A Play of Shadow

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Then lifted her hand in haste, as though she’d touched flame. “This is no natural sleep. You say he’d had a few falls into the snow. Did he strike his head on anything harder?”

  “Not that I saw, mistress,” Semyn said very quietly.

  “Nor I,” volunteered Wisp.

  Her eyebrows rose. “Thank you.”

  ~He did not, elder brother!~ as if they’d asked the toad. Being a sincere creature, the little cousin clarified, ~That I witnessed.~

  Tir hadn’t taken his eyes from Werfol’s face. “He’d another of his tempers.”

  Covie frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Semyn looked miserable. “I made Weed mad. We were fighting.”

  “Being angry doesn’t cause—” the healer gestured at Werfol, seeming lost for words.

  “Begging your pardon, healer, but it might. I’ve seen the like, once.” Tir shook his head. “Sir—Bannan lost his temper. Ancestors Witness, he’d every right and reason—I’ll say no more—but what happened next was worse. His gift, you see. He lost control. Couldn’t see what was in front of him—or saw too much that wasn’t.” His voice turned grim. “Tied him to his bed, we did, and had to stuff a cloth in his mouth or our camp would have been found for sure. To this day, I don’t know how he survived it.”

  “Weed?” Tears flowed over Semyn’s cheeks.

  Covie gave another, slower nod. “If that’s the case here, we need Bannan. How long until he’s home?”

  “Dragon?”

  But the air was empty.

  SIXTEEN

  JENN STRETCHED LUXURIOUSLY, scented bubbles sliding over her skin, and still couldn’t touch the far side of the bath. Her toes did find Bannan.

  “Careful there!” He sank under the water, then appeared laughing beside her, covered in bubbles.

  “Hold still.” Jenn skimmed the offending bubbles from his broad shoulders and strong arms, then worked her way—oh, quite methodically, this being an important task—over his chest and down the line of wiry curls. With an incoherent moan, Bannan pressed his whole length against her and, not for the first time, they lost themselves in the delirious possibilities warm wet skin afforded lovers.

  Really, Jenn thought a while later, she could stay in this tub the rest of her life. Especially as she was now, half-afloat with her back along Bannan’s chest, his arms and legs entwined with hers.

  He nibbled her ear, then her neck, and she might have mentioned they’d both eaten their fill from the refreshments provided, except she’d no wish for him to—

  A crow flew in the arched window, to the wrath of the house toad. ~ELDER SISTER!~

  “It’s all right. A messenger,” Jenn told the creature as Bannan pulled himself from the tub and padded over to the bench where the crow now perched. She floated where she was, enjoying the slip of bubbles down the pleasing landscape of his back.

  Bannan bowed to the crow. “Scatterwit. What news?”

  A messenger in truth. How could it talk? If so, could she understand it?

  Curious, Jenn half-swam to the edge closest to them. The crow twitched, regarding her with a bright black eye. Judging her harmless, it turned back to the truthseer.

  Balanced on one foot, it raised the other, unrolling four scaled toes, each ending in a sharp black claw. Three faced forward, one—the longest—behind. Toes that began to make small deliberate movements.

  Signs! Making no sense to her, but there was meaning, she could tell. “What a clever bird,” Jenn praised, delighted. The crow bobbed its head, uttering a series of low throaty clucks. Smug, that was.

  Bannan nodded, not looking away. When Scatterwit stopped, standing again on both feet, he signed something back to it. The bird watched intently.

  The truthseer finished, pressing his hands flat over his heart. After a shake to settle its feathers, Scatterwit flew back out the window.

  With a reply to the message it had delivered.

  It was all quite amazing and Jenn resolved, then and there, to learn some of these signs for herself. With two boys and Tir now living with Bannan, and herself with the Emms, she’d been resigned to any private conversations being outside. With this? She could imagine several charming possibilities.

  First, though, they had the bath.

  “Lila’s on her way.” Bannan wrapped himself in a towel before turning to face her.

  Ending any thoughts of lingering in bubbles. “What’s wrong?” Jenn asked worriedly as she climbed out. For he thought something must be, she could see it in his eyes.

  “Scatterwit’s message said only to meet Lila at the canal.” He came close, wrapping her in one of the sheet-sized towels, then in his arms. “How long do I have?”

  Before they were to cross, he meant. “The best part of an hour,” Jenn said. She might not own a clockwork, but she needed nothing to remind her of the approaching turn. It sang in her blood—or what was inside her—a song that today was stronger and more beautiful than ever.

  Because they were going home.

  She watched him dress in haste, choosing the clothes the yling had mended and Appin cleaned. They’d both new boots and cloaks like the sect member’s, for they’d be moving in daylight. Bannan had filled his pack from the generous platters of food and drink, while Jenn had a new sack full to bursting.

  Having dried herself, she reached for her clothing.

  “Please wait for me here, Dearest Heart,” Bannan said quickly. “Unless I misread, Lila’s asked to meet me alone. Probably,” he made a face, “for a lecture.”

  Jenn sat, clothes in her lap, so he knew she’d wait, and searched his face. “That’s not what you believe,” she concluded.

  A face set to mild exasperation, perhaps to hide concern. “There’s no guessing, with Lila.” He tied back his hair. “Maybe she wants to send something for her sons.”

  Jenn nodded. “Anything,” she urged. “We can carry it.”

  Warmth in those apple butter eyes. “I’ll tell her you said so.”

  “And that when she comes for them, in spring,” Jenn went on impulsively, “we’ll have a Beholding to thank the Ancestors your family is back together.”

  More than warmth. As if uncertain of his voice, Bannan sketched a quick but dashing bow before striding from the room.

  The turn was coming. Jenn dressed slowly and with care. She hadn’t bothered to warn him not to be late, for what did it matter? This turn or the next. She wouldn’t leave without him.

  How could she?

  Pat. Pat.

  The yling having announced his intention to come along, Bannan took care donning the cloak and hood. He covered his head, grateful for the disguise. Being dressed once more as Rhothan felt a step closer to home. He wasn’t there yet.

  The wide cobbled street was busier than he remembered, or the alarm racing along his nerves since the crow’s arrival made the bustle of strangers and wagons and other vehicles somehow ominous. Act as if it were all familiar, he reminded himself, and walked the pace of a man on business but in no hurry for it, managing not to flinch when a crack like pistol shot marked the end of an axle and the beginning of a traffic knot.

  Once through the gate and sheltered within the walled landing, Bannan abandoned his pose, going down the steps as quickly as the slick of leaves and mud allowed. At the bottom, he eased around the column that hid the opening of the stair from the walkway beyond.

  And there was Lila, standing by one of the other columns. Scatterwit perched atop it, quiet as Bannan approached but ever-so-curious. The crows could initiate a report, as well as carry a message, and no one read their clawed toes better than Emon, who’d taught his birds to so speak.

  Unlike the crow, his sister appeared a statue till he was near enough to see her tremble. He closed the space between them in a rush, put his hands on her shoulders. “What’s happened?”

 
Lila looked at him with such horror his breath caught in his throat. “Werfol. He’s trapped in a dream. A nightmare!”

  How she knew was plain; safe with Emon, Lila’d taken the chance to truedream. What she believed? “In Marrowdell—” Bannan stopped himself. Jenn had told him she’d wished both boys freedom from the valley’s dreams. Then what Lila believed sank home. “You think his gift’s out of control.”

  “I know it,” low and hoarse.

  Ancestors Torn and Terrified. The truth. It pulled free his own dreadful memories: of being unable to stop seeing beyond the now and the real. The faces of friends rotting to bone. Trees around him burning or falling to axes or turning to tall dead stumps filled with carrion birds and decay. The sky’s ending . . . “Heart’s Blood.”

  Lila seized his forearms. “Weed’s a child. How can he understand what’s happening? How can he free himself?” She shook him. “Brother, I must get to him and quickly. Take me with you!”

  “Dear Heart.” He stiffened in protest. “You can’t cross with us.”

  “The beasts like Scourge, then. Give me one of them!”

  “A kruar can’t bring you with it. Only Jenn—”

  “Then take me to her!”

  “Even if she would, Lila, trust me, you can’t.” Bannan stared into his sister’s desperate eyes, his heart hammering. “You ’dreamed the madness. You’ve seen it. That’s the Verge and you wouldn’t survive it.”

  She shook her head impatiently, as if he hadn’t heard, her hair flying. “Blindfold me. Lead me through. Bannan. Carry me unconscious. I’ve my draught. But you must take me with you. I beg—” And her voice failed, as Lila’s voice never did, and her face was full of fear, as Lila’s never was.

  And he knew, no matter what he said, this she would do.

  “Come with me.”

  There had to be a way, Bannan thought furiously as he led his sister up the stairs. Appin had granted them the privacy he and Jenn had requested, and would meet them at the turn. Being witnessed was vital, Jenn had explained. Two Keepers having come?

  Two must go.

  Mounted, in his cloak, Lila had the height to pass for him. He could make it back to Marrowdell on his own.

  By spring. With no way to know if Lila had survived the Verge or not. To know if Werfol—Bannan refused to think it.

  And he’d thought waiting for news of Channen would be difficult.

  They reached the landing. At the gate, Bannan warned, “Not far, but it’s public.”

  A nod. His sister had kept her Naalish clothing and, likely Emon’s doing, no longer wore her sword in plain sight but a full pack hung from a broad strap over one shoulder and hip. Ready for travel, that said. Fair enough. Doubtless word had spread that Channen’s barges were leaving their moorings, perhaps why the streets were busier.

  His skin crawled during the walk to the door, but he strode with confidence. If any observers from the Shadow Sect watched, let them think him one of theirs, escorting a last minute delivery.

  Inside. Lila took in the empty room, with its polished floor and ornate lamps, with a sweeping glance, a brow rising in question at the three closed doors along the far wall.

  Bannan pulled off his hood. “Let me talk to Jenn.”

  “I won’t be denied.”

  A battle line, that, drawn as much by the set of the jaw as the tone.

  “Nor will you be a fool,” he said with matching strength. “You’re no good to Werfol dead.” Bannan circled his fingers over his heart. “Hearts of our Ancestors, I swear to you we’ll find a way. But you have to trust us. For once, Lila, listen to me.”

  Her eyes searched his. Unexpectedly, the corner of her mouth twitched. “Listen to my little brother? I suppose the time had to come.”

  He didn’t smile, couldn’t. Not even when the leftmost door opened and Jenn Nalynn stepped out to join them, toad under one arm.

  Seeing his face, hers turned sober. Quickly, she closed the door behind her, motioning to the half door of the kruar. “Appin’s back,” she explained as they went through and she closed that. “He came to tell me one of their lords waits to watch our crossing. Why are you here?” to Lila. Curt, that demand, and uneasy.

  “She’s—” started Bannan.

  “To save my son,” Lila answered.

  Jenn put down the toad, it being easier to do than meet the other woman’s eyes. “Werfol,” she guessed as she straightened.

  “He’s lost in a dream. A nightmare.” The effort to keep those words calm and steady showed in Lila’s face. “Unless I go to him, he’ll stay trapped there. He’ll die. I must go. Take me with you.” The last spoken with all of a mother’s terrible need. “Bannan’s told me. Only you can do it.”

  ~Elder sister, is this wise?~

  In no way. Jenn didn’t dare look at Bannan. “I will not,” she said, knowing he’d see the truth of it.

  Lila’s face hardened. “I accept the risk—”

  “Because you don’t know what it is,” Jenn replied, relieved to see a flicker of doubt. “Can’t Bannan help Werfol?”

  “Our gifts aren’t the same. I can see what my son dreams. I can share that dream, once we touch, and show him how to free himself. I can save him, Jenn! You must help me.”

  Tears burned, spilled cold over her cheeks, as Jenn fought to say what she must. “If you entered the Verge, you would share madness and death with your son.”

  Lila might have been stone. “Without me, that will be his fate.”

  For the first time, Jenn wavered. Bannan had endured. Might his sister, despite her different gift?

  The toad waited. The kruar had arrived, ready to leave this world and be themselves again.

  Be themselves. “How long does he have?” Jenn asked abruptly. “Werfol.”

  Lila frowned. “He suffers now.”

  “He’s a healthy lad,” Bannan declared, stepping forward. “And brave. Covie will care for him.” He stood near his sister, their faces like reflections. “Lila, he’s yours. You know him best. How much time do we have?”

  “If Werfol stays in the dream,” she said after a dreadful moment, “the damage will be to his mind first. I can’t—Heart’s Blood.” A quick breath. “A couple of days, if the Ancestors care at all. After that—” Lila pressed a fist to her mouth.

  Bannan put a protective arm around his sister. “Why?” he asked Jenn angrily, as if she’d been needlessly cruel.

  Instead of answering, Jenn turned to the kruar. They lifted their heads, snorting with suspicion as she walked up to them, for that was their nature. But they didn’t back away.

  Being brave. That too.

  She let herself be glass and tears and light, light that caught in their wild, red-rimmed eyes.

  And asked a question.

  Two cloaked figures led their horses under the arch of a bridge to where the canal widened into a small lake. Disks of dark silver lay beneath the surface, like platters or wide steps, and the day’s last light gilded the mist above but didn’t break it. Beside the lake stood not one but three observers, in cloaks of the same shape and style. No others were allowed here. No others would dare.

  The turn was coming.

  The figures mounted, sending their horses down a step into what seemed water but stirred with movement and glinted silver and wasn’t, quite. Boots were raised as the horses waded, belly-deep, then lowered as first one, then the second climbed on what lay below. Steps then.

  Built by rain.

  Those watching knew more was imminent, for it rained every sunset, as if the dimming of light woke the clouds. Those swimming knew as well, growing ever more hungry.

  Once in place, the horses stood with unhorse-like patience, their riders silent and hooded.

  As if holding a breath.

  Then the rain came, and the light changed, and all became a swirl
of color and possibility. Those who watched saw the horses leap upward, to disappear within the clouds.

  And were content.

  The turn came, and Jenn Nalynn stepped from stone to what wasn’t.

  ~Myturn.~Don’tpush~Higher~MORE~Holdon~Holdfast!~

  Nyim scampered and clawed on top of each other, their true color revealed by the light of the Verge. Patterns and whorls. Bright flashes by eyes more red than yellow. Beautiful, in their way.

  If prone to bite. She stepped with care, but quickly.

  ~Higher~MORE~HIGHER~ Now she could stand, for the mass of them rose beneath her as more and more shoved their way into the pile. Hundreds, perhaps thousands. Ignoring the rain in their determination.

  High enough. She’d have thanked the small creatures, but she found herself inside a drop and quite unable to speak.

  For it was time. The turn came. With a thought, with a wish, Jenn Nalynn crossed into the Verge.

  Warm and bright and mad with color and she . . .

  Blinked.

  The toad squirmed from her pack. ~Where are we, elder sister?~

  “I’ve no idea,” she admitted.

  . . . staring out over purple-kissed hills that rolled themselves into the sky and curled back down like sleeping dragons.

  No idea at all.

  The turn came.

  And kruar landed, soft as feathers, on the cloud-wreathed rooftop above the small lake. Pigeons scattered.

  No outcry from below. Heart’s Blood. They’d done it.

  “What of Jenn?” Bannan demanded.

  His kruar bent her neck to regard him. The breeze in his ear was reassuringly confident. “The turn-born crossed into the Verge.”

  “They can talk!?” Lila asked, her eyes wide. Then mouthed, “Scourge?”

  He nodded, pleased the beast included his sister, less pleased by what lay ahead. “You must stay near me,” he cautioned the kruar yet again. Heart’s Blood. “Beyond the edge, you won’t be able to speak. You won’t remember who you are. I will remember for you.”