A Play of Shadow

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “By the Hearts of my Ancestors,” he vowed, “I’ll sit on him if I must.”

  The others chuckled. “I’d help,” Kydd said, “but I fear our doughty warrior would toss me over his shoulder.”

  “Your lads. Eight years and five, you say?” Radd raised an eyebrow. “They’re alike in size. Who’s eldest?”

  “Semyn.” Bannan leaned back in his chair, hands around his cup. “He’s the one with red in his hair. Werfol’s the family weed.” “Weed” being Emon’s pet name for the boy, the baron swearing Werfol grew out of shoes so quickly he could support a tannery. Seeing Radd smile, the truthseer went on, “Semyn’s the image of his father; Werfol takes more to the Larmensu.” Though appearances were deceiving, Semyn already a strategist like his mother and Werfol inclined to tinker—and break—whatever he laid hand upon. “They’re both—wonderful.” And well-loved. Emon spent every minute he could pry from his work with his sons and Lila, while her love for them all was as fierce and beautiful as her own heart.

  See a real winter? Life beyond the estate? She hadn’t even bothered to lie well. Lila scattered her family for a reason. Whatever it was, he’d see them together again, Bannan swore to himself. See them whole, again.

  Or die trying.

  They’d left him one of their precious candles, but Bannan snuffed it out and made do with the glow from the heatstove, wanting neither to waste the light, nor disturb the rest of those who deserved it. Radd snored gently. He’d slung his hammock from waiting hooks in the rafters, settling in with the ease of long practice, for this was how he slept on the porch spring and summer, giving his sister his bed.

  Buried under quilts, Tir slept on the settee. Covie had bandaged his feet in loose wraps, finishing with soft scarves. Time, she’d said, would tell.

  Bannan sat in a chair by the wide bed. The dim light caught on round young cheeks and noses, suggested shape beneath the covers, but couldn’t give color to the hair on the pillows. No matter, he knew it well. Among his belongings was a tiny wooden box, containing a curl from each precious head, a keepsake from Lila. He could picture sunbeams finding red highlights or brown, touching skin freckled or tan.

  No need to imagine what sagged the mattress near the foot of the bed. He looked deeper, glimpsed the violet of a wild and vigilant eye, and bowed his head in thanks.

  The dragon had returned from wherever he’d gone to warm himself, to keep watch too.

  “Hearts of my Ancestors,” he prayed soundlessly, in the dark. “I’m Beholden for their safety, for losing them would have broken all our hearts. I’m Beholden for the kindness of these people, who shelter us despite their own need. I’m Beholden for the magic of Marrowdell, for without it Jenn Nalynn and Wisp and Scourge could not have saved them from the storm. Most of all, I would be Beholden if Lila could know her boys are with me and well. However far we are apart—” he choked at the last, but it didn’t matter. Risk winter’s wrath on the Northward Road? Despite having no Scourge of her own, Lila wouldn’t hesitate.

  Unless she chose to risk something worse.

  Dark thoughts. Bannan shrugged beneath the quilt over his shoulders. Dark thoughts were the only ones he had.

  “Sir.”

  A whisper. It flickered open a pair of young eyes, gleaming in the embers’ light. Bannan leaned forward to kiss Werfol on the forehead. “You’re with me, Dear Heart,” he murmured gently, “and safe. Sleep now. I’ll be right here.”

  He waited until the boy’s eyes closed again before going to Tir. “What can I get for you?”

  A whisper, hoarse but amused. “Dancing women in scanty clothes, sir, an’a bottle o’the finest, but I’ll settle for making my report.”

  Bannan smiled, the stiffness of his jaw telling him how set it had been until now. “Good to hear.” He felt for another chair and brought it near the settee, sitting down. “Mind you don’t overdo, or Covie will have my head.”

  “How’re the lads?”

  “Better than you,” Bannan assured him. “Asleep.” Or listening. He wouldn’t put it past them and Radd’s snores had taken on an artificial air. Fair enough. “Ancestors Crazed and Confounded, Tir. What’s this about? Yes, I’ve Lila’s letter, saying the boys are to stay with me. I don’t need to see her face to know the lie.”

  “Aie, Sir. The letter’s to prove you’ve right to the boys, should anyone else come after them.” Tir’s voice, though low and raspy, took on a familiar cadence. “I went to the baroness after the Lady Mahavar was settled at home, to pay my respects and because—begging your pardon, sir—your sister would have cut off more than my ears if I hadn`t told her your situation.”

  Bannan nodded. “Go on.”

  “When I was done, she asked me if you were in a safe place. I told her you were, though now I’m back, I’m wondering, sir, why.” A meaningful pause, then, “She’d the boys ready within the hour. My guess is she’d been waiting for somewhere to send them.”

  The truth. “Why?”

  Tir shifted as if uncomfortable, then sighed. “The baroness didn’t say. No need. Whatever the baron’s up to in Channen? There are those eager to change his mind on certain matters. The boys—they’d be leverage, sir, wouldn’t they?”

  Bannan felt cold. “There’s nothing Emon wouldn’t do for them,” he agreed. Which didn’t explain why they were here, with him. “Lila would have kept them safe. And her staff.” Handpicked, the lot of them. Her standards were nothing if not exacting, and she wasn’t above using his gift to check their loyalty. When he’d been there.

  “Not all hers,” Tir said darkly. “Not anymore. The prince suggested Vorkoun’s noble houses accept Ansnans into their employ. Show support for the treaty. The baron had no choice. Your sister sent her two best with us—you’ll know the names: Rowe Jonn and Seel Aucoin. Meant leav’n not a one at the estate I’d trust.”

  Worse and worse. “Where are Rowe and Seel?”

  “Can’t say, sir. We’d left in secret—didn’t send word even to Lady Mahavar, who’ll by now think the worst o’me—but we were betrayed. By Weken, we’d hunters on our trail. Passed Endshere by night, rather than risk a stop, but outrun riders, us with a loaded wagon?”

  Bannan could see the moment, understand every choice, all too well. “They hung back.”

  “Aie. So me and the lads could make a dash for Marrowdell and help. The hunters caught up to us right as the storm hit. There’d be but one way past those brave men, Ancestors Dear and Departed. I’m sorry, sir.”

  A whimper, stifled and soft, from the bed. “Go on,” Bannan said, hearing pain in his own voice.

  “We’re here, as your sister wanted.”

  “And the hunters?”

  With grim satisfaction. “Won’t be making reports, sir.”

  “Good.” Bannan rose to his feet. “Rest, now.”

  “Sir. Bannan. The wagon—the baroness sent supplies for the five of us—we can’t abandon it.”

  Of course she had, the truthseer told himself, feeling a pang of memory. How many rainy afternoons had they spent, sprawled on a carpet, adding cutlery and potato slices to their ranks of toy soldiers because Lila insisted armies moved on their stomachs? Ancestors Calm and Collected, sitting here in the dark, in this valley so remote few knew it existed, he could almost hear her calculating the burden of five extra mouths on Marrowdell. She’d sent what would compensate.

  While he’d bought candy at the fair.

  “We’ll go for the wagon in the morning, Tir,” Bannan promised. If the storm subsided by then. The wind still rattled the shutters every so often. Maybe there was a limit to how much snow could fall in a night.

  Or a winter.

  He settled himself back in his chair by the bed, wrapped in a quilt. Lila’d been beset and surrounded, a situation she’d not tolerate. She’d made her first move, to put her children out of reach. What next? Bannan pulled the qui
lt tighter, sinking his chin to his chest. Whatever she had in mind, his role was to be here, with Semyn and Werfol.

  Whatever she had in mind, he’d hope no more blood would spill.

  As well hope snow had limits.

  Lila had none.

  “More playmates for you, Dearest Heart,” Gallie told Loee as the baby nursed.

  Zehr smiled. “I’ll see if Covie kept any of the twins’ clothes. We passed them along for Cheffy,” he explained to Jenn. “They’ll be well-worn. You know the lad.”

  “That’s what patches are for,” his wife countered with a laugh. “We’ll have Bannan’s nephews snug as can be in no time at all.”

  The Emms hadn’t been this happy since their return from Endshere. No one had. Despite the uncertainty and worry surrounding Semyn and Werfol’s arrival, Jenn decided, they couldn’t have come at a better time. Children, Aunt Sybb had said, were the surest remedy for grief. She’d also said children were the surest distraction—or was that interruption?—but all in all, her meaning was the same. Marrowdell’s worry over Frann’s illness had eased, however slightly.

  “I’ll let him know,” Jenn promised, gathering the dishes.

  “Leave those, Good Heart,” Zehr told her. “You go help Bannan and your sister. I’m sure they’ll be making plans where the boys will stay, and Tir.”

  “Perhaps you should be part of those plans, Jenn Nalynn,” suggested Gallie, eyes atwinkle. “After all, a bed shared is a warmer one.”

  Oh, and didn’t her cheeks flame at that? Jenn muttered something incoherent, which made Gallie laugh again, but kindly, and ran to bundle up for the trip to the Nalynns’ very full house.

  Once outside, her breath hanging in the air like a cloud, Jenn stopped to admire the storm’s handiwork. For under a sky of brilliant blue, Marrowdell was now white.

  Glistening snow pillowed rooftops and clung like frosting to windowsills and logs. It lay in sharp-edged drifts that curled between buildings and hedgerow, here waist-high, there up to her chin. The wind had scoured to the turf in places, but never in a useful path. They’d be shoveling for days.

  The river had vanished beneath lapped scales of white, as if a giant snake lay along the valley floor. Beyond, the fields were full of odd shapes and lumps. Efflet sculpted the snow, Wisp had told her, not the wind. She couldn’t wait to take a closer look.

  First, to Bannan. Jenn began pushing through the snow.

  The snow pushed back. Or something under it.

  She stopped and tilted her head, considering the matter. “Fair morning.”

  A long, slender mass of snow rose abruptly to hang in midair. Jenn narrowed her eyes. “Wisp?” More snow lifted in answer, this time in the shape of spread wings. “It is you! I’ve been so worried—”

  “I’ve a way to warm myself, Dearest Heart.” The little breeze sounded decidedly smug.

  He’d recovered, that meant, and she wasn’t to fuss, but finding her dragon encased in ice was, Jenn thought with an inward shudder, something she’d never forget. “I’m glad. You were very brave, Wisp, to save the boys and Tir. But how did you know?”

  “I didn’t.” He shook, and snow flew in all directions. If not for the impression made by his body, she might be alone. “The sei sent me. Into the storm.” A snarl. “Beyond the edge.”

  Brave indeed. “Come with me,” she asked impulsively. “Bannan will want to know what you found.” It wasn’t as if Wisp hadn’t been in the Nalynn home before.

  Though then, he’d been a man, and Wyll.

  “I’ll come with you. I’ll stay with you.” The breeze lifted snow and spun it. “Here is the best place to be, Dearest Heart, and to stay.”

  As if they played in the meadow. As if nothing was wrong. Which made her suddenly certain something was and this wasn’t play at all. “Wisp. What happened out there?”

  Snow became one column, then two. “Horses died and men died,” the breeze told her airily. The columns touched at their tops then collapsed. “I did not.”

  But he might have. She’d seen it. Had not Scourge dragged him back to the edge, and to her? He’d never have left the boys and Tir. He’d have frozen with them. “The sei shouldn’t have sent you,” Jenn said, trying her best not to be angry, but she was. “I don’t understand why it didn’t ask me—”

  A clump of snow landed with a wet smack, right on her nose. She staggered back and almost fell. The breeze chuckled. “Because only a dragon could have saved them, Dearest Heart, and only I would have tried.”

  Well, yes, there was that. Jenn stealthily gathered up a handful of snow and formed it into a ball, then launched it where she thought he might be.

  The ball swerved in midair. It made a glorious arc over the Nalynn roof and sleeping roses, disappearing beyond.

  A surprised shout followed.

  Jenn covered her mouth with a mitten hand, stifling a laugh.

  Another ball of snow rose over the roof, coming this way! Though well thrown, it hadn’t a chance against a playful dragon. The ball stopped midair, then flew back.

  A second shout, this time more outraged than surprised.

  Jenn hurried through the snow, taking shelter beneath the rosebushes. As she armed herself with more snowballs, the air above filled with them. Some blew apart into tiny blizzards. Some were sent flying back, faster than they’d come. A few disappeared as if swallowed. Which was hardly fair, no matter who was on the other side of the house. She began to throw her own. “Take that, Wisp!”

  Though she hadn’t made a wish, snowballs formed themselves all around her, soaring through the air with hers to converge on one spot, near the hedge. A shape fought free and, with a roar she felt in her bones, the dragon took to the air, shedding snow as he flew.

  Jenn dusted off her mittens. “We won!” she told the snow around her, certain she wasn’t alone. She got to her feet, freeing her scarf from a thorn, and turned.

  To meet a snowball.

  Jenn blinked snow to find Bannan, so caked himself in white he might have been one of the efflets’ sculptures. Only his eyes showed, and they were full of mischief. He had, she realized belatedly, more snowballs.

  With a ringing whoop of battle, Jenn launched herself before he could throw another, toppling him into the snow. Which might have worked, but he wrapped his long arms around her and rolled them both until they were more snow than person, and laughing so hard it was impossible to catch a full breath.

  When finally they paused, wrapped in each other, Jenn freed her hand to wipe snow from his dear face. “You do realize,” she said cheerfully, nose-to-nose, “Wisp started it.”

  “Thought as much.” Bannan’s eyes sparkled. “He’s in a good mood.”

  “He’s glad to be home.” Despite the layers of coats and cloaks and whatever else between them, Jenn decided she quite liked snuggling in the snow and would have been glad herself to stay like this, assuming no one walked by to see them.

  “As am I, Dearest Heart,” Bannan said, giving her a cold, wet, and thoroughly pleasant kiss. Then he jumped to his feet, offering his hand. “Sennic’s sure the weather will hold for the morning, so we’re off to fetch Lila’s supplies.”

  Jenn took his hand to pull herself up. “It will hold here,” she assured him.

  A smile that warmed her heart. “Many thanks. And I ask another kindness, Jenn, much harder to accomplish.”

  She waited.

  “Sit on Tir for me.” Bannan shook his head. “I caught him trying to find boots. Ancestors Dutiful and Dazed, the man has more heart than sense. He hasn’t said as much, but I know him. Now that I’ve the boys, he thinks to return to your lady aunt.”

  “He’ll have to heal first,” Jenn pointed out. “By then, even Tir will see why no one travels once winter takes hold.”

  They’d begun walking around the house. The truthseer paused to kick at a drif
t, and gave her a wondering look. “Worse than this?”

  By the Midwinter Beholding, the village would shrink from wide fields and open roads, to narrow shoveled paths connecting the fountain to homes and outbuildings. Houses would be buried, marked by holes at doorways and windows, with steps cut into the snow packed on roofs in order to reach and clear the chimneys.

  Which was handy for making slides, too. Winter had its joys; children knew where to find them. How many would be new to Semyn and Werfol?

  Thoughts full of what was to come, Jenn settled for, “You’ll see.”

  When they came around the house, Davi was there, busy checking the runners on what had been the village cart and was now its sled. Battle and Brawl tossed their big heads, ringing the bells attached to their halters. Pretty, the bells, and Jenn loved them.

  The only guide in the dark or storm, those bells, should horse or villager become separated.

  Not today. Today was beautiful and clear; though Jenn didn’t make a wish yet, she intended it stay that way till all were safely home.

  Anten and Kydd were there, already mounted, with Tadd just arrived, leading his horse and Perrkin, who must be for Bannan, though she’d have expected Scourge. Tools and shovels had been loaded onto the sled, along with packs and firewood. Precaution before prevents regret later, Jenn remembered Aunt Sybb telling her and her sister, though she’d been referring to moon potion and womanly cycles, not being stranded overnight in the cold.

  The packs would have contained moon potion, had Cynd been going. The older women had resumed its use, after Gallie’s unexpected pregnancy. Jenn glanced toward the Treffs’ house, knowing where Cynd would be and why.

  The door opened and Radd stuck his head out, asking calmly. “Is the blizzard over?”

  As the others laughed, Jenn noticed what she’d missed before. Ten paces from the Nalynn doorway the snow was marked only by footprints. Within that boundary, dozens of spent snowballs lay in tidy rows, for all the world like potatoes waiting to be planted.

  Wisp.

  An interesting winter lay ahead, if her dragon chose to play in it. It might be wise to establish a few rules.