A Turn of Light

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “We’ve met,” Horst interrupted harshly. He looked like a stranger himself, Jenn thought, the lines of his face hard and grim. “Quite the coincidence, your arriving in time to help this other stranger.”

  Bannan crossed his arms and leaned nonchalantly against a sun-touched beam. “Oh, you can thank my horse for that.”

  “Your horse?” Horst’s eyebrow lifted.

  Bannan nodded. “Dumped me at your road, then ran this way. I assume for good reason.”

  “Your horse,” Dusom echoed. Jenn could tell he thought Bannan had landed on his head.

  “A creature of rare perception. Just as well, or that fellow wouldn’t be breathing.”

  “Or me.” Jenn pushed forward. Perhaps an exaggeration, but she wasn’t about to stand by and let them twist what had been the bravest, most selfless act she’d ever seen. “Bannan saved me too. You should be grateful he was here.”

  Zehr looked embarrassed. “We are, Jenn. We are. But Horst watches the road and . . .”

  “And you should heed his concerns,” Bannan finished for him, abruptly serious. He straightened and brought his right hand to his chest, touching forefinger to thumb to circle his heart. “Hearts of my Ancestors be witness, I swear I mean no harm to you or yours.” He lowered his hand. “Permit me to bring my wagon and companion to Marrowdell. Let me prove I’m what I said, a settler in search of a peaceful home. If you aren’t satisfied, we’ll be gone in the morning.”

  “You didn’t—” Zehr bit off the rest, giving Horst an annoyed stare.

  Dusom looked intrigued. “A new settler? Your companion too?”

  “Only me. Tir’s convinced I’m mad to try farming.” Zehr chuckled at this; Horst scowled. “But he’s the kind of friend who couldn’t see me travel alone.”

  “The good kind,” Dusom nodded.

  “Yes.”

  Jenn took an easier breath. She wasn’t sure what to make of Horst’s animosity, but the others were now more interested than concerned. Just then, Peggs, Aunt Sybb, and her father appeared at the top of the stairs; Peggs spotted her and waved. Relief flooded her from head to toe.

  Until she saw the flood of people following behind.

  The curious must have waited for the miller before coming inside to see for themselves. Gallie Emms, with tiny Loee on one hip. Anten with Cheffy, whose younger sister Alyssa stared at him with admiration. Hettie Ropp, who rushed to Peggs, her cheeks flushed with excitement. The Morrill brothers: Roche glowering at Bannan, Devins at Wisp. Kydd behind them, but not Wainn, who stayed away from crowds. And a crowd it became as the entire Treff household, less Wen, arrived at the top of the stairs with big Davi behind, last but not least.

  Lorra and Fran had donned feathered black hats for the occasion. From the flash of chagrin on Aunt Sybb’s face, the powerful ladies of Marrowdell had scored a significant social victory.

  In short order, the spacious loft was full of people, people who fell silent, people looking at her.

  Jenn didn’t realize she’d reached for Bannan’s hand until his fingers closed warm around hers. “Quite the welcome,” he commented.

  Aunt Sybb had paused with the rest, probably taken aback by their blood-soaked clothing, but recovered first. She walked briskly toward them. Radd and Peggs joined her, as did, for some reason, Hettie and Kydd. The rest waited where they were. A dignified but firm nod moved Horst, Zehr, and Dusom from her aunt’s path. She stopped in front of Jenn and Bannan and waited.

  Hurriedly letting go of Bannan’s hand, Jenn performed the introduction. “Bannan Larmensu, this is my aunt, Sybb Mahavar. Of Avyo,” she added loudly, to make up for the hats.

  Bannan gave a deeper bow than any Jenn had seen, one leg back, almost sweeping the floor with the fingertips of his right hand, his left over his heart. “Bannan Marerrym Larmensu, dear lady. A pleasure.”

  “Ah! A modern gentleman.” Aunt Sybb actually dimpled. “Please excuse Marrowdell’s manners,” she told him. “I’m sure you wish to freshen after your adventure.” To Jenn, “Bring your young man along, dear.” To them both. “A wash and clean clothes. Then a meal. I won’t take no for an answer.” To Bannan, “We’re so very happy to meet you at last. I confess, I had no idea you’d be so personable.”

  Bewildered, Jenn looked at Peggs who mouthed what looked like “toad.”

  Toad?

  Jenn’s confusion cleared. Aunt Sybb thought Bannan was Wisp.

  Meanwhile, having no idea what was going on, Bannan took it in stride. He bowed again, not so deeply, with that wide smile. “You honor me, dear lady.”

  “Lucky man.” Zehr grinned. “Peggs Nalynn is the best cook in Marrowdell. And our beauty.”

  Hettie giggled, Peggs turned a lovely pink, while at this vindication of her assurance of manners, or rather the lack thereof, in the village, Aunt Sybb gave a delicate sigh.

  “But first.” Bannan looked at Horst. “My companion?”

  “There’s another one?” Aunt Sybb’s eyebrows rose.

  No wonder, Jenn thought, losing track herself suddenly. Bannan hadn’t meant Wisp. A third stranger was coming, making this a day Marrowdell’s residents would remember and discuss far too long. No point going halfway, she told herself. “He’s welcome too.”

  “Hold on—” Horst said roughly. “We can’t allow—”

  “Nalynn vouches for our guests,” Radd interrupted in a no-nonsense voice, staring at Horst until the other man gave a short unhappy nod. “Then it’s—”

  A shriek rang out. Everyone turned as a masked man appeared at the top of the stairs, a blackened ax high in each fist. He gave another shrieking shout and launched himself up and onto the floor, crouching like a maddened bear about to attack.

  Jenn gawked with the rest.

  “I see my companion’s arrived,” Bannan said mildly, drawing his share of startled looks. “Tir,” this with exasperation, “what are you doing?”

  Unabashed, the man lowered his weapons and straightened. He put the ax handles through loops in his wide belt, then gave a short bow, hands wide and empty. “Apparently saving you from lovely farm maids, sir.” Above the metal mask, his eyes shone bold and merry. He bowed again, this time at Hettie Ropp. “I advise surrender, faced with so fair a foe.”

  Hettie, for once speechless, pressed her hands to her throat and appeared short of breath. Peggs elbowed her in the side.

  Aunt Sybb rose to the occasion. “I expect you both,” she told Bannan, “at our table.”

  “Not so fast, Sybb.” Frann Nall pressed forward. “We want to know what happened. Who’s the man from the river?” She pointed dramatically to the corner with the pallet and the rest of the villagers shifted to give Aunt Sybb a clear view.

  “More?” This time, her aunt looked thoroughly shaken. “Jenn?”

  “I can explain—” Jenn stopped there. Not like this. Not in front of everyone, family, friends, and strangers. Her hand found itself wrapped in Bannan’s again.

  “That’s Wyll, Aunt Sybb,” Peggs announced. She had the audacity to wink at her sister. “You remember Wyll,” she continued briskly. “He was coming to visit. Poor man was attacked by bandits. Did you encounter such terrible foes on your travels?” This with the full brunt of her earnest, gorgeous eyes on Tir. Jenn bit her lip to keep from smiling. Peggs could make any man blush with that look. And the number of times she’d talked them both out of trouble?

  “Indeed, dear lady,” Tir affirmed, a rosy tinge to his ears and bald head. “Some tried our camp last night. Dangerous, they are. Your friend’s lucky to escape with his life.”

  “Not luck. Bannan pulled him from the river just in time,” Jenn added. “And me.”

  “He did, did he?” For the first time, Bannan’s companion looked directly at her. Whatever he’d planned to say stayed behind his mask. His eyes seemed to see right through her.

  Jenn realized her hand was still in Bannan’s and she pulled it free, blushing furiously.

  “A wash, change of clothes, and something ho
t,” Aunt Sybb pronounced, taking charge again. She wheeled with an elegant lift of her hand to collect everyone she expected to follow, and the rest of Marrowdell parted to let them through without a murmur.

  Jenn looked longingly at Wisp, lying so still. Peggs leaned close, “Go,” she whispered. “I’ve helped Covie before. I’ll talk to her, find out how he’s doing. Meet you at home.”

  Could there be a better sister? “Oh, Peggs . . .”

  “Thank me by helping with lunch.” Peggs gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “I want to know everything that happened.”

  From the questions filling the eyes of everyone she passed, Peggs wasn’t the only one.

  The reprieve would be short indeed.

  Vouched for by Jenn’s father or not, they’d yet to be trusted. Their wagon was tucked against Horst’s homestead and their ox blissfully led to pasture at the farthest end of the village. All in good time, Bannan thought contentedly, and availed himself of soap and a bucket of cold water before changing into cleaner clothes. Done, he dropped his blood-soaked shirt into the suds to be scrubbed later and ran fingers through his still-damp hair. His cheeks felt rough and his boots needed more than a brush on the grass, but he was as impatient as any in Marrowdell to get answers. Besides, he smiled to himself. The Nalynns’ formidable lady expected them at her table. Best be prompt.

  He laid his hand on the side of the wagon. The sum of his possessions was inside, tightly wrapped and secured, a gamble on the future wider and higher than he’d ever made on the next turn of a nillystone. A future here? He studied his surroundings with heightened interest.

  Horst’s home was crudely built, of whole logs the size of which he hadn’t seen in years. Despite being shaped by simple ax, the resulting walls were strong and snug, their cracks well caulked. The broad, deep-set windows had glass panes, small but of good quality. No curtains—someone like Horst would want to see out at all times. Doubtless he watched now.

  Bannan resisted the impulse to salute.

  The village gates were of split cedar, the fencing of tall sturdy hedge. Not a defensive barrier, but adequate to keep wandering livestock from the orchard and vegetables. By all accounts, apples didn’t thrive this far north, but the grove to his right, nestled under the riven cliff, boasted fruit-laden trees every bit as healthy and lush as his cousin’s in Vorkoun.

  Like the apples, the gardens weren’t what he expected here. Plots occupied most open space between the buildings, themselves filled with neat rows of exuberant plants. Perhaps the towering crags held warmth. Perhaps someone here was an exceptional gardener.

  Perhaps the ground—like the road, the river, and the man—wasn’t what it seemed. His pulse quickened at the prospect of so many puzzles.

  Scourge, also not what he seemed, lurked somewhere beyond the gate; an old and familiar puzzle, suddenly reshaped. Why had he wanted to come here?

  Unlike those in Weken or Endshere, Marrowdell’s villagers hadn’t offered stable or pasture. How did they know of Scourge? Could—unsettling thought—there be others of his kind here? If so, why had Scourge seemed startled by the village, as if expecting something else?

  Yes, he was going to enjoy this place.

  Tir was waiting when Bannan came around the wagon, his forehead creased in a fierce scowl. He moved in the way, stepped close. “Not so fast. Sir.”

  “Not hungry?” Bannan inquired mildly.

  “Ancestors Provoked and Tormented. Bandits with pitchforks.” Tir poked Bannan’s chest with a blunt forefinger. “Blood on your saddle.” Poke. “A farm village. Where there would be pitchforks,” the finger for this wagged emphatically, then poked. “Not a soul in sight. Why, sir? Because everyone’s in the mill. The mill outside which yon beast is pacing, still saddled. The saddle with blood on it.”

  Laughing, Bannan deflected the next poke and rubbed the now-sore spot on his chest. “Granted. You had every reason to storm the defenseless mill. Now stop fretting,” he grinned. “You didn’t scare anyone.” Though he’d add the unusual composure of the villagers to his burgeoning list of questions. “Be glad you arrived in time for lunch.” No need to ask how Tir had known to take the road to Marrowdell. To a tracker of his skill, the only surprise was that he hadn’t commented on Bannan’s tumble.

  “And how did you fall off, sir?”

  So much for that mercy. “Scourge spooked. Don’t ask me why.”

  “To rid himself of a fool,” Tir retorted, not ready to budge. The scowl above the mask was real. He’d been truly worried.

  Bannan clapped the other’s leather-clad shoulder. “No luck yet.” Or all the luck in the world, he added to himself. If he’d been an instant later, the not-man in the river would surely have drowned. Scourge had known, somehow. Had known and cared, which was more peculiar. “Now. Lunch?”

  His point made, Tir relaxed and a twinkle appeared in his eye. “What’s the hurry: lunch or lady?” he inquired as they began walking.

  Bannan nodded a greeting to the young men by the mill door. The taller nodded back; the other glowered. Fair enough. “You appeared quite taken by one.”

  “Taken and caught aren’t the same. Sir.”

  A cautionary “Sir.”

  Her hand had filled his like a tiny bird, full of life, with utter trust. Bannan cleared his throat. “A fair place, this Marrowdell.”

  “Seen worse.” Between the mask and the shade cast by his farmer hat, it was impossible to read Tir’s expression, but Bannan heard a smile in his voice.

  They continued in silence, boots making little sound on the packed earth of the path. The village road could easily take a large wagon; it sent a short curved spur to the mill, then split around what looked to be a fountain at the village heart before continuing through the common pasture. The road wove past a total of eight homes, all like Horst’s in shape and size, themselves joined by narrower footpaths separated by gardens or, in some cases, waist-high hedges. Three barns, of good size. The Nalynns lived next to the mill, up a small rise to the left, overlooking the river.

  Where they lived . . . Bannan stopped in his tracks and clapped Tir on the shoulder again. “Fair? Tell me you’ve seen better.”

  The cheerful little house boasted a wide friendly porch, filled with seats and cushions, surrounded by tidy flowerbeds. A stack of elegant though well-used luggage stood waiting at one end, likely that of the lady from Avyo. Windows gleamed between carved shutters, framed by lacy white curtains. The door stood open, inviting visitors as well as sunlight. A colorful rug beckoned.

  Above all, the roses. Huge red blooms, with a blush of orange at petal tip, leaves dark green and glossy, framed the house and nodded over the chimney.

  Suddenly every bloom turned to stare back. As if measuring him, as if they protected some treasure. “Tir—” Bannan began uneasily.

  A breeze passed and the roses nodded mindlessly in every direction, flowers again.

  He closed his mouth.

  “Haven’t smelled better, that’s for sure.” Tir closed his eyes in bliss. “Told you. It’s all about the cooking.”

  No, Bannan thought to himself. It was, for whatever reason, all about Jenn Nalynn.

  Peggs was in her glory. The larder door had been unlocked and thrown open; she kept Jenn and Hettie, extra hands and feet, on the run for ingredients. Every pot, pan, and bowl in the Nalynn kitchen was in use. More arrived through the kitchen door, filled with offerings from curious neighbors who, duty done, lingered almost out of the way and almost out of earshot.

  Aunt Sybb may have envisioned a cozy midday meal for the new arrivals, something gracious and peaceful, but Marrowdell had other ideas. Jenn had been in the loft, hastily scrubbed, barely dry, and fumbling with the ribbons of her second-best dress when the excited murmur of voices had drawn her to the window to see the first trestle table being set up behind the Nalynn house. With more being carried up the path.

  Peggs brandished a large spoon. “Eggs!”

  “I’ll go.” Jenn poked a tendri
l of damp hair back into the ornate braid; there’d been no time to redo it. She’d thrown an old apron over her dress and put away her shoes. With this many to deal with, what did it matter what she wore? She grabbed the empty basket, then knelt to collect a handful of pebbles from their jar.

  Hettie squeezed by with a tray of cups, continuing her conversation without pause. “—only saying they make our own lads seem a bit, well, uninteresting.”

  “Novelty doesn’t last,” Peggs proclaimed, sounding as stuffy as Aunt Sybb. Which would have worked better if she hadn’t been craning her neck at every chance to see if Kydd had arrived.

  Her friend chuckled. “I’d gladly give it a whirl. That warrior, Tir? I’m sure he knows a few pleasuring tricks worth learning.”

  “‘Tir?’” Jenn echoed in disbelief.

  “What? You’d warm to the other one?” Hettie’s sunny face clouded. “Not me. Oh, he’s prettier, I’ll warrant, but that Bannan’s eyes go right through a body, Jenn Nalynn. You’d best hope they find no secrets.”

  “We’ve fine men in Marrowdell,” Peggs asserted, a little too forcefully.

  Hettie put down her tray, her smile returning. “And which one’s put that gleam in your eye? Come now, I’ll have the truth—”

  “I’ll get the eggs,” Jenn said hastily and ducked out the door, avoiding her sister’s pleading look. High time Peggs admitted her affection for the beekeeper. Hettie was right in one thing.

  Secrets, she thought grimly, weren’t good things to own.

  Squinting in the bright sunshine, Jenn wove her way through the maze of people, tables, and blankets. The tables were thick slabs of rough wood supported by barrels at each end; the blankets were spread on the ground between for seating. Two chairs had pride of place at the end of one table. These were occupied by Frann Nall and Lorra Treff, their hats giving them a regal air despite the pink of their cheeks. Jenn had made sure Aunt Sybb’s chair was waiting at the head of the other table, placed where the sun wouldn’t shine in her eyes.

  The tapping of last year’s remaining cider casks encouraged a distinct party atmosphere in advance of the main guests. Cheffy, no worse for his adventure, chased his little sister through the forest of legs. Tiny Loee chortled and bounced in place, her chubby hands locked on a table edge. Beneath the same table, the house toad waited for something to drop, never averse to a treat.