Bone Dance

by Lee Roland

  The Commander moaned; a low noise in his throat. The gag in his mouth wouldn’t allow anything else.

  Harlan handed Alex a small bottle. “Take the gag off and make him drink this.” He went to work loosening the cuffs.

  Erik didn’t move as Alex’s trembling hands fumbled at the tiny buckles on the gag. The leather finally gave way, and he discovered the insidious nature of its design. The Commander couldn’t close his teeth enough to sever his tongue in his torment. Blood dripping from his nose and ears, and on the gag itself attested to that agony.

  Alex knew if he poured the liquid from the bottle, the man would choke and it would come back, so he opened the cap and spread a generous amount on two of his fingers. He spread the liquid over raw lips, and the Erik’s head moved, seeking moisture.

  Harlan cursed under his breath as he struggled with the other cuffs. By the time he had them all loose, Alex had managed to get his arm under Erik’s head and slowly poured the bottle’s contents in the semi-conscious man’s mouth.

  “Okay, let’s move him.” Alex heard the relief in Harlan’s voice. “We’re probably going to have to carry him and—”

  “Shall I levitate him for you?” The voice came from behind them. Alex turned to see Sethos waddling toward them across the room. “Perhaps he should walk, though. He needs the exercise.”

  Alex’s mind screamed as he watched the doughy white hand come toward him as he held the Commander’s head. He didn’t flinch or move away. One of Sethos’ fingers brushed his son’s forehead and Erik moaned. Alex thought he’d never heard any sound filled with that much pain.

  “He’ll wake now,” Sethos said softly. He shook his head. “My only son and he is so incompetent. A terrible waste. If his whore of a mother…” Sethos fixed his attention on Captain Harlan. Evil humor glittered in his eyes. “Tell me, Captain, do you enjoy fucking my wife.”

  The captain faced him. “Yes.”

  “Do you think she could protect you if I chose to destroy you?”

  “No. I wouldn’t want her to try.” Harlan stood straight, as if he were carrying on an ordinary conversation on an ordinary day. Alex saw only a slight tremble in his hands and rage in his eyes.

  “Good, good,” Sethos almost crooned with joy. “Nothing like a devoted lover. So courageous, too.”

  Sethos turned to Alex. Alex wanted to run. But Harlan hadn’t and neither would he.

  “What about you? Are you as devoted to my son as the noble captain is to my wife?”

  Alex drew a breath. “No sir.”

  Sethos appeared surprised. “No? I don’t think I believe that. Then what is he to you?”

  “The Commander. I follow orders.”

  Alex didn’t lie. He didn’t want to at that point. He simply had no other words to describe how he felt about the Commander. At that moment, he stood apart from the actual events around him, as if he were watching a movie. His reality, his focal point was the man he held in his arms.

  Sethos giggled and then laughed aloud. His lewd chuckling followed him as he left the room.

  Harlan clapped his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “You did good. Let’s get him out of here.” It seemed to Alex a part of Harlan’s courage had seeped into him at that moment. He suspected he would need it in the coming days.

  They draped the Commander’s arms over their shoulders and helped the semi-conscious man back to the apartment. As they laid him across the bed, Claire walked in. She looked down on the Commander, then at Captain Harlan. Alex couldn’t fathom the coldness of the expression on her face.

  “He’s earned this,” she said. “You don’t know what he’s done. There’s far more than failure of an assignment involved.”

  “No, Claire, I don’t. I know he’s brutal, a psychopath. Why don’t you just kill him and be done with it.” He pointed at the Commander. “This is obscene.”

  Claire sighed. “You know why I… Never mind.”

  Alex had heard of psychic healing. His grandfather had taken him to a woman when he was deathly ill once. She had held him, sang a soft song, then he slept. When Claire laid her graceful hands on the Commander, though, he had to add it to his list of wonders, incredibly close to the sighting of the dragon.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Maeve and Flor sat at the kitchen table eating a breakfast of sweet rolls and drinking Tana’s strong, black coffee. Both exhausted, they’d slept past noon. She had described her trip through the factory, but she didn’t say it wasn’t exactly voluntary. She didn’t speak of what happened in the apartment either. She needed more time to process that.

  Tana walked in from the back porch. “Maeve, you, Flor, and I have to go before the High Witch and Council tomorrow evening at sundown.” Her voice held an odd, neutral tone.

  Maeve objected. “We didn’t make the Wandering Stone rise or drop it.”

  “They know we used magic last night, and we’re the most likely suspects. If not us, who?” Tana sat at the table with them.

  “Merisin. He spoke to me. Up there, while I was floating.” She pushed her coffee cup aside. “Tana, what do they want? These Elementals. According to the stories, they’re not supposed to interfere with us. But they are with me, big time.”

  Tana sighed. “Two Elementals have revealed themselves to you. No one in living memory can claim that.” She smiled. “I don’t understand, but I hope you can—”

  “Do better than I have in the past.”

  Flor slapped her palm on the table. “Stop whining, Maeve. You dragged us across the country, one step ahead of that soulless bastard Erik. And then you stood face-to-face with him after you’d defeated everything he threw at you.” She caught her breath and faced Tana. “And you’re surprised? Why? What she lacks in skill, she makes up for in pure courage, even if she is a whiner.” She stopped and exhaled.

  Maeve and Tana stared at her.

  “Forgive me,” Flor said softly. “I shouldn’t…”

  “Flor,” Tana said, “the truth as you see it is important. Maeve can’t read your aura, but I can. I am not blind to your own power.” She grasped Maeve’s hand and then reached for Flor’s.

  Maeve clutched Flor’s free hand to complete the ring.

  Magic flickered around the triad of witches. Amplified by their love for each other, it whirled and sang a song of joy and wonder, then faded to silence.

  Someone knocked on the front door.

  She glanced at Tana, and Tana’s mouth tightened. The three had been lost in their spell, and someone had approached unnoticed.

  “I’ll go see who it is.” Tana started to rise.

  Maeve caught her arm. “Let me.”

  She left them sitting there and walked to the front door. She could see a jeep parked out front, and when she opened it, she found Captain Harlan standing on the porch.

  “Good afternoon, Captain.” Maeve stepped outside and closed the door behind her. If he said something about last night, she wanted to keep it to herself.

  “Good afternoon, Maeve.”

  Maeve couldn’t be sure, but she thought he was relieved to have her answer the door instead of Tana.

  “Claire learned that Erik didn’t take you straight home last night,” Harlan said. “She wanted to be sure you weren’t injured.”

  “I’m fine. I can handle Erik.” Maeve glanced over her shoulder at the front door. Then she beckoned to Harlan and walked down the steps. He followed her into the yard and toward his jeep. She stopped.

  “Alex, the boy who hangs with Erik, what’s the deal with him? He’s not like the others.”

  The captain hesitated, but then spoke, “I don’t know much. I wasn’t there the day he was recruited. He’s too young, and I would never have brought him here. As you implied yesterday, my troops are animals. I’ve tried to keep the boy close, but when Erik saw him, he had to have him. There was nothing I could do.”

  “Can you get him away? Send him out of Elder.”

  Harlan shrugged. “You can’t rescue someone unless th
ey want to be rescued. I’m not sure that he does. He’s conflicted.”

  Maeve agreed, but there was always hope. “Will you save him if you can?”

  “I’ll try. Some deserve to be saved.” Harlan leaned against the jeep and gazed into the distance. “Erik’s had pretty boys and girls before. Alex is different.”

  Oh, yes, Alex was different. Maeve couldn’t define it, though. Like Flor, he defied categorization in the world she knew.

  “Claire wanted me to find out exactly what happened in the factory last night,” Harlan said. “I’m sure she meant for me to be subtle, but I don’t know how.”

  “Subtle? Inaras forbid. Not sweet Claire.”

  He stiffened.

  She laughed. “Harlan, if you’re going to hang around with witches, you better get a set of balls. If you think I insulted her then, get her to tell you what I’ve tried to do to her over the years. Hell hath no fury like an abandoned child.”

  He started around the vehicle. Maeve caught his arm. “You’re too nice for Elder, Harlan. I know you won’t, but I suggest you grab Alex and run like hell. I’m personally acquainted with the water sprites, so let me know when, and I’ll get you across the river.” She released him. “Humans shouldn’t be dragged into witches’ lives. They end up no better than pets with a high mortality rate.”

  “It’s not like that,” he said.

  “You hope it’s not. For your sake, so do I. Claire’s a witch, Harlan. Why do you think most of us don’t marry? Why do you think—”

  “You’re wrong about Claire.” He crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly defensive. “I don’t pretend to understand witches, but if you need help, go to her, or come to me. This pet knows a few tricks witches don’t know—and I’ll save Alex, if I can.”

  The front door opened, and Tana stepped onto the porch. Harlan opened the car door, climbed in, and started the engine. He drove back toward town.

  Maeve went to the porch.

  “I wasn’t eavesdropping, love.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “I could feel the tension.”

  “Yeah, I guess it was tense.”

  ****

  Maeve curled up in the library chair where she’d spent much of her youth, many hours, daydreaming and pretending to read. This time, Tana had brought her and Flor there to give Flor more information on Elder.

  “A sorcerer is a witch or warlock who’s attained extraordinary power,” Tana explained. “There have only been four in our recorded history. The first two sorcerers are said to have founded Ataro, and then left for less worldly places.

  “Witchcraft has dominated my life. I can’t imagine anything else. We’re told the Elementals have no direct control over the Iameth. They will funnel power when requested by prayer or chant—if they feel like it. They control only features they can touch directly—earth, water, air, and fire. But it seems that idea is under question with Maeve.”

  “Do your histories say anything about my people?”

  “Nothing. But I’ve never looked for it. I’ll research my books. Perhaps we can find you a few relatives somewhere.” Tana smiled and patted Flor’s hand.

  “Whether you want them or not,” Maeve added.

  Tana ignored Maeve and continued. “The primary sources of magical knowledge are two books, said to have been written, like most holy books, under the auspices of the Great Master. Those books are the Hathra and the Akhem.”

  “Akhem. I know that word,” Flor said. “In my language, it means death—true eternal death.” She spoke softly, but her words carried an undercurrent of dread.

  “As it should, the Hathra is the Book of Time, and the Akhem the Book of Immortality—both of which are the province of the Great Master, not those of us who live and walk these mortal worlds.”

  Flor frowned. “Immortality? But death…”

  “All of us, magic folk, other normal people, are meant to die and move on. To gain immortality, a being must renounce the gift of passage to other lives.”

  The Hathra tells the story of the Great Master’s creation of the Iameth and the Elementals. It gives us rules to live by and is the basis of the Code of Ataro. It also contains spells that work toward our safety and security.

  “I’m not sure what the Akhem contains. I’ve heard all manner of tales, from evil spells to the secrets of the universe. True immortality is evil because it defies the Great Master’s commands of death and rebirth. Both the Hathra and the Akhem have power and act as the focal points of magic. Both were supposed to have been lost with Ataro.”

  Tana stared the shelves of books spanning the library walls. Then she smiled at Maeve and Flor, and continued her story.

  “The histories say a witch, Piron, and a warlock, Sorath, achieved enough power to become sorcerers. They apparently discovered a secret source of dominion. They don’t say if the power corrupted them, or they became corrupted when they recognized its potential. The magic I know is neither good nor evil, but follows the will and capacity of its user. Piron and Sorath were able to use far more power than ordinary magic. I will probably never reach that level. I’m not sure I’d want to, given the responsibility.

  “For a thousand years, Piron and Sorath were benign but effective practitioners, sharing their secrets with the rest of Iameth.” Tana picked up a leather-bound book from the table. “This is the Adnai. The most detailed account of history, but not the only one. Between it, other manuscripts and my grandmother and great-grandmother’s memories, I’ve collected what I believe is a reasonably accurate account of events. I’ve documented the omens and prophecies too.”

  Maeve stretched her legs and yawned. “I love omens. I used to collect them and paste them in my scrapbook.”

  “Maeve!” Flor tossed a small pillow at her.

  Tana laughed. “You’re wasting your time, dear. She’s impossible.”

  Maeve allowed herself to absorb the affection she heard in Tana’s voice. Tana’s unconditional love had held fast through all her unpredictable and disquieting life.

  Tana laid the book aside. “The disagreement’s crux came in a fight over ordinary humans, those with no magical powers,” Tana said. “Sorath considered them inferior beings, bent upon multiplying like insects and fouling the earth with their presence. He’d risen above that. He wanted to enslave them and control their population with breeding programs. That concept made the other lesser powered witches uncomfortable, given the debate over whether humans are our descendants, or we are theirs—or if we’re separate races entirely.

  “Piron believed our lives are bound with human lives. She thought we should let nature fall in its proper seasons. Other schisms developed from that, and society began to collapse. Ogres and many witches sided with Piron, most others with Sorath. The dragons became the deciding force. They divided themselves almost equally between the two.

  “The battles escalated until an unfathomable power broke loose and destroyed the island and every Iameth on it. Some say the Elementals, unable to interfere directly, used their power to control what they could—Earth, Air, Water, and Fire. Only those Iameth in the air or in other lands survived. All that remains of the Iameth today in the world outside Elder is memory and myth.”

  “When did this happen?” Flor asked.

  “Nine thousand two hundred and fourteen years ago as of last year’s summer solstice,” Tana replied.

  Flor tugged at a strand of her midnight hair and frowned. “My people were already in Mexico then. Our history is written and hidden in a special place, but I’ve never been there, nor do I know its location. Like you, the Na’thumatal built no monuments. The blood-soaked temples in the jungle came after we were driven away.”

  Tana stood. “I would like to talk to you about that, perhaps tomorrow. I feel we must find your role here so we can aid you if possible.” She crossed her arms and looked down at Flor, her face grave.

  Flor rose and faced her. “Why does destruction always follow magic?”

  �
��It is not the magic, but the quest for power that destroys. Witches hunger for power, and if we did not exist, I suspect the other Iameth would be safe. The Great Master created us as we are for his own reasons. It’s left to us to live and die with it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Maeve and Flor left Raymond pouting on the back porch. They wanted time together, and he would pick them up at the crossroad later.

  Dew sparkled in the early light, and flower buds huddled in anticipation, ready to burst forth at the sun’s first caress. They walked to the wooden bridge. Shallow water licked and slapped the rocks with a sound like laughter and sparkled in the rising sun. Small fishes gathered in pools as if meeting to discuss important matters to start the day.

  “Is there a troll under this bridge?” Flor asked.

  Maeve shook her head. “There’s only one troll. He stayed at the old bridge because it’s the gateway into Elder. He guarded it for us. I’m sure he’s close by. I’ll take you to meet him one day.”

  “I take it you don’t mean gateway in the traditional sense.”

  She laughed. “What’s traditional? Elder is dâman ithra. In the old language, that means a place within—or beside—another place. I guess you could think of it as another dimension—maybe even another time.”

  “I walked in the Chiuato once. It’s dâman ithra too. The death land. I need to tell you about it.”

  “Why?” Maeve frowned at the discomfort in Flor’s voice.

  “Immal told me to. She said you had to know me, understand me. She wasn’t exactly an oracle, but she had visions, I think.”

  “Okay.” Maeve shrugged. Maybe it wouldn’t ruin a fine morning.

  Unfazed by Maeve’s tone, Flor continued. “Did you ever see a black and white movie?”

  “Couple of times.”

  Flor nodded. “That’s the Chiuato. A night scene in a black and white movie. It’s a desert, dry and cold, a place for ghosts to hide in shadows. The ghosts and the escheba, the living dead. There are storms of purple lightning and winds that scour the land like scythes.