Dragons Rising (26 page)

 
 
CADE

On a
chilly autumn morning, dragons from the capital arrived at the
village of Favilla.

Cade
was inside his humble clay bakery, busy braiding loaves of sweet
sesame bread, when he heard the dragons' cries outside. The oven was
already heating up, ready to bake the loaves, filling the bakery with
warmth in the cold dawn. Soft sunlight fell through the round
windows, falling upon rolling pins, bags of flour, and the two people
Cade loved most in the world.

His
wife looked up from the loaf she was braiding. She wore an apron, and
flour whitened her hands and hid the freckles on her cheeks. A
kerchief covered her hair--hair as fiery and beautiful as autumn
foliage. Her green eyes stared over the loaves of bread at Cade--the
same green eyes that first stared at him five years ago, piercing his
soul. Eyes he had never forgotten. Eyes he loved more than ever.

"They're
here," Domi whispered, reaching across the table to clasp Cade's
hand.

Beside
Domi stood little Eliana, also wearing an apron and kerchief. The
girl was five years old now, her eyes large and hazel and full of
wonder.

"Dwagons!"
the girl whispered. "Weal dwagons fwom the nowth!"

The
dragons' cries rose again outside alongside the sound of beating
wings. Air fluttered the curtains, and Cade winced in sudden pain. He
could not stop the fear from springing into him--even now, five years
later. Perhaps that fear would never leave him.

Five
years ago,
he thought,
Mercy Deus arrived here from the
capital, leading her firedrakes. Five years ago, Derin and Tisha died
in the fire.

His
jaw tightened, and for a moment Cade could not breathe. He stood in a
new bakery now, but this was the same place, and this was the same
pain.

How
do I forget?
he thought, his hands balling into fists.
How do
I stop those memories? The ashes of this place. The bones. The pain.
The terror. The war of thousands drowning.
His eyes stung.
So
much blood and death, so much, I cannot--

Domi
saw his turmoil. Her eyes softened, and she walked around the table
toward him. She laid her hands against his chest and looked up at
him, and he stared into those soft green eyes, and all anxiety, all
fear, all memory faded from him, her kindness washing them away.

Only
one thought remained.

Domi.

He
embraced his wife and kissed her forehead.

"I
love you," he whispered.

She
kissed his lips. "And I you. Always. Come. Let's go see her."

The
flapping wings were louder now, and Cade heard the laughter of
children from outside. Eliana was already bouncing, eager to run out
and see the "dwagons."

Cade nodded to his wife and kissed her again. He walked toward the
back of the bakery, stepped through a doorway, and entered the
nursery. He approached the crib that lay there, reached inside, and
lifted his son. The little boy, only a year old, was still asleep,
even with the noise from outside. Cade kissed the babe's hair, held
him against his chest, and stepped outside the bakery with his
family.

The new village of Favilla spread around him. All the ashes of the
war had been cleaned. All the dead rested under the grass. New huts
rose here now, built in the same style as before--humble clay
dwellings with round windows and domed roofs. But now, unlike in the
days of the Cured Temple, flowers grew in gardens and upon
windowsills. Grass carpeted the ground. Young birches and maples,
already as tall as Cade, rustled between the homes, their leaves
turning gold and orange and red.

In the center of the village rose a dragon sculpture, life-sized,
built of steel and glass. The dragon was gazing up at the sky,
perhaps watching the stars. Upon its wings were engraved the names of
all those who had fallen in this village, all those the paladins had
murdered. Derin. Tisha. Many others. Souls lost but not forgotten.

"Look, look!" Eliana pointed. "Dwagons! Weal Dwagons!"

Indeed, real dragons flew above, gliding down toward Favilla--twenty
or more. Most were children, no larger than ponies, their scales soft
and their wings beating madly. They dipped in the sky, wobbled, and
laughed. Eliana stood in the dirt, staring up with wide, envious
eyes. She was a year older than these dragons but could not shift
herself. Her magic had been stolen--stolen on that horrible day that
still tore at Cade's heart. He placed a hand on her head and stroked
her hair.

She looked up at him. "Cade, when I'm gwown up, will I leawn to
be a dwagon too?"

Cade passed his son to Domi, then knelt and looked into Eliana's
eyes. "When you're older, you're going to be a beautiful, wise,
strong woman, and you're going to ride dragons like the great Queen
Laira of Requiem. She could not become a dragon, but she was very
brave and very loved across Requiem." He kissed the little
girl's cheek.

She nodded and looked down at her feet, seeming disappointed, then
smiled when he tickled her. "Okay."

Cade looked back at the sky. Among the child-dragons flew one adult,
a slender dragon with beautiful ocean-blue scales. Spectacles, each
lens as large as a man's head, perched upon the dragon's snout.

"Children, children!" the blue dragon said, laughing. "Fly
around me! You're wobbling like turkeys' waddles. Now fly straight!"

"Yes, Queen Fidelity!" the little dragons chanted together,
struggling to form a line in the sky but only bumping into one
another.

Giving up all attempts to herd them, Fidelity glided down the last
few feet and landed on the grass. She shifted back into human form.
Though Queen of Requiem now, Fidelity wore no gown, no fine armor,
not even a crown or tiara. She wore the same outfit Cade had first
seen her in: tan leggings, brown boots, and a blue vest with brass
buttons. Her round spectacles slid down her nose, and her golden
braid hung across her shoulder, tied with a blue ribbon.

She reached out her arms. "Cade! Domi! Eliana!"

They all approached and took turns embracing. Slowly some of Cade's
memories eased.

The pain of that day five years ago will always be here,
he
thought as he watched the sisters laughing together.
But this is a
good day. This is a day for joy.

The little dragons were landing all around and turning back into
human children. Every month now, new children across Requiem, four or
five years old--born after the fall of the Cured Temple--were
discovering their magic. Somebody needed to teach them how to fly,
and Fidelity spent much of her time giving them lessons.

Most
of the children were laughing, running around the village, and
squealing. Eliana raced off to join them; now that they were in human
forms, she could finally play and be one of them.

One
of the children, however, stood apart. He was a somber child, his
hair brown, his eyes dark and sad. He stepped up quietly and held
Fidelity's hand.

Cade
knelt by the boy and smiled. "Hello, Tam."

The
boy pressed his face against his mother's hip, still shy.

"He's
a lot like his father," Fidelity said softly, stroking the boy's
hair.

Cade
nodded. Roen too had shied away from others, preferring the solitude
of the forest.

"He
will grow to be strong and noble like Roen," Cade said.

Domi
hefted her own son and kissed his head. "And this little one
will grow up to be as strong and noble as you, Cade."

Cade
bristled. "Are you mocking me?"

Domi
grinned, stepped closer to him, and kissed his lips. She leaned in
and whispered into his ear, "Always, Goldy."

That evening everyone from the village left their homes, stepped out
onto the hills beyond the farms, and lit campfires. The stars shone
above, and many smaller lights shone below upon the hills, a second
sky of stars. The people laughed, sang, and roasted sausages on
sticks. Children were allowed to stay up past midnight and play
between the fires and under the moon. Even Tam, perhaps emboldened by
the shadows, played with Eliana, racing with her around a campfire
and dueling her with wooden swords.

It was New Night, a holiday they'd been observing every autumn for
the past few years.

"In the days of the Commonwealth," Fidelity said to
villagers who gathered around her, "in autumn all people from
across the land would donate most of their crops, animals, and coins
to the Cured Temple. Now we live in Requiem. Now your life is yours,
not belonging to any priestess or paladin. And tonight we celebrate a
great harvest of plenty."

And indeed they feasted upon that harvest, roasting apples and nuts,
drinking sweet wine and cider, eating the fresh breads Cade and Domi
baked. And laughing. Always laughing.

The stars wheeled across the sky, and the dawn rose, and the snows of
winter fell, and the years turned, and the pain and joy lingered.

Cade baked his breads, and his children grew, and Requiem grew, and
every year more dragons flew in the sky, and the pain and joy
lingered.

The first strands of white filled Domi's red hair, and Cade's son
stood taller than him, and Eliana gave birth to a son of her own, and
the marble halls of Requiem rose again, resplendent and tall, and the
pain and joy lingered, and Cade grew older.

Often at dawn, as he baked his breads, a sudden stab of pain would
hit him, and he would think of that dawn long ago--the dawn his
sister had arrived in his village, riding on Domi's back. Often at
night, as he walked outside upon the hills under the stars, he would
look up into the shadows, and he would remember that night long
ago--the night the fleet of the Horde had sunk, as hundreds of
thousands drowned and burned while he lingered on, gray in his hair,
a single life when so many lights had gone dark.

And often--as Cade played with his child and then his
grandchildren--he would think of those he had lost, those who should
have been here with him. Of Korvin, the wisest man he had ever known.
Of Julian and Roen.

And
of my family.

Cade
did not think of his family often, usually only before he drifted off
to sleep or woke from dreams. He thought of them in the shadows of
his chamber, as the walls seemed to close in and trap him. He thought
then of the time Mercy, his sister, had dragged him into the Temple
in chains. He thought of how Beatrix, his mother, had vowed to slay
him upon the balcony. He thought of Gemini, his brother, dying in his
arms. And those times, in those dark nights, Cade found that he
couldn't breathe, couldn't move, that cold sweat washed him, that the
pain seemed too great, and he thought that he would never find peace
in his life. At those times, he thought that he might as well have
fallen in the war like so many others, for the memories were too
real. Even in Requiem reborn, even with the halls rising again, the
pain seemed too great.

Some
wounds do not heal,
he knew then.
Some memories do not fade.
Some victories do not bring joy, only lingering shadows that no light
can cast aside.

And
when those times happened, those nights of short breath and long
memories, he would turn in his bed to face his wife.

Always,
like the column of his people, she guided his soul. Always Domi lay
at his side, his anchor, his beacon of hope. On those nights, Cade
would wrap his arms around her and hold her close, and he would
whisper to her.

"Many
years ago, Domi, you flew into my village, and you whispered
'Requiem' into my ear, and you made me love you. And I love you,
Domi. Always."

She
would mumble in her sleep, smile, and kiss him, and Cade would hold
her for the rest of the night, and they would both feel safe. At
dawn, as light fell into their bedchamber, as the laughter of their
grandchildren rang through their humble home, Cade would wake to bake
his bread, the weight lifted, and the memories faded into a pale
shadow in the back of his mind.

Because
dawn always rises,
he knew.
The morning always brings some
hope. There is always light after darkness, always joy after pain,
always life even after so many lives lost.

One
autumn long after the fall of the Cured Temple, Eliana's daughter--a
beautiful child named Elory--burned a tray of loaves in their oven.
Black smoke filled the bakery, and they all fled outside and sat in
the garden until the burnt smell would fade. Cade sat among the
peonies that morning, watching the smoke drift out the windows, then
turned to watch the red leaves of maples glide down into their
garden. His family sat at his side, laughing at the misfortune, but
Cade only sat quietly, gazing at the falling leaves.

Elory
wrung her hands, and tears filled her eyes. The child approached
Cade, looking fearful.

"Are
you mad, Uncle Cade?" she said.

He
smiled and pulled the girl close to him. She sat at his side--with
him, with Domi, with their son and his sons, with Eliana, a family in
a garden.

"Are
you sad then?" Elory whispered, seeing the tears on his cheeks.

Cade
shook his head. "No," he whispered and held his family
close. "I'm happy."

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AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading the
Requiem for Dragons
trilogy. I hope you enjoyed these novels.

I've written several other trilogies set in Requiem, and I'm writing new ones all the time.

You can find a list of existing Requiem novels at:
DanielArenson.com/Requiem