The Bone Doll's Twin

by Lynn Flewelling

  “Don’t joke!” Tobin warned. “If the Harriers heard you even joking, I think maybe they’d come for you. Niryn scares me. Every time he’s near me I feel like he’s looking for something, like he thinks I’m hiding something.”

  “He looks at everyone that way,” Ki mumbled, slipping fast toward sleep. “All those white wizards do. I wouldn’t dare get around any of them. But what have we got to worry about? No one is more loyal than we….” He trailed off into a soft snore.

  Tobin lay awake for a long time, remembering the strange feeling he’d had around the wizard, and the secret enemies the man had spoken of. No traitor had better approach him; as little as he might care for the red-bearded wizard, he’d keep his promise to him if any man asked him to betray the rightful ruler of Skala.

  Chapter 47

  Think it was worth it to them?” Ki whispered to Tobin as Korin and his revelers straggled up for the morning run the next day. Porion was watching them, too, looking like a thundercloud about to burst.

  Garol’s purging hadn’t done him any good; he was as green as a leek and swaying on his feet. The others were less wobbly but very quiet. Only Korin, who’d seemed the drunkest, was his usual self. His morning greeting to Tobin was contrite, however.

  “I don’t suppose you spared any kind thoughts for us after we left you?” he asked, giving Tobin a sheepish look.

  “Did you have fun in the city, Your Highness?” asked Ki.

  “We got as far as the gate this time before Porion caught us. We’re all to do a penance vigil after training, to cleanse the poisons from us, as he put it. There’s to be no wine at table for a month.” He sighed. “I don’t know why I do it. You will forgive me, won’t you, Tob?”

  Tobin hadn’t been angry in the first place, and Korin’s pleading smile would have melted river ice on Sakor’s Day. “I’d rather you come in my front door, that’s all.”

  Korin clapped him on the shoulder. “Then it’s peace between us? Good. Come on, let’s race these laggards to the temple!”

  Tobin and Ki led the pack easily today, but Korin kept up with them, laughing all the way. Tobin knew Ki had his doubts about the prince, but he found himself liking the older boy almost as much for his faults as in spite of them. Even drunk he was never gross or cruel the way some of the others were, and it never seemed to affect him afterward. Today he looked as fresh as if he’d spent the whole night sound asleep.

  When they’d finished with the temple devotions Porion ran them straight to the archery lists. It was a clear, windless morning and Tobin was looking forward to besting Urmanis, with whom he had a running rivalry.

  As he took his place at the mark and drew the first shaft to his ear, however, the belly pain that had plagued him over the past several days took him again, this time with a sharp, sudden stitch that made him catch his breath and release without aiming. The arrow flew wild over a knot of girls watching nearby. They scattered like startled birds.

  “Tobin, have you got your eyes open?” shouted Porion, still in a foul humor.

  Tobin mumbled an apology. The pain passed, but left him tense and awkward.

  “What’s the matter, Prince Wildcat?” Urmanis chuckled, stepping up for his shot. “Snake crawl over your shadow?” His arrow sped true to the center of the bull.

  Tobin ignored the jibe and nocked another shaft. Before he could draw the pain came again, gripping his bowels like hot claws. Tobin swallowed hard and made himself go on as if nothing was wrong, not wanting to show weakness before the other Companion. He took aim and released in one smooth motion, only to find Brother standing there in front of the bull as the shaft took flight.

  The spirit hadn’t come without being summoned since that day at his mother’s house. The day he’d found her ring.

  Brother was mouthing something but Tobin couldn’t make it out. Another cramp took him, worse than the last. It was all Tobin could do to stay on his feet until it passed.

  “Tobin?” Urmanis wasn’t making fun anymore as he bent to look into Tobin’s face. “Master Porion, I think the prince is ill!”

  Ki and Porion were at his side at once.

  “It’s just a cramp,” he gasped. “I ran hard—”

  Porion felt his brow. “No sign of fever, but you’re pale as milk. Were you sick in the night?”

  Brother stood close enough to touch now. “No. It just took me now, since the run.”

  “Well then, you’d better go back to your bed for a while. Ki, see that the prince gets to his bed, then report to me.”

  Brother stayed with Tobin all the way back to their chamber, watching him with unreadable black eyes.

  Molay insisted on helping him into bed while little Baldus hovered just behind. Tobin let them pull off his jerkin and shoes, then curled into a tight ball as a new wave of pain struck.

  Ki shooed the others back and climbed up beside him. Pressing the back of his hand to Tobin’s brow, he shook his head. “You’re not feverish, but you’re in a sweat. Baldus, go fetch Sir Tharin.”

  Tobin could see Brother standing behind Ki now, shaking his head slowly. “No, just let me rest,” he gasped. “It’s probably that pudding we ate last night. I shouldn’t eat figs.” He gave Ki a rueful grin. “Just leave me with the pot, all right? Go back and tell them I’m all right. I don’t want that pack of drunkards gloating over me.”

  “Is that all?” Ki let out a relieved laugh. “No wonder you ran out of there so fast. All right, then. I’ll carry your message and come right back.”

  “No, stay and practice. I’ll be right soon. Porion has enough people to be angry at today.”

  Ki squeezed his shoulder and then pulled the curtains around the bed.

  Tobin listened to him go out. He lay very still, wondering at the strange sensations in his belly. The pain was not so sharp now, and seemed to come and go like waves that made him think of the tide on the beach. As the pain receded, he was aware of another, more unsettling sensation in its wake. He got up and made certain there was no one in the chamber or dressing room. Then, with the curtain pulled tight all around, he undid his trousers and pulled them down to find a small wet stain where the two legs joined. He stared at it, puzzled. He was certain he hadn’t soiled himself.

  Brother was with him again, staring.

  “Go away,” Tobin whispered, his voice faint and shaky, but Brother stayed. “Blood my blood—”

  He stopped, throat tight with fear as he gauged the position of that stain. Reaching down with shaking fingers, he felt under his privates, still so small and hairless compared to those of the other Companions. On the wrinkled underside of the sac, he felt a patch of sticky wetness on the skin. He stared at his fingertips in alarm; even in this light he could see that it was blood. He could hardly breathe for fear as he reached down again and felt desperately for some sore or wound.

  The skin was unbroken. The blood was seeping through like dew.

  “Oh, gods!” He knew what this was.

  Plague. The Red and Black Death.

  All the street-corner mummeries he’d watched came back to him, and the tales the boys shared around the hearth. First you bled through your skin, then huge black sores swelled under your arms and in your groin. In the end you thirsted so badly you’d crawl into a gutter to drink filth before you died vomiting out what blood you had left.

  On the heels of this came Lhel’s words again. You see blood? You come to me. It had been a vision after all.

  “What do I do?” he whispered to Brother. But he already knew.

  Don’t be tell nobody. You love your friend, you don’t tell him, Lhel had warned.

  He mustn’t tell Ki. Or Tharin. Or anyone else he loved. They’d want to help and they’d catch it, too.

  He looked around at the bed he and Ki had shared. Had he made his friend sick already?

  You love your friend, you don’t tell him.

  Tobin tied up his trousers and climbed out of the bed. Ki would never let him go off alone. Neither would Lord
Orun or Porion or Tharin or anyone else. He found his tunic and got it on before pain pushed hot red fingers through his belly again, making him grit his teeth and curl forward. The seal and ring clinked against his chest inside his shirt. He pulled them out and clutched them like talismans, feeling very alone. He had to get to Lhel.

  When the pain receded he went into the dressing room and buckled on his father’s blade. I’m nearly tall enough to carry it, now that I’m dying, he thought bitterly. Let me at least be burned with it. There’s no one left to pass it to.

  He heard servants talking out in the corridor; there was no escape that way without being seen. Throwing on an old cloak, he knelt and felt at the panel that led to his cousin’s room. As Korin had warned, he couldn’t open it from his side, but Brother could and did.

  Korin’s room was similar to his own, but the hangings were richer and done in red and gold. He also had a stairway from his balcony down to the gardens, and Tobin made use of it to escape unseen.

  As Ki had feared, Porion kept him at practice half the afternoon. The shadows of the thin pines were stretching into their chamber by the time he finally returned to their room.

  “Tobin, how are you?”

  There was no answer. He went to the bed and pulled back one of the heavy hangings, thinking his friend must still be asleep, but found the bed empty.

  Puzzled, Ki looked around the room. There was the discarded jerkin; Tobin’s sword and bow still hung on the carved rack where he’d left them. There were a dozen places his friend could be, and normally Ki would have been content to wait for him to show up or to meet him at the nightly feast, but Tobin’s sudden illness had left him uneasy in his mind.

  Just then he caught the scuffing of feet on the balcony and turned to see Tobin framed in the brightness of the doorway. “There you are!” he exclaimed, relieved. “You must be feeling better.”

  Tobin nodded and walked quickly into the dressing room, waving at him to follow.

  “How are you feeling? You still look pale.”

  Tobin said nothing as he climbed to the top of the old cupboard that stood in the dressing room.

  “What are you doing?” Tobin wasn’t acting himself, Ki thought. Perhaps he was really ill after all. Even the way he moved seemed odd, though Ki couldn’t quite say how.

  “Tob, what’s wrong? What’re you after up there?”

  Tobin twisted around and dropped a dirty cloth bag into Ki’s hands. The move brought them face to face for the first time since Ki had come back to the room.

  Ki looked up into those black, staring eyes and began to tremble. This wasn’t Tobin.

  “Brother?”

  In the blink of an eye, the other stood just inches in front of him. The spirit’s face reminded him of a mask—it was as if some ham-fisted carver had tried to model Tobin’s face, but forgotten to put in any kindness or warmth. Ki thought suddenly of his own dead mother lying frozen in the loft all those years ago; he’d pulled back the blanket and looked into her face, seeking in vain for the loving presence he’d known. It was the same now, looking for Tobin in the face of the demon.

  In spite of his fear, he found his voice again. “You’re Brother?”

  The spirit nodded, and something like a smile twitched its thin lips. The effect was not a pleasant one.

  “Where’s Tobin?”

  Brother pointed to the bag. His mouth didn’t move, but Ki heard a faint whisper like wind blowing over a frozen lake. He goes to Lhel. Take this to him quickly!

  Brother vanished, leaving Ki alone in the lengthening shadows holding a dirty cloth sack that wasn’t empty.

  Lhel? Tobin had gone home? But why? And why would he leave without him? Ki’s hand found the carved horse hanging at his throat as he fought off the hurt feelings that came with such questions. If Tobin had gone without him, then something was terribly wrong and, if that was so, then Ki’s place was at his side.

  But he left without me—

  “Tharin. I should go tell Tharin, perhaps even Porion—”

  No!

  Ki jumped as Brother hissed at him from the shadows beside the doorway. It was a sign, seeing Brother at last. Tobin must be in very great danger indeed if the ghost was appearing to him. He’d better do as the thing said.

  In this, at least, he had luck on his side. In the hours between duty and mess, the boys were free to do as they wished. No one would give a squire a second glance as he went between Palace and stables carrying his master’s arms for repair.

  Taking only their swords and the mysterious bag, he went out to the stables. Here his fears were confirmed. Gosi was gone. If Tobin had left mounted, there was no hope of catching up with him now. All he could do was follow.

  “You might have shown yourself a bit earlier,” he muttered as he saddled Dragon, hoping Brother was lurking close enough to hear.

  A tale of a squire’s errand in the city suited the Palatine guards, and another got him past those at the harbor gate. Night was falling fast and there was no sign of Brother to guide him now, but there was moon enough to light his road. Turning Dragon’s head to the west, he kicked the roan into a gallop along the high road and prayed to Astellus to guide his hooves safely in the dark.

  There were few riders on the roads at night, and fewer yet slight enough to be Tobin, but Ki couldn’t help staring hard at every stranger he overtook.

  Near midnight he stopped to rest his horse at a stream. Only then did it occur to him to look inside the bag.

  It was near that same hour that Tharin found a very distraught Molay at his door.

  Chapter 48

  The crescent moon guided Tobin home. By its light he put the sea at his back and retraced the rivers and roads that led west to the mountains. Perhaps Gosi remembered the way, too, for they took no wrong turning through the night.

  Tobin had fear to keep him awake, and the strange pain that swelled and changed as the moon pulled him onward. Sometimes it wasn’t there at all and he pushed the horse into a gallop for miles at a time. Then it would close in on him again and Gosi would wander along the grassy verge while Tobin carried a basin of dull red fire sloshing between his hipbones. Eyes half closed against it, he thought of Niryn and his handful of flame at the royal tomb.

  As the night dragged on, the pain often rose through him, digging in under his breastbone and spreading out beneath his skin, making his flesh hot and cold by turns on his bones. The blood in his trousers had dried, but near midnight his chest began to itch down low, between his nipples. When he reached in to scratch, his fingers came away dark and wet.

  Plague plague plague. It thrummed with the beating of his heart.

  Plague bringer.

  Lhel must have some cure. That must be why he’d been given the vision telling him to go to her. Perhaps hill witches knew of some healing that the drysians and the royal healers of Skala did not.

  They’d all heard the tales. In the port cities the death-bird plague chasers nailed plague bringers in their houses, along with anyone else unlucky enough to be there when the first victim was discovered. If anyone survived the illness, they could prove their health by breaking free.

  He was a plague bringer.

  Lhel had foreseen it.

  Would they nail the Old Palace shut?

  In the darkness his imagination conjured an army of deathbirds settling like carrion crows on the Palace with hammers and pouches of nails over their shoulders, like the workmen who’d come to the keep.

  Would they follow him and nail up the keep, too?

  They could put him in the tower. He’d wear their mask and be a bird like the ones who’d been his mother’s only companions—

  All through the long night his thoughts chased themselves round in an endless circle. He was almost surprised when he saw the jagged teeth of the mountains rising against the star-crusted sky so close ahead of him.

  The first glow of dawn was warming the sky at his back when he rode through sleeping Alestun. Gosi was stumbling and blowi
ng under him. Tobin had passed from weariness into a numbed, dreaming state and began to wonder if he would suddenly open his eyes and find himself back in Ero after all, nailed in his room by the deathbirds. Or perhaps he was really following the trail of his visions to that underground room guarded by the deer.

  He left the town behind and rode on along the familiar road between autumn-colored trees. It had looked much the same the first time his father took him to Alestun nearly half his life ago. He was glad to be here again, even if it did prove to be for the last time. Better to die here than in the city. He hoped they’d leave his body somewhere in the forest. He didn’t want to be on one of those stone shelves under the stone queens. He belonged here.

  He’d just caught a glimpse of the tower roof over the treetops when Lhel stepped out of the trees ahead of him. Tears of relief burned his eyes.

  “Keesa, you come,” she said, walking out into the road to meet him.

  “I saw the blood, Lhel.” His voice was as faint as Brother’s. “I’m sick. I’ve brought plague.”

  She grasped his ankle and squinted up into his face, then gave his foot a reassuring pat. “No, keesa. No plague.”

  Pulling his foot out of the stirrup, she climbed up behind him and took the reins.

  He remembered little of the ride that followed except for the warmth of her body against his back. It felt good.

  The next thing he knew she was helping him down out of the saddle with hands as cool as river water. There was the house oak, with its baskets and racks, and the round shining pool of the spring glimmering like a green and gold mirror just beyond.

  A cheerful fire crackled in front of the door. She guided him to a log seat beside it, pulled a fur robe around him, and placed a wooden cup of boiled herb tea in his hands. Tobin sipped it, grateful for the warmth. The soft fur of the robe was tawny cream and brown—catamount fur. Ki’s catamount, he thought, wishing his friend was here.

  “What’s wrong with me?” he rasped.