A Turn of Light

by Julie E. Czerneda

  As Wyll staggered and fell, Scourge charged from nowhere, knocking the old servant flat. The golden bell sailed up in a slow sparkling arc to land with a thump on the back of an ox. The offended beast bawled loudly, Scourge roared back, and the entire team began to stamp and bawl.

  It was no longer a parade; it was a disaster.

  At least the wind died as quickly as it started, dust and leaves dropping to the ground. Jenn crouched beside Wyll, who turned his head to look at her, face twisted with an emotion she’d not seen there before.

  He was terrified. Her dearest, oldest friend. Forgetting everyone and everything else, Jenn ran her hand down his arm, feeling him tremble. “Did he hurt you?” She found his hand and laced her fingers with his. “Wyll? What’s—”

  “Uhhhh!” Qimirpik pressed his hands over his chest. As he did, his breath came out in a fog, as if the air was suddenly cold.

  Urcet staggered back with a frightened cry, his breath visible too. He began a desperate chant, something about stars and blameless lives and resisting evil, and Qimirpik quickly joined in, adding a chorus of meaningless sounds that almost, but not quite made a nice harmony. All while frost rimed the edges of the wagons and coated the oxen’s harness, and there was a dark shadow where the newcomers stood, but not over anyone else.

  He could make a storm. She should have known he could bring winter. The servant shouldn’t have hit him, but it had only been a bell and Wyll was a dragon, or had been. “Wyll,” she pleaded, low so her father wouldn’t hear. “Don’t do this. Please stop!”

  Wyll shook his head.

  He tried to send the newcomers away, to make them unwelcome here. Which wasn’t right at all and she wouldn’t have it. She wouldn’t! Jenn tore her hand from his. “I want them to stay!” she cried, having no idea what she did or what good she could do, but disagreeing with this, oh, yes, with all her heart.

  Coincidence, surely, that the sun came out, as it should, to wipe away the shadow. That warm summer air settled over them all.

  Until the frost was memory.

  The dema and Urcet stopped chanting to stare at one another. Urcet looked entirely satisfied, and the dema said in an unsteady, but pleased voice, “The home of the Celestial, at last!”

  “Did you feel it? We passed the first trial,” the Eld exclaimed, slapping his thighs in triumph. “We did it, Qimirpik!”

  They thought they’d saved themselves. Jenn’s eyes widened. Had they? Did they have magic too?

  “Manners, sirs,” Uncle Horst scolded the gleeful pair. “You’re in Rhoth. Speak so all understand you.”

  But they must have, Jenn thought, momentarily distracted. She’d understood every word. If they hadn’t, she swallowed hard, how was that possible?

  Dusom glanced at her father. “They claim to have worked magic.”

  Had she, back on the road, when she’d wanted to understand? It was all most confusing, though, she thought pragmatically, that would explain her newfound ability to converse with toads.

  “Indeed we have,” the dema said proudly. “It was foretold there would be trials to overcome. We’re gratified to be tested so soon and succeed. Most gratified.”

  Judging by the beads of sweat glistening on his shaved head, the Ansnan was more than a little relieved, too.

  Breathing easier, Jenn helped Wyll to his feet. “Aren’t you sorry you did that?” she whispered. “These might be friends.”

  “These are fools.” The disapproving breeze nipped her. “Dangerous fools. Stay away from them, Dearest Heart. For all our sakes.”

  “Why—”

  “Let’s keep everyone moving, shall we?” Kydd beckoned toward the commons. “We’ve harvest underway and only so much sun.” His tone was light, but his eyes were troubled when they met hers. “Jenn?”

  “To the commons,” she said brightly. Like Wyll, Kydd was afraid. She wasn’t sure what had frightened Wyll, but Kydd worried about something that had happened so long ago, trees covered the scars; if it had happened at all and not been a story.

  Right now, she’d be much happier if it had been a story. Her magic grew more potent and less under control with every use, which made it worrisome to think that Ansnor might have mad and magic people, including, perhaps, the dema and his companion, who so worried her dragon.

  Jenn made sure to take Wyll’s hand before turning around.

  To face the truthseer, who looked at her and saw everything.

  This was the change.

  Heart’s Blood. How had he not seen it?

  Jenn Nalynn stood before him, wearing light like skin, her eyes still huge and purpled with magic. The world itself had bent to her defiance, the turn-borns’ will broken, for he’d no doubts who’d tried to remove the intruders with that touch of winter. Tried, until Jenn brought summer back again. She was glorious and powerful and . . .

  Knew. Bannan saw the awareness cross her dear face like a cloud. No longer innocent. What the dragon feared had come to pass. Jenn Nalynn knew, if not everything, then enough.

  And that he saw.

  The truthseer bowed, sweeping his fingertips through dust and leaves, his heart aching for her.

  There was altogether too much bowing going on, Jenn Nalynn thought, deciding she felt cross. Cross was better than anxious and much better than afraid. Cross let her walk past Bannan without a second glance, a glance she didn’t dare take.

  She’d seen herself change in his eyes, seen awe and something akin to pity in his face. Bannan knew. How could she doubt she’d done magic, when he saw it in her? When he knew, better than anyone, how that made her feel?

  Cross made her take quick steps, but not so quick that she abandoned Wyll. He’d left his hand in hers as they walked to the commons, though it turned his every movement further off balance and was surely painful. His good foot left scars in the dirt. His other dragged and bounced.

  His hand was warm and smooth, the strength in it oddly placed, so she wasn’t sure at times if she held a hand at all. He was different. Special. She wouldn’t blame him, Jenn decided. The caravan had surprised them all.

  He must hear what she’d learned about herself, a conversation both urgent and daunting. “I’ve missed you and Night’s Edge,” she began as they passed the Ropps’ barn. The cows would be brought from the orchard for milking, though it was likely the excitement would throw a few off. “I hope you’ve been—” happy trembled on her lips, to die unspoken. He couldn’t be; she hadn’t been. “—busy.”

  “Yes. I did as you asked,” Wyll replied. “I built our house. I wrote letters. But our meadow remains as it was. I cannot restore it.”

  Jenn squeezed his hand, as much for her comfort as his. “We’ll try together,” she promised. They neared the open commons’ gate and she had to smile as she spotted the familiar bright yellow tents, smile and add without thinking, “Mistress Sand might help.”

  Through his hand, she felt his intention to stop, there and then, but he couldn’t and didn’t; they had the village and caravan at their heels. A breeze toyed with her hair instead. “We are acquainted, Dearest Heart. Be prepared. They will not speak well of me and I ask you not try to change their opinion. Some things are impossible.”

  This time Jenn tried to stop, only to have Wyll’s strong hold keep her moving forward into the commons. “What do you mean?”

  He answered aloud, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Tinkers don’t bother with those like me unless they must. It’s their way. Don’t take it to heart. I don’t.” This with a low chuckle.

  “Like you.” Did he mean crippled in body or not-always-a-man? Looking at Wyll didn’t help. He’d set his young handsome face to such innocence Jenn couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  Then she heard a glad cry, “Sweetling!! Jenn!!!” and dropped Wyll’s hand to run ahead and meet Mistress Sand.

  Unlike Aunt Sybb, whose frail bones meant any embrace must be cautious, Mistress Sand was as strong and solid as could be. Jenn wrapped her arms around her and squeezed, al
most losing her breath as the other generously returned the favor. “Look at you,” Sand exclaimed, squeezing her again as if vision alone wouldn’t do. “A fine lady, tall as your sister.”

  Before Jenn could do more than smile and say, “I’m so glad to see you—” she was passed to another for more squeezing. Master Riverstone. They were all here, Flint, Tooth, Chalk, and Fieldstone, every one glad to see her, including Kaj, the little dog who lived in Mistress Sand’s shadow. By the final embrace, she felt hurried, bruised, and well-loved. And licked.

  It was always like this, when the tinkers arrived in Marrowdell. Jenn was relieved to see the presence of strange faces did nothing to change the whirl of enthusiastic greetings or the bewildering speed with which Master Riverstone and Davi organized those bound for the fields. Daylight was precious; she felt that truth in her flesh.

  Mistress Sand hadn’t needed a warning after all. She and the others had been waiting at the gate. After greeting Jenn, and pointedly ignoring Wyll, who’d lurched away with a sneer before she could do a thing, the tinkers waved the dema and his caravan through with smiles and invitations to their tents. Did the newcomers need knives sharpened? Leather work? To trade?

  Overwhelmed by the din of business and reacquaintance, to be truthful, unsure of her place in it, Jenn found herself easing away from the rest. It was then she saw Bannan Larmensu.

  Was he coming to her? Oh, how she wanted him to—no. No, she didn’t, she told herself hastily. She should run if he did. It was all most upsetting.

  And unnecessary. For, without a look in her direction, Bannan walked over to Urcet and the dema, his hands out in the latter’s greeting, smiling as if they were long-lost friends. Within moments, they might have been. Master Dusom joined them and their conversation grew animated.

  Others might think it odd, knowing Bannan had fought the Ansnans most of his life, but Jenn understood, too well. He was doing what he’d told her he’d hated, using his magic to look for lies.

  For himself? For Marrowdell?

  Or for her?

  She could ask, but that would be far too intimate a conversation to have with someone whose letters she’d burned this morning.

  The truthseer wasn’t alone on guard. Uncle Horst stood on the outskirts of the crowd, watching. Horst’s oddness, they’d called it, to stay at the fringe of events. It wasn’t oddness, Jenn thought. He cared for them and deserved better than to live out his life with strangers. She’d talk him into staying tonight, at the feast. There were too few nights left. She daren’t wait; she wouldn’t.

  Master Dusom lifted his arm to point to the Spine.

  Jenn’s eyes widened. What was he saying?

  “Jenn!” Allin came up to her, smiling widely, and there was no chance to find out. He’d matured over the summer, his sun-weathered face more like his father’s than she remembered. He had little Loee cradled in one strong arm, her fingers tight around his thumb, and his mother and Palma followed behind. “Jenn, I’d like you to meet Palma Anan, from Endshere. We’re wed.”

  As Gallie Emms looked elated, if a touch windblown, Jenn smiled at once. “Congratulations. Welcome to Marrowdell, Palma.”

  Up close, the young woman’s face was cheerful and open, her eyes sparkling with wit. “Thank you. It’s beautiful here. Allin didn’t exaggerate.” She waved an expressive hand. “And in time for your harvest. Put me to work. I’m no stranger to feeding a horde.” With a wink.

  “I see Devins! You have to tell him about your cousins.” Allin grabbed Palma’s hand and dashed away, Loee giggling.

  His mother didn’t go with them. “Ancestors Blessed and Bountiful, I’d have been happy to have our boys safely home,” she avowed in her soft voice. “Who’d have thought I’d gain two daughters the same day?” Jenn did her best to look puzzled. Gallie, who read her face as well as anyone, chuckled warmly. “I see you know about Hettie, too. Good Heart, Covie and I’ve waited years for our children to leave games behind and stand together. I suspect Hettie and Tadd surprised only themselves.” Her eyes twinkled. “Though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell them I said so.”

  “I won’t,” Jenn promised, hoping their father hadn’t been part of such discussions.

  “It’s all arranged. They’ll join you and Peggs, on the Golden Day.”

  So soon? Jenn thought of Aunt Sybb’s lists and the endless hours of sewing. “We’ll share what we’ve done,” she offered. Good thing Peggs had done such unreadable “P’s” and “K’s;” they’d easily pass for “T’s” and “H’s” or any other letter. Her face fell. “I’m afraid all we have to spare are goods, not dresses.”

  Gallie’s dimples deepened and she brushed gray-speckled curls from her damp forehead. “For the Ancestors’ Blessing, I’m sure they’d marry in flour sacks, but that won’t be necessary. I brought my dress from Avyo, why I don’t know having two boys at the time, but now I’m glad. Wen and Frann can alter it.” She gave a brisk nod. “Anything else must wait till after the harvest. Hettie and Tadd will live with us, of course.”

  There was no “of course” about it. Spring through summer, while the twins were away, Gallie used the loft to write. She’d written all manner of helpful books, with illustrations and lists, concerning what settlers and farmers should know, things those arriving in Marrowdell had not. Before Loee’s arrival, she’d begun a new tome on the wildflowers of the north, with Peggs doing some of the many paintings she’d planned and the twins bringing pressed samples from their time in the neighboring hills. Gallie’s work, under the name “Elag M. Brock” was widely published in Lower Rhoth; Master Dusom had copies, signed “Gallie Emms,” on a special shelf.

  All of which because the Emms’ loft, especially in summer when the light was best, was perfect for Gallie’s work, work important both to her and an untold number of readers.

  “A busy morning,” Uncle Horst commented, joining them. Before following the parade to the commons, he’d stopped to change his riding leathers for homespun pants and shirt. Had he stopped for Riss? Jenn couldn’t tell. The other woman, face shadowed by a scarf, stood at a distance with her great-uncle, unobtrusively making sure he wasn’t trampled by a careless ox or excited child. Or attacked the dema.

  “And for you,” Gallie replied. “Where did you meet our latest guests?”

  His pale gaze flicked to the caravan then back. “Coming from Endshere. They’d stopped at the inn for a guide to Marrowdell, and happened on your son’s wedding.” He bowed, “Congratulations, Gallie. I know the Anans to be good, hardworking people. Palma’s as wise as she is kind. Sorry to see Allin go,” with a nod, “but he’ll fit well there.”

  Allin wasn’t the worry. There were new lines etched on Uncle Horst’s face, faint and unhappy, and Jenn realized she couldn’t wait till the feast. “You fit here, Uncle,” she said. “Please don’t leave us.”

  “Sennic?” Gallie asked sharply. “What’s all this?”

  His eyes closed. “Dearest Heart—”

  Just then Battle and Brawl approached, fresh and eager to work, necks curved with pride under braided manes, feathers flying around their hooves. The three moved apart to let the team pass. Wainn, riding on the driver’s box, lost his wide grin as he turned his head to look at her.

  Once the cart rolled by, Jenn discovered Uncle Horst had led Gallie away, his head bent over hers as he spoke earnestly, a conversation she wasn’t to share.

  All around her, all of a sudden, people were talking and shouting, moving here and there. Oxen bawled, horses whinnied, metal ’forks clattered into the backs of empty wagons.

  While she was quiet and still.

  Alone.

  As though she wasn’t here at all.

  The wrongness of it tightened her throat. This wasn’t how she was supposed to be. She was part of Marrowdell.

  She needed Wyll. Where was Wyll? Jenn looked around frantically but couldn’t find him.

  A butterfly came close, tempted by her nose, then left. Grateful to be noticed, Jenn
let her eyes follow it through the bustle of the commons, a scrap of living color managing to miss or be missed by everything larger. It passed the caravan, then dipped where Bannan stood talking to those he’d called enemy.

  He glanced at the butterfly, then looked at her as if he’d known she was there.

  As if, by his looking, she was.

  Her feet moved with her urgent heart.

  “A hand with these, if you would, Jenn?” Frann dumped most of her stack of folded quilts into Jenn’s arms with a relieved sigh, keeping the rest. Sweat beaded her face and she was short of breath, if not words. “Set them inside Mistress Sand’s tent, now, that’s a good heart. Lorra’s had us running with her silly pots and now I’ll be last there and late. Ancestors Laggard and Slow, if we’ll ever be ready . . .” Muttering to herself, the older woman rushed away before Jenn could more than nod.

  Saved by quilts. Jenn balanced the load, careful not to look where she mustn’t.

  She’d take her burden to the tent, then find Wyll.

  Ancestors Foiled and Frustrated. First, Jenn Nalynn became magic incarnate and avoided him; now she ran errands to do the same. Oh, Lila would laugh.

  She wouldn’t laugh to see her brother play Captain Ash again, not that Bannan used the name. She’d understand how sickening it felt to slip back into that role, to lie as served his purpose, and to read their truth or its lack.

  How his heart went dead as stone.

  Thus far, what he’d heard had been the truth, but he’d yet to hear enough. A dema was the Ansnan equal of a Rhothan priest, and many, like Qimirpik, were scholars. A study of stars and sun was seemly worship; whatever this man sought in Marrowdell was not. Making Dema Qimirpik something other than the jolly fellow out for adventure he portrayed with such goodwill.

  His companion? On the surface, the Eld was a dilettante, pursuing his curiosity in a land no other of his kind had seen. The source of funds, no doubt, since the wagons were Eld creations, with wheels that could be changed to roll along their metal tracks like an ox-drawn train. Cost of no concern, everything of the highest quality, down to the cursed dolls peering from the windows. Like the dema, Urcet was more than he seemed. There was passion in his eyes and gestures, an impatience that spoke of burning desire.