Dragon Bone

by J. D. Cavalida

  Muted voices from downstairs had distracted Elstrin slightly for a while, but he paid them no heed, until suddenly there was a knock on his door and he realised they had drifted up to his floor. Confused, he was about to get up when the door opened. Stag walked in, holding it for a tall guy who was… injured. There was no other word for it—he was heavily bruised on the face and neck, left eye purple-red and surrounded by small cuts and little bandages, his arm wrapped bulkily in white gauze. His other hand held a large bag, and Stag carried another.

  Elstrin simply stared for a second, before logic kicked in and told him that this must be his mysteriously late roommate. He jumped to his feet, remembering his manners. Stag took the bags and put them beside the empty bed. He handed the guy a key card. "There's a big hall opposite the cafeteria that we passed through—inside it is a map of the base. You can take a look at it tomorrow. This is Elstrin White. Elstrin, Kana Skax. Welcome to the Mernot Army, Kana."

  "Thank you, sir," Kana mumbled, seemingly because it hurt to speak. Stag nodded and left, closing the door softly behind him. The guy turned to Elstrin and smiled: a painful thing to watch, considering that there was an ugly gash on his lip, but Elstrin managed to grin back weakly. "You're cuter than I thought."

  It was definitely not the first thing Elstrin expected to hear. His voice was deep, slightly hoarse as if he'd yelled too loudly recently, and his words rolled with a faint, unfamiliar accent.

  "Um. Thanks?" Kana began to rummage one-handed through his bags, pulling out stuff, including the contents of a first-aid kit and, bizarrely, a small box of syringes. He set them on the bedside cupboard. "You can get those from the infirmary, you know," Elstrin pointed out, frowning.

  Kana shook his head. There was an angry red welt on the curve of his neck that extended below his shirt. His skin, the healthy bits at least, was paler than Elstrin's, nearly colourless—his almost-long black hair contrasted so strongly with it that Elstrin wondered if it was dyed. "They're special antibiotics. Before you ask what the fuck happened to my face, I was attacked by a bunch of one-o-clocks."

  Elstrin had a sudden crazy image of the guy being bludgeoned by floating, shrilling alarm clocks. "Uh… what?"

  He earned a blank look, then a laugh and a shake of the head. "Sorry. I keep expecting people to know what I'm talking about. Um… they're a kind of vengeful spirit—I'm not sure what their real name is, just the people I grew up with call 'em one-o-clocks because they only show up then. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and they basically beat the living shit outta me."

  "Vengeful…?" Elstrin repeated halfway, unsure if Kana was suffering from a mild concussion and was spouting nonsense.

  "Spirits," the guy finished. He raised an eyebrow, swollen eye opening briefly then slipping shut again. "You don't have ghosts where you come from?"

  "Ghosts?"

  "Ah, hell, they don't call it Little Lupalia for nothing," Kana muttered to himself. He sat down carefully, kicked off his shoes and started to unbutton his shirt. He didn't take it off, though Elstrin spied more bruises and bandages underneath. With a grunt, he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes with an appreciative sigh. "This is nice."

  "Y-yeah."

  Kana flopped his good hand up. "You mind switching the lights off and calling it a night? I'm pretty beat. Hospital released me just an hour ago, shot me full of painkillers."

  "You're sleeping in those clothes?" Elstrin asked, eyeing his jeans, which upon closer inspection looked dusty and dirty.

  "Yep." A stretch of silence. "Please switch them off. I'd get up again but it's kinda difficult when I've got a broken rib."

  "Oh—sorry," Elstrin said quickly, flicking the light switches and plunging the room into darkness. There was a rustle as Kana drew the blanket over himself, then quiet, calm breathing. Before the guy could fall asleep, Elstrin blurted, "So you're telling me you got beaten up by ghosts."

  "Yep," came the easy, flippant reply again. "A very aggressive kind of ghost. Pure manifestations of anger and violence, hard to get rid of because their original identities have been so eroded by hatred. So they just sort of wander around the slums hurting people. At one o'clock, when they actually can."

  "Slums?" Elstrin said, feeling more baffled by the second.

  "Well, yeah. You never heard of Little Lupalia before? I guess you're too much of a good boy for that." A soft cough, either from physical discomfort or to cover up some emotion. "You know Lupalia, right? Crazy place. Magic and shit flying all over the place, literally. My family moved here to Mernot when I was small, but we found it too difficult to fit in, and we were too poor, and there was already a bunch of immigrants here in the exact same situation as us, only they'd been here longer. So we joined 'em. There's a whole section of the slums full of Lupalians, that's where the name comes from. That's where I'm from."

  "And… that place is just like Lupalia. Only in Mernot," Elstrin finished.

  "Yep," Kana said for the third time, accompanied by a short laugh. "You're so confused it's funny."

  "More like shocked. Some guy just walked into my dorm and told me that ghosts exist." "Of course they exist. Just not everyone sees—um… holy shit." Kana paused abruptly and

  raised his arm, the glowing numbers of his wristwatch a faint green streak. "Um. Elstrin, right?" He sounded suddenly uncomfortable.

  "…Yes?"

  "It's seven thirty-two."

  "Uh, I don't mind sleeping early," Elstrin said, deciding, perhaps belatedly, that this guy was extremely weird.

  "No, it's—do you, I mean, does the time… mean anything to you?"

  "Seven thirty-two?" Elstrin frowned even though it was too dark to see. "What on earth are you talking about?"

  "There's…" Kana cleared his throat. "Not now. Um, maybe… a year or two ago? Did

  something—happen—around this time?" Elstrin opened his mouth to tell him to grab some sleep because he was obviously not thinking straight, but then Kana said softly, "Did… someone die?"

  "What—" Elstrin snapped his mouth shut, his blood going cold. One year ago. The events of

  last week's party came rushing back, and with that the memory of the alleyway, the warmth and the blackness and the boy's mouth on him and suddenly not there anymore. He hadn't taken note of the time then, but had a vague recollection that it had been around eight when he'd ran home with pants soaked in blood, charged upstairs and vomited into the toilet, only because the familiar noise of his stepfather's television was loud through the house and he was sure he wouldn't be heard. One year ago… yes, someone had died. He couldn't even remember the kid's name. All that night left behind was months of nightmares and an almost paralysing fear of oral sex. Both receiving and giving—the former because every time someone sucked him off he would picture the gunshot and the blood again and the broken bits of human drenching him, and the latter because—well, he didn't want to get shot in the head with a cock in his mouth.

  Kana's voice jolted him out of his sick, looping thoughts. "Never mind. It's gone."

  "What—how did you know?" Elstrin stammered, ordering himself not to panic. He'd panicked enough already when it had happened and it was in the past now. Now it was just memories. Scary, but harmless, memories.

  "I don't know," Kana said quickly. "And I won't tell anyone. Just—for a second there, there was a… a mess. Like a ghost. Only it was… scattered. It didn't look too pretty."

  Elstrin didn't speak. Of course it hadn't been pretty.

  "Sorry, man," Kana murmured. "Sometimes I see these things and I just have to ask. Won't happen again. Night."

  Whatever had shaken the newcomer was already gone, and he was relaxing back into his casual self. Slowly, Elstrin got ready for bed and huddled under his blanket. The room felt smaller with the presence of another person crammed in here with him. He wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing. Kana was already creeping him out, but on the other hand, it meant he wasn't alone anymore. He knew it was silly to be scared of sleeping by h
imself at night, but ever since the party, he'd been jumpy when the sun went down and strange shadows twisted about the place. It was reassuring to tell himself that if his roommate could sleep without trouble, then there was no reason for him to not make it through as well. Comforted slightly by the thought, Elstrin closed his eyes and tried to forget about everything else.

  Chapter 7

  He didn't get to see much of Kana on Monday morning. He was already gone by the time Elstrin got up, but wasn't at the cafeteria for breakfast. It was only during roll-call that the guy showed up, walking out of the infirmary with what looked like new bandages and a lighter wrapping on his arm. He attracted a lot of stares but he ignored them all, coming to stand quietly beside Elstrin until he got paired up with a lieutenant. Elstrin was shocked to find out that despite his injuries, he was still training like the rest of them—he was off in a corner of the fields, doing exercises and sword-fighting with one hand. And what was even more astounding was the fact that he was obviously very skilful. He was fast, strong, focused, and had clearly either fought with a sword or fought with a broken arm before, or done both at the same time as he was doing now.

  A wooden sword slammed down on Elstrin's shoulder, sending a sharp bolt of pain through his bone. "Fuck, ow!" he hissed, jumping back instinctively. Snow looked at him irritably, and, not wasting breath on berating him, lunged forward again, forcing Elstrin's attention back into the duel. It worked for a little while until he glanced at Kana again and watched the guy block his lieutenant's sword solidly and deliver an attack of his own that actually came in contact with its target. Elstrin yelped at another blow, to his side this time, jabbing into his ribs. He growled and swung his weapon, but Snow just reached out with a bare hand and caught the blade in his palm.

  "If you don't concentrate, we're going into the gym and you can spend today on the treadmills,"

  Snow said, annoyed. He, too, looked briefly at Kana. "Don't you want to be as good as he is?"

  "No, 'cause he's impossibly good," Elstrin said, eyes glued to the fight. The lieutenant had the upper hand, having the advantage of a healthy body and disciplined training, but it still looked like a decent struggle. "Maybe he's some kind of robot. He can see ghosts, you know."

  That grabbed Snow's attention. "What?"

  "He, uh, told me. Last night. Hey, I thought you read his file. Don't you know what beat him up like that?"

  "Yes." Unexpectedly, Snow smiled. "One-o-clocks." He held up a hand to stop Elstrin's

  questions. "I have friends from Lupalia. I know about his injuries. But not about what you just said. What kind of ghosts?"

  Elstrin took a step back and squinted at the man. "Okay, now I'm really worried. Is it a common thing, to be able to see the dead, or is some vital part of me not working? Because as far as I'm concerned, ghosts don't exist."

  "Dragons do. Many other things do. Why should spirits not?"

  "Because—" He struggled for an answer. "I don't know. It just doesn't sound possible."

  "The world isn't divided up into possibilities and impossibilities, Elstrin," Snow said. "There's a lot in between. If you say that ghosts are impossible, then what does that make your roommate?"

  "Uh. Someone I don't want to offend?"

  Snow shook his head with a sigh. "You'll understand someday. Now keep training. You're getting better."

  "I am?" Elstrin said, distracted once more by the first direct compliment Snow had given him. He forced his eagerness down and raised his sword with a new determination tugging at his muscles. It held the beginnings of competition but he didn't care, as long as it made him better.

  That was the word he wanted to hear. He threw one last glance at Kana, turned back to Snow and attacked.

  The spar was different today. Snow eased down the difficulty a little so Elstrin was at last able to land a few light blows on the lieutenant, but he kept moving out of range. Elstrin didn't even notice it at first, but somehow they'd ended up on the other side of the field, then next to the weapons shed, then back where they had started. His legs, normally used only for balance and quick bursts of momentum, were forced to carry him all over the training grounds. By the time the water break was called, they were shaking slightly from exertion, not used to the extra work. Elstrin longed to sit down for just a minute, but settled for doing a few stretches and walking around. Snow handed him a bottle and drank his own in one go. He'd been doing that every day of training so far, draining three or even four bottles of water even though he never seemed tired from the spars. As usual, Elstrin watched him with a raised eyebrow.

  "Why do you drink so much?" he finally asked.

  "That was a good spar," Snow said, giving him a small smile. "If I told you it's because you're giving me such a challenge, would you keep at that level?"

  "But I'm not giving you a challenge, and I'm already keeping at whatever level I'm at. So why— "

  "No, you get tired too easily. I want you to fight like that for the entire day, for the entire week if you can, not just every morning. You use up all your energy by recess."

  "I can't help it if I can't beat you no matter how hard I try," Elstrin grumbled.

  "It's not about beating me. It's about pacing yourself, knowing your limits and lasting through to dinner, and giving me a good spar."

  "But your idea of a good spar is a spar that I can't maintain for more than two hours!" Elstrin argued, distressed, waving his sword around for emphasis. "How the hell am I supposed to pace that? And why do you drink so much anyway?"

  Snow blinked. "I told you. It was a good spar."

  "You're acting weirder than usual today, sir," Elstrin said testily.

  "And I outrank you, so it's really none of your business how I act, cadet," Snow replied genially. He took the empty bottles away and raised his sword. "Ready? Just do what you just did, and keep going."

  "What, use up all my energy?" Elstrin snorted, hopping lightly on the spot in an attempt to shake the strength back into his limbs. "Sorry, it's a one-time thing."

  Snow gave him one of those looks that curbed any more forthcoming arguments and began the duel. He mostly defended now, skipping out of range again whenever Elstrin got near, only occasionally attacking. It was easier than having to constantly block his lightning-fast blows to avoid more bruises, but trying to find a gap in Snow's defences was again impossible. Elstrin was able to, at most, tap him with the edge of his sword. He did everything from improvising to combining moves, but he either missed or was blocked. It got on his nerves. He quelled the increasingly strong urge to speak and concentrated on… doing what he just did.

  And suddenly he grasped what Snow was making him achieve. The lieutenant wasn't leeching every last drop of Elstrin's strength until he was quivering mess on the ground—he was quite effectively… pacing him. All the running was marginally less strenuous than standing and fighting nonstop; the lack of defending he had to do helped him hone his attacks without worrying about when the next strike might hurt him. The differences were tiny, but crucial. Elstrin actually found himself recovering somewhat, storing up a small trickle of strength instead of just expelling it all out of desperation.

  He wasn't as strong as he was this morning, but the spar was the same, just a notch softer, less aggressive. Wow. That was quite a revelation. A small swell of pride bubbled up and he moved quickly to pop it. Anything that distracted him now wouldn't help. He focused on the fight, did a quick mental scan of his weary muscles and shifted more of his weight into his calves where it hurt less. He forced Snow back with a series of quick jabs, earned a precious few seconds of breathing space until he had to parry a powerful slash. He delivered one of his own and Snow leapt back lightly, wooden blade missing his neck by an inch. And so it went on. They didn't pause for recess—Elstrin was so wrapped up in the spar that he barely noticed the short ten minutes fly by, but time must've passed at some point because he was sweating a lot more now, the sun at its hottest directly above them, watching their progress with an imp
assive eye.

  At length, Snow began a brief sequence of attacks that were so alarmingly quick that Elstrin panicked a little—rapidly, the shallow pool of energy that he had salvaged along the way was spent. He had to use it—arms directing his sword wildly to block the swipes and stabs and swings that went flying at his face, chest, legs, shoulders, everywhere—he had to use it to save his life. It was over after a terrifying, bewildering handful of seconds, and with a skilful little twist and flick, Elstrin's sword went flying up and away. Snow caught it, brought the blades together and, for the first time, bowed slightly.