Dragon Bone

by J. D. Cavalida

  A week later Snow disappeared again, then three days later, again. Weird, but Elstrin managed to convince himself it was the last vestiges of whatever virus he had taking its final revenge. But when it happened a fourth time, he would've preferred it if Snow had bothered with a different excuse, as he clearly hadn't been too sick to walk the day before. He was always just as Elstrin remembered him, quiet and distant and stern. No evidence at all that he was unwell, and as far as he could tell, no evidence that suggested he'd ever been unwell in his entire goddamn life. By now, Elstrin was getting very fed up about it. He hated dishonesty, especially in a place like this, and he was determined to find out what was going on. If he couldn't, then even the simple confession that Snow wasn't actually ill would do. He just didn't want to be lied to. He'd thought Snow was better than that.

  Elstrin strode up to Stag as soon as he was done with the roll call. The colonel saw him coming, sighed visibly and muttered something to Elstrin's substitute instructor, who laughed and paced away to give them some privacy. Stag interrupted before Elstrin could even speak. "Is he really that good a teacher? You're making Lieutenant Fox worried. He thinks Snow has stolen your soul, 'cause apparently you show no emotion on the training field but now you're up here all concerned for him."

  "I'm not concerned." Well, he was, but it was hidden under the familiar burn of curiosity, the hunger for the truth, and the growing anger at being treated like he was a child. "I'm just—"

  "Remember what I said when you first came in here? Tolerance. I know you're annoyed we're not telling you anything, but all I'm saying is Snow is sick today, and he can't train. That's the end of the matter. You don't get to argue with me. You only get to tolerate what you have, and leave with that."

  Elstrin quashed the urge to clench his fists. Stag's soldier-talk, normally effective and even inspiring, only served to irritate him further. "I'll leave when you at least admit he's not sick. He just doesn't get sick like that, all of the sudden."

  "Is that so?" Stag said with a cold smile, his words carrying an abrupt, dangerous vein of anger. It didn't seem completely directed at him, but still, it made him instantly wary and humbled. Stag had a way of making cadets feel like absolute crap, if he really put effort into it. "And why do you think that, Elstrin?"

  "He just… doesn't," Elstrin insisted, knowing he couldn't defend himself. He didn't want to. All he wanted was the truth. "It's not like him. He was fine yesterday."

  "And he could be dead tomorrow." Stag's grim seriousness made Elstrin blink.

  "What?"

  "Dead, Elstrin. It's what happens to soldiers. It's what happens when you fight anything." The anger was more prominent now, sharpening his voice. "Do you think Snow's invincible? He is very, very far from that. Like any other human being, he gets sick. And he could die. That is the simple truth, and there's nothing anybody can do about it, ever. So don't go around doubting his word, or my word, because you think 'it's not like him' to get sick. That is the worst excuse I've ever heard."

  "I'm sorry. I only—"

  "I don't want to hear it. Get back to training."

  "Yes sir," he muttered, turning away to head for the archery range. Today was going to be an easy day, without Snow there to force him to shoot twenty bullseyes in one minute for an hour until his arms were about to fall off, then force him to spar another hour, then repeat the whole cycle four times a day until his whole body felt like crumbling apart. But he was so used to the process by now, so mentally and physically prepared for it every morning, that disrupting the pattern meant he'd actually lose sleep at night. None of Kana's massages worked anymore, and none of the more inventive methods they'd tried since they'd started their thing really helped either, plus it was unfair for Kana if he had to stay up as well. So on those nights Elstrin just tossed and turned on his own bed and fumed at the dark ceiling, angry at the world and angry at his body's reliance on exercise to shut down, angry and proud at how far he'd come, proud at himself for achieving his goals and proud at Snow for being such a good instructor, angry again at the army's strange brand of suspicion that they treated the cadets to. Looping thoughts that would go on for hours into the precious night, without the pure bliss of exhaustion there to silence them.

  "Cheer up, kid," Lieutenant Fox said, startling him out of his grumpy prediction of how the rest of the day would go. "Snow will be back tomorrow and you won't be stuck with me anymore."

  Elstrin sighed. "I don't mind you, sir. You're just… different, that's all."

  "You mean I don't believe training is synonymous with torture," Fox laughed, handing Elstrin a longbow and a quiver of thirty blunted arrows. "Do you actually like the way he teaches?"

  "Yes," Elstrin said shortly. Why was everyone asking that?

  "So he brought out the masochist in you," Fox accused, grinning.

  "Fuck, please don't put any sexual connotations into it. It's deeply disturbing and very awkward."

  "I didn't say it was sexual. Or even a bad thing. Obviously it's done you some good. Draw—B2, B4, B5, and… C17."

  "Yeah, so good that I can't fucking sleep if I don't train until I almost black out," Elstrin grumbled, speaking as he smoothly loosed four arrows at the cluster of targets to his left, twenty metres away. Three hit the bullseye; the fourth landed between the red and yellow rings of target C17, which was tucked behind two obstacle boards.

  "But that suits you," Fox said, jotting down his score on a clipboard secured to the front of the booth. "Draw—D1 to D12. Your personality fits his training method; you've got such a strong drive to improve that you can achieve something most other cadets would balk at. I'm not necessarily saying you're amazing at everything. Although," he added, watching Elstrin fire a dozen more arrows at a row of targets set only one metre apart from each other, so that to hit them he had to twitch his aim a precise notch to the right, "you are pretty damn astounding at archery. So you shouldn't complain, because if Snow wasn't here you'd probably be even more frustrated at the slow, non-torturous pace the rest of us train at."

  "Thank you, sir." Elstrin lowered the bow and thought about his words. He'd never looked at it that way before, and it made him wonder what he'd be like right now if he hadn't been paired up with Snow on his first day of training. He couldn't fathom finding that fervour back then, though. He'd went in with the desire to advance, sure, but it had taken long, arduous weeks for him to realise that Snow had it all figured out, that he knew Elstrin's limits better than anyone and he was not going to flop down and die at the end of each day, it just felt that way. Now he trusted Snow with everything on the field, because the lieutenant clearly knew what he was doing. With another instructor, it would probably take him ages to discover that pushing his endurance to its near-breaking point was his best way to learn, the best way to satisfy his never-ending urge to get better. He might never have discovered it.

  "Draw—random on Row E, at least three targets apart, just use up the rest of your arrows."

  Row E was forty metres away; he could barely see the targets' pitted yellow centres past the brightness of the sun and dust. Elstrin glared at Fox and fired at the easiest targets he found. He scored only three bullseyes, but at least he didn't miss anything. "Why do you all seem to admire him so much?" he asked, shaking the tension from his arm. "I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but I can't help noticing that everyone seems… a little protective. Like a few weeks ago when I stabbed him—accidentally—and he nearly passed out, Lieutenant Leopard dragged him into HQ like he was dying of blood loss or something. It really didn't look that bad. It was just a flesh wound. He's almost done the same to me a few times."

  Fox gave him a long, unreadable look. "Snow's a good guy," was all he finally said. "A lot of us look up to him as a role model. Stag keeps trying to promote him because he's obviously several magnitudes above lieutenant, but he says he likes staying where he is. Draw. E16 to E28."

  Elstrin pulled the bowstring taut and took careful aim, let go. The muted whoosh of the arr
ow whizzing past his ear was strangely calming. He liked archery; it gave him space to think. "What's wrong with him?" he murmured, drawing again without looking away.

  "Ask him yourself."

  So, the next day, standing at the exact same spot with a slightly different bow and struggling to hit the targets at Row G, Elstrin asked Snow, "What's wrong with you?"

  "G1 to G6," Snow said, reading yesterday's scores, not paying attention.

  Elstrin fired and missed two targets. He swore softly. He repeated his question.

  Snow glanced over. "G2 and G3 again, then the rest of the row. Don't miss. And that's not very nice."

  "Sorry. I meant, why do you keep missing practice?"

  "I don't 'keep' missing," Snow corrected. He nudged Elstrin's elbow a millimetre upwards right before he fired, and his arrow thumped into the target's dead centre. "Don't worry, I'm fine. Really."

  His next few shots, without Snow's help, landed on the edges of the targets. "Okay, you're fine

  and I'm not worrying. I'm merely curious as to why you occasionally miss practice and always try to blame it on the flu when that's really not the case."

  "It's a strange, unique strain of flu that only affects me."

  "Come on, don't lie to me."

  "I'm not. Partway, at least." Snow frowned, watching his latest arrow clack to the dirt ground. "Don't miss."

  "Sorry. Trying. Row G is a bitch." Elstrin fired again and managed to hit the blue ring. "What do you mean, you're not lying partway? That doesn't even make sense. Which bit is true, then?"

  "It only affects me."

  "Okay." Elstrin nodded, wondering why Snow was being so cooperative all of a sudden, when two solid months of questions had gotten him nowhere. "So it isn't the flu."

  "It is, and it isn't."

  "What the fuck? You're giving me a headache," Elstrin groaned. Snow smiled. Bastard.

  "G5, G20 and G22 again." The lieutenant took his time writing the scores. "Scientifically, I suppose it hasn't been classified yet. It probably never will be. But it behaves quite similarly to the common flu virus. It… evolves, and the symptoms get worse before they get better. They're getting better now. So stop worrying."

  "I'm not," Elstrin said, exasperated. "And what I'm so confused about is that you never even showed any symptoms. You just miss training."

  "Yes. Therefore it was the flu virus, and it wasn't."

  "Is it, um… magical?" God, it sounded stupid when he put it like that.

  To his surprise, Snow answered without looking up from the clipboard, "Yes."

  "Oh. What do you mean?"

  "What do you mean, what do I mean? Please be more precise with your questions. We're sparring in ten minutes."

  "Fuck." Elstrin forced his attention back to the distant targets. If he missed now, Snow would make him stay behind and shoot every single target from Row A to Row F without pausing, and he did not want to do that. There were a hundred and eighty targets there; he'd rip his arm muscles to shreds. Apparently the threat of the punishment helped hone his accuracy and reaction in melee training. It was a crazy theory, but the even more bizarre thing was that Elstrin thought it actually worked. Maybe it was just the sense of accomplishment from shooting those faraway Row H targets that made him fight better.

  To his intense relief, he didn't miss. He'd only loosed twelve arrows, taking almost a minute with each, trying to pull on the string just the right amount, aim at just the correct angle. His arms ended up very tired, but he was completely accustomed to the sensation. He exhaled exaggeratedly and clutched at his chest when his last arrow hit the white ring of H10. Snow rolled his eyes. "Well done."

  "Thank you. I was about to ask how exactly your virus was magical."

  "You won't understand unless you start learning about some very advanced principles of magic. I can't explain it."

  "Then why are you telling me all this when I've spent six weeks trying to find out the exact same thing to no avail?"

  "Because I'm recovering," Snow replied with a faint smile, stowing away the bow and arrows neatly. "I'll go get the weapons. It's spears today, and I don't want any complaining."

  He walked away to the weapons shed. Elstrin stared after him. He hated spears, but he found he couldn't really summon much feeling for them today. He was relieved that Snow would be okay, of course, but now he was more confused than ever. It didn't seem like Snow to just reveal so much out of the blue. It seemed too… easy. Almost out of character.

  Or maybe this was what finally being in the loop felt like. He'd been looking for answers for so long, maybe he was just inherently suspicious when the facts were finally given. There was no reason for him to doubt Snow's word; he'd never met a more honest man before. He should give it a few days, allow himself to accept the truth, let it sink in.

  Elstrin sighed, shook his head and exited the archery range. It felt like no matter how much he found out, he was always weighed down by questions. He wondered he would ever get to the bottom of it, or if he was better off just not knowing.

  x

  True to his word, Snow did seem better, as in he stopped skipping training unexpectedly and without warning. Elstrin gradually relaxed (for lack of a better word) back into his old routine, but now it was more tiring than ever because their mid-year assessment was looming closer. It was a hurried scramble for the other cadets, most of whom had been focusing on ranged weapons and had to struggle to polish up their melee combat skills before they were tested on everything they'd learnt up until now. Elstrin was extremely positive he was going to fucking ace everything, but Snow seemed adamant on pretending he was absolute crap by making him practice moves and techniques he could execute perfectly already. Elstrin appreciated the meticulous attention to detail, but for the first time in a while he wanted a break. Just a short one. He wanted to spend more time with Kana, even if it was just huddling together sharing body warmth while they talked or slept through the cold autumn nights, and not being allowed to do so because he trained until eight every evening got on his nerves.

  He didn't want to bring it up, because the direct reason seemed selfish and childish, but he was getting very impatient after his millionth repeat of a basic jab-and-block he'd learnt in his first week here. The sun was setting, and cadets were trooping past him to the cafeteria. He feared if he sliced at the air once more time he would split a fucking atom, he was that precise. He lowered his sword, resisting the urge to throw it down in frustration. Snow gave him a quizzical glance. "That wasn't eighty cycles yet," he reminded Elstrin.

  "I know. Thing is… um, sir," he paraphrased carefully. "I don't think I really need to do eighty cycles."

  Snow looked blank. "Why not?"

  "Because I think it's a little… unnecessary, sir."

  He didn't seem to catch on. "Why are you calling me sir?"

  "Okay, fine, Snow," Elstrin muttered, throwing his hands up. "I can't get any freaking better than

  I am now, okay? At least not with the basics. I don't mind sparring with you, but please stop making me do these goddamn cycles for hours on end. I'll fucking explode."

  Snow blinked. "Oh."

  Elstrin narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you okay? Not going to faint again, right?"

  "Yes, I'm fine," Snow said absently. "Are you saying you'd like to focus more on your sparring skills?"

  "No—well, yes, that'd be preferable to what I'm doing right now, but—" Elstrin sighed and gave up. "I want to end training when everyone else does," he said directly. "Not seven, not eight, but at six. So that's right now."

  "Oh. So you're confident you don't need any extra hours?"

  "Yeah, very," Elstrin said. "But if you think otherwise…"

  "No, it's fine. I don't want you to get a bad score, that's all." Snow still seemed a little distant and unfocused.

  "I won't," Elstrin promised, slowly and clearly. He couldn't believe Snow would consider that even a remote possibility. He was one of the best cadets on the field; anyone with eyes cou
ld see that. "…Are you sure you're okay, Snow?"

  "Yes," Snow replied to nobody in particular. Elstrin wasn't even sure if he'd heard the question. The seconds stretched on uncomfortably until Elstrin broke the silence. "So, uh, can I go?"

  "Hm? Oh, of course. Sorry, I have a lot on my mind today." He took Elstrin's sword and seemed to come back down to earth a little. Thank god—it was highly disconcerting to see him act so strange. Snow gave him a more normal, amused look. "You've never requested less training before."

  "Yeah, well, right now it's feeling pretty pointless, to be blunt. And I never get to spend time with my… friends."

  Snow laughed. "Right. That is important." He nodded towards the cafeteria. "Class dismissed, then."