A Play of Shadow

by Julie E. Czerneda

  They started sewing. Unlike Peggs, Cynd didn’t chatter as she sewed. Everyone knew she was a good listener, or had learned to be one among the more vocal Treffs, but Jenn couldn’t think of anything to say. They stitched in sunshine and almost quiet. Almost, because without their voices, the fire in the cookstove snapped and snarled to itself, and she could hear the murmur from Frann’s room.

  Storytelling. The boys were luckier than they knew, Jenn thought with a pang, remembering her turn to listen.

  Patch done, she started one for the other elbow; otherwise the coat would come back to Cynd sooner than later. She’d stitch and stay.

  Wisp hadn’t shown himself out of whim. Something was going on, in that curtained room, something important.

  Perhaps, Jenn Nalynn thought as she stitched and listened, she need only wait.

  And hope. That too.

  “The Eld, sir.” Tir raised both eyebrows, wrinkling the scars on his forehead.

  Bannan grinned. They’d arrived bone-tired and famished, but triumph had a way of pushing such concerns aside. “Davi thought of it.”

  “It” being to copy the Eld wagons the demas and his sponsor had brought to Marrowdell this summer past. They’d lashed the tongue of Lila’s wagon to the rear of the sled, leaving clearance for both to turn without collision, then hitched Tadd’s and Kydd’s riding horses to the sled, though Davi’s magnificent team hardly needed the help.

  Once in Marrowdell, they’d pulled the wagon and sled inside the mill for unloading, given care of the horses to waiting hands, then headed for home and supper.

  “Ancestors Ingenious and Inspired,” Bannan chuckled. “The rig worked like a charm.” Saving another trip. They’d taken all they could free from the snow and left the corpses for the bear.

  Dismissing that grim image, the truthseer looked around the room, nodding in greeting. Peggs was there, and Radd, busy stitching a shoe. One of Wainn’s, for that worthy sat nearby on the floor, the shoe’s mate in his hands and the Nalynn house toad close by.

  But no nephews.

  “Where are the boys?” Bannan asked, disappointedly putting down the chest of their belongings.

  “Covie sent word. They’re at the Treffs’.” Peggs, her arm around Kydd, spoke as though this were perfectly normal and to be expected.

  The truth, but Peggs wasn’t smiling. “When will they be back?”

  “I don’t know. They’ve been there all day.”

  “At the Treffs’?” Kydd sounded equally startled. “What of Frann?”

  Bannan wondered the same. However well-mannered, Semyn and Werfol were normal, boisterous children, surely more than an ill woman could endure for long. Then he’d a happier thought. Hadn’t Jenn planned to visit Frann as often as she could? She’d a gift for reading aloud; he’d lose all track of time when listening. “Are they with Jenn, then?”

  Radd glanced up. “Jenn’s at the Treffs’.”

  Which, while also true, wasn’t what he’d asked. Bannan looked to Tir.

  Who gave a not-my-fault shrug before bending to fiddle with the thick wrappings on his feet.

  He’d been gone mere hours. What could have happened? “Something I should know?” he inquired, half-jokingly.

  “Yes,” Wainn said cheerfully. “The boys are hiding in Frann’s bedroom and won’t come out. Wen told me.”

  Bannan’s hand fell where the hilt of a sword had been. With what he felt commendable calm under the circumstances, he asked the room in general, “Hiding from what?”

  The house toad yawned, showing teeth.

  Wainn didn’t look up. “Jenn Nalynn.”

  Then it was a game. Likely involving the dragon, doubtless snow. Harmless mischief. His relief lasted until he saw the distress on Peggs’ face.

  If not a game, the boys were hiding out of fear and there was only one reason they’d hide from Jenn Nalynn.

  But how? The day’s turn had yet to come. The boys couldn’t have seen her as turn-born, unless she’d willed it so.

  Or they’d snuck up on her at the wrong moment . . . Ancestors Thwarted and Trapped, it was possible.

  He couldn’t imagine a worse way for them to meet. “Is Jenn all right?” the truthseer demanded, looking straight at Peggs.

  Who knew what he meant. “Yes. She will be.” She tried her best to smile. “Jenn’s taken them her favorite book. And a jar of pickles.”

  “‘Pickles?’” Numb, Bannan waved away any explanation. “I’ll be back.” Once he’d done what he could to repair this.

  Out he went, not feeling the cold, too busy feeling everything else as he half ran by the Emms’ house. It wasn’t until he neared their barn that he made himself slow to a walk. He’d gain nothing arriving upset.

  And so very much to be lost, if he misstepped with the boys and they spent their winter terrified of the person he loved most.

  Jenn should have been the one to decide if she would reveal her other self to Semyn and Werfol. She’d certainly have been the one to know how.

  He walked past apple trees asleep and frozen, beside a garden hidden by snow, and hoped he was wrong. Maybe the boys had simply had their fill of strange faces, and gone to hide—

  With Frann?

  Bannan stopped at the path that led up to the Treffs’ porch. The answers were through that door.

  Or were they?

  He gave a soundless whistle.

  A dark nose came around the corner of the building, snorted steam, then withdrew. An invitation.

  After checking to be sure he was unobserved—it being high on his list to avoid questions about Scourge and the Treffs—Bannan followed.

  The kruar was waiting, neck and back coated in snow, the rest of him a shadow. For such a stealthy creature—unless he chose, Scourge left no mark in snow or mud—the well-trampled circle alongside the Treffs’ doorless wall and hedges begged a question itself. One Bannan wasn’t going to ask.

  Nor did he bother to ask if the vigilant beast knew of the boys’ arrival, Scourge being familiar with the boys’ scent from Vorkoun. “Are they safe?”

  The breeze snapped in his ear. “Am I not here?”

  Ancestors Witness. First the dragon, now the kruar. He should have bet with Tir who’d take the greater interest in the boys. “I’d have thought you’d come with us,” Bannan said, forcing his voice to be mild. “There’s another bear. A bigger one.”

  Scourge tossed his head, flinging snow here and there. “Not hungry.”

  Bannan gave the trampled snow a closer look, then wished he hadn’t. Blood streaked it here and there and, frankly, most of what wasn’t streaked red was pink. He kicked a small hole. The disquieting stains continued beneath the new snow into the old. “What’s all this?”

  “Supper. Breakfast. Snacks.” The breeze was coy, but lips curled away from fangs and the kruar’s eyes gleamed red. Don’t ask, that said, as plainly as if spoken.

  “Idiot Beast,” the truthseer responded, unimpressed. “Are your ‘snacks’ why Semyn and Werfol are hiding?”

  A great hoof stamped, and there was nothing coy in the breeze that almost snarled, “You deserted them.”

  And didn’t that hit home? “I’m back now—”

  Scourge turned to show his hindquarters. Disdain.

  Heart’s Blood. Bannan spun on his boot heel to head for the porch, done with the kruar’s foul mood.

  A breeze followed, an unwelcome chill on his neck. “The dragon’s a better uncle.”

  Furious, the truthseer checked in his tracks, about to turn and—what?

  Tell Scourge he was wrong?

  It would be a lie.

  Wen came through from the kitchen. “Why is your dragon in our house, Jenn Nalynn?”

  At the first word, Cynd gave a little start; no one in the village was quite accustomed to hearing Wen speak. At the re
st, she put down her mending with care and proclaimed brightly, “There’s tea,” bustling off to prepare yet another cup.

  Leaving Jenn with Wen, in the heart of the latter’s home. Wen gazed at her with interest, as did the toad in her hair. Not the Treff toad, Jenn realized for the first time, for that dozed by her basket, but another. A houseless toad. Or was Wen a house of different sort?

  “Wisp is with Bannan’s nephews. They’re—” however odd, it was the truth, so she finished, “listening to Frann tell a story.”

  Wen nodded as if this made perfect sense. Her pale eyes went to the curtain across Lorra’s door. “Mother?”

  “Covie tried to tell her about Frann.” Cynd arrived with her tray. She’d brought more for Jenn as well, and herself, as if tea of itself could mend the world. “Lorra refuses to listen.”

  “Why should she?” Wen took a cup but didn’t sit. She rarely did, unless sewing; when she stood very still, like Wainn, those around her could forget she was even there. “Mother knows,” she said calmly. “She knew first.” A thoughtful sip of tea. “She’s angry.”

  Which wasn’t fair. “Covie’s done all she could,” Jenn protested, careful to keep her voice down.

  “At Frann.”

  Jenn blinked at Wen. “But—but why?”

  “Going first,” Cynd explained unhappily, when Wen remained silent. “Lorra’s older, Jenn. She expected Frann to lead the family, once she herself became a Blessed Ancestor.”

  Aunt Sybb was fond of saying the more you planned, the more could go wrong, which was something of a contradiction in a woman prone to lists and thinking ahead. Not making plans didn’t work very well either, as a younger Jenn had discovered. As for being angry about a plan that didn’t work? That made no sense at all. By that reasoning, her father should have been angry with her mother for going first and leaving him to raise two daughters alone, which hadn’t been their plan at all, and she knew he wasn’t.

  Only sad.

  Wen walked to the window and looked out. “Davi’s back.”

  “Oh dear,” Jenn said faintly. Bannan wouldn’t be far behind. He’d look for his nephews, who were still hiding—from her—in Frann’s bedroom. As plans went, today it seemed no one’s were working.

  “Frann’s finished her story,” Wen told her, without looking around.

  In a world where she didn’t terrify children, Jenn thought morosely, this would be when she’d go to the bedroom door, draw aside the curtain, and tell the boys to make ready for their uncle’s return. A happy moment, in an otherwise sorrowful day.

  She folded Devins’ coat around the patched sleeve and rested her hands on it, with no idea what to do next.

  All at once, a small hand appeared atop hers.

  Jenn didn’t so much as breathe as that hand’s owner, Werfol Westietas, carefully stepped in front of her.

  Standing at her knees, he gazed up at her, eyes gold and black and searching. Semyn joined his brother, waiting. He loved his brother and trusted his magic, Jenn thought, as she loved Bannan and trusted his.

  At that thought, a smile rose up from her heart, a smile filled with her hopes, and found her lips.

  Theirs trembled and tears filled their eyes, which hadn’t been her intention at all. Before she could fix anything, Werfol and Semyn pushed under her arms and into them, Devins’ coat landing on the floor. The little boys clung to her as tightly as they could, sobbing as though their hearts were breaking.

  What had she done?

  What she’d done, Bannan thought, standing in the doorway, was work her magic. He watched his nephews pour out days’ worth of fear and grief with a lump in his own throat, grateful beyond words for Jenn Nalynn.

  Who looked, truth be told, overcome herself, so he moved to where she could see him and smiled. “I see you’ve met.”

  She took a steadying breath and smiled very slightly back, then looked down. She tightened her arms around the boys and bent to press her lips to their heads, Werfol first, then Semyn. “Your uncle’s here, Dear Hearts,” she told them.

  Two heads lifted, but the boys stayed where they were. Excellent taste, in Bannan’s opinion, if a trifle unexpected.

  A breeze found his ear, chill as outside. “You lied.” It slid to the other ear. “He saw.”

  Four words that spread a chill inward as their meaning sank home and all became clear, from what had happened here to Scourge’s fury at him.

  Ancestors Perilous and Potent. The next Larmensu truthseer. How could he not have known?

  Had Lila? His gift—he remembered its awakening the way he remembered his first broken bone; the break had been gentler. She’d found him, brought their father, stayed to make it bearable. Had it happened before they left, surely she’d have kept the boys close.

  Bannan went to one knee, at a respectful distance. Which one—or both? It didn’t matter. They were united in their anger with him. Heart’s Blood. What had Lila sent him?

  What only he could understand.

  “I lied,” said Bannan then, quiet and sure, “when I told you it was a good idea to explore the village alone. I lied because I was afraid and didn’t want to give you my fear.” The truthseer circled his fingers and put them over his heart. “By the Hearts of our Ancestors, I will never lie to you again.”

  Semyn glanced at his brother.

  So.

  Bannan waited. Werfol’s eyes—he should have seen it—were no longer simply warm and brown. They’d gained the amber tone of his and his father’s, presently burnished to a fiery gold.

  By anger.

  Anger that slowly faded. When it was gone, Bannan opened his arms.

  To have them filled with his nephews.

  For a moment, he closed his eyes to breathe in their scent, an intriguing mixture of horse manure and jam. A story there, no doubt.

  One he’d get later. Bannan winked at Jenn. “We’ve work, lads,” he announced, coughing the huskiness from his voice. “The goods your mother sent to Marrowdell need unpacking.” He rose to his feet, leaving a hand on each small shoulder, and knew the decision had been made for him. “Then we’re off to my home, yours while in Marrowdell.”

  Where he could grant Werfol peace and privacy, day and night, while he learned his gift. As he’d had. They’d manage. They were a family.

  Two pairs of eyes looked up, suddenly brimming with curiosity. “What’s your home like, Uncle?” Semyn asked. “Do you have extra horses?”

  “Will we have our own rooms, Uncle?” Werfol demanded, not waiting for an answer. His brother elbowed him. Undaunted, the younger Westietas insisted, “I’m old enough.”

  Jenn chuckled. Oh, he had some fun ahead. “We’ll see,” Bannan told them, though he was determined to settle both in his room and take a mattress downstairs.

  Between them and any danger.

  “What we’ll see are two less intruders in my house.” Pushing aside the curtain over her door, Lorra Treff swept into the main room like an oncoming storm. “Well?” she finished, glaring down at Werfol and Semyn. The boys edged closer to Bannan.

  “That’s enough, Mother.”

  Bannan started. Where had Wen come from? Seeing his surprise, she smiled faintly, but her attention was on Lorra. “Frann’s asking for you.”

  Werfol leaned around Bannan, studying Wen. The toad on her shoulder studied him in turn, then yawned, showing pointed teeth. The boy jumped, then giggled.

  Whatever he’d seen, he’d accepted. A good start, Bannan thought, relaxing. “My thanks for letting the boys visit,” he said, cheerfully ignoring Lorra’s frown. “We’ll leave you in peace, dear lady.”

  Without prompting, the boys stepped forward and bowed in perfect unison, fingertips to the floor. “Our thanks, Lady Lorra,” they said together.

  “And to the Lady Frann,” Werfol added, Semyn echoing the words.

 
; In the face of such noble courtesy, Lorra’s lips twitched as if to smile, then formed a line again. But it wasn’t so tight a line, and her frown seemed more one of weary habit than anger. “Knock next time,” she said finally.

  “We promise.” “We will.”

  Appeased, the matriarch of the Treffs called, loudly, for tea then went into Frann’s bedroom, Wen following behind.

  The room felt smaller at once.

  “Werfol. Semyn? Your winter clothes are on hooks by the kitchen door, with mine.” Jenn informed the boys. As they hurried to dress, she retrieved a basket, nodding to the house toad who’d been guarding it. “My welcome gifts for your nephews,” she explained, offering it to Bannan.

  “With pickles,” he said, winning a small smile. Though graceful, there was a hint of stiffness to her movements. Of care. Given the table loaded with mending, he might have thought Jenn had been sitting too long at that task, but he knew better. So after accepting the basket, Bannan put it down, then very gently took her face between his hands. She met his searching gaze without a flinch, her mouth curved in quiet joy.

  Yet grief bruised her lovely eyes.

  Scourge had known. “Frann.”

  She nodded, turning her face to kiss his palm. A tear followed, of such unexpected weight he looked to see if it were stone.

  Just a tear.

  Or the start of unimaginable magic.

  With his nephews in Marrowdell. Heart’s Blood. Bannan went very still, trying not to be afraid of the woman he loved, trying and failing.

  Jenn Nalynn saw it. How could she not? Sorrow crossed her face, then resolve. Taking his hand, she pulled him to the window. “My heart came close to breaking today,” she whispered. “Before I knew about Frann and since.” Sunshine poured through the small panes and she held their hands, together, in that brightness. “This has been Marrowdell’s answer. Dearest Heart, trust me. Never will I harm them. Never will I allow them to be harmed. I swear it by our love.”