The Bones of Makaidos

by Bryan Davis

  As the ball continued to grow, Clefspeare shuffled close to Billy. “I am concerned for her,” Clefspeare said. “She is likely too weak to undertake such an enormous task.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. It hurts just to watch her.”

  Acacia slid her feet through the mud and again pressed her body on the window. Like a bursting bubble, the fireball broke apart. Flames spread across the glass, crawling in every direction. Acacia rubbed her palms on the surface in wide circles. As if propelled by her motions, the flames continued to spread up and around the cylinder.

  “It is time to add more fire,” Acacia called. “And fan it with your wings!”

  Clefspeare raised up on his haunches. “Son, climb aboard and come with me. We will both add fire from the air.”

  Billy ran up his father’s tail section and along his back, dodging the longer spines. As soon as he seated himself at the base of the neck, he shouted, “Let’s do it!”

  Beating his wings, Clefspeare rose into the air. The wing on the bruised side seemed to falter, making him tilt for a moment, but he soon righted himself and began an orbit around the transparent cylinder.

  “You aim low,” Clefspeare shouted, “and I will aim high.”

  Angling his neck toward the sky, he sprayed a flood of orange from his mouth and both nostrils. Billy joined in, bending over to strike the glass several feet lower. As soon as the flames met the partition, they spread out in the same way Acacia’s did, and gusts from Clefspeare’s wings added to the momentum.

  It took a few minutes for Clefspeare to complete one orbit. When they passed Acacia, she was still leaning against the glass and still moving her hands in circles, though she seemed slower, and her eyes were now tightly shut.

  Billy continued shooting fire into the storm. With each splash, the flames made a whooshing sound as they joined in with the rest of the fire. Breathing in cold air, then blowing out hot, he pressed on, though each barrage grew weaker.

  Clefspeare’s fire remained strong, but his flight angle tilted again. The bruise on his side was definitely taking its toll.

  The glass shook. As if boring holes through the partition, fire spilled to the inside and dribbled downward. A slight dizziness swam through Billy’s head, likely a touch of hyperventilation, but he couldn’t stop now. Something was happening. Maybe it was working.

  As they approached Acacia again, the entire wall dissolved, and the fire dropped to the ground like a burning curtain. Her flames ceased, and she stumbled through and fell into Shiloh’s arms. Shiloh sat down and, cradling Acacia, called, “She’s okay! Just exhausted, I think.”

  Clefspeare and Billy shut off their jets. As they glided toward the snow, Billy shouted, “Yes! She did it!” But before his final word passed through his lips, the village began to fade.

  “Dad! Get on the ground! Quick!”

  As soon as Clefspeare landed, Billy jumped down. Sliding in the snow, he dashed toward Shiloh and Acacia, but the scene vanished before he could get there. They were gone.

  He stumbled forward and plowed into a drift. As he rolled, snow pushed into his mouth, cooling the sensitive skin inside. When he came to a stop, he looked up at the cloud-blanketed sky and rested for a moment. His heart thumped. His head pounded. Every part of his body ached.

  “Son!” Clefspeare called. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so.” Slowly rising to a sitting position, he looked at his father. Now his heart pounded even harder. Tears came to his eyes, and the chilly wind pushed them back toward his temples. They had failed. Not only did they not rescue Shiloh, they lost Acacia, an Oracle of Fire, no less, probably a great asset in the battle if Abraham’s protective wall should ever fail. She had the best chance of opening the portal at Mount Elijah. Now what would they do? Could a dragon open it? With no good place to land, it wasn’t likely. And poor Shiloh. Within seconds of being rescued, her hopes were dashed.

  He rose to his feet and batted the snow from his pants. Or maybe they weren’t dashed after all. Could she have transported to a safe place, away from those who wanted to slice her into pieces? Maybe Shiloh’s captors had no idea where she ended up.

  Sighing deeply, he pushed through the drift until he worked his way back to the muddy section. He leaned against his father’s side and draped an arm over his neck. “Now what’re we going to do?”

  Clefspeare picked up Acacia’s cloak with his teeth and laid it over Billy’s shoulders. “We will go back to the village. What choice do we have?”

  “We could try to open it again. You know, create another circle of fire.”

  “We can, and we will, but not in my weakened state. I will return later with Hartanna, and we will see what we can do.”

  Nodding, Billy looked up into his father’s eyes. “Any speculation?”

  “If you mean their destination … no. When the firestorm toppled the Tower of Babel, the bottom third transported from Earth to Hades, so it seems that these portal jumps are unpredictable, at least for us who have no knowledge of the cross-dimensional paths.”

  Billy touched Clefspeare’s bruise. “How does it feel? Going back will be mostly against a headwind.”

  Clefspeare bent his neck until his head hovered in front of the purple blotch. “I would not want to do battle for a while, but I am confident I can make it to Founder’s Village.”

  “If we go another route, maybe it won’t be so bad.”

  “I assume you mean that you still want to check on the wall of fire and deliver the supplies.”

  “Right. Do you think you could make it that far? I can go with Hartanna later.”

  “I see value in going now. The warrior chief will be glad to get a report, and the men could be hungry.” Clefspeare shuffled to the large boulder. “But first, I want to create a landmark to ensure that we are able to find this place in the future.” He heaved in a breath. Then, with a narrow, laserlike stream of fire, he chiseled into the boulder’s surface. As he guided the stream, smoke shot out, veiling his mark, but after several seconds, he finished, and the breeze cleared the smoke, revealing a letter X about the size of a human head.

  “X marks the spot?” Billy asked.

  “Indeed. It is a simple but well-known symbol.”

  Billy laughed, “Mom used to put an X on maps when we played Treasure Island together. She would even put one on the ground at the place where she buried …” He let his voice dwindle away.

  They stayed silent for a moment until Clefspeare breathed a sigh. “I know, Son. I miss her, too.”

  After resting for a few minutes, Billy remounted Clefspeare and the two rode southeast to the north side of the Valley of Shadows. A wall of flames stood before them, rising from the ground on the northern border of the valley, through the clouds and out of sight.

  As they passed around to the northeastern side, Billy looked back at the river. Before the start of the season of death, one of Valiant’s warriors tried to cross into the valley by diving into the cold water, a test to ensure that no one could come through from the other direction. Under the surface, the water boiled at that point, but most of the flow passed through, proving that this was a vulnerable spot. The same was true where the river exited the walled-in zone. So Valiant stationed armed guards at each point. Even if the enemy breached the wall, they wouldn’t be able to get more than one soldier through at a time, making them easy prey for the guards.

  Billy spotted two men wearing thick coats and huddling under a makeshift shelter, more of a lean-to than a hut. With a spear in hand, one faced the river while the other appeared to be sleeping under a pile of blankets.

  After delivering a fresh supply of food and clothing to the guards, Clefspeare and Billy took off again and rounded the valley’s eastern boundary. Billy looked down at the rugged terrain. Snow dressed the trees in skirts of white, though the depth whittled down with every inch closer to the wall, until only mud and scorched trees lined the area nearest the flames.

  Several minutes later, Clefspeare flew ar
ound a bend and reached the south side just beyond Adam’s Marsh. When the river came into sight, Billy patted his father’s neck. “I see the guards.”

  His wing obviously faltering again, Clefspeare angled down and landed in a deep drift near the eastern side of the river. As he slowed, he toppled over, spilling Billy, and then slid into the water.

  “Dad!” Billy jumped up and splashed into the chilly flow. His father’s wings splayed over the surface, and his head had disappeared underneath. Chunks of ice bounced against Billy’s thighs as he waded deeper, pumping his arms and churning his legs. Finally, in waist-deep water, he plunged in, hooked his arms around his father’s neck, and hoisted his head above the surface.

  Shivering, Billy listened. Was he breathing? The river’s rush made it impossible to tell. But his father was definitely unconscious. How could he possibly drag him out?

  Loud splashes sounded behind him, then a voice. “Hold on, Billy! Help is on the way!”

  He twisted around. Two men waded in, a tall and hefty man in front carrying a rope. Billy heaved in a shaking breath and let it out through chattering teeth. “Thanks … uh … Sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

  “Name’s Stout.” He threw the rope over Clefspeare’s back, dove under the water, and resurfaced with the end in hand. After shaking away droplets from his hair, he tied the rope in place. “Just keep his head above water, and Frank and I will haul him out.”

  Billy looked at the other helper, a short, skinny man with a thick beard. “Frank” seemed like an odd choice for these folk who were usually given names based on their personalities.

  The two men charged back and forth with the rope, looping and tying until they had fashioned a makeshift harness. Then, with each man pulling on an end, they began hauling Clefspeare to the river’s western shore.

  Still holding his father’s head, Billy trudged along with them. For a few seconds, they moved into deeper water that rose to his neck, but soon they angled up and slid Clefspeare up to the snow.

  Frank shook his body and shivered. “We’d better get a fire going here. The dragon is likely dead already, but until we’re sure, we should do what we can.”

  “Just b-bring wood.” Billy’s teeth chattered so hard, he could barely spit out his words. “I c-can light it.”

  While the two men hustled to their camp, Billy knelt and set his ear close to his father’s nostrils. A wheezing breath warmed his skin. It sounded awful, but it was still music to his ears.

  After a few minutes, Stout and Frank had set piles of split logs around Clefspeare’s body. Billy moved from pile to pile. The intense cold had chilled his belly, making his fire weak, but as he ran around, reigniting each log as it burned low, he managed to get them all blazing nicely.

  With warmth now spreading all around, melting the snow underneath and around his father’s body, Billy sat down and rested. His father’s breathing had grown deeper and even, but he showed no signs of waking up.

  Stout and Frank stood on the other side of one of the fires, Stout now holding a spear. “What brings you to this guard station?” he asked.

  Billy pulled his wet clothes away from his skin. “We were checking the wall’s security. I wanted to get a report to Elam.”

  Frank slapped Stout’s arm with the back of his hand. “The warrior chief lacks trust in us.”

  “Lacks trust?” Billy untied the second box of supplies from Clefspeare’s back and shoved it into Frank’s chest. “Elam sent this for you.”

  Frank staggered back but regained his balance. “What is it?”

  “Food, socks, clean underwear, compliments of your distrusting warrior chief, though they probably aren’t dry now.”

  Stout took the box from Frank and set it on the ground. “I apologize for my partner’s frivolous words. We are grateful for Elam’s concern. Please let him know that all is well, and there have been no breaches.”

  “I also apologize,” Frank said. “I fear that listening too often to the concerns of other villagers has skewed my thinking.”

  Billy squinted at him. “Concerns? Other villagers? What are you talking about?”

  Stout nudged Frank with an elbow, but Frank didn’t seem to notice as he rattled on. “Some believe that Elam is unqualified. First, he is a foreigner and does not understand our ways. Second, he seemed to force Angel to lie. Why would he do that? Third, he commanded the singing girl to change the words to her song, and that brought the giants and the evil dragon into our world. Quite a number of our people died as a result. Now our great prophet is gone, we have strange weather that paralyzes us, and a constant threat looms beyond this fiery wall. And it seems that each one of these problems can be attributed to—”

  “Hush!” Stout batted Frank with his huge hand. “You have said far too much.”

  Frank stepped back, his eyes wide. “Oh, I do not believe this blather myself. Heaven forbid! I merely said that it skewed my thinking, and this noble knight asked me to explain.”

  Billy scowled at Frank. “Has anyone suggested to these doubters that Angel’s lie, and not Elam’s decisions, led to all these problems?”

  Frank parted his lips to speak, but Stout clamped a hand over his mouth. “I have spoken to several, Billy. Most are merely frightened. Doubts do exist, to be sure, so we should be wary. If doubt is allowed to fester, idle talk can cause it to spread, and seditious talk can set it on fire. Fortunately, Flint has been the only seditious influence in our villages, and he is now on the other side of this wall, so we need concern ourselves only with idleness. Discipline and purposeful hard work will surely be of great benefit to everyone and will silence the mouths of the busybodies.”

  As soon as Stout lowered his hand, Frank added, “Including the dragons. People think they are not working hard enough.”

  Stout gave him another punch. “Remember what you said when you are eating the food this dragon nearly died to deliver to you.”

  Billy looked back at Clefspeare. His breathing was steady and strong. The firelight had to be helping his photoreceptors recharge, but was the bruise a sign of internal bleeding? Would his photoreceptors promote healing fast enough? Maybe a healer could get the process moving faster.

  “If you don’t mind,” Billy said, “could one of you go back to the village and ask Thigocia to come out here? And one of the other dragons, like Hartanna, Legossi, or Firedda.”

  Frank pointed at himself. “I will go. Stout is stronger than I, but I am swifter. In these conditions, Stout might take until next week to arrive.”

  “He speaks the truth, as usual,” Stout said, laughing as he delivered another punch to Frank’s arm, “but he could learn a bit of diplomacy.”

  “Thank you.” Billy reached back and touched Excalibur’s hilt, but his arm felt stiff, and a hard shiver shook his body. “I can take Frank’s place here till he gets back.”

  “You will need dry covering.” Stout hurried to a tent, returned with a thick blanket, and draped it over Billy’s shoulders. “Now you will be much more comfortable.”

  While waiting for the guard to return, Stout provided Billy with a long and eloquent account of the history of the two villages, at least what he could remember. Since he was only one hundred twenty years old, his recollections didn’t reach as far back as some of the elders. Still, he recalled tales that Abraham had told, as well as some of Valiant’s adventures. With Abraham gone, Valiant was now the oldest citizen in either village, but no one knew exactly how old he was, and he would never tell. Some said six hundred years, some said well over a thousand, but his physical vigor and mental acuity had not faded in the slightest.

  During the stories, Clefspeare shifted his body from time to time and let out a low groan. The bruise spread farther across his scales, red giving way to purple from just above his right foreleg all the way back to the base of his tail. It looked bad, very bad.

  After a few hours, a booming call sounded from above, a dragon’s trumpet, then another. Billy looked up. Two dragons slashed t
hrough the lower layer of clouds and angled toward them. As they drew closer, their identities became clear, Thigocia and Legossi, both with wings folded in and diving fast.

  The next few minutes seemed like a blur. With barely a word, Thigocia snuffed out the surrounding fires and covered Clefspeare with her body and wings while Legossi coated her with flames. Under the barrage, Thigocia’s scales slowly turned from beige to reddish orange. Again and again Legossi applied new coats until Thigocia called out, “Enough!”

  She lay motionless, save for the normal rise and fall of respiration. As her glow diminished, Clefspeare began to stir. Thigocia rose and stepped out of the way, giving him room.

  “He will soon rise,” she said.

  Billy knelt at his father’s side. The bruise had diminished to the size of a grapefruit, and even the color of his healthy scales seemed bolder and brighter than ever.

  Soon, he blinked and lifted his head. His blazing red eyes shifted to each onlooker in turn. With a low rumble, he murmured, “It seems that I have taken a spill.”

  Billy patted him on the neck. “You just went for a swim in the river, that’s all. You seemed kind of cold, so I called in a heating specialist.”

  Clefspeare draped a wing over Billy’s back. “A healing?”

  His throat tightening, Billy nodded. “It looked pretty bad for a while.”

  Clefspeare climbed to his haunches and spread out his wings. “I am still quite sore, but I think I will be able to fly back to the village.”

  “No riders for you,” Thigocia said. “I will carry Billy.”

  Legossi shuffled close to Stout. “And I will remain with this guard until the other returns. Frank is not fond of riding dragons, so he chose to walk back.”

  “I welcome your presence,” Stout said, bowing low. “As an amateur historian, I would like to learn more about dragonkind from your world.”

  After a minute or two of stretching and testing his wings, Clefspeare lifted into the sky and flew in a wide circle, apparently without difficulty. Billy climbed up Thigocia’s tail and settled at the base of her neck. Seconds later, she joined Clefspeare, and the two dragons headed back to the village, slowly but steadily.