Lynn Flewelling - The Bone Doll's Twin

Tobin dropped his buckets and helped him hobble down to the water. “Soak it until it feels better.”

Ki sat down and thrust both legs into the current up to the knees. Tobin did the same and leaned back, resting on his elbows. He was even browner than Ki this summer, he noted proudly, though Nari claimed it made him look like a peasant. From his current vantage point he could see the line of fine golden hairs that ran down the muscled trough of Ki’s spine, and the way his friend’s shoulder blades flared out beneath the smooth skin. Ki reminded Tobin of the catamount they’d faced together in the mountains, tawny and supple. The sight sent a warm glow through him that he couldn’t quite put words to.

“That kettle won’t fill itself!” Cook called from the gate behind them.

Tobin craned his head back for an upside down look at the impatient woman. “Ki hurt his foot.”

“Are your legs broke?”

“Nothing wrong that I can see,” Ki said, throwing a handful of cold water onto Tobin’s belly.

He yelped and sat up. “Traitor! See if I help you …”

Brother stood watching him on the far bank. Tobin had called him earlier that morning, then forgotten about him.

Brother had matched Tobin in growth, but stayed gaunt and fish-belly pale. No matter where Brother appeared, the light never struck him the way it did a living person. At this distance, his unnatural eyes looked like two black holes in his face. His voice had grown fainter, too. It had been months since Tobin had heard him speak at all.

He stared at Tobin a moment longer, then turned and gazed down the road.

“Someone’s coming,” Tobin murmured.

Ki glanced down the meadow, then back at him. “I don’t hear anything.”

A moment later they both heard the first faint jingle of harness in the distance.

“Ah! Brother?”

Tobin nodded.

By now they could both hear the riders clearly enough to know there were at least a score. Tobin jumped to his feet. “Do you suppose that’s Father?”

Ki grinned. “Who else could it be, coming here with that many?”

Tobin scrambled back up the rocks and ran onto the bridge for a better view.

The sun-baked planks burned his feet. He danced impatiently from foot to foot for a minute, then set off along the grassy verge to meet the riders.

“Tobin, come back! You know we’re not supposed to.”

“I’ll just go part way!” Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Ki limping toward the bridge. The other boy pointed at his hurt foot and shrugged.

Tobin’s heart beat faster as he caught the flash of sunlight off steel through the trees. Why were they coming so slowly? His father always took the last mile at a gallop, raising a cloud of dust that could be seen above the trees long before the riders appeared.

Tobin stopped and shaded his eyes. There was no dust cloud today. Uneasy, he stood poised to run if it proved to be strangers after all.

When the first riders came into sight at the bottom of the meadow, however, he recognized Tharin in the lead on his roan, with old Laris and the others close behind. There were two other lords with him, too. He recognized Nyanis by his shining hair and Solari by his bushy black beard and green-and-gold cloak.

The fighting must be over. He’s brought guests for a feast! Tobin let out a whoop and waved both arms at them, still searching for his father among the press of riders. Tharin waved an answering salute but didn’t spur his horse. As they came up the hill Tobin saw that the captain was leading a horse on a long rein—his father’s black palfrey. It was saddled but riderless. Only then did Tobin note that all the horses’ manes were shorn close to their necks. He knew what that meant. The men had told him tales in the barracks yard—

The air beside Tobin darkened as Brother shimmered into view. His voice was scarcely audible above the sound of the river but Tobin heard him clearly enough.

Our father has come home.

“No.” Tobin marched on stubbornly to meet the riders. His heart was pounding in his ears. He couldn’t feel the road beneath his feet.

Tharin and the others reined in as he reached them. Tobin refused to look at their faces. He looked only at his father’s horse and the things strapped across the saddle: hauberk, helm, bow. And a long clay jar slung in a net.

“Where is he?” Tobin demanded, staring now at one worn, empty stirrup. His voice sounded almost as faint as Brother’s in his ears.

He heard Tharin dismount, felt the man’s big hands on his shoulders, but he kept his eyes on the stirrup.

Tharin turned him gently and cupped his chin, making Tobin look at him. His faded blue eyes were red-rimmed and full of sorrow.

“Where is Father?”

Tharin took something from his belt pouch, something that glinted black and gold in the sunlight. It was his father’s oak tree signet on its chain. With shaking hands, Tharin placed it around Tobin’s neck.

“Your father died in battle, my prince, on the fifth day of Shemin. He fell bravely, Tobin. I brought his ashes home to you.”

Tobin looked back at the jar in the net and understood. The fifth of Shemin? That was the day after Ki’s name day. We went swimming. I shot two grouse. We saw Lhel.

We didn’t know.

Brother stood beside the horse now, one hand resting on the dusty jar. Their father had been dead nearly a month.

You once told me about a fox dying, he thought, staring at Brother in disbelief. And about Iya coming. But not that our father was dead?

“I was there, too, Tobin. What Tharin says is true.” That was Lord Solari. He dismounted and came to stand by him. Tobin had always liked the young lord but he couldn’t look up at him now, either. When he spoke again, it sounded as if the man was far away, even though Tobin could see Solari’s boots right there next to him in the road. “He gave his war cry until the end and all his wounds were in the front. I saw him kill at least four men before he fell. No warrior could ask for a better death.”

Tobin felt light, like his body was going to drift away on the breeze like a milkweed seed. Perhaps I’ll see Father’s ghost. He squinted, trying to make out his father’s shade near the jar. But Brother stood alone, his black eyes dark holes in his face as he slowly faded from sight.

“Tobin?”

Tharin’s hands were firm on his shoulders, holding him so he wouldn’t blow away. Tobin didn’t want to look at Tharin, didn’t want to see the tears slowly scouring twin trails through the dust on the man’s cheeks. He didn’t want the other lords and soldiers to see Tharin crying.

Instead, he looked past him and saw Ki running down the road. “His foot must be better.”

Tharin brought his face closer to Tobin’s, looking at him with the oddest expression. Tobin could hear some of the other men weeping softly now, something he’d never heard before. Soldiers didn’t weep.

“Ki,” Tobin explained, as his gaze skittered back to his father’s horse. “He hurt his toe, but he’s coming now.”

Tharin took a scabbard from his back and placed the duke’s sheathed sword in Tobin’s hands. “This is yours now, too.”

Tobin clutched the heavy weapon, so much heavier than his own. Too large for me. Just like the armor. One more thing to be saved for later. Too late.

He heard Tharin talking, but it felt as if his head was stuffed with milkweed fluff; it was hard to make sense of anything. “What do we do with the ashes?”

Tharin hugged him closer. “When you’re ready, we’ll take them to Ero and lay them with your mother in the royal tomb. They’ll be together again at last.”

“In Ero?”

Father had always promised to take him to Ero.