The Black Dragon fell from the sky and landed in a heap. True, a moment later it was aloft again—but this time it was flying away.
Vilkas
I spoke to all the demons at once. “The creature that called you here is gone,” I cried. “Return to that place granted you by the Powers and I will allow you to go in peace.”
I was trembling harder now. Every part of me, heart, body, and soul, longed to destroy them all. I held myself back with a terrible effort. Aral, Aral, you cannot know, I have let loose the fire and it threatens to burn the world …
“Stupid mortal!” cried one of the greater demons. A lesser prince, perhaps Lord of the Second Hell? “We are free here at last, with no strictures to bind us! Tremble and die!”
It threw itself at me. I brushed it away. I longed to swat it to the ground like an annoying wasp, crush it, hear it scream …
“I give you all one final warning,” I said, my voice shaking with the effort of restraint. “If you stay here, I give you my word, by the Lady’s grace, I will destroy every living soul among you. Go now. I cannot hold back forever.”
“We fear no mortal!” came a chorus of voices. “This world is ours, we are come to kill and then to rule!”
That was it. I cared no more that I might do a great wrong. I knew only that I was all that stood between the demons and the death of the world of men. Not much of a decision.
I let go. Of everything. All restraint, all self-control, burned away like straw as I became the flame that raged within me.
I struck out at the princes first. They were dust and ashes in that first moment. Then I began with the ones that harried the Kantri. I burned them in swathes, like scything a field, brushing them off the fallen Kantri like flies. They died in their tens, in their hundreds, and it was good.
No. I lie.
It was wonderful.
It was better than cool water in the desert. It was better than sleep to the exhausted. It was better than food to one dying of hunger, better than sex, better than the dawn—my body, my mind, my heart and soul, all working together seamlessly, all using the vast power that had been forced into hiding all my life, finally set free.
I have never known such incredible, transcendent joy.
I killed hundreds. Thousands. I was not banishing them back to their place in the Hells. No. It was the True Death. I was the True Death.
I laughed as I beheld my dream come true.
Eventually they realised what was happening and many fled back to the Hells. They were the clever ones. I would pursue them later. For now, I slaughtered those that were stupid enough not to run away. I laughed again as I slew them, I rejoiced in their deaths. I was Death, and it was good.
Marik
I wake as from sleep, find myself on the ground, leap aloft and try to fly away. The Demonlord has forced me into darkness. I have no idea what has happened since he and his servants declared war on the world—except that the world seems still to be here, the Demonlord is gone and the demons are dying in droves. I am now in sole possession of this body.
I wonder if there is any chance of me getting my old one back? Especially since I don’t know how long this one is going to last without demon-strength to support it. Already it begins to cool, to stiffen, around the edges.
Death soon, then. Real death this time. Release at last.
I shall fly into the mountains. They do look beautiful, so welcoming, so calm. There aren’t very many of those big dragons around to stop me, either—except for that damned silver one. Again!
I flap harder, trying desperately to get away.
Lanen
I threw the horrible thing from me. It burst into searing flame the instant it left my hand, and was dust before it could fall to the ground. My hand was scorched. It was a small price to pay.
I looked around. Vilkas was yelling something, briefly, but I think the demons proved how stupid they were and defied him. In any case, they weren’t bothering us anymore. I think they were too busy dying.
And the Black Dragon, still alive somehow, was flying away. Akor flew in pursuit of the creature, but I did not fear for him.
Goddess. It was over.
By all the Hells, my poor battered heart ached as if its pain would never cease.
He was a dragon again. My love. My husband. The father of my children.
A detached part of my mind watched his graceful flight. He was a glorious creature, gleaming silver in the late afternoon sun—how had it come to be so late?—and he seemed to be borne aloft like a leaf in a breeze. He was so huge. Shikrar’s size. Akor would have grown that large in the fullness of time, as one of the Kantri, but not for hundreds of years yet. He was—he was—
I ignored the rage, ignored the despair that pressed against my heart. Ignored my lonely future, though a scurrying thought danced past the vision of that vast dragon faced with children half the length of one of his talons. He was himself always, no matter his form. Varien kadreshi na-Lanen. My beloved. With a strength that came from I knew not where, I drew myself up and began to sing. Aloud.
I sang—very badly—the wordless song of love that we had made between us on the Dragon Isle. I sang to remind him, to remind me, of that love that does not change save to grow deeper and stronger with the passing of the years, no matter what else might happen. I let the music echo in my mind as well, and felt it when the bond of truespeech locked between us. The song had changed yet again and was awash with sorrow, but it held the truth of love as well.
Akor managed to get in front of the Black Dragon and turn it, or the Winds were blowing it back in this direction. When he turned to me, I realised Akor was singing too. He joined me in the song of our making, adding to it the Tale of Lanen and Akor that he had composed for our wedding as my bride-gift. As I watched, those of both houses of the Kantri who still could fly joined him in the air, melding their voices with his, weaving harmonies around and about the song. It grew wilder, deeper, higher, until there was a sudden shift—from one moment to the next it changed, from a wild symphony built around a story of two lovers into the pain and truth and deep joy of love itself, and the sheer power of the music thrust me to my knees.
The music took on a life of its own then. There were yet echoes of the Tale of Lanen and Akor but other voices wove a wondrous tapestry of sound about it now. I heard the jangling chords of the Lost, rattling against the music, until in a blazing chord they were resolved. Restored. And they joined in the vast sound, so many-layered it was hard to make out the melody—but—but it still wasn’t right. Something was missing, some vital part of the tale untold.
The Black Dragon tried to escape the music, charging Akor time and again, but Akor floated light as a bird’s feather and danced away from it on the air with barely the flick of a wingtip. They all moved with Akor, the Restored singing now their lives rediscovered, their suffering redeemed with the death of the Demonlord. It was wondrous, but it lacked something—something—
Away in the far distance a sound arose, so faint as to seem more like a memory. It came from the west, where the sun sank slowly towards the distant sea—for a moment, it almost seemed as though the Sun itself were adding his voice to the music. I squinted, trying to see around the edges of the blazing light. Was that a flock of crows flying swiftly towards us?—no, it must be eagles surely, moving so swiftly—Ah. No. Not eagles. Brighter than eagles, gleaming in the light, copper and steel and bronze and golden, their soulgems scattering light of ruby and emerald and sapphire as the sun caught them.
The Aialakantri. The Lesser Kindred.
They soared in, singing, joining the complex pattern of flight as though they were joining a dance; and the music grew, made full, made bright and sparkling with the higher voices of the smaller creatures.
Made whole.
I probably should have stopped singing, but I could not. They were now most truly my people as well. My voice could not be heard by any save Akor, but I sang with all the peoples of the Kantri in a wil
d rejoicing.
The Black Dragon was confused by the music, stiffening even as I watched, trying to find a thermal to rise upon, trying to find a way out—but the music grew and grew, until the very stones echoed with it, until the mountains joined in the song and the Kantri wove even the echoes into the full glory of that sound. My throat closed in the face of more beauty than I could bear. I fell silent as the great mass of dragons, all three Kindreds united, surrounded the Black Dragon in an ever-moving spiral. Their unearthly music, so full and triumphant, woven of voices silent for long ages of the world and voices new-come to life, danced until it came to a single chord, complex beyond imagining—and there it locked, shining, all but visible. I heard notes that not even the Kantri could possibly sing ringing in the air, right at the edge of hearing, and in the lowest range I finally heard the voice I knew to be Akor’s adding the deepest note of all. I felt it through the soles of my feet, I felt my babes resonate to it in my belly, I felt it in my deepest heart. That chord shook the earth. That chord the creator sang when the world was brought into being replete with joy.
And as I watched, the Black Dragon, caught up in that unimaginable music, caged, surrounded by music, began to shake. Every separate mote of the creature, every bit of ash and speck of sulphur, every drop of molten stone, quivered in the grip of that sound until, between one breath and another, it gave one last cry that faded upon the instant to a terrible sibilant hiss as it disintegrated. A great cloud of dust rained softly down upon the earth, and it was gone.
All that remained was the music.
I am not sure when the Kantri stopped singing, for to speak sooth that chord has never left my heart, down all the years. I became a struck bell, resonating forever to the truth of it. No matter what else may distract me, what life may throw my way—in my deepest being, that living glory of music rings ever within my soul to remind me of beauty and creation and the fundamental wonder of life.
There was only one distraction, as the sound echoed in the mountains, dancing between hills alive with joy. I would swear that in the silence behind the music, I heard my father Marik’s mindvoice one last time. It was less than a whisper in my mind, the merest ghost of a breath.
“Thank you,” it said, and disappeared.
And the Kantri, rising in a vast spiral, opened their throats again and began their lament for the dead. I should have realized that they would sing their first farewell to him whose loss they most would feel. The music was solemn, composed of equal parts of sorrow and hope inextricably entwined. It would break your heart even if you knew not for whom they sang. And it was Kédra’s voice that led them, with Akor’s in the second line.
“May the Winds bear you up, Hadretikantishikrar, Keeper of Souls, Eldest, soulfriend, Father, to where the sun gleams ever warm and bright. May your soul find its rest in the heart of light. May you join your voice to the Great Song of Time, and may those you love, who have flown before, meet you and welcome you into the Star Home, the Wind Home, the Place of All Songs, where all is well, and all is joy, and all is clear at last.”
He has found his Yrais again at last, I thought, and bowed my head, and wept.
Aral
I watched Vil as he changed. Sweet Shia. I know I urged him to use his full power, but—heaven keep us, it was terrifying. He had dealt with a demon prince, then held Berys at bay and stripped his works from him (I reminded myself to thank Jamie from the bottom of my heart). But now … now he was killing without let or hindrance, and the expression on his face was terrible to behold.
He was in bliss.
I had heard his exchange with the demons and given thanks then for his strength, that wildfire that raged in him—but now—now he was pursuing the demons that fled. He was even stopping those that tried to return to the Hells. It was wrong.
Never mind that they were demons. This was genocide.
Damn.
I strode to his side. “Vilkas!”
He never twitched.
“Vilkas, damn it, man, you have to stop!”
He laughed. Goddess, what a horrible sound.
“Vilkas, you listen to me, you have to stop right now! This isn’t right!”
He turned to face me, his eyes blazing that incredible blue, his raven hair blowing in a wind I didn’t feel. “Aral, you were right! I should have done this long since! Look, they cannot stand against me!” He gestured again, and another score of demons died screaming.
“They are trying to get away, Vil, you have to stop!”
“Stop? Why should I stop? You were the one who said I needed to let go.” Another gesture. More screaming, more death, and the smile on his face was becoming a terrible rictus.
I shook him. “Stop, Vil! Listen to me! You’re not killing them to protect anything now, you’re killing them for the joy of it!”
“Yes, isn’t it wonderful?” He grinned.
I struck him across the face, once, hard. “Vilkas, stop it!”
He turned to face me then, holding me motionless along with all those demons, gazing at me as though he’d never seen me before. The power running through him made my hair stand on end even from two feet away. “Why? Why should I stop? They are demons, they don’t deserve to live.”
“Vilkas ta-Geryn,” I said quietly, “you listen to me. They deserve life as much as we do, as long as they stay in their own world. They’re trying to get back there. Let them go.”
He looked at me for a moment, considering. “No,” he said, dropping me to the ground and turning back to the demons. More screaming.
I raised my power about me, stood directly in front of him, and put my hands on his shoulders. He did not react. Damn it.
I reached up and grabbed his hair, tugging it down hard, forcing him to look at me. He was taken by surprise and actually looked into my eyes. I let go his hair, I barely knew what I said. I would have said anything to stop him.
“By the Lady, Vilkas, I charge you—by the friendship between us, by the power of the Goddess that rages within you, I beg you to stop this slaughter. You are not dreaming this time, Vilkas. This is real. If you kill all the demons you will be the Death of the World in truth. Remember the balance! If all the demons die at your hand, what will come to take their place? Balance in all things, Vil! You have used your power to save as all, the whole world owes you its life. Thus far you are the Sky God, Vil.” I seemed to be weeping. “Do not do this. Stop with the Sky God.” A mad giggle fought to escape me. “You can be the Death of the World some other time.”
There was a faint flicker, I could see it deep inside him. A moment of hesitation, a moment of his real self.
Oh, Hells. Oh, Goddess. I had no choice.
I threw all restraint aside and spoke the words I had sworn I would never say, knowing as I did so what it would do. To both of us.
“I conjure you, by Mother Shia, by all we have been to each other, by every moment of friendship—oh, Vilkas—oh. Hells—” I had to push so hard to say the words aloud that I practically shouted it. “I love you, Vilkas ta-Geryn. I love you with all my heart and soul, I always will. And now, here, this moment, by the endless love I bear you that you cannot return, by that pain I must bear every day of my life for love of you, I require you. Stop this. Now.”
It was like stabbing him with so many daggers. I watched him wince, watched his mind reappear in his eyes. Watched as that unutterable joy drained out of him and left him desolate.
He turned to the demons and growled, “Return to the Hells that spawned you or die the True Death.” He gestured them free, and in the instant every single one disappeared back to their own rightful place.
He turned back to me. Oh, Hells, here it comes, and I bloody deserve it …
“I do not love you. I have never loved you and you know it, but it’s not my fault.” He shuddered. “Damn you. You had no right to do that. How could you throw that in my face? I trusted you, Aral!”
He came right close to me, he took my chin in his hand, his face a thunderclou
d. Goddess, what is he doing? I wondered, even as a stupid, traitor part of me that had nothing to do with my mind prayed that he was about to kiss me.
Far from it. He was returning the favour. He forced me to look at his eyes, and as both of us were still in the depths of our healing power, I saw him.
No. No, you don’t understand. I saw him. We merged as we always did when we were working together, and I felt it: felt for an instant that incredible delight, that transcendent bliss that had been his for so fleeting a moment, felt it tear through me like a hundred swords, so sharp was the joy—and then I felt it stop. Ten thousand swords, all poisoned, ripping me apart. Ten thousand thousand demons wrenching me from that pinnacle and throwing me down, twisted and broken, mourning, into a dark pit.
I was sobbing so hard I couldn’t see his face when he turned away, but I heard him.
“You have only ever been second-best and you know it. I could never love you. You have used me, used our friendship, and I have paid the price. Why should I ever speak to you again?”
Someone put their arms around me and held me as I mourned. I think it must have been Will.
Lanen
That was my mistake, of course. I wept. Not tears seeping out for the beauty of the dragon-song, but true weeping, for Shikrar’s passing, for Varien lost forever—for too many things. The only problem was that I couldn’t stop.
Akor, the Lord of the Kantri now again in truth, came spiralling down to land as soon as the lament for Shikrar was done, but I could not look at him. The others sang for their own dead. I heard them, but I heard nothing, I felt nothing beyond myself. My world encompassed only my own body, and my own pain, and a sorrow beyond words. Beyond living. Even then some part of me, some last rational voice, reminded me that he was changed, not dead, but at that moment I could see no difference. I knelt there on the cold ground, my arms wrapped around my chest, rocking back and forth in a vain search for comfort, my body forcing me to breathe, great ragged breaths rattling painfully into my chest.