Despite their names, Battle and Brawl were the gentlest of giants, with hooves like dinner plates and willing hearts. Harnessed and left in the pleasantly cool shade of the apple trees at the center of the village, the draft horses waited patiently on either side of the long cart tongue, eyes half-closed. In the commons, Wainn’s old pony, after a plaintive nicker at being abandoned, laid himself flat on one side and went to sleep, yesterday’s wild ride having been the most excitement he’d had in years.
Jenn fed the team apples, kissed their broad velvet noses, and tried not to fidget. After all, Aunt Sybb considered her a woman now, which assuredly meant she shouldn’t fidget, at least where everyone could see. Everyone could, too, because her task was to wait with the cart while Frann finished fitting Wyll with one of Davi’s old coats and Davi finished lunch.
Which was taking far too long.
She was sitting between Brawl’s legs, making silly braids in his feathers, when Uncle Horst walked up, ax in hand. Jenn scrambled to her feet. “Fair morning, Uncle.”
“Fair morning, Jenn. I’ve something for your friend.” He laid the ax on the cart, fingers lingering on the handle. “It’s served me well these years.”
Jenn wasn’t sure if Wyll could wield an ax or if he’d bother with one, but the gesture warmed her heart. “Thank you. I’ll make sure he returns it as soon as he can.”
Uncle Horst looked at her. He hadn’t shaved this morning. His eyes were tired and full of secrets until he smiled. “As long as he needs it, tell him.”
Before Jenn could say a word, he was gone, replaced by Lorra and Cynd Treff. Cynd had her arms around a basket of newly fired cups, while one hand grasped the handle of a chipped but serviceable pitcher. “Fair morning, Jenn,” she said cheerily. “For Wyll.”
This was more of a surprise than Uncle Horst’s ax. Jenn dipped a quick curtsy. “Thank you. I know he’ll appreciate them.”
“I hope so.” Lorra wore her black hat. She stepped around Battle, whose eyes followed the tall feather of her hat with the rapt intent of a well-mannered horse tempted beyond reason. She wore matching gloves, which she only did on significant occasions such as the Midwinter Beholding, and wagged one black-clad finger at Jenn’s nose. “I don’t know what Sybb’s thinking,” she stated. “This Wyll’s no bargain, girl, farm or not. If you’ve any sense, you’ll marry the other one.”
Cross-eyed and speechless, Jenn could only blink.
“As for this curse business—” another wag, “—children should be kept close and safe. Especially here. I dare say Melusine meant well,” Lorra added with unexpected gentleness.
Roche. So much for secrets. Serve him right if Horst took his beloved bow back.
“Cynd!” The gloved finger thrust imperiously at the cart.
Cynd, giving Jenn a sympathetic look, found a spot for the basket and pitcher. The two left before Jenn could recover, pausing to exchange brief greetings with Covie Ropp on her way up the lane from the dairy. She carried a small table, Cheffy a bucket of tools and hardware, while Alyssa balanced a wheel of cheese on her head. “For your friend,” Covie announced unnecessarily. “Mind where you step,” to her children as they clambered onto the cart and argued about where to put their offerings.
“Thank you.” Jenn took the table and went to find a spot for it, Covie walking alongside.
“I heard Lorra’s advice.” The older woman leaned close. “You might listen. Your Wyll has a rare temper,” in a low voice.
“He’d never hurt me.” Of that, Jenn was sure.
“I’m glad to hear—Cheffy, don’t push your sister!—Still,” quiet again, “how well can we know one another or the paths we’ll take? I can’t tell you how glad we all are that my boy stopped you leaving with the stranger.”
“My boy” being Roche. Easy to forget, with Cheffy and Alyssa bouncing around, that Covie was his mother too. Jenn swallowed what she wanted to say, beginning with how Roche had been the start of it all and certainly including how he’d been the one to almost lead her from Marrowdell, not Bannan. She looked up at Covie to meet a gaze as wise as it was kind.
“He’s too like his father,” confided Roche’s mother. “Always restless, never satisfied. Avyo held opportunities for a man like that. Marrowdell?” She sighed and shook her head. “Roche won’t stay here. Not even for you. I hope you understand.”
More than she could say. “I do,” Jenn said faintly. “I wish him well.”
“You’ve a good heart, Jenn Nalynn.” Covie smiled and raised her voice. “Alyssa, don’t bounce so close to your grandmother’s pottery. We’ll be out of your way. There’s more to come, I’m sure. But this is a start.”
It was a wonderful start. Gallie Emms, with tiny Loee asleep in her sling, brought sausages and candles, promising a mattress once Zehr came down from Old Jupp’s roof. As for Wagler Jupp, Riss came with one of her lovely tapestried cushions under an arm, a kitchen knife missing only part of its handle, and a spare cane, courtesy of her uncle who’d noticed Wyll’s need.
Jenn touched each of the gifts on the cart, her heart swelling with pride. Marrowdell might not be a fine city like Avyo, but no city could have more generous people.
A bag dropped on the cartbed with a thud, startling Jenn and barely missing the pottery. “Charcoal,” Roche claimed. “Tinder and flint.”
“We don’t want anything from you,” she said icily, grabbing the bag and ready to hurl it back at him. “You told everyone about the curse!”
“Didn’t.” He shifted the bow further on his shoulder, green eyes sullen. “Just Devins.”
Who would have told Hettie, who would have told Covie . . . which amounted to everyone, as Roche should have known, so Jenn scowled at him. “You said I was running off with Bannan.” A chill little breeze overhead tossed leaves, and dropped an apple in Battle’s reach. “Why?”
“You weren’t running off with me, that’s for sure.” He folded his arms and regarded her coolly. “So who’s the liar, Jenn Nalynn?”
Taken aback, she returned the bag to the cart with more care than he’d used. He’d salved his pride for a moment, no longer. The truth would come out once Uncle Horst or Kydd or Peggs heard his version, and not to Roche’s benefit. He might, she thought, remembering what Covie’d said, leave Marrowdell sooner than later.
Despite their differences, she found herself sad to believe it. “Let’s not fight,” she said at last. The breeze died away. “Thank you for the gift.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m glad you’ve picked this Wyll,” gruffly. “Or that I know why.”
She almost smiled.
“Better than that Larmensu. We’re well rid of him. A scoundrel, most likely. Or a bandit!”
Her sympathy vanished. “He is not!”
“He shaved his beard, you know. One he’d had for years. I noticed. I brought it up at the meeting. A man who does that,” Roche nodded sagely, “is trying to hide his face.”
Or start a new life. Jenn didn’t bother to argue. “I’m sure you’ve chores to do, Roche Morrill. Don’t let me keep you.”
Roche flinched as though stung and stalked away with his shoulders hunched. She sighed to herself.
A toad hopped on the cart and blinked at her.
Jenn blinked back. Every home had its toad; until now, she hadn’t realized toads picked their own. “Thank you,” she said solemnly.
The toad settled, front legs bent, its long toes curled together around its plump creamy belly, and closed its eyes.
Birds sang, bees droned, and in every detail, the morning was perfect for anything. Anything but standing still. Jenn went back to trying not to fidget. Davi could eat a good-sized lunch, but how long could altering a coat take? She leaned against Brawl, who’d fallen asleep before the toad’s arrival, and tried for patience.
Peggs arrived first, with a folded blanket and lunch bucket. She put both on the cart, wordlessly avoiding the toad, and leaned beside Jenn. “Aunt Sybb suggested we leave the rest till we know if Wyll’
s house has a roof.”
“Never mind the house,” Jenn said eagerly, “what about Kydd?” Peggs’ turn at spying had been for naught. Of all things, Kydd Uhthoff had written a response to their father, put in a sealed envelope to be delivered by a delighted Wagler Jupp, who clearly felt this return to proper correspondence to be worth his unaccustomed exertion although he had, according to Riss, immediately gone to bed for a nap. “Surely Poppa’s read it by now.”
Her sister drew a ragged breath. “I’ve got to go. The bread’s ready for the oven.”
Jenn blocked her retreat. “Peggs?” Her sister’s eyelids were red and puffy, as was her nose. “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong? What was in the note?”
“It said—it said ‘The Uhthoffs support the right of Bannan Larmensu to the outlying farm and decline to assist in his betrayal.’”
Explaining why no Uhthoff had brought a gift for Wyll, but not Peggs’ tears.
“Father’s invitation? What about that?”
“‘Until the matter is resolved in fairness to all . . . ‘” Peggs’ eyes filled. “Oh, Jenn. He won’t come.”
“‘Fairness?’” Jenn bristled. “How is that fair to you?” How dare Kydd Uhthoff refuse her sister? The leaves overhead fluttered.
“Hush.” Peggs glanced around, as if worried she’d find him standing under one of his apple trees. Jenn hoped so; she’d give him a piece of her mind, she would. “Aunt Sybb called it politics and posturing. I’m to ignore him.” Her sister sighed. “She couldn’t say for how long.”
“Don’t bake,” Jenn said firmly. “Wainn will have Kydd groveling at your feet in no time.”
A sparkle in her sister’s eyes. “Except for family.”
“Of course.” Jenn feigned horror. “You can’t let us starve!”
“I’ve summerberry pies coming out of the oven,” Peggs said thoughtfully. “I could cool them on the front windowsill.”
Where the scent would waft throughout the village, especially toward the Uhthoffs’. Jenn nodded her approval. There was more than one way to deal with posturing. “I’ve changed my mind. You should bake. Make a few extra,” she suggested with a wink. “Poppa loves summerberry pie.”
“He does,” her sister said with a smile that left no doubt which “he” was meant.
Soon after Peggs left on her mission, Wyll and Davi appeared on the Treff porch. Time to go. Jenn straightened and took a breath.
“What’s all this?”
Jenn whirled to find Tir with one booted foot on the cart, his eyes shaded and inscrutable beneath a broad farmer’s hat, stiff and new. Between the hat and his metal mask, he resembled a villain caught in the wrong story. “Gifts for Wyll,” she answered. “He’s moving to the farm.”
“Does Bannan know?”
She hesitated.
He lifted the mask and spat eloquently. “I’ll come along.” It wasn’t a request.
“Thank you,” she said in a low voice. Surely Bannan would prefer to walk back to the village with a friend.
“Don’t.” Tir laid his hands on the handles of the axes in his belt. The heads were impractically thin, curved, and razor sharp. Jenn guessed, dry-mouthed, they weren’t for wood. “I’ll come to make sure there’s no repeat of yesterday’s madness.”
“How reassuring,” Wyll said as he approached, eyes a calm brown.
Frann had done wonders with needle and thread. The black coat crossing his shoulders might be worn in places, but it hung straight despite his crooked posture. Too warm for this day, but fall was doubtless in a hurry, now that she wasn’t. “Look, Wyll.” Jenn swept her hand to the cart. “See how kind everyone’s been?”
“Relieved’s my guess,” Tir offered cheerfully and unasked. “Relieved to have you on the far side of yon river, that is.”
Davi regarded Tir over Battle’s back. “We’re sorry to disappoint your friend, but we help our own first. Wyll is Jenn’s betrothed and needs a roof over his head.”
“‘On the far side of yon river,’” Wyll repeated, with a half smile. “From them.”
Tir chuckled.
The big smith gave the two a searching look, then went back to checking harness. “We’ll wait for Radd,” he announced.
With a sigh, Jenn sat on the cart beside the toad and did her utmost not to fidget.
Bannan was in the loft when he heard the wagon. He tossed the wet rag he’d been using—the remnant of yesterday’s shirt—into the bucket and lowered himself to the main floor, heart pounding. He added a handful of splinters to the fire, poked it to life, and swung over a pot of water. Tea for him. He’d surprise Tir with that obnoxious Essa brew he favored, having tucked the last canister in his pack before leaving Vorkoun, to be safely hidden in the wagon for this day.
That and more. Bannan looked around the now clean, empty room, struck for the first time by the significance of what he’d packed. The wagon’s contents would help him survive. They’d make this a home. Of course, there’d be things he’d missed; such could be purchased or borrowed, he was sure. He chuckled. Doubtless he’d packed what he wouldn’t need or want. The trader had shaken his head more than once. No matter. He had the necessities, coming up the road with his truest friend.
Bannan washed his face and neck, feeling stubble. No time to shave, though already it was a habit. He ran wet fingers through his hair instead, pulled on a shirt, and headed out the door.
Small blue birds chased crimson butterflies above the grass. The leaves on the trees fluttered silver and green. White flowers with golden hearts turned their faces to the sun. What a welcome! Bannan took a long deep breath and tried to settle his nerves, but joy welled up in him until he felt himself grinning like a fool. Tir would tease him, no doubt of that. A farm was work and nothing but, he’d grumble. All the while, understanding . . .
A breeze found his ear. “Beware.”
Scourge. Grin fading, Bannan looked for the not-horse and spotted a shadow beneath the trees, darker than the rest. His heart began to pound. “Why? Who comes?”
“The dragon.”
It should have been an occasion. That it wasn’t, that they left the village in silence, with anyone who might have watched and waved seemingly busy with other concerns . . . Jenn hoped desperately that didn’t make it a mistake.
Wyll was behaving, as Tir called it. Though a glint of feral silver had shone in his eyes when Radd bluntly told him he must ride in the cart, he’d let Davi lift him and found a way to sit, his crippled side supported on the Ropps’ low table, braced with his good leg and arm between cheese and buckets. He faced forward, as if as eager to be done with the village as the village to be done with him.
Jenn sat with the toad, facing back. Tir was wrong. The villagers needed time to get to know Wyll, that was all. If Bannan hadn’t gone off in such a hurry, this would be an occasion and Peggs wouldn’t be miserable. The cart jolted across the ford and she stretched to dip her toes in the water. The gentle current swept clear the silt kicked up by Battle and Brawl and kissed her feet.
What else did the river touch, after escaping Marrowdell? The map had showed it winding south, between hills. Endshere and Weken. People and boots. Horse lips. Bridges. Boat bottoms. Fish nets and laundry.
Someone else’s toes. Maybe someone nice or fun or full of stories. Someone different.
Someone she’d never meet.
The team stepped on shore; the cart tipped then leveled.
“So many thoughts,” a tickle against her ear. “Are any of our meadow, Dearest Heart?”
Davi and Tir walked up front with the horses, her father with them. Jenn didn’t turn to look at Wyll. “Night’s Edge isn’t the same,” she said quietly. “It changed with you.”
A damselfly pursued them, then darted back to the river and reeds.
The breeze toyed with her hair. “Did it? How did it? Did it really?” As if she played a game. “Are there more thistles?”
Wyll shouldn’t be so glib, she thought, heartsick to remember the
dead flowers and ash. “It died,” she told him.
The breeze softened to a touch on her cheek. “Surely not, Dearest Heart.”
“You’ll see,” she said, and refused to say more.
The big cart wheels shortened the road to a series of jolts and bumps. Before Jenn was ready, they were in the shade of the old trees. The villagers stayed out of their forest; there was no reason to enter. Nothing worth hunting lived there. Nothing grew beneath but clusters of red and yellow mushrooms, glossy and poisonous. The air itself was thin and reluctant to share. Having her meadow and Wisp, Jenn had spared the forest no attention at all.
Riding backward on the cart made the familiar . . . different. The old trees were graceful and tall, bowed at their tips as if too close to the sky or curious what went on below. And there . . .
The Tinkers Road bent to avoid the rise of the Spine, the cart followed, and Jenn found herself staring into the narrow, shadowed path that led up and away from the valley.
She’d always walked or run past it, to Night’s Edge or going home. No one she knew had taken it, since it led deep into the old forest. Oh, Roche boasted he’d explored to the top, but with nothing to hunt, she doubted he’d gone past the first switch.
Jenn’s eyes traced its winding course upward to where the forest smothered most of the creamy white of the Spine, but not all. The three tallest mounds were exposed to their base, surrounded by nothing taller than meadow. Meadow that flowed between and beyond Marrowdell.
Meadow every bit as lovely as Night’s Edge. Lovelier. The longer she looked, the more flowers she saw, their colors richer and deeper as if better loved by the sun.
What else would she see, if she stood there? Was the Spine higher than the hills beyond?
Could she see to Endshere?
Farther?
Jenn leaned forward on her palms, swaying with the cart’s movement. The narrow path, shadowed and dim, held such potent promise her breath caught in her throat and it was all she could do not to jump down and answer. Her father would surely call her back. She had adult responsibilities.
A Turn of Light Page 31
