Bone Dance

by Lee Roland

  Harriet huddled on Maeve’s shoulder, and she sensed Raymond standing close behind.

  “Immal,” Flor said. “I’ve brought her—and her friends.”

  The body turned its head, and midnight black eyes stared at them. Stark skull bones stood out under transparent skin, dried and shriveled to the texture of tissue paper. Harriet squawked, flapped, and tried to squeeze under Maeve’s arm.

  The corpse smiled.

  Wild, unfettered magic crashed into the room like a giant wave. An invisible, spectral tornado, it sparkled and whispered indecipherable words while it cut the air in a whirlwind of enchantment. Maeve gasped and fought for control. If she opened herself to power of that magnitude, it would shred her actual being.

  Raymond whirled and raced out. He almost escaped.

  Magic knows magic.

  The sudden surge produced an involuntary change to dragon form. His tail dragged out three feet of wall on both sides of the door as he smashed through. Flor raced after him.

  Dust billowed through the room. Maeve closed her eyes and shielded Harriet as best she could. A breeze gently wafted around inside the house and forced the powder outside. The air cleared. The magic faded.

  Roadmap cracks appeared on the walls as the building groaned and threatened to collapse around them. Tiny rivers of sand seeped from the cracks, hissing and settling small cones on the floor.

  “Come, come,” Immal gestured to Maeve with a skeletal hand. “Sit with me. Welcome, welcome.”

  Apparently, having the wall of her dwelling blasted out by a dragon was acceptable—or simply accepted because it was inevitable. The first lesson in any young witch’s life? Magic was like the weather. Predictable up to a point, but a tiny variable could create unusual results—or a catastrophe. The unexpected was the norm. Deal with the consequences.

  Maeve drew in deep breaths. An energetic and impressive show of magic—but for what purpose? Magic always had to have a focus, a cause and effect. She couldn’t see either here. That didn’t mean they didn’t exist, only that the creator of the enchanted performance hid them. The evening became more interesting—and dangerous.

  She crossed her legs and sat down on the floor in front of Immal.

  “Be welcome in my home,” Immal said. Those incredibly dark eyes glittered in the muted light. A young woman’s voice belied the terrifying face and the body’s condition. “Does the little one have a front?”

  Only Harriet’s tail and legs stuck out beneath Maeve’s arm. “Yeah. She has a mouth too. I’m Maeve and this—” she flipped the harpy around “—is Harriet.”

  Maeve sat Harriet on her knee. “Be polite, Harriet.”

  Harriet ruffed her feathers. “Good evening, Ancient Mother.”

  Ancient Mother? The harpy had used the formal greeting for a High Witch. What did she see in Immal that Maeve couldn’t?

  “Good evening, Harriet.” Immal held out her hand. “May I touch your aura?”

  Harriet studied Immal. Then she hopped down and walked to her. The witch’s bony finger stroked the air around the harpy. Harriet cooed like a pigeon.

  “You’re beautiful, Harriet,” Immal said. “I’ve not seen a harpy in many, many years.”

  Flor’s gentle laughter floated from the darkness outside.

  Harriet stirred a little. “Eweee-uu. Nasty.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Immal said. “Flor needs to be among her own kind, if not her own people. She’s been alone too long. My gods speak to me at times. I dreamed of you last night, so I sent her to bring you. You don’t mind if she goes with you?”

  Where did Immal think she was going?

  Maeve gave Immal a wry smile. “I’m afraid she’ll have to go with Raymond. They kind of…bonded earlier. Unless you want to adopt him. Sorry he broke the door. The magic here overwhelmed him. He couldn’t help himself.”

  Immal shook her head, and the bones in her neck crackled. “I don’t need the door.” She gazed at the gaping hole. “Flor? Come. Bring your dragon. He doesn’t have to change; his head should fit now.”

  Flor walked in, followed by a portion of Raymond’s iridescent horned head. It dominated the room, and Maeve prayed he wouldn’t open his mouth. A bit of a stretch, but he moved his nose within reach of Immal’s fingers without taking out more wall.

  Immal caressed him as she had Harriet. Magical telepathy—a dragon’s speech in its truest form. What secrets were the two sharing? Maeve tried not to remember the last time she’d touched a dragon in that form and heard his whisper in her mind.

  “So young.” Immal stroked the fine scales on Raymond’s face. “No fire yet, but soon. Be kind to my little flower. She will care for you.” She turned back to Maeve. “My gods speak to me at times. They instruct and never explain. You have a journey to make—a dangerous journey. Men are coming to capture you, or kill you if they can’t take you alive.”

  Maeve swallowed hard and stared at Immal. Capture? Kill? She’d made a few serious errors in judgment over the last couple of years, but nothing to elicit that kind of response.

  The old witch drew her blanket tighter. “I wish I could tell you why, but I don’t know. I only know that Flor is given into your care, as are the dragon and the little one.” She held out her skin over bone hand. “Lead them, guard them, keep them well.”

  Responsibility for a raucous harpy, an amorous dragon, and a strange witch wasn’t something Maeve wanted or needed. “I’m not going back to Elder. I’ll make sure Raymond and Harriet get there safe—Flor, too, if that’s what she wants. I’ll take them as far as the Troll Bridge, then I’m gone.”

  Maeve had beaten the pain in her heart down to a slow ache. Harriet and Raymond’s arrival had aroused the anguish, but she loved them enough to cope. She could not, would not, bear a return to Elder.

  Immal’s black, glittering eyes studied her. “I instruct you as I did Flor. Hold tight to your magic and follow your heart.”

  Harriet hopped up to Maeve’s shoulder as Raymond backed his head out. Flor remained, but she stayed at a distance, watching.

  Maeve sensed the audience was over. “Immal? Are you coming? We can’t leave you out here alone.”

  “No. I’ve completed my task here. What remains belongs to Flor.” She smiled and the brilliant eyes winked out like a snuffed candle.

  Maeve drew a sharp breath as the strange magic that had greeted her when she entered the house flared again. This time, it had a focus—a direct intense focus. Her! It plunged deep and delved into her heart. In an instant, it had twisted through years of memories as if creating a scrapbook of her life. When it departed, it left a desperate longing for home. Longing for Elder, her own people, her own kind, those she loved. Immal had trapped her in a powerful spell. Call it destiny, providence or doom—compulsion would force her along the path to Elder. No escape would be possible. Immal’s relentless enchantment would drive her on.

  A soft sigh came from the desiccated body. It crumbled. Her fingers fell off, and her arms dropped into her lap, followed by her shoulders as they collapsed inward. A tiny dust devil formed where her heart would have been. It whispered and danced for a moment before fading to memory. The head went last, slowly sinking, disintegrating, into a mound of toothpick bones and gray powder wrapped in a blanket.

  Flor came and knelt beside Maeve. Her face had a look of apprehension, as if she couldn’t believe what had happened. The young witch’s hands clasped tight under her heart.

  “Immal…she put a spell on you. Without your permission. Why? It’s against the law of our people. That’s the first thing she taught me. My parents taught me. I swear, I didn’t know she was going to do that.”

  Maeve knew Flor spoke the truth. “It seems pretty innocuous as spells go, but damn, it’s powerful.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Flor sounded like she would cry at any moment.

  “Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. I was careless. Should have been more watchful.” Having felt the power behind the spell, Maeve knew n
o amount of caution on her part would have prevented the enchantment. She certainly knew she couldn’t break it herself. She was going to go to Elder.

  Maeve nodded at the pile of dust that had been Immal. “Have to admit I’ve never seen anything like that before. And I grew up under the iron thumb of an awesome witch, in a valley filled with dragons, demons, ogres and…other creatures.”

  The condition of Immal’s body made it unlikely that she was Flor’s aunt in a literal sense, but she must have cared for her. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Flor rose to her feet. “Thank you, but I’ll see her again. We better go now.”

  In spite of her best efforts, magic had caught up with Maeve. She’d learned to live on her own in a hostile world, but a harpy and a dragon wouldn’t survive. They had made the journey west without mishap, but Maeve shuddered at the thought of Raymond colliding with an airplane or Harriet caught by an eagle. Immal’s claim that men wanted to kill her was a more serious matter. She’d think about that later.

  They stood outside the adobe in the rapidly cooling night while Raymond and Maeve argued over his wearing clothes.

  “Raymond, you know ordinary people can see you when you’re in human form,” Maeve threw her hands up in despair. “Either change shape to be invisible and fly home, or get dressed. I know they don’t fit, but we’ll stop and get you…ah, did Tana send any money? I’m broke and—”

  “I have money,” Flor said. She loaded a backpack, suitcase, and wooden box containing Immal’s powdered remains in the back of the SUV. Maeve knew different cultures had different customs, but seeing Flor on her knees scraping gray residue and small bones into a dustpan had troubled her, though she couldn’t say why.

  Flor frowned. “I understand Raymond needs clothes when he’s in human shape, but won’t people see how different he is?”

  Flor was right. Silver hair could be explained. But those opal eyes that reflected a rainbow of colors, didn’t look quite human. “They’ll see. We have to keep them from getting too close. We can say it’s a birth defect if we have to. I guess he could fly home. Ordinary humans can’t see dragons when they’re in dragon form.” Maeve spoke knowing Raymond was not going to leave them.

  Raymond grumbled, as he struggled into a pair of Maeve’s worn stretch pants. It always amazed Maeve that a dragon as large as Raymond could have such a slender human body.

  Flor taped black plastic over the taillights. “I’m ready,” she said.

  Maeve shifted a grumbling Harriet to her other shoulder. “Uh, why are you…”

  “Covering the lights? So they won’t see the brake lights while we sneak out the back way. There’s only one road.”

  “They?”

  “They.” Flor pointed toward the road that had brought them to Immal’s house. Three pairs of headlights moved steadily toward them, followed by the grumble of engines. Raymond growled.

  “No,” Flor told him, opening the driver’s door, “you can fight later.” She climbed in and started the engine.

  Maeve grinned. No doubt who would be dominant in that little witch-dragon relationship.

  Chapter Two

  Alex Hania kept his hands tight on the steering wheel and concentrated on the desert terrain in front of the Jeep. The Jeep ahead of him swayed and jerked as it cut through the sand. Why couldn’t the man stay on the track? The growl and whine of the engines came through the open window as the other driver fought his vehicle and the terrain. Alex had learned to drive in the desert miles to the south as a teenager, and he knew the danger. One wrong move and the lead driver would hit a soft pocket, bottom out, and block the way. Four-wheel drives had limits.

  Four months ago, on his twenty-first birthday, Alex had answered a job ad for private security guards. He knew he’d made a mistake when he climbed on a bus in Knoxville, Tennessee, and headed for a town named Elder. He’d found himself in the company of a bunch of tattooed thugs discussing their time in prison. It felt like being a rabbit in a den of wolves. He should have joined the army or found a more traditional career.

  Alex forced himself not to shiver. Careful, he had to be careful. For some inexplicable reason, his emotions often became transparent to the big, powerful man sitting next to him. How did the Commander read him so precisely? Alex wanted to know, but not bad enough to ask.

  His age and blond, Nordic looks set him apart from the others. Pretty boy, they called him. He was six-foot-one and a well-muscled one-hundred and eighty pounds, strong from workouts, but apparently, his hair and face defined him. Then two events changed his life.

  Three disgruntled ex-cons cornered him outside the barracks one night. Grandpa had been a warrior, and he taught Alex how to hold his own in a fight. Quick and agile, Alex put down two of them. They’d hurt him, though. The third would probably have killed him. Pure luck, Alex knew, but the Commander came along and stopped the fight. Actually, he’d kicked the third ex-con in the head so hard Alex heard the man’s skull crack. Since then, he’d been the Commander’s aide and driver. A decent job, if somewhat terrifying at times, but it set him permanently apart from the others. A casual target for bullies before—a deliberate target now.

  The other event? He didn’t want to know what the needle contained. Vaccination they said. His arm had immediately swelled and burned like meat in an oven. It was better in a couple of days, but after that, everything changed. Elder? What kind of a place could it be?

  He could see. Impossible creatures raced out of his imagination and into life. He’d seen a unicorn on the edge of the woods. He walked to it and it backed away, but then the delicate winged fairies flitted around him, chattering in tiny voices he couldn’t understand. He stood in a state of wonder, until rough cries from the barracks behind him drove the little darlings away.

  Worse, or perhaps better, he began to remember things he’d forced himself to forget. Grandpa taking him through the high desert, into the mountains, the coyote that licked his face and…did it talk? There was a place where the cold dry wind smelled of death, ancient and silent. What other creatures had passed him in the night during the time he’d been blind to their presence? Is that why Grandpa would hang his charms in the windows as the sun dipped below the horizon? The charms? He knew how to create them, he’d memorized what he needed to know…but so much still eluded him.

  The Commander laughed. It tore through Alex’s memories, and they drifted away—for the moment.

  “I know you can drive better than him,” the Commander said. He snatched Alex’s attention back to the erratic course of the vehicle running in front of them.

  “But believe me, Hania, if we go on ahead and don’t have back up…she’s not alone now. Someone’s changed the game.”

  “Game?” Alex jerked. The word came out more forcefully than he intended. A squad of heavily armed mercenaries chased a single girl across the western states for weeks, and it was a game?

  “Yes, Hania, a game.” The Commander’s lazy, arrogant voice sounded too soft—too deadly. This complex man was like no other he’d met in his life.

  Alex’s tongue froze and he couldn’t reply.

  The Commander had a name, Erik Sethos, but nothing could make Alex’s mind apply it to the man. He was, indisputably, the Commander. Alex feared him. Any rational man would. Like the mouse feared the coyote and eagle. He thought, he hoped, he’d kept that fear from showing. At the same time, the deep power within the man drew him, called to him. Stronger still, was the feeling that he was exactly where he was supposed to be—at least at this time in his life.

  The Commander stood six-five and had the well-honed muscle and frame of a body builder. He was, Alex supposed, what some would call handsome. Dark haired, tanned skin, Alex had seen women approach him, interested, until he focused those pale blue eyes on them. Most backed away. Some ran. While protocol forced Alex and the others to wear the coarse black fatigue-type uniform, the Commander wore only black jeans and a T-shirt. He never seemed cold or warm in any situation.

&
nbsp; The vehicle ahead suddenly swerved to the side, and all four wheels sank to the bumper in red sand. Alex had to stop. The Commander hissed through his teeth. He threw his door open. “Come on.”

  Alex obeyed. He left the engine running and lights on so they could see.

  The Commander reached the Jeep ahead, went to the driver’s door, and snatched it open. He grabbed the driver and dragged him out. Alex’s mouth dropped open when the Commander picked the man up by his shirt and tossed him fifteen feet into a rock cliff with no more effort than a child tossing a teddy bear.

  The man hit the stone, and nothing in the chill night air muffled the crack of smashed bones. His body held suspended for a second, then dropped to the ground. It jerked once.

  Violence and death walked the desert that night. Alex remembered another thing his grandfather taught him—a prayer for the dead.

  The other three men in the Jeep climbed out—on the side away from the Commander.

  “Hania,” the Commander called.

  Alex went to him. The remains of his last meal solidified to stone in his stomach.

  “Drive.” The Commander pointed at the Jeep. “We’ll push.”

  Alex obeyed. Within seconds, the vehicle moved forward onto firm ground.

  ****

  Maeve and Raymond fought over the front passenger seat. She won. “You’ll distract Flor,” she said. “If you don’t like it, fly! Just don’t change shape in my clothes again and don’t change in the car.” As they drove away, she heard a thump and glanced back to see the house crumble to dust, much as Immal had. She shivered.

  “Who’s chasing us, Flor?” Maeve tried to control her apprehension. Raymond and Harriet’s sudden appearance and demand that she go home troubled her enough without the addition of weird magic and a strange witch who cast a spell on her. “Who told you they were coming? What do they want—”

  “Immal said. She’s never been wrong—or lied to me.” Flor sounded irritated, as if no one should challenge Immal’s word or authority. “I don’t know what they want. She said she didn’t know either.”