Doublesight (36 page)

“To the holiness of the Gods,” Zimp said. “Oronice has died.”

Lankor noticed that her eyes were clear and her stance strong and upright. What had happened? And what did her words indicate? Before he could consider what she had said, three young women entered the room and stood before them. The three were dressed alike in thin robes of gray cloth. They appeared to be freshly bathed, their blonde hair light and soft. They were in their bare feet. One was noticeably pregnant. Possibly a second was also pregnant by a few months.

“He's good-looking,” one of them said about Lankor. Her eyes were a stark and penetrating hazel color.

“Even the guards,” another said.

The guard who stood nearest Lankor turned his head when she looked at him.

“But that's not why we are here,” the first one said. “Draklan would like a small show before we eat.”

With those words, the three sisters opened their robes slowly. Their naked bodies were smooth and white, their breasts round and firm. The only hair on their bodies was under their arms and between their legs where a puff of flesh and light colored fur stood out. Even as Lankor stared, he sensed they were about to shift.

37

BROK KEPT MOVING ALONG THE STREETS and alleys as though nothing was wrong, a vendor out for a stroll. He slunk through the streets in a great loop around the inn. Few others walked that evening, an occasional couple hurrying home as though the darkness would harm them, yet a small crowd had grown on the main street.

Hiding in a door well, Brok watched as Zimp and Lankor were escorted towards the castle. Thank the Gods Therin had not been left at the stables, or he may have been killed.

A light glow lay over the ridge of the mountain range to the west, the trees black against the evening sky. Brok imagined the sun, still visible in Brendern Forest, casting a sidelong glow through the underbrush. Breel came to mind and he prayed that she was well, that there were no more attacks on the council.

Shadows darkened the doorways and corners of the alleys as he glided over the dirt roadway. He heard voices from time to time, a couple speaking in low tones as though hiding their conversation. The king's son is what they discussed. What little conversation he heard from the people at the inn was enough for him to realize that one of them had to get back to the council and The Few with word of the gryphon. The Few would know that something terrible had gone wrong in The Great Land. They would know what to do.

He placed his back against an outside wall and leaned for a moment as a man rushed by. Brok acted as though he were waiting for someone. While there he recalled the last weeks. His family had been slaughtered by angry and fearful humans. His brother had
remained in his beast image because of the horror of attack. Brok gritted his teeth. He thought of Therin before the shock forced him into permanent beast image. Therin had always been the baby of the family, frightened of being in the forest alone, crying whenever something didn't go his way. Was it Brok's duty to go back to get Therin or to warn The Few? He had been sworn to the council. But it wasn't him they wanted, it was Fremlin, his father. Brok was only a substitute for a real hero, subjugated to the position of follower under a woman's command.

Brok closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it escape through pursed lips. He felt alone and scared. He leaned over and glanced down the alley in both directions. His mind recalled the beams holding up the balcony at the inn. Less than an hour and darkness would be secured. He could climb to the balcony and rescue Therin, but was there time for that? Would the innkeeper have already rushed upstairs to kill him while he slept, knowing that Therin traveled with doublesight? He needed a clear head to make the right decision.

Brok tapped his forehead and rubbed his hands along his sides. He thought of his father. Fremlin would find a way to do both, to save Therin and warn the council. Therin was his brother. He had to return, and there was no time to waste.

Brok jogged on his toes and could feel the thylacine waiting to escape the human image. Prancing down the street like an animal searching for a way out of a maze, Brok made calculated turn after calculated turn until he saw the inn. He stopped and began to walk slowly. No one stood outside or in the alley so he hurried to the beam that angled upward, and wrapped his arms easily around it. In very little time, he placed a hand over the top of the balcony wall and heard Therin growl. He must have been sleeping. Brok whispered, “It's me,” and felt a wetness touch his fingers as Therin's tongue licked them. Just as Brok swung up, Therin jumped and placed his front paws onto the banister.

“I'll carry you down,” Brok said.

Therin jumped back to the floor and turned to go out the door.

“You can't. They'll attack you down there.”

Therin's head cocked.

Brok heard someone outside the door. When it opened, Therin yipped and growled and the innkeeper fell backwards trying to get out of the thylacine's way.

Therin dashed for the stairs and Brok heard all sorts of noise as people screamed and avoided the wild beast that was his brother.

The innkeeper sat on the floor and looked directly at Brok. “He's on the balcony,” he said to someone behind him.

Brok had never swung his leg over, so he just lowered himself back to the beam and slid toward ground. Just as he hit dirt, Therin burst out the front of the inn. Brok snapped his fingers to get his brother's attention, and they both ran down the alley and turned toward the stables. He hoped it would be safe to go there now. He needed a horse. The yelling rose in volume as people from the inn ran into the alleyway. Therin's ears perked up at the sound. They were already around the corner with Therin in the lead.

Brok followed him around a second turn, then straight toward the stables. His brother stopped short of the door and sniffed. Brok sniffed the air as well, but could only smell the horses and the hay.

The hair along Therin's back stood straight up. He leaped into the doorway and landed with his legs spread and crouched in a ready position for attack.

A squeal rang out and a stable boy swung a poker toward Therin's head, catching him in the ear and knocking him to the side. The boy lifted the poker again. Before he could swing it, Therin leaped for his throat and tore it out. The boy fell backward. Therin stood on his body. A gurgling came from the boy as his body jerked and blood spit out of the opening in his neck. Blood fell from Therin's ear. He shook his head.

“You all right?” Brok said to his brother.

Therin lowered his head and ran over to nuzzle Brok's leg.

Brok dashed to one of the stalls and opened the door. He threw a bridle over the horse's head, looked at the saddle lying across a log at the other end of the barn, and decided against it. Back to Therin, he asked, “Can you run?”

Therin ran, but slowly, toward the front of the stable.

Brok gripped the hair at the horse's withers and swung his leg over its back. “You'll have to try. We have to warn The Few.” Brok
rode the horse to the front of the stable beside Therin. The sun's glow had dimmed to an ember. A few minutes more and darkness would help hide them as they left the castle grounds. He had no idea how he'd make it through the gate he'd chosen to exit.

Therin sniffed at the air and his ears twisted to listen for voices. He must have heard something by the alarmed look on his face and his sudden dash for the street.

Brok followed even though he would have rather waited the extra minutes he thought would be helpful.

Therin jogged in small bouncy steps toward the front gate. Several guards noticed them coming and began to yell. Therin didn't stop.

Brok saw the men pull their swords, but Therin slipped under a cart that had been closed up for the evening.

“Where'd he go?” One guard ran behind the row of carts that stood near the gate.

Two other guards stepped forward to stop Brok. He rode up slowly.

“Halt there. No one leaves the castle grounds after dark unless they have…” The man turned his head when he heard the other guard yell out that it wasn't a dog but a thylacine. Surprise and understanding gripped the guard's face as he began to reach for his sword.

Brok slid his weapon from its sheath and came down on the man's head before the guard could lift his sword into the air. The other guard's sword had been drawn as well, so Brok slid off the opposite side of the horse.

Therin growled and Brok heard him attack. Something in the growl worried Brok though. Therin wasn't well.

From behind him, his attacker swung his sword at Brok's neck, yelling, “Doublesight!” as he did so.

Brok blocked the attack and kicked at the guard's chest. The man fell backwards a few steps, long enough for Brok to crouch down and bring his sword up under the man's arm, nearly slicing it off. The man screamed in agony. Five more men ran from a nearby guard shack. They had not been ready for trouble and three were not fully dressed. But all five carried swords. Brok lifted the bolt from the gate and shoved, leading the horse through by its bridle.

Therin appeared beside him almost miraculously.

“Go,” Brok commanded as he swing mounted onto the horse and rode off.

The guards crashed the gate open more fully and ran into the road screaming, their swords raised into the air.

It was too late. Brok rode away at a dead run. Therin kept up along side of him.

As it was late spring, the fields were not as high as they might have been. Brok rode through thick but short grain stalks. He planned to avoid Torturous Road and take his chances with the farmers and their families as he advanced toward Weilk Post Stronghold. The castle guards would not expect him to ride due south in the open rather than in the forest where he could hide more easily. His fear was for Therin and his horse. How long could either last?

A sense of duty filled him. The entire doublesight race could be in danger if gryphons and dragons were again populating The Great Land. He had to get back and tell The Few. He had to warn the doublesight.

Only stars lighted his way. The night sky, a beautiful canvas of constellations, opened to the great Weilk plains. Evening breezes bent the growth to the east, leaning and then straightening. He left a field of grain and dashed through a field planted with vines. Perhaps squash or melon grew there. The sound of his horse's hooves changed from the swishing of thin grass blades to that of the loose dirt mounded around the vines. The steady clomping beat matched the horse's neck and head as it rocked in slow motion.

Brok matched the rhythm of the earth, matched the heartbeat of the land itself. To his left, Therin ran at full stride, but was falling back. Brok reined in a little to stay with his brother, who strode up one of the rows.

Brok smiled at his brother, and at that moment Therin fell and tumbled across several rows of the vines. Brok sat into the sway of the horse's back and jerked the reins. The horse stopped in three hops. Brok leaped to the ground. Foam fell from the horse's mouth. Its nostrils sucked in great chambers of air. Its head rose, and its feet continued to move as though ready to continue once Brok returned to its back.

Therin let out a quiet squeak and shook his head. He rolled to his stomach and tried to lift to his feet but fell over as though his balance was lost.

Brok rubbed the top of his head and along both sides of his jaw. Blood had caked at Therin's ear. Brok picked it off and said, “It's all right. We'll rest here for a while.” He looked around and could barely see the silhouette of the castle in the distance. A farmer's shack stood at the southeastern corner of the field they were in, but nothing stirred inside. Brok bent to kiss his brother's head and Therin nipped at Brok's chin. “I can't leave you.”

Therin panted and lay still over Brok's lap. It appeared as though the ear had stopped bleeding.

Brok continued to stroke Therin's side in a smooth, relaxed manner. Luckily, the horse ground-tied. After a short while it stopped shifting around the reins and stood quietly, turned toward Brok, waiting to be rescued. But Brok didn't move.

His heart ached with the memories of death, the fear of failure that crept upon him the longer he sat with his brother.

It was several hours before Therin awoke and tried to move.

Brok feared the worst for Therin and feared the worst for himself. Who might warn The Few if he were to die?

Therin got to his feet, but something was wrong. His movements were awkward, his balance off. He fell over after a few steps.

Brok noticed fresh blood on his leg. The ear had been seeping. He crawled to Therin's side. “Easy. We don't need to go anywhere.” He lifted his brother's head and saw Therin's eyes roll back slowly. Brok shook him, but his eyes remained white.

“No, not you, not now.” Brok slid under Therin's head and petted the sweaty fur along his side.

Therin coughed and his head relaxed completely. Brok watched as the thylacine lengthened and the head bore curly hair, matching Brok's. Hands and arms, feet and legs appeared as Therin's body shifted into its original human image. The beast image, no matter how permanent it appeared to be, could not maintain visibility in death.

Brok cried. Perhaps Raik had been correct. Being born a doublesight was a curse. Brok looked to the sky. Hours had passed. His ceremonial staff had been left behind. Only a parent can eat the heart of a child
after death. There was little for him to do. He set Therin's head onto the ground, and began to dig a shallow grave under the stars.

More time passed, another hour. The dirt mounds were loose and easy to dig through. Brok rolled Therin's body into the grave and covered it over.

Standing next to his brother, Brok lifted his arms into the air toward the open sky. “I give my brother to The Great Land. May his arms and legs become the arms and legs of trees, may his feet and hands become the bushes, and may his mind join with the forest and live there forever.” It was the only thing he could think to say. Brok fell to his knees. Remembering what crows believed, he said, “And if Therin now resides in the next realm, may he have peace there.” He wanted to shift and smell his brother's scent for the last time, but the horse would run off in fear. So he let his beast image swell to a place where it was almost too late to stop a shift, then backed it off. He turned and the horse's eyes glared at him, wide and frightened. It must have sensed his near shift. As he walked toward the animal, it stepped sideways. Brok forced soothing tones and calm words, even though he wished to hurry. Taking one slow step at a time, he reached for the reins. As he closed in on them, he reached out and pulled the wary beast closer, then gripped a fist of mane and swung onto its back. No sooner was he on than the horse kicked the dirt behind him and raced onward.