The Chronicles of Fone Bone Oathbreaker

D. G. D. Davidson

BONE is © 2006 by Jeff Smith.

Chapter 4

Prologue: Faerie Dream

Thorn Harvestar, Veni-yan-cari, Awakened One, watchful even while sleeping, moved through dark, shadowed, and fearful dreams. As horrific shapes flitted through her mind, faded, and appeared again, these words arose before her, and they etched into her heart the artful lines of beginning terror:

Tho turning all his pride to humblesse meeke,
Him selfe before her feete he lowly threw,
And gan for grace and loue of her to seeke:
Which she accepting, he so neare her drew,
That of his game she soone enwombed grew,
And forth did bring a Lion of great might;
That shortly did all other beasts subdew.
With that she waked, full of fearefull fright,
And doubtfully dismayd through that so vncouth sight.

She would never know that the words floated out of Fone Bone’s mind to hers as with her Dreaming power she wandered through his sleep. He read them at midnight many years ago when, wearied with study, he bent over one of his esoteric tomes and traced the letters with his finger as he mouthed their strange sounds. They struck his fancy then, though he did not know their import. But Thorn in her wisdom read them with fear, though she would not remember them on waking, for these words had an edge of certainty that comes with prophecy, and it was too late already to thwart their fulfillment...

Birth

The night they threw Rictus in the river, the bones prolonged their revelry by making a bonfire of Fone Bone’s books.

The heap of texts was not very large, so in the middle of the street, they piled logs and kindling and twigs, lit them, and stoked the blaze. As the fire licked the dry air, they tossed in the moldy paperbacks and heavy, leather-bound tomes. As each work struck the pyre, the sparks gushed upward and lit the bones’ gleeful faces; each flash reflected orange in their dark, wet eyes.

Dante roasted in the inferno. Descartes cooked in his own juices. Lord Byron, lying on Goethe, jumped too high and expired in flame. Suetonius, Eusebius, and Herodotus together became an ash heap of history. The bell tolled for John Donne. The scriptures and several Church Fathers smoldered together. Homer burned like Troy. Into the fire went the likes of Emerson, Longfellow, Wordsworth, Tennyson, Whitman, and Browning.

Like Mephistopheles ascending from Hell, an enormous specter reared over the flames. The fire illuminated its underside with a sickly purple, above which great red orbs flashed in the darkness. Raised high above its intimidating bulk was a stark shadow that bore a fearful, flashing beacon. The bones gasped, but then clapped in glee as the phantom took on certain shape.

It was Phoney Bone. He had looped a bridle into Bartleby’s mouth and rode in triumph on his back. Bartleby bore the humiliation with shame and patience.

Phoney shouted out to all the bones, “Th’ rat is tamed! I have broken his will!” The bones answered with more claps and more cheers.

The flash in Phoney’s upraised hand was fire reflected from a large, sharp knife. The Bone cousins owned two relics of their famous ancestor--one was Smiley’s beloved banjo, and the other was the knife in Phoney’s hand, the sole weapon Big Johnson carried whenever he ventured into the wild, the blade known as Piecemaker.

Phoney planted the knife in the sheath on his hip, reached behind himself, and brought forth another prize, the one he had barely rescued from the bones as they looted his library.

It was Fone Bone’s other copy of Moby Dick, the one he didn’t bring on trips. This book was large and heavy with a sculpted leather cover, silk bookmark, and gold-gilt pages. Inside, accompanying the big, luxurious type, were finely detailed woodcut illustrations. It was the pride of Fone Bone’s collection.

Phoney held the book high for all the bones to see. He opened it to the middle and, kicking Bartleby in the side, rode around the fire, parading the book.

He let it drop facedown into the flames. Even as it fell, the pages blackened and curled. The leather popped and cracked. The book struck the heap with a heavy thud, sending bright embers upward in a whirlwind of dying flame. The soot from the disturbed bonfire settled on the bones’ skin and burned holes in their clothes. Ashes were in their mouths.

“We are cleansed,” Phoney announced. “We are cleansed of human filth. This night, we return again to the path of righteousness!”

His voice drowned in the roar. Oh, how he loved the approbation of the mob. This was his meat and drink.

88888

Rictus Bone washed off most of the tar. It wasn’t easy, but he managed it. Naked and wet, he crawled from the river and tried in vain to shake off the cold water. He heard the celebration and could see the reflected fire flickering against a few of Boneville’s skyscrapers. Good. Most of the townsfolk were in one place. It might go ill if Rictus met any of his fellow bones while he was sneaking back into the city.

He jogged through the streets until he reached the mayoral mansion. The jogging made him pant, and he cursed the soft paunch he had built over the last several years.

He had no key anymore, so he broke a window with a brick. Once inside, he ran upstairs to his room and rifled rapidly through the closet. He found his khaki vest, the one with all the pockets, and threw it on. He found a hiking pack with a few supplies in it and shoved it over his shoulders. He threw on a canteen and strapped on a machete. He yanked open a drawer and felt under his shirts, grasping the well-worn ivory handle of his .38 hand-ejector. Rictus drew out the gun and belt and pulled out more shirts until he found the box of bullets. He loaded five slugs in the gun, put the hammer on the empty chamber, and then filled all the rings in the belt and slung it on his hip.

Its weight felt good. Rictus kept the gun clean, but he hadn’t had cause to wear it in ages. He went to the closet again for a sun hat and pulled down his brown fedora. He planted the hat on his head and returned to the mirror on the dresser.

Yes, he looked good. A bit fat, certainly, but he still cut a jaunty figure. He tried cocking the hat a bit--yes, even better.

He slapped himself. “Idiot,” he said aloud. “Stupid old sot. Ridiculous fop! Get a hold of yourself.”

He ran down to the kitchen. A box of matches, a stash of MREs, a few cakes of dried dingleberries. He filled the canteen in the sink. Now it was time to go.

He wanted a cigarette. He searched his pockets for a pack.

No, no, no! No cigarettes! Time to quit overeating and time to quit smoking! What’s happened to me in the last forty-five years?

Through the living room and into the hall. Ready, adventure! Rictus flung open the front door and was startled to find a figure standing there, hands on hips as if waiting.

“Annie Bone?” Rictus asked. “What are you doing here?” Another glance answered his question. She was wearing a sunbonnet, knapsack, windbreaker, canvas skirt, and a rather ridiculous pair of suede hiking shoes.

Annie looked up. Even with the lights off, Rictus could make out her face. She was a young thing and pleasant looking enough, though her eyes looked gigantic because of the thick-lensed, horn-rimmed glasses she wore. Her brown hair was done up in a bun held together by a pencil.

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

“Like hell,” Rictus answered.

“Watch your language, Mister Mayor, and I’ll brook no argument.”

“You’ll brook your butt back home, is what you’ll do,” Rictus said. “And that’s ex-mayor. Why does a nice girl like you want to wander the wilds with an old man?”

She took a step through the doorway and leaned on the frame. “You’re going south to Portsmouth, and I want to come.”

“What makes you think I’m going south to Portsmouth? I could be going north to Craponia or west to the Valley of the Full-Figured Gals, or--”

“The humans like you, Rictus. You have friends in Portsmouth and you’ll be going there to mount an expedition.”

“You’re talking nonsense, Annie.”

“You heard everything said by the riverbank, and you’re going to put together a band of humans to stop Phoney Bone from invading this valley across the desert.”

Rictus stared at her. “When you trained for that teaching certificate, did you take a class on clairvoyance?”

“A few on common sense,” Annie replied. “I know you, Rictus. I voted for you three times.”

“Well.” Rictus chuckled with closed lips. “It is hard to argue with that. But why in the world do you want to come with me?”

She lowered her gaze. “I’m...worried about Fone Bone.”

He grunted. “You and he were friends, weren’t you?”

“Something like that.”

“You know the trip south is dangerous? We could run into thermites or bone-suckers.”

“I know the risks.”

“You ever seen a human?”

“Not up close.”

He licked his lower lip. “Can you keep up?”

“With an overweight, sixty-five-year-old bone? I think so.”

Rictus patted his stomach. “I’ll have you know there’s still a lot of muscle under here! You should have seen me in my prime, back in the war! But never mind that. You equipped?”

“As prepared as I know how to be.”

“It’ll have to do. We need to get out before Phoney’s little party breaks up.”

88888

The sun was not yet up, but the sky had turned pale orange over the Eastern Mountains. Fone Bone again stood on the balcony of his room. A cool wind tickled his skin.

Lying beside Thorn, he had slept deep and awoken early. As the coming sun renewed the day, so Fone Bone felt a renewal within himself. Though the night before had much of darkness about it, on reflection Fone Bone was at peace. The guilt that had earlier seared his heart was gone. When their lips had touched, he had felt that Thorn was not truly giving herself to him, but now his imagination purified her actions and reestablished her as the Ideal of Woman. She had to be. He had given up too much to find that she was anything else.

He took a deep breath and let it out.

No, he was not at peace. His heart hurt. He was in turmoil. How could she? How could she?

There was an image of a perfect Thorn in Bone’s mind, but that Thorn was not Thorn. The retiring, modest, chaste woman did not exist, for she never would have done what Thorn had done.

The image cracked.

Fone Bone’s mind floated back to that warm afternoon when he had walked with Thorn to the Hot Springs and they had bathed together. As the memory rose in him, he was angry. He had been disappointed then with her immodesty because it violated his ideal. But he had ignored it, even pretended it didn’t happen.

He had struggled to keep his eyes off her, but he hadn’t entirely succeeded. Her body had both intrigued and confused him, but most of all his eyes had wandered to her hair and the way it curled, darkened and drenched, against her glistening shoulders. He had longed to reach out and fondle those strands, but he had been too afraid, and along with fear, he felt rage at his own weakness. He was angry that he was too weak to act on his desires, and angry that he had the desires at all.

He clutched the rails of the balustrade and slammed his head against them. No, she’s not like that. It isn’t like that...

The image cracked, but it did not shatter. Fone Bone steadied his breathing.

The French door behind him slammed open. Fone Bone jumped and turned around.

Gran’ma stood over him. “Fone Bone!”

“Gran’ma? What--?”

“The Gitchy. And a good thing, too.” Gran’ma grabbed his arm and dragged him back into the bedroom. Gran’ma pointed to Thorn, who was writhing in pain on the bed. Fone moved to run to her side, but Gran’ma held his arm.

“How long as she been like this?” Gran’ma asked.

“I--I don’t know.”

“Why is she in your room?”

“Er...”

Gran’ma pointed to the door. “Get the Headmaster. And find Mermie; she’s an accomplished midwife.”

“A what?”

“Get her, Bone!”

Frantic, Fone Bone ran. The tower was dark, cavern-like, always dank, and lit by a few thin windows and occasional smoky torches. Fone Bone chased his own shifting shadows as he sprinted up and down the stairs shouting, “Headmaster! Mermie! Headmaster!”

They came running. Mermie, calm as always, was still in a dressing gown. “Thorn’s sick!” Bone cried. They followed him.

After Fone Bone had herded them to his room, he ran to Thorn’s side. He could see now that her abdomen was distended so that it jutted from her body like a globe, and her dress was stretched painfully tight. She was gasping and occasionally crying out. Gran’ma was kneeling beside her, clutching her hand.

The Headmaster looked at Thorn and pulled back his hood. “How could she be pregnant and no one notice?”

“I don’t know, Headmaster,” Gran’ma said.

“What’s wrong with her?” Bone asked, biting the ends of his fingers in panic.

“She’s pregnant, Bone,” Gran’ma snapped.

Fone Bone tried to think. He was a reader. He knew lots of words. Pregnant, pregnant. That meant full, right? But that made no sense. Words could be pregnant. Silences could be pregnant. People--

“Full of what?” Bone demanded, but nobody paid attention.

“However it happened, it happened,” Mermie said. “Fone Bone, why don’t you go boil some water?”

“Mermie!” Bone admonished. “This is no time to make tea! Thorn’s sick!”

The humans stared at him.

“She’s not sick,” Mermie said. “She’s having a baby.”

“A...?” Bone’s face was blank.

“But who is the father?” the Headmaster demanded.

From the bed, Thorn grunted, “There...is...no father... This...is impossible!”

A baby? Bone wondered. A baby?

Could it be?

“She couldn’t hide this!” Gran’ma yelled.

“...I...didn’t...hide...” Thorn panted.

A baby?

“I’m the father,” Bone whispered.

“What?” asked Gran’ma, rising from her knees.

“I’m the father,” Bone said. “I’m...I’m sorry, Gran’ma. Last night, Thorn and I--we kissed. I’m sorry! It happened so fast--”

“Fone Bone, what tomfoolery are you talking?” Gran’ma demanded.

Always practical, Mermie asked, “Fone Bone, how do bones have children?”

Fone Bone blushed. “Well, the usual way, I guess--”

“Describe it,” Mermie insisted.

“Uh...well, usually a couple of bones get married and then, you know, they kiss, and then...then the Stork comes.”

Gran’ma crossed her arms. “The Stork? Bone--”

The Headmaster cleared his throat, fumbled with his hood, and paced. “The Stork is a spirit being similar to the Locust. His duty is the perpetuation of life.” The Headmaster turned a dark gaze on Fone Bone. “It would not...entirely surprise me if the Stork visited the bones in a direct fashion. It might explain their latent Dreaming powers.”

Gran’ma looked back at Thorn. “You mean...?”

The Headmaster wrinkled his copious nose and fiddled with his hood as he glared at Thorn’s swollen abdomen. “This child is the product of an unnatural union, a creature of chaos.”

“...Unnatural...?” Thorn said through grit teeth.

The Headmaster gazed again at Bone. “I once said that I was uncertain if you had saved or destroyed us, Fone Bone. We may soon learn the answer.”

“Aaah!” Thorn cried. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead.

“She is definitely in labor,” Mermie commented. “This baby has developed in only a few hours, and I think it’s still developing. It’s too fast for her body to handle.” She pointed to Thorn’s swelling stomach, which, even as they watched, appeared to be growing larger.

Gran’ma knelt beside Thorn. “Thorn,” she whispered. “You have to go under. Use the techniques the Headmaster taught you--”

“...Hurts...” Thorn complained.

“I know it hurts, dear,” Gran’ma said. “You have to go under. Rebuild your body from the inside. You have to do it to save yourself--and the baby.”

Thorn’s water broke. Amniotic fluid and blood spread across Fone Bone’s bed.

“Ohmygosh,” Bone gasped. He covered his mouth and rushed onto the balcony. He hauled himself up the balustrade and emptied his stomach into the flowerbed three stories below. Clutching the rail, he sank to his knees.

He had never imagined anything like this. This was not how it was for bones. This was not how it should be. Wracking pain, gushing fluids. These were images of death, not life. The possibility had occurred to him as they kissed that the Stork might bring a child, but not like this--to put the baby in the woman and force her to expel it--did all humans have children this way? It seemed so unspeakably cruel.

Gran’ma was grabbing him. “Fone Bone, get in here!”

“I...can’t,” he sobbed, feeling nausea rising again. “I can’t, Gran’ma. Please don’t make me watch any more...”

“Get in here, Bone! She’s calling for you.” Gran’ma didn’t wait for Fone Bone to stand. She clutched his shoulder hard and yanked him back into the room.

The Headmaster and Mermie were dragging Thorn off the bed.

“It’ll be worse if she stays on her back,” Mermie said, voice still calm. “Get her to her feet, or her knees if she can’t stand.”

“Unnnghh!” Thorn groaned through clenched teeth. She sank to a crouch. “Where...where’s Fone? Fone?”

Fone Bone tasted acid in his throat. He ran to her side. All his earlier desires for her now turned to revulsion, but he controlled himself and said, “I’m here, Thorn.”

She clutched for his hand and he took it.

“Get this dress off her,” Mermie instructed.

Gran’ma looked around and found Thorn’s sword belt hanging from a chair. She drew the blade and, with a swift flick, slit Thorn’s dress down the back.

“That’s one way of doing it,” Mermie agreed.

Mermie and Gran’ma yanked off her ruined clothes.

“!” Thorn gasped as she clenched her teeth and scrunched her face.

“How far apart are the contractions?” Mermie asked.

Thorn’s body shook. It was almost a minute before she could speak.

“...I...I don’t...!”

“They’re coming on top of each other,” Mermie said.

The Headmaster held Thorn’s face. “Your Majesty, listen. Whatever is happening, if you are to survive this, you must dive into the Dreaming.”

“...Can’t...”

“I will help you. Remember your exercises.” He placed two fingers against Thorn’s forehead. “Follow my voice, Your Majesty. The Dreaming fills and surrounds us. It hums. It rumbles deep within the Earth. We can feel its vibrations, its pulse, the pulse of all living things. It moves through us. It lives. It is the Old Time, the New Time, All Time. We are brought forth from its depths and to its depths we return. The mortal world is its shadow, but you must walk in the light.”

Thorn fought the pain and focused her mind on his words until she was able to see them as a stream, and she entered the stream, moving with it, turning--

Her soul broke loose and went down. Her body was a shell that had grown too large for her. The sides of the shell were sticky and clung, but she pulled away and dove toward her center. A void opened. She swam into it. Inky darkness engulfed her and the pain ceased.

A light shone below her. She knew that light, and she was careful to keep her gaze away from it. It was her Center, and one who dared to look at it could never return. To view one’s Center brought powerful feelings of peace, love, and communion--so powerful they could be neither denied nor escaped. Thorn had rescued Fone Bone from that brink when he touched the Crown of Horns and their souls met. She used her willpower to save herself from it now.

She hovered above the light in the cool, dark void. She knew only shadows around her, and she could not read them. She had to open her Dreaming Eye, but she hesitated--when her Eye opened, the pain would enter her again.

She opened her Eye.

For a moment, she shot back into her body, but only for a moment. There was a sharp stab, a foul smell, and an image of the Headmaster’s hand before her face, but then that disappeared and she was back in the void.

The void had changed. She directly apprehended all things in her vicinity. She knew, without physically seeing or feeling, that Fone Bone’s hand was still clutching hers. She knew the Headmaster still touched her face, and his power flowed into her, strengthening her.

She wrapped herself in that power, augmenting her own, and stretched out.

Her Dreaming Eye pulled in the streams of the Dreaming and sent them back changed. Thorn assessed her body. Her uterus was torn. She was bleeding internally. Her bones were disintegrating as the rapidly expanding baby hoarded her calcium.

She searched across tissues, organs, chemicals. She knew none of their names, but she understood their natures and purposes.

She stretched out beyond her body and examined her surroundings. There were few sources other than the people with her. She could easily extract from them everything she needed, but she rejected that possibility.

There was sunlight streaming through the window. She examined it, found it to consist of photons. She tried coagulating them and pressed billions together before they finally collapsed into a single quark.

She took stock of her surroundings again. The temperature in the room had dropped several degrees. There was not enough energy here to perform her task.

She stretched out further, then further still. The world shrank below her until she reached the sun.

Here was energy. She condensed energy into matter until she had the building blocks of several atoms. She began constructing calcium and potassium ions. She opened a funnel in space-time to beam the particles back to her body and place them where she needed them.

She looked back to the sun and realized she was creating a massive cool spot that was spreading as a black mass across its surface. With her heightened awareness, she recognized that she was increasing the risk of a dangerous solar flare.

She closed the funnel, backed away, and considered.

She swept her consciousness through near space and found a hot yellow dwarf only fifty light-years distant. She stretched to it--yes, it was perfect. It was several times more massive than her sun.

She began again, constructing the atoms and ions necessary to rebuild her tissues. She opened the funnel and sent the newly created matter back to her body, placing with it an avatar of her consciousness to ensure that the building blocks were properly assembled.

The cells to repair the breaches in her tissues--those would be the most difficult. She assembled several of the pieces, such as the RNA strands, ahead of time to ease her avatar’s task, since it had only a fragment of her mind. She asked it for regular reports, however, and knew that it was rebuilding her body properly.

Thorn reflected on the appalling scope of her god-like powers. She had never gone this deep into the Dreaming before. She never would have thought it possible to search the universe and change its substance. Gran’ma and the Headmaster, she was sure--no, she apprehended as fact--had no idea she was capable of this, yet she did it with ease. It was almost as if she had assistance. It was impossible that the Headmaster’s added power, miniscule beside her own, could enable her to accomplish this much.

She set up a new avatar to take over her task at the star and she returned to her body along the funnel.

Again, Thorn hovered in the void, but it was a void no longer. It was full of something, but something Thorn could not identify. She frowned. Nothing should be able to hide from her within her own soul...

A shape emerged from the darkness. The void had condensed into a moving body and gathered around itself a swarming cloud. It was like a tornado seen from a distance, but one that was human in form. It had four massive limbs that tapered at the ends like claws. Its torso was thick like a pillar, and topping that pillar like a sinister capital was a gigantic Dreaming Eye gaping like a mouth. The Dreaming, appearing as cords and streamers of light, fell into the Eye in a swirling torrent like a whirlpool threatening to swallow the universe.

Its Eye fell upon her. Thorn’s powers paled beside this thing. Its Eye was growing closer, and Thorn felt it tugging at her. If it drew much nearer, it would swallow her soul and absorb it into itself.

In a panic, Thorn expanded until the void and the horrifying thing within it shrunk to nothing and dissipated like a dream. She was back in her body. The pain of her labor wracked her and the noise of the room crashed on her ears like a flash flood--

“Push!” Gran’ma and Mermie shouted together. “Push, Thorn!”

“Aaaaahhh!”

Thorn pushed.

Time passed. Blood flowed. Pain seethed. The baby continued to expand in her womb, unwilling to leave it. But Thorn was a Veni-yan-cari. She used her powers, and, at last, Thorn gave birth. A rush of endorphins spread through her blood. Exhaustion and euphoria overwhelmed her and, with them, unconsciousness.

The Headmaster knew when to get out of the way, so he stepped aside. Gran’ma caught Thorn and held her upright. Mermie caught the baby, snipping and tying off the umbilical cord.

As she did so, the infant uttered a piercing shriek. It shot up Mermie’s arm and, with a pucker-like mouth, latched onto her throat.

Mermie screamed. Fone Bone grabbed the baby and ripped it away. Mermie fell back to the floor and clapped a hand to her jugular. Blood sprayed from under her fingers.

Fone Bone stared at the infant in his arms, and his mouth fell open. He held the child high--it was grotesque with pale, corpse-like flesh, fingers already developed into scythe-like claws, and a round mouth full of needle-like teeth dripping with Mermie’s blood. But Fone Bone saw none of those things. His earlier revulsion melted like snow in a blast furnace.

“My stars,” the Headmaster gasped.

“My son,” Fone Bone whispered.

As Mermie’s blood drained to the floor, Fone Bone’s heart filled with joy.

88888

South of Boneville lay the newly planted fields. Between the plowed rows, a long, unpaved road wound a meandering path southward. To the east, the river was high, brown with mud, and flowing in a broad torrent. The road followed the river’s path but was broken by numerous stone bridges fording the gushing streams that ran out of the west from the towering Big Bum-Smack Mountains. The mountains were lower near Boneville, for the city nestled at the base of the treacherous Broken Bone Pass, but the Big Bum-Smacks grew larger to the city’s southwest until they were massive, rugged spires capped with glaciers and snow that never melted, even in the hottest summer. As the early morning sun shone on them, the mountains seemed topped with fire instead of ice, and a trail of golden snow, whipped out by the wind, bloomed from the highest peaks. Some of that wind tumbled down the mountains and added a cold bite to the air, but the sun’s rays were hot and promised a warm afternoon. The fields were full of the clean smells of the country--the fresh perfume of flowers in bloom and the moist scent of morning dew with a tincture of manure of horse and cattle.

As the rising sun opened this lovely day, the sweet voice of a young bone maiden drifted across the fields, intermixing with the singing of the robins and meadowlarks:

“It was a lover and his lass,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,

That o’er the green corn-field did pass

In the spring-time, the only pretty ring-time,

When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;

Sweet lovers love the spring.”

Rictus Bone stopped walking and bent his head back in exasperation. “Annie Bone,” he said, “you have a beautiful, lilting voice. Now shut up.”

Annie strolled up beside him. “Honestly, Rictus. It’s a beautiful morning and it seems right to sing as we travel.”

Rictus released a long, aggravated sigh. “We aren’t traveling, Annie, we’re escaping. If you’d put half as much energy into walking as you put into singing--”

“Oh no you don’t!” Annie said, shaking a finger at him. “I’ve kept up, haven’t I?”

“If ‘up’ is about fifteen paces behind--”

“None of that, Rictus! You’re the one who keeps stopping to catch his breath.”

Rictus straightened his vest and began walking again. “Hmmph. I’m not as young as I used ta be, Annie. I’d think you could at least learn some proper respect fer yer elders. What’s got you in such a jolly mood, anyhow? I’d’ve figured you’d be pretty sour knowin’ all those books were roasted.”

“Not as sour as Fone’ll be,” Annie answered. “Very well, Rictus: that was mean, what they did, and I’m still worried about Fone and I wonder if he’s all right, but...I love walking in the fields in spring! Sometimes I meander down this path while reading Leaves of Grass.”

Rictus rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You oughta be more serious, Annie. We’re heading outta the Boneville environs and into the wilds. See that ahead of us? That’s the Night Forest. It’s dark and cool and teeming with thermites. That’s no-bone’s-land. And on the other side of that, we’re in human territory.”

“Oh, so what?” Annie asked. “You’re on good terms with the humans. You don’t fear them.”

“I do,” Rictus protested. “I cultivate a respectful fear for anything that can hurt me. That’s how I’ve lived so long. I fear a bone with a gun, and I fear a human anytime. A full-grown human can pick you up and break you in half if he’s of a mind to. I fear ‘em, and I suggest you do the same. It was not fearing that got me in this mess--I didn’t fear Phoney because I didn’t know he could hurt me, and now look.”

“You don’t think the humans will hurt us, do you?”

“I don’t know what they’ll do.”

The gravel road dwindled to nothing as they entered the forest. Leafy trees cast cold shadows interrupted by hot shafts of sunlight. Birds flitted among the branches and sometimes burst in droves out of the underbrush. Liberal helpings of Spanish moss draped the trees and the ground was thick with lichen. Annie eagerly watched the shadows and was rewarded with the sight of deer prancing rapidly away and into the woods. Whenever a gap in the trees appeared, she was able to look up into the green, steep-sided foothills and spot gushing, white waterfalls.

Rictus pulled out his machete and hacked whenever blooming rhododendrons, tangled vine maple, or thorny dingleberry bushes blocked their way. He guided Annie on a straight path along the river, and they often had to ford small, burbling brooks or make their way across deep, fern-enshrouded gullies where the moss grew wet and became a thick, slimy coating on the black rocks. These dank gullies left their skin prickling with chill moisture. The birds chirruped in the trees and the sound of the roaring river and the splashing of the streams made shouting necessary if the bones were to hear each other.

They approached a wide tributary at the base of a large fall. Crouching under the torrent like a patient water-troll was a jumble of granite boulders tinted green with slime wherever the water did not strike with its fullest force. A broad pool lay around the heaped stones, and there the water received a calm respite between the tumultuous tumble of the fall and the burbling rush downstream. Scattered rocks lay in the pool, allowing the bones to jump their way across.

Nimble for his age, Rictus leapt from stone to stone until he landed on the opposite bank. Annie, her windbreaker damp from the fall’s spray, followed and almost made it, but she slipped on a patch of moss and fell. She would have landed in the water, but she caught herself with her hands as her legs splayed to either side. With some effort, she pushed herself upright and made it to shore, panting.

Rictus crossed his arms. “Why don’t you get rid of those things?”

“What things, Rictus?”

“Those silly shoes! Sooner or later, you’re gonna hurt yerself.”

She adjusted her skirt. “If you must know, Rictus Bone, the pads on my feet never developed properly and I can’t walk over rough ground without my shoes.”

Rictus’s sour expression collapsed. “Oh--uh, sorry.”

Annie brushed droplets from the sleeves of her windbreaker. “Now, if you’re done catching your breath--”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, scowl returning. “I’m in better shape than you. Let’s go.”

Their progress slowed as the forest became thicker. The day grew old, the sunlight faded, and Rictus found an elevated patch of ground, which he cleared of brush. He built a fire, and the bones prepared their evening meal and sat opposite each other, chewing in silence.

Rictus stoked the fire, swallowed, and spoke.

“So when are you gonna ask me?”

Annie wiped her mouth. “Ask you what?”

“If I really stole the money.”

“I wasn’t planning to ask you at all.”

Rictus leaned back against a tree. “Aren’t you even curious?”

Annie’s expression soured as she reached for her canteen. “I didn’t come out here to discuss politics.” She emphasized the last word as if it were obscene.

Rictus nodded and looked away from her as he chewed his lip. “Well, if that don’t beat all. No, I guess we can’t get pure little Annie Bone’s clean white hands soiled with anything so dirty as politics, now can we?”

Annie glared.

Rictus chuckled. “Let me tell you something, Annie Bone. I live in the real world. I fought a war. I governed a town. You smarty-pants intellectual types--I mean you and Fone Bone and those like you--you think you’re so damn smart up in your damn ivory towers with your damn books, but you know what you are? You’re lazy, that’s what. Ancient history, romance, poetry--all that stuff you read--it’s escapism, that’s all. Pure escapism. You live in your books, and you wouldn’t know the real world if it bit you on the butt.”

Annie sipped her canteen and said nothing.

Rictus waited.

Finally, to break the silence, Annie said in a quiet, timid voice, “At least I’m cultured.”

That sent Rictus laughing.

It was true enough. Annie did not live much outside of books. She taught kindergartners in the morning and spent the rest of her day at the library. Her apartment was an absolute mess and she knew it, but cleaning could take away from her reading time. She was young yet, and she’d been told once or twice she was pretty, but she was heading for spinsterhood; she couldn’t recall if she’d had a date since her high school prom.

She read anything she could find, but she particularly thrilled to Arthurian romance. Over the years, the image of the gallant knight had grown in her mind, and in her unguarded moments she pictured the likes of Sir Galahad galloping up on a white charger and sweeping her away to some magical land where there were no bills to pay or apartments to clean, and all was adventure and love and quests. And as she cast a critical eye on the eligible men of Boneville, she drew the conclusion that they lacked the makings of her knight in shining armor. And more and more, she noticed that the books that drew her were not penned by bones, but by humans. And now when she realized that she was actually going to Portsmouth and actually going to see humans, she wondered about their males.

And she shuddered as she wondered, because the thought was repulsive.

The only bone who interested Annie was Fone.

He was hardly a knight in shining armor, but at least he liked to read. Annie frequently saw him at the library, sitting at the big table surrounded by his stacks of books. He was always hunched over some formidable-looking text. She sometimes sat across from him with her own reading and sometimes he would glance up. He might even smile.

She started rushing home after work to make sure her makeup was fresh, to make sure her hair wasn’t out of place, to brush her teeth before heading to the library. And though she told herself that what she really intended was to read, she felt disappointed whenever she arrived and Fone Bone was not sitting in his accustomed place.

She couldn’t seem to gather the nerve to talk to him. Months went by and they exchanged a few smiles, but nothing more. Finally, one day as she saw him putting his books away in preparation to leave, she spoke to him.

“Fone Bone?”

He looked at her, but his gaze seemed distant.

“Oh, hello, Annie Bone.”

She swallowed her nervousness and held a thick book out to him. “I...I see you reading in here, and, um, I thought you’d really like this.”

He took the book and looked at the cover. It was Malory’s Morte Darthur. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to read this. Eventually.”

He handed it back to her.

“Um, it’s mine,” she said. “Keep it.”

The next day she found out that Fone Bone was dating Jeanne Bone. Annie was jealous. And embarrassed. And annoyed--she would have thought Fone had better taste: Jeanne didn’t read anything except Cosmo Bone.

Annie’s jealousy ended a few weeks later when Jeanne and Fone broke up, but Annie’s anxiety returned. He was the only bone in Boneville with whom she had anything in common, yet she could not figure out how to approach him. All the heroic epics could not give her the bravery to do one simple deed.

With difficulty, Annie Bone pulled back to the present and stared at Rictus across the cooking fire.

“You’re right,” she said.

He raised a floating eyebrow.

“You’re right,” she repeated. “I don’t know how to live. The real world scares me, and I hate it.”

Rictus nodded. “I stole the money,” he said.

They bent over their cooling food and chewed in silence.

88888

General Thintook of Pawa prowled through his small quarters, waving his hands in agitation. “I do not understand,” he said. “I just do not understand.”

Thintook’s lieutenant, Astynax, was lounging on the general’s bed. He knew better than to interrupt when Thintook was in one of his moods, so he clasped his hands behind his head and gave himself a small smile of satisfaction.

“I’ve been courting her now for a week,” Thintook said, still waving. “A week, and still she has not responded to my proposal. If she does not intend to marry me, why doesn’t she send me home? I have a kingdom to rebuild as well. I can’t afford to lounge in Atheia while our people starve!”

Astynax cleared his throat. “I suppose we could return to Pawa. If she’s such a slow mover, perhaps you could continue your courtship by courier.”

Thintook harrumphed. “It’s a perfect match. It would reunite our lands. I don’t see why the decision should take any time.”

“Perhaps it’s because you’re twice her age,” Astynax suggested.

“Bah! Why should that matter?”

“Perhaps, like many children, she’d rather marry for love.”

“Bah again! Marry for infatuation, is more like it. And she’s a queen--the Harvestars have always taken advantage of such political opportunities when they have arisen.”

Astynax cleared his throat again and prepared to make a more delicate suggestion. “Perhaps it’s because you led the attack on the city.”

“Bah and double bah! If she held a grudge, she’d send me away in contempt or even slit my throat, not hole me up in temporary and inadequate quarters and walk with me in gardens.”

Astynax shrugged.

Thintook went on. “Intolerable! I expected droves of suitors when I arrived. It’s been ages since an unmarried queen ascended the throne. I expected lines of men out the gate with Veni-yan turning away the most obviously undesirable. But here I am alone, and still she procrastinates.”

“It is peculiar,” Astynax agreed, rolling over on the bed. “She’s quite a looker, too.”

Thintook snorted and turned to gaze at the wan light pouring through the thick, colored glass in the window.

“Perhaps,” Astynax said, rolling onto his back again, “perhaps she hesitates because there is another.”

“I’ve seen no other.”

“Well...” Astynax said, twiddling his thumbs in front of his face, “I’ve taken a few opportunities to sample Atheia’s fine ale and wine...”

“You’re a drunk,” Thintook said.

“Whenever opportunity arises, milord, but my habit affords many chances to acquire the latest gossip, since wagging tongues are always to be found in taverns.”

“As long as yours isn’t one of them,” Thintook answered, turning around. “What have you found out?”

Astynax unclasped his hands and cracked his knuckles individually as he said, “Rumor has it the queen is, ah, intimate with the little bone creature, her minister, what’s his name...Fun? Fun Bone? Anyway, such is the rumor.”

“Ridiculous.”

Astynax pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and held it out. “Take a look at this.”

Thintook strode to the bed, snatched the paper, and opened it. He scanned the lines and wrinkled his nose as he said, “What is it?”

“Appears to be a love poem, milord.”

“Bloody stars, it’s awful.”

“Indeed. I found it on the balcony over the garden. The ‘Thorn’ of the poem is obviously Her Majesty. I compared this to a few official documents penned by the Fun Bone and it’s his handwriting. Do you see the line about her being in his arms?”

Thintook crushed the paper in his fist. “What could a woman possibly see in a little...?”

Astynax sat up. “She’s young yet. She may simply be confused. The bone did help her kill the Locust, they say. And she may be allowing you to court her as a show. After all, if it were known she were intimate with the bone creature, she would be disgraced.”

Thintook tossed the balled paper back to his lieutenant. “This is inconsequential.”

Astynax caught the paper and raised an eyebrow. “Lord Thintook, forgive me, but I must say...the Atheians may let their women be had by whoever wants them, but you are a general of Pawa. If you married the queen and did not find her to be a maiden, you could not display the nuptial cloth after your wedding night. You would be dishonored.”

Lines of anger stretched across Thintook’s brow. “Atheians! A pox on their arrogance and a pox on their queens! I’ve a mind to find the queen this moment, or find this bone. If there’s truth in this rumor, I shall have it out!”

“Milord,” Astynax said, clearing his throat again, “may I suggest...”

Thintook stormed to the door and threw it open. He stepped into the narrow hall, and as he did, he saw Fone Bone walking down a nearby stone staircase. Serenity lay on Bone’s face, and he carried a small, white creature wrapped in cloth.

Fone Bone saw the general and stopped. Bone smiled and held up the bundle. “It’s ours,” he said in a dream-like voice.

The face in the bundle was a nightmare. A perverse mixture of human and bone, it stared at Thintook out of rolling, blood-shot eyeballs encased in black, slit-like ovals. Under its rounded nose that contained only a single, lopsided nostril, its circular, sucker mouth opened to show wet, inward-curving teeth rimming a gaping black pit. The baby hissed, and the sound chilled Thintook’s blood.

Face blank, Thintook stepped back through the door and closed it.

Astynax stood from the bed. “Milord?”

“Bloody stars,” Thintook whispered. “Bloody hell.”

88888

It had been a quick but difficult birth. Thorn lay in her own bed, too sore to move, and stared at the heavy oak beams bracing the ceiling. Gran’ma sat next to her, holding her hand.

“Gran’ma?” Thorn mumbled.

“Yes, dear?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, dear.”

“What’s going to happen now?”

“I don’t know, honey.”

“I didn’t know...”

“I know you didn’t, Thorn. I don’t blame you.” Anger underlay Gran’ma’s voice.

Thorn squeezed her hand. “Don’t--don’t blame Fone Bone, Gran’ma. He didn’t know...that I didn’t know.” She bit her lip. “I kissed him first. It’s my fault.”

Gran’ma sighed and hunched her back. “Thorn, don’t feel too guilty. You have done no worse than your own grandmother.”

Thorn turned her head to look at her. “What do you mean?”

Gran’ma sighed again and turned away. “Oh, dear. I...I should have told you this...when I told you everything.”

Thorn scowled. “Grandmother?”

Gran’ma swallowed, took a breath, and said, “Your mother was a bastard child, like your son.”

“Gram...”

Gran’ma covered her face. “Lucius is...was...your grandfather.”

Thorn struggled upright. “Gran’ma,” she said again through grit teeth.

“I’m sorry, Thorn.”

Thorn pressed a hand against her head. “That’s why he and Briar never married. She knew--and that’s why she hated you so much.”

Back still turned, Gran’ma nodded. “That’s one of the reasons, yes.”

“Grandmother!” Thorn shouted. Tears flowed down her face. “Why didn’t you tell me? All this time with my grandfather and I didn’t know? How many more secrets do you have from me? What else are you protecting me from?”

Gran’ma dropped her hands into her lap and looked back at Thorn. “This wasn’t protection, Thorn. This was shame.”

Ignoring the pain, Thorn rolled over and turned her back to Gran’ma. Her tears soaked her pillow as she dug her teeth into her lip.

“I’ll let you be,” Gran’ma whispered. She stood and tiptoed from the room.

Next: Portsmouth