ISSARI

She stood upon the balcony, the wind fluttering her tunic, watching the demons swarm over her city.

Eteer, center of the sprawling Eteerian civilization, had once been a city of pale towers rising into clear skies; swaying palm and fig trees; a peaceful blue sea lapping at mossy walls; and proud people robed in white, walking along cobbled streets, welcoming the ships that sailed in. Birds would sing among the trees, and the sweet scents of fruit and spices would waft upon the wind. Once, standing here, Issari would see a great mosaic of peace and beauty.

Today she saw a hive of rot and flame.

A thousand creatures of the Abyss filled the city now—crawling upon walls, festering upon roofs, and fluttering in the sky. Each of the creatures was a unique horror. Issari saw demons of scales, demons of tentacles, demons of slime, of rot, of fire. She saw creatures turned inside out, organs glistening upon their inverted skin. She saw bloated, warty things drag themselves along cobbled streets, leaving trails of slime. The heads of children, innocent and fair, rose upon the bodies of clattering centipedes. Bloated faces of dogs sneered upon the armored bodies of crabs. Conjoined twins, ten or more stitched together with demon thread, moved upon their many legs.

Some creatures were small, no larger than dogs. Others were as large as mules. Everywhere they sniffed, snorted, sought the weredragons. Everywhere they barged through doors, rummaged through temples, pulling out families, licking, smelling, rubbing, discarding.

Issari stood above, staring upon this waking nightmare, her eyes damp. Her fingers clung to the railing.

What has happened to my home?

A voice rose behind her, answering her thoughts.

"They are seeking weredragons. They are ugly, my daughter, and they frighten you, but they are purifying our city of the disease."

She turned to see her father step onto the balcony. He came to stand beside her, leaned over the railing, and watched the creatures swarm down the streets and across the roofs.

Issari spoke in a small voice. "But Father, aren't we just bringing a greater evil into our kingdom?"

Raem turned toward her, and she saw the anger in his eyes. He clenched his fists, and Issari stepped back, sure he would strike her; he had struck her many times before. But his fire died as fast as it had kindled, and he caressed her cheek.

"You are pure, Issari, the only pure thing I have left. But you are young, and you are innocent. There is no evil greater than having a pure human form and betraying it. Our lord Taal forbids tattoos, piercings, obesity, or any disgrace against the form he gave us. To shift into a reptile is the greatest abomination. These demons might look strange, but they are doing Taal's work."

Screams rose below, and Issari spun back toward the city. On a street not far away, a host of demons—red creatures with bat wings—dragged an old man from his home. The greybeard tried to fight them, but the demons clung with clawed hands. Their snouts sniffed, pressing against the man's skin.

"Weredragon, weredragon!" the demons cried. "We found a reptile!"

Issari sucked in her breath. At her side, Raem leaned forward, baring his teeth, seeming almost hungry.

The old man below managed to tear himself free. He burst into a run, only for the demons to leap onto his legs and knock him down. Then, as Issari watched and gasped, the man shifted.

A thin silver dragon beat his wings, rising into the air. Before he could clear the roofs, the company of demons leaped onto the dragon like wolves on a bison. They slammed the silver beast onto the cobblestones and laughed, clawed, bit. They tore off scales, scattering them across the street, and blood splashed. With a whimper, the dragon lost his magic, returning to human form.

Issari looked away, but Raem pushed her face back toward the city.

"Watch, daughter," said the king. "You must see this."

The demons tore the old man apart. One demon lifted a severed leg over its head, parading it as a trophy. Other demons tore out internal organs, and one began to feast upon the entrails. The demons danced with their prizes, slick with blood.

Issari winced, horror rising inside her. She closed her eyes. "This is evil, Father. This is wrong."

He gripped her wrist and his eyes blazed. "This is dominion. One cannot rule a kingdom with compassion, only with strength. With your siblings gone, you are my heir. This land will someday be yours. I will no longer pamper you. Accustom yourself to blood. When you are Queen, you too will shed blood . . . or others will shed yours."

Issari did not want to be Queen. She wished she could fly away too—like Laira. She closed her eyes, imagining that she too could shift. If she could become a dragon, she could fly off this balcony, soar so high even the demons could not catch her. She would head north, find her mother and sister, and flee this horrible city.

Yet as her father had said, she was pure. No reptile curse filled her veins. She remained a young woman, trapped upon this balcony.

She opened her eyes and mouth, about to plead with her father, to beg him to return the demons to the Abyss, when the crone stepped onto the balcony.

"So here they are—father and sister to the maggot."

Issari spun around and gasped. In the balcony doorway stood the strangest woman she'd ever seen. The crone was bent over, wizened as a raisin, and clad in animal skins. Warts covered her hooked nose, and her fingernails were long and yellow. Wisps of white hair covered her scalp, and her mouth opened in a cruel, toothless grin.

Is this a demon? Issari wondered, heart racing.

"Who are you?" Raem demanded, taking a step toward the crone. "How did you pass the guards?"

The wizened old creature cackled. She reached out twig-like fingers to rap his armor. "You are a man of metal, of might, of many demons. But Old Shedah still has some tricks." She spat right onto the balcony floor, then turned toward Issari. "Well . . . and look at this one. A fair, ripe fruit, she is." The crone reached up to stroke Issari's breast. "You are taller and fairer than your sister. She is a worm, but you are a rare flower. You would make a fine bride for my chieftain."

Issari took a step backward, banging her back against the balcony railing. "Stay away, witch! How dare you speak of my sister?"

"Witch? No, I am no witch." Shedah bared her toothless gums in a mockery of a grin. "I am Shaman of the Goldtusk tribe, once the sanctuary of Queen Anai, that diseased reptile, and Laira, the little maggot." She stroked Issari's cheek, her fingernails sharp. "Your mother and sister. I have traveled for long days to this land, moving down the shadowy paths unknown to those of simple minds. I bring news of them, oh princess of distant lands."

Raem snarled and grabbed the old woman's wrist, tugging her away from Issari. "Keep your filthy hands to yourself." He stepped back into the palace, dragging the crone with him. "Guards! Guards, where—"

When they stepped into the chamber, both king and princess gasped. The guards lay on the floor, fast asleep, lips fluttering as they snored.

Shedah cackled and spat upon one. "Weak worms. How did you folk ever build a kingdom of stone and metal? You are guarded by weak boys, their cheeks smoother than my backside." The crone snorted. "Come north across the sea, oh king, and you will see the strength of true warriors."

Raem's face flushed. He slid his khopesh from his belt and raised the curved blade. Issari had to race forward and stop him.

"Father! Wait. She knows Mother. She knows Laira."

Looking back at the shaman, Issari trembled. Could it be? Could this crone be speaking truth? Issari's eyes stung and her knees shook.

My mother . . . my sister . . .

Issari could not remember them, for they had fled too long ago. Father had smashed all paintings, statues, and engravings depicting Queen Anai and Princess Laira, but Issari had always dreamed of seeing them again. If this shaman had news, there was hope.

"What do you know?" she said, turning toward Shedah. "Tell us. Tell us everything."

Shedah licked her lips. "My sweet child, your mother is dead. Burned at the stake. I watched her burn and I spat upon her charred corpse."

Issari stared, unable to breathe, and her eyes stung.

Mother . . . no . . .

Issari had been only a babe when Mother fled this city. She could not remember the woman, but she dreamed about her every night. In her dreams, Mother looked like her—her black hair braided, her eyes green and soft, her face kind. All her life that whisper, that warm vision, had comforted Issari, for she knew that even if Mother was far away, she still lived. She still cared for her daughter.

Dead. Burned.

Tears gathered in Issari's eyes.

"You are lying!" she shouted at the crone.

Shedah reached into her pouch and produced a silver amulet. It bore an engraving of Taal—a man with his head lowered, his arms hanging at his sides, his palms facing outward—a sigil of purity and humility.

"The amulet of Eteer's queen—Anai's last relic of her once royal past." The shaman tossed the talisman toward Issari. "Keep it. And whenever you look at it, remember that your mother screamed like a butchered pig when the flames licked the flesh off her bones."

As Issari clutched the amulet, Raem grabbed the crone's arms and leaned down, glaring at her.

"What of Laira?" the king demanded. "What of my daughter?"

Shedah licked her lips with her long, white tongue. "The maggot fled our tribe. She was heading north when we lost her scent, but I know where she was going." Shedah pressed her withered hand against the king's cheek. "I will reveal all to you, mighty king, in return for but one gift."

Raem clutched the woman's arms so tightly they seemed ready to snap. "What do you desire?"

"The same as you, my lord. The same as all who are wise. Power." She sneered. "For years, I placed leeches upon the flesh of Laira, sucking up her blood for my potions. The blood of a princess is mighty, and my stores run low." The shaman turned toward Issari and gave her a hungry, lustful look. "Give me your one daughter, and I will give you the other."