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The Bone Doll's Twin (Tamir Trilogy, Book 1) Mass Market Paperback – October 2, 2001
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Dark Magic, Hidden Destiny
For three centuries a divine prophecy and a line of warrior queens protected Skala. But the people grew complacent and Erius, a usurper king, claimed his young half sister’s throne.
Now plague and drought stalk the land, war with Skala’s ancient rival Plenimar drains the country’s lifeblood, and to be born female into the royal line has become a death sentence as the king fights to ensure the succession of his only heir, a son. For King Erius the greatest threat comes from his own line — and from Illior’s faithful, who spread the Oracle’s words to a doubting populace.
As noblewomen young and old perish mysteriously, the king’s nephew — his sister’s only child — grows toward manhood. But unbeknownst to the king or the boy, strange, haunted Tobin is the princess’s daughter, given male form by a dark magic to protect her until she can claim her rightful destiny.
Only Tobin’s noble father, two wizards of Illior, and an outlawed forest witch know the truth. Only they can protect young Tobin from a king’s wrath, a mother’s madness, and the terrifying rage of her brother’s demon spirit, determined to avenge his brutal murder....
- Print length544 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherSpectra
- Publication dateOctober 2, 2001
- Dimensions4.17 x 1.17 x 6.77 inches
- ISBN-100553577239
- ISBN-13978-0553577235
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From the Inside Flap
Dark Magic, Hidden Destiny
For three centuries a divine prophecy and a line of warrior queens protected Skala. But the people grew complacent and Erius, a usurper king, claimed his young half sister s throne.
Now plague and drought stalk the land, war with Skala s ancient rival Plenimar drains the country s lifeblood, and to be born female into the royal line has become a death sentence as the king fights to ensure the succession of his only heir, a son. For King Erius the greatest threat comes from his own line and from Illior s faithful, who spread the Oracle s words to a doubting populace.
As noblewomen young and old perish mysteriously, the king s nephew his sister s only child grows toward manhood. But unbeknownst to the king or the boy, strange, haunted Tobin is the princess s daughter, given male form b
From the Back Cover
For three centuries a divine prophecy and a line of warrior queens protected Skala. But the people grew complacent and Erius, a usurper king, claimed his young half sister's throne. Now plague and drought stalk the land, war with Skala's ancient rival Plenimar drains the country's lifeblood, and to be born female into the royal line has become a death sentence as the king fights to ensure the succession of his only heir, a son. For King Erius the greatest threat comes from his own line -- and from Illior's faithful, who spread the Oracle's words to a doubting populace.
As noblewomen young and old perish mysteriously, the king's nephew -- his sister's only child -- grows toward manhood. But unbeknownst to the king or the boy, strange, haunted Tobin is the princess's daughter, given male form by a dark magic to protect her until she can claim her rightful destiny. Only Tobin's noble father, two wizards of Illior, and an outlawed forest witch know the truth. Only they can protect young Tobin from a king's wrath, a mother's madness, and the terrifying rage of her brother's demon spirit, determined to avenge his brutal murder....
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Snow still glistened on the peaks overhead, however. Now and then a plume of wind-blown white gusted out against the stark blue of the sky, creating the tantalizing illusion of coolness, while down here in the narrow pass no breeze stirred. Anywhere else Iya might have conjured up a bit of wind, but no magic was allowed within a day’s ride of Afra.
Ahead of her, Arkoniel swayed in his saddle like a shabby, long-legged stork. The young wizard’s linen tunic was sweated through down the back and stained drab with a week’s worth of road dust. He never complained; his only concession to the heat was the sacrifice of the patchy black beard he’d cultivating since he turned one and twenty last Erain.
Poor boy, Iya thought fondly; the newly shaven skin was already badly sunburnt.
Their destination, the Oracle at Afra, lay at the very heart of Skala’s mountainous spine and was a grueling ride any time of year. Iya had made the long pilgrimage twice before, but never in summer.
The walls of the pass pressed close to the trail here, and centuries of seekers had left their names and supplications to Illior Lightbearer scratched into the dark stone. Some had simply scratched the god’s thin crescent moon; these lined the trail like countless tilting smiles. Arkoniel had left one of his own earlier that morning to commemorate his first visit.
Iya’s horse stumbled and the reason for their journey bumped hard against her thigh. Inside the worn leather bag slung from her saddle horn, smothered in elaborate wrappings and magic, was a lopsided bowl crudely fashioned of burnt clay. There was nothing remarkable about it, except for the fierce aura of malevolence it gave off when not hidden away. More than once over the years she’d imagined throwing it over a cliff or into a river; in reality, she could no more have done that than cut off her own arm. She was the Guardian; the contents of that bag had been her charge for over a century.
Unless the Oracle can tell me otherwise. Fixing her thin, greying hair into a knot on top of her head, she fanned again at her sweaty neck.
Arkoniel turned in the saddle and regarded her with concern. His unruly black curls dripped sweat beneath the wilted brim of his hat. “You’re red in the face. We should stop and rest again.”
“No, we’re nearly there.”
“Then have some more water, at least. And put your hat back on!”
“You make me feel old. I’m only two hundred and thirty, you know.”
“Two hundred and thirty-two,” he corrected with a wry grin. It was an old game between them.
She pulled a sour face. “Just wait until you’re in your third age, my boy. It gets harder to keep track.”
The truth was, hard riding did tire her more than it had back in her early hundreds, although she wasn’t about to admit it. She took a long pull from her waterskin and flexed her shoulders. “You’ve been quiet today. Do you have a query yet?”
“I think so. I hope the Oracle finds it worthy.”
Such earnestness made Iya smile. This journey was merely another lesson as far as Arkoniel knew. She’d told him nothing of her true quest.
The leather bag bumped against her thigh like a nagging child. Forgive me, Agazhar, she thought, knowing her long-dead teacher, the first Guardian, would not have approved.
The last stretch of trail was the most treacherous. The rock face to their right gave way to a chasm and in places they rode with their left knees brushing the cliff face.
Arkoniel disappeared around a sharp bend, then called back, “I can see Illior’s Keyhole, just as you described!”
Rounding the outcropping, Iya saw the painted archway glowing like a garish apparition where it straddled the trail. Stylized dragons glowed in red, blue, and gold around the narrow opening, which was just wide enough for a singe horseman to pass through. Afra lay less than a mile beyond.
Sweat stung Iya’s eyes, making her blink. It had been snowing the first time Agazhar brought her here.
Iya had come later than most to the wizardly arts. She’d grown up on a tenant farm on the border of Skala’s mainland territory. The closest market town lay across the Keela River in Mycena, and it was here that Iya’s family traded. Like many bordermen, her father had taken a Mycenian wife and made his offerings to Dalna the Maker, rather than Illior or Sakor.
So it was, when she first showed signs of magic, that she was sent across the river to study with an old Dalnan priest who’d tried to make a drysian healer of her. She earned praise for her herb craft, but as soon as the ignorant old fellow discovered that she could make fire with a thought, he bound a witch charm to her wrist and sent her home in disgrace.
With this taint on her, she’d found little welcome in her village and no prospect of a husband.
She was a spinster of twenty-four when Agazhar happened across her in the market square. He told her later that it was the witch charm that had caught his eye as she stood haggling with a trader over the price of her goats.
She’d taken no notice of him, thinking he was just another old soldier finding his way home from the wars. Agazhar had been as ragged and hollow-cheeked as any of them, and the left sleeve of his tunic hung empty.
Iya was forced to take a second look when he walked up to her, clasped her hand, and broke into a sweet smile of recognition. After a brief conversation, she sold off her goats and followed the old wizard down the south road without a backward glance. All anyone would have found of her, had they bothered to search, was the witch charm lying in the weeds by the market gate.
Agazhar hadn’t scoffed at her fire making. Instead, he explained that it was the first sign that she was one of the god-touched of Illior. Then he taught her to harness the unknown power she possessed into the potent magic of the Oreska wizards.
Agazhar was a free wizard, beholden to no one. Eschewing the comforts of a single patron, he wandered as he liked, finding welcome in noble houses and humble ones alike. Together he and Iya traveled the Three Lands and beyond, sailing west to Aurenen, where even the common folk were as long-lived as wizards and possessed magic. Here she learned that the Aurenfaie were the First Oreska; it was their blood, mingled with that of Iya’s race, that had given magic to the chosen ones of Skala and Plenimar.
This gift came with a price. Human wizards could neither bear nor sire children, but Iya considered herself well repaid, both in magic and, later, with students as gifted and companionable as Arkoniel.
Agazhar had also taught her more about the Great War than any of her father’s ballads or legends, for he’d been among the wizards who’d fought for Skala under Queen Gherilain’s banner.
“There’s never been another such war as that, and pray Sakor there never shall be again,” he’d say, staring into the campfire at night as if he saw his fallen comrades there. “For one shining span of time wizards stood shoulder to shoulder with warriors, battling the black necromancers of Plenimar.”
The tales Agazhar told of those days gave Iya nightmares. A necromancer’s demon — a dyrmagnos, he called it — had torn off his left arm.
But gruesome as these tales were, Iya still clung to them, for only there had Agazhar given her any glimpse of where the strange bowl had come from.
Agazhar had carried it then; never in all the years she’d known him had he ever let it out of his possession. “Spoils of war,” he’d said with a dark laugh, the first time he’d opened the bag to show it to her.
But beyond that, he would tell her nothing except that the bowl could not be destroyed and that its existence could not be revealed to anyone but the next Guardian. Instead, he’d schooled her rigorously in the complex web of spells that protected it, making her weave and unweave them until she could do it in the blink of an eye.
“You’ll be the Guardian after me,” he reminded her when she grew impatient with the secrecy. “Then you’ll understand. Be certain you choose your successor wisely.”
“But how will I know who to choose?”
He’d smiled and taken her hand as he had when they’d first met in the marketplace. “Trust in the Lightbearer. You’ll know.”
And she had.
At first she couldn’t help pressing to know more about it — where he’d found it, who had made it and why, but Agazhar had remained obdurate. “Not until the time comes for you to take on the full care of it. Then I will tell you all there is to know.”
Sadly, that day had taken them both unaware. Agazhar had dropped dead in the streets of Ero one fine spring day soon after her first century. One moment he was holding forth on the beauty of a new transformation spell he’d just created; the next, he slipped to the ground with a hand pressed to his chest and a look of mild surprise in his fixed, dead eyes.
Scarcely into her second age, Iya suddenly found herself Guardian without knowing what she guarded or why. She kept the oath she’d sworn to him and waited for Illior to reveal her successor. She’d waited two lifetimes, as promising students came and went, and said nothing to them of the bag and its secrets.
But as Agazhar had promised, she’d recognized Arkoniel the moment she first spied him playing in his father’s orchard fifteen years earlier. He could already keep a pippin spinning in midair and could put out a candle flame with a thought.
Young as he was, she’d taught him what little she knew of the bowl as soon as he was bound over to her. Later, when he was strong enough, she taught him how to weave the protections. Even so, she kept the burden of it on her own shoulders as Agazhar had instructed.
Over the years Iya had come to regard the bowl as little more than a sacred nuisance, but that had all changed a month ago when the wretched thing had taken over her dreams. The ghastly interwoven nightmares, more vivid than any she’d ever known, had finally driven her here, for she saw the bowl in all of them, carried high above a battlefield by a monstrous black figure for which she knew no name.
“Iya? Iya, are you well?” asked Arkoniel.
Iya shook off the reverie that had claimed her and gave him a reassuring smile. “Ah, we’re here at last, I see.”
Pinched in a deep cleft of rock, Afra was scarcely large enough to be called a village and existed solely to serve the Oracle and the pilgrims who journeyed here. A wayfarer’s inn and the chambers of the priests were carved like bank swallow nests into the cliff faces on either side of the small paved square. Their doorways and deep-set windows were framed with carved fretwork and pillars of ancient design. The square was deserted now, but a few people waved to them from the shadowy windows.
At the center of the square stood a red jasper stele as tall as Arkoniel. A spring bubbled up at its base and flowed away into a stone basin and on to a trough beyond.
“By the Light!” Dismounting, Arkoniel turned his horse loose at the trough and went to examine the stele. Running his palm over the inscription carved in four languages, he read the words that had changed the course of Skalan history three centuries earlier. “‘So long as a daughter of Thelatimos’ line defends and rules, Skala shall never be subjugated.’” He shook his head in wonder. “This is the original, isn’t it?”
Iya nodded sadly. “Queen Gherilain placed this here herself as a thank offering right after the war. The Oracle’s Queen, they called her then.”
In the darkest days of the war, when it seemed that Plenimar would devour the lands of Skala and Mycena, the Skalan king, Thelatimos, had left the battlefields and journeyed here to consult the Oracle. When he returned to battle, he brought with him his daughter, Gherilain, then a maiden of sixteen. Obeying the Oracle’s words, he anointed her before his exhausted army and passed his crown and sword to her.
According to Agazhar, the generals had not thought much of the king’s decision. Yet from the start the girl proved god-touched as a warrior and led the allies to victory in a year’s time, killing the Plenimaran Overlord single-handedly at the Battle of Isil. She’d been a fine queen in peace, as well, and ruled for over fifty years. Agazhar had been among her mourners.
“These markers used to stand all over Skala, didn’t they?” asked Arkoniel.
“Yes, at every major crossroads in the land. You were just a babe when King Erius tore them all down.” Iya dismounted and touched the stone reverently. It was hot under her palm, and still as smooth as he day it had left the stonecutter’s shop. “Even Erius didn’t dare touch this one.”
“Why not?”
“When he sent word for it to be removed, the priests refused. To force the issue meant invading Afra itself, the most sacred ground in Skala. So Erius graciously relented and contented himself with having all the others dumped into the sea. There was also a golden tablet bearing the inscription in the throne room at the Old Palace. I wonder what happened to that?”
But the younger wizard had more immediate concerns. Shading his eyes, he studied the cliff face. “Where’s the Oracle’s shrine?”
“Further up the valley. Drink deeply here. We must walk the rest of the way.”
Leaving their mounts at the inn, they followed a well-worn path deeper into the cleft. The way became steeper and more difficult as they went. There were no trees to shade them, no moisture to lay the white dust that hung on the hot midday air. Soon the way dwindled to a faint track winding up between boulders and over rock faces worn smooth and treacherous by centuries of pilgrim’s feet.
They met two other groups of seekers coming in the opposite direction. Several young soldiers were laughing and talking bravely, all but one young man who hung back from his fellows with the fear of death clear in his eyes. The second group clustered around an elderly merchant woman who wept silently as the younger members of her party helped her along.
Product details
- Publisher : Spectra; Reissue edition (October 2, 2001)
- Language : English
- Mass Market Paperback : 544 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0553577239
- ISBN-13 : 978-0553577235
- Item Weight : 10.6 ounces
- Dimensions : 4.17 x 1.17 x 6.77 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #452,388 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #4,992 in Coming of Age Fiction (Books)
- #6,157 in Sword & Sorcery Fantasy (Books)
- #13,713 in Epic Fantasy (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Lynn Flewelling is the author of two internationally acclaimed series—The Nightrunner Series and the Tamír Triad—has well as short stories. Her books have been published in more than a dozen countries, including Japan and Russia. A Maine native, she currently resides in sunny southern California with her husband Douglas and is not, in fact dead, just resting.
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The 'hero' both has no idea what he is, but Tobin doesn't even want to take on that role, even knowing that he can't let Skala stay under the rule of his honestly pretty great uncle and his allowably-unstable cousin, when that time comes. Even knowing the reason his uncle became king instead of his mother, the rightful heir, was an insane mother's death and Ariani being only nine.
I could go on about this series. The plays of power obvious in Skala from even a backwater hunting fortress to even a six-year-old don't mean they are any less subtle once you get past the obvious, and it shows. As Tobin gets older his understanding of Skala and Skalan politics grows. His introduction to the main Court is a huge thing - it shows both how much he knows and how much goes right over his head.
For all that I've gone on about this series, I can say just these few words: read it. Give it a chance. I did, when without a friend I would have passed it over and never looked twice. It's not got a bit of everything, but it is at once complex and straightforward, and not overly-fantasy-fictiony.
A divine prophecy says that the kingdom of Skala will be prosperous as long as a queen of royal lineage rules. But a king usurps the throne and starts killing all potential female heirs. When the king’s younger sister gives birth twins, conspirators use dark magic to give the female twin the guise of her brother, killing him in the process. The secret heir is raised isolated from court and away from the king, haunted by the demon of the dead brother and the madness of their mother, without any idea of the conspiracy.
Something important to note about The Bone Doll’s Twin is that it’s not a complete story. It ends on a cliffhanger and is very much a “Part I.” This book also isn’t a story based around action or suspense but is more a coming of age story about the protagonist. I think it’s possible that fans of The Assassin’s Apprentice and Robin Hobb might like it.
I think one of The Bone Doll’s Twin‘s strongest points is the characters. These characters feel well rounded and like they could be real people. Tobin (the protagonist’s current name, I think it will change in future books?) reads like a child and not just a precocious adult. The adult conspirators were also well done, and there was a lot of moral grayness there. In particular, Iya, the wizardly mastermind, makes Dumbledore look non-manipulative by comparison.
One of the things I didn’t like about the book was the heavy reliance on prophecy. For the most part, prophecy feels like a trope used to create hand wavey explanations for dubious reasoning. “Because, it is prophesied!” is a familiar and annoying refrain from the fantasy genre. In this case, it feels like a reason to try and make the conspirators more sympathetic. There actions don’t have to be explained by prophecy, but it provides a convenient alternate explanation to a sheer power grab.
A defining topic of the trilogy is gender, but it is hard to say much at this early point. I think I’d really need to read the second novel to say more. The closest (and obvious) real world parallel is the transgender experience, and I can’t say how that’s reflected in the novel. However, I did find a positive review from a transgender reviewer.
The Bone Doll’s Twin is a haunting coming of age story with an underlying darkness. I look forward to reading the sequel and would recommend it.
In quick summary, Tobin is born into a world where female children of the royal line do not survive. Her uncle seized the throne against the well-known prophecy that as long as a daughter of Thelatimos ruled,the kingdom of
Skala will remind untouched by their worst enemies. There was some justification in his taking the throne since his mother turned mad in her latter years, killing many. Still, to be born a girl is dangerous, so before her birth, Tobin's father conspires with a wizard to perform a magic on the baby to hide her as a boy. Of course, this means her twin, a boy, must die because they need some of his skin to complete the spell. So, no one knows except for the few present at Tobin's birth. Even Tobin believes she is a boy...and her twin remains to haunt her. As he/she grows can they hide her true self from her uncle and his wizards? They will kill her if they find out.
This story is thrilling and engrossing once you get past the first few chapters. I can't wait to read the next one!
Top reviews from other countries
手に取ってみたものだが
正直こんなに面白いとは!
女王が治める限り平和を保証されている王国スカラだったが、最後の女王が狂ってしまい
圧政を敷いたため、その息子が異母妹の王冠を奪い、王として立った。
最初は受け入れられた王だが、徐々に正気を失い、自分の息子に王冠を継がせるために
王家の女子を次々と暗殺していく。
その中で、王の異母妹の娘として産まれたトビン。そのトビンを守り、スカラの正統な
女王制を守ろうとする二人の魔法使いと、巻き込まれながらも見守る魔女。
そして、トビンを守るために殺された双子の弟…
フルエリン氏の世界であるスカラの歴史の中でもドラマチックなタミール2世の
話という事だが、世界観がしっかりしているせいか非常にわくわくした。
また、幽霊と魔法が沢山でてくるので怖いところは本気で怖い。
夜に読むと、ちょっとした物音にびくっとしてしまいそう。
オススメの一冊。早く続きが読みたい。
Es gibt keine typischen Helden oder Schurken, fast jeder hat edle Ziele und trotzdem einige Leichen im Keller. Das ist nicht nur eine Redewendung, die Spanne der üblen Taten reicht von Hexenverbrennungen bis Totenbeschwörung.
Im Land Skala herrschen Seuchen und Missernten, nach einer alten Prophezeiung kann nur eine Königin auf dem Thron das Gleichgewicht wieder herstellen. Aber alle bekannten weiblichen Mitglieder der Königsfamilie sind ermordet worden und ein Magierorden verfolgt im Auftrag des herrschenden Königs jeden, der diese Prophezeiung verbreitet.
Der junge Tobin ist der Neffe des Königs. Ihn umgibt ein dunkles Geheimnis, denn in Wirklichkeit ist er ein Mädchen. Kurz nach der Geburt wurde ihr die Gestalt ihres ermordeten Zwillingsbruders gegeben. Tobin erfährt erst spät von diesem Gestaltwandelzauber, sie hatte sich immer für einen Jungen gehalten. Jetzt hängt ihr Leben an einem seidenen Faden, nur absolute Geheimhaltung und äußerste Vorsicht können verhindern das ihr wahres Geschlecht bekannt wird, denn dann wäre ihr der Tod sicher. Auch der Geist ihres Bruders kommt nicht zur Ruhe, manchmal verfolgt er Tobin, manchmal beschützt er sie.
Die Geschichte ist sehr düster und magisch, viele Gefahren sind nicht offen ersichtlich, sondern lauern im Verborgenen. Ich hoffe die Autorin kann auch in den folgenden Romanen dieser Reihe dieses schaurig-schöne Lesegefühl aufrecht erhalten.
Lynns writing style is similar to Robins, both draw wonderful characters and really let you get inside the skin of them. They also stick to the principle of KEEP IT SIMPLE, which I really enjoy as I didn't find myself sitting trying to work out what was going on all the time (such as Steven Erikson) but avidly turning the pages hungry for what was going to happen next. I was slightly worried when I read the back cover and had started reading the book, that this was going to be a cliche led story (like a fair bit of US fantasy) of a Princess done wrong who would suddenly wake up and kill the evil king, and in some ways I was right, this book (1st of 3) does hit most of the cliches but they are done with real feeling for the characters which makes them feel fresh and vivid.
Now I am just gonna have to save up the money to buy her 1st trilogy while I eagerly await the next book in this thrilling saga.
If you like Robin Hobb, Raymond Fiest, George R R Martin, Juliet Mckenna and Kathrin Kerr or are just looking for a damn good read then I can heartily recommend this book to you (and all of theirs apart from the Krondor series by Feist).