The Oracle's Queen (47 page)

“Oh yes. Whether or not she chooses to show herself—”

He broke off, and they both looked up as they heard the faint sound of Tamír's voice. Ki broke out in goose-flesh, knowing what it meant. Tamír was talking with the dead.

M
other?”

There was no reply.

The room was just as Tamír remembered. Broken furniture, rotting bolts of cloth, and mice-chewed bales of stuffing wool still lay where Brother had thrown them. A table had been righted under the east window and the last of her mother's mouthless dolls sat there in a row, leaning awkwardly against each other like drunken men. Arkoniel had found her doll among them; she could see a gap where it had been.

She went to the table and picked one up. It was mildewed and discolored, but her mother's small, careful stitches were still visible in the seams. She held it up to her light, looking at the blank face. This one was still plump with wool, its limbs even and loose. It surprised her, how tempting it was to carry it away with her. In a way, she missed the misshapen doll she'd hidden for so long, though it had been a burden at the time. But it had also been a tie to her mother, and her past. She clutched this doll impulsively to her heart. How she'd wanted her mother to make one for her! Tears stung her eyes and she let them fall, mourning the childhood she'd been denied.

A soft sigh made the hair on her neck stand up. She turned and searched the room, clutching the doll and the lightstone.

The sigh came again, louder this time. Tamír squinted into the shadows by the western window—the window
her mother had leaped from, that winter day. The one she'd tried to push Tamír out of.

Brother's not here to save me this time
.

“Mother?” Tamír whispered again.

She heard the rustle of skirts, and another sigh, full of pain. Then, in the faintest of whispers, a ghostly voice murmured,
my child—

Hope made the breath catch in Tamír's throat. She took a step closer. “Yes, it's me!”

Where is my child? Where? Where—

The brief stab of hope died, just as it always had. “Mother?”

Where is my son?

It was just like it had been on her mother's worst days. She wasn't even aware of Tamír, longing instead for the child she'd lost.

Tamír started to speak again, but a sharp crack startled her so badly she nearly dropped the lightstone. The shutters on the western window shook as if they'd been struck, then creaked slowly open, pushed by unseen hands.

Tamír clenched the doll and stood her ground, watching in mounting horror as a dark figure resolved from the shadows and lurched with slow, jerking steps to the window. Its face was turned away, as if watching the river below the window.

The ghostly woman wore a dark gown and was clutching something to her breast. She was of a height with Tamír and her shining black hair fell in loose disarray to her waist. Strands of it stirred around her, coiling lazily on the air. Framed against the night sky, she seemed as solid as a living person.

“Mo—mother? Look at me, Mother. I'm here. I've come to see you.”

Where is my child? The
whisper was more of a hiss this time.

Where is your mother?
The Oracle's voice goaded her.
“I'm your daughter. I'm called Tamír. I was Tobin, but I'm Tamír now. Mother, look at me. Hear me!”

Daughter?
The ghost turned slowly, still with that unnatural, jerking hesitation, as if she'd forgotten how a body moved. She was holding her old misshapen doll, or at least its ghost. Tamír held her breath as she caught sight of a pale cheek, a familiar profile. Then her mother was facing her, and the sight of her was like an eerie mirror.

The others were right after all
, Tamír thought numbly, beyond fear as those eyes came to rest on her with something like recognition. In the months since the change, Tamír's face had altered subtly, not so much softening as shifting into more of a semblance of this dead woman's face. Tamír took a step toward her, vaguely aware that they were clutching their dolls the same way, in the crook of their left arm.

“Mother, it's me, your daughter,” she tried again, searching for comprehension in that face.

Daughter?

“Yes! I've come to tell you that you have to go on, to the gate.”

The ghost saw her now.
Daughter?

Tamír moved the light to her left hand and reached out to her. Her mother mirrored her, reaching out to her. Their fingertips brushed and Tamír could feel them, solid as her own but deathly cold as Brother's.

Undeterred, she clasped that cold hand tight. “Mother, you must rest. You can't stay here anymore.”

The woman came closer, staring at Tamír as if she was trying to understand who she was.

A tear tickled down Tamír's cheek. “Yes, it's me.”

Suddenly the room was bright around them. Sunlight streamed in at all the windows, and the room was cozy and filled with color and the good smells of wood and sundried linen and candles. The hearth was filled with withered flowers and the chairs were upright beside it, their
tapestry cushions whole and unblemished. Dolls littered the table, clean and dressed in little velvet outfits.

Her mama was alive, blue eyes warm with one of her rare smiles. “Have you learned your letters, Tobin?”

“Yes, Mama.” Tamír was crying outright now. She dropped the doll and the lightstone and embraced her. It was strange, being tall enough to bury her face in that silky black hair, but she didn't question it, overcome by the light flower scent she remembered so well. “Oh Mother, I've come home to help you. I'm sorry I was gone so long. I tried to help Brother. I really did!”

Warm hands stroked her hair and back. “There, there, don't cry my darling. There's a good boy—”

Tamír froze. “No, Mother, I'm not a boy anymore—” She tried to pull back, but her mother held her tight.

“My sweet, dear boy. How I love you! I was so frightened when I couldn't find you.”

Tamír began to struggle, and then they both went still as the sound of horsemen came to them from the road outside.

Ariani released her and ran to the east window. “He's found us!”

“Who? Who's found us?” Tamír whispered.

“My brother!” Ariani's eyes were wide with terror and black as Brother's as she rushed back to Tamír and grasped her arm in a painful grip. “He's coming! But he won't have us. No, he won't have us!”

And she pulled Tamír toward the west window.

K
i and Arkoniel had moved halfway up the stair, straining to make out what Tamír was saying. Suddenly they heard her call out to her mother, pleading with her about something.

Then the door at the top of the stairs slammed shut with a bang so loud that Ki missed his footing and tumbled backward into Arkoniel.

*  *  *

T
amír knew beyond all doubt that she was fighting for her life, just as she had that other day. Her mother had been too strong for her then, and her ghost easily overpowered her now. Caught in that inexorable grip, Tamír was dragged across the floor toward the window as if she weighed no more than a child.

“No, Mother, no!” she pleaded, trying to break loose.

It was no use. The specter gave a last yank and Tamír found herself halfway out the window, teetering with her belly on the sill, only her bent knees keeping her from falling. It was night again. The river flowed black and the rocks it tumbled around looked silver and she was tilting farther and screaming and something dark was hurtling past her, dragging her down, a pale wraith with swirling skirts and wild black hair …

K
i and Arkoniel tumbled over each other to the base of the stairs. Ki was up first and dashed back up, heedless of the bruises or the taste of blood in his mouth as he took the worn steps two and three at a time. He struck the door with his shoulder and wrenched at the latch, but someone or something was holding it shut from the other side. He could hear the sounds of a struggle, and Tamír's wordless cry of fear.

“Arkoniel, help!” Ki yelled, frantic. “Tamír, can you hear me?”

“Get back!” Arkoniel shouted.

Ki barely had time to duck before a wave of force swept over him, knocking the door off its hinges. Ki scrambled up again and bolted into the room. It was cold inside, and a foul, swampy odor hung in the air. A lightstone lay amid the wreckage on the floor, casting enough illumination to see the horrid, bloody figure at the west window trying to force Tamír out. All Ki could see of her were her flailing legs and bare feet. Even as Ki dashed to save her, the thing thrust her out over the sill.

It was a woman, that much he could tell in his headlong
rush. The form was pale and flickered like fox fire. Ki had an impression of writhing black hair and empty black eyes in a bone-pale face. Hands like claws clutched Tamír by the hair and tunic as it shoved her out even farther.

“No!” Ki reached Tamír just as she began to teeter over the brink. He lunged through the specter and felt an even denser chill, but his hands were strong and sure as he caught Tamír by one bare foot and hauled with all his might, roughly dragging her back to safety.

Tamír collapsed limply to the floor. Ki crouched over her, ready to fend off her mother's vengeful spirit with his bare hands if he had to, but there was no sign of her now.

He pulled Tamír farther from the window, then gently turned her over. Her eyes were closed and her face was horribly pale. Blood flowed from a deep cut across her chin, but she was breathing.

Arkoniel stumbled across the littered floor and fell to his knees beside them. “How is she?”

“I don't know.”

H
ands clawed at her back, then Tamír was flying backward again. Something struck her chin hard enough to stun her. The world spun—stars and river and rough stone walls and darkness.

Then she was lying in the dark, ruined room again and someone was holding her tight, so tight she couldn't breathe.

“Mother, no!” she screamed, struggling with what little strength she had left.

“No, Tamír, it's me! Open your eyes. Arkoniel,
do
something, for hell's sake!”

She heard a sharp crack and she was blinking in soft pale light. It was Ki holding her, his face etched with sorrow. Arkoniel stood just behind him, wand in hand, blood streaming from a cut on his forehead. A strange smell hung in the air, bitter like burned hair.

“Ki?” She tried in vain to comprehend what had just
happened. She felt chilled to the bone and her heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

“I have you, Tamír. I'm taking you out of here.” He stroked her hair back with shaking fingers.

“My mother—”

“I saw her. I won't let her hurt you again. Come on!” He dragged her up and wrapped an arm around her waist.

Tamír found her feet and staggered with him for the door. Ki's arm was strong and sure around her, but she could still feel the icy grip of her mother's hands.

“Take her down to my room. I'm going to seal this door,” Arkoniel said behind them.

Somehow Ki got her down the stairs without falling and hurried her into Arkoniel's chamber. Candles and lamps burned brightly there, casting a bright, comforting glow.

Ki lowered her into a chair by the empty hearth, then yanked a blanket from the bed and tucked it around her. Kneeling, he chafed her hands and wrists. “Say something, please!”

She blinked slowly. “I'm all right. She—she isn't here. I don't feel her anymore.”

Ki glanced around and let out a shaky laugh. “That's good news. I don't
ever
want to see anything like that again.” He used a corner of the blanket to dab at her chin. It hurt and she flinched away.

“Hold still,” Ki said. “You're bleeding.”

She touched her chin and felt warm, sticky wetness there. “The sill. I hit the sill. Just like before.”

Ki gently pulled her fingers away. “Yes, just like before, only you're going to have a bigger scar this time.”

Tamír clutched her forehead, feeling faint. “He—Brother? He pulled me back?”

“No, that was me. I heard you cry out, and got there just—” He was pressed close to her, his belly against her knees. He was shaking.

“By the Flame,” he went on, his voice less steady now.
“She almost had you out, that horrible creature. It was worse than Brother—” He broke off again and wrapped his arms around her as if she could still fall.

“You pulled me back?” she whispered against his shoulder.

“Yes, but I almost lost you. Damn it, what were you thinking, going up alone?”

He was weeping! She hugged him, burying one hand in his hair. “Don't cry. You were there, Ki. You saved me. It's all right.”

Concern for him swept away the last of her fear. She'd never heard Ki weep like this before. It shook his whole body and his grip on her was painfully tight again, but it felt good.

At last he sat back on his heels, wiping his face on his sleeve. “I'm sorry! I just—I thought—” Tamír saw real fear in his eyes. “I didn't think I was going to get to you in time, before she—” He grabbed her by the arms as fear gave way to anger. “Why, Tamír? What made you go up there alone?”

“The Oracle said—”

He shook her angrily. “That you ought to get yourself killed?”

“What did the Oracle say to you?” asked Arkoniel, coming in to join them. The bitter smell around him was stronger than it had been upstairs.

“She told me that my mother—how she is now—it's my burden. I thought that meant I was supposed to set her free. I thought if she saw me in my true form, it would—I don't know, that it would give her peace? But it didn't,” she finished miserably. “It was just like that day Uncle came here.”

“Then Nari was right.” Arkoniel stroked Tamír's hair. “Why didn't you ever tell me?”