One of a Kind

Disclaimer: C'mon people, don't you get it? It's not mine! All these wonderful characters belong to the third, non-Australian, non-British goddess of fiction, Tamora Pierce. I'm just borrowing (except for some that I made up.)

Chapter six: The Sickness

Alanna grunted slightly as Tat's staff swung down against hers, which gave slightly before holding. She threw the other girls staff off her own and, backing off slightly, circled warily. She had had a little more training than Tat in the fighting arts, and was more naturally talented in them, but the older girl's greater height and weight meant that Tat could and occasionally did defeat her, given the right circumstances and if she was paying attention.

Alanna smiled slightly despite herself. Paying attention was something Sophia often yelled at Tat for not doing during a fight. Which is what I should be doing right now. I don't need any more bruises, I'm sore enough already.

Seeing an opening, Tat dove in, and Alanna, mentally cursing herself as she hastily parried, slamming her staff vertically against Tat's, and in one swift movement flipped it around and pulled so that Tat's staff came flying out of her hands and into Alanna's.

"Interesting move, lady Alanna."

Alanna gasped in surprise at the First Daughter as she walked forward out of the shadows, and hastily bowed, remembering just in time that she wasn't wearing a dress. Beside her, Tat's face had lost it's usual mischievous look as she too, bowed.

"You both fought well, although you, lady Tatiana, would be wise to remember to keep a firm grip on your staff, although I must say you are doing well for one so new to the it."

Tat blushed, cheeks and forehead turning a dark pink as she bowed slightly again, murmuring her thanks for the First Daughters compliment.

She turned to talk to talk to Sophia, who signalled to them in the hand language used by Daughters who had taken a vow of silence, which she had been teaching them over the last few months, to go and wash up.

Tat grinned and retrieved her staff from near Alanna's feet, where she had dropped it in surprise when the First Daughter spoke, and nudged Alanna slightly in the ribs with it. "Well fought, lady Alanna."

"You too, lady Tatiana." Alanna shot back with a grin, knowing Tat disliked the 'lady' titles they were addressed by as much as she did.

Tat snorted and threw a mock punch at Alanna's shoulder, which she easily dodged, catching Tat's hand twisting her arm back.

"Girls!"

Both of them spun, catching sight of Sophia glaring at them from over the First Daughters shoulder. "I told you I would teach you both to fight on the condition that you kept you abilities for the training courts!"

"Sorry Sophia," Tatiana said, grinning pertly, until the First Daughter turned around, and she lost the grin as she bit her lip and hurried to the door.

***

"Wonder what that's about." Tat said a few days later at dinner, tossing her pale head towards the head table, where the Daughters sat, all looking unusually grave at whatever it was the First Daughter was telling them. Even Sophia had lost her customary smile as she sat forward, listening intently.

"No idea." Alanna replied, playing with the end of her fiery plait thoughtfully as she considered casting a listening spell to see what they could pick up, then hastily disregarded the idea as she caught sight of priestess Katerina, who would no doubt have her doing punishments for the rest of the year if she listened in on something as important as this obviously was. "They'll probably tell us eventually if they think we should know." She added as she took another bite of her dinner.

Tat sighed derisively. "Who, them? They wouldn't tell us if the convent was about to be stormed by Scanrans, they're so secretive. And so nosy about anything we do."

"Well, that last one's right at least." agreed Rhiannon of Ruatha's Gorge, a fief centred around the deep gorge that carved from the mountains by the Ruatha, a river that weaved in and out of the mountains that divided Tortall from Scanra, and which neighboured Alanna's home fief of Trebond.

Rhiannon had grown up with four older sisters, and as a consequence lacked Tat and Alanna's interest in weapons and fighting, but she was a keen rider, who Alanna had meet a few times before coming to the convent, and the three girls got along well, although Alanna wasn't as close to Rhiannon as she was to Tat or her brother.

Alanna nodded, "You've got a point, although I think they would tell us if Scanrans were attacking us. "

Rhiannon shook her head, then brushed honey coloured hair out of her dark hazel eyes. "No they wouldn't, Alanna. They'd think you'd go and try to fight them off yourself."

"And she would too," commented Tat from beside Alanna, poking her fork at Rhiannon for emphasis, and then releasing it as a servant pulled it out of her hands, picking up her now empty plate as she did so.

Alanna scowled. "No I wouldn't. Believe it or not, I do know when I'm out numbered."

"Do you?" Tat asked.

Alanna scowled, but before she could reply the First Daughter stood up, cleared her throat and rapped on the table for attention.

"Looks like they are going to tell us what's going on, after all." Rhiannon murmured, as the dining hall fell silent, even Delia ceasing her chatter as the First Daughter began to speak.

"Young ladies, gentlemen," here she nodded towards the table where the few boys at the convent - mages in training - sat "I have grave news. Of late a sickness, named the Sweating Sickness by the healers in Corus, has begun to spread through the city. While it has not yet reached the palace, our Sisters in the city tell us that it is extremely contagious and asked for our prayers that those who contract it may be healed. I know a number of you have relations there, and in addition to praying for healing, I suggest you also pray that they stay healthy. You are dismissed."

As the First Daughter sat down again, a buzz of concerned chatter grew throughout the hall. Rhiannon was absentmindedly chewing a nail, her mind no doubt on the two sisters she had who were currently living in Corus, and Tat was biting her lip almost hard enough to draw blood. She had an older brother in Corus, Alanna dimly remembered through a haze of worry for Thom.

Hurrying back to her rooms after giving Tat and Rhiannon a hurried goodnight, Alanna settled down before the fire, drawing her boot dagger and allowing it to hover over her finger. And hesitated. Alanna frowned. What's wrong with me? I've never been afraid of getting a little cut before. And I have to know if Thom's alright.

Conserve your magic, for you will have need of it soon.

Alanna blinked in surprise, looking around for the owner of the voice. Was it a voice? I t seemed like a voice and a thought and the whisper of wind blowing through leaves all at once. Looking down at her hands again, she started in surprise as she realised that she had unconsciously re-sheathed her dagger, her finger uncut.

Sighing in disgust, Alanna got up, deciding to obey the invisible speakers suggestion that she conserve her magic - for now, anyway. After all, the First Daughter had said that the sickness hadn't reached the palace yet, and that was where Thom was.

***

The broom hit the floor with a clatter as Thom dropped it, startled by the ring of the bell in the black god's temple that signified another ten had died in the city. At the beginning it had rung for every person who died, but so many had fallen to the sickness that it now rang for each ten.

The sickness had finally entered the palace, striking at servant and noble alike. Even the queen had fallen ill, though she was recovering, and all the pages and squires had been set to do the work normally done by the servants who fell ill or died from it.

Francis was sick. He had, or so Thom was told, been worse of than many others. He wouldn't know himself, since the healers had ordered them all to keep away, for fear of anyone else catching it.

Later that night, as Thom slept, the bell rang, seeming in his dreams to be much and clearer then normal. As he woke, he realised it wasn't just the in his dreams it had seemed louder, it was. And that could mean only one thing - the bell in the palace had been rung, someone in the palace had just died.

Stumbling to open the door to the frantic knocking, he opened to admit a wide-eyed messenger. His message sent a chill through Thom's body - Francis was dead.

A few days later, Thom realised that Francis might not yet be the only one to die of the sickness, when Coram came to tell him that the prince had fallen ill.

***

~ She was standing in a room full of people, wailing prayers and waving incense in the air as they surrounded a bed in which a boy a few years older then her lay, his face fevered and slick with sweat.

She clenched her teeth in anger. What are they doing? She thought. How can anyone get well in this - this - circus!

"Get them out." The angry whisper seemed somehow familiar, and she turned, starting in surprise as she saw Thom next to her. ~

***

"Get them out." It was all Thom could think of to say when he saw the people surrounding Jon's bed. The idiots! "Please, sir Myles." He added as the old knight nodded, while Thom darted away through the crowd, for once glad of the small frame that allowed him to slip under peoples arms and through the spaces between the clusters of people, to come to Jon's bedside. He noted his friend's fevered face, recalling all Maude had ever taught him about fevers, and wishing that Alanna, who had always found the non-magical, and sometimes the magical side of healing easier then him was with him.

Sighing with relief as the people left the room, Thom quickly set about doing what he could to heal his friend.

Several days later, Thom frowned, shaking his head. He had done all he could in the way of natural healing, which couldn't work, since it was obvious by now that this sickness wasn't natural. And, what was worse, it had been draining his magic ever since he began to try and heal the prince, so he didn't have enough magic left to try anything drastic, which by now was all that was left which could save Jon. No magic. Unless … Alanna would have to understand. Gathering his thoughts, Thom reached out through the magical link that bound him to Alanna …

***

Alanna settled down on her knees in front of the fire, readying her magic. She couldn't wait any more … she had to know how Thom was.

Suddenly, she felt a mental yank, as if her magic was being torn out of her.  Doing the only thing she could, she grabbed onto it mentally, then immediately regretted her decision as she felt herself being pulled out of her body, trailing along behind her magic.

Alanna help!

With a suddenness that astounded her, Alanna felt her feet touch the ground again. She glanced up, and realised with a start that she wasn't in her room at the convent. Thom was standing in front of her with his eyes closed, wearing the expression that she recognised as him doing magic. Suddenly he shook his head impatiently, and opened his eyes. And screamed. Quietly, granted, but still a scream.

"Thom, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Silently he pointed to her, and looking at her hands, she almost screamed herself. Her hands were - only slightly, but still - transparent.

"What did you do to me?" she demanded, horrified.

"I didn't do anything to you! I just needed to borrow some of your magic."

"And I grabbed onto it. Why did you need to borrow my magic anyway?"

"Jon. He - he's dying. I tried to heal him, but I don't have enough magic to. You were always the better one at healing."

Alanna frowned, crossing over to the bed. Gasping, she recognised the boy from her dream. He looked even worse than before. Reaching out with her Gift, she winced as a dim echo of the pain her was feeling reached her.

Shaking her head, she returned to Thom. Glancing at the packets of herbs on the table. She gulped. "There's only one thing we can do."

Picking up a packet of vervain, she crossed to the fire, pulling Thom's arm as she did so.

Tossing the vervain on the fire, she began to recite the spell. Realising what she was doing, Thom joined in speaking the last few lines. The pain was incredible.

And the voice. It was the same one that had spoken to her before, telling her to conserve her magic.

Gripping one of the prince's shoulders with one had, and reaching across him to gab Thom's hand, who had reached across to hold hers from his side of the prince's bed.

They were floating in a black well, the prince below them.

The black god stood between them. Thom walked forward, gripping her hand tightly, and spoke to the god.

Nodding, the god disappeared. Taking the prince's hand, Thom looked towards her, and they floated out of the well.

It was gone. All of it. Her reserves of her Gift were completely gone. She looked up at Thom, before her eyes rolled up in her head, and she was flying through the air.

Vaguely feeling herself settle back into her body, she keeled over unconscious in front of the fire.