David Wells - Cursed Bones

Bragador got up and turned to the door that was not there. Alexander willed it to open with a thought and she started to leave.

“Bragador, I would like to be your friend,” Alexander said.

She stopped, turning to face him again with a sad little smile.

“Alexander, you are my friend,” she said. “If you weren’t, I would have eaten you by now.”

***

She was red with a hint of gold that glistened in the setting sun. Three rows of spikes ran the length of her back beginning with the crown of three horns that swept back from her brow. She banked hard, cutting into the evening breeze and turning impossibly sharp before losing her center of gravity and tumbling through the air out over the ocean.

Alexander held his breath as Anja rolled in the sky, falling out of control. Her wings flared out and started to right her but she tried to gain thrust too quickly and wasn’t strong enough to pull out of the free-fall.

Bragador floated overhead, barking orders to her daughter in the guttural language of the dragons.

Anja spread her wings again, quickly folding them straight up, then gradually spreading them out, inducing a spiral that slowed her until she was able to turn into a dive, lock her wings and begin to ride the air currents back up to the level of the platform where Alexander stood, assisted by a cane, watching her flight practice.

Bragador was a stern taskmistress, running Anja through a grueling series of aerial maneuvers over and over again. Her exacting demands combined with Anja’s hard work paid off with remarkable gains in her ability to fly safely, even while performing some very complicated aerial stunts.

Several days prior, Jack had presented Alexander with a beautiful cane, hand-carved from a piece of driftwood.

Alexander never realized how much he cherished the ability to walk. His leg hurt when he tried to put any weight on it, but he felt exhilarated at the same time. It took a few days of work before he felt confident enough to venture out of his Wizard’s Den.

Once he had mastered using his new cane, he went to watch Anja fly every afternoon. When he wasn’t watching her, he was practicing his clairvoyant illusions, using Jack as his observer, but try as Alexander might, Jack could always find something wrong with the illusion. On top of that, he was still unable to integrate movement, let alone speech.

He needed a way to act. The winter was just beginning, but it would be over all too soon and then the killing would start in earnest. Phane was poised to strike a terrible blow to Ruatha, while Zuhl would almost certainly reengage on Fellenden. These days of reprieve during the winter were vitally important for coordinating a strategy between his allies, and yet, his magic was failing him.

Alexander turned to the sovereigns for counsel.

“What’s transpired since we last convened?” Balthazar Reishi asked.

Alexander gave the sovereigns a full report of his healing and his limited success with his illusion magic. He also told them of his conversation with Bragador, as well as his growing fondness for Anja.

“First and foremost,” Balthazar said, “you must not take the dragon child with you when you depart. I cannot stress this enough. Bragador has forgiven you much, but if Anja accompanies you to war, she may well die. Dragons are not invincible, especially very young dragons. And they’re very hard to hide.”

Alexander cut him off with a raised hand.

“I agree, Anja will stay with her mother when I leave. What I need is help with my magic. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’ve visualized myself from every angle and I can even project a pretty good image, but I can’t make it move without losing clarity.”

Balthazar nodded to Constantine.

The Third Sovereign leaned forward.

“I recall a conversation I had with Benesh late one evening a very long time ago. He confided to me that his illusion magic was unworkable when he first discovered it within himself. Only after he learned to be the illusion rather than see the illusion was he able to create the visions he was so renowned for.

“In your practice, are you seeing the room from the perspective of your illusion or from elsewhere?”

“Always from a third point of view,” Alexander said.

“Try it from the perspective of your illusion,” Constantine said. “It’s now clear that the magic of my brother lives on in you. That fact may be just simply helpful, or it may be of great significance.”

“There have been so few adepts,” Balthazar said, “for you to possess a link to the firmament from two such wizards is unique. Such a thing cannot be without risk. Be vigilant. Record your magical experiences with extra care over the coming weeks and consult your notes frequently.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Alexander said.

“That was almost unsettling, Alexander,” Jack said. “You were right there in front of me, carrying on a conversation, and at the same time you were right there in bed, lying still like a corpse.”

“It’ll work for now,” Alexander said. “I’ll be out for a while. There’s a lot to do.”

It took the better part of an afternoon to get used to seeing through the illusion. Then it just snapped into place and Alexander was there, seeing and hearing everything as if standing in the place his illusion occupied. He could move and talk and hear and be there in every way except the real way.

But it worked. He had the ability to act.

He methodically followed the well-worn path in his mind that led to the firmament and then he was in the endless ocean of creation-a moment later he was floating in a room half a world away, looking at his wife. He willed a perfect image of himself into place.

Isabel gasped, putting her hands over her mouth and looking at him with wide eyes as she stood frozen with a mixture of hope and surprise.

“How? Is it really you?” She reached out, taking a step forward.

Alexander shook his head. “Illusion.”

“So you’re still on Tyr, then,” Isabel said, then flinched like she’d been slapped. “Wait! Don’t answer that. In fact, don’t tell me anything of any interest to Phane. I can’t be trusted, Alexander.” She stopped again and looked at him with longing. Approaching slowly, she reached for his face but found only emptiness. A tear slipped from each eye as she closed them in pain.

“I’m safe, well and healing,” Alexander said. “Why did you leave?”

“I had to,” Isabel said. “I was a threat to you. I couldn’t live with myself if I killed you. I won’t, no matter what. This is how it has to be for now.”

“We could have found another way,” Alexander said.

Isabel shook her head.

“This was the only sure way.”

“And what if you get yourself killed?” Alexander asked.

“Better that than killing you,” she said.

“You can’t die,” Alexander said. “I need you.”

Isabel reached for him again, then stopped, turning around in frustration.

“I wish you were really here,” she said. “I miss you terribly. I didn’t want to leave, but I had to. You don’t know what it’s like, always second-guessing your own thoughts, questioning if it was really your thought. I can’t trust myself with your life right now, so I can’t be anywhere near you until I can.” She turned back around, facing him sternly with tears running freely down her face. “Deal in what is, not what if. This is what is.” She motioned to the locked room that had become her home in Karth’s secret fortress.

“You’re right,” Alexander said, drawing himself up. “Report.”

Isabel looked at him quizzically for a moment before smiling slightly and beginning a full accounting of her journey from Tyr to this place and time. She was thorough, yet concise, and delivered the entire summary without a hint of emotion.