Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

“Just try and stop us,” Ki told her, not meaning it as a joke.

Arkoniel touched the door and it swung open. “Let me go first and remove the ward from the upper door.”

Ki followed close behind Tamír as she climbed the stairs, and was surprised at how ordinary it all looked in daylight. Dust motes glinted in the shafts of early-morning light, and he could smell the sweetness of balsam on the breeze that stirred through the arrow slits.

More brightness greeted them as Arkoniel opened the door to Ariani’s room, but Ki stayed close beside Tamír and scanned every corner suspiciously. The shutters on the west window were still open and Ki could hear the sound of the river below, and the calls of birds in the forest.

Tamír stood in the middle of the room and turned slowly around. “She’s not here,” she said at last, looking more forlorn than relieved.

“No,” Arkoniel agreed. “I’ve felt her presence often at night, but never in daylight.”

“I see Brother all the time, day or night.”

“He’s a different sort of spirit.”

Tamír went to the window. Ki followed, unwilling to trust in Arkoniel’s appraisal of ghosts. For all he knew, that bloodied nightmare could come rushing out of nowhere at any moment. Ghosts were always unlucky things, or so he’d been taught, and those who haunted Tamír gave truth to the saying.

“What do I do?” Tamír wondered aloud.

“Perhaps nothing,” Arkoniel replied.

“Why did the Oracle send me back, then?”

“Some things can’t be mended, Tamír.”

“What about Lhel?” asked Ki. “We haven’t even looked for her yet. She could always put Brother in his place. Come on, Tamír, let’s ride up the road, like we used to.”

Tamír brightened at once and made for the door. “Of course! I bet she’s waiting for us, like always.”

“Wait.” Arkoniel called after them.

Ki turned to find Arkoniel regarding them sorrowfully.

“She’s not here anymore.”

“How do you know that?” asked Tamír. “You know how she is. If she doesn’t want to be found, then you can’t, and if she does, she’s right there waiting for you, every time.”

“I thought the same, until—” Arkoniel paused, and Ki read the truth in his face before he even said it. “She’s dead, Tamír. The Oracle told me.”

“Dead?” Tamír sank slowly to her knees among scattered bits of yellowed wool. “But how?”

“If I were to guess, I’d say Brother was responsible. I’m sorry. I should have told you, but you already had so much to contend with.”

“Dead.” Tamír shivered and buried her face in her hands. “Another one. More blood!”

Ki knelt and put an arm around her, blinking back tears of his own. “I thought—I thought she’d always be there waiting for us in that hollow tree of hers.”

“So did I,” Arkoniel agreed sadly.

Tamír raised a hand to the hidden scar on her chest. “I want to look for her. I want to bury her. It’s only right.”

“Have a bite to eat and change your clothes,” Arkoniel advised.

Tamír nodded and turned to go.

“Hold on,” said Ki. He ran his fingers through her disheveled hair. “That’s better, eh?” he said, straightening his own rumpled tunic. “No sense giving them too much to gossip about.”

That was easier said than done. As Tamír went to her chamber to change, she noticed Lynx and Nikides watching her from their open doorway. Tamír didn’t think she or Ki gave anything away, but they took one look and turned away with knowing smiles.

“Damn it!” she muttered, mortified.

“I’ll talk to them.” Ki gave her a rueful look and went off to deal with their friends.

Tamír shook her head as she closed her own door, wondering what he’d say. She wasn’t entirely sure herself what had happened between them, but she somehow felt lighter, and more hopeful, even with her sorrow over Lhel.

Whatever Ki told them, no one asked any questions.

As soon as they could slip away she, Ki, and Arkoniel set off up the old mountain road.

It would have been a pleasant ride if not for the sad knowledge they carried. The sun was bright and the forest showed early splashes of yellow and crimson.

Ki spotted the faint hint of a trail half a mile on from the keep. Leaving their horses tethered, they followed it on foot.

“It could just be a game trail,” he noted.

“No, there’s her mark,” Arkoniel said, pointing out a faded, rust-colored mark on the white trunk of a birch. Looking closer, Ki saw that it was a handprint, much smaller than his own.

“That’s from her hiding spell,” Arkoniel explained, touching it sadly. “The power of it died with her.”

The faded traces of more handprints guided them along a faint path winding through the trees and up a slope to the clearing.

At first glance nothing had changed. The deerskin flap still covered the low doorway at the base of the huge hollow oak. Beyond it, the spring roiled silently in its round pool.

As he approached the tree, however, Ki saw that the ashes in the fire pit were old, and her wooden drying racks were empty and in need of repair. Tamír pushed the deerskin aside and disappeared inside. Ki and Arkoniel followed.

Animals had been in here. Lhel’s baskets were scattered and gnawed, the dried fruit and meat long gone. Her few implements still lay on low shelves, and her pallet of furs was undisturbed.

What remained of Lhel was there, as if she’d lain down to sleep and never wakened again. Animals and insects had done their work. The shapeless dress with its deer tooth beading was torn and pulled awry, exposing the bare bones beneath. Only her hair remained, a dark tumble of black curls framing the eyeless skull.

Arkoniel sank down with a groan and wept quietly. Tamír remained silent, shedding no tears. The empty look in her eyes as she silently turned and went outside troubled Ki.

He found her standing by the spring.

“She showed me my true face here,” she whispered, staring down at her shifting reflection in the water. Ki was tempted to put an arm around her, but she stepped away, still lost and empty. “The ground is hard and we have nothing to dig with. We should have brought a spade.”

There was nothing among Lhel’s meager possessions that would serve, either. Arkoniel found her silver knife and needle and tucked them into his belt. The rest they left, and piled stones in front of the doorway, making her home her tomb. Arkoniel cast a spell on the stones so that they would not fall away.

Through it all Tamír did not weep. When they were finished with the stones she pressed a hand to the oak’s gnarled trunk, as if communing with the spirit of the woman immured inside.

“There’s nothing more to be done here,” she said at last. “We’d better get on to Atyion.”

Ki and the wizard exchanged a sad look and followed, letting her alone with her silent grief.

She’s seen too much of death already , Ki thought. And we still have a war ahead of us .

The pain of Lhel’s death, compounded with the knowledge of the role she’d played in Brother’s death, was too black and deep to give voice to. Tamír left those feelings behind with the witch’s bones, taking away only a numb sense of shock and loss.

There was no reason to stay, and the keep was once again a place with too many bad memories. They left that same day.

Nari and Cook kissed her and Ki both over and over again, then wept in their aprons when they finally departed. As she rode along the river, Tamír turned and looked up at the tower window one last time. The broken shutter on the east window was still hanging by one twisted hinge. She saw no face in the opening, but she swore she felt eyes on her back until they rode into the cover of the trees.