Queen Laira themselves raised this column in the forest,
founding a kingdom for those with the magic of starlight. A kingdom
called Requiem. For thousands of years, through war, through
destruction, through fear and hope and dreams, this column was a
beacon to our people. A pillar of hope. A hope that someday Requiem
will stand tall, strong, and free. That we, the Vir Requis, will have
a safe home. A sky to fly in." Fidelity raised her eyes to that
starlit sky, then looked back down at the others. "For a hundred
years, Requiem was a forbidden word, a forbidden dream. For a hundred
years, they called this land the Commonwealth, and they tore our
magic away. Tonight we say: Our magic will rise again. Tonight we
say: The Commonwealth is no more." She raised her chin, and her
voice grew stronger. "Tonight we say: Requiem rises."

The
others called out the words together. "Requiem rises!"

"In
the old days," Fidelity said, "birches grew around this
column, a holy tree to Requiem. Tonight let us plant new saplings.
Tonight hope will spring from this sacred earth."

She
knelt, dug a hole in the soil, and planted her birch sapling. New
life grew within her belly, and new life would rise here around their
column. The others knelt too, planting their own saplings.

Fidelity
straightened and closed her eyes, and she imagined that a great
forest grew here again.

"We
will not live to see the new forest," she said, opening her
eyes. "But our grandchildren will play in its shade." She
placed a hand on her belly again, and she smiled.

Cade
stepped forward and seemed about to speak. He looked back, exchanging
looks with Domi and Amity, then back at Fidelity. He opened his
mouth, then closed it again.

"Cade?"
Fidelity said softly.

He
cleared his throat. "I was thinking, Fidelity. We all were. We .
. ." He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "See, in the
old
Book of Requiem
,
there were always kings and queens. But . . . we have no ruler now.
The Cured Temple is fallen. The old dynasties--Aeternum and
Eleison--are lost." He gulped. "We were all thinking,
Fidelity, that . . . well . . . we thought that . . ."

Amity
groaned, stepped forward, and pushed Cade aside. "Quit your
yammering, kid." The warrior looked at Fidelity. "You're
going to be our queen, Fidelity. We've all decided it, so you have no
choice in the matter."

Fidelity's
eyes widened and she laughed. "Your queen? I'm a librarian!"
She looked from one to the other. "Why should I lead this
kingdom? Amity, you're a great warrior! Domi, you fought in many
battles! I . . . all I know is books."

Domi
stepped forward too and nodded. "Most of Requiem's kings and
queens were warriors, generals, great fighters, strong and brave. But
a new era begins. An era of peace, of memory. An era to tell old
stories. To write new books." She clasped Fidelity's hands.
"Perhaps the queen we need now is a librarian."

Fidelity
laughed again. "But . . . we're only four people! We don't need
a queen, and . . ."

"We
are many more than four already," Domi said quietly. "Babies
are being born across Requiem, and for the first time in a century,
they're keeping their magic. In a few years, when they're old enough,
they'll learn how to shift, to become dragons of Requiem. And they'll
look to Queen Fidelity to tell them the stories of Old Requiem, to
keep our history, our songs, our prayers alive." Domi knelt and
bowed her head. "My sister. My queen."

Cade
too knelt before Fidelity, still holding Eliana. "My queen."

Amity
looked down at them, eyes wide, and grumbled. "I kneel before no
one!" the warrior said. "I . . . oh, to the Abyss."
She spat, drew her sword, and knelt with the blade held before her.
"I vow to defend Requiem and to defend her queen. You have my
sword."

Fidelity
looked at them kneeling before her, and her eyes stung. She turned to
stare up at King's Column. The marble pillar soared toward the Draco
constellation, and Fidelity imagined that she could see them there
watching her: the heroes from her books, her lover, her father, and
all the others who had fallen.

Guide
me on this path,
she
prayed silently.
Guide
me for I'm afraid.

The
light shone, warm and comforting, and some of Fidelity's pain eased.
She looked at her friends and family. They stood up and she pulled
them into her arms.

"I
vow to you," Fidelity whispered, "that I will lead Requiem
well, and I will not stray from her path of starlight to the left or
to the right." She raised her eyes to the stars. "Requiem!
May our wings forever find your sky."

The
others repeated the words, tears shining in their eyes. "May our
wings forever find your sky."

 
 
AMITY

"No!
Form rank! Form rank, damn it!" Amity spat in disgust. "You
call yourselves soldiers?"

The
men and women stood before her, clad in steel plates, holding shields
and swords. They were hopeless. Utterly hopeless. Men and women? They
were barely more than boys and girls still in their swaddling
clothes.

"I
don't know what you learned under your last commander," Amity
said, pacing the courtyard, "but I'm going to teach you proper
discipline. You're going to become true soldiers, or I'll have you
sent to the iron mines."

She
sighed as the soldiers struggled to form rank again. Some of them had
served the Cured Temple, the paladins' foot soldiers. They were still
used to those ridiculous, ceremonial drills their noble lords had
taught. But most of the men here were the sons of farmers, tradesmen,
even priests. Free of the Temple's yoke, they had flocked to serve in
Requiem's new military.

Within
twenty years, these boys and girls will be obsolete,
Amity
thought, staring at them. Once the new crop of babies grew into
adults, once they could shift into dragons, they would become great
warriors of the skies. For now, these poor souls--their magic torn
away with tillvine--would defend the city, would defend this new and
very old kingdom named Requiem.

"No,
damn it!" Amity howled. "Triple formation! You in the back,
move--no, to the left!" She groaned. "Oh bloody bollocks.
All of you, drill's over. Go back to your barracks."

With
a sad shake of her head, she shifted into a dragon and took flight,
blasting smoke down onto her soldiers. She soared high above the city
of Nova Vita, capital of Requiem.

Flowers
bloomed across the city, the birch saplings rustled, and in the
distance Amity saw them rising, soaring even higher than her flight:
the columns of Requiem.

Several
new columns now rose alongside King's Column, twins to the ancient
monument. They were carved of purest marble from the mountains, and
their capitals were shaped as rearing dragons. As Amity watched,
trained firedrakes were flying over the new columns, carrying sacks
of bricks. Workers bustled about scaffoldings, raising the first
hints of a roof.

The
ancient palace of Requiem, the fabled marble halls which had stood
here for thousands of years, was rising again.

It
would be years until the building was completed, Amity knew. It would
be years before the newborns of Requiem learned to use their magic,
to fly again, to fill the sky that was their birthright.

But
I'm patient,
Amity thought as she hovered before the rising hall.
And I will be here to defend Requiem as she rises again.

She
flew down to land on a rounded silo, and she kept gazing at the
columns as the sun set, as the stars emerged, as silence fell upon
the city.

As
the last glow of sunlight faded, chinking scales broke the silence,
and a golden dragon flew toward Amity. Cade landed on the roof with
her, and he gazed with her at the columns that rose ahead toward the
stars.

"They're
beautiful," Cade said, voice soft.

Amity
turned her head toward the golden dragon and puffed smoke onto him.
"Aren't you normally with Domi during the nights?"

Dragons
could not blush, but Cade got as close as possible. His tail flicked
nervously. "I saw you here. I . . . I often see you sit here
alone at night. I wanted to come say hello, to see if you're . . . if
you're all right."

She
glared at him. "Me? I'm always all right. What are you on about,
kid?"

His
scales chinked as he moved closer to her. He tapped her gently with
his tail. "I . . ." He lowered his head. "Can we talk
in human forms? It's easier."

She
groaned and rolled her eyes, but she released her magic and sat on
the roof as a human, legs splayed out. Cade shifted back into human
form too and sat beside her.

"Well,
talk, kid," Amity said.

He
gulped. "Do you ever think about . . . about that night when . .
." Now he was definitely blushing. "When we . . . I mean,
when . . ."

"When
you got drunk, tore off my clothes, and ravaged me?" Amity said,
raising an eyebrow.

"I
wouldn't put it exactly like that. You did quite a bit of tearing
yourself. And ravaging." He bit his lip. "It's just that .
. . well, I wanted to clear the air. To see how things are between
us. With you. With . . . with everything."

Amity
wriggled a little closer to Cade, smiling mischievously. She raised
an eyebrow, bit her lip, and placed a hand on his thigh. She leaned
close to him, playfully nibbled his earlobe . . . and then shouted
into his ear.

"You
wool-brain!"

Cade
yowled and scuttled away from her. "Amity! Stars damn it. What
are you doing?" He touched his ear and winced. "Bloody
Abyss! That's dangerous."

She
glowered at him, arms crossed. "So is talking shite. Cade, you
bollocks-for-brains, you listen to me. You forget about that night
right away, you fly down to the city, you find Domi, and you ask her
to marry you. Do you understand?"

"I--"

"Tonight!"
Amity said. "Cade, I'm not for you. I was never for you. I'm too
old for you, too strong for you, and far too wise to fall for a
foolish boy when I'm sober. Go find Domi. And . . . have a good life,
kid. Have a good life with her."

Before
he could reply, Amity shifted back into a dragon and took flight.

She
flew away from the columns of Requiem.

She
flew above the city roofs, the snaking streets, the thousands of
people below.

She
flew over the fields, the forests, flew until she reached the
mountains.

Often
Amity flew like this in the darkness. As King's Column was different
from the other pillars, so was Amity different from the other
dragons. She knew this.

Cade.
Domi. Fidelity. They had one another, bound by family and love and
friendship. The people in the city--they shared bonds such as Amity
would never again know.

Because
I'm alone.

Amity
glided under the stars in silence. Many times she flew for days and
nights until she reached the sea, and then she flew over the dark
waters, and she thought of her parents who had fallen there. She
thought of the thousands of warriors of the Horde who had drowned
under her rule.

And
often she thought of Korvin, the only man she had ever truly, fully
loved. The man she had betrayed. The man who had died in her arms.
The man she would give anything to see again, anything to hold one
more time, to beg forgiveness from. And when she thought of him,
Amity roared out in pain, and she blasted her fire across the sky,
and her tears fell, and her chest shook.

Though
sometimes, on some clear nights with no clouds or storm, she would
gaze up at the stars, and Amity would imagine that Korvin was up
there, watching her, waiting for her to join him.

"But
I can't join you yet, Korvin," she would whisper. "I have
to keep my promise to you. A promise I made as you lay dying in my
arms. I have to protect the young ones, to protect Requiem. To see
her halls rise again."

And
she tightened her jaw at these times, and she knew that she was not
alone, not truly. Amity knew then that she carried an ancient torch
of starlight, that future books--books like those Fidelity tended
too--would remember her.

She
had lost her family, lost all those she loved, but Amity had new
people to love now. People in generations ahead. The people of
Requiem. She would build this kingdom for them. She would keep it
safe.

In
the mornings after her flights in darkness, she would return to the
city, to her soldiers, to the sight of those columns rising anew. No
matter how far she flew, how deep the pain ran, she would always
return to Requiem. It was always her home.