A Turn of Light

by Julie E. Czerneda

  The sisters placed their pillows on the bed at the same time.

  Their eyes met.

  “We’ll be—” Peggs started.

  “—married soon,” Jenn finished.

  Married, and no longer sharing this room, with its cozy window seat and memories. Most likely, Kydd would move in here, while she’d go to Wyll’s new house.

  “Dearest Heart—”

  Before Peggs could say another word and have them both in tears and not at breakfast, Jenn seized her pillow and grinned.

  “Defend yourself!”

  The two hurried downstairs, trying to stop giggling.

  “Who won?” inquired their father, with a grin.

  “I did—”

  “Did not!”

  Radd Nalynn chuckled. “I declare a draw, for breakfast’s sake. Go sit with your aunt. She’s—” His lower lip developed a suspicious tremor and he coughed to cover it. “Go on with you,” he ordered. “Wait. Take your porridge. I’m serving today.”

  Jenn and Peggs kissed him on his fresh-scrubbed cheeks, then hurried into the parlor.

  “Fair morning,” their aunt said in greeting.

  Aunt Sybb looked more than rested. She looked radiant, with a rare color to her cheeks and lips. The sisters impulsively put down their bowls and hugged her, Jenn for her part trying not to sniffle. “What’s all this?” their aunt chided, but fondly. “Sit now, and let me have my tea.”

  They sat, smiling at one another and their aunt. Aunt Sybb didn’t quite smile, but gave them a benevolent look over her cup. She’d chosen the cream shirtwaist today, with its minimal lace, and wore her no-nonsense dark blue skirt. “I trust you’re both ready for a busy day.”

  The spoon Peggs was using to dollop honey into her porridge paused midair. “Kydd and I’d planned a picnic—” She closed her lips over what was, for her, tantamount to an outburst, and gave a dutiful nod.

  “A good start makes the best finish,” Aunt Sybb announced primly, though her eyes twinkled. “You and your young men will have your whole lives together. Ancestors Blessed and Bountiful, we’ve much to prepare before that begins.”

  “Yes, Aunt,” Jenn murmured with Peggs.

  Their father arrived, his bowl of steaming porridge in one hand, a plate of slippery poached eggs in the other. He’d tucked a loaf under one arm and gripped a biscuit between his teeth. Jenn deftly rescued the eggs and Peggs the loaf as he sat, preventing catastrophe.

  “Peckish, Brother?” Aunt Sybb inquired, her brow as high as Jenn had ever seen.

  “Stocking up.” Radd chuckled and waved the biscuit. “Today’s the day, Sybbie.”

  “We’re setting the stones?” Jenn sat up eagerly, then glanced at their aunt and sank back.

  Peggs toyed with her spoon, head down.

  “What’s the matter, Dear Hearts?” Their father looked to their aunt. “Sybbie?”

  “Ancestors Patient and Put Upon.” Aunt Sybb waved her napkin at them, pretending to be exasperated. “Go. But you’ll be working late and by lamplight.”

  This time, there was considerably more enthusiasm in the sisters’ “Yes, Aunt!”

  “Fools,” Wyll replied, spearing a piece of ham. “He guards against fools.”

  The dragon’s answers were slippery bits of truth. “Where’s the harm in fools?” Bannan asked easily.

  Silver flickered deep in Wyll’s eyes. “Who would you fear coming to Marrowdell?”

  “Ansnans.” The name erupted from his throat. Heart’s Blood, where had that rage come from? Discomfited, Bannan stood and retrieved the kettle. They were at peace. He was at peace.

  And civilized. “Tea?”

  Wyll’s smile was unpleasant. “So you have enemies.”

  “I fought a war.” However undeclared and thankless. “It’s over. I’m a farmer now, not a soldier. Tea?”

  “Who attacks dragons with a broom.”

  “Old habits. Let me pour for you.” As he did, Bannan vowed, “I’ll be more polite to such visitors in future.”

  “You’d be wiser to hide.” Wyll shifted uncomfortably, then stood with a frustrated snarl. “My thanks for breakfast. I’ve work to do.” He began to lurch away.

  “Wait.”

  Wyll paused, twisting his head to look around. A demonstration of strength, standing upright at that moment, wildly off balance and with only one trustworthy leg. Strength and determination beyond any man’s.

  “Why should we fear fools?”

  “Because what they would seek here,” the dragon answered, “must never be found.”

  Once he was gone, Bannan discovered the sturdy squared logs of his house no longer seemed sturdy at all.

  While Peggs heated water for dishes, Jenn nipped out to the privy. On her way back, she paused to check the garden. The holes and hoofprints had been filled, the carrots replanted in their row, more-or-less straight. A valiant effort, she assumed by the house toads, to hide the evidence. Alas, being carrots, they’d taken offense at being ousted from the soil and their tops had wilted. Rather than have Peggs notice and worry what might have happened, Jenn pulled the wilted ones out, leaving them to dry.

  The pebbles were gone, she saw, and began to smile.

  Her smile faded. In their place lay a rose, its stem neatly snapped. Dew sparkled like gems on the red velvet petals, and one leaf arched behind like a cradling hand.

  Their mother’s rose. She couldn’t see the toads picking it. Had Wyll? Obscurely comforted, Jenn looked around, but saw no sign of him.

  Well, she couldn’t leave the rose lying out here. She took it up with care and brought it inside. “Look.”

  Peggs’ eyes widened in wonder. She quickly dried her hands, following Jenn and the rose into the parlor.

  “Ancestors Blessed!” their aunt said fervently.

  Jenn laid the rose on the table. Fragrance filled the room like the deep toll of a bell. “I’m sorry, Poppa. I think Wyll did it.”

  He didn’t appear upset. In fact, he looked rather pleased. “Why don’t you take it to your mother?”

  She swallowed, but nodded.

  Back in the kitchen, the glorious rose in a most ordinary mug of water, Jenn whispered to Peggs, “Did you say anything to him—about my sharing with the Ancestors?”

  “Not a word.” Her sister looked unusually serious. “But maybe this wasn’t Wyll. Maybe it’s some kind of sign. An offer of help.”

  Jenn pushed her shoulder into Peggs’ and dried another dish. “The Ancestors don’t do that sort of thing.”

  “It’s not as if we know,” the other retorted, passing her a dripping spoon. “Once I’m among the Blessed, I’ll want to help you.”

  “Hush!” Jenn hurried to press her hands—plus cloth and wet spoon—to her heart. “Hearts of our Ancestors, we’d be Beholden if you’d ignore my sister.” With asperity, “You shouldn’t say such a thing.”

  “Well, I would.”

  “Would what?” Tir Half-face leaned in the kitchen door.

  Even with his metal mask, she could tell. His eyes were bright and bold. “You slept!”

  “That I did, Jenn Nalynn, like a babe. I’m here to thank your father and offer my help before I head to the farm.”

  “Breakfast first,” Peggs informed him, and bustled about filling him a tray.

  “I’m glad,” Jenn told Tir, and was. Both he and Aunt Sybb looked more themselves this morning, though admittedly their aunt, buoyed by the prospect of weddings, might not need sleep at all.

  It was as lovely a morning as she could wish.

  If she left out the slightly anxious part where she was now to head to the ossuary and confess to the Ancestors, best done before going to the mill, because their father would ask about the rose, without doubt.

  And if she thought very positively, as Aunt Sybb would say, about having promised to stay in the village and leave Wyll alone while he settled, though she missed him and Night’s Edge more than she could say and she could only hope the toad had given him her mes
sage.

  Though she wondered, with perfectly normal and natural curiosity, how Bannan was today, without Tir, and if he was content or lonely.

  Most of all, if she ignored the small but growing and nasty feeling that she really mustn’t cross the river and take the road and be anywhere near the path that led . . .

  “Kind of you to say.” Jenn blinked as the former border guard ducked his head in a self-conscious sort of bow, then held out a wrapped packet, his broad thumb trapping a coin against the darkened leather. “I’d like to send these letters. Your father said someone would be off to Endshere today. I can pay.”

  Letters. Jenn perked up. She hadn’t thought of letters. She could write to Wyll and explain why she wasn’t there, because he’d worry and fuss; she just knew he would. And—

  “Keep your coin,” her sister advised him. “We’ve an arrangement with the postmistress in Endshere. She’s fond of our honey.”

  He leaned on the doorframe. “You send much mail?”

  “A fair amount. The next bag goes with Uncle Horst before the harvest,” Peggs chatted easily as she scooped porridge into a bowl. “Frann writes articles on weaving. She’s had some published by her guild. Master Dusom corresponds with the university in Avyo. Gallie Emms keeps in touch with her publisher. Oh, and every fall, Lorra Treff sends her letter to the prince.”

  Tir’s eyes narrowed. “What about?”

  He thought of Bannan, Jenn realized with a jolt. Of how important it was that no one in Vorkoun—or anywhere with people who traveled and talked—learn a Larmensu had been the truthseer among the border guard. Hadn’t Bannan asked her to keep his talent from the tinkers, who certainly went outside Marrowdell? He’d understood that risk; she should have.

  Well, she did now. “Lorra calls the prince names and tells him how to rule Rhoth,” she explained quickly. “Don’t worry. Davi burns the letters without her knowing. Please don’t say anything.”

  She saw the curve of Peggs’ smile. So it wasn’t a secret. Few things seemed to stay that way long in Marrowdell. Well, no matter what it took, Jenn decided, Bannan’s past would. Not that anyone here loved the Rhothan prince, but there was no sense being careless.

  Jenn took the packet, but not the coin, from Tir. “I’ll put this with Father’s,” she promised, then looked up. “Would you do me a favor?” she asked shyly. “Would you kindly take a letter from me, when you go to the farm?” As a gleam appeared, she added hastily. “For Wyll.”

  “Only Wyll?” Behind his mask, Tir was grinning at her. She knew it. “So you’ve made up your mind, then?”

  Her cheeks flamed.

  Peggs, ever her ally, pressed the filled tray into his hands. “Why don’t you take this on the porch, Tir? We’ll let Poppa know you’re here.”

  “That’d be most kind.” He slipped out the door, leaving Jenn with her mouth half-open, then stuck his masked face in through the kitchen window. “Write your love letter, girl. I’ll take it this afternoon.”

  The outrageous man vanished from sight before Jenn could do more than close her mouth.

  “‘Love letter.’”

  “Nothing of the kind,” she denied hotly, still flustered. “I left without—it’s not fair to—I—”

  Peggs chuckled. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

  Jenn gave her a suspicious look. “You do?”

  At her most innocent, her sister took the leather packet and handed her the drying towel. “Of course. What is it Aunt Sybb says?” she mused. “Ah, yes. ‘The spoken word’s a chancy thing, but in his letters, you’ll find a man’s heart.’ They’ll write back. You’ll see.”

  Jenn wasn’t sure Wyll could write, though she shouldn’t underestimate him. “I didn’t say I’d write Bannan as well.”

  “Oh, but you must.” A contented sigh. “Letters are so romantic.”

  “You write them, then,” Jenn glowered.

  Peggs pulled a slip of well-folded paper from her bodice. “I do.” She fanned the note under her sister’s nose. “Kydd’s wonderfully eloquent.” Jenn tried to snatch it, but her bright-eyed sister was too quick. “Some things are not for sharing,” she stated firmly, tucking away her prize. “Write and you shall receive.”

  “I’m not writing love letters,” Jenn repeated firmly. “To either of them!”

  Though she wouldn’t mind receiving one of her own, to see what it was like.

  The village gate stood open to the road. It preferred being open, having old hinges and a rickety middle. Closing it did nothing to hinder escaped piglets anyway, and anything larger, with a mind to, could push it flat.

  Past the open gate, the road flowed from Jenn Nalynn’s feet to the trout path, to the bend, to wherever else it was inclined to go. Later today, it would take Uncle Horst and Roche, as well as Tir’s letters, to Endshere, for the two went to arrange for Aunt Sybb’s escort after the harvest. Riding back, they’d meet the twins and help bring the livestock home for the winter. Marrowdell was starting to feel the season’s change and stir.

  For once, Jenn didn’t care about the season or the road, having another, closer destination in mind.

  The path to the ossuary led off to her left, tidy and raked smooth, but narrow. By this time of year, the hedge became a little uppity, as Aunt Sybb would call it, and soon Master Dusom or Zehr would take a day to trim back the intruding growth.

  Jenn didn’t mind. The shadowed path was cool and peaceful, crisscrossed by single-minded bees and the odd spiderweb, and it was easy to duck under the branches. She needed the peace. Writing took more time and invention than she’d realized, particularly with Aunt Sybb keeping an eye on her handwriting.

  Tiny birds hopped between the leaves, too busy stuffing themselves with berries to startle, and a butterfly with yellow spots landed on the flower in her hand, unrolling its long black tongue for a taste.

  Melusine’s rose.

  The path opened on the patch of ground the villagers had claimed for their dead, carpeted in low-growing flowers. Moss surrounded the flat stones beneath the bench at one end and a grove of old trees softened the rock wall behind, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze.

  Sunlight shone through the sigils, casting the names of the Blessed on petal and leaf. Jenn laid the rose gently within her mother’s. At the Midwinter Beholding, all was beneath a blanket of snow, and, to be honest, the younger villagers, herself included, struggled to stand quietly during the ritual and not stamp their booted feet to warm chilled toes, the feast and dance to follow being of greater interest.

  Not so today. Today was a lovely morning.

  Today she needed more than ritual. She needed to be heard and answered.

  Answers. Jenn lifted her hands to let the sun write “Melusine” across her palms. Questions overwhelmed her. Dreams and dragons. Crossings and carrots. The Great Turn and the Ancestors’ Golden Day . . .

  What had their mother been like, before her nineteenth birthday?

  A fine young lady of Avyo, of course, but what did that mean? Aunt Sybb’s stories painted a life of appropriate behavior and proper protocol, which was well and good in public, but surely Melusine had her private moments and joys. Had she a place like Night’s Edge? Had she other suitors? When had she fallen in love with Radd Nalynn?

  How had she known he was the one?

  It was terribly inconvenient, not to have those answers.

  Or a mother.

  Jenn brought her hands to her heart, giving Melusine’s name back to the rose. She was here, she reminded herself, to share with the Ancestors, not complain about what couldn’t be.

  “Ancestors Dear and Departed,” she began in a small, carefully solemn voice, “I suppose I’d better start with the wishing. That’s pagan magic.” Which the Ancestors would know, as they’d know about the books in the hives, and Uncle Horst and Melusine, and the secrets and hopes of everyone stretching back through time itself. Though they’d likely have to wait till midwinter to learn about Hettie and her baby-to-come, and she
doubted Wyll would be inclined to share at all, having been a dragon and thus having no Rhothan Ancestors to listen.

  Her wits were thistledown and clouds.

  She composed herself. “The wishing wasn’t Peggs’ fault or Wainn’s or anyone else’s. I was the one who wanted—”

  “Oh.”

  Jenn looked up at the little gasp to find Riss Nahamm standing in the hedge. Well, not in the hedge so much as come through it. Since the yard behind Wagler Jupp’s house was on the other side of the hedge, where Riss hung laundry and tended a small garden, she was the most reasonable person to come through but . . . the hedge was there for a reason. Not even Wainn’s old pony could force himself past those thick branches.

  “I’m sorry, Jenn. I heard someone and—I’ll leave you be.” As Riss retreated the way she’d come, Jenn could see the thick branches had been cut away, leaving only thin ones, like a curtain. It was very cleverly done, though why anyone would want a secret door to the ossuary when there was a perfectly good path, she couldn’t imagine.

  “I’m not sure why I’m here anyway,” Jenn admitted.

  Riss paused, her long fingers lingering on the leaves. “It’s a good place,” she said softly, with a little smile.

  Perhaps the secret door was for quick visits to her cousin, the way their father visited their mother. The ossuary was secluded for more than the peace of the Ancestors and living with Old Jupp had to be wearing at times.

  Though that didn’t explain why Riss wore her hair loose at this hour of the morning, nor the spray of pretty white flowers tucked above one delicate ear, nor did a visit to the Ancestors require a rolled blanket under one arm, since the bench was right there.

  As for that lively sparkle in her eyes? Just like the one in Peggs’ when she’d shown her love letter?

  She didn’t, Jenn decided, want to know. “I’ll leave,” she offered hastily.

  “No need, Dear Heart.” Spotting the rose, Riss came forward as if drawn. “That’s Melusine’s,” she said with surprise. “I didn’t know you could pick them.”