The Gate of Bones (7 page)

“I was thinking,” he said slowly, his voice catching up with a mind that had, indeed, been sunk in thoughts as deep as the ocean, “that it seems to be awfully easy to start a war, and impossibly hard to stop one.”

A vibration rolled through the dragon's body, warming it, and Jason felt the amusement in the beast. “And this revelation just occurred to you?”

Jason scrubbed his hand through his hair again. It was growing, and he needed a haircut, he realized, and the family barber was . . . what, a whole world away? He wondered if any of them, exiled as they were, had bothered to bring scissors. Maybe Trent or Henry could invent them.

As for family . . . he hadn't any, not really, except his stepmother and his stepfather, his own parents having died, but his world, he realized, had been his family. And now that was gone. He'd given it up, fleeing willingly to this world of Haven to which he'd opened a magical Gate, and it seemed that his action, like so many others, had been taken without much thought to the consequences. Like scissors being left behind. And hamburgers. Computers. Television. Laws and lawmakers. Soccer. Or as Bailey would add, her freckled face quirked in a longing smile,
chocolate.

The dragon, he realized, was waiting.

“I guess I never thought about it that much. I mean, we're always fighting about something at home, terrible fights that go on for generations and people do what they can to stop them, but there always seemed to be . . . I dunno . . . hope.” He sighed at that.

“And you've no hope here?”

“Not yet.” He would have scratched his nose, but he realized he'd been fidgeting, and the dragon talon chair that wrapped about his lean form could grow impatient with him. “It's my fault for drawing Jonnard and the Dark Hand after us, and I've got to do something about it. I didn't know who else shared Haven, but I've brought in something terrible, and I'm the one who has to deal with it.” The realization that he had personal enemies who would stop at nothing had finally sunk in.

Another hot rumbling passed through the dragon's scaled body, and Jason realized the creature was laughing noiselessly. The dragon lowered his immense muzzle to Jason and eyed him with one of his great, glowing eyes.

“Then let me make your acquaintance,” he said. “It is an honor, if dubious, to meet the young man who single-handedly invented war and conflict.”

Jason pushed at the dragon's nose, turning the muzzle a little away from him. “You know what I mean!”

“And you know what I mean. You're no more responsible for war than I am for rain. Nor are you culpable for Jonnard's actions. I agree that you must find a way to deal with him, and soon, or he and Isabella will cause much misery here in Haven. Yes.” The dragon's gaze deepened a moment, and he lifted his head and looked off over the Iron Mountains ringing the valley, as if he could see very, very far away. “Misery and death, and more.”

Jason didn't want to think how anything could be more than death. A shiver danced its way down his arms. “What should I do?”

“Sometimes, the best and hardest thing to do is . . . wait.”

“Wait? I can't wait—”

“There are other fates in play besides yours, Jason. I did say it might be the hardest thing to do.”

Jason shook his head. Every day meant the Hand grew bolder and stronger, and the towns and villages about Haven suffered. He didn't know what he could or should do, but he did know he couldn't wait much longer to do something. “No other advice?”

“Don't you mean, no better advice?”

A blush heated his face. “Kinda, I guess.”

The dragon belched a puff of smoke, its version of a snorting laugh. Jason waved the cloud away from his face, coughing. Now Bailey was going to complain till he bathed! Nothing worse than a nonsmoker around a dragon-smoked person. Before Jason could venture much else, alarms began to sound, faintly heard up on their plateau but heard all the same, just as he'd felt in his dreams.

Jason jumped to his feet. Before he could grasp his crystal and focus on returning, the dragon shoved his nose between Jason's knees, dumping him back onto his neck, even as the beast ran forward and launched himself off the mountaintop.

Alarms. Death, and other things, Jason thought, as he wildly grabbed for a hold on the scaly neck and they descended at breakneck speed down into the valley.

B
AILEY WOKE to noise, rolling over in her cot as Ting groaned. “There have got to be quieter ways to wake up,” her friend said. Horns wailed and howled like the famed hound of the Baskervilles.

Bailey rubbed her face. It seemed like she had just closed her eyes. She stared at the rough ceiling of the sixth-floor east wing dorms, marveling for a moment that there
was
a ceiling overhead, and feeling a bit of chill in the air. “Is the sun even up?”

“I don't know,” answered Ting sulkily. She stood, and began to braid her long black hair away from her face. “I will rise, but I won't shine!” She reached for her clothes, folded in a neat pile on a three-legged stool in the corner. Bailey's things hung in a helter-skelter fashion from a hook on the wall. Well, three hooks, actually . . . and one had slipped down to rest across her boots. As she reached for her blouse, it stirred and the little kangaroo rat, the pack rat Lacey, poked her whiskery face out curiously.

Above them, the roof sounded like a pack of goats stampeding over them. “Boys are up,” she commented, as she laced her tunic and pulled her boots on.

Bailey dressed quickly, her pulse beginning to race. “This is serious,” she said. “I think there's real trouble.” She could feel an uneasiness dancing in the air. “You don't suppose they found out about my map. . . .”

Ting nodded. “Me, too.” She rubbed her fingertips across the crystal charmed-bracelet she wore. The gems woke at her touch, gleaming softly with all the colors of the rainbow. The two looked at each other. “They wouldn't sound the alarms for that. They'd just pull us in and lecture our hides off.”

“True!” Bailey wrinkled her nose and tried to lighten the mood. “I can't decide if we look good, or if we look like refugees from an old Renaissance Faire.” She tugged on the hem of her blouse.

Ting nudged her. “We look good!” She sprinted for the staircase. Bailey was hot on her heels, Lacey tucked securely in a pocket of her bodice, chittering as they raced downstairs. The clattering of their hard-soled boots seemed a dim echo of the thundering of the boys across their ceiling, but all emerged, at the same time, into the yard of the Iron Mountain Academy where Gavan Rainwater and Tomaz Crowfeather awaited them.

Tomaz still dressed as the modern Navajo he was, but Gavan had reverted to the clothes of the age he knew best, breeches and boots, vested shirt, and flowing cape. He had been trained in magic in the golden years of the true Renaissance, even though a magical war had ripped him out of time and sent him forward to the twenty-first century. Now he'd returned. Somewhat. None of them were quite sure
what
the world of Haven was, or could be, or had been, except that Jason had found safety for them there. Yet it was neither safe nor their home, really.

The wooden-framed building that would be their academy and home was still far from finished, yet enough had been built to provide shelter that thundered with the running footsteps of the others. It had been built in two wings, like a giant V against the rust-colored Iron Mountains, and only its seventh and final floor gaped open, unfinished and unroofed. The wanderers who labored on it would return soon, to get the job finished before the autumn rains started. Then, Gavan had more plans for the academy, before winter's cloak flung itself over all of them, but pride etched his face as he looked at the structure and the teens tumbling out of it.

Only Jason didn't appear. Stef came thudding down the back stairs last, shrugging his vest into place. He never wore shirts anymore and only the last few days had he even started, reluctantly, to wear a vest over his fuzzy-haired chest. His great feet stayed, mostly, in thickly strapped sandals. He looked almost as furry in his human shape as he did in his bearskin shape when he changed, and a summer of sun had tanned him a rich golden-brown all over. Rich was the only one of them to have stayed in his original clothes. The others had either grown or just worn their regular world clothes to bits. Rich had stayed in beige cargo pants and a sleeveless sweat top, but he wore a deeply pocketed tunic over it.

Trent looked almost piratelike, having hit a growth spurt which made him taller once again than Jason. His hair had darkened to a sandy brown, and he wore it in a single braid at the back of his head. He stayed in his jeans, but their length had shrunk and shrunk on him till they hit nearly mid-calf. His ankle boots were cuffed under the bells of his pants, and Bailey always fought the urge to say “arrrr!” when she saw him.

She didn't expect Henry; he was on one of his brief trips back to their own world, the only one of them who could slip back and forth without causing much of a stir. She could only pray he'd bring some chocolate back with him although there were so many important things they needed. Her mother and Ting's grandmother leaned out of a second-story window, watching. They waved but stayed up in what would one day be real classrooms, keeping an eye on the horizon. It was Magickers who gathered anxiously about Gavan and Tomaz, young Magickers, in answer to the alarms at dawn.

And that was not all. A weary, lathered horse carrying a bedraggled rider stood there, Gavan's hand on the bridle and Tomaz murmuring soft words to the animal who looked as if he could drop in his tracks. As the rider unfurled his dirty cloak, and the sun brightened from dawn into daylight, Bailey could see his face.

“Renart!”

“Indeed,” said Tomaz gently. “It has been long, my friend, since you've visited.” He took Gavan's hand from the animal's harness and pressed the reins into Bailey's fingers, as he helped Renart swing down. “He needs walking, Bailey, slow and sure.”

“But . . . but . . .” The leathers felt cold and stiff in her hand from the night weather, and the horse snuffled at her mildly. She didn't want to miss the excitement, and shifted from foot to foot.

“Here,” Tomaz said, “would be fine. In small circles. You'll not miss a word.” He winked at her, the expression deepening the creases in his own southwestern-marked face. With a blush, she began to lead the tired horse about.

“I think I broke his wind,” Renart managed, his own voice hoarse and cracked.

“No. You used him hard, but these mountain horses of yours are sturdy. The question is: why?” Gavan brushed his hair from his piercingly blue eyes, and peered at the Haven trader.

“Dire need, and I was sent here.”

“After being forbidden to see us and having your Trader Guild license pulled?” Gavan folded his arms and sat down on the step of the academy. He gestured for silence as the boys ranged around.

The alarms blew one last, quavering call, clarion trumpets in the wind, and Jason appeared from the mountainside of the academy, looking disheveled and wind rumpled, and smelling of hot metals like copper and brass. He always smelled like that, Bailey thought, when he'd been with the dragon. His hair had streaked light blond from the summer in the wilderness, and he had made a headband out of his old blue-and-white soccer shirt, to keep it pulled back. Pants of dark indigo dye were tucked into his boots, and he wore a long-sleeved white shirt under a matching indigo vest. He spent a moment tidying himself up, before flashing a sheepish grin at Gavan who muttered something about dragons and alarms.

And Bailey thought it had been Renart who'd set off all the noise! She pondered the skies behind the Iron Mountains but saw no sign of the beast, except for the massive stone gate carved in its likeness leading into the mountain and nowhere, unless Magick opened it. Yet its presence had set off the elaborate warding system the elder Magickers had ranged about the valley.

Renart's horse, exhausted as it was, tossed its head, letting out an anxious whinny as it rolled white-rimmed eyes at Jason. The dragon scent put it near the end of its endurance and it trembled. Bailey put her hand to its soft nose, and spoke gently, her voice unconsciously imitating that of Tomaz.

Renart collapsed on the step beside Gavan. The boys said nothing, but grouped together, waiting. Rich, ever on the alert for illness of any kind, fished through a large hide pouch he wore over his shoulder, and drew out a small bottle, and a cup. He half-filled the battered cup and handed it over. “That will help,” he said.

“Many thanks, young Magicker,” the trader said, grasping it and pulling it close with his six-fingered hands.

Rich blushed to the roots of his fiery red hair. “Any time!”

Gavan waited till Renart had emptied the cup. Then he coaxed the story from the trader. “Our success here came from you, my friend, from those early days of bartering and trading that kept us going. You were blamed and banished for that, and we owe you much. You say you were sent here? Or are you risking further punishment for coming? And what drove you so hard?”

Renart took a deep breath, the color coming back to his face. “Sent,” he said quietly. “By Chieftain Mantor, of Avenha.”

Gavan's brows arched. His deep blue eyes lost the last smudge of sleepiness at the trader's words, and he sat back, awaiting the rest of Renart's explanation, keen interest crossing his face.

“I was asked to attend the Hunter's Moon,” Renart continued. “Surprised, since few talk to me, and I lost my guild status with my license.”

Trent made a noise of outrage, but Renart gestured, dismissing the tall boy's indignation. “It's all right. It's temporary, and like the tides, a trader's life is full of highs and lows. We all expect it. I would not have done any differently, even knowing that. You were outlanders and most intriguing.” Renart paused, smiling faintly, as if remembering. He plowed ahead again. “At any rate, I could not refuse Mantor. He's a shrewd man and holds much power, not only within his lands of Avenha but in many neighboring areas. His word even carries to the high steppes and the capital. If he traffics with me, others will follow. So I went. Mantor was expecting raiders.”