A Turn of Light

by Julie E. Czerneda

  He stepped back into the ox. “You—you don’t?”

  “No.” She wasn’t about to mention her failed attempt at magic. “I’d very much like to learn—”

  He thrust out the golden bell and rang it furiously at her, then turned and bolted—there was no other word for it—for the wagon.

  “Did you understand that?” Jenn asked the ox. The ox and, leaning their heads inward, the six behind it, regarded her placidly. They were no help at all.

  Well, she might as well do what she came to do.

  Jenn went to the house toad and crouched in front of it, mindful of her dress. From its markings, it wasn’t the Nalynn guardian; she had a feeling it might be Uncle Horst’s. “Please let them in,” she pleaded in a low voice. “They’re friends of Master Dusom and ever so interesting.” Especially the one named Urcet, a detail she didn’t think worth the mention.

  ~ I guard. ~

  Well, yes, that’s what house toads did . . . Jenn paused mid-thought. She’d heard the toad. Only Wen heard toads. Until now.

  This was astonishing. But how? Its thin lips remained sealed in a disapproving line. The words hadn’t been whispered in her ear by a breeze. “How do you talk?”

  The toad blinked back at her. ~ How do you hear? ~

  Ancestors Patient and Put Upon. A listless jingle of harness bells interrupted what would likely have been a distracting conversation. Jenn leaned close. “Please let them pass. These are scholars from far away.”

  ~ They may not pass. ~ The toad puffed itself up further, eyes fixed in an intimidating glare at the hoof of the lead ox. ~ I guard the road for our elder brother. I am an accomplished— ~

  “I’m sure you are,” she interrupted rather desperately. “You know what I’ve been enduring. Please, guardian. These men may be able to help me. Let them pass, for my sake.”

  It sighed and shrank.

  Smiling, Jenn gently put her hands under its arms and picked it up. “Thank you.”

  Though it rumbled unhappily, the toad hung in her hands without a fuss.

  Now the little caravan could come to Marrowdell. Just in time for the tinkers and the harvest and all manner of celebrations.

  And the eclipse.

  Surely a harmless event, since it took place high in the sky. The sky didn’t trouble the ground, other than inflicting weather and tides. It couldn’t.

  Could it?

  The house toad met her troubled gaze with reproach in its huge brown eyes.

  It’d be her fault, those eyes seemed to say, if it did.

  For all their power, the turn-born took frivolous risks. They could have stopped the girl’s expectations at whim, but chose otherwise. Now a man who lied even to himself was doomed to the truth, and Jenn Nalynn? How long until comprehension dawned and she be confronted by her own? And what would happen then? Could a good heart save them?

  Why would they not teach the girl? Restraint, if nothing else. She’d done something more, he could feel the unease of it in his twisted bones.

  Wyll snarled to himself. Convincing them wouldn’t be easy.

  They cared nothing for him or his opinion.

  Though they would care, deeply, who he’d let into the village if what the little cousins suspected was true. That these latest arrivals were of the same people who’d built their towers and cast their wishing, rousing the trapped ones.

  “Talk, for what good it will do,” Wyll told the truthseer.

  “Listening’s what will condemn them,” Bannan replied, his eyes gone hard.

  The dragon recognized the look, though he’d not seen it before on a man’s face. His own lips stretched in answer. It wasn’t a smile.

  Bannan Larmensu readied for battle.

  They all must.

  TWENTY

  MARROWDELL, SO DULL and ordinary at the beginning of summer, was at that season’s end close to bursting with excitement and new people. Jenn was close to bursting herself, but with impatience. The tinkers’ tents were up; she could see their yellow peaks from here. That’s where she and Peggs were bound, to arrange everything with Mistress Sand and Master Riverstone, everything to include a place near those tents for the dema and his caravan.

  They’d have been there by now, but Kydd had run to catch up with them, and they stood in the middle of the road arguing, when they should be hurrying to the commons.

  “We can’t let them in,” he was insisting. “They’re Ansnans. What if they’ve come to try again? If they disturb what they did before, they could destroy Marrowdell!”

  If they’d asked whatever they’d wished at before wishing at it in the first place, Jenn thought with regret, nothing might have happened, but she was hardly the one to, as Aunt Sybb would say, “declare innocence and shout out blame.”

  Still, she refused to agree with Kydd. Not when the newcomers might help. “Your brother invited them,” she retorted as calmly as she could. “He said they’re astronomers, here for the eclipse.”

  “Dusom corresponds with dozens of scholars. He invited them all!” The beekeeper’s face had that dangerous set to it; Jenn began to realize what her father meant when he’d said the villagers hadn’t been able to reason with him, all those years ago. “Why did these come and no others? They have some other purpose, I swear it!”

  “Well, we can hardly stop them now,” Peggs pointed out, ever practical. “They’ve been promised supper.” The upcoming feast having been mentioned by more than a few.

  “You don’t understand—” He was interrupted as Cheffy and Alyssa almost ran into them. The two slowed to apologize, then bolted after Roche’s still-saddled horse, trotting around loose for some reason.

  “Yes, I do,” her sister said once the laughing children had passed. “But, Dearest Heart, didn’t you tell us that when Marrowdell suffered its catastrophe, there’d been towers filled with those who knew magic? There’s just the two of them this time, only one from Ansnan, with servants—old servants at that—in wagons. Surely it’s not the same.” She ended with a determined smile.

  “As when I last played doomseer?” Kydd shook his head when they both made to protest. “Fear not, dear ladies. I learned that lesson.” His face eased ever so slightly. “I have my concerns, but also my doubts,” he conceded heavily, “including those you so rightly mention. Trust I won’t run through the village shouting of disaster without proof.”

  Peggs went on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “We’d listen if you did, wouldn’t we, Jenn?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Always.” And smiled at Kydd until the trouble in his face diminished behind a smile of his own. “We’ll watch them,” Jenn assured him then. “Bannan and Wyll will help. And Scourge,” there being little doubt the vigilant and nosy creature would get himself involved. If she had her choice, she’d rather watch the beautiful Urcet than the fatherly dema, not that she’d admit that to anyone. Especially Scourge.

  The beekeeper appeared moved. “I couldn’t ask for a better family.”

  “Speaking of family,” Peggs announced briskly, though her fingers lingered on his shirt and her eyes shone, “someone best tell our dear aunt about the new arrivals.” Sure enough, when Jenn glanced toward the Nalynn house, she spotted Aunt Sybb on the porch, book in hand to disguise any unseemly curiosity. “I’ll see you in the commons.”

  “I’ll let Mistress Sand know you’ll be there as soon as you can,” Jenn assured her sister.

  Peggs left, Kydd’s eyes following.

  There was no telling what he might say to the dema, left on his own. “Accompany me?” Jenn asked.

  The beekeeper gave her a look that said he knew exactly why she asked, but he smiled graciously. “Of course.”

  They headed for the commons at a far quicker pace, to her relief. When they passed Old Jupp’s house, Riss waved from the open door. “Let’s hope she keeps her honored uncle from confronting the Ansnans with his canes,” Kydd murmured as he waved back.

  First Kydd, then Old Jupp. Marrowdell was usually more welcoming,
not that there was anything she could do about it. Or should.

  They were almost to the fountain when an urgent breeze found Jenn’s ear. “Come quickly, Dearest Heart.”

  “Wyll?” She looked around, but didn’t see him. “Where are you? Is Bannan there?”

  “What is it, Jenn?” Kydd asked, looking all around.

  “This way,” the breeze insisted, gathering force to tug at her sleeves and hem. It shoved Kydd into hasty steps forward and tumbled a bee. Even as they obeyed, the breeze kicked dust behind them, which was rude and unnecessary and threatened her dress, but she didn’t try to argue. Not when it shouted, “Hurry! There’s danger!” in her ear.

  The tugs guided them to the Morrell house, then around its side to where an infuriated Scourge had Roche, Bannan, and Wyll pinned against the wall.

  “Scourge!” she exclaimed. The beast snorted and Roche looked about to vomit.

  Kydd jerked to a stop. “What’s all this?”

  To make it worse, Tir Half-face stepped around the back corner, hands on his axes.

  Of course Wyll’s eyes were silver, Jenn saw with a sinking feeling. His doing, this secret gathering. She had to calm him, quickly. “Wyll—”

  “There’s Ansnans come, sir,” Tir interrupted sharply, speaking to Bannan. “Two men, a woman, with another man black as coal. Eld’s my guess. I counted three of their cursed dolls, so that’ll be the sum of them.”

  Why, he’d spied on them. How had he managed that? As for “dolls,” she hadn’t seen any; then again, she hadn’t seen the far side of the wagons. Scourge bobbed his great head, eyes red and fierce.

  “I know,” Bannan replied in a strange, flat tone. He didn’t look at her at all, despite her hair being clean and new ribbons on her second-best dress. “Why are they here?” To Kydd and Tir and Wyll.

  As if she wasn’t.

  She understood why the truthseer would worry, and Tir, but there was no need. The dema hadn’t come for him. She opened her mouth to say so.

  “Dusom’s invitation,” Kydd spoke before she could. “I grant he’s as surprised as anyone they came.”

  “For the Great Turn.” Wyll’s eyes almost glowed.

  “If you mean the eclipse?” The beekeeper nodded. “It’s the first in decades. Marrowdell will be, my brother swears, one of the best spots from which to observe it. I’m suspicious too, but with the truce—”

  Jenn didn’t listen to the rest. She was here, whole and entire, and neither Wyll nor Bannan cared enough to even look at her, as if she wasn’t. So much for the meeting she’d longed for and worried over for days.

  “Pigeons fuss; people converse,” Aunt Sybb would say, not that Marrowdell had pigeons, but her point had been most instructive when it came to getting their father’s attention. Growing flustered and loud, Jenn had learned early, did not work at all.

  “Fair morning, Wyll,” she said, cool and courteous. “And to you, Bannan.”

  Only then did Bannan look at her. Their eyes locked. His were ablaze; Jenn somehow stood her ground, hiding her now-trembling fingers in her skirt.

  She hadn’t thought being noticed would be worse.

  She’d changed.

  More than changed.

  Bannan took a breath, or thought he did. If he’d worried his memory had been colored by fantasy, that no one could affect him as she had, here was proof. Ancestors Dazed and Dazzled, how could Jenn Nalynn have gone from lovely young woman to this haunting beauty in ten days?

  A haunting beauty who did not look at all pleased to see him. He swallowed, hard, and thought better of chancing “Dearest Heart.” “Jenn. It’s—good to see you.”

  Scourge made a rude noise with his lips.

  Hers, for a wonder, curved ever so slightly from their stern line. “And you, Bannan.” Her cheeks gained a dusting of rose and she looked toward the dragon. “Wyll, you shouldn’t be hiding back here. It won’t make a good impression on Poppa or anyone else.”

  Wyll paled. “Dearest Heart—”

  Scourge interrupted with another rude noise, clearly enjoying himself, then his head jerked up and aimed toward the commons, nostrils flared and red. Steaming drool dripped from his gaping mouth and a shudder ran along his flanks.

  Caught the other kruars’ scent, had he? Bannan didn’t expect that to go well. Meanwhile, Jenn took Wyll’s arm and leaned to say something in private.

  Was it petty to hope that didn’t go well? “Dearest Heart” indeed.

  Using the distraction, Tir came close. “What’s to do, sir?” he asked in a low voice, standing sideways, his hands on the well-worn grips of his axes. “About the Ansnans.”

  Bannan’s blood boiled at the word, at the thought of them here, at their tricks. The dolls were a favorite. Ansnans counted by sevens, not tens, and the superstitious among them traveled in sets of that number. Whenever they couldn’t, they’d bring dolls to make up the difference. Dolls. Dirty sack bodies with gourds for heads, their rotten skins carved with mocking smiles. The border guard loathed the things and burned any they found.

  He forced a shrug. “It’s not for us to make or break the peace, Tir.”

  “If they’ve come for you?”

  His eyes found Jenn where she stood, nose-to-nose with poor Wyll. He lowered his own voice. “Our dragon fears they’ve come for something else. For the magic in this place. Be on your guard as never before. Tell me anything strange.”

  “Stranger than yon tinkers, sir?” Tir asked too innocently.

  Bannan glanced at Scourge, who could hear a beating heart at twenty paces and doubtless heard every word. “Scourge told you.”

  Without taking his red eyes from the commons, the kruar curled lip over fang and sent a chill breeze to whisper, “Nothing’s safe once turn-born cross the edge. We feel it. Dragons do. If you thought with your head, you’d leave Marrowdell, now.”

  “A song he’s sung since last night,” Tir commented. The eyes above the mask were grimly amused. “I said it’d take more than magical tinkers to pry you loose.”

  He’d die first; they knew it. “Treat them as you would any villager,” Bannan cautioned, ignoring his “horse.” “Watch over Jenn Nalynn. That most of all.”

  Tir gave the slightest of nods.

  “Heart’s Blood, I almost forgot.” The truthseer stooped to retrieve his inconvenient bundle and handed it to his friend. At the raised eyebrow, he felt himself redden. “It’s for the Lady Mahavar.” He stressed the name. “I’d appreciate it if—”

  The ringing of bells announced they were no longer alone.

  Roche cowered and Tir was tense. Kydd looked worried again and Bannan—

  Smelled wonderful.

  Which didn’t help anything and shouldn’t matter, but he truly did.

  He looked wonderful too. Working his farm had taken the shadows from his eyes and finished tanning where he’d shaved his beard. He fairly glowed with health, as Aunt Sybb would say, and, if not as beautiful as Urcet, was a fine figure of a man indeed.

  And what was in that intriguing bundle he passed to Tir?

  Bells rang and Jenn found herself unexpectedly grateful for that distraction.

  And for Wyll, though she wasn’t at all pleased to find him adding to the tension. “You needn’t hide back here,” she said kindly. “These aren’t enemies.”

  “Dearest Heart.” The silver faded; it didn’t leave. “Trust me to know better.” A breeze chilled her ear. “Stay away from them. Let us deal with this.”

  She’d been about to tell him how glad she was to see him, for she was, and to ask him about the talking toad. Instead, Jenn bristled. “If you can’t be pleasant, Wyll, you’d best stay away.”

  Kydd tipped his head toward the road. “The tinkers will hear this lot coming. We should be there, Jenn.”

  “Coming,” she said firmly.

  With a final warning look at Wyll, Jenn Nalynn stepped back on the road with Kydd and hurried to the fountain, doing her best to smile. Bannan, who she was sure could and
would be gracious no matter what, followed.

  Wyll and Tir stayed behind, out of sight, with Roche and Scourge. That, she decided, was just as well.

  Sending interested looks this way and that, Dema Qimirpik and Urcet walked in front of the oxen and their driver. Dusom, Uncle Horst, and her father walked with them, pointing out various sights. Most of the village, clearly in a festive mood, followed the wagons, including Old Jupp with his canes safely on the ground. She didn’t see the Emms’ twins, but someone had to get the livestock settled and they were likely in no great hurry to explain matters to their parents. Palma came with Hettie, their heads together and chatting like old friends.

  Bees paused and hovered. Birds stopped singing and stared.

  So they should, Jenn thought with growing delight. Between the magnificent oxen, their gilded horns gleaming in the sun, the exotic wagons, and the cheerful babble of voices and harness bells echoing from building to building, Marrowdell had its first parade.

  The grand procession wound its way past the mill, then the Nalynn home, where Aunt Sybb and Peggs sat watching from the porch. Jenn’s father waved at her, spotting the little group by the fountain.

  “Stop!” Wyll launched into view, flinging up his good hand. Wind whipped dust and leaves into a frenzied cloud as he thrust himself between Jenn and the oncoming walkers. “Go back!”

  The men stopped, coughing, arms over their faces. The oxen jerked up their heads, horns rattling together. There were cries of consternation from the villagers, most of whom couldn’t see what was happening, and Old Jupp shouted something, cane in the air.

  He couldn’t have waited, Jenn thought with disgust. She stepped toward him. “Wyll! Stop!”

  “These are my guests—” Dusom began to sputter, as Radd Nalynn gave his youngest daughter a despairing look. Her heart sank. She’d promised to control Wyll.

  Before she could try, Kanajuq leapt forward, bell in hand, and struck Wyll on his bad shoulder.