A Play of Shadow

by Julie E. Czerneda

  The healer smiled at him. “I’ve not been that for a long time.” Her smile faded as she looked down at the wrapped mirror. “Whatever Werfol saw, Bannan, it wasn’t fit for a child. I’d keep that away from him.”

  “I will.”

  “Then I’ll be off. There’s dishes to wash—and port—left at the Treffs’. Stay with them, Good Heart,” to Jenn. “I don’t mind a longer walk with the sun so bright.”

  Jenn blushed, warming Bannan’s heart.

  He glanced back at Werfol, and felt cold again.

  A sliver of paper, touched by ink and fingertip . . . a drop of sleep, under the tongue . . .

  And the dream unfolds . . .

  The eyes watch and the eyes see and nothing’s safe or hidden. A dream unfolds within a dream’s unfolding, seeming real—

  How can it be? Stones and dark water. Or is it quilts and black glass? Distrust.

  Who sees whom?

  The dream falters . . . rebuilds . . .

  Through tears, light shatters.

  There were possible things and there were unlikely things. This—this seemed impossible. Yet Bannan sat across from her, his eyes earnest, and Jenn had to believe. “You saw what Lila could see. Are you sure this wasn’t your gift?” she asked with care.

  “The image was in the mirror already. Lila,” he corrected himself grimly, “was already there. I can’t explain it. I just know what I saw.” He sat back. “As for how? A truthseer too young for his gift. A pendant spelled with his mother’s voice. Marrowdell!” with an encompassing gesture as much helpless as it was angry. “Let’s not forget the fool who brought a mirror into the edge.”

  A mirror presently leaning on the wall beside the fireplace, bundled in thick oiled canvas itself bound by ropes. Given Bannan’s house toad remained, without blinking, on duty before it? The little cousin shared his opinion.

  It was the mirror itself Jenn didn’t understand. She’d helped Bannan unpack. Had spent more time, recently, in this house than the Emms’, truth be told. “I didn’t know you had a mirror,” she ventured.

  To her surprise, he looked embarrassed. “I’d hidden it. I—the mirror was to be my gift for you, from Endshere.”

  A breeze found her ear. “Fool.”

  So Wisp paid attention. From Bannan’s shrug, he’d heard it too. “It wasn’t foolish,” Jenn countered. “It was thoughtful.” Not that she’d imagined having a mirror or needing one. Come to think of it, wherever could she put one? “But—you didn’t give it to me.”

  The toad puffed itself. ~The hard water looks, elder sister. Others see.~

  “The mirror reflects from the Verge as well as here,” her dragon clarified, the breeze unsettled and prone to snap. “The little cousin is wise. A mirror in Marrowdell is unsafe. It is dangerous. A fool’s folly!”

  “Heart’s Blood. Will you give over? I know now.” Bannan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Dearest Heart, I wanted a mirror for you because I hoped, with all my heart, that if you could see yourself—and your turn-born self—you’d come to accept both. To see the Jenn Nalynn I see and be happy.”

  “Then you were foolish,” Jenn said, making the words light, though under other circumstances—which weren’t the circumstances of now, with Tir and Semyn with Werfol, and Bannan having seen across the whole of Rhoth with a mirror—she’d have taken him in her arms and kissed away his worried frown. “Did you not know? I see myself in your eyes all the time. Where better?”

  He came close to smiling, despite his worry. “Where better indeed.” Then shook his head. “I should destroy it.”

  “Let me,” offered the dragon.

  “How can we?” Jenn heard herself say, then knew why. The mirror sat there like a silenced bell, waiting to be rung again. “It showed you Lila once. It could again.”

  “Ancestors Futile and Foolish. To what end?” Bannan got to his feet and began to pace. “The mirror’s shown us nothing we hadn’t guessed. If we saw the truth, Lila’s in Channen, doubtless hunting Emon. It’s dangerous. She knew that before she left.”

  He argued with himself, not her.

  Just then, Semyn’s head appeared in the opening to the loft. To Jenn’s relief, the boy was smiling. “Weed’s awake!”

  Bannan lunged for the ladder, but Werfol wasn’t only awake but moving. His feet appeared in place of Semyn’s head and he climbed down, moving away at the bottom to let his brother and Tir follow.

  “Ancestors Witness. Awake and starving, sir, to hear it,” the latter said happily once he joined them. “I’ll find something.”

  An appetite had to be good, Jenn decided. She hung back, watching Bannan close his eyes tight as he hugged his nephew, content until a sly breeze found her ear. “Channen lies within the edge.”

  Did Wisp think she’d forgotten? Mistress Sand had shown her a bracelet of amber, like tiny eyes, from the Naalish capital and hadn’t it been among her list of questions, when best to go, and what to trade?

  Though admittedly well down her list, after birth, death, and peril. Yes, she could cross into Channen. Trade happened year-round there, though the turn-born hadn’t seemed encouraging. Wisp knew that.

  Jenn went to Tir, slicing ham being safer than anything her dragon suggested.

  “You could take the truthseer. Find his sister.”

  “Hush!” Jenn whispered, now thoroughly flustered. Tir gave her a curious look that turned to amused comprehension at her muttered, “Dragons.”

  Bannan brought his nephews to the table, sitting across from them. “Help yourselves,” he said, pushing forward a platter of biscuits. From the speed with which Werfol took one, he might not have done magic or fainted. Semyn followed suit.

  Two biscuits floated into the air and vanished with a Snapsnap.

  The truthseer tossed up a third. Snap! “The rest for us, please.”

  Tir scowled into the air as he put down a tray loaded with bowls, each filled to the brim and steaming. “Keep your—whatevers—out of my pudd’n!”

  He’d set it cooking while Werfol slept, and it was a marvelous pudding indeed, the bread golden brown, speckled with dried summerberries, and topped with thick cream.

  Semyn and Werfol’s eyes widened. Jenn brought the tea, dolloping honey into the boys’. At Bannan’s invitation, she sat, as did Tir.

  The truthseer waited until everyone settled, then circled his fingers over his heart. Seeing this, the boys put down their spoons to do the same.

  “Hearts of our Ancestors,” the truthseer said, “we are Beholden for this food and hope Tir’s pudding has improved over last time . . .”

  This earned him a glare.

  “We are Beholden for Covie’s care of Werfol and for his recovery. We would be Beholden above all else if Lila and Emon return safely and soon from their—adventure. However far we are apart, Keep Us Close.”

  “‘Keep Us Close.’”

  Werfol picked up his spoon, then hesitated. He looked up, the gold of his eyes muted. “I saw, Uncle. I saw what Momma saw. She’s in the Shadow District.” He pulled the chain and pendant from under his shirt. “That’s where this came from. Poppa said that’s where all the artisans work.”

  “Because that’s where the magic is,” Semyn added matter-of-factly.

  Bannan managed not to choke on his tea. Tir shook his head. While Jenn Nalynn? She’d gone very still, as if listening, and he didn’t need to guess to whom.

  Though he’d dearly love to know what the dragon had to say.

  Later. To his sure knowledge, the boys hadn’t been to Mellynne. “How did you recognize where your mother was, Werfol?” he inquired, keeping it to a curiosity over pudding.

  His nephews, back to being two halves of a whole, gave each other sidelong looks. Semyn shrugged and gave a tiny nod.

  “Father brought home a map, but it wasn’t a map, it was—�
�� Werfol waved his hands as he groped for words.

  “You might mistake it for an ordinary drawing, Uncle, but if you look at it like this—” Semyn crouched until his eyes were level with top of his bowl, “—you can see buildings and canals and bridges—”

  “—and when you touch them, they say their names! Ancestors Witness, Uncle!”

  Clearly the best part of the map. “Channen is a source of marvels,” Bannan said agreeably.

  Jenn frowned; not the reaction he’d expect in someone who dearly loved maps. “Shadow District. Why that name?”

  “Because the sun doesn’t shine there,” Semyn answered eagerly. “But it only seems so. There are thick clouds overhead, always. Father said it’s like walking through twilight. Every evening, there’s fog as well.”

  “Sounds bloody awful.” Tir put down his mug. “Why build a city there?”

  Werfol gave him a surprised look. “For the magic.”

  “Father said the Shadow District was beautiful. He wanted to show us, but—” Semyn stared down at his pudding. “The situation became unstable.”

  Spoken like the son of a baron. Or Lila, Bannan reminded himself. The boys had been steeped in politics from birth; moreover, they were trained observers. He found himself asking, as he might of their parents. “Channen’s Shadow District. Why is your mother there? What does it have to do with your father?”

  “Sir.” Mild, that protest. The look Tir gave him wasn’t.

  Bannan lifted a finger. Wait.

  “Go on,” Semyn told his brother. “Tell them what you told me, Weed. What you saw. Why you screamed.”

  “It was a shout,” Werfol grumbled. “I was surprised, that’s all. You’d have been too, you know, seeing that thing!”

  “From the beginning, if you please,” the truthseer asked, doing his best to sound calmer than he felt at this. “You aren’t in trouble,” guessing what would come next.

  His youngest nephew gave him a relieved look. “I went to—go—under the bed, Uncle, but there was something there. I pulled it out of the way, and the blanket came off, and there were eyes, staring at me!” He spread out his arms to indicate size. “I didn’t like those eyes. I didn’t like them at all. When I tried to cover them up, Momma’s pendant touched the glass.” Werfol’s eyes were shimmering gold. “I couldn’t be scared then. I heard her voice and I knew I was seeing what she could see.”

  He frowned before continuing more slowly. “There were soldiers coming. I tried to warn her, but she didn’t hear me. She started to run away, and she didn’t hear me, and then—” a shrug, “—then maybe I was a little scared, because more were coming. I don’t remember anything else, Uncle.”

  “You fainted,” Semyn reminded him with brotherly satisfaction. “You ask about our parents, Uncle? Mother wouldn’t be in the Shadow District unless she thought Father was there too. I’ve heard them talking about it. They said the true power in Mellynne lies along Channen’s canals, not in its court. That . . . if Father couldn’t bring those who fear an Eld influence in Rhoth to see reason, he’d have to seek out the shadow lords and—” a waver in that otherwise sure voice, “—if anything went wrong, he’d not so easily leave.”

  Heart’s Blood. That they’d spoken like this in front of a child? No, Bannan reminded himself, not a child.

  Emon’s heir.

  Who sat looking at him now with expectation written on his face. I’ve told you what you needed to know, that expression said, loud as words. Tell me what you’re going to do about it.

  Lila’s son in truth. “What we can do,” Bannan said heavily, “all we can do, is wait.”

  “Yes, Uncle.” Semyn subsided. “If you say so.” Werfol nodded; he didn’t appear convinced.

  Because of the mirror. He looked at Jenn, who’d suggested looking again. Did he dare? Could he control it? Or would the mirror show him what used it to spy on Marrowdell?

  How could he not try? was the real answer.

  Him, not Werfol. Never again. His resolve firmed on that point. Heart’s Blood, he’d thought he’d lost the boy. Take that risk, for a look at what they could do nothing about?

  Worse, to witness what they couldn’t bear, for that was as likely as any other outcome. Lila wouldn’t forgive him. He’d not forgive himself.

  Bannan made sure the boy was looking at him. “Tell me what you think of the mirror.”

  “It isn’t safe, Uncle.” Werfol repressed a shudder. “There’s something in it. Something that didn’t want me to see it.”

  “If I keep the mirror in the house, what will you do?”

  “Stay outside!”

  Tir snorted.

  Bannan’s lips twitched. “Fair answer. Then the mirror goes out, into the barn.” He studied the child’s face, those eyes still aglimmer with gift, the round jaw as ready to set in determined courage as anger. “Werfol, I won’t ask you to promise, nor will I order you. I trust your good sense to keep away from the mirror.”

  “I’d box his ears,” Semyn offered, giving his brother an affectionate cuff.

  Truthseers’ eyes met, amber crossed with gold. “You can trust me, Uncle,” Werfol said finally. “But we like to play in the barn. Isn’t there somewhere else to put it?”

  A breeze slid by Bannan’s ear, cold and sure. “Not with me.”

  “I’ll take the mirror,” Jenn stated, her chin set in a line every bit as brave as Werfol’s. “Wasn’t it to be mine?” she asked as Bannan opened his mouth to object. “I’ll keep it safe.”

  Said with the intensity of a turn-born’s wish.

  “Then it is yours,” Bannan told the woman he loved and trusted, relieved beyond measure.

  For the rest of their little feast, he thought how the day would end better than it had begun, with the easing of grief and pointless worry. Afterward, it seemed he was right, for Semyn played his pipes, and Werfol ate an extra helping of pudding, to Tir’s delight, and Jenn sat close, holding his hand. Though he’d wondered how best to transport the bulky mirror, at some moment between pipe and pudding and hand-holding, it disappeared.

  So he was a much happier man, when he kissed and was kissed on his little porch, and said good-bye to his love.

  Until the dragon whispered in his ear what stole every bit of Bannan’s peace.

  “She can take you to your sister.”

  Bound in canvas, ropes, and firm intention, the mirror arrived in Jenn’s bedroom without notice or remark. Wisp could be helpful.

  When it suited him, that too. Meaning he’d approved.

  Jenn eyed the mirror as she readied herself for bed. It leaned against the wall under the map and she’d meant to tell Gallie and Zehr, over supper, but they’d been eager to talk about the gathering for Frann, and Wen’s news, and wasn’t it wonderful for Wainn?

  What they didn’t say, being kind, was that no one in Marrowdell—except Wen, it seemed—had expected him able to start a family, Wainn having been simple of mind since his accident and in the care of the village.

  Which wasn’t the whole truth about Wainn Uhthoff, or even close, Jenn thought, but had kept her peace at the table, Peggs having told her Kydd was to have a talk with his nephew, it being unclear how much Wainn grasped of family matters.

  Snuffing out her lamp, Jenn tucked herself into bed. Instead of lying back, she hugged her knees to her chest.

  Staring at the shadow that held the mirror.

  And so very many questions. She put her chin on a knee, considering.

  A moth landed on her other knee. Jenn turned her to head to gaze at it. “I wondered when you’d come.”

  The moth drew a slender jointed leg across one eye. When it spoke, its voice rolled through her with the crushing weight of the Bone Hills. ~I do not leave.~

  Not moth, but sei. This was what had helped Bannan and sent Wisp to rescue Tir and the boys. “Why do you�
�” care wasn’t the word. There was nothing of that feeling, nothing of compassion or empathy, in what faced her. Curiosity, perhaps. “What would you tell me?” Jenn asked, feeling her own stir.

  “You are less. Be more.” The moth fluttered into the air, changing between wingbeats to a great looming stone, glistening of pearl . . .

  . . . to the head of a dragon, green and strangely shaped, its body elsewhere,

  . . . then to a sky, shot through with colors of such aching beauty Jenn stuffed a fist in her mouth to stifle her cry of longing.

  “Come. Be more . . .”

  As suddenly, she was alone in the dark.

  Or was she surrounded by light, safe in a room of blue stone that knew her every need? She was filled with such belonging she might have found her true home at last, never knowing it was lost.

  “NO!” Gasping, Jenn dropped her forehead to her knees, holding herself in a tight little ball. This was home. More home than Wisp’s sanctuary in the Verge. More home than anything sei. Here, she was surrounded by memories. Here, she could remember herself. “This is where I belong. Here.”

  Words, against the will of beings so powerful they could reach beyond the edge and pull worlds asunder?

  Beings, nonetheless, who spoke through a fragile white moth. The sei coaxed and confounded, Jenn thought, lifting her head. And confused, she mustn’t forget that. But so far they’d merely offered her choices, that, and saved Bannan, the boys, and Tir. This particular sei, however mad, held the edge together with its own flesh. It made the Verge and Marrowdell possible.

  She mustn’t forget that either.

  Ancestors Blessed and Beloved. For all she knew, the moth had been waiting in Bannan’s loft to bring Werfol, pendant, and mirror together, simply to hurry her back to the Verge.

  What had it said? “Come. Be more.”

  If Wisp knew the sei wanted her in the Verge, he’d not be so eager to see her take Bannan to Lila. If Mistress Sand knew, she—and all turn-born—could well blame her for the sei’s strange interest.

  And might not be wrong.