The snow melted below
under their heat. Between the trunks, the long-necked felines still growled and
pounced, leaping from below, desperate to catch the dragons flying above them.
Others leaped from the treetops, knocked aside with flaps of the dragons' spiky
tails.
Til tried to curve her
flight, to whip between the trees, but she was moving too fast, and the trees
were too close. She slammed into a birch, cried out in pain, and shattered the
trunk. The tree fell and she kept flying. Bim slammed into an oak, cracking the
bole. He fell to the snow, then rose and flew again, narrowly dodging the
serpopards that leaped.
They kept flying, so
fast the dark forest streaked around them. They blasted their fire, lighting
their way, slamming into birch after birch, uprooting the trees. Icicles hailed
down, stabbing their backs. Melted snow ran in rivulets.
And above the fire
still burned.
The chariots of fire
descended from above, casting down fire. Arrows rained, and Til yowled as one
tore through her wing. She blasted dragonfire, and the blaze crashed into the
canopy and spurted upward, washing across a chariot. More covered the sky.
The dragons kept racing
across the forest. The landscape now sloped downward. As much as they could,
they whipped between trees, but they couldn't avoid crashes. Splinters drove
into their scales and cut the thick skin on their underbellies. Trees fell and
burned. And still the fire streaked across the sky.
A chariot swooped
ahead, plunging between the trees. Til and Bim flew sideways, dodging it,
racing onward. When the chariot tried to follow, its flashing reins wrapped
around an oak, sending the chariot flying in one direction, the firehorses in
another. A second chariot plunged between two pines, and Til roared out her
dragonfire, roasting the seraph who stood within. She rose higher, emerged
above the canopy, and plunged back downward and flew between the trees again.
The forests of Requiem burned.
A voice rose above,
angelic, mellifluous, a voice so kind and beautiful that Til could almost weep.
The voice of a god.
"You cannot escape
us, Til Eleison. Come to me, my child."
Tears filled Til's
eyes. The voice was so warm, so benevolent. She wanted to obey, to seek that
voice, to hear it comfort her.
He knows my name. He
knows who I am, how I hurt.
Ahead, she saw it. A
golden glow in the sky, as bright as the sun. She could just make him out above
the trees. A heavenly figure, swan wings spread wide, a halo around his head of
flowing golden hair. A man in gilded armor, beautiful, noble, all knowing,
merciful.
The Overlord.
"Come to me,
child," his voice rolled across the land, the voice of harps and song.
"Rest your weary head in my embrace. Let me claim your life, so that you
might find comfort in death."
And now Til wept. She
wanted to rise from the forest. To fly to him in the sky, this god in the
heavens. To let him welcome her soul. To leave her hurting, hungry body here in
the forest, to forever live in that radiance.
She began to rise
toward the sweet song and light.
Bim reached out and
grabbed her.
"He's lying."
The black dragon stared at her, gripping her with his claws, still flying
between the trees. "He wants to kill you, Til. To kill you. Live. Live!
Don't die like Father."
That memory now flooded
Til—the Overlord thrusting his lance, a god of wrath, slamming the blade
through Father, raising the corpse.
Til howled, and now she
wanted to fly skyward not to join him but to slay him, to cast down this cruel
god upon the burnt forests of her homeland, even if she died in that searing
light.
But I made a
promise. I promised to take Bim south. To the coast. I promised to live.
Til snarled, dived low
to the ground, and grabbed one of the leaping serpopards. She soared, crashing
through the canopy, carrying the long-necked feline in her claws. She flew
toward the godly light and tossed the dark creature. The serpopard tumbled
toward the Overlord, neck flailing, and
under their heat. Between the trunks, the long-necked felines still growled and
pounced, leaping from below, desperate to catch the dragons flying above them.
Others leaped from the treetops, knocked aside with flaps of the dragons' spiky
tails.
Til tried to curve her
flight, to whip between the trees, but she was moving too fast, and the trees
were too close. She slammed into a birch, cried out in pain, and shattered the
trunk. The tree fell and she kept flying. Bim slammed into an oak, cracking the
bole. He fell to the snow, then rose and flew again, narrowly dodging the
serpopards that leaped.
They kept flying, so
fast the dark forest streaked around them. They blasted their fire, lighting
their way, slamming into birch after birch, uprooting the trees. Icicles hailed
down, stabbing their backs. Melted snow ran in rivulets.
And above the fire
still burned.
The chariots of fire
descended from above, casting down fire. Arrows rained, and Til yowled as one
tore through her wing. She blasted dragonfire, and the blaze crashed into the
canopy and spurted upward, washing across a chariot. More covered the sky.
The dragons kept racing
across the forest. The landscape now sloped downward. As much as they could,
they whipped between trees, but they couldn't avoid crashes. Splinters drove
into their scales and cut the thick skin on their underbellies. Trees fell and
burned. And still the fire streaked across the sky.
A chariot swooped
ahead, plunging between the trees. Til and Bim flew sideways, dodging it,
racing onward. When the chariot tried to follow, its flashing reins wrapped
around an oak, sending the chariot flying in one direction, the firehorses in
another. A second chariot plunged between two pines, and Til roared out her
dragonfire, roasting the seraph who stood within. She rose higher, emerged
above the canopy, and plunged back downward and flew between the trees again.
The forests of Requiem burned.
A voice rose above,
angelic, mellifluous, a voice so kind and beautiful that Til could almost weep.
The voice of a god.
"You cannot escape
us, Til Eleison. Come to me, my child."
Tears filled Til's
eyes. The voice was so warm, so benevolent. She wanted to obey, to seek that
voice, to hear it comfort her.
He knows my name. He
knows who I am, how I hurt.
Ahead, she saw it. A
golden glow in the sky, as bright as the sun. She could just make him out above
the trees. A heavenly figure, swan wings spread wide, a halo around his head of
flowing golden hair. A man in gilded armor, beautiful, noble, all knowing,
merciful.
The Overlord.
"Come to me,
child," his voice rolled across the land, the voice of harps and song.
"Rest your weary head in my embrace. Let me claim your life, so that you
might find comfort in death."
And now Til wept. She
wanted to rise from the forest. To fly to him in the sky, this god in the
heavens. To let him welcome her soul. To leave her hurting, hungry body here in
the forest, to forever live in that radiance.
She began to rise
toward the sweet song and light.
Bim reached out and
grabbed her.
"He's lying."
The black dragon stared at her, gripping her with his claws, still flying
between the trees. "He wants to kill you, Til. To kill you. Live. Live!
Don't die like Father."
That memory now flooded
Til—the Overlord thrusting his lance, a god of wrath, slamming the blade
through Father, raising the corpse.
Til howled, and now she
wanted to fly skyward not to join him but to slay him, to cast down this cruel
god upon the burnt forests of her homeland, even if she died in that searing
light.
But I made a
promise. I promised to take Bim south. To the coast. I promised to live.
Til snarled, dived low
to the ground, and grabbed one of the leaping serpopards. She soared, crashing
through the canopy, carrying the long-necked feline in her claws. She flew
toward the godly light and tossed the dark creature. The serpopard tumbled
toward the Overlord, neck flailing, and
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