“How come you’re only white there?” asked Tobin, whose own body was fair as new butter summer and winter.
Shivering, Ki snuggled in next to him. “We wear clouts, swimming. There’s snapper turtles in the river and you don’t want them biting off your diddler!”
Tobin giggled again, though more at the oddness of having a stranger in Nari’s place than what Ki had said. Nari returned with one of Tharin’s old shirts and Ki struggled into it under the covers.
Nari kissed them both again and went out, shutting the door softly behind her.
Both boys lay quiet for a while, watching the play of lamplight on the carved beams overhead. Ki was still shivering.
“Are you cold?” asked Tobin, shifting away from a sharp elbow.
“You’re not?” Ki said through chattering teeth. “Well, I guess you’re used to it.” “Used to what?”
“Sleeping bare, or almost, with just one person for warmth. Like I told you before, my brothers and me sleep all together in our clothes. It’s nice, mostly, especially in winter.” He sighed. “’Course, Amin gets the farts, which makes it that much warmer.”
Both boys dissolved into laughter again, shaking the bed.
“I’ve never heard anyone talk like you!” Tobin gasped, wiping his eyes on the edge of the sheet.
“Oh, I’m a bad character. Ask anyone. Hey, what’s that?” He pushed back Tobin’s left sleeve to inspect the birthmark. “Did you burn yourself?”
“No, I’ve always had it. Father says it’s a sign I’m wise.”
“Oh, yeah? Like this.” Ki hauled down the covers and showed Tobin a brown spot on his right hip the size of a man’s thumbprint. “Bad luck mark, a soothsayer told my mam, but I been lucky so far. Look at me, here with you. That’s luck! Now, my sister Ahra’s got one of them red ones like yours on her left tit. A wizard she showed it to down in Erind claimed it means she’s feisty and sharp-tongued, so I guess he must have known how to read marks better. She’s got a voice can curdle vinegar when she’s riled up.” He pulled the covers up again and sighed. “She treated me good, though, mostly. That’s her old quiver I come with. It’s got cuts on it from Plenimaran swords, and a stain she claims is blood!”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ll show you tomorrow.”
As they drifted off to sleep at last, Tobin decided that having a companion might not be such a bad thing after all. Caught up in thoughts of sisters and battles, he didn’t notice the dark shape lurking unbidden in the far corner.
Brother woke Tobin sometime later with a cold touch on his chest. When Tobin opened his eyes, the ghost was standing next to the bed, pointing across the room at the chest where the doll was hidden. Tobin could feel Ki’s warm, bony back pressed against his own, but he also saw him kneeling in front of the chest.
Tobin shivered as he watched the boy open the lid and take out a few things, examining them with curiosity. Tobin knew this was a vision. Brother had shown him things before, like the dying fox, and they were never nice. When Ki found the doll, his expression changed to one Tobin knew all too well.
Then the scene shifted. It was daylight now; Iya and Arkoniel were there with Ki, and Father, too. They put the doll down on the chest and cut it open with long knives, and it bled. Then they took it away, looking back at him with expressions of such sadness and disgust that his face burned.
The vision vanished, but the fear remained. As much as the thought of losing the doll terrified him, the look on everyone’s faces—especially his father’s and Ki’s—filled him with grief and desperation.
Brother was still there beside the bed, touching his chest and Tobin’s, and Tobin knew he’d shown him a true thing. Nari had never bothered with the old chest before. Ki was going to find the doll and everything would be ruined.
He lay very still, his heart beating so loudly in his ears he could hardly hear Ki’s soft breathing behind him. What could he do?
Send him away, hissed Brother.
Tobin thought about what it had felt like to laugh with Ki and shook his head. “No,” he replied, barely making a sound with his mouth. He didn’t have to. Brother always heard him. “And don’t you ever try to hurt him again! I have to hide it somewhere else. Somewhere no one will find it.”
Brother disappeared. Tobin looked around and found him by the chest, motioning to him.
Tobin slid out of bed and crept across the cold floor, praying Ki wouldn’t wake up. The lid rose by itself as he reached for it. For an instant he imagined Brother slamming it down on him for spite as he reached in, but he didn’t. Tobin eased the flour sack out from under the rustling parchments and tiptoed into the corridor.
It was very late. No light showed at the staircase leading to the hall. The corridor lamp had gone out, but patches of moonlight gave him enough light to see by.
Brother wasn’t showing himself now. Tobin hugged the doll to his chest, wondering where to go. Arkoniel was still sleeping in the toy room next door, and would soon occupy the newly repaired rooms upstairs, so that was no good. There was nowhere downstairs that someone wouldn’t look, either. Perhaps he could get outside again into the forest and find some dry hole nearby? But no, the doors would all be barred and besides, there might be catamounts in the forest at night. Tobin shivered miserably. His bare feet ached with cold and he had to piss.
A creak of hinges came from the far end of the corridor as the door to the third floor swung open, shining like silver in the moonlight. The doorway beyond was a black mouth waiting to swallow him up.
Yes, there was one place, a place no one could go except Brother. And him.
Brother appeared in the open doorway. He looked at Tobin, then turned and disappeared up the dark stairs. Tobin followed, stubbing his bare toes on steps he could not see.
In the upstairs corridor moonlight streamed in through the new rosette windows, casting pools of black and silver lace on the walls.
It took all his courage to approach the tower door; he thought he could feel his mother’s angry spirit standing just on the other side, glaring at him right through the wood. He stopped a few feet away, heart beating so hard it hurt to breathe. He wanted to turn and run away but he couldn’t move, not even when he heard the lock give. The door swung slowly open to reveal—
Nothing.
His mother was not standing there. Neither was Brother. It was dark inside, so dark that the lacy moonlight faded to a murky glow just a few inches inside. A current of cold, stale air crawled around his ankles.
Come, Brother whispered from the darkness.
I can’t! Tobin thought, but somehow he was already following that voice. He found the first worn stone step with his toes and put his foot on it. The door closed behind him, shutting out the light. The spell that held Tobin broke. He dropped the doll and scrabbled for the door handle. The metal was so cold it burned his palm. The wooden door panels felt as if they were covered with frost as he beat his hands against them. The door wouldn’t budge.
Upstairs, Brother urged.
Tobin slumped against the door, breathing in panicky sobs. “Flesh my flesh,” he managed at last. “Blood my blood, bone my bone,” and there was Brother at the base of the stairs, dressed in a ragged nightshirt and holding out his hand for Tobin to follow. When he didn’t move, Brother squatted down in front of him, peering into his face. For the first time, Tobin saw that Brother had the same little crescent-shaped scar on his chin that Tobin did. Then Brother opened the neck of his shirt, showing Tobin that he had another scar, as well. Tobin could see two thin vertical lines of stitching on Brother’s chest, very close together, perhaps three inches long. It reminded Tobin of the seams on his mother’s dolls, but the stitches were even finer, and the skin was puckered and bloody around them.
That must hurt, Tobin thought.
It does, all the time, whispered Brother, and one bloody tear fell down his cheek before he disappeared again, taking all illusion of light with him.
Feeling his way
blindly, Tobin found the bag and slid his feet across the stone floor until he found the first step again. The darkness made him dizzy, so he crawled up the stairs on his hands and knees, dragging the bag beside him. His bladder was so full it hurt, but he didn’t quite dare let go here in the darkness.
As he climbed higher he realized that he could see a few stars through the arrow slits above. This gave him his bearings and he hurried up the last few steps to find the upper door standing open for him, just as he’d expected. All he had to do now was hide the doll. Then he could find a chamber pot or even an open window and go back to bed.
The room was full of moonlight. Brother had opened the shutters. The few times Tobin had let himself think of this room, he remembered a cozy little chamber with tapestries on the walls and dolls on a table. This was a shambles. His memories of his last visit here were still fragmentary, but the sight of a broken chair leg stirred something dark and hurtful deep in his chest.
His mother had brought him up here because she was scared of the king.
She had jumped out the window because she was so scared.
She’d wanted him to jump, too.
Tobin inched inside and saw that only the window facing west toward the mountains was open.
The same window—
That’s where the light came from. He moved to stand before it, as if the moon’s white glow could protect him from all the shadowy fears building around him. His foot struck a broken chair back, then trod on a soft lump. It was a doll’s arm. He’d watched his mother make hundreds. Someone—
Brother
—had strewn his mother’s things all over the floor.
Bolts of cloth were thrown into a corner and mice had chewed holes in the little bales of stuffing wool. Turning slowly, he searched in vain for her fine boy dolls among the wreckage, but he couldn’t see any, just bits and lumps and rags.
Something, a spool of thread perhaps, tinkled to the floor and Tobin jumped.
“Mama?” he croaked, praying she was there.
Praying she wasn’t.
Not knowing which face she would show now that she was dead.
He heard another little thud and a rat scampered across the floor with a mouthful of wool.
Tobin slowly eased his aching grip on the flour sack. Brother was right. This was the best place.
Nobody came here.
Nobody would look.
He carried the sack to a moonlit corner across from the door. Placing it on the floor, he pulled the chair back over it and then piled some of the musty cloth over that. Dust motes rose in firefly clouds to choke him.
There. That’s done.
The task had held his fear at bay, but as he got to his feet again he felt it flooding back. He turned hastily for the door, trying not to think about having to go down those steep stairs in the dark.
His mother stood silhouetted in the open window. He knew her by the shape of her shoulders and the way her hair fell loose around them. He could not see her face to read her eyes or the lines around her mouth. He didn’t know if this was the good or the frightening mother taking a step toward him, holding out her arms.
For an instant Tobin hung suspended in time and horror.
She threw no shadow.
She made no sound.
She smelled of flowers.
That was the window she had tried to throw him out of. She had dragged him there, sobbing and cursing the king. She had pushed him out, but someone else pulled him back and he’d banged his chin on the sill—
The memory tasted like blood.
Then somehow he was in motion, dashing out the door, blundering down the stairs, one hand pressed to the rough stone wall, feeling the dry crusts of bird droppings and parched lichen flaking off beneath his fingers. He heard a sob and a slam behind him but refused to look back. He could see all the way to the bottom of the stairs now, guided by a rectangle of moonlight where the tower door stood open. He rushed headlong through it and flung it shut, not waiting to see if the latch caught, not caring if anyone heard. He fled downstairs, deafened by the ragged rush of his own frantic lungs, only dimly aware that his nightshirt and legs were wet. The realization that he’d wet himself halted him just outside his own room. He didn’t even remember doing it.
He fought back fresh tears, berating himself for such weakness. Slipping in, he listened to be certain Ki was still sleeping, then pulled off the soiled shirt and used a sleeve and the cold water left in the basin to clean himself. He found his other shirt in the wardrobe, then carefully climbed back into bed. He tried not to shake the mattress, but Ki jerked awake with a frightened gasp, staring wide-eyed down the bed.
Brother stood there, glaring back at him.
Tobin gripped the older boy’s shoulder, trying to keep him from crying out. “Don’t be scared, Ki, he won’t—”
Ki turned to him with a shaky little laugh. “Bilairy’s balls, it’s only you! For a minute I thought it was that ghost of yours crawling into the bed. You’re cold enough to be one.”
Tobin glanced at Brother, then back at Ki. He couldn’t see Brother standing there hating him. He didn’t have the eye.
Even so, Ki looked as scared as if he had as he asked, “Can I tell you something, Prince Tobin?” Tobin nodded.
Ki fiddled with the edge of the quilt. “When old Iya told me about the ghost, I almost ran for home, even though I knew my father’d beat me and put me on the road. I almost did. And then, when the ghost started throwing things around downstairs tonight? I nearly pissed myself I was so scared. But you just stood there, like it didn’t even matter….” He hugged his arms around his drawn-up knees. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that my father didn’t raise any cowards. I’m not feared of anything, except ghosts, and I can stand that to serve someone as brave as you. If you’ll still have me.”
He thinks I’m going to send him away. In that instant of recognition, Tobin nearly blurted it all out, about Brother and the doll and his mother and the wet nightshirt in a heap by the door. But the worshipful look in the older boy’s eyes sealed the words behind his teeth.
Instead, he just shrugged and said, “Everyone’s afraid of him, even Arkoniel. I’m used to him, that’s all.” He wanted to promise Ki that Brother wouldn’t hurt him again, but he wasn’t sure of that yet and didn’t want to lie.
Ki got up on his knees and touched his forehead and heart in the soldier’s salute. “Well, I still say you’re brave, and if you’ll accept my service, then I swear by Sakor and Illior that I’m your man until death.”
“I accept,” Tobin replied, feeling silly and proud at the same time. Ki had no sword to offer him, so they clasped hands on it and he flopped back down beside Tobin and burrowed under the covers.
Young as he was, Tobin understood that something important had passed between them. Until death, Ki had said. This conjured images of them riding side by side under his father’s banner on some distant battlefield.
So long as the doll stayed hidden. So long as no one ever found out what was up there in the tower.
Mama is up there, locked in the tower.
The night’s horror closed in around him again and he turned his back against Ki’s, glad not to be alone. He would never go there again. She was there, waiting to catch him. But the tower was locked and Brother wouldn’t let anyone else in.
Brother had warned him and his secret was safe. Now he would never see Ki looking at him with the face Brother had shown him in the vision.
“Tobin?” A sleepy mumble.
“What?”
“You say that ghost of yours is a he?”
“Yes. I call him Brother.”
“Huh…. I’d heard tell it was a girl.”
“Huh.”
Ki’s soft snore lulled Tobin to sleep, and he dreamed of riding east with Ki to find Ero and the sea.
Chapter 24
After the household had settled for the night, Arkoniel took Iya outside to walk in the meadow, just as he and Rhius had
two months before. There had been bats and fireflies that night, and the song of frogs.
Tonight the meadow and forest were silent except for the hunting cries of owls in the moonlight. It was very cold, and the wizards’ shadows fell sharp-edged across frost-coated grass as they followed one of the paths the workers had worn along the riverbank. The forest and peaks glimmered white around them. In the distance, a few fires still glowed in front of the handful of tents left at the bottom of the meadow. Most of the workmen had finished their tasks. The rest would soon be gone, as well, anxious to return to the city before the snow fell.
Arkoniel’s encounter with Lhel earlier in the day weighed heavily on his mind. As they walked he tried to find the proper words to explain what had happened.
“What do you think of your new occupation?” she asked before he could broach the subject.
“I don’t think I’m much of a teacher. Tobin cares nothing for learning or me, as far as I can tell. It’s all warcraft and hunting with him. All he talks of is being a warrior.” Even alone here they were careful to refer to Tobin as “he” and “him.”
“So you dislike him?”
“Not in the least!” Arkoniel exclaimed. “He’s intelligent, and a wonderful artist. You should see the little figures he makes. I think we’re the happiest together when we’re watching the craftsmen and builders.”
Iya chuckled. “Then it’s not ‘all warcraft and hunting’ after all? A clever teacher would find a way to make use of such interests. There’s a great deal of mathematics in building a sound arch or planning a mural. The compounding of colors is practically alchemy. And to create the shapes of living things, one ought to have a sound knowledge of them.”
Arkoniel raised his hands in surrender. “Yes, I see I’ve been a complete mole. I’ll try to make a fresh start with him.”
“Don’t judge yourself too harshly, my boy. This isn’t a young wizard you’re training, after all, but a noble. Even as ruler, Tobin will never need the sort of education that we do. Half the Palatine can’t write much more than their names. I must say I admire Rhius’ stand on the matter; you still hear a good many fine lords and ladies calling it scribe’s work. Teach them all to read for themselves and you’ll put half the well-bred merchants’ daughters out of an occupation. No, you keep on with that, and give him what you can of the disciplines he might find useful later on. Geography and history—you’re well versed in those. He should learn something of music, and dancing, too, before he’s summoned to court—”