Bone Dance

by Lee Roland

  Elder appeared around them. No one had moved. Merisin must have drawn her out of time to talk to her.

  A pallid Claire came forward then, leaning on Tana’s arm.

  Merisin smiled at her and grasped her hand. Color returned to her face, and she straightened. Time shifted again, but this time it didn’t include Maeve.

  When they moved again, Claire smiled and appeared much stronger.

  The other Elementals came to Claire, bowed, and disappeared in the same shimmer of air that brought them.

  The witches and warlocks stood silent, waiting on…what?

  “Well, Maeve,” Claire said. “What do you want?”

  “Want?”

  Claire took Maeve’s face in her hands and kissed her. “The Elementals bowed to you. That makes you the preeminent power in Elder.”

  “The hell it does. They bowed to you too. And you’re High Witch.”

  “Yes, but that’s Tana’s rightful place. When she gets it back—”

  “The hell you say.” Tana put her hands on her hips. “I haven’t been this free since I was a child. You wanted and you’ve got it, Ancient Mother. However, you have much to explain to me.”

  Claire sighed.

  The Council members gathered around Evan Fain. Whatever they said, they came to quick agreement. Fain had a smug expression on his face as he approached. He bowed formally to Claire. “Ancient Mother.”

  “I’m stuck with it I see.”

  “You are.” He turned to Tana.

  “Forgive us, Tana.” He looked apprehensive. Tana was still Tana. “Ancient Mother, may I…”

  Claire nodded, giving permission. She seemed too exhausted to speak.

  Fain drew a deep breath. “We learned that Sethos—Sorath—had survived Ataro’s destruction and grown powerful in the world outside Elder. There are others, not Iameth, but wise and magical, and they warned us of him.”

  Maeve’s eyes shifted to Flor, who appeared confused. Was she thinking of Immal, or herself?

  He continued. “The Elementals developed a plan and went to the dragons. Claire and Merisin gave us Maeve, and then Claire went to marry Sethos. We needed to know if there was a weakness. She is so beautiful—”

  “Beauty? He wanted power.” Maeve wasn’t buying that one. Sethos wanted a child, too, one with the blood of his original self—Sorath the Sorcerer of Ataro. That would have tempted Claire, too, even if that child was Erik’s blood. She was, after all, a witch.

  Maeve understood. The Elementals, the Iameth’s guardians, had conceived a plan and, as always, had to use intermediaries because a mystic law forbade them from directly intervening in the Iameth’s lives. Intermediaries are fallible, and that meant everything could and usually did go wrong. They had directly intervened with Maeve, though, because one of them had fathered her.

  “Why didn’t you at least try to destroy him when he first came here,” she asked.

  “We couldn’t.” Fain held out a hand as if imploring her to forgive them. “We seriously misjudged. We thought we were ready, but all of us together wouldn’t have been able to move against him. The day he stepped into Elder, he became entrenched. You were far too young to confront him. And of course, the Elementals did not implicitly instruct or warn us.” Bitterness filled his voice.”

  Maeve bit her lip and fought back angry words. She’d try to hear him out, but they’d brought the monster into their home. Andovar and the other slaughtered Iameth were the price for their vanity. She was not so perfect that she couldn’t understand failure. Perhaps it was the magnitude that so appalled her.

  Fain must have understood the look on her face. “It is our burden. We accept the responsibility for our errors.”

  Claire placed her arm around Maeve. “I didn’t dare expose you to Sethos, so I left you with Tana. You were the only part of the plan that worked as it should have—almost. Your leaving Elder let you mature at least. Although it was an incredibly dangerous path.”

  “You knew…” Maeve almost choked.

  “I knew who Sethos was when I went to him, but I had no idea of his plans. It wasn’t that bad, until he began killing the Iameth. Then the line I had to walk became so fine, I could do nothing. I didn’t expect to survive—and my amazing daughter saved me.”

  “Why didn’t they tell me?” Tana sounded angry and everyone cringed. Claire might be High Witch, but Tana had been around longer.

  “I couldn’t.” Maeve heard despair in Claire’s voice.

  “I would have done it without—”

  “No. I know you, Mother. Maeve needed what you offered her—unconditional love, undiluted by the knowledge of her future. If you had known, you would have protected her from the pain, the hard lessons she needed to learn.” Claire reached out and stroked Maeve’s cheek. The tears in her voice formed in her eyes. “It’s too late now, but I wish we’d found a different way.”

  Fain cleared his throat. “Forgive me Ancient Mother, but we need to deal with this one.” He nodded toward Erik. Erik’s rigid posture never changed, but Maeve could see pain and fatigue in his eyes. No fear though.

  “Erik,” Claire spoke with the authoritative voice of the High Witch. “For the sake of the world, I can’t let you leave Elder. You’re the heir to Sethos’ financial empire—not to mention his power.”

  A brief smile touched Erik’s mouth, as if he heard a hidden meaning in Claire’s words. Maeve understood where Claire was going, and she gritted her teeth. Witches craved power though, and her mother was no exception. In many ways, Erik, as the natural son of history’s most powerful sorcerer, would be a far more appropriate consort for Claire than her kind and easygoing Captain Harlan. Erik’s assertion that he and Claire hated each other was probably valid, but that would stop neither of them if they colluded toward a magical goal. Claire had to know Erik and his nature. He was a bully at best, and a danger to anyone who didn’t have the power to resist him—like Alex.

  Claire spoke to Tana. “I hate to ask you, but could Erik stay with you until I decide what to do? He’s blocked from using most magic, so you’ll be able to control him.”

  “I can control him without…never mind.” Tana sounded insulted.

  Maeve spoke to Erik first. “Erik, I don’t have to warn you—”

  “I’ll deal with it, Maeve.” Claire asserted her authority. “Fain, there will be no vigilante justice.”

  “No, Ancient Mother.” He sounded disappointed.

  Yarrow came up behind Maeve and kissed her neck. Oh yes, the dragon.

  Maeve jumped. “Harriet! I forgot about Harriet. Is she…”

  Raymond and Flor waited at the side of the gathering. Orcus sat on Flor’s shoulder, and Raymond carried Harriet in his arms. Raymond appeared tired, but healthy.

  Maeve hurried toward them. “Harriet. Are you okay?”

  Harriet’s eyes were closed and her face pale. She opened one eye.

  “’Kay,” she said in an almost inaudible voice.

  Maeve bent down and kissed her face.

  “She’ll be fine. She needs rest; we’ll keep her with us,” Flor said. “You have things to do.”

  “We need to talk, Flor.”

  “Tomorrow…maybe.” Flor slid her arm in Raymond’s and led him away.

  The assembled witches began to drift away, except for the Council.

  A warlock stepped forward and bowed to Claire. “There is a problem, Ancient Mother.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Claire scowled. “What is it?”

  “It’s the captain.”

  “Harlan?” Fear sounded in Claire’s voice, and Maeve winced.

  “Yes, Ancient Mother. He’s gathered the remainder of Sethos’ men, says they’re his, and we have to kill him to take them. He said it was a human thing. We don’t want to kill anyone, kill anyone, but some of them are vile and cannot remain in Elder. We don't know how to deal with it.”

  Claire sighed. “I’ll speak to him.”

  Maeve watched them leave. Shou
ld she be there? Or change shape and try to fly again?

  “Beloved.” Maeve felt Yarrow change behind her.

  Maeve smiled up at him as he towered over her. He had never seemed more beautiful. Firelight from the burning factory glittered and refracted on his copper scales. She let the robe slide from her shoulders as she changed. It hurt, but not as much. She didn’t feel the transformation of matter as she had in the factory. She gazed at him through different eyes—dragon’s eyes.

  Her long tongue flicked out and caressed his face as she tasted and absorbed the aura of his mass. She rubbed her body against his like a cat and scale hissed upon scale in a dry sibilant song mingling their auras and their lives.

  Yarrow, ancient and wise, one of the first born on the magic island, who loved Maeve, but carried a greater love deep in his heart. His mind caught hers and she tried to pull away. She didn’t want to see into his soul, but relentless, he dragged her on.

  “Beloved” Yarrow sounded sympathetic. “I do not do this because I wish you harm, but there are things you must know. Watch and learn.”

  Ten dragons arrived, the last to flee Ataro as it broke and plummeted into the Atlantic abyss. The storm hit when they reached the island to the east. A cold, bitter land lashed with frozen rain and cut with dagger winds.

  The others went south to a warmer area, but Yarrow and his mate Sybille remained—waiting, calling along the threads of magic to any who might have survived and yet remained in peril. Only one came. Haven, searching for his beloved Alirice who fled Ataro with Piron on her back.

  Maeve watched the birth of Rachmadach, her friend Raymond, as he entered the world in the mountains of Italy. Then she brushed against a pool of memory so dark she tried to flee again, but Yarrow’s power dragged her on.

  Sorrow, wretched and bitter, the scalding agony of a loss beyond measure. Dragons mate for life, and they live a long time. Sybille, the last female dragon of Ataro, died giving birth to Raymond. Blistering rage racked her as Yarrow screamed and cursed the Elementals and the Great Master for his loss.

  Yarrow released Maeve from his memory, and she found herself face to face with him. A tear formed in her eye and one in his. She pressed herself against him and those two tears became one, and fell to the earth. As it did, it solidified into a crystal the size of a lemon.

  “Yarrow?”

  “Yes, beloved.”

  “Why did you come to me? I know you love me, but…”

  Yarrow laughed, a deep rolling grumble in his chest.

  “Oh, I do love you. You were supposed to be Raymond’s mate, but we did not understand the concept of love for a friend, a brother. Once he became that friend, he could not be your lover. I came to you so you would know what it was like to be with a dragon. So we would not lose you entirely to the world of humans and witches. You captured my heart, and it hurt me to drive you away, but you could not be here when Sorath…Sethos…arrived—”

  “But I am a witch. Not a skilled or talented one, but still a witch.”

  “You have a dual nature. You are a new thing in our world. Now that you know that, your life will change. You must learn.”

  Maeve rolled new ideas around in her mind. She leaned her body against his and sighed as he gently nibbled on the sensitive spot between her shoulders. Shivering with delight, she groaned and whipped her tail from side to side. She barely felt it when she wiped out one of Tana’s pear trees.

  The practical side of Maeve told her Yarrow would be her lover, if not the love of her life. One thing she needed to know.

  “Yarrow, how do dragons make love?”

  “I’ll show you later. We must go to the High Witch. She will need help whether she realizes it or not.” He nudged the solid crystal on the ground with his nose, then caught it with his tongue. “Open your mouth.”

  Maeve did so, and he placed the crystal under her tongue, like a grain of sand in her giant body. It grew larger in her mouth, but it was small. Maybe she wouldn’t accidentally swallow it.

  Now come, beloved.”

  She studied the area between her and the group of men and armored cars. It made a gentle dip and then rose to the top of the hill where Captain Harlan made his stand.

  “Okay, Yarrow. What do I do?”

  “Extend your wings and fly.”

  Maeve sighed, but it came out as a hiss and rumble. No wonder dragons seemed so impassive. Their physique didn’t seem to make allowances for subtle expressions.

  “Follow me.”

  Yarrow moved away from her and extended his wings. He lifted them up and brought them down in a sharp, swift snap. He shot straight up fifty feet. Another snap. Airborne, he straightened them and made a graceful glide down the hill and up the other one to a spot several hundred feet from the captain and his men.

  Maeve surveyed the damage her first landing had caused. She’d never learn if she didn’t try. Wings up, snap down, then again. She mimicked Yarrow’s actions and found herself off the ground, but everything went downhill from there—literally. The downward flap of her wings must have been more forceful than Yarrow’s because she found herself higher than he had been. Her glide down the hill attained the speed of a runaway truck. Near the bottom, she cut her wings back, which forced her to start up the far hill at the same speed she came down the one behind her.

  The captain had arrayed his men in a defensive circle of armored cars. Claire had arrived and was walking toward him. Maeve’s altitude dropped. In a few seconds, she would plow through the group like a bowling ball through a set of pins. Desperate, she folded her wings tight and fell to the ground. It would have been a hard landing, but she would minimize the damage. It didn’t work that way. Her body twisted, she landed on her side and rolled over, her tail whipping wildly in the air. She hit the armored cars and scattered them like toys. At the same time, the magic crackled the air, and she assumed Claire was protecting herself, the captain, and his men.

  When Maeve’s momentum decreased and she stopped rolling, she sprawled on her back, all four feet in the air. She groaned. Would she be as clumsy a dragon as she was a witch? Getting to her feet again was the challenge of the moment. Her wings spread under her didn’t help.

  Yarrow walked over to her. His aura shook with laughter.

  Claire approach, a cautious look on her face. She appeared ready to run. “Maeve, are you injured?”

  “No. I don’t know how to get up.”

  “Change shape and then it should be easy enough.”

  Maeve wanted too, but… “I can’t. I’ll be naked.”

  Claire laughed and then gasped breathing hard. Harlan came to her side to hold her. “Oh, my dear.” Claire contained her mirth. “You have a dragon’s soul and a witch’s sensibilities. What will we do with you?”

  Yarrow solved the problem. He folded one of her wings with his nose and, despite his massive size, gracefully walked around folded the other, and then rolled her over. Once Maeve felt firm on her feet again, she wanted to shake the dirt off, and realized she might look like a dog shaking after rolling in a pile of manure.

  She settled down and watched Claire, Harlan, and Fain hammer out an agreement. Most of Harlan’s men would have their memories of Elder erased and sent home. A few, with the Council’s agreement, would stay. Harlan said they deserved it because they had been loyal, but Maeve suspected it was because he didn’t want to be alone among the Iameth, even as Claire’s lover. She didn’t blame him. The congregated Iameth wore on her nerves at times, and she had been born and raised among them. Thank Inaras, the more brutal ones would go. She was happy to see Alex among those that would remain. Not surprising. She remembered the awe in his voice that night he spoke of the dragons. The young man, fallen deep within the magic culture belonged, now.

  Everything seemed settled when the ground rumbled under their feet. Maeve gazed at the still smoldering factory. The walls stood, but she knew the center had blasted away. She was part of that. Had there been another explosion, another of Erik’s bombs.r />
  The ground on the hill below the factory moved. Great slabs of earth crawled aside to reveal dark holes. An army poured out of them like ants crawling out of the bowels of hell—an army of Sethos’ zombies, the living dead, created from the bones of slaughtered Iameth—spread like a disease across Elder.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Sethos must have shielded the lower level housing his army so they survived the explosion and fire. The horrifying revenants Erik had shown Maeve now marched upon the blessed soil of Elder, ready to slaughter any living thing in their path. Not all carried weapons, but enough did to create a deadly confrontation. Erik and Maeve’s bomb had closed the door to the lower floor, but this was a massive force nonetheless.

  Claire must have known or forseen the possibility, because the Iameth were ready to fight. Harlan called his troops to arms, but they had few weapons big enough to make a difference. Sethos hadn’t trusted them with those.

  Yarrow lifted off and flew to the massed ogres and demons. Earlier they’d prepared to storm the factory, now they would fight to defend Elder.

  The dragons attacked the leading zombie troops on the ground, breathing fire and using their huge bodies as a shield against bullets. When the flames hit the troops, their guns melted and ammunition exploded. They marched on, but the demons and ogres caught them and ripped their arms and legs off.

  Erik said more than three hundred thousand sat in cold storage, waiting. Now they poured out of the hillside like maggots feeding on the carcass of Elder. Vastly out numbered, even with the dragons, the Iameth fought a hopeless battle.

  Maeve wanted to go with Yarrow, but she couldn’t move. A heavy hand of external power, held her frozen…someone.

  “Wait, Sky Daughter. You have a different task.” Merisin whispered on the wind.

  She didn’t need a warning because she felt something vile coming from the depths. He screamed his rage across the spectrum of magic, and all the Iameth heard and understood. His troops, pouring out of the hill, parted to let him through.