Read Requiem's Song (Book 1) for Free Online Page B

autumn leaves covered the soil, a crimson carpet.
Below the hill rolled valleys of mist, scattered birches, and rocks
engraved with the runes of ancient men. No rune, however, marked this
makeshift tombstone. If the men of nearby villages knew that here,
under this earth, lay a fallen weredragon, they would dig up the
bones, they would smash them with stones, and they would pray to
their totems to curse the soul of the creature.
    "But
you were no creature to me," Jeid said, jaw tight and eyes dry.
"You were my daughter, Requiem. And you were blessed."
    Weredragons, they called him and his family—cursed beings, monsters to burn. Jeid
had fled their villages long ago. He had given his family a new home,
a new name.
    His
head spun and he fell to his knees. The wind gusted, blowing dry
leaves into his shaggy hair and beard. Jeid was a strong man, a
blacksmith with thick arms and a barrel chest, but now, here, before
his fallen daughter, he felt weaker than old tin.
    "I
named our new home after you." He placed his hand between the
fallen leaves, feeling the soil, feeling her soul below. "Requiem.
And we are no longer weredragons. We are Vir
Requis , people of
Requiem." His eyes stung. "I swear to you, your name will
live on—a tribe to last for eternity."
    But
you will not be here to see it.
    Jeid
lowered his head, his despair overwhelming. That day returned to him
again—as it returned every time he came here. It had been years ago,
but still the pain felt raw, still the wound bled inside him.
    He
had fled his smithy, his village of Oldforge, the only home he'd
known. Blessed by the stars—cursed, the villagers called it—he
could grow wings, breathe fire, take flight as a dragon. He had
passed this gift to his children.
    "You
called us monsters, brother," he whispered. "You called us
cursed, Zerra."
    His
twin—cruel, envious, full of venom—had railed against Jeid's
so-called illness. And so Jeid had fled, taking his children with
him. Requiem had been only a toddler, barely old enough to shift into
a dragon herself. For a long time, they had wandered the wilderness,
finally finding a home upon the escarpment, a hidden crack in the
world, a place of secrets, of exile. Jeid had thought that would
appease the villagers. He'd been wrong.
    On
this day years ago—the autumn equinox—Jeid had taken Requiem, a
sweet child with soft brown locks, on a flight. Requiem had been but
a small dragon, no larger than a deer, wobbly as she flew. They
glided upon the wind, laughing, counting the trees below. It was
freedom. It was joy. It was the best day of Jeid's life, and it
turned into the worst.
    "Look,
Dada, food!" Requiem cried, pointing a claw below. The small,
blue dragon laughed and dived.
    "Requiem,
wait!" Jeid called after her.
    She
ignored him, squealing with laughter as she swooped. The lamb stood
upon the field below, groggy, lost from its flock and not fleeing.
Before Requiem even reached it, the lamb fell over, dead before the
small dragon's mouth closed around it.
    "Requiem,
wait!"
    But
she ate the meat.
    And
she cried.
    And
she shook and vomited and begged her father for help.
    She
lost her magic and lay in the grass, a human girl, skin pale,
clutching her swollen belly.
    Shaking
with rage and fear, Jeid carried her back to the escarpment. He and
his father, the wise healer Eranor, spent two nights feeding her
healing herbs, praying for her, holding her. And yet the poison
spread. On the third night she died.
    And
now, years later, Jeid knelt above the grave, and that grief burned
with no less intensity.
    "I
miss you, Requiem," he whispered, touching her tombstone.
"You've been gone for years, and I promise you. I will make our
tribe strong—for your memory, for your name. Requiem will survive."
    A
voice, soft and trembling, rose behind him.
    "Are
you . . . are you Jeid? Jeid the weredragon?"
    He
spun around, fists tight, tears in his eyes.
    A
young woman stood there, soot staining her face. She had long, black
hair