Dragon Bone

by J. D. Cavalida

  Elstrin stood in the dirt, heart pounding from the sudden stop and the emptiness in his hands, his chest heaving for air without him consciously aware of it. Eventually, his lips quirked up and suddenly he was laughing breathlessly. Half of it was hysteria—he'd been sure in those last few seconds of being disarmed that something horrible was going to happen, that he was going to lose more than just a practice spar. Practice. Fuck, it hadn't felt like practice. "Holy shit," he gasped. Talking hurt his throat, his windpipe raw and voice ragged from panting and wheezing, but the words and laughter whooshed from him brokenly. "Haha—holy shit, man. That was—awesome. Also—" He paused to swallow dryly. "You. You are fucking—sadistic." He held up his hands, examining with childlike curiosity the way they trembled and jerked. "Heh. Look how they're shaking."

  Snow was wearing his usual small smile, but it was different. Proud, maybe. "Come on. You're missing lunch."

  "Lunch?" Elstrin asked dazedly, blinking at the empty field. Where was everyone? No, not entirely empty—through the heat haze, he could see people lined up in the shade under the squat trees around the training ground, dim shapes sitting or standing. How long had they actually sparred for? He cleared his aching throat again. "Were they—watching?"

  "Yes." Snow put a hand on Elstrin's shoulder and led him into the cafeteria. He stumbled a little, shivered as the air-conditioning froze the sweat on his skin. Vel saw him and waved. "Drink lots of water," Snow reminded him before he went to the table, "and eat something with carbs. You're only halfway through the day."

  He was gone before Elstrin could formulate a reply. Elstrin nodded back to Vel and moved to the food counter. Looking at the stuff made him faintly nauseous, until he gulped down two cups of water, and then he was just ravenous. He grabbed a plate of random sandwiches, took a huge bite and made his way to Vel, who sat with Andrew. The plate rattled against the table as he put it down, the muscles in his arms fluttering. Elstrin lay down on the long bench, heaved a very big sigh and melted into the worn wood, tension leaking from every part of him, from spine to toes to hair follicles. The previous two weeks of training had been nothing compared to what he'd just gotten through.

  He cracked an eye open when Vel started a long stream of praise for the spar that everyone had witnessed, how utterly amazing and awe-inspiring and breathtakingly gobsmacking it had been, and Elstrin was his new hero now and if he didn't already have Andrew he'd totally start dating him, and he was sorry for ever prying into Elstrin's business the other day about sleeping over because it was really just what friends did, and—

  Elstrin tuned him out. He sat up with a grunt, stomach muscles protesting heavily, and began to eat in earnest, reminded that he had barely half of lunch break left. "That was quite a show," a quiet, strangely-accented voice said, and Elstrin looked up to see Kana sit down at the corner of the table. His black hair was matted with sweat and dirt, bandages yellowed, and his wounds looked worse than ever under the harsh lights of the cafeteria, but his easy smile didn't reflect whatever pain he was in. Andrew didn't seem surprised by his arrival, so Elstrin took it that they'd been introduced during recess or something.

  Stopping from automatically taking another bite, Elstrin paused long enough to speak before stuffing himself again. "You're crazy."

  Kana blinked, but apparently detected the lack of venom behind Elstrin's words, since he kept smiling. "In what way?"

  "Well." Elstrin swallowed, washed his third sandwich down with some apple juice, wiped his mouth. "Barring what happened last night—"

  "Ooh, what happened last night?" Vel said cheerfully, immediately picking up on the conversation.

  "None of your business. Go cuddle your boyfriend."

  "Hey, I'm not his toy," Andrew grumbled, but Vel latched onto his arm and batted his eyes at Elstrin.

  "I'm cuddling. Tell us what happened last night."

  Elstrin shook his head and turned back to Kana, who was watching with amusement glimmering in his visible eye. "You almost won that fight with a broken arm."

  "Oh." Kana shrugged modestly. "Yeah, I know how to duel. Grew up learning all sorts of things. And my arm's not broken. The one-o-clocks bit me. It's why I need the antibiotics."

  "Okay, let's not talk about that here—" Elstrin said quickly, but Vel sat forward, suddenly intensely interested.

  "One-o-clocks? I've heard my brother's friend talk about them. She's from Lupalia too." "How'd you know I'm from Lupalia?" Kana asked, arching an eyebrow.

  "Vel Matthews knows everything," Andrew said in a bored tone, idly tapping his finger on Vel's sleeve to some beat.

  "Matthews? You're Serpent's little brother?" Kana's smile turned into a grin. "Wow. Fancy bumping into you here."

  "I—what?" Vel said blankly. Andrew's hand stilled. "You knew my brother? You—called him… Serpent."

  Elstrin understood that the discussion no longer required his direct input, so he resumed eating. God, he was so hungry. He glared at the clock, willing it to tick slower so his poor abused body could rest a while more. Kana went on, "I come from the slums. Wasn't he like, the king there?"

  "Hey," Andrew snapped, glaring. "Shout it out, why don't you?"

  Kana snorted. "What, are you ashamed of growing up there? It's a fucking fantastic place as far

  as I'm concerned. Who in here cares anyway?" He pointed a bruised finger at Vel. "I saw you fight.

  You were great. Just like your bro, only quicker and full of—fury. He would've been proud. Who cares if you're from the slums, if it means you're going to become a good soldier because of it? Extra skills never hurt anyone."

  "I don't like people knowing," Vel muttered with a scowl, plucking at his nails, suddenly looking like a sulky teenager instead of the fierce, young fighter he was out on the training field.

  "Why?" Kana challenged. "Scared they'll pick on you? Just kick their asses; you know you can."

  "No, I'm not scared. You wouldn't understand." Vel sighed and sat up straighter. "What are one-o-clocks?"

  "Hmm." Clearly not happy to let the topic go, Kana narrowed his eyes, but ultimately shrugged and moved on. "Vengeful spirits. If we get promoted and they give us holidays and they let us go wherever, I can show you. They're in Little Lupalia—and it's really not that dangerous in there as you local Mernot folk seem to think. With the correct prep, the spirits can't hurt you. I wasn't being careful."

  "Spirits," Vel repeated with the same doubt that Elstrin had displayed last night, only much less of it. He seemed almost ready to just accept it as simple truth. "Why do they beat people up?"

  "They're angry and frustrated. They only know anger and frustration, and the only way they can vent it for five minutes every night is if some unlucky bastard walks past. It's like—imagine if your hands were always tied together, and you're always horny, but you can't touch your dick no matter what. And every night, for a few minutes, you're allowed to jerk off—but you can't come unless someone happens to stroll past you at one o'clock in the morning. And it begins again right afterwards, a whole day of desperation balanced out with a tiny bit of relief. Replace the pleasure with anger; that's what those spirits are. They're consumed by their rage, and their one outlet is violence." He gestured at his face vaguely. "So they did this to me, and I'm not mad, not at them. They can't help it. It hurts like a motherfucker but there's nothing I can do about it. I'm counting myself lucky, in fact—if they'd found something sharp lying around, I'd be dead by now."

  The casualness with which he talked about death and pain was chilling. He didn't even seem older than nineteen, and yet here he was, sitting at their lunch table carelessly describing uncontrollably vicious ghosts.

  Vel and Andrew stared at him, and slowly, the redhead nodded, eyes flickering down as he tried to digest the gruesome piece of information. Elstrin had slowed down a little in his frenzied inhalation of sandwiches, not wishing to add an aching jaw to the list of sore body parts he was sporting. "So, anyway," he said, trying to dispel some of the gloom-and-doom h
anging over the couple. "Exactly how accurate were Vel's words just now? Was that spar really so—what was it? Gobsmacking?"

  "It was pretty cool," Kana said with a smile. "Your lieutenant was incredible, you weren't bad, and he bowed at the end, which means you did well."

  "You know a lot about this stuff."

  "Not proper fighting, no. I know dirty fighting, some really destructive kinds, and I know battlefield etiquette. Down in the slums, if you wanted to become a proper fighter, you can't be rude. Especially not to enemies." He stood up and nodded at the clock; it was the end of lunch. "We'd better go."

  They filed out of the cafeteria again. Elstrin felt better with sustenance, but the thrill of the recent spar had worn off a little, and he was more hesitant than eager as he waited for Snow to finish talking to Stag a ways off. The two seemed to spend an awful lot of time together despite their differences in rank; Elstrin wondered briefly if they were a couple, though he'd never seen anything that hinted that it was true. Except for that first day of sword training, when Elstrin had tried to grope Snow, and it was mentioned in passing that Stag had attempted it before too. He couldn't believe that he'd found the exercises back then taxing and difficult.

  Finally, Snow walked up to meet him and handed him the familiar wooden sword. The lieutenant looked torn between wanting to smile and wanting to frown in disapproval. "What?" Elstrin said defensively.

  "I didn't tell you to eat half of the cafeteria's sandwiches. You have mayonnaise on your chin."

  "Oh." Blushing, Elstrin hurriedly swiped his sleeve over his chin. "I was hungry. It happens when someone forces you to spar for hours until you're half-dead, then threatens to do it again. I was trying to enjoy my last meal."

  Shaking his head, Snow motioned with his sword. "It's your loss if you get stomach cramps later. Do some jogging first."

  He accompanied Elstrin on the first few laps but left him to talk to Stag again, the pair murmuring quietly under the shade as Elstrin circumnavigated the training fields, boots thudding, tired muscles waking up again. He watched them from afar, trying to figure out what they were discussing, but then he realised that they were both looking at the other end of the field, where Kana had launched straight back into training with barely any warm-up. His dark hair bobbed stiffly as he ducked and weaved around his lieutenant, skin and bandages a pale blur, sword flashing dully under the sun. He was constantly moving, seemingly unable to stay on the same spot for more than a couple of seconds, pressing his opponent back often with a quick jab of his weapon that looked easy to execute but was done so smoothly and perfectly that it was clear he'd used it before in many fights. Elstrin was curious to see what would happen once the guy was fully healed, if he preferred holding a sword with both hands or liked this fast, one-handed style more.

  Elstrin stopped watching after a while and worked on getting his blood circulating properly, aware that after the jog and a few practice runs, he'd have to endure another long duel. Sure enough, Snow came back soon and guided him through more stretches and sword exercises. A small ball of dread was beginning to expand in Elstrin's gut. He didn't know where all that adrenalin from before lunch had come from, but he really didn't think he could do it again. In an effort to forestall it, he asked, "Why don't the other cadets spar like we just did?"

  Snow led him around the field for one last jog. "Each lieutenant trains his cadet the way he

  likes. Maybe the others have a different approach. I think stamina and endurance are important, so we're doing that first."

  "Wait—so you're like, my personal trainer now? When did that happen?"

  "For swords, at least. You might get a different instructor for other weapons."

  "Can I not?" Elstrin asked before he could stop himself. Snow looked down at him, amused, and he hastily amended, "I mean—er, never mind. Forget I said that."

  "If you enjoy the way I teach, then yes, I can be your instructor in the future too. HQ isn't strict on the issue anyway, as long as the cadets are all able to pass the test in three years' time."

  "With—the injection. Right?"

  "Yes."

  "That's so freaking weird. So if we fail the injection, whatever it is, we're not allowed to continue no matter how good we are at combat."

  "Not necessarily. Depends on the individual." Snow stopped at an empty patch of training ground, signalling the end of the chat. He raised his sword, ignoring Elstrin's crestfallen face. On some unspoken cue, they began.

  Elstrin didn't get stomach cramps, thank god, maybe because his body was digesting the food

  too quickly for them to appear. Again, it wasn't something that he directly noticed, but somehow he was still able to block and deliver attacks and not end up falling over from exertion. His body could handle it, first pretty well, then, as their dark shadows began to stretch away from them, barely. Adrenalin ran thick in his blood, reflexes sharp and on edge, eyes trained only on Snow, constantly trying to predict his next move. His feet moved automatically now, taking him forwards, back, sideways, reacting almost mechanically in par with the way Snow shifted.

  It was when they passed the line of trees that Elstrin faltered slightly. Out of the corner of his

  eye he was aware of two lieutenants on coffee break or whatever, watching them. He didn't know if they were appreciating the fight or disinterested, but suddenly the pressure was there. He made the mistake of taking a look around the field, deliberately trying to spot spectators instead of just scanning his environment to find advantages—and scarcely managed to deflect a blow that whistled through the air towards his skull. But he'd seen their audience, brief points of scrutiny scattered over the training ground: resting lieutenants, jogging cadets, occasional pauses in activity and exercise to observe them for a while. Elstrin tried to ignore it, but he could feel their eyes on him, feel the weight of their silent thoughts, urging him to do this or that, breaking him out of his rhythm jarringly. His concentration slipped a bit, swords sliding roughly together, a whack on his collar, light stab to his chest, small injuries that he couldn't block, making panic spike up like needles. Abruptly he was aware of everyone, how they were all judging and staring, even Vel, even Kana, some of the best and fastest cadets here—

  Snow's voice was a low murmur that only carried through the short space between them as they locked blades for a split second. "Forget them. Focus."

  Three words, the only ones he'd ever spoken during the fight, and they sliced through Elstrin's mounting distraction like a sharp, determined knife. Focus. Give him a good spar. Elstrin shoved back with a shallow gasp, out of breath a long time ago, spun, found his blade blocked easily. His eyes threatened to wander again and he locked them back on Snow, on the lieutenant's sword, realising once more that a narrow piece of wood was not full-body armour, and he could land blows if he was careful and calculated. And just as quickly as it had come, the panic swirled away, and he no longer noticed whatever audience they had. They weren't part of the fight, just background objects that did nothing. The painful squeeze of fear in his heart disappeared, gave room for adrenalin and reaction and the continuous tightening and loosening of muscle. The trickle of energy he'd learnt to cherish began to flow again. He regained his balance, carried on.

  Like the morning spar, he slowly lost himself to the clack and whistle of swords cutting the air, the rushing in his ears, the rivulets of sweat running down his neck, brow, into his uniform. Time didn't exist—it was just relentless, unceasing, nonstop movement, sometimes parrying, sometimes attacking, always burning with the intention of either disarming or defeating the lieutenant. The sun stopped searing so horribly on his arms and face and he didn't notice, gravel and dirt shifting under his boots as he danced and crouched and leapt. The light grew weaker, redder, but he was no less hot or uncomfortable, and when the warmth of the day began to ebb, it wasn't any easier to draw breath. His entire body ached with new and old pains.

  At some point, a tiny part of his mind that wasn't taken over by the frenzy
of action became aware of the fact that it must be past six now, because the light wasn't rosy but fast becoming purple, and their shadows were long and watery, stretched across the ground. The thought was dismissed when Snow shifted suddenly from defensive to offensive, that same series of attacks that, no matter what, forced Elstrin to use up the rest of his strength. He held out a little longer this time, sacrificing himself to a few more bruises in order to block the more deadly attacks. But Snow was unyielding—it didn't even seem possible, but he sped up even more, sword a smudge in the gloom now, moving faster than Elstrin could follow, shattering the fight's pattern. He managed a final desperate block before his weapon was wrenched from his weak fingers, ending up in Snow's hand before his muddled, exhausted brain could catch up.

  The lieutenant bowed. Elstrin did the same, a somewhat instinctive response, and toppled forwards, too tired to cope with the change in gravity.

  Snow caught him by the shoulders with a startled laugh, set him upright again. Elstrin tried not to outright slump against him, his body demanding rest right now, raging against the proud and accomplished part of his mind that insisted he show some dignity in front of everyone. And yes, they had an audience again, maybe more than last time—had it only been this morning?—a loose circle milling about the edge of the field. Faint, scattered applause reached Elstrin through the ringing in his head.