JEID

Another Vir Requis had joined them. His twin brother was dead. The Goldtusk tribe was Laira's to command. The world shook around Jeid, but he no longer cared.

He cared for only one thing now.

Back in dragon form, he dug through the rubble, tossing boulders aside. His eyes burned. He worked in a fury, unearthing dead tribesmen, a crushed roc, and puddles of blood. Boulders rolled around him.

"Help me!" he said. "Tanin, Maev!"

His children rushed forth, shifted into dragons, and dug with him. Their eyes were narrowed, their mouths shut tight. They were thinking the same thought as him, Jeid knew.

Eranor was missing.

Jeid ground his teeth. Last he'd seen his father, the elderly druid had been blowing fire from the pantry, the rough cave that was now buried under rubble. With a grunt, Jeid grabbed a great boulder—it was as large as a man. Tanin and Maev had to help, shoving against it, before it creaked and crashed down.

The entrance to the pantry, once a narrow cave barely large enough for a man to crawl into, lay shattered. Jeid tugged back stones, widening the opening, revealing the shadowy chamber.

"Father!" he called. No answer came.

His arms shook as Jeid shifted back into human form. He raced into the cave and felt his heart shatter.

Eranor lay in the cavern, in human form again, rubble upon him. The ceiling had collapsed, and a boulder buried the old man's legs. Blood stained his long, once-white beard.

"Father!"

Jeid rushed forward and knelt by the old druid. Eranor was still alive, his breath ragged. The old man managed to focus his eyes on Jeid and clasp his hand.

"My son . . ." His voice was a mere whisper.

Maev and Tanin rushed into the cave too and knelt by their grandfather. Tears filled their eyes.

"Tell me what to do." Jeid clutched his father's hand. "Tell me how to heal you."

Eranor smiled—an almost wistful smile. "This body cannot be healed. Do not weep for me. I am old and I've lived longer than most. I lived to see Requiem rise." He closed his eyes. "In my mind I can see it—a great kingdom of dragons. You will lead them, Jeid. Lead them to hope, to light."

"No." Jeid shook his head. "No, Father. You will lead us. Don't leave. Now is not your time."

"I fly now to the stars, my son." Eranor's eyes narrowed to mere slits. "Tanin. Maev. Come closer. Be with me."

They all crowded around him, holding on to the old man, tears in their eyes.

Eranor gave a last smile. "I fly now to the Draco constellation. I fly to those we lost. I—"

His eyes closed.

His breath died.

Jeid lowered his head, pulled his father to his chest, and held him close for a long time.

The last leaves of autumn scuttled across the hills, and the first snow began to fall, when Jeid buried his father. Wind fluttered his fur cloak as he stood above the grave. A third boulder rose here, a third tombstone coated in moss. By it lay the two other graves—the young Vir Requis who had lost his leg, a stranger and yet one of their family, and an older grave overrun with ivy, the grave of his daughter. Of Requiem.

"I don't know how many more will die for our tribe," Jeid said, throat tight. He clenched his fists at his sides. "But I will fight on."

He looked at the others who stood around him, faces pale, eyes cold. His people. His tribe. The ones he loved.

Maev had refused a cloak of fur. She stood in a simple tunic, her arms bare, displaying her coiling dragon tattoos. Snow frosted her golden hair. No tears filled her eyes, and as always, her bottom lip was thrust out in defiance. As always, bruises and scratches covered her. Yet Jeid knew that beneath that stony exterior lay pain, love, and hope. The young woman stared down at the grave, chin raised, a well of tears hiding behind stone walls.

Tanin stood at her side, his eyes red, snow filling his shock of brown hair. The tall young man wrapped his fur cloak more tightly around himself. His lips whispered silent prayers or perhaps goodbyes. The juggler turned warrior—now a man grieving.

I never wanted this life for you, my children, Jeid thought. I wanted you to grow up in safety, a true roof over your heads, a life without fear, without pain.

Perhaps this day he grieved for his children—for their life of exile and bloodshed—as much as for his fallen father.

The new members of his tribe stood here too. Sena—slender, his cheeks soft—stood wrapped in a cloak, pale with frost. He stared down at the grave, silent, thoughtful. Laira stood at his side, holding his hand.

You too are my family now, Jeid thought, looking upon them. I will fight for all of you.

He knelt and placed a single birch leaf upon the grave, securing it with a stone. His father had always loved birches, and it was the only gift Jeid had to give. The others followed, one by one, placing down their own leaves and stones. Snow dusted the gifts.

Jeid straightened and looked at his new people. Young. Afraid. Looking to him for guidance. He spoke softly as the snow fell.

"Thus, with leaf and stone, we say goodbye." The others stared at him, eyes large, lips tight. "Thus, with blood and fire, we defended our home. We fled a village, a tribe, a southern kingdom. All over the world they hunt us—the people they call diseased, the cursed ones they call weredragons. But we are blessed. We are Vir Requis, and our magic comes from the stars." He looked up at that sky as if, past the pale sunlight and clouds, he could see those stars. "For a long time, I called Requiem a tribe. Tribes move across the world, seeking safety, struggling to survive." Jeid shook his head. "Requiem will be no tribe. We will be a kingdom." He looked back at them, meeting their eyes one by one. "We will tell the world: You can no longer hunt us. We will no longer hide. No more will the children of Requiem hide underground, ashamed, afraid."

They nodded. Maev growled and raised her fist. Tanin punched his palm and sneered. Laira's eyes lit up, and she raised her chin, and even her brother straightened and gazed ahead with pride.

"We will stand proud!" Jeid said, his voice rising louder. "We are only five, but more will join us. Many more Vir Requis hide across the world, afraid, believing they are cursed. We will trumpet our cause and call our people home. We will raise a palace of stone, and we will tell all tribes and nations: If you hunt us, you will die. If you attack us, you will burn. Dragons will rise! The kingdom of Requiem will last ten thousand years."

"Yes!" Maev said. The young woman shifted into a dragon, beat her wings, and soared. She raised a great pillar of fire, and her roar pealed across the land. "Requiem! I fight for you."

One by one, the others shifted too. They took flight, roaring for Requiem.

Only Jeid remained on the ground, still in human form. He looked down at the graves, and his eyes stung.

For you, Father. For you, my daughter. For you, unknown warrior. For all those who've died.

He looked up at the sky, shifted too, and took flight. He joined the others. They hovered above the hills and valleys, and Jeid added his flames to theirs. Five jets rose, spinning and crackling with heat and light, wreathing together into a great column of fire, a beacon for hope, for life, and for a new home.

* * * * *

They flew through the day and night, five dragons no longer afraid, until they reached the great mountains of Dair Ranin. There their claws dug, cutting loose marble from the mountainside, a great round pillar they could not carry, but which they rolled across the hills and valleys upon a wagon of logs.

For long days they worked in the forest, carving, smoothing, sculpting, using both dragon claws and bronze tools. The rocs awaited them in the hills beyond, for here among these birches—here was holy ground, blessed with dragon starlight. Fresh snow covered the trees when finally their work was done. A great column rose between the birches, three hundred feet tall, its marble smooth and glittering like the snow, its capital shaped as rearing dragons.

They stood before the pillar, five dragons, dwarfed by the size of their creation. It seemed to Jeid that the pillar glimmered with inner light. A circle of marble tiles stretched around it, and birch leaves scuttled upon the polished stone. In the distance, rising above the forest, sunlight gilded the distant mountains.

"The Column of Requiem," Jeid said. He shifted back into human form and placed a hand upon it. "A beacon to draw our kind to this forest like a lighthouse draws in ships."

Laira shifted back into human form too. She held Jeid's hand and leaned against him.

"Requiem is a true kingdom now." She stared up at the pillar. "But we need a king." She looked at him and touched his cheek. "You vowed to lead us. Be our king."

The others gathered closer, also resuming human forms. They nodded, one by one.

Jeid barked a laugh. "King Jeid Blacksmith? Doesn't sound very kingly."

"It sounds bloody stupid," Maev said and spat.

Laira smiled and placed her small, pale hand against Jeid's wide chest. "You told us that Requiem will last ten thousand years. But Requiem will last for eternity. Give yourself a new name, not the name of a blacksmith but the name of a dragon. Become King Aeternum, a king whose song will echo through the ages."

Beside them, Tanin nodded in approval. "King Aeternum. I like it. Future generations might even think Jeid was noble, not a grizzled, gruff grizzly."

"The only thing eternal about Grizzly is his appetite," Maev muttered.

Jeid sighed and shook his head. Ignoring his children, he looked back up at the column. It soared past the treetops toward the clouds, and the sun fell upon the capital, breaking into many beams.

I hope you are watching, Father, Jeid thought. I hope you are proud.

Laira let go of his hand, stepped forward, and touched the column. She smiled softly and closed her eyes. When she sang, her voice—passing through her crooked jaw—barely sounded slurred to her but high and pure.

"As the leaves fall upon our marble tiles, as the breeze rustles the birches beyond our column, as the sun gilds the mountains above our halls—know, young child of the woods, you are home, you are home." She opened her eyes, smiled, and looked up at the pale clouds. "Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky."

Jeid smiled too. He repeated the prayer, a new song, a holy song—Requiem's song. The others joined in and their voices rose together.

"Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky."