A Play of Shadow

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Jenn’s thoughts were interrupted by a sound she couldn’t place. Rustlerustle. It wasn’t Loee, fussing before bed, or Zehr sanding wood. Rustlerustle.

  From the mirror?

  Werfol hadn’t mentioned a sound. As to how a wrapped mirror could make one in the absence of mice, Jenn couldn’t begin to guess, though this was Marrowdell and the mirror, by all accounts, wasn’t behaving as mirrors did elsewhere.

  How curious. Terrifying as well, but she wasn’t a child.

  Or woman. Jenn slipped out of bed, becoming glass and pearl. Seeing by her own light, she went to the mirror and undid the knots, careful of the string.

  And let the canvas fall.

  Each night, when Bannan put Semyn and Werfol to bed, he’d said his own prayer. That they not have nightmares. Thanks to Jenn’s kind wish, or perhaps their own natures, they’d been free of Marrowdell’s strange dreams.

  It hadn’t meant they slept well or easily. At first, Semyn would thrash as if running and Werfol would cry out. The dragon slept with them; perhaps their fear at night was why. He’d known from the start how Wisp had made himself at home. Known, and been grateful.

  They’d been better of late, but tonight he’d no such hope. They’d asked for a familiar story, then another. He’d read until Werfol fell asleep and Semyn couldn’t keep from yawning; turned down the lamp, but left it burning.

  A hard day for them both. Bannan had waited till the bed creaked under more than two boys and whispered, “Call me, Wisp, if they wake, or have troubled dreams.”

  He’d gone downstairs. Played nillystones with Tir—been beaten soundly by Tir, in truth, game after game, but that was familiar. They raised the stakes from nuts to doing dishes and Bannan roused himself to the effort, winning once before losing and badly. “I’m done. Remind me again who thought this was a good idea?” he complained cheerfully.

  “I’d be— Sir?”

  He’d heard the faint cry too. “Wisp?”

  When the dragon answered, the breeze had an uneasy feel. “The truthseer sleeps, yet speaks.”

  Bannan got up. “I’ll check on them.”

  With a nod, Tir put away the ’stones. “Poor lads.”

  The loft was warm and peaceful when Bannan approached the bed, and he began to think it a moment’s restlessness. A hint of silver caught his eye, then a ghost of steam. Wisp let him see where he lay curled at the boys’ feet and Bannan didn’t bother to look deeper.

  Semyn snored, very quietly. Werfol’s breathing was steady and slow. The truthseer touched the hair peeking from their caps and neither stirred. Nothing wrong, then, he thought with relief.

  “Momma . . .” Werfol rolled on his back, the fingers of one hand clenched around the pendant. Eyes closed, still asleep, yet expression flickered across his face. Anxiety. He spoke in an urgent whisper, as if fearing to be overheard. “Where are we, Momma? Where is this?” Fear.

  The bed creaked. “This is no dream,” the dragon warned and Bannan’s heart sank.

  “Weed. Wake up,” he called gently, putting a hand on Semyn’s shoulder, to wake him as well.

  The older boy’s eyes opened. Werfol’s did not. “Momma,” he said, louder. “You shouldn’t be here. No. No. No, Momma—!”

  At the shout, Semyn pounced on his brother, giving him a hard shake. “Weed! Stop! Wake up!”

  “What—?” Werfol blinked groggily, then shoved Semyn away with an angry, “You stop!”

  “Easy, both of you.” Bannan sat on the edge of the bed. “Werfol. You were—” not dreaming, according to the dragon, “—calling out to your mother. Do you remember why?”

  The boy hunched into himself, gripping the pendant with both hands. “It was like before, Uncle. I saw—I saw what Momma could see.”

  Without the mirror?

  Heart’s Blood. The pendant! About to seize it and throw the cursed thing away in the snow, the truthseer froze. Would that make matters worse? He’d never heard of magic like this, he thought with rising fear, and put an arm around Werfol, as much for his comfort as the boy’s. Had the mirror awakened some Naalish magic, or was this of Marrowdell?

  Or both?

  “Was she with Poppa?” Semyn went to his knees, his face pale. “Did you see him?”

  “No.” Tears weren’t far away, from the tremble in the younger boy’s voice. “I didn’t see anyone else.”

  “What did you see, Dear Heart?” Bannan asked gently. “Take your time.”

  “A room. A nasty room. I didn’t like it. Momma shouldn’t be there.”

  What Werfol went on to describe, haltingly and without understanding, Bannan could picture all too well, being familiar with the requirements of keeping someone—especially a dangerous someone—prisoner.

  Lila was locked in a cell.

  “What should I do?” Bannan pulled a blanket over his shoulders rather than add more wood to the fire.

  “You’re asking me, sir?” Tir, well-bundled himself, scowled; without his mask, the effort contorted his ruined nose and chin. “Can’t say I know about magic and such, but you owe those boys. The dragon’s given you a way.”

  “Put Jenn in danger.”

  “Now, sir, that’s just it. You say she’s been to that place, the Verge, on her own. Ancestors Fine and Familiar. Maybe for her it’s like you or me going to the pub.” At Bannan’s incredulous stare, Tir shrugged. “Just say’n, sir, we don’t know what the dragon does. If he gave you the idea, where’s the harm in asking?”

  “You think I should go.”

  “All I know, sir, is Lila would for you. She always has.” Tir settled deeper in the chair. “What I don’t know, sir, is why we’re still talking. You’d set your mind on it before coming down the ladder.”

  Set his mind to what? “Go to Channen,” Bannan said heavily. “Rescue Lila from whatever jail she’s in. For all we know, she’s put herself there!”

  “Aie,” with admiration.

  Though was this part of Lila’s plan? Werfol had been frightened. He’d described staring through bars at dark water and wet stone. Lila’d paced, then he’d seen her fist hammer a closed door.

  Seen a leather band around her wrist, and links of thick chain.

  Semyn had gone quiet, after that. Had given Bannan a desperate pleading look.

  Ancestors Foolish and Mad. “Fine. I’ll walk through the Verge and hopefully not get eaten. After that, it’s the Shadow District of Channen and hopefully I won’t get thrown in jail with my sister. After that, oh, then we’ll find Emon wherever he’s been thrown and then—” Home? The truthseer shook his head, unable to think that far. “Nothing says Jenn will agree to any of this.”

  “Everything, your pardon, sir, about the lady says she will.”

  “There’s the boys—”

  “There’s me.” Tir grunted. “N’doubt the bloody beast and dragon too. ’Less they go with you.” He sounded hopeful.

  Into the Verge. That’s what they were planning, in the calm sanity of a warm room. “You’ve no idea what it’s like there,” Bannan said, shaking his head. “What I saw was—” Astonishing. Remarkable. Altogether strange. “—it’s an impossible place.”

  Tir, who did his utmost to avoid thinking of impossible things, looked uncomfortable, then shrugged offhandedly. “From what the dragon says, you’d not stay there. It’d be like crossing a road.”

  “Lila,” the truthseer stated with certainty, “will box my ears.”

  “So long as she’s around to do it. Sir.”

  “Ancestors Doubtful and Daft.” Bannan rubbed a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I’m considering this. You’re a poor influence, you are. You and that dragon.”

  Oh, and didn’t a smug little breeze stir the fire at that?

  The house toad moved closer to the flames. Marrowdell, it seemed, had an opinion.

  �
��I’ll decide in the morning,” the truthseer decided, trying to reclaim at least some common sense.

  But he knew, deep inside. If he had a chance to reach Lila, any way to help her?

  He’d go. Be it through the Verge or over a cliff.

  He’d go.

  No more rustlerustle. Within its faded tapestried frame, the mirror gave nothing back but darkness, reflecting neither Jenn’s inner light nor, when she changed, the faint glow of lamplight through gaps in the floor.

  Making it not a mirror at all. She touched it, feeling the slipperiness of glass, like ice that had forgotten to be cold. If she was looking into the Verge, where was this or what? Not night. Wisp had told her that other world dimmed; it didn’t go truly dark.

  Dark? This was blacker than any shadow, an absence of light, drawn like a curtain.

  Why had she thought that? Jenn ran her fingers over the glass, from one side to the other, to no effect.

  There should be, she decided, something here. Was it lost?

  If so, how might she find it?

  Gallie kept a cup of charcoals and quills on her desk, along with a small knife for sharpening. Jenn brought the knife back to the mirror, then sat cross-legged on the rug in front. She went to tap the glass.

  Only to have the Emms’ house toad land in her lap, just missing the blade. Of all the times. “Careful,” she admonished, shifting so its weight wouldn’t numb her thigh. She went to tap the glass.

  ~No, elder sister!~

  Jenn stared down at the toad. “Whyever not?”

  ~We know what’s in the mirror.~ She felt it quiver. ~We do not want it to see you. Please.~

  A warning not to be ignored. At once Jenn reached for the canvas to cover the mirror, but with the toad still in her lap it was beyond awkward and would have been hilarious if she hadn’t been increasingly alarmed. “You’ll have to m—”

  In the mirror, darkness parted like eyelids, revealing a pair of great yellow eyes.

  The toad leapt from her lap, bouncing off the glass. As it went to attack again, Jenn grabbed it before it could hurt itself.

  The eyes in the mirror were round, the pupils slit and black, with a softly ragged edge. They stared back at her as if equally astonished by what they saw.

  Eyes she’d last seen made of snow.

  The hunter.

  Had she found it, or it her? Ancestors Dreadful and Dire. It was here, regardless. Or rather, not really here. “It’s a reflection,” she said aloud. “I don’t think it can hurt us.”

  The toad squirmed until she let it go. To her relief it no longer tried to jump through the glass, but squatted between her and the mirror, puffed twice its normal size in threat. ~This is unwise, elder sister!~

  She wasn’t about to argue. The eyes neither blinked, nor moved. They might have been painted atop the black of the mirror, though Jenn doubted even Kydd could produce such intricate detail with a brush.

  It was, however, an opportunity. “I’ve been warned about you,” Jenn told the eyes grimly. “You’ve hurt efflet before. You would hunt me.”

  Nothing. Perhaps she should do something other than talk. “I’m not just Jenn Nalynn,” she warned.

  And let her other self show.

  Pupils snapped to a thin line and the lids squinted almost closed.

  Her light. She changed back at once, having at least one answer. The eyes were real and watching her.

  More. They’d seen her as painfully bright, as a turn-born would if she were unmasked in the Verge. Which could be a clue, Jenn thought distractedly, had she anything but eyes and an intention in snow to consider.

  “Do you understand me?”

  Eyelids rose, though not as wide as at first, then lowered, then rose. Rustlerustle. As if stiff eyelashes brushed the glass from the other side.

  Not speech, or none that she could understand. Might the almost-blink be “yes?” Remembering her mistake with the efflet, Jenn schooled herself not to jump to conclusions.

  ~Elder sister.~ A warning.

  One she heeded. Jenn got to her knees and took the canvas in her hands, ready to toss over the mirror. “I won’t allow you to do any more harm.”

  And she didn’t make that a wish, but wanted it just strongly enough to make her point. To her relief, the eyelids dipped and rose again. Rustlerustle.

  “Good.” She went to cover the mirror. One blink. Then another. A third. All with that soft, rustlerustle.

  A protest?

  A plea. There’d been a time she’d have been flattered something so strange begged for her attention.

  Now Jenn felt a chill of foreboding down her spine. The eyes wanted something from her; she was no longer so naive as to believe it anything good.

  “Better safe than sorry,” she told the eyes coldly as she pulled the canvas back across. That she felt better and safer at once told her she’d been right.

  ~Wise, wise, wise, elder sister!~ The house toad settled in front of the mirror, clearly prepared to stay on guard all night. It blinked up at her. ~You mustn’t let him think there’s a way back.~

  “‘Him?’ You know what this is?”

  The toad shrank.

  So there was something more to know about the eyes in the mirror, something the little cousin didn’t want to tell her.

  Something it might, if she found a way to ask. Jenn wrapped a quilt around her shoulders and sat on the bed. “I went to see Mistress Sand to protect Marrowdell and those I love. I don’t want to make any mistakes. When I don’t understand,” she said gently, “that’s what could happen. What should I know, my dear and brave friend, now?”

  As she waited for an answer, she heard a rustlerustlerustlerustle. Eyelashes against glass.

  The toad heard as well and showed its teeth. ~When he was here, elder sister, he wanted to be there and caused great harm to do so. There, he can harm no one here. There~ with finality, ~is where he must stay. That is what you should know.~

  Jenn blinked, working her way through “heres” and “theres.” “Who is ‘he?’”

  The toad turned to face the mirror in answer. Nor would it reply to how or why or when, returning only stubborn silence.

  The mirror, on the other hand, never quieted. Rustlerustlerustlerustle. Long after she was in bed, the sound continued, as if the brush of stubby eyelashes could wear away the glass and let their owner out. Rustlerustlerustlerustle.

  She’d slept through noisier. Jenn Nalynn put an arm over her ears, as if the sounds came from the hordes of enamored frogs along the river in spring.

  And not from a magic mirror.

  He’d known the mirror would be trouble.

  Wisp rearranged himself, resting his jaw on the wood at the end of the bed. He liked it best when he could fit between the boys, gaining warmth on both sides, but they’d piled atop one another like frightened rabbits in a nest and he couldn’t get comfortable.

  He snarled without sound.

  If people took his advice, as they should but hadn’t, much would be better. The girl would be in the warm and beautiful Verge, away from winter and grief. They’d do a proper hunt, or as close to one as possible, the quest for the truthseer’s sister noble enough to pique any dragon’s interest. Return heroic and—

  ~Elder brother?~

  Away from interfering little cousins, the dragon thought grumpily. That best of all. ~I’m asleep.~

  There was a lengthy pause. Doubtless Bannan’s house toad considered the ramifications of further intrusion, as another would imply he, a dragon, had lied. Wisp felt rather clever.

  ~It is truly a marvel, elder brother, that you can hear me in your slumber. Do I seem a dream?~

  Proving little cousins could be clever too. Or too clever. ~You seem a nuisance.~

  ~For which I apologize, elder brother, but there is something we know that you do not and
should. If you please.~

  Wisp cracked open one eye. The house toad sat with a hind leg dangling through the opening to the loft; ready to leap to safety, yet bravely staying put. Little cousins did not lack courage.

  Nor manners. He’d not had one risk waking him before. Vaguely curious, he opened his other eye, lifting his head to bring both to bear. ~Who are “we?”~

  ~All those left here, elder brother.~ It blinked and added with typical toad honesty, ~Except the nyphrit.~

  Understandable. Nyphrit were wicked creatures, bent on eating anything that moved, not conversing with it; including other nyphrit, if slow. The little cousins conversed with everything else, and for everything else, ylings and efflet being without proper voice. If he’d cared, he’d have wondered what the ylings and efflet thought of the arrangement.

  ~If you please, elder brother, I would tell you so you may sleep without me.~

  A very clever toad. Wisp was more than half-inclined to eat it. ~I’m listening, little cousin.~ He yawned, showing the extent—and sharpness—of his kind forbearance.

  ~What looks from the hard water, elder brother. We know who it is.~

  ~Do you.~ Stretching his neck, Wisp sent his head forward and down, until the beard of his chin brushed the rug on the floor. The little cousin grew a little rounder, but remained where it was. ~Who?~

  ~He lived in this house. The other villagers called him Crumlin Tralee.~

  A dragon surprised was a dragon soon to die. Wisp went from speechless to furious. ~A villager? Impossible! I know them all. This is no name of Marrowdell!~

  The toad cowered. ~Forgive my impertinence, elder brother, but it is and was. Crumlin came with the before-villagers. He brought the hard water—the mirror, elder brother—with him to Marrowdell. It stood here, in this room, and he spoke to it often. I know, elder brother, because I guarded this house then as I do now. When he was lost, the rest left and took the mirror with them. But now it’s back and so is he.~ It stopped, giving him a troubled look.

  About to snap a denial, the dragon hesitated. Caution thrilled along his bones. The mirror was “back?” Things of magic could have a will of their own, usually inconvenient, often dangerous.