A Play of Shadow

by Julie E. Czerneda

  She’d missed warm shoulders. “Ancestors Clever and Kind. Please thank our friend, little cousin.”

  ~The yling apologizes, but they will not last, elder sister, for he is but one.~

  “Then we’ll move quickly,” Bannan said when he’d heard this, and led the way.

  Jenn followed, admiring their yling cloaks. Like dew on a spiderweb, glistening beads caught along the hems, but nowhere else did the rain seem to touch.

  This was what it must be like, she decided, to hurry down a romantic castle hallway late at night. Though in those stories, something with teeth or spears or dark magic waited at the end of the hall, but before that dire turning point came wonderful descriptions of how gowns brushed over rich carpets woven in the deserts of Eldad, and how silent, empty armor lined the walls, and torches.

  There were always torches, though lamps were superior and cleaner. Come to think of it, why did castles have torches . . .?

  Jenn stepped in a puddle, jolting herself out of a train of nervous thought that had as much to do with not thinking as anything else. Every step took them closer to Bannan’s sister, as they’d planned. It wasn’t important that she’d not had time to prepare for that meeting or thought of what to say or—

  “Lila will love you too.”

  “How did you—I wasn’t—” She tried to frown at him. “So now you read thoughts as well as faces?”

  A flash of white teeth in the gloom. “An accusation Tir makes, from time to time. Wholly unfounded, might I add. In this case, Dearest Heart?” His head tipped in a bow. “I guessed.

  “Not—” Bannan went on with a grin as she pushed him, “—without some understanding of the ladies involved.”

  He’d made her laugh. Bannan locked that triumph next to his heart, the rest of him cold and grim. The rain had ended steps too soon, with the Distal Hold in sight, an edifice of the same weathered stone as the rest. Its windows, though lit, were tall and thin. Perhaps wide enough for a slender person to pass through; from here, he could see the dark web of bars, in case one tried.

  On the other side of the canal, but no matter. They’d come to another widening, this time to allow the flow of gardens from the street to spill along the walkways. A bridge arched from here to there, a fountain against its base to mark where a good-sized stair climbed up. Above were the dazzling lights of more magnificent structures—perhaps the famed legislature of Mellynne, model for Rhoth’s own—lights that haloed through remnants of mist and brightened the low cloud overhead, as if night wasn’t allowed to approach.

  Fortunately for those who preferred it, the branches from trees at street level drooped gracefully toward the canal, shadowing all below.

  Bannan brushed cobwebs from his arms, the yling’s cloaks having reverted to their source. Just as well. Cloaks might impede them. “We’ll make for the stairs.”

  Jenn nodded, then whispered, “He knows what he’s doing.”

  The toad, he presumed. Wise creature to doubt him. He doubted himself. But not Jenn.

  And not Lila.

  They’d been alone till now, due to the rain or their route or both, but as they approached the stairs a commotion rang out overhead and an outcry.

  Coming for the bridge!

  “There’s another way across,” Jenn said urgently. “Bannan, look.”

  “Ancestors Blessed.” They ran under the arch to what she’d spotted, a crossing of ornate cobblestones, raised only slightly above the water. There were steps to it from the bank on both sides, with a second graceful fountain, mate to the first, across the canal.

  By day, this would be a gathering place for officials and their guests, restful and beautiful. By night, with the ruckus above drawing ever closer and shadows lapping stone, Bannan felt a chill down his spine. “Maybe we should—”

  Too late. Jenn, used to running across a river, hadn’t hesitated. He watched, heart in his throat, as she stepped nimbly from cobble to cobble and up on the other side, turning to wait for him.

  After that, he could hardly delay, could he? Though Bannan made sure to plant his foot firmly in the middle of each stone before stepping to the next.

  And next.

  And . . . the next rocked a bit, so he staggered and stepped more quickly than he’d like. The canal wasn’t where he’d choose a dunking.

  “Bannan!”

  He tore his eyes from his footing to look for Jenn, only then realizing the shout had been a man’s. A man he—the truthseer twisted around, stared up.

  Emon Westietas looked down from the bridge. Their eyes locked for a heartbeat, then two figures grappled with the baron, pulling him back despite his struggles. “Run!”

  “Run!” Jenn shouted, as the stones beneath Bannan’s feet shifted.

  He looked down in horror to meet red eyes filled with hunger. Necks stretched from their hiding places and fist-sized beaks snapped eagerly at his feet.

  Turtles! He was standing on giant turtles!

  ~EAT!~Catch!!!~MINEMINE~EATEAT!~ Deeper these voices but just as cold and eager. ~Eat!~MEAT!~ Jenn heard their cries with horror in her heart. Bannan jumped from shell to shell as the remaining turtles, their clever trap sprung, moved in to share the feast. Not that they appeared to want to share. ~I was FIRST!~MoveOver!~EATEAT!~

  They most certainly were not to eat Bannan or even nibble him. Jenn Nalynn stretched her hand to Bannan as she wished.

  And Channen answered.

  Spears of ice shot through the water in every direction. The quicker turtles dove; those preoccupied with Bannan found themselves immured and nicely solid.

  The truthseer didn’t test the arrangement, but ran to her across it, taking her hand to gain speed on the final step. He whirled to face the bridge. “Emon!”

  The three who’d been there were gone.

  Warm, Jenn told the canal, not wishing harm or notice. As the ice weakened, turtles cracked themselves free, muttering ~Turnborn~ and ~Starvesus!~ and ~Notfair~. One paused to give her a malignant glare. ~Wewereherefirst.~

  Rabbits, she thought, but left it at that.

  Instead, she took a firmer hold of Bannan, in case he thought to climb to the bridge where there were lights and people—people who’d taken the baron away—and said the only word sure to stop him.

  “Lila.”

  He nodded, though his eyes were wild. “This way.”

  That they’d been so close—and failed. Bannan pushed the thought aside. Jenn was right. No matter who’d taken Emon, they were gone now and Lila was close. He abandoned stealth for speed. He’d looked out the window through his sister’s eyes and began checking over his shoulder once they reached the wall set with broken glass, meant to discourage too close an approach. Not this view. He stepped to his right, then again.

  This. He spun around, eyes fixed on the rectangle of light that should—if their Blessed Ancestors would please pay attention for once—be his sister. “If anyone comes, warn me.” He laid his jacket over the spikes and lifted his foot.

  “I’m coming with you,” Jenn said firmly. “We’ll have warning.”

  Before he could argue, tiny hands patted him, then the yling took flight, hovering in the air with spear at the ready. At the same time, the purse banged and rocked against his hip until he pulled up the lid.

  Out plopped the toad.

  They weren’t alone. He wasn’t. And they were about to rescue Lila.

  Ancestors Witness. Giant turtles. What a night! Tir won’t believe this, Bannan thought, grinning as he jumped atop the wall and reached a hand to his lady.

  How could they fail?

  By being too late. Bannan hung for a moment by his hands, then let himself drop to the ground, knees bent to soften his landing. “She’s not here.”

  “You’re—”

  “Certain? Yes.” He found Jenn’s arm in the dark and urged her forward. “
We’d best not be here either.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Lila. Heart’s Blood. No wonder Emon had shouted at him. She’d made her escape when she was good and ready, leaving her younger brother to look the fool.

  Bannan laughed. He couldn’t help it.

  Jenn gave him a strange look. “Before you were happy she was in jail,” she whispered, putting her foot in his hands for a boost.

  “And now—” he heaved her up “—I’m happy she’s not.” Once she jumped down the other side, he took a few steps back, then ran to—

  Ran to—

  Ran—

  He wasn’t moving.

  Why wasn’t he moving?

  He should know, Bannan Larmensu thought, fuzzily . . .

  . . . before he stopped thinking at all.

  She’d jumped and should have landed.

  Why was she still falling?

  Jenn considered the question, or the question considered her. She couldn’t tell the difference.

  Not that the difference mattered.

  Especially while something pulled her hair and something else tugged her boot. The hair pulling hurt.

  The boot tugging moved her sideways, which was highly disconcerting, for she fell at the same time.

  Really, it was enough to make her laugh.

  So she did, but it sounded wrong, so she closed her lips quite tightly. Having lips. It was important, she thought fuzzily, to have lips.

  For kissing. There were many good reasons for lips—her other boot was being tugged now—from smiling to talking to eating to . . . but kissing was—

  Time floated by, or she did. In fact, when she did think about it, she seemed to be floating on her back, with something heavy and cold on her stomach.

  How odd.

  Voices, strange and cold. ~Carrycarry.~ and ~Don’tsink.~ and a plaintive ~Bite?~ followed by ~Mustn’t!~

  Then a tentative tug on her ear, accompanied by ~Shiny?!~ and immediately thereafter strong tugs on both ears. ~SHINY!!MINE!~

  Squashed by a different and stern ~BEHAVE!~

  The cold voices settled into a muttered ~carrycarrycarrycarry~ as if their effort was difficult and virtuous.

  ~We’ve come!!~

  She cringed. Loud, this new voice. Harsh and unhappy. Worse was the question it asked next.

  ~Where is the truthseer?~

  For she did not know.

  ~Elder sister?~

  “Jenn?”

  The first voice was familiar, though it felt like an anxious itch between her ears. The second, less so, and Jenn Nalynn kept her eyes shut as she tried to place it.

  “Ah. I believe she stirs, friend toad.”

  Leott! The artisan who brought the light of the Verge into Channen. Jenn opened her eyes.

  Tried to open her eyes. Ancestors Faded and Futile, why was it so hard? She struggled to raise herself to an elbow instead, but her arm had no strength.

  “Easy, Jenn.” A damp coolness soothed her eyelids. “You’re safe now.”

  A breeze, hot and dry, found her ear. “Where is the truthseer?”

  Bannan—!

  She couldn’t breathe. Was she drowning? Where was he? Hearts of her Ancestors, it couldn’t be—she hadn’t—

  “Jenn. Relax. You must.” Louder and sharp. “Patience, the lot of you, or you’ll wait outside!” Gentle, once more. “Don’t fight the spell, Jenn. I fear it may strengthen again. I’m looking for a remedy—”

  What came after “spell” blurred into a sameness. Someone had used magic against her.

  Was she not magic?

  Jenn let go, willing to become her other self.

  Nothing changed.

  She thought frantically of the blue room and the sei’s power, which was so much more than she dared hold, but for Bannan, she’d take it all, be whatever it demanded . . .

  Nothing changed.

  Heart’s Blood. She was nothing. Could do nothing.

  Was this death?

  “Don’t fight, Dear Heart.” The cloth, for it had been that, lifted from her eyes and passed its coolness over her cheeks, then across her forehead. She clung to the sensation; it was the only thing real.

  If she wasn’t to fight, she mustn’t think of—of anything but home. Home was safe and predictable. Piglets strayed and the mill wheel turned. Home was where roses bloomed—

  Melusine’s roses.

  Mother, Jenn thought then, finding herself surrounded by tiny buds on thickened stems. Spring, surely, for the buds uncurled and expanded into serrated leaves, dark and glossy, while the tips of brown twigs shot forth bright green stalks heavy with the buds of what would be flowers.

  And couldn’t she smell them, as if they’d already opened and had summer and now cast their petals into her hands—

  Jenn Nalynn opened her eyes, unsurprised to find her hands clenched over her heart. She didn’t try to sit up, but pulled the little bag of Melusine’s petals from her bodice, pressing it over her nose and mouth.

  She took an endless breath, through cloth, through roses, feeling strength course through her like fire.

  ~Elder sister!~

  Pouch and petals crumbled to dust in her hands. Jenn looked up to meet the knowing eyes of the artisan who, like Wainn, like Wen, was part of more than this world. He clapped. “You’re back!”

  She sat, then rose to her feet, discovering she now wore a plain brown tunic and pants; by the loose fit, the artisan’s spare clothing. The house toad gazed up at her. The kruar—hers—glowered. He’d ripped an opening in the fabric of the stall and stood with his head shoved through, like an ill-tempered version of Wainn’s Old Pony.

  Leott squatted by the toad, and patted it on the head. “You can thank your friends,” he exclaimed, bouncing back up. “They brought you to me.”

  ~And the nyim,~ the toad added, ever generous. Giving her a name for the turtles of the edge, though she couldn’t imagine them as friends and had a good notion where her earrings had gone.

  “But not Bannan.” Jenn regarded the kruar, who lifted his head uneasily. “Why?”

  ~He didn’t jump the wall with you, elder sister,~ the toad explained. ~People were coming. I am your guardian. I but did my duty.~ With new trepidation, for a hot, bright glow reflected within its eyes.

  Because she was turn-born. Jenn hastily returned to flesh, though relieved to be no longer trapped.

  Not that trapped was how she felt, as herself. Never that. Her mind must still be hazed by the spell. “What was done to me?”

  “An ill wishing,” Leott replied. “The result you felt. I found the remnants on your boot.”

  Heart’s Blood. She’d stepped into Bannan’s hands after he’d gripped the sill of Lila’s cell, pulling himself up to look inside.

  “It was a trap.”

  As hangovers went, this must be the worst he’d ever had. Something he’d likely declared more than once, Bannan reminded himself, hangovers thankfully being forgettable. Served him right, though, drinking when he was—when he was here with—

  Who was he with—?

  Something burned against his neck.

  Jenn!

  Ancestors Despairing and Lost, he’d been taken beyond the edge. But where? His eyes wouldn’t open, so Bannan tried to say her name, to cry out. His lips cracked and bled and refused to obey him. His arms and legs might have been tied down to some hard surface.

  Were they?

  The truthseer froze at that, keeping his breathing even and slow. He’d been captured, once, by his own carelessness. Spent a night tied to a tree and innumerable days thereafter enduring snide comments on young idiots and their fool luck. Seen his captors fall before his eyes, his “fool luck” having been an earnest and deadly response by his patrol.

  To this day, Tir refused to let
him forget, not that the man would be more sympathetic this time.

  A trap. Something on the wall they’d climbed or embedded in the stones of the windowsill he’d recklessly touched with bare skin. A trap to stop escaping prisoners, perhaps one in particular. Or to prevent a rescue such as they’d planned.

  Which hardly mattered now. Heart’s Blood, he was every sort of idiot to have brought Jenn with him into this, to have gone blindly forward as if the Ancestors always smiled on those who leapt without so much as a look ahead.

  She’d gone over the wall. She might have escaped.

  Or been taken beyond the edge with him and—

  Bile rose in his throat and his head spun. No. NO! He wouldn’t think it, let alone believe it. Jenn Nalynn was safe, somewhere. He had to get out of here. Find her. He tried to move his fingers, at least that.

  “Sir.” From behind his head. “He’s awake.” Something poked him in the ribs—a stiffened thumb by the feel. He’d have grunted, but whatever held him in thrall wouldn’t allow it.

  “Ancestors Tedious and Tardy. At last.” Another speaker, his Naalish cultured and fluent, yet with the slightest of accents. Not from here, the truthseer thought, grasping for any clue. “Douse him.”

  A thick moist mass was pressed to Bannan’s face, smothering his nose and mouth. He gasped and fought to breathe, a struggle worsened by a smell so vile gorge rose in his throat and for an instant it was an even bet if he’d choke to death in his own vomit or suffocate in whatever they were using against him. His head began to spin, his lungs burn—

  The mass lifted away. He spat out a slimy remnant, realizing at once if he could spit, he could move! Tensing every muscle, Bannan leapt for freedom—

  —and went nowhere.

  He opened his eyes, turning his head from side to side. His first unpleasant surmise had been correct. Ropes wrapped his arms and legs, two more across his chest, securing him to what was, he could now see, a long wooden table.