A Play of Shadow

by Julie E. Czerneda

  He raised an eyebrow. “And no one noticed?”

  “M’name’s Lornn Heatt,” she announced with a wicked leer. “Killed m’layabout partner, I did, and would’a donnit twice if he’da let me.” Her face and voice returned to normal. “Guards don’t expect someone to put themselves in jail and I didn’t need long. I put crumbs on my windowsill. Emon’s clever birds spotted me by the second day. We conveyed messages.” She grinned. “Emon wasn’t happy.”

  No surprise there.

  “I assured him no one knew who I was, my cell was doubtless more comfortable than wherever he was hiding, and that when he could do so without risk, he was to bribe a guard to get me out.”

  The truth, which was, Bannan decided, a surprise. Though if anyone knew how to mislead him, it was his sister.

  Now was not the time for it, but before he could probe for more, Lila faced him, her eyes cool and gray. “Your turn, little brother. Was that your Jenn I saw, through Semyn’s eyes? Is—that—what she really is?”

  At the turn. Ancestors Blessed. Jenn worried about how to greet a baroness. He’d been waiting for this, the moment Lila would decide if she considered Jenn friend or— it had to be friend.

  “Jenn is a woman, my love, and, yes, magic, too,” Bannan said, treading with care. “You hadn’t seen her before?” Oh, and didn’t he blush, now appreciating what that meant?

  Lila snorted. “I ’dream you only when I’ve no choice, Bannan Larmensu. Especially once you discovered what hung between your legs.”

  Yes, he could blush hotter.

  She took pity on him. “I learned to silence my gift. It was that, or never sleep.” Oh, so casually said. But he remembered a young Lila, always awake to soothe him from a nightmare. Remembered, now that he understood, her napping in the saddle. A soldierly skill, she’d called it.

  Heart’s Blood.

  “These days, to truedream someone,” his astonishing sister continued, “I taste something they’ve touched and use a sleeping draught to stay long enough to make sense of what I see.” All the while helpless; risk indeed.

  “So no,” she finished, “I hadn’t seen your new love as other than a blue-eyed woman who runs around barefoot. Until,” her voice hardened, “Semyn saw her otherwise. Magic, you tell me. What sort? Dire or perilous.”

  “Good-hearted,” Bannan countered, making her blink. “Brave. Jenn brought me here through a realm of magic—of the perilous sort—so we could arrive in time and save you. That realm—” as comprehension flared in Lila’s eyes, “—would be the madness you saw.”

  “Bannan!”

  The truthseer hunted for the right words, then held out his hands. “Our world,” the right. “The dragons’,” the left. He laid the palms over one another. “Where they overlap is something else again. On the dragons’ side, it’s called the Verge and teems with magic. That’s where we traveled. My gift lets me see the truth of it; the beauty as well as peril. On our side?” He nodded to the mist overhead. “The edge. The Shadow District lies within it, as does Marrowdell. Magic slips through from the Verge. I see it here too.”

  “Magic,” Lila echoed, looking around as though expecting Wisp to appear from a shadow. “So that’s it.” A tinge of color appeared on her cheeks. “I see what you see, little brother; I’ve never seen with your gift. But . . . sometimes I’ve ’dreamed what can’t be real, yet I know is. Silver rain and blood-red eyes. Your dragons,” with the tiniest of smiles.

  “Because in the edge, sunset—the turn—reveals such things,” Bannan explained, his heart lighter. “That’s when Semyn saw Jenn as magic. Admittedly, he was more interested in Wisp.”

  He surprised a laugh. “I think I’d be too.” She gave his ear a snap.

  “What was that for?” he complained, rubbing the sting.

  “To remind you, magic or no, I know best.” Something grim settled around her. “And what I know is time’s passing, little brother. Our friend Glammis went back inside. I’ll not lose him.”

  Bannan stared at her. “You know who trapped me.”

  “I followed him here.” Smug, that was. “To your good fortune.”

  “I was making my escape,” he protested stiffly, choosing not to mention being used for bait.

  Lila chose not to mention the three on the deck. “The manor is served by someone Emon trusts, who’s set up a meeting—for tonight—with those who matter here. Glammis poses as a magic-user from Essa, having business of his own with the shadow lords—”

  “It’s no pose,” Bannan interrupted. “He has a wishing to bind a truthseer, gift and will.”

  “Does he.”

  “Whatever else his business here, Glammis hunts those with the Larmensu gift. He would take our magic, Lila, for himself. Take us.”

  Her silence as she absorbed this stole warmth from the air. Then, an eyebrow lifted. “Indeed.”

  He heard the end of the man in that word.

  “Whatever else,” Lila echoed calmly, “I know Glammis serves those who wish to dissuade my dear husband from making his case.” She jumped to her feet. “Let’s fetch him.”

  “What of Emon?” The truthseer stood as well. “Shouldn’t he be warned?”

  Lila gave him a pitying look. “Once we deal with Glammis, he won’t need a warning. Besides.” She grinned. “When my clever Emon hides, even I can’t find him.”

  “But I thought—” Bannan closed his mouth. Lila hadn’t waited for Emon to free her from jail. Hadn’t needed his help.

  Hadn’t wanted it.

  “Don’t think so hard, little brother,” she suggested archly. “Your head will hurt.”

  “You—” All at once, the light dimmed. Both looked up.

  The lamps to either side were smothered in moths, small and desperate. More climbed the stone walls, wings aflutter.

  Then the mist above turned white, as moths filled the air like snowflakes that refused to fall. They settled in the alley, leaving one way open.

  Up the stairs.

  “Bannan . . . what’s all this?” Was that uncertainty in her voice?

  All was well—very well—if all was as he believed. “I believe, dear sister, we must leave Glammis for a while yet,” the truthseer announced, heart grown light and trying hard not to laugh. “It seems Jenn Nalynn would like to meet you.”

  “I’d like to meet her too,” Lila Larmensu stated, sounding not the least amused.

  It wasn’t until they were at the street level, moths to either side, that Bannan thought of something else.

  “When you kept after me to write home—”

  “It was so I could ’dream you,” Lila told him. “If I didn’t like what I read,” she added, as if that were a comfort and not confirming his worst fears. “Your Jenn wrote to me. Did you know? Quite a nice letter.”

  Worse there was. Bannan couldn’t find words.

  Lila pushed him ahead of her. “Don’t fuss, little brother. I’m no fool, to truedream magic.”

  They would say later that never had there been so many white moths in Channen, nor any so filled with magic. To follow one was to find your heart. So many did, that special night, nine months later midwives were the busiest they could remember, though every babe was healthy.

  And not a one cried.

  Strays, be they four-footed or on two, found homes that night as well, while constables stood by in amazement as their cells filled with thieves who’d followed the moths and wished, most ardently, to put what they’d stolen back where it belonged.

  Well before sunrise, the moths had vanished. In the days after, the Shadow Sect quietly spread word of how the moths had been a gift of the Source to Channen, and all should be Beholden.

  What went unremarked?

  That most of the moths returned to a single rooftop, followed by those particularly invited . . .

  To find Jenn Nalynn
.

  ~Elder brother. Are you asleep?~

  Giving up any pretense, Wisp cracked open an eye. ~What now?~

  ~Though it is the middle of the night, the warrior returns, elder brother. He moves with urgency.~

  Not good news. The dragon eased himself from the bed, pleased his bones felt whole again. Though there was—he stretched his wounded leg—lingering weakness.

  ~Something must be wrong, elder brother.~

  The man might want his own bed, Wisp thought, but there was no convincing the toad. Little cousins noticed the unusual, being meticulous beings and vigilant. ~Peace. I will see to it.~ Little he could do for Tir’s comfort, but as Wisp flew to the lower level, he sent a breeze to liven the fire in the cookstove and move the kettle above that warmth.

  Then, knowing the man, he brought a bottle from its hiding place and a mug.

  The door opened, brusquely but with a care. Tir stepped in with a swirl of snow and cold, shutting out the night before beginning to strip. “Dragon.”

  Wisp shaped himself in light. “I am here.”

  Tir glanced at the loft.

  “The boys sleep.” He’d wait to learn the man’s temper before going into more than that. “You’ve alarmed the little cousin.”

  The house toad, puffed by the fire, received a glance. “I saw no reason not to sleep in my own bed,” the man said gruffly.

  The toad glared, still unsettled.

  Wisp sent a breeze to stretch out the hammock and its bedding.

  “Not yet.” Tir could move silently when he chose; he didn’t bother to mute his steps as he went for the bottle. Taking off his mask, he freed the cork with his teeth, spitting it on the table. After pouring a quantity into his mouth, he swallowed, then wiped the ruin of his lips on his sleeve. “My thanks.”

  “I’ll thank you,” Wisp said, giving the breeze a nip, “not to wake them.”

  A wink. “Had a rough go, did you? Don’t worry. T’lads expect noise down here. Too quiet will only wake them sooner.”

  He’d not thought of that.

  Grabbing the bottle, Tir went to sit by the fireplace, stretching out his legs. The dragon took the hint and added tinder and a log, fanning the embers with a careful breeze. Dragonsbreath, though quicker, would have melted the brick.

  “Books.” The man paused for another pour and swallow. “Who’d have thought it?”

  Wisp curled himself before the fire to wait for something of meaning.

  “Don’t be smug.” The bottle lifted, a finger around its neck pointing at the dragon. “Kydd’ll find you in one. You’ll see.”

  Much as he respected the skills of the beekeeper—and abhorred his curiosity regarding things of magic—the dragon doubted that. “Are you saying you’ve learned from a book about this man from before?”

  “First things to start with. I’ve a name for young Weed.” A nod upstairs. “Truedreamer. And why I’m glad o’the wine, friend dragon,” pour, swallow, and sigh, “is thinking who else must be.” He settled a moment, fierce creases along his brow, then threw out his arm, almost losing the bottle. “That bloody woman! It’s how she always knew—always!—when I was at fault. Or sir. She’d call us out before we’d stepped two feet through the door. Bannan’d blamed me for it, but it was her—dreaming us!”

  The dragon refused to puzzle this out. “What did the beekeeper know of Crumlin?”

  “Humph,” Tir grunted. After a sullen moment, he cheered. “Can’t see why you’ve had such trouble with that one. Must be over a hundred by now.”

  “I’m ‘trouble.’” Wisp lifted a flawless wing and pretended to examine it. “And older still.”

  “For a man, that’s gum-the-bread age. Anyway, this Crumlin—Crumlin Tralee—had family in Avyo, including a young brother of the same mind. This brother wrote a book on magic doings and don’ts Kydd said was rightly banned, though why he has it—” Tir stopped, by his blank stare working his way through the “having” of a book whose pages sheltered bees and whose words were lodged in Wainn’s head. He gave up the struggle. “In this book, he brags of how his elder brother ‘traveled north to conduct his greatest work.’ That’d be our Crumlin,” he clarified unnecessarily. “Not to be heard from again.”

  The dragon curled up to wait again.

  “I didn’t get the half of what Kydd said. But I know what’s what.” Tir lifted the bottle, only to put it aside. “What’s in one world belongs to it. Nothing good’s to come of this Crumlin’s meddlin’,” he stated. “Nothing good at all.”

  Wisp snarled to himself, in complete agreement.

  “How can I know? What if she’s ’dreaming me now?” Tir muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Think it’s funny, do you?” he said abruptly, glaring down at Wisp. “Wait’ll Lila ’dreams you, dragon. Sees out your eyes!”

  The dragon rested his long jaw on his hip, admiring how the firelight caught on his scaled hide. “A far more interesting view,” he suggested slyly, “than through yours.”

  FIFTEEN

  “IT MIGHT NOT work,” Jenn admitted to the toad curled in her lap. The little cousin was heavier than it looked and chill, but she didn’t mind. What she minded, a little, was that every so often there’d be a disturbing “squeak!” and crunch from the dark, the kruar insisting they hunt around her.

  After a louder CRUNCH than most, she winced. “How many mice can there be?”

  A kruar purred. ~Not mice.~

  Oh.

  ~I would eat the foul nyphrit too, elder sister,~ the house toad informed her poignantly, ~but none dare come close to you.~

  “Because you are here to guard me, esteemed little cousin,” she consoled it, smiling as it puffed with pride.

  ~Someone comes!~

  The toad leapt from her lap to let her stand. “It’s a friend—or family,” Jenn warned, her protectors having demonstrated themselves the sort to eat first and look later.

  The kruar faded into the shadows, leaving doubt.

  Jenn hoped they’d be family. She also hoped, most earnestly, that whomever came didn’t mind having to climb the rickety ladder from the back alley which was the route to this particular rooftop, that not having been something she’d thought about before invoking magic to draw them here.

  Consequences, Jenn sighed to herself. Difficult to think of them all.

  A moth danced in and out of a dark alcove near the back of the rooftop, then two. Suddenly a veritable storm of moths, all white and aflutter, appeared in the same spot.

  Jenn held out her hands and they flew to her, sinking through the calluses of her palms in a flurry of softness before she could change and be glass. She squinted at her now-empty, quite ordinary skin, then rubbed her hands together, wondering. Was being one and whole, to be all at once? Surely not—

  “Fair evening.” A man stepped through a door she’d not noticed before, but should have guessed would be there.

  He wasn’t alone, for two other men came behind him, then a woman.

  And she might have worried, to be faced with so many strangers, but the man who’d greeted her came forward and bowed, brushing fingertips to the rooftop and when he raised his head, she saw Werfol’s smile.

  By his dress, the man could have been any of those she’d observed sweeping the stones or carrying packages. He’d curly reddish-brown hair, gentle brown eyes, and a round, almost boyish face, but there was no mistake.

  Jenn dropped in a hasty curtsy. “Fair evening to you, your—” Her wits scattered. What did one say? “Baron Westietas. I’m Jenn Nalynn.” Which should have meant nothing to a baron.

  His smile softened. “Of whom my wife’s brother has written such glowing praise.” A second, shorter bow. “Please. Emon. These are my companions, Bish,” the woman, “Dutton, and Herer.” The men.

  All three wore swords strapped to their hips. They bowed as they were introduced
, looking none too happy to be here. Bish had tight gray curls cut close to her head and keen brown eyes; black feathers had been painted on her shoulders and throat. Hair and beard grizzled, Dutton was heavier set, his shoulders scarred, face wrinkled beside his eyes as though he’d spent his youth staring at the sun. Emon’s final companion?

  “I’ve had the pleasure,” Herer said, after his bow, being the man who’d lost his clockwork and knife. His arm was in a sling.

  “You were watching us,” Jenn blurted out.

  “My apologies. When you spoke to me in Rhothan, I feared you were one of my lord’s enemies, trying to expose me. I followed to see for myself.” He touched the sling. “Someone objected.”

  Jenn winced. “I can explain—”

  “Later, please, along with why you’re here at all.” Emon had lost his smile. “Where’s Bannan? I tried to warn him.”

  “A fool risk,” snapped the woman, Bish.

  “As is my right!”

  Bish bowed her head. “My lord.” Her eyes glittered. “You’re most welcome to be a fool, so long as we can save you from it.”

  They’d been the figures on the bridge, who’d pulled Emon back. Ancestors Plagued and Pained. They’d been close to finding Emon twice, Jenn thought, chagrined, only to fail. “I’ve asked Bannan to find me,” she said, which was true however strange-sounding. “That’s why you’re here. I expect him soon.”

  “The moths.” Emon shook his head, face filled with childlike wonder. “You’ve rare magic, Jenn Nalynn.”

  “When it works,” she muttered.

  Dutton and Herer exchanged looks; Bish almost smiled.

  ~Danger!~ Kruar erupted from their hiding place as two large black birds dove toward Emon!

  Swords flashed even as the—crows!—veered at the last moment to avoid the leading kruar’s fangs, cawing their alarm.

  “They’re mine,” Emon said calmly. He lifted his arm and the crows spiraled down to land on it, fluffing their feathers as if thoroughly offended. “Cheek and Scatterwit.” The latter put its head close to the baron’s ear, taking a curl of his hair in its beak to give it an affectionate tug.