The Gate of Bones (5 page)

Bailey shook her head slightly. “Not exactly. I mean, yes and no . . . Henry can bring back chocolate chips, but what if I run out? No. There's other things that have to be here. I've been reading it and looking it over, and this is where I'd like to go tomorrow. I can't wait any longer. Well, today,” she amended, looking at their shuttered window. She pulled a scroll from under her pillow and unrolled it beside the glowing crystal. She tapped it. “Here.”

Ting peered at it. The trader's hand markings and scratchings were impossible for her to decipher, but she knew Bailey had been working at it for weeks. It wasn't so much a different language barrier, as that traders used guild-taught secret marks on their maps, often hiding their findings from outsiders. Secret routes to caches of spices, furs, precious metals were meant to stay secret. But Bailey, like Renart and her mother Rebecca, had a nose for other curiosities. The richness of the world did not rest in gold or diamonds. Ting smiled at her. “I'll go,” she said. “I still don't know where or for what, though! You know I can't read that.”

Bailey let out her breath. “Actually . . . I think these are unicorns. I'm not sure, but . . . it seems like it.”

“Unicorns! Bailey, that's not possible.”

“Think about it! Really think about it. See, this is our world.” Bailey took out her crystal. At her touch, it lit softly, with a violet glow. She picked up Ting's crystal and moved them close. “And this is Haven. Now we know they're the same, but not the same. Some
when,
they separated. But they still touch in places, for moments.” Gently, she clicked the two crystals together. Their glows seemed to merge into a third, hazy glow. “Look what's crossed over! We know that happens. Jason has his dragon—”

“Actually,” corrected Ting, “I think the dragon has him. If it is a real dragon.” She paused thoughtfully. “Sometimes I think it's just a mass of energy, and a dragon is the way it appears to us, you know?”

Bailey didn't know. She had only the barest idea of what Ting was saying. She frowned. “People have crossed over. And dogs. And horses. And other things.”

“The people here have six fingers.”

“Well . . . that is odd, I'll admit, but Anne Boleyn had six fingers. Some people do!”

“And have been called witches because of it, but that's something different altogether. Maybe it's just a genetic thing that happened and stayed.” Ting hugged her knees tighter. “But unicorns. What if that's just some wild rumor, some trap set by the Dark Hand to get us to go wandering?”

“What if it isn't? What if it could help your grandmother and . . . and everyone else?”

“My grandmother is doing fine here.”

“I know that. I know she looks stronger, but it's cancer, Ting. You don't know what we can do to fight it here.”

Ting pulled on a strand of her blue-black hair. “She won't go back. She says she can feel the bones of the earth here, and it strengthens her. I can't make her go back.”

Bailey leaned forward intently, her hands full of the glowing crystals that cast a dancing light through the entire room. “What if what she feels are unicorn bones?”

The two girls sat in a long silence. Then Ting said, “How did you get permission to go look?”

“I told them I thought I could find chickens, wild chickens. From what Renart told me, anyway, there might actually be. And we could use a steady supply of good eggs, rather than just what we can steal from the nests around here.” They were careful about what they took, not wanting to diminish the natural population around the academy grounds.

“True! Oh, yum . . . scrambled eggs with cheese! That sounds even better than unicorns, at the moment.” Ting shivered hopefully. She lay down, and as if in answer to her growing quiet again, the light from her crystal began to dim as Bailey set it back down on the stool between their cots. “But sleep first, right?”

“All right,” Bailey agreed, if somewhat reluctantly. She rolled her scroll map and tied it before stowing it back under her pillow. “Sleep sounds good. But not as good as chocolate,” she added firmly, before diving into the depths of her blankets. She smiled as she pulled her covers tightly about her. Ting thought her a bit crazed about the unicorns, but she was willing to go for the adventure anyway. That's what friends were about. And maybe they'd find something wonderful.

 

Three floors upstairs, a deeper voice with a growly under rumble to it, stated, “Rich. I'm hungry.”

Another squeaky cot shuddered in the nighttime as its occupant rolled over with a groan. “Stef. Man. You're
always
hungry.”

“I can't help it. I'm eating for two here.”

“The way that bear cub side of you is growing, I'd say you were eating for a whole flock of bears. Flock? Herd? What do you call a bunch of bears?”

“Other than hungry? I dunno.”

The two boys lapsed back into silence. It sounded almost as if Rich's heavy breathing verged on the edge of a mild snore when Stefan said, again, “Rich. I'm
starving
here.”

A sigh. Then a crystal flared white, sending the room into near daylight brilliance as Rich sat up. “All right, all right,” he muttered, combing his fingers through his wild red hair which stood up at every angle. “Let's go get you something to eat.”

“Thanks, Rich!” said Stefan happily, as if it had been Rich's suggestion all along. He heaved himself to his feet, all stocky and square and looking not unlike the bear he morphed into when he willed it and often when he did not. His stomach growled as if seconding the wisdom of Rich's suggestion.

Downstairs, they found a wheel of cheese and pulled it out of cold storage, along with a slender knife, and a loaf of bread, and sat eating simple sandwiches. Rich had one, eaten slowly and deliberately, after cutting off the crusts and making sure nothing was out of order. Stefan gobbled down four big-fisted sandwiches before letting out a contented sigh that turned into a belch, and reaching for one last slice of cheese, without the bread, declaring he was full. He frowned a bit then, golden-brown brows knotting between his blue eyes.

“I miss FireAnn.”

“So do we all.” Rich had his heels up on the rough kitchen table and immediately dropped his feet to the floor as if the fiery Magicker with the thick Irish brogue might come in and berate him for his manners.

“She could cook anything,” mourned Stef.

“She still can. She's just not with us, that's all. Jonnard and his crew dare not touch her. Or Eleanora. Especially,” Rich added darkly, “Eleanora.”

Both boys lapsed into silence at the thought of the young and beautiful Eleanora, stricken by the sudden aging that mysteriously hit users of Magick and who had been sent into a coma so she would not age. Then her sleeping body had been stolen by Jonnard and his followers of darkness to keep her hostage, along with FireAnn. Rich wrapped up the remains of the wheel of cheese almost fiercely. To his relief, there was a great deal left. He knew that they had to manage their rations and yet Stefan always seemed to be hungry, always seemed to be needing more than his share.

“Things,” Stef said, “aren't always what they seem.”

Rich straightened up the table and cleaned the cheese knife. “No? What was with you and Madame Qi today?”

He shook his head. “I can't study her way. I try, but I feel like I have to fight it. I do try, Rich.”

“I hope so. I mean, they're just trying to help you.” Rich stopped eating for a moment, and watched his friend's face. “We can't have you breaking into your bearskin at the drop of a hat. It's hard on you, and all of us.”

“I know,” he said heavily. “But her way isn't working. So . . . well, I haven't given up.”

“No?”

“No.” Stef's heavy voice sounded even deeper than usual and more firm. “I'm going out scouting tomorrow.”

“On free day? I thought you'd sleep or something.”

Stef shook his head. “No. Scouting. And then lessons.”

Rich put his hand on the back of a chair. “Lessons? In what?” He blinked.

“I've been learning how to swing a sword.”

“You what?”

“Yup.” Stef colored slightly but with pride. The warmth flooded his big, square face.

“You're kidding me? And you go where to learn that?”

“Renart's town. There's a lass. . . a girl. . . there. Her father's the swordsmith. She's giving me lessons whenever I can get there. And, hmmm.” Stef cleared his throat. “She's pretty. She thinks I'm . . . well . . . they've heard of other shapeshifters, skinwalkers, see? She thinks I'm heroic. Someone who could be a great warrior, you know?”

“Well. I'll be.” Rich sat down, and looked at his friend. “That's great, Stef! But don't be taking this hero thing too seriously yet. You have to learn what you're doing! You could cut off a toe or something until you know, you know?”

“I know,” rumbled Stefan glumly. “Bear doesn't take to lessons well, but we're trying.”

“So, it's better than Madame Qi's way?”

“Much better. Bear wants to fight, not flow like a river. Or something like that.”

“And she's pretty.”

“Yup!” Stef brightened again.

“Wow.” Rich considered his friend. Stef was not a rocket scientist, but he had good common sense, except when the bear had control of him body and soul, and . . . well, he guessed they were all growing up. Stef was as big now as most college fullbacks. The Magick seemed to bring growing spurts to all of them. “That's great,” Rich added. “Really great.”

“It's nothing much.” Stef looked closely at him. “Don't go making it out more than it is. I just like her, that's all, and the bear doesn't scare her.”

“And she's pretty.”

He grinned foolishly. “That doesn't hurt either.”

“Anyone else know?”

“Gavan knows I go. I Crystal there and back. He watches, makes sure I do it right, so I don't get lost. He promised not to tease or anything.”

Rich crossed his heart. “I won't tell anyone.”

“Good. Come with me tomorrow, then?”

“Gee. Well. I . . . hmmm. Swords aren't for me, Stef.”

“I know. Go to the market, look at the herbs and stuff, scout around. You might hear something I don't.” Stef folded his great hands, faint scars across the knuckles from years of playing football. He leaned forward. “There has to be word of 'em, somewhere, Rich.”

Rich thought a moment. While he wasn't into mingling with strange crowds . . . who knew what germs and fevers they carried . . . still, the allure of new herbs and intriguing gossip drew him. He nodded his head. “All right, then. Tomorrow we go adventuring!”

Stefan beamed. He lumbered to his feet. “Now,” he announced, “I'm sleepy!” He made his way to the back stair without waiting, and Rich scurried to catch up, crystal in hand, lighting their way.

 

And still the night wore on uneasily.

J
ASON KNEW HE WAS dreaming. He moved through it as though striding through real life, yet knowing he wasn't and unable to break the dream and awaken. It gripped him like a tiger with steel-trap teeth. He walked through a fortress or castle, its stone walls leaning in on him, his footsteps hammering on the floors and the hairs on his arms standing up as nervousness ran through his body. He did not know the place, but it felt as if it knew him and had been waiting.

He walked alone, but he was a Magicker and knew he was no longer ever truly alone except, perhaps, in his dreams. Somewhere nearby his friends slept . . . Ting, Rich, Stefan, Bailey, Trent, and Henry, although Henry slept in another world that night, off on a mission for them all. Somewhere, farther off, his enemies slept as well. Hopefully. Things Magickal were far more mysterious and dangerous than even he had ever dreamed.

Everyone dreamed, of course. Some remembered their nights and some did not, and he usually did not worry about his except that, once in a blue moon, his dreams were achingly clear. This was such a time. Jason would have awakened, rolled over, punched his pillow, and ignored it if he could. Where he slept now was not the comfort of his old bed, and what he used for a pillow probably wouldn't take punching very kindly, and the fact that he dreamed in spite of it all told him it was important. Maybe he was a Prophet instead of a Gatekeeper. So, with both fear and curiosity, he continued to walk into the dream.

A pair of immense wooden doors, lashed together with black leather and ornate bronze nails, loomed at the end of the stone passage. With no idea of what he would face beyond them, dread filled him. Jason raised his hands in readiness to push them open, and found his fingers clutching his crystals, one in each hand . . . the lavender crystal in his left and his gold and blue accented crystal in his right. No dream yet had been so real. He could feel the faceted edges of the gems cutting into his palms. Should he wake or should he stay? What faced him behind those doors? He thought he'd made the decision to go forward and find out, but now he found himself hesitating yet again. Wake up! Or could he?

The doors creaked open, swinging inward before he even touched them. The thought struck him that, gripped by the dream or not, he should take the chance to turn back. It was, after all . . . only a dream. Wasn't it? But curiosity prickled at him, as much as fear, and so he took a deep breath. After all, he'd seen a great many strange things since he'd become a Magicker. Jason marched into a great hall; a group of people swung around to face him, the clamor of talk dropping into a low murmur, a ripple of acknowledgment rolling toward him. The cavernous room, with its elaborate stone arches, seemed like the interior of some great, aged castle or fortress—except that it wasn't. Aged that is. It looked fairly new, the stone raw and clean rather than worn and stained with time.