A Play of Shadow

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Jenn was a better name. Safer. As was waiting out their tempers.

  He’d lived here, as dragon, flightless and in pain. The sei’s penance, it had been, before they’d sent him to the girl. When not serving the turn-born, he’d been under the kitchen, waiting to be remembered.

  Waiting was wiser, with beings like these.

  The grit settled all at once. Someone had finally disagreed. ~Why send you?~ Riverstone demanded.

  Wisp and Sand had come to an understanding, over the girl. The rest barely tolerated his presence. Which might have had something to do with why he’d served a penance in the first place. Or simple dislike.

  The dragon didn’t care. ~She waits for a mask. As instructed.~

  These wore masks, with features shaped to resemble man or woman, the terst being like the girl’s kind. Riverstone’s had a hooked nose and dark eyebrows. Shards of black stone filled his glass shell and white hair crowned his head. Light poured through holes where eyes and mouth should be. ~We have not agreed.~

  Wisp looked at Sand. She held out a hand palm up, then tipped it over. Caution, that meant.

  He was too old for this. The dragon snarled and advanced into the middle of the open space, wings high and open. ~Would you have her come here without?~

  ~Our Sweetling wouldn’t, and you know it.~ Sand stepped forward; Riverstone hesitated, then moved back, conceding her precedence. ~Why has she come and why with these others, with Bannan and the little cousin?~

  Much as he’d have preferred to snap, Wisp could almost hear Jenn’s voice. Manners.

  He loathed manners.

  That said, they’d proven useful, on rare occasion. ~Jenn Nalynn asks your aid. She would cross into Channen with these others. It is a matter of some urgency.~

  Riverstone leaned forward. ~She wishes to trade?~

  Sand lifted her hand and he eased back again. ~Tell us this urgent matter, Dragon Lord, or is this something to hear from our Sweetling?~

  As a man, he could smile and would, at this. Clever Sand. ~She would wish to tell you herself. It is personal and important.~

  ~Hence the mask.~ Sand turned to her fellows. ~I ask we reconsider.~

  ~And I ask Jenn come here, alone and not as turn-born, to explain.~

  Wisp held in a snarl.

  ~We do not travel her world as we are in this one,~ countered Sand. ~Why should she? It is neither safe nor politic. What if she encounters other turn-born? Terst?~

  ~She should go back. Tell her so!~

  The dragon let his wings beat, once, stirring the grit. A reminder, lest they forget. Jenn Nalynn had done this.

  ~We do not order one another,~ Sand told Riverstone. ~We do not interfere with sei. What our Sweetling will or won’t isn’t ours to say or forbid. Help for her or not, that’s for us to decide. I ask we reconsider.~

  They stared at one another, then Riverstone made a sharp gesture. ~It is not safe for them here, whatever help we give. I say give her none.~

  Had the turn-born worn a throat of flesh at that instant, the dragon would have ripped it out with a joyful roar. However satisfying the thought, it wouldn’t achieve what the girl needed. Instead, Wisp folded his wing, using the other to help him stand straight and proud. ~Let me take you to her,~ he offered as pleasantly as he could. ~If you explain the dangers, she might leave.~

  The light where Sand would have eyes turned to him, but she said nothing.

  Riverstone, less knowing, gave an appeased nod. ~Quickly, then.~

  The dragon bowed his head. A man’s habit.

  Had he been able to smile like a man, he’d have done that too.

  ELEVEN

  LIKE THREADS IN a loom, magic wove up and around and through the Verge. Jenn could feel it, almost hold it. Most, the strongest and deepest, was turn-born. How she knew she couldn’t have said, but those threads came here, burrowing though the walls of the small settlement, knotted together by will, and she wouldn’t touch them.

  Though she could. That awareness brimmed in her like spring arriving in the valley, as full of possibilities and potential. Mistress Sand had told her the turn-born worked their expectations to heal and protect the Verge, that she mustn’t interfere or more would be undone than she could imagine.

  For the first time, Jenn could see it for herself. Was anything here untouched by an expectation? And not just one. Never just one. The more she looked, the more magic warped and twisted; here in what seemed a feather’s tip, there through the core of a sleeping neyet, beyond, going wider and wider to encompass a mountain.

  “Someone’s coming. Dearest Heart? Wake up.”

  She drew back into herself, thinking of rabbits and meadows with more than a little remorse, and opened her eyes. “Wasn’t asleep.”

  Bannan’s eyes held their apple butter glow. “No?”

  Jenn gave him a little push as she sat up. Truthseers!

  They’d spread their coats on the sand, where it would let them, to go through their packs. After cautious sips from Bannan’s flask, mimrol undrinkable according to Wisp, and a shared bit of cheese—though to be honest she’d felt neither hunger nor thirst—they’d tackled the rest.

  The shard of mirror remained stubbornly black, with no sign of eyes, so Jenn carefully returned it to her socks. Frann’s brooch and the tokens looked no different in the Verge, so Bannan put those away as well. The little bottle of moon potion Peggs had insisted she bring—in case they were stranded a month in a land without—was red instead of yellow, which was curious, but nothing in Bannan’s pack appeared to change. The bag of rose petals, Jenn left next to her skin.

  As for skin, Jenn had taken a close look at the markings on Bannan’s neck. They’d not changed. She’d let out a small shriek when the yling popped its head out of Bannan’s hair, four tiny hands gripping the top of his ear. It had disappeared even as the truthseer admitted knowing nothing of its purpose, nor did any of the rest of their small company offer an opinion, other than Wisp, who insisted ylings did as they chose and they should ignore it.

  After that, they’d rested. She may have rested more thoroughly than she’d planned, but it was hardly her fault, Bannan’s shoulder being very comfortable and comforting. Especially when Scourge had agreed not to give them any more “practice” for a while.

  “Who’s coming?” Jenn asked.

  “Turn-born.”

  That had her on her feet at once, brushing sand from her clothes. Jenn tucked the strand of hair that refused to stay put behind her ear—again—and made a determined effort to stay as she was.

  Mistress Sand and Master Riverstone. As they approached, Jenn stood and waited, seeing Bannan do the same. He had excellent posture, as did Werfol and Semyn when they thought about it, and she stood a little straighter herself, thinking it too.

  Then she thought of yesterday and the day before and how the tinkers would miss Frann every bit as much as any in Marrowdell.

  Thinking all this, Jenn ran to them, arms outstretched.

  She surprised, perhaps shocked them. That didn’t stop them from folding her into their embrace, though it felt like being hugged by statues. Jenn burst into tears. “Frann’s died. I’m so sorry. She fell ill and passed away.”

  They stiffened. Then, ~And you did nothing,~ Master Riverstone said, the voice she felt more than heard filled with wonder and warmth. ~Dear Sweetling. Our Jenn. Sand knew, better than any of us.~

  ~Of course I did.~ Mistress Sand stroked her braids with a hand of glass. ~How is our Lorra?~

  ~She was there. I was—I was too.~ Jenn sniffed and fought for calm. She’d give them the better news, she thought. It was only fair. ~Wen’s with child. So is Peggs.~

  ~More toys to make this winter,~ Mistress Sand declared and nothing could have eased Jenn’s heart more.

  These were friends.

  They moved apart, at that, to gaze upon o
ne another. ~I’ll miss Frann’s music.~ Master Riverstone shook his head. ~She had a gift.~

  “Bannan’s nephew plays beautifully,” Jenn assured them.

  As one, the turn-born looked at the truthseer. ~‘Nephews?’~ Mistress Sand echoed. ~In Marrowdell. Are there aunts and uncles too, now?~

  Bannan bowed. When he straightened, he met their regard with his own. ~My sister’s boys have taken shelter in Marrowdell. Their parents are the reason we’ve come.~

  After that, it was time to explain.

  In the Verge, the turn-born were terrifyingly strange, the glow where eyes should be difficult to meet and impossible to read. Yet they grieved for Frann. By that, Bannan could see them as they’d been in Marrowdell, as friends and helpmates.

  Yet dangerous. Ever that. Some things didn’t change.

  They weren’t happy to risk Jenn, or to have Jenn as a risk. The distinction seemed unimportant. Bannan watched her more than them, her face expressive and honest. He feared how trusting she was.

  He loved her the more for it. Didn’t he face that choice, in the Verge? Fear or love? Everything here pulled at his deeper sense, used it, required it. He felt the strain of that demand, even as what he saw of this astonishing, impossible land tugged at his heart. Was there a limit to what he could stand?

  A fear not to be dismissed. “We have to get to Channen.”

  They turned to look at him. Heart’s Blood. He’d spoken aloud. Well, in for it, then. “The mask’s important, Jenn, but so is speed.”

  “Lila,” she said and nodded. “Of course.” Though it hadn’t been his sister in a cell he’d meant.

  ~The sooner you’re out of the Verge, the better,~ Riverstone agreed, for any number of his own reasons.

  ~You’ll be met in Channen. To get there? Speed you’ll have,~ Sand promised.

  Was that reassuring or terrifying? He’d prefer reassuring; it would most likely prove to be both. “Thank you.”

  ~A mask, though?~ The turn-born faced each other for a moment. Sand looked away first. ~The terst will not. We would, but cannot. You must go without, Sweetling.~

  Scourge snorted. ~Tasty.~

  By the look on her face, Jenn did her best to ignore the kruar. Bannan, ever conscious of the turn-born, held back what he’d dearly loved to tell the idiot beast, “not helping” being the least of it.

  ~Elder brother? Elder sister?~

  He’d forgotten the toad, in all the rest. The yling as well, though every so often came a tiny pat on his neck as if to remind him. The truthseer glanced down to find the toad had hopped into their midst, close to Jenn’s now-bare feet.

  The dragon wasn’t impressed. ~Rash, little cousin, to interrupt.~

  “Wait.” Jenn crouched by the toad. “There’s something wrong with it.”

  The toad did appear rounder than usual. Not as if it had puffed itself up, but as if it had swallowed something too large for its body.

  ~It makes eggs, ridiculous creature,~ Riverstone stated. ~It has forgotten how to live here.~

  ~This is no egg-making.~ Wisp rose through the ground, forcing the turn-born to step back. ~Little cousin, what did you eat?~

  Its voice was thin, like a thread about to snap. ~There was a moth, elder brother. I was hungry.~

  “‘A moth?’” Bannan met Jenn’s worried look. “Maybe they aren’t—” journal writers? parts of a sei? “—the same here,” he finished anxiously.

  The toad grew rounder still, until its eyes began to bulge more than Bannan would have thought possible. Its legs rose in the air as its belly expanded, clawed toes outstretched in a vain attempt to balance. Ever-so-slowly, the entire toad rocked one way, then the other.

  “We have to help it!” Jenn cried.

  ~We must NOT,~ from Sand.

  Jenn bit her lower lip, then gave a reluctant nod.

  Wisp’s tail curled to stop the toad from rolling away. He brought an eye half the size of the toad to almost touch the toad’s bulging one. ~If you die of this making, I will take word to your kin.~

  ~I am honored, elder brother.~ So faint, Bannan could barely feel the words.

  “But you mustn’t die,” Jenn said quickly. “I’ll need you to guard me. I don’t want to be eaten.”

  The toad tried to blink. ~I do my best, elder—~ Suddenly its mouth opened an impossible amount and the dragon leapt out of the way as something vomited out.

  Something white and gleaming that spun on end like a tossed coin until, finally, settling to the ground.

  The toad, shape and size restored, sighed with relief and closed its eyes.

  While Bannan and the others stared down at what was, in fact, a mask. Or rather a face, for this was no crude shape, with holes for eyes and mouth.

  This was a face, a face he knew and loved, captured in what might have been the finest shell. The colors of the Verge played over it, highlighting cheekbones, blushing lips, shadowing eyelids still closed, as if asleep.

  ~So you are of use, little cousin.~ Scourge sounded amused.

  Jenn moved first, picking it up.

  ~Sweetling, be careful!~ Sand warned. ~This is sei.~

  “And mine,” Jenn said firmly. Closing her eyes, she pressed it to her face and it was as if the mask winked out of sight. Her eyelids opened. “How does it look?” There was the smallest of tremors in her voice.

  Having moved near, though what good he’d be against such magic was an open and worrying question, Bannan traced her jaw with a light finger, feeling soft, warm skin. “It’s vanished. How does it feel?” he asked wonderingly.

  She smiled, pressing her cheek into his palm. “Like your hand.”

  ~A gift,~ Riverstone observed, his voice distant and cold. ~Why?~

  ~Why matters not. This is our Sweetling,~ Sand reminded him. ~That she has resources of her own shouldn’t be a surprise. But does it work? That we must test.~

  Jenn nodded and took a step to put herself away from Bannan. “Are you ready?”

  In answer, Riverstone put his arm over his eyes and Sand covered hers with her hands.

  Then Bannan found himself standing among beings of glass and light.

  Alone in the Verge.

  The instant Mistress Sand and Master Riverstone lowered their arms and hands, proof the mask worked, Jenn willed herself flesh again. She’d seen the stricken look on Bannan’s face. Worse, she understood it. One of them, he thought her.

  “I’ll be this,” she told him, stroking hands over skin, “unless necessary. I am this, Bannan.” Jenn put her desperate hope into the words. She’d remember, she promised herself. She would. He must.

  And he heard, she knew it, but believe? After years in the marches, he could school his expression to show what he wanted and nothing more. Was the calm acceptance he showed her now a sham? Did he doubt her?

  Bannan merely said, “Then we’re ready to go to Channen.”

  ~Keep wearing that,~ Master Riverstone advised.

  Advice she couldn’t help but heed. What they’d seen as a mask on the ground, what had shape and heft in her grip, was part of her. She’d felt it bond to what was within her, to the sei’s tears.

  Ending any question as to the sort of moth the poor toad had swallowed.

  “Thank you for what you’ve done, little cousin,” she told it, though it hardly had had a choice and now appeared asleep.

  ~I matter to Jenn Nalynn.~

  She had to smile. “Yes, you do.”

  Wisp waited, silent, as did Scourge, for a wonder, both now at a distance and behind the turn-born. Jenn looked to Bannan.

  By the light of the Verge, the amber of his eyes was darker, richer. Having dressed for the warmth, he wore a shirt, the neck loosely tied, leather pants, and tall boots. He stood with his arms slightly away from his body, his feet apart, as if his instincts told him to run, yet he smiled back at
her.

  He stayed. It was enough. Jenn turned to Mistress Sand. “What do we do now?” she asked simply.

  A hand lifted. ~Go around the lake and up the slope. Wait by our spring for your guides. You can refill your flasks there.~

  Bannan looked relieved. “Good to know. I’d planned to ask about water.”

  ~We’ve put it where we need it and the terst, though most here drink mimrol.~

  ~Or blood.~ From the dragon and kruar.

  “And food, Mistress?” he asked.

  Master Riverstone shrugged. ~If you’re in the Verge long enough to starve, it’ll be too long and too late.~

  Jenn didn’t like the sound of that at all. “What do you mean?”

  ~There are things you can eat, Bannan,~ Mistress Sand said quickly. ~Ask your guides. Sweetling, you may feel you can live without food or drink and you can, longer than most, but not forever. Don’t forget.~

  They made beer from Marrowdell’s grain. Enjoyed feasting. There was more to being a turn-born than a shell and magic, much of which familiar, and the reminder warmed a part of Jenn she hadn’t noticed had gone cold.

  “Then we should go.” Jenn held out her hands, for Mistress Sand to clasp, and Master Riverstone. “Unless you’ve more advice?” She glanced at Bannan.

  Whose rueful smile this time was real. “We’d take any and all.”

  Master Riverstone gave her fingers a last gentle squeeze, then let go. ~Move quickly through the Verge, is mine. Do nothing to attract notice. Ignore this mirror creature.~

  Jenn tensed. She’d told them of the eyes and efflet; shown them the shard from the mirror, which had, perhaps now fearfully, remained black. ~What if he doesn’t ignore us?~

  A disturbingly happy snarl from the dragon.

  Mistress Sand patted her hand. ~We’ve said we don’t know this thing you’ve seen. If we do not, it’s of no consequence, Sweetling. They die here, man or woman or child, too quickly to notice. Till now or yet, that is.~ The turn-born pointedly didn’t look toward Bannan. ~If this mirror holds anything of this fool who crossed long ago, it’s naught but a spiteful echo.~