A Play of Shadow

by Julie E. Czerneda

Wisp roared again, for the sheer joy of it. How clever of the girl to draw out their enemy! Under the ground, Crumlin laid his traps, used the earth itself. But above? Exposed?

  ~ELDER BROTHER!~

  The dragon veered, wing joints straining, in time to save himself.

  Ylings!? He roared again, this time in fury. Their threads, studded with poison darts, formed a glittering fence between him and his prey!

  Between him and the girl!

  Had the toad not warned him—

  No matter. Wisp flew frantically this way and that, seeking a way through. The moth who’d led him had no such problem, joining what seemed a blanket of their kind around where Jenn struggled.

  ~Wait!~

  For what? Disaster? The dragon roared again, rock shattering.

  Then, to his astonishment, ylings flew to their webbing and began to cut.

  Homes splashed into the mimrol, but still they cut, destroying their city.

  To let death through.

  EIGHTEEN

  THE NETS BOUND her arms and Jenn lifted her chin to keep from sinking below the surface. She could see Wisp above, trying to reach her. Hold on, she told herself. Just hold on.

  Crumlin walked up to her face, giving her much too clear a view of his distorted body. “Don’t hope for the dragon, Lovely Jenn,” he told her. “Or for yourself. I must go home.”

  It wasn’t her nature to be cruel, angry as she was at the foul being, but she wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow anything made of these—these loathsome pieces back into Marrowdell. “You can’t,” she told him. “You don’t belong there anymore. Not as you are.”

  Yellow eyes blinked. Rustlerustle. “I won’t be, Lovely Jenn,” as if she’d missed the point.

  She must have. What she didn’t miss was that as he talked to her, she’d stopped sinking. Keep talking, Jenn decided. “Why go back? You’ve power here.”

  “I’m old,” the tiny not-a-man reminded her. “And Rhothan. I must bring my bones back into our world.” Wasted arms formed a caricature of a shrug. “How else will I live forever?”

  The freed ylings flew up and away, but Crumlin hadn’t noticed. Keep him talking, Jenn told herself. “You want to become a Blessed Ancestor?” Heart’s Blood. She could, she supposed, understand that.

  Crumlin laughed, spittle on his lips. “Silly girl. I haven’t spent a lifetime here to die there. My bones are all of me I’ve left.” He tapped a yellowed claw to the side of his head. “But I’ve learned what I need to restore my true self. To live forever!”

  Jenn ignored him, as silver threads broke and fell.

  The ylings had cut down their city!

  The dragon followed.

  Jenn made herself glass and pearl just in time for Wisp to seize her in his claws and pull her from the ground. She came free with a horrible sucking sound, as if leaving a mouth, even as netting snapped all around.

  Wisp set her down, as gently as a rose petal.

  Then SNAPPED up something tiny before it could dig itself away.

  Crumlin.

  “Wait!” Jenn cried.

  The dragon hesitated, Crumlin neatly between his jaws. Wild violet eyes regarded her with understandable disbelief. ~Why?~

  Because bright yellow eyes peered at her between fangs like old bone, and seemed not the least afraid.

  Dragons, Jenn thought suddenly, being magic. She shuddered to think of Crumlin and his nets, growing within Wisp’s body. “I don’t believe he’d be good for you,” she cautioned as she thought what else to do and quickly.

  ~Elder sister?~

  The toad. It hadn’t been much help, to be truthful, but then again, neither had she. “What is—” She blinked. “What are you doing?”

  For it was, to her surprise, more square than round, with sharp little corners protruding behind its eyes.

  “Why?” Wisp asked again, the little breeze snapping with impatience. “Is it your good heart?” With a tinge of despair.

  “It’s not,” Jenn replied absently. “Don’t let him get away, please.” She crouched by the toad. “I think the little cousin is making something.”

  An incredulous silence.

  But she was right. The toad opened its mouth, wider and wider, and she could see it, now. Some sort of—“It’s a box!” Jenn exclaimed, as indeed one popped out of the toad.

  Who settled back, pride in every wart.

  Not any box, she realized, picking it up. This was made of an all-too-familiar metal, bound like a tiny chest with leather straps. The outline of two eyes shone dully on the top, blood red, for hadn’t a traitor’s blood gone into this and a brave man’s tunic, as well as the shackle and chain she’d worn, cleansed by dragonsfire? Not to mention whatever else the toad might have fancied while out of sight. To make this.

  A cage.

  Jenn undid the straps and opened the lid. Inside was larger, which it couldn’t be. Larger, and she found she didn’t like to look there.

  The little cousin watched her, something ruthless in its gaze. Ylings hovered, those not bent or broken by Crumlin’s nets, weapons in hands.

  She could imagine the eyes of efflet, cold and grim, and knew what all of them asked of her.

  Justice.

  “I will take you to Rhoth, Crumlin,” Jenn Nalynn said and showed the open box to Wisp’s prisoner. “In this. It’s your choice,” she added, for it should be.

  The dragon snarled, offering his.

  Crumlin considered the box, then stared at the toad. “You can’t hold me. I am magic’s master!”

  The toad stared back.

  Like a dare.

  And Jenn wondered for the first time about Crumlin and the toads, and why he’d never harmed them, but now was not the time for questions.

  “I must go back.” A mutter. Claws wrapped around a fang, Crumlin peered out at her. “You must promise to take me with you, Lovely Jenn. I insist on your promise. You wouldn’t lie.” He made it sound a flaw.

  “If you are in this box,” Jenn stated with the greatest care, not trusting him at all. “I promise to take you to Marrowdell.”

  He looked back to the toad and frowned, his face a contortion of wrinkles, as if trying to spot the trick in it. “Toads. Useless things. She trusts you?”

  Jenn waited, for she did.

  Crumlin laughed. Climbing from between the dragon’s fangs, he jumped neatly into the box.

  Jenn shut the lid and fastened the straps. Answering to impulse, she held it up.

  Two ylings flew down, to weave a thread of silver over and around every side. When they were done, the thread became bands of silver that sank into the iron and gripped. Overhead, the rest of ylings began to dance, trilling their joy.

  Jenn brought down the box. It was no heavier, but she knew beyond doubt what it held.

  For where the toad had made eyes from dried blood, now a pair, bright yellow and pupiled in darkness, stared out. They didn’t blink or move. They might have been of paint.

  Save they held horror.

  Finding her sack, Jenn hastily shoved the box inside. “That should do it,” she said shakily, brushing at her clothes. What should have been soil avoided her fingers, slipping away to drop on the ground. The toad glared at it, but didn’t, this time, eat anything.

  Being done. The small ones had triumphed and were safe from Crumlin.

  Jenn didn’t feel triumphant. She felt a little sick, truth be told. And tired. “Take us home, Wisp,” she asked.

  “Now? We can’t go now. Where is Bannan, Dearest Heart?” Wisp said. His wings jerked open and closed. Worry, that was. “You said stay in Marrowdell, but the young truthseer needs his help and you were not back. You were not there.” With a chill nip. Frantic, now. “Did you lose him again?” Breezes whirled and breezes fretted.

  Ancestors Witness, she’d thought toads fu
ssed.

  To be fair, Wisp had every reason and right. “Bannan’s home,” she said quickly, though it was more hope than surety.

  She’d done all she could, and must trust the kruar.

  “Home?” Wisp echoed, head rising in surprise. “How? Why? When?” With dark suspicion. “Did he lose you again?”

  “He went to save Werfol.” Jenn picked up the toad, Marrowdell’s yling settling in her hair with a patpatpat. “Let’s go home, Wisp. I’ll tell you the rest on the way.”

  Then, because her heart was full, she put her arm around his cold, scaled neck and pressed her cheek to his, close to that wild violet eye. “Thank you, for coming here to look for him and find me.” An escape whose closeness and result she refused to consider until safe in Bannan’s arms.

  When she’d know everyone was safe.

  Though first? Jenn wished the air warm and dry, only here, only now, and there was no disagreement. And Wisp used his breezes to pull threads and homes from the lake in case, as he told her, other dragons thought to take advantage.

  The delighted ylings trilled and danced, some bold enough to caress his wings, and Jenn had to laugh at the dragon’s dismay.

  Then she didn’t laugh, but stood still in amazement, for something moved within the lake of mimrol as if disturbed by their antics, or curious, something larger than barge or dragon, and beneath that silver surface, Jenn thought she saw red eyes, ancient and wise, and glimpsed a yellowed beak, and was that a hint of shell?

  The lake stilled, reflecting the many colors of the sky and the glittering sparks of ylings, and surely she was mistaken.

  Jenn curtsied, nonetheless.

  The table was set with plates from Weken and cups from Marrowdell. Tea from Vorkoun filled those cups and eggs from toads would be on those plates, once Tir finished whatever he did at the stove.

  The stove being from Weken and Tir being from some village in Upper Rhoth whose name he didn’t recall but should. Why didn’t he? Hadn’t he ridden across the bloody whole of Rhoth! Bannan scrubbed at his eyes. Ancestors Lost and Abandoned.

  Jenn had sent them. Known what she was doing.

  But how could she? The Verge—it wasn’t her home, this was.

  She’d known what she was doing, Bannan repeated to himself. Known if they took the kruar, she’d have no guide, no means to travel quickly or safely. Jenn had saved Werfol.

  Could she save herself?

  “It’s ready,” Tir called. The boys rushed to the table, Lila coming from her seat by the fire to join them.

  Bannan made himself smile, fooling no one. Nodded thanks to Tir, who scowled back, just as worried, no doubt, but kind enough not to say what they all were thinking.

  Where was Jenn?

  Scourge had crossed in search, Dauntless and Spirit as yet unable. He’d hope yet.

  “The Beholding, brother. Unless you want Tir to say it?” Lila didn’t smile, though it was a private joke the former guard shouldn’t be given that particular task before a meal they planned to enjoy while hot, and she looked at Bannan with sorrow in her eyes, though her heart was whole again.

  As his was not.

  When he hesitated, Semyn looked at him, then said, very earnestly. “Wisp isn’t back either, Uncle.”

  Tir nodded. “Aie. Missing a good meal too.” A hint that was, not to let the eggs cool on their plates.

  So Bannan roused himself to really smile this time, for Semyn was right and Tir. Though in his heart he knew the dragon stayed in the Verge for only one reason. Wisp hadn’t found Jenn.

  Yet. Heart’s Blood, they’d been through worse. He circled his fingers over his heart and began, “Hearts of our Ancestors, we are Beholden for the food on this table, and that Tir didn’t burn the eggs—” to make Semyn hide a smile and Weed giggle, “—for it will give us the strength to improve ourselves in your eyes. We are Beholden for—” so much, his voice stuck in his throat.

  “We are Beholden,” Lila said then, “for the strength and courage of our new friends, Spirit and Dauntless, and for the bravery of our old one,” a nod to Tir, who blushed bright red, “for bringing us together to share this meal. We are Beholden my dear husband vowed to clean house before we get home,” this with a grim finality that sparked golden fire in Werfol’s eyes. “We are Beholden for the gifts that both saved us and healed us,” her voice grew husky now. “Hearts of our Ancestors, above all we are Beholden for this time we’ve spent together, as family. However far we are apart, Keep Us Close.”

  “‘Keep Us Close,’” echoed the boys and Tir.

  About to say the words, Bannan felt a burning on his neck!

  He surged to his feet, his stool clattering to the floor. As the others looked to him, Tir with pity, he shook his head, starting to smile. “‘Keep Us Close!’” He kissed Lila, rubbed the boys’ hair, and slapped Tir on the shoulder. “‘Keep Us Close!’”

  “Sir?”

  “Can’t you feel it?” Bannan cried. “‘Keep Us Close!’”

  “Gone mad, have you?” But Tir was on his feet now, and the boys and Lila, their faces filled with the same hope.

  “What is it, Uncle?” Semyn asked, because he needed to be sure.

  Bannan, already at the door, looked back at his family. “It’s the turn.”

  Scourge ran across the snow, Wisp flew above it, her sack—and toad—in his claws. Being neither kruar nor dragon, Jenn pulled up her skirt to run through the new drifts, Night’s Edge having more snow than she remembered, and laughed.

  She was glad to have such fine new boots.

  Glad of so much.

  The turn went ahead of her, catching the eyes of efflet, sparkling the hair of ylings, burnishing the mail of toads, for little cousins squatted in the snow as though to show her the way.

  Her heart knew it.

  There was the gap in the hedge, which wasn’t a gap in a hedge but the door to everything she held dearest and wanted most.

  And there, as if he’d known, was Bannan. He began wading through the snow toward her, struggling and as desperate to reach her as she was him, both laughing for the joy of it.

  Though Jenn was ever so impatient.

  All at once, what had been snow and a struggle pending flew into the air and out of their way, becoming a cloud of tiny moths, then a twinkle, then gone.

  “‘Keep Us Close,’” Bannan said as they came together at last.

  Jenn Nalynn couldn’t agree more.

  “Turtles.” Peggs shook her head, smiling. “That’s what you remember most?”

  Turnip in hand, Jenn used her wrist to push hair from her forehead. Her sister reached across to tuck the stray lock behind her ear and she smiled her thanks. “If I could, I’d have brought my clothes to show you. Especially the simples,” she added, managing not to blush. “But they’re in Channen.” Not to mention coated in slime and mimrol from her time in the canal, being carried by those turtles.

  Peggs had heard the entire tale while they prepared supper together, their father listening to the part about riding kruar through the Verge while he’d tea, and Kydd, though presumably busy painting, eavesdropping shamelessly through everything concerning the Shadow District and artisans, though Bannan had spoken to him in private.

  The Uhthoffs’ having been most helpful and needing to know.

  Peggs waved steam aside as she inspected her stew. “I wonder if Mistress Sand could bring some,” she mused aloud, “to trade, of course.”

  She’d not thought of that. “I could ask,” Jenn offered.

  A glance from knowing dark eyes. “So you’ll be going back. To the Verge.”

  Jenn twirled the turnip idly, then aimed her knife at it. “Not right away,” she said comfortably, though in truth she hadn’t left.

  For she was whole, now, and knew herself. She was more than the memory of flesh, held within glass,
filled with tears. She was woman, and turn-born, and sei. Marrowdell. The Verge. Magic itself.

  One and the same.

  “Good,” Peggs declared, and Jenn didn’t for an instant think her perceptive sister had missed a thing. “Now—tell me more about these artisans.”

  So she did.

  Leaving out the rabbits.

  “We’ll be fine.” Lila refolded a shirt Werfol had left on the bed, tucking that into a bag. Her youngest was off playing with Cheffy and Alyssa. “Will you?”

  Semyn, in the bedroom to help his mother pack, looked up. “Wisp says he’ll be here.”

  As now-permanent guest, it would seem. Must be in the rafters, there hardly seemed space amid the bundles. “I’m not the one returning to Vorkoun.” Bannan leaned against the window frame and frowned. “Is it so bad here?” She’d seemed content, in Marrowdell, teaching her sons when not helping the villagers. The breadth of Lila’s skills never ceased to amaze, but even he’d been surprised to learn she knew how to make cheese.

  And Werfol could reliably sit the now-healed kruar.

  His sister gave him a look he knew very well. She’d sat still long enough, his Lila. No longer.

  He’d expected it. She’d waited for the kruar to heal, that was all. “Stay till after the celebration,” he urged. “That at least.”

  “Please, Momma?” Semyn asked. “I promised to play.”

  Her lips quirked. “Well, then. We mustn’t break a promise.”

  Meaning nothing so benign as the boy’s pipes and the dance. They’d talked it through—he, Lila, and Tir. How Glammis might have learned of their gifts, be it a slip from someone trusted or malice left from the marches. What he wanted with them.

  How to prevent it.

  In Lila’s hands, that, as was her pendant. She’d heard how Werfol had used it more than once, something new in her experience with truedreaming, and intended to learn more. Though Kydd, knowing something of such magic, had cautioned it might not have been the endearment alone, but Marrowdell. Oh, the gleam in her eye then. Bannan thought it more than likely his sister would be back. With her family, of course.