A Turn of Light

by Julie E. Czerneda

  For an ominous moment, no one moved, then, suddenly as a blink, Mistress Sand smiled beatifically and came inside, offering him a bundle tied with string. “I picked out a shawl for you,” she explained. “The gift for your ladylove na?”

  Cutlery landed on the floor.

  “Thank you.” Bannan tucked the bundle under one arm, having no choice but to take it no matter Wyll’s temper, and quickly stooped to recover the spoons. The little white dog got there first, sniffing hopefully. Meanwhile, the remaining tinkers filed in, avoiding Wyll as best they could within the small space, and helped themselves to porridge.

  Oh, the morning was off to a fine start.

  “Wainn, you can’t leave it at that,” Jenn pleaded. “Watch the road for what?”

  But having made his ominous pronouncement, Wainn would say no more. She fell silent too.

  The sun played its own tricks, darkening shadows, shifting them along the road. Twice she straightened, sure she’d seen something, only to sag back, having not. All the while, little chills played over her neck and shoulders, raising gooseflesh on her bare arms.

  Then, something moved that wasn’t a shadow. Somethings! “They’re home!” Jenn shouted in relief and waved.

  Her wave was returned by two of the three riders now in view. Two packhorses followed. Behind, the sun found brown hide, bright eyes, and tossing heads. The livestock, sensing their place, stepped lively and the riders did the same.

  What had Wainn been thinking?

  The gate shook as Hettie and Peggs climbed up beside her. They’d run ahead of Kydd and Dusom, doubtless Hettie’s idea. “Oh, we’re in time,” the milkmaid exclaimed breathlessly, her face pale. “Look, there’s the twins and . . . is that Roche or Horst with them?”

  It was, Jenn realized a heartbeat later, neither.

  Between the twins rode a stranger. A stranger in a green dress with yellow ribbons. A stranger whose lush black curls were topped with a wedding circlet of white summer flowers and trailing lace.

  Hettie groaned.

  “You don’t know—” Peggs started.

  “I do!” their friend despaired. “He’s gone and married. Do you see? He’s brought home a wife!”

  Jenn couldn’t tell which “he” from here. The three rode abreast, all of them faced toward the village.

  Jenn and Peggs exchanged looks, then both put an arm around Hettie.

  This was not a good start to the day at all.

  Whatever Bannan had expected from coming into Marrowdell with the tinkers and Wyll, it wasn’t to find the village deserted and the commons empty save for the two sows and their boar, who glanced up as a tinker from the first wagon opened the gate, then lowered their snouts again in supreme disinterest.

  Four of the tinkers crowded together in the first wagon. Bannan and Wyll rode the second, with Sand and Riverstone in the third and last with their little dog. They’d let him put his pitchfork in the back with the barrels. They’d put other things in the wagons as well. Tents, poles, bags. From his barn, no doubt.

  Bannan did his unobtrusive best to give their driver, Flint, as much room as possible. For his part, the tinker sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, and stared straight ahead, thoroughly offended by Wyll’s presence. Bannan was reminded of a certain lordling of Vorkoun too full of himself to take advice from someone as common-bred as Tir.

  First ambush, he’d bled out in a ditch.

  “Where’s everyone?” Bannan whispered to Wyll, squeezed between him and the outside of the seat. Their wagon creaked up the slope beneath the oak tree, the kruars’ hooves crunching on acorns.

  Wyll didn’t bother keeping his voice down. “Doubtless they’ve better things to do.”

  Doubtless the bundle on Bannan’s lap continued to sour Wyll’s mood. The truthseer hid a grin. He’d no intention of exposing his heart to the turn-born and, much as he enjoyed baiting his rival, the tide had turned. The dragon was now an ally. When the time came, he’d give the shawl to the Lady Mahavar.

  But there was no reason to tell Wyll that.

  “Seems odd, that’s all,” the truthseer commented mildly as they passed through the open gate.

  Inside the pasture, the first wagon left the road and went up the slight rise toward the riverbank, then stopped. Their wagon pulled up next to it, Flint jumping down before it came to rest. “We camp here,” the tinker announced, with a dour look at Wyll. “There’s no place for you.”

  Not waiting for a reply, the tinker went to join his companions, busy unloading the first wagon with the economy of long practice.

  Bundle under one arm, Bannan rose to take advantage of the extra height of the wagon. He shaded his eyes as he peered over the hedges into the village. “I still don’t see anyone. Where’s Jenn?” He glanced down at Wyll and lowered his voice. “You know, don’t you?”

  The dragon’s lips twisted, but he didn’t deny it. “At the other gate. Waiting for other arrivals.”

  She’d written of the summer stock. Ancestors Aloof and Abandoned, she’d gone to greet cattle instead of him? Bannan shook his head. Lila would love it. So much for the welcome he’d fondly imagined.

  Or did Jenn Nalynn avoid a certain dragon?

  Liking that notion, the truthseer grinned as he hopped down and offered his hand.

  Wyll ignored it, taking hold of the seat’s outside edge. As he rose, the kruar stepped briskly forward in unison, throwing him to the floor. The two turned their heads and snorted amusement.

  Seeing silver flare in the dragon’s eyes, Bannan stepped in. “Poor training. I’d have expected better.”

  If these kruar thought their flared nostrils and glares were impressive, they needed lessoning in that too. He knew an expert.

  Wyll wrestled himself from the wagon to the ground, his fingertips leaving dents in the wood. “They are but horses,” he dismissed with scorn. “As well expect courtesy from these pigs.”

  The third wagon stopped beside them, Riverstone and Sand looking none too pleased. Bannan gave a short bow. “Our thanks for the ride, Mistress.” Courtesy was safer than whatever Wyll might come out with next. “We’ll let the villagers know you’ve arrived.”

  Riverstone nodded. “Please tell the miller—” He stopped, his head lifting to stare toward the village.

  As did Sand. Bannan glanced around, heart in his throat. All of the tinkers stood motionless, staring in the same direction.

  He didn’t dare speak, then realized he couldn’t. The world had gone silent, as if pausing to stare as well. Why?

  Sand gave a low chuckle, breaking the spell.

  “—we’ll head into the fields shortly,” Riverstone continued as if nothing had happened. “Those who wish can join us there.”

  Wyll, meanwhile, let out a long breath, as if he’d held his.

  Nothing for it but to go. The truthseer bowed again, thankful Wyll simply turned and lurched away with him. What had just happened? He gave the sky a suspicious look, but its benign and cloudless blue held no surprises.

  The tinkers paused to watch them pass, a couple leaning their heads together to share some amusement. Kruar, still harnessed, snorted and stamped their challenge. “Ancestors Blessed and Beloved, Wyll, don’t annoy them,” the truthseer advised under his breath.

  “My existence annoys them,” the dragon replied calmly. “I need do nothing more.”

  Still, Bannan was relieved to glance back and see yellow tents rise on their poles, untroubled by a contrary breeze.

  This close to home the most mannerly cattle and horses grew impatient, so those ahead of the small herd didn’t pause, but rode through into the village, greeting those sitting on the gate with hasty nods. The look on the twins’ faces reminded Jenn of the time they’d conspired to eat Roche’s birthday cake before his party, an uneasy blend of triumph and the growing realization they may have been too clever for their own good.

  A foreign bride? They should be worried. Or one of them should.

  To be fair, the for
eign bride seemed as pleasant and friendly a person as anyone could wish to meet, with bright eyes and a quick smile. Her dress was simple, but pretty; no city frills and nonsense, as Covie would say when Aunt Sybb wasn’t in earshot. Her bare feet hung comfortably as she rode a sway-backed chestnut mare who must be older than she was.

  The three on the gate smiled and waved back as if it made no difference which twin was now married.

  The yearlings and horses filed past, fit, fat, and shaggy. They’d had good grazing for the summer and soon would be loose in the fields. A couple called out and were answered by their kin in the orchard. Jenn was about to drop from the gate, to offer a pat and kiss a soft nose or two, when she noticed their ears were slanted back.

  Which they shouldn’t be. Uncle Horst and Roche would be following behind, to make sure none strayed, but the animals should be more interested in what lay ahead, not behind.

  At the thought, she looked for Wainn. He’d stayed, eyes locked on the road, instead of leaving to help ensure the young and thoughtless cattle didn’t stray and trample pumpkins.

  He’d said Scourge should have guarded the road.

  “We should go,” Peggs said, but her voice was uncertain. She felt it too. Something wasn’t right.

  Another rider appeared. Uncle Horst. For some reason, he sent his gelding into a trot, shoving a path through the startled livestock. He glanced toward the three on the gate and Wainn, his face grim, then dug in his heels. The gelding broke into a canter, aimed for the knot of villagers waiting by the mill. Horst didn’t look toward Riss at all.

  “What’s that about?” Hettie asked, but neither Nalynn could answer.

  Roche rode up with the last of the livestock, the Uhthoffs’ dappled mare serving as packhorse. Letting her go to follow the others, he reined to a stop, face flushed with excitement. “Go wait with the rest,” he ordered, bold as you please. “We’ve guests coming.”

  Jenn was used to him being full of his own importance, but this? Peggs and Hettie scowled with her. “What ‘guests?’” she said, not moving at all. “Who?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Her family?” demanded Hettie. “Is that who?”

  He made her wait for the answer, a nasty smile growing on his face. “Tadd’s, you mean?”

  Hettie stiffened in dismay.

  Full of himself and spiteful, Jenn decided, not believing a word of it. “Roche Morrell,” she cried, ready to burst with outrage. “You tell the truth. Right now!”

  For an instant, she had the oddest impression everything stopped moving, everywhere. Which was silly, of course, because in the next, a bee flew past, a squirrel scolded, and someone shouted at a cow.

  Roche’s green eyes widened, pupils huge despite the bright sun. He stared at her as if he couldn’t look away. “Allin married her,” he admitted. “Her name’s Palma. She’s the daughter of the innkeeper in Endshere.” Words kept coming, faster and faster, as if he couldn’t stop. “Allin’s been sweet on her since last summer, though I don’t know what she sees in him. They married in Endshere because her parents can’t leave the inn, and he’s brought her here for the harvest, but they don’t mean to stay, no matter what he says. Palma’s father’s retiring and leaving her the inn. Allin’s to tend bar. I’m afraid he’ll be a thorough grump and not let me keep running a tab—” He had to stop for breath.

  “Why did you say it was Tadd, then?” Peggs demanded angrily.

  His horse sidestepped as Roche flinched. Flinched, but answered. “Hettie fancies him. She’d never spread for me, just ’cause my mother married her father. I get mean when I can’t have what I want. I wanted to hurt her.”

  The truth it likely was, though Jenn could have done with far less of it. He only did as she’d asked. Told. More shouted, really. Not that she’d imagined he ever would. Roche was all about evasion and half-truths; he loved to keep others guessing. But this . . .

  This, she thought queasily, felt like magic. Her magic. She hadn’t meant to wish at him or anyone. She must be more careful.

  Jenn retreated behind courtesy. “Good of you to admit your—your faults, Roche,” she said as charitably as she could.

  “Bannan was right,” he told her. “I wouldn’t have married you. I said I would. I wanted to believe I would. But the truth is once I’d had you, I’d have left to look for something new. I don’t want a wife. I just wanted to beat the twins to—” He pressed a hand over his mouth to smother the rest, face pale with shock.

  So much for courtesy. “I’ll tell Tir you gave them mice!”

  “No need,” Hettie said grimly. “Roche Morrell, I want you packed and gone, or I’ll tell our mother about more than your sneaking off to hunt when you should be at work. Hear me?”

  A scowl creased his forehead. He’d kept his hand over his mouth and now his fingers and thumb sank deep, whitening his cheeks, holding in whatever he’d otherwise say. It made him look, Jenn thought distractedly, like a soured old apple.

  “Answer me!”

  His hand flung itself away. Spittle-coated words burst from him like vomit. “You can’t send me away! I’m going already. After the harvest, I’m leaving with Horst.”

  Uncle had given Wyll his ax.

  Jenn’s breath caught. Sounds from the village filled the air, the livestock settling, the flurry of excitement around Allin and his new wife.

  Uncle had ridden by without looking at Riss.

  “When he takes Aunt Sybb to Endshere,” stated Peggs, the same fear in her voice. “That’s what you mean.”

  “That’s not what he means. Is it, Roche?” She had to know, whether it took magic or dropping him in mud. “You’re telling us Uncle Horst’s leaving Marrowdell forever.”

  “Yes,” Roche answered, sending pain through her heart. “So am I. I hate it here. I’ve always hated it.” With that, he ducked his head and drummed his heels into his mount’s sides, sending it at a jolting trot into the village and away from them.

  “Well.” Hettie hopped down and dusted her hands. “Who didn’t see that coming? I, for one, say we’re better off without him.”

  “But . . . Uncle?”

  Hettie looked up at Jenn. “Ancestors Daft and Ridiculous, don’t tell me you believed his nonsense? Mean to the last, that’s Roche.”

  “You’re right.” Peggs visibly relaxed. “He wanted to upset us, Jenn. It was another of his lies. Why would Uncle Horst want to leave?”

  Jenn fell silent. She believed. Uncle Horst wouldn’t want to go. He loved them. But love wasn’t enough, not if he’d some reason to leave. It hadn’t been enough for him to be open with Riss, had it?

  She pushed aside her own despair and longing, thinking very deliberately of how important it was that Uncle Horst make up his own mind. He wasn’t like Roche, who should tell the truth more often. Uncle Horst was a remarkable man, exactly as he was, and mustn’t be touched by magic. Ever.

  Hettie had other priorities. “Palma, is it?” Her face lit with her wide, joyful smile. “Let’s go welcome her. Coming, Peggs? Jenn?”

  More likely it was Tadd Hettie couldn’t wait to welcome, but, everything considered, matters were working out in that area better than they might. “I’ll join you in a moment,” Jenn assured them, having noticed Wainn still by the gate. He’d ignored all the arrivals, even Roche’s antics, as if he mustn’t look away from the road.

  Hardly comforting, given Roche’s claim of more guests. She turned to her sister. “If it’s not Palma’s family coming, who do you—”

  Peggs had stopped, half on, half off the gate. “What’s that?”

  Jenn twisted around as “that” came into view with a toss of gilded horns and the ringing of bells.

  The horns belonged to the tallest oxen she’d ever seen. They were more like horses than cattle, lean and long-legged, with delicate pale pink muzzles and large, wide-set eyes. Immense humps rose from their shoulders and gilded horns spiraled up and back to almost touch them, glittering against polished black hides. Gold
glittered from their hooves and harness as well, harness adorned with little red bells.

  There were seven of the noble creatures, harnessed in three pairs with one to the fore. A man in a stiff red robe walked beside that leader. His face was hidden beneath a broad yellow hat and, at the sight of them, he swung a larger, golden bell at each step to ring a deep counterpoint to the lighter music of the harness bells.

  As if this entrance weren’t remarkable enough, the oxen pulled not one, but three covered wagons, linked like beads on a string. The first had one set of wheels, the second two, and the third, when it came into view, had four. Otherwise, they were similar, each made of honey-colored wood, with inlaid black tile that formed a decorative pattern along the roof edge, then dipped to outline a curved and curtained window. A half window on the first wagon, which was the smallest; a large one centered on the side of the second, and two on the sides of the final, and largest.

  The first wagon had a curtained front as well, and Jenn thought someone might be sitting behind it, but the material, though gauze-thin, was dark blue and hid the wagons’ interiors quite effectively.

  The elegant roofs were curved and so high Jenn was sure even Bannan could stand easily inside. As a final oddness, the wheels were made of some soft, black substance that made no sound at all as they rolled over the packed earth of the road.

  It was, she decided breathlessly, simply the most marvelous way to travel.

  Someone equally marvelous must be riding inside.

  She couldn’t wait to meet them.

  “I’d say we’ve found them,” Bannan noted. A colorful crowd gathered before the mill, including a trio who’d just dismounted. A solitary figure remained ahorse: Horst, leaning over in discussion with another man. Other villagers lined the road, guiding a small herd of cattle and horses through a temporary gate into the orchard. Whinnies and nickers and rumbles of greeting came from those already in that pasture. Bannan grinned as the two children went in hot pursuit of a yearling who slipped past them, intent on forbidden vegetables.