The Chronicles Of Fone Bone, Oathbreaker

Chapter One: The Dragon's Stair and After

Alas, that Passion should profane,

Ev'n then, that morning of the earth!

That, sadder still, the fatal stain

Should fall on hearts of heavenly byrth-

And oh, that stain so dark should fall

From Woman's love, most sad of all!

-Thomas Moore, "The Loves of the Angels"

An infinite number of worlds swim around each other like froth in a swirled glass. Some worlds are so dissimilar that their differences are obvious, but some are so similar they could never be told apart. Some worlds their inhabitants call the best of all possible worlds.

There are many of those.

This is not one of them.

The story of this world begins where the story of another ended. It begins with a hay cart rolling into the hot dust of a wide desert.

There were figures in the cart. One was a large, muscled creature, the soft violet tint of his fur offsetting the burning red of his eyes and the fierce sharpness of his razor-like claws. The other two figures were pale white, their slick skin exuding sweat. Smiley Bone, as was his wont, thought only of dreams and shadows and bright colors as he lolled his tongue, tasting the sharp sting of the meandering, wind-borne sands. Phoney Bone, always calculating even when he wished he weren't, was considering the long journey before them. They had food aplenty-bland, hard food-but water might be a problem. The rat creature could drink half his weight in a day, as could the cows. Phoney figured they would need to slaughter the cows within a week and strike out on foot. The rat creature could feed off the raw meat and the bones might be able to cook some of it to relieve the monotony of endless bread-thingies. Smiley, Phoney knew, would not be pleased, but Phoney was not interested in pacifying his innocent and emotional cousin.

Phoney was interested in survival.

Phoney sighed. He had been sighing since they first set out on the return journey to Boneville. He had barely had the strength to help keep the cart upright as they forded the river. He had shot accusatory glances at Fone Bone, but Fone had looked away and found reason to be near Thorn and gaze at her pleasant features rather than at the disappointed countenances of his cousins.

Phoney cursed under his breath. His anger toward Fone Bone moved aside, replaced by another consideration of his cold logic: they were in the middle of the desert and had forgotten shelter and sun hats, and pale bone skin was prone to burning. Phoney hadn't thought of that before. Before, all he'd thought about was getting away with Atheia's treasure, but the treasure, too, was gone, replaced by crate after crate of hard, stale rations. In his mind, Phoney could see Fone Bone nestled against Thorn as he rode back to Atheia in victory, the city's treasure in tow. Right that moment, Phoney envied Fone Bone, though he never had before, because Fone Bone was rich and Phoney had only twenty gold pieces.

Fone Bone, who never had more than a few dollars in his life.

Fone Bone, who wasted every precious penny on his stupid books.

Fone Bone, who mooched off Phoney just like Smiley did, but pretended he was so much more respectable than either Phoney or Smiley.

Fone Bone, that bastard.

That thought brought a twinge of guilt. Fone Bone actually was a bastard, though Phoney didn't think he knew. None of the cousins knew much about their parents, who had died, along with a hundred and fifty other bones, in the tragic Custard Pie Incident. Only Phoney was old enough to remember, and only he had spent the painstaking hours researching in the courthouse to learn all he could about their family. As he sat in the stuffy records office in the middle of summer with the sweat trickling from his forehead, he resolved to become wealthy and build an orphanage so other children wouldn't have to suffer as he and his cousins did.