Dragon Bones by Alice M. Roelke

Michael · Posted: Fri May 15, 2009 5:43 pm Post subject: Dragon Bones by Alice M. Roelke

Dragon Bones
by Alice M. Roelke

Six thick, clean-stripped bones lay under the rowan. It stood down the winding road from a large castle.

"Dragon bones?" said Lina, kicking one. "But why—"

"Here?" The brown-robed figure tucked his arms inside ample sleeves that remained unruffled by the chill wind.

"They killed it last year. Village had a giant roast. These were bones the lord saved for display-boiled and scraped clean. But—"

"He doesn't want them anymore?" Lina guessed.

"He doesn't have much say in the matter. He's dead."

"Oh. The old lord, then." Lina stuffed her hands in her pocket and kicked the shinbone again.

"That's right. His son Jonathan ordered them discarded."

She looked around, up at the tree, and sighed. "When am I going to get to meet him?" Where she stood, she could not see very far down the road.

"Any minute now, sir."

Lina glanced at her friend Dallin. "You don't have to call me sir." She took a deep breath. The air smelled clean and green.

The figure nodded slightly. "Here he comes now. Remember your identity. Shall I...?"

"No, I might need you. Stay." She reached out as if to grasp his cloak, then thought better of it, and let her hands fall to her sides, as fists. She sucked air through her teeth.

The young lord came riding up at a half gallop, decked in hunting gear and trailing a huntsman. On Jonathan's arm was a falcon.

Jonathan drew to a halt, grinning. "Sir Martin, what are you doing here?"

Slender hooves stopped just in front of her, paused and pawed. The lord released the falcon's jesses; the bird shot upwards to circle. Jonathan smiled down at Lina. "Does business bring you back to Grensledle? Or pleasure?" He dismounted.

Lina gave a low laugh. "Both, I hope. But is that any way to greet a guest?" She faltered for a moment.

"'Come here, Jonathan!'" prompted Dallin. "'You've gotten so tall.'"

"Come here, Jonathan. You've gotten so tall!" repeated Lina.

Jonathan's face lit with a grin of boyish delight. They embraced, slapped backs, and regarded one another at arm's length. Then he frowned. "Where's your mount, sir?"

"I'm afraid it was spooked by the smell of the dragon bones and got away from me. I'm not as young as I used to be." Lina grimaced.

"I'm sorry," said Jonathan. "I'll send someone to look for it. Gamekeep—give me your horse for Sir Martin. And go to the castle and have a feast started. Then send someone to look for Martin's mount." The gamekeeper nodded once and obeyed. "You look well," said Jonathan, turning his attention back to Lina, "despite your age."

"As do you, despite your youth—milord."

Jonathan laughed. "Will you be staying long, I hope?"

Lina glanced to her left. "Can't," said Dallin.

"Can't," repeated Lina.

Lord Jonathan's mouth turned down at the edges. "Oh."

He looked away for a moment, then back, smiling too brightly. "Well, sir, you're here for tonight, and I shall give you the best feast Grendsledle's ever seen.

"—Are you all right?"

"I'm an old man, m'boy, not an invalid." Lina finished mounting sloppily and raised the reins. "Come on, show me your oats. I'll warrant I can beat a stripling like you yet."

Lord Jonathan smiled. "Pray pardon me, good knight, for I have a bad back."

Lina gave a curmudgeonly grunt, and pretended to be appeased. She slapped the reins and trotted the horse towards the castle. It loomed squat and gray ahead, like a grumpy, giant frog lawn ornament.

Jonathan's horse fell in beside her. The young man studied her face with intensity. She caught herself looking back nearly as hard.

His lean long-limbed frame rode easy on his chestnut horse. And his blue eyes looked sunny and sincere under his blond hair that begged to be tousled.

"I'm glad you've come," he said. "Many are the things I've wanted to ask your advice on..." His voice trailed and he looked off, clearing his throat. "And the moat! You must see the moat!" He urged his horse ahead.

Lina glanced down at Dallin running effortlessly beside her horse, and raised her eyebrows.

"Careful," said Dallin. "You know you can't talk to me. Or forget your station. Who you are." His eyes seemed to burn inside the dark hood.

She nodded once, quick, then prodded her horse ahead, abreast of Jonathan's.

"See the moat?" Jonathan turned to her with forced cheerfulness. "We haven't filled it yet because it's still under construction. I'll show you. Unless—of course, how foolish of me. You'll want to rest from your journey." They clattered into the courtyard. Jonathan swung from his saddle and held Lina's horse while she dismounted.

"Timothy!" he snapped.

"Yes milord." A servant scuttled forward, face pinched.

"Is the guest chamber in order?"

"Yes m—"

"Well please see that there is fresh water and a change of clothes."

Jonathan escorted Lina to the guestroom, Dallin following quietly on his left.

"If you need anything—" Lord Jonathan spread his arms in a helpless gesture.

"Jonathan, relax. Everything is wonderful. You're an excellent host."

Jonathan smiled faintly. "Then—I shall see you at supper." He bowed deeply and gave a whistle. A falcon lit on his arm in a feathery mass of wind. Head down, Jonathan strode away.

Lina watched him go, then shut and locked the door using a heavy oak slab that slid across it. Dallin hovered in a seated position over the bed, beside the freshly laid clothing. Watching her.

"Interesting," said Lina. She began to undo her heavy traveling garments. "I didn't think he'd look so nice. He looks like a modern heart throb, not someone from this grubby world."

"Yes, quite," said Dallin. He did not take his eyes off her.

"Well—you don't need to sound so dry. It's not a problem." She didn't look at him as she began, quite unselfconsciously, to change.

"Of course not," agreed Dallin. "Unless you get a crush on him."

"I won't." She avoided his gaze.

He regarded her skeptically. "Just watch yourself, 'Martin.'"

"Shut up." Then under her breath: "Stupid computer program." She peered into the bronzed mirror and squinted, running a heavy wooden comb through her hair. Martin's appearance became less windblown.

Dallin stared at the ceiling and whistled tunelessly through his teeth.

"Shut up, shut up! You know I hate it when you do that!" She threw the comb at him.

It bounced through him, onto the bed, and clattered to the floor. He turned hooded eyes on her. Lina finished dressing with quiet fury.

Dallin blinked off.

"Coward," she muttered, toward the empty bed. "Won't fight fair."

She tapped her ear. "Well? Fine, he's mad. He'll get over it by dinner." He'd better. She reached up to the base of her neck. Gritting her teeth, she jiggled the white cube until it came free. She sighed, as the false form fell away and she stood, not an old man, but a young woman in too-big men's clothes. She stretched her shoulders, arched her back, and rubbed her neck. She didn't care what anyone said; skins were uncomfortable.

The stress of travel, even when it didn't take long, always made Lina tired. Dallin said she got time-lag easily. She got in bed and pulled the covers over her head. She sighed, and clutched the cube loosely in her hand. She murmured, "Wake me, Dallin, before they come."

"You didn't!" She heard the click as he came back on. She smiled, imagining him standing over her, looking shocked.

"Lina—how could you?"

Her eyes fell shut. She was so tired. He would watch, and it would be okay. Even when they fought, it was okay. His head popped through the bed, one piercing blue frightened eye between the sheet and bed. "Please, Lina."

Lina slept.

~*~

A musical beeping in her brain woke Lina. She pushed the white cube back into her neck, and got up. After dressing and unlocking the door, she followed a waiting maidservant to the banquet. She straightened her tunic before entering and glanced at the invisible computer program. He gave her a morose thumbs-up.

She let her fingers sweep out as she passed him. If he'd had substance, she would have brushed him. He looked at her quickly, pathetically grateful. Funny how she could never stay angry at him. She looked back and gave him a quick, reassuring smile, thought, I should be nicer to him.

The rest of dinner, she wouldn't be able to even look at him.

She was seated by Jonathan. Also at the table sat Jonathan's young middle-widened wife and an attentive knight named Sir William, helping her avoid food. The pinched-faced advisor Timothy and two other knights--a drunken Sir Gilin, and an angry-eyed Sir James who refused even clipped conversation.

They ate duck and venison and a strange, thick soup. They had just started a vegetable course when the lady rushed from the room clutching her stomach. Lina felt sorry for her. Sir William rushed after her solicitously.

"Pray pardon her ladyship," said Timothy in simpering tones.

Lord Jonathan stabbed harder at his quail, his face gone pale and his mouth tight. For the rest of the supper, his conversation was more stilted, more forced than before. Lina's heart went out to him. And all the while, Dallin hovered behind her, emanating worry and advice.

"Don't forget—fatherly concern, jocular friendliness. You were his father's friend, but also his. Like an uncle. Or maybe a surrogate father, since the late lord—"

I know that. She bit down hard on a spice-stewed carrot. It irritated her when he jabbered like this. Why doesn't he stop talking to me when he knows I can't respond?

"You could install me—" began Dallin.

Her eyes widened. He'd been listening in on her thoughts again? Dallin, I thought I told you—

He backed away, head down. "I—just a little. Just to help you."

And you wonder why I don't want to install you.

But he didn't respond because, this time, he hadn't heard, had already backed out. For some reason, this annoyed her.

Jonathan turned to her. "Martin, do you want to see the moat now, or tomorrow after you're rested from your journey?"

"I rested this evening," said Lina. She wanted to spend more time with Jonathan by herself.

"I'd like two horses saddled," said Jonathan to Timothy, as the meal wound down. The aide smiled vaguely at his plate, eyes down.

"Timothy, I'd like—"

"I'll do it," snapped Sir James, slamming down a knife as he rose. It landed blade first in the soft wood and wobbled there.

"Thank you," said Jonathan stiffly. His eyes were cold as he refused to look at Timothy.

"They don't respect him, do they?" said Dallin. "I'm going to the ship to do some back reading." He blinked off.

Lina sighed to herself.

The long moment seemed to drag longer as they worked their way through a yeasty pudding and the last of the wine. At last they were out in the stiff evening air on horseback. Their horses' hooves clattered across the wide courtyard and drawbridge, and thumped down the dirt around the moat, and Dallin still hadn't come back.

Maybe he's punishing me, she thought.

Jonathan said, "Oh, Martin, what am I to do?"

Surprised by the sudden anguish in his voice, she turned to him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. And everything. I'm sorry." He tried to laugh. "I sound as vague as a scullery maid."

"Nonsense," murmured Lina. "But tell me now, what's wrong?" She took a wild stab. "Is the manor in danger?"

"No, we're prosperous and safe enough. But I—I can barely handle it now. How will I manage if some danger does threaten?"

She thought back to the people at the table who didn't respect him. Is it possible he's just a bad ruler?

"What's wrong?" she said.

He sighed. "I don't know. The more I try to move out of the lord's shadow, the less I succeed."

"The lord?" Oh—he must mean his father. Funny to call him that, "the lord." She wished Dallin were here. She was splashing around in deep water, alone.

Jonathan said, "I try to be accessible and less harsh than the lord, but they don't respect me. If anything, they hate me for it. Lately I find myself yelling just to get simple things done. I'm beginning to wonder—what if the lord was right after all?" He looked down at his horse's mane, stroked a few hairs to the side, so that they all fell on the left, towards Lina.

"Ah, well, I'd not give up yet, lad. You've got to remember the benefits of—the path you've chosen." Stick to platitudes, she thought. She didn't remember what that path was, except that it had something to do with being kinder to serfs. "They may think they want a ... harsher ruler, but do they really? Or is it just what they're used to?"

"But I've become toothless. Even Timothy doesn't listen anymore. I've abolished nearly all punishments, and this is how they react? It's so ... ungrateful."

"Ah, well, that explains it. Your father—" Jonathan flinched at the word, "—had a lot of punishments, didn't he? And you have none. It's too sudden."

She continued, "They haven't learned to respect kindness. You should have punishments for disobedience, so that it's more pleasant to obey you than not. You can lessen punishment as the people learn to trust and respect you, and use good judgment."

This was what she and Dallin had talked about, wasn't it? I should've paid more attention at the briefing. It was far too easy to let Dallin handle the details.

Slowly, Jonathan nodded. "I see the wisdom of what you say. As always, you know just what to tell me." He turned grateful eyes to her, and a too-bright smile. Just like he had been earlier, he was hiding something.

"Now," said Lina. Her voice changed before it reached his ears to sound like the gruff middle-English voice of Sir Martin. Sir Martin who'd passed from player to player with his prerecorded image and speech. And why hadn't she studied him harder? Relying on a computer program who could just up and—

"Now," said Lina. "What's bothering you?"

Jonathan's smile cracked as he turned away. Not swiftly enough to hide his tears.

Lina watched him, stunned. Long-fingered hands gripped his saddlehorn until his knuckles went white. The seal on his finger stood out in sharp contrast.

The wind came and walked between them, whistling. It ruffled their hair affectionately before moving on.

"What's wrong?" said Lina.

"My lady," he said, choked, and for one heady second, she thought: me!

But no. He turned tear-streaked eyes back to his mentor. "She—I wanted to be—what I should to her, but I was so busy, and—" His voice trailed off, and he looked away. When he looked back, his eyes agonized blue stare penetrated her.

"I don't blame her. But ... I do. I was kind to her. I was faithful. But she's having a child that's not mine. She could've—she could've at least been more discrete. Did it have to be Sir William's?" His icy eyes made him look like a different person—one who could kill.

He shook his head, then. "I won't have him killed. I won't be like the lord. But sometimes I see him, and I just want to put my hands around his neck and—" His hands, pale and red-veined, choked the saddle horn. Then they relaxed.

"But I mustn't. A ruler should control himself. That's what you always said. Even the lord tried to listen to you. I know I can do better than he did. Can't I?" He turned his eyes upwards, pleading for ... something. Some kind of guidance.

Why wasn't Dallin here with the words that would send history on the right course?

She looked out over the moat as someone dumped refuse into it from a window. It wasn't even finished, and already they were dirtying it. She thought, for some reason, of the dragon bones that were discarded beneath the rowan.

"You—already are doing better than the lord," said Lina. "But..." She struggled for the words. "It seems to me you're asking too much of yourself. Yes, it happened; you aren't killing anyone. But you're human, too. Should you force yourself to pretend everything's fine? Should you let it continue as if nothing happened?"

Jonathan stared at her. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you should exile Sir William."

"But I—" Jonathan swallowed. "What happens when the child—when he wants to know about his real father?"

"You can tell the child when it's old enough to travel to meet Sir William. Perhaps you can send Sir William to a neighboring lord—just not one too close."

Jonathan nodded, once. "Yes, that is thoughtful. Perceptive as always, Sir Martin." He smiled, the lines around his eyes crinkling. (He seemed so young to have lines!) Looking out over the moat, he looked suddenly old.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, that's what I'll do." He wheeled his horse back towards the drawbridge.

The history of the moment, the feeling of its momentousness got into Lina as she followed. She found herself wondering what would happen, what Jonathan would do about a multitude of other things. Would he raise the child as his own? Would he quietly put away his wife, or keep her but scorn her, or, impossibly, forgive her?

Somehow, she thought she knew the answers. But oh, if she could stay, if she could see the wonderful things he could do with this agonizing kindness of his. What a future he must have! Riding, slightly behind him, she thought that she had never seen shoulders more fit to carry a king's responsibility.

She saw the bleached dragon bones again.

"Jonathan?" she asked.

"Yes?" He turned back to her.

"The bones—why did you discard them?" They would be, on any of a dozen worlds but this, important artifacts, worthy of museums.

He blinked. "Oh. The dragon seemed a foul thing to keep alive the memory of. And the bones filled a whole room. I had them removed when I converted it to a library. Seemed a waste of space. Six bones..." He shook his head, then smiled. " Would you perhaps like to see the library?"

Lina smiled. "I think I would."

~*~

Dallin didn't come back until she was alone, readying herself for sleep. Only one more day—one more day and Jonathan would be out of her life forever. She could hardly believe it.

"Top o' the afternoon to you," said Dallin, blinking back on beside her. He no longer wore a cloak. He had his hands in the pockets of green jeans. His eyes were bright blue, his hair greenish and red, swirling and changing. Occasionally, his skin lit with blinking patterns of light. She ignored it, turned to say, "Why didn't you come back? I might've needed advice."

"I monitored. You did great—better than when I'm there. You rely on me too much and don't trust your own judgment."

"And when did you decide this?" She put her hands on her hips, and tapped a toe, ignoring his Christmas tree impression.

"Um. I didn't. Command sent an email. They've been monitoring us. Apparently I'm 'too involved for a computer program' and should 'let humans lead.'" He grinned.

"So why are you so cheerful?"

"I fired up a happiness protocol. It'll wear off soon. So tell me." He perched on the bed. "What am I?"

"A Christmas tree. Aren't you upset?"

"I'm furious." Dallin smiled, eyes sparkling, teeth whitening as she watched. "Really. I think I'll write a worm and shut down the whole network back home. Ha ha." He tried to kick his feet against the bed, but they never touched it.

She thought, He's really hopped up.

She said, "Oh Dallin, I'm sorry." She sat down next to him. "You're worth more than they know." She reached over, patted at his nonexistent back.

The thought seemed to mollify him. "Maybe," he said, leaning over to snuggle against her shoulder—and going through it.

"It's true," she said. "Why, if they'd equipped you for visibility and skins, you could've run this whole operation cheaper, and better, without me."

"Yeah," said Dallin. "Probably could've. But—then I'd have been bored." He leaned farther through her shoulder, as though he'd be able to touch her if he could only get close enough.

"Maybe that's why they sent me. To keep you from being bored."

"Nah," he said. "That's why they sent me with you." And then he started to cry.

~*~

They left that night, to Jonathan's regrets—and Lina's. Jonathan loaded her with supplies and a horse. She rode it to the drop pod, with Dallin in Buddha position floating on her right side.

There was no way to feed a horse on their ship, even if they'd had room for it. But they couldn't release it either, lest it go home and Jonathan think some disaster had befallen Sir Martin. So Lina stood around for an hour in generic MiduVarn skin, until she found travelers heading away from the castle, and managed to sell them the horse.

With one last look around the forested terrain to make sure they were alone, Lina pressed the key lock, turning the pod visible, got in and took off from the planet. Dallin flicked off and met her in the mother ship as she floated in.

"Gravity?" he asked.

"Yes please." She held the wall rail and dropped lightly to the ground as he switched it on. He folded his arms inside long sleeves. Still floating, he waited.

"Why are you wearing the monk's robe again?"

"I wanted to stay in the mood, since I know you have questions."

"Well—"

"And you're just waiting to ask because I was upset. But don't worry; I'm over it."

She grinned sheepishly. "Um, I did wonder what we accomplished for MiduVarn."

"We increased the chance of Jonathan becoming king. He was about to give up his efforts for fair ruling, but good old Sir Martin gave him new resolve. At home base, they're fast-forwarding through the time line to see if it works. W e won't know for awhile."

"And we can't fix it even if I wrecked it," said Lina.

"You didn't." He patted her shoulder with a now solid hand. On the ship, he was as real as he wanted to be. And he always wanted to be real.

"Thanks." It was good to be back.

She sat in the single piloting chair. "Where to, Dal?"

"Lexigo. Middle period. We have to avert the rise of a militaristic ruler. They haven't told us what level of intervention. It might be a bad one."

"I see." Lina frowned, imagining botched assassinations, HQ breathing down her neck, investigations, and demotions. Then she smiled at Dallin, who was watching her, leaning forward with his eyebrows knit. "It'll be okay," she promised.

He nodded, and relaxed.

Lina punched the buttons for Lexigo. He could've; she liked to. It was the only area of all of this at which she felt competent.

Sometimes she wondered why she bothered going on these missions. But of course, someone had to, and why not her? Millions of other people, ships, and computers were also making breakneck journeys to the past, flitting between alternate Earths, and adjusting them slightly, leading them to the place where they would be glad to join another Earth, many Earths, in peace—or war.

Jonathan. He was part of that now, part of the sweeping stream of history, leading to some decisive moment in MiduVarn future. Even if she would never see him again, it was good to know.

"Would you like a copy of him?" said Dallin. At her startled look, he said, "Don't worry. I'm done being jealous."

"No," she said, and she knew this time that he hadn't read her thoughts, because that had been the last thing on her mind. "No. Jonathan's too good to copy like that. I can't make him into something else."

"Oh. You're so human."

"Don't get all sloppy." Lina made a face, not quite looking at him. "Tell me, why was he so upset at the thought of what getting rid of Sir William might mean to the unborn child? He never even mentioned sending its mother away. He's just too nice, isn't he?"

Dallin looked at her from under hooded lids, head cocked slightly. "Come on. You already know. You just want me to confirm it. How many times have I told you your instincts are usually right?"

"Jonathan was illegitimate, wasn't he?" said Lina. "But the lord kept him, which means—" Her eyes traced the bulkhead.

"You're close to it," encouraged Dallin.

"I know! He couldn't have children of his own, so he looked the other way. But he always took it out on Jonathan."

Dallin nodded. Grinning. "And of course he didn't want to let Jonny be heir. But what could he do without admitting he couldn't have kids of his own? And Jonny didn't want to be like dear old not-Dad." He smiled. "I read about it."

"I hope things work out for him."

"They will. I know they will. Want to see the new rain forest program I made while you were on-planet?"

"I don't know, Dal. I'm pretty attached to the old one."

"I saved a backup. And don't worry; I just changed how long and how often the birds fly through and sing. Oh, and I added some more native jungle undergrowth. It's plain Earth, like the rest."

"Oh. Well in that case..."

Dallin grinned, and blinked once. The room began to change. Ferns, trees, and vines sprouted from the floor. A lovely orange trumpet flower vine climbed to gradually obscure the control panel. A flock of blue and gold macaws flapped across the now-obscured sky.

"Nice," said Lina.

The End

Dragon Bones first Appeared in GateWay S-F, July 2005

Story Copyright © by Alice M. Roelke. All rights reserved.

About the Author

Alice M. Roelke's stories have appeared in Gateway SF in 2005 and in Ray Gun Revival in 2006 and 2007.

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