Crown of Dragonfire (19 page)

"You're insufferable."
Vale's hands curled into fists. "I'm not one of your seraphim to seduce."

"Oh, I can tell. You're
not nearly as much fun as they are."

"Fun?" His rage
exploded inside him. "You think that the people who destroyed our homeland, who
enslaved us, who murdered countless are fun?"

She nodded. "I do! More
fun than you'll ever be. You don't know what it's like to have fun, do you?"

He stepped close to her,
bringing himself so close that their bodies almost touched. He towered above
her—the top of her head just reached his shoulders—and glared down at her.
She stared right back at him, chin raised, chest thrust out.

"No, Tash," he hissed. "When
I was being whipped in the fields, I never learned much about fun. When I
watched my sister brutalized, I did not learn about fun. When Ishtafel murdered
my mother, when he murdered a hundred thousand souls before my eyes—a hundred
thousand whose screams I still hear in the night—I did not learn about fun."

Her eyes softened. She
dropped her hands to her sides, then hesitantly raised them and placed them
against his chest, her touch gentle. "Those days are behind you, Vale. Ishtafel
isn't here. But I am. A person who cares for you. Who wants to see you happy.
Who . . . who loves you."

And right there, in
that instant, all his anger against Tash melted, all his earlier rage—about
her hopping, her singing, her flirting—it all vanished, seeming ridiculous to
him now. His fists uncurled.

"When you suffered too
much, perhaps you can never laugh," he said. "When you spent too many years in
pain, perhaps you can never feel joy."

Tash shook her head
wildly, hair swaying. "No. I refuse to believe that. Maybe your pain will never
go away, Vale. Maybe old wounds never heal. But you can still find joy. You can
still find a life with a little laughter, a little peace." She caressed his
cheek. "Let me help you find that."

She stood on her
tiptoes, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him. Her lips were soft, full.
Vale had never kissed a woman before, but he had dreamed—shameful, secret
dreams—of kissing Tash many times. For a long moment, he stood, arms wrapped
around her, kissing her.

Finally she playfully
bit his bottom lip, pulled back an inch, and grinned. "Now that was fun, wasn't
it?"

He nodded.

Her grin widened. "See?
I told you." She hopped up and down, then grew somber and held his hands. "I'm
sorry that I annoy you so much. I'm sorry that I'm like a bird, fluttering all
around, never quiet. But I meant what I said. I love you. You are a Vir Requis,
one of my people, worth more than all the seraphim I loved. Wherever your path
leads, Vale Aeternum, no matter how dark the shadows on the way, I will walk
that path with you. You came on this quest to fight for me, to protect me. Let
me fight for you."

The sun was gone now,
and the stars shone brilliantly above. They walked onward, and again Tash sang,
her voice soft and fair. She sang Old Requiem Woods—one of the songs they sang
in Tofet—and for the first time, Vale joined her.

The way was
treacherous. Every mile, a rivulet crossed the land, forcing them to swim in
the darkness. Mostly the moonlight lit their way, but every hour, chariots of
fire flew above, casting down their light. When this happened, Vale and Tash
leaped for cover, hiding between reeds, in the tall grass, or under the water.
The fire streamed above, moving toward the city, casting light upon the distant
walls. Even here, so many miles from Shayeen, the seraphim sought them.

As they traveled, Vale
could judge the passage of time by the location of Kloriana's star. In the
sunset, it always shone to the east, but it climbed the sky through the night,
heading toward the zenith before dawn.

"Travelers would tell
stories of Kloriana's star in the ziggurat," Tash said, wading through the dark
water beside Vale. "Men said that most stars are like the sun, great balls of
fire in the distance. But they said that Kloriana's star was not made of fire,
but that it was solid, a great round world full of life. They said that half
the world always lay in daylight, and half always in night, that some of its
people dwelled in eternal sunshine, others in never-ending shadow. If you lived
there, which would you prefer, Vale? To live in day or night?"

"Night," he said. "It's
safer and the sunlight burns."

"Not me." Tash sighed
wistfully. "I'd live in endless daylight. I'd never be in the dark again."

Vale thought about how,
while he had labored in the searing sunlight of Tofet, she had languished in
the shadows beneath the ziggurat. He said nothing more.

When Kloriana's star approached
the zenith, the port city of Geshin vanished behind the southern horizon. The
first hints of dawn began to rise, smudges of orange and pink that reflected in
the rivulets of the delta and the sea. The flora was lush here, and mangroves
grew from the water, their roots spreading everywhere in a great wooden city.

"We should hide between
these roots," Vale said. "Eat the dates and fish we collected, then sleep until
night falls again." He scanned the sky. "Chariots likely to return soon."

Tash stretched out her
limbs, and her mouth opened wide with a yawn, emitting a roar that shook the
landscape.

Vale blinked. "Tash,
did you just . . . roar?"

She slapped a hand across
her mouth. "I don't think so!" she whispered between her fingers.

The roar sounded again.

Tash's eyes widened. "Definitely
not me."

Vale cursed and hefted
his axe. "Put on your helmet and grab your shield. Now."

He spun around, staring
at the landscape, seeing nothing. No enemies. No beasts. Yet the birds were
fleeing, and even the crocodiles sank into the water and vanished. The roar
died, and silence fell across the land. Even the rivulets of water seemed to
still. It was so silent Vale could hear every chink of his chain mail, of his
joints.

And slowly the
landscape began to creak too.

A few roots of
mangroves twitched, raining chips of wood. Branches shuddered. A deep, wooden
clicking rose across the delta, and the curtains of lichen swayed.

"Bloody stars," Tash
whispered. "Look at them."

At first, it seemed to
Vale that chunks of the mangroves detached, shuffling forward.

Living trees!
he
thought.

But no. These were not
trees but men and women, cursed and twisted. Their limbs were bent, covered
with warts and scabs that looked like wood. Their hands and feet were swollen
to obscene size, each twice the size of a human head, coarse and twisting,
sprouting many roots and twigs. Wooden bumps and knots covered their faces and
twisted torsos, and moss grew upon them. Their scraggly hair and beards hung
low, greenish gray as lichen. Insects bustled across them, living within the
burrows of their plantlike bodies. Only their eyes distinguished them from
trees; those eyes shone, small and cruel and amber.

"Zamzummim!" Tash said,
eyes wide. "Ancient demons."

The creatures emerged
from all around, surrounding them, ten or more, each taller than Vale. Their
mouths opened, revealing burrows bustling with insects, and they let out
horrible buzzing sounds, shrill and so loud Vale cried out. Screeching with
countless voices, they charged.

Vale swung his axe.

A zamzum leaped toward
him, jaws opened, eyes blazing, hair fluttering, a demonic creature of rotted
wood and mold. Its massive palms lashed out, large as shields, sprouting jagged
branches.

Vale's axe slammed into
one of those twisted hands, shaving off slivers of wood. The second hand
slammed into him, knocking him down.

The zamzum leaped down
toward him. More charged from either side. Vale swung his blade wildly,
scattering chips of wood. A warty, heavy foot—large as an anvil—slammed into
his chest, snapping rings in his armor. Vale cried out and lashed his axe,
chipping the leg, cutting the wood. He managed to shove off the creature, leap
to his feet, and spin around, blade lashing.

Tash was fighting
several feet away. She had leaped into a mangrove and fought from the branches,
holding her dagger and shield before her. Three zamzummim stood below, reaching
toward her, swatting at her shield. Tash's dagger barely seemed to harm them.
Blood dripped down her leg, and she cried out.

The sight of Tash hurt
shot rage through Vale. He roared and swung the axe with more fervor. The
creatures surrounded him, lashing at him, snapping their wooden teeth, and
green saliva flew from their mouths. But what was wood? Vale had spent his life
swinging his pickaxe into limestone. These creatures were nothing compared to
that unyielding wall of stone. Their rootlike fingers cut him, but what was
that pain? Nothing compared to the lashes his overseers had given him.

I can no longer feel
pain,
he thought.
But Tash can. And I won't let it happen. I won't let
her be hurt like I was hurt.

His axe swung, chips of
wood flew, and the zamzummim fell before him.

As he fought, he was
there again—in the streets of Shayeen—fighting not delta demons but the
seraphim, running from them, seeing so many die, and his fury blinded him. All
he could see was that old blood, and he could not stop attacking, could not
stop cutting into them, howling, weeping.

You killed her. You
killed my mother. You killed thousands.

"You killed them!" Vale
cried, driving his axe down, again and again.

"Vale!" cried a high
voice. "Vale, stop!"

But he could not stop.
How could he? Ishtafel still lived. His people still were dying. He could not
lower his blade, not until this ended, until he cut them all down.

"Vale!" Hands grabbed
him. "Vale, they're all dead. They're gone."

Tash.

He could not see her.
He saw nothing but Shayeen again.

But it was her voice.
Tash. The young woman with the long brown hair, the infuriating songs, the
flirty eyes, the woman he found insufferable . . . the woman who had kissed
him. Who loved him. Whom he loved.

The veil lifted, and he
looked around him. Dead zamzummim lay around him like fallen logs, his axe
marks in them. Tash stood before him, gripping his arm. Concern filled her
eyes, and blood trickled down her leg.

Vale fell to his knees
before her.

"I can't do this, Tash."
He lowered his head. "I can't forget it. I can't stop fighting it. I can't stop
being there, even here."

She pulled him close,
wrapping her arms around him, holding his head to her belly.

"I know," she
whispered. "I know, Vale. I can't fix this. I don't know how. But . . . I can
be here with you." She brushed moss back from his brow. "I can hold you when
you remember."

She knelt before him,
and he held her tightly, eyes closed. Her damp hair pressed against his face,
and her body was warm, and slowly his anxiety faded, and those memories left
him, and he was here again, in the present, holding her. The whips, the searing
sun, the quarries, the death—it was all gone, and only Tash remained.

"We walk the shadowy
paths together," he whispered to her. "Always."

They left the corpses
behind, walked until they found a burrow between the jutting roots of trees,
and lay down in the dry, shadowy den upon a bed of leaves. Vale lay on his
back, and Tash curled up against him, her head on his chest. He spent a long
time stroking her hair, again and again as she slept, and finally he sank into
slumber too, Tash in his arms. For the first time in many days, he did not
dream.

 
 
ELORY

"You must have been so
lonely." Elory reached out and touched Lucem's arm. "Out here, hiding, all
alone."

He walked beside her
across the hills. The halved spear Meliora had taken from Tofet hung across his
back. Though Lucem still wore only tattered rags, his beard and hair were now
trimmed down to stubble, his body cleaned of dirt. He was thin, but not as thin
as Elory; life in the wilderness, though perhaps lonely, had given him more
vigor than the struggles in Tofet. Even in the moonlight, Elory thought him
handsome, and his strong hands, bright blue eyes, and square jaw made her feel
tingly—a strange sort of feeling, not unlike when Tash had kissed her in the
pleasure pit.

"I wasn't always alone."
Lucem skipped over a boulder and kept climbing the hillside. "I traveled often,
sometimes even entered the villages and farmlands of seraphim, disguised in a
cloak and hood. And there were animals who came and went. But . . . yes, it's
nice to talk to another Vir Requis."

They had left the river
far behind, traveling in the darkness across the hills, heading toward the
distant Khalish Mountain, which still lay over the horizon. The Keymaker was
said to live upon that crest, but many miles of wilderness still lay between
them and that distant mount. The night was dark, and clouds sporadically hid
the moon, plunging them into near total blackness. Meliora's halo was their
main source of light; it crackled, woven of dragonfire, casting its red light
across the barren hills. There was no grass here, almost no trees, and no
wildlife that Elory could see. She might as well have been walking upon the
desolate plains of Lanburg Fields, the place where Requiem was said to have
fallen many years ago.

"Are you sure you know
your way?" Meliora asked, moving to walk closer to Lucem.

After all this time in
the wilderness, Meliora too looked different, Elory thought. Back in the ziggurat,
Meliora had been like a fairy of purest beauty—pale cheeks tinged pink, a halo
of gold, flowing blond hair, her tall and delicate form clad in silks matched
in softness only by her swan wings. Later, freed from her imprisonment, Meliora
had been shivering, feverish, beaten, her shoulder blades bleeding from the
loss of her wings, her head shaved, her cheeks gaunt.