Under-Heaven

by Tim Greaton

  “Those are for you,” I told him. “Let’s call it a friendship gift.”

  He gave me a quizzical look before scurrying down to inspect the new items. He sniffed several peanuts first then sat on his haunches with a peanut held between both front paws. He was looking at me again, his nose twitching.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “They’re good.”

  I’m sure something similar must have happened to Arnold Schwarzenegger in his younger bodybuilding years: Bones must have been expecting the peanut shell to be as hard as an acorn, because suddenly his paws and teeth come together simultaneously, and the peanut exploded into peanut shell confetti.

  Bones screamed and raced up into his tree.

  I laughed and watched from my dad’s Adirondack until Bones reappeared about twenty minutes later. Like an expert from the bomb squad, he crept over to the shattered peanut, his nose twitching like crazy. Finally, after looking up at me at least a dozen times, he gingerly lifted one of the peanut chunks and brought it to his nose like a fine glass of wine. He chirped several times before nibbling at the edges then gulped the entire chunk down.

  Suddenly, acorns occupied a much lower spot on Bones’ food chart. Like a kid on an Easter egg hunt, he darted around and grabbed up the remaining peanuts and hustled them up into his larder. Finally, after making entirely certain the supply of new nuts was exhausted, he returned to transporting the rest of his fallen acorns.

  I slipped inside to refill my wine glass and yelped when I tried to settle back onto my chair. Getting to my feet, I saw three acorns lined up on the bottom of my chair.

  Bones had given me a return gift.

  “Too bad he doesn’t have diamonds,” I said to my mother, even though I knew my father could hear.

  Like two silent lovers, their tombstones watched but didn’t speak.

  You can purchase the rest of

  Bones in the Tree

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  ZACHARY PILL

  THE DRAGON AT STATION END

  Prologue

  The orc held him from behind, its hot stinking breath making him want to gag. Helplessly, Zachary watched as hundreds of orcs steamed out from the dark tunnels all around them. The tall muscular creatures had already captured Robin and her baby brother, and others were chasing Bret. Gefarg the Troll bellowed from the center of the huge underground room.

  Zachary suddenly realized he and his friends were about to die.

  Knowing he didn’t want to transform into a monster but seeing no other way, he yanked at the cord around his neck. It didn’t break. The orc’s muscular fingers were digging into his shoulders. He struggled to free himself and ripped at the cord again. This time the rawhide snapped and the wizard medallion fell into his hand.

  Like a roaring locomotive, pressure rushed into Zachary’s head and pushed against his skull. A prickling sensation raced across his shoulders and sent goose bumps down his arms. Feeling an inexplicable sense of freedom, Zachary flung the medallion across the room where it struck a tapestry and fell to the floor. A primal scream passed his lips his joints erupted in pain. He could feel his limbs contorting and stretching. From the bottoms of his feet to the top of his head, bones shifted and made cracking noises as they grew and bent at odd angles. Both arms shot out and the flesh around them swelled with dense muscle and newly formed scales. His joints burned in agony, and his fingers grew long and curled with knife-like claws sprouting from the ends. He saw his skin harden into a golden red crust.

  He heard himself screaming as his clothing tore and fell in shreds onto the floor. His neck pitched forward and his cheeks grew wide and long. His gums ached as rows of pointed teeth erupted from his upper and lower jaws. He felt thick slabs of muscle filling in the area around his cheeks and sensed he had enough power to chew through stone. Zachary tried to run his tongue over the new teeth, but it flicked out beyond the end of his snout and forked into two snakelike ends. His knees were forced into a crouch by flesh that thickened like tree trunks around his thighs. When he moved, the claws on his toes scraped the floor.

  Just when the pain of morphing began to fade, a fiery itch erupted from behind. It felt like something was trying to crawl out of his back as two additional limbs sprouted and unfurled like huge kites behind his shoulder blades. Within moments, a pair of golden red wings thickened into layers of muscle that rippled like eels beneath his scales. He stretched the new limbs and felt a glorious sense of power. For the first time, Zachary realized that the orc no longer held him. He could see its legs pumping toward one of the exits.

  Zachary roared and spewed fire across the room.

  He was now a dragon!

  1) A Coward and a Freak

  Wishing that magic really did exist, Zachary Pill kept smashing the Billy Timkin voodoo doll he had made from a white hand towel until its blue toothpaste eyes and mouth were smudged beyond recognition. When the bar of soap fell out of the Billy doll’s head, he glanced up at the mirror to see his bruised cheek and swollen lip.

  “I never did anything to him,” he muttered.

  He made a fist and debated whether to put the doll back together again and give it another good couple of whacks.

  Why can’t I be more like Uncle Ned?

  He pulled up his tee-shirt sleeve up and made a muscle, but the pathetic little rise at the top of his arm depressed him. He sighed and let his arms drop back to his sides. No way would his uncle let someone get away with what Billy had done to him. Anyone that touched Uncle Ned would have been the one with bruises—or worse.

  Disgusted, Zachary ran a wet comb through his offensive hair and managed to push a few stray cowlicks back where they belonged. He smacked the comb against his skull. Why did his hair have to be such a weird color!

  “Snot hair!” he muttered.

  “What hair?” a voice asked from the open bathroom doorway.

  Zachary’s face turned red. He wished his father hadn’t heard that.

  “That’s what Billy Timkin called me yesterday, just before he started hitting me.”

  “Maybe you heard it wrong.”

  “No, he definitely said ‘snot hair.’” Zachary already regretted telling his father.

  “Then what happened?”

  “I told him to shut up, so he punched me.” He left out the part about trying to punch Billy back—twice. Half the students in the cafeteria had laughed when he missed both times. By today, the whole school would be talking about it.

  His father squeezed his shoulder and gently moved his chin closer to the light for a better look at his bruises.

  “I don’t understand why the school won’t do something about that kid.”

  The principal might have done something if she’d been called, but his father wasn’t the type to argue, even to defend his own son. Besides, none of the kids who witnessed the fight had admitted to seeing anything, so it was his word against Billy’s, again.

  “You could have walked away,” his father suggested.

  “Everyone at school already thinks I’m a freak. I’d rather get beat up than be a coward.” Zachary didn’t bother to add that Stephanie Travis had been there. It figured, the first time he really stood up to Billy, he got beat up in front of the girl he liked.

  “So, getting hit was better than getting away?” his father asked.

  “Uncle Ned wouldn’t have run,” Zachary countered.

  His father fell silent, making Zachary regret having said it. Small and rail thin, his father wasn’t built for fighting. Zachary had never seen him stand up to anyone, not even the old woman with the poodle in the apartment across the hall. Zachary loved his father, but hated the thought that he was growing up to be just like him. Like father, like son, they were both cowards.

  “You can stay home if you want,” his father offered.

  Zachary shook his head. “I have finals.”

  “There’s still a week of school to make them up, Zach.”

  “No, I’ll be okay.” />
  The truth was that for the last two weeks Zachary had been trying to crank up enough courage to ask Stephanie to the end-of-year dance. Of course, he had been trying to ask her out all year, and so far had only managed to say hi once in the hallway. But her smile that day had been worth it. He took one more glance at his black and blue cheek in the mirror. Maybe she’d have sympathy for his injuries.

  A guy can hope.

  “I think I should call the school,” his father said as left their fourteenth floor apartment and entered the elevator. “That kid should stop picking on you.” His left eyelid was twitching, not a good sign. Next his face would turn pale.

  “It’s okay, Dad, really. School gets out next week.”

  “As long as you’re sure,” his father breathed. His eyelid had already returned to normal. This was the same man who had been known to throw sour milk away rather than confront someone at the store. One time they had gone without cable TV for several weeks because he hadn’t dared to complain. It wasn’t until someone in the adjoining apartment had a similar problem that it got fixed.

  “A new salon opened just a couple of blocks away,” his father offered.

  “We already tried,” Zachary said.

  “But we haven’t tried the new salon.”

  Zachary shrugged and hoped his father would forget about it. The only thing more embarrassing than having green hair was having a bunch of hairdressers say how weird it was that it couldn’t be dyed.

  When they stepped off the elevator, Zachary hurried out the front lobby doors and jogged to the bus stop at the corner. He got there as the last of the herd was getting on the bus and followed a tall girl with curly black hair down the narrow aisle. There were only a few quiet snickers as he made his way to the back and settled into a seat beside a much younger boy who examined his bruised face for only a second before darting his eyes back out the window.

  Zachary watched the passing storefronts and tried to imagine how he was going to ask Stephanie Travis out, but every plan he came up with seemed lamer than the one before. His mother would have known what to say. He touched his lip. She might also have used makeup to cover up his embarrassing injuries. He pictured her sitting beside him, long green hair cascading in soft curls around her delicate face, slender arm draped comfortingly around his shoulders. He forced the fantasy away knowing she could get caught in his head like video game music. Ten minutes later, when the bus pulled into the school circle, he still hadn’t formed a single idea of how to ask Stephanie. To make matters worse, Billy Timkin was standing outside the bus, ready to give him a morning beating.

  2) A Bad Decision

  Billy smirked and his friends made a couple of rude remarks about his bruises, but miraculously they let him walk unmolested up the stairs and into the school. Then, in a second positive omen, he saw Stephanie Travis walking toward her homeroom class.

  “I can do this,” he told himself as he hurried to catch up, but the closer he got the heavier his shoes became. His stomach felt like he’d eaten a live goldfish and his body trembled with fear. He opened his mouth to call out but somehow her name got stuck in his throat.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Before he could answer the question, she disappeared into her home room.

  Like a robot with a rundown battery, Zachary came to a stop in the middle of the hallway. Several students bumped him as they moved past.

  Coward, coward, coward!

  How could he have screwed up such a perfect chance? He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t ask girls out on dates. What could he do? But he already knew the answer to that: he could grow up to be just like his father, someone who avoided confrontation at all costs, someone who crossed the street or hid behind doors rather than facing a single argument or disagreement. Zachary was fated to become just like his dad, and the thought of Stephanie going to the dance with someone else because of it made him furious.

  Feeling like a total failure, Zachary turned and trudged back towards the Team A hallway. A number of kids in his first two classes laughed and made fun of his bruises from the botched fight the day before, but he hardly noticed because couldn’t get the image of Stephanie Travis disappearing into her homeroom out of his mind.

  “She was right there,” he muttered to himself on the way out of third period gym. The last to leave, he had been pulled aside by Coach Winton who was worried that he might have gotten his injuries during dodge ball the day before. When Zachary assured the heavyset man that his bruises had nothing to do with gym class, the coach had dismissed him with no more sympathy than an exterminator might have given a wounded mouse. At least his job was safe.

  Now Stephanie will probably go to the dance with that track kid who keeps passing her notes in English class. All I had to do was talk to her!

  “Who needs a ball,” he heard someone say as he reached the first landing in the stairwell.

  Zachary stopped. At the top of the stairs, four familiar boys were surrounding a shorter, plump kid he didn’t recognize—a sixth-grader probably. Laughing, the older boys kept pushing the kid back and forth like an oversized hockey puck.

  Zachary felt his stomach cramp. He was so sick of the scared feeling that he wanted to scream! Everything in his life was crappy because of fear. He might already have had a date with Stephanie if he hadn’t been too scared to ask her. He might also have won that fight with Billy if he hadn’t been too scared to learn how to fight and stand up for himself in the last few years.

  What was he so scared about? What could possibly be worse than his current life? Maybe it was time he took a lesson from his Uncle Ned who had probably never taken grief from anyone in his whole life. Maybe it was time for someone else in the Pill family to stand up for himself!

  Because they were still busy pushing the helpless younger boy back and forth, none of the bullies had yet noticed Zachary. He forced his stomach to unclench, took a deep breath and climbed a couple of stairs. Hoping he sounded braver than he felt, Zachary spoke up.

  “Leave him a—alone.”

  The largest of the boys glanced down, and for the briefest second Zachary thought he saw fear in his eyes, but then the bigger boy’s face split into a grin.

  “Look, guys,” Billy Timkin, said. “It’s our buddy…snot hair.”

  The taller blond boy to Billy’s right was Jason Kelly, and though he didn’t look nearly as rugged as Billy, he had a similar reputation as a bully. Zachary didn’t know the names of the other two skinny boys, but he had seen them skulking around with Billy at various times.

  All four boys glared down at him.

  The sixth grader gave Zachary a thankful glance and raced away. It was a big school, and he didn’t slow down until long after his footsteps could no longer be heard. At least he would be safe.

  Too bad I can’t say the same.

  Billy and his three friends moved to form a vicious, sneering wall at the top of the stairs, making Zachary realize—too late—that he probably should have gone to the top of the stairs before interfering. As it was, he was trapped.

  “I need to get to math class,” he said.

  “You weren’t in a hurry a minute ago,” Billy pointed out.

  By that time, Zachary’s stomach had cramped into such a tight ball that he was glad he hadn’t eaten much for breakfast. His heart yammered like a scooter engine and he could feel tiny beats of pain in his bruised cheek and lip. He wanted to run, needed to run, but a brave little voice in his head kept telling him to hold his ground. As he stared at the small army above him, he began to hate that little voice.

  “I need to take my math final,” Zachary said, surprised that his voice didn’t crack.

  “D’you hear that?” Billy said. “Grass head needs to go somewhere.”

  “Too late, slate,” Jason said.

  Billy smacked his taller friend in the arm. “That didn’t make sense. What’s ‘slate’?”

  “It rhymes with late,” Jason said lamely.

  Zachary forced a tremblin
g leg to step upward.

  “Looks like you’ll be missing that class,” one of the skinny boys said.

  “Yeah,” Billy said, “don’t think you’ll be making it.”

  Zachary looked from one angry face to another. He doubted there was any way out of this, and he was rapidly realizing what a huge mistake he’d made. His entire body started to quake.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Now, can I please go?”

  The four boys, as one, shook their heads, and Billy rubbed his thick hands together. “No such luck, chump.”

  Trying to remember some of the fighting stories his Uncle Ned had told him over the years, Zachary let his book bag drop to the stairs. His uncle had once said that if you had to fight, it was best to surprise your opponent by attacking first. But how could Zachary surprise four boys who already knew he was there? Besides, surprise or not, it didn’t seem likely he could win against four of them. After all, he didn’t have his uncle’s fighting experience or built-like-a-truck muscles.

  More and more, Zachary was regretting his decision.

  At that moment, his father’s advice to “walk away” was making a lot more sense, especially considering neither his classmates nor Stephanie Travis were in the stairway to see him run off. But where could he run to? They had him completely blocked. Maybe with more head room, he could have jumped over their heads, but even then they could have grabbed his feet.

  “Bet you wished you minded your own business now, snot hair,” Billy taunted.

  Zachary’s stomach was so tight it hurt. He considered racing back down to the gym, but Coach Winton always locked those doors between classes. No, it was going to take more than jumping or running to get him out of this. Maybe there was another way.