A Turn of Light (102 page)

Kydd, being who and what he was, must have talked to the Eld about magic. Now, they were here, waiting for her. She chewed thoughtfully on a peg as she hung the last nightdress. Because of the harvest, she hadn’t seen Bannan yet today; with no way to know if he’d spoken with the dema, or the result, she’d need to be careful with Urcet.

Finished, Jenn paused to tidy her braid and be sure her feet weren’t filthy. Taking off her apron, she grabbed a bowl of apples, Aunt Sybb’s training being impossible to ignore, and slipped past the curtain.

The men rose again to bow. Flustered, for bowing made this a formal occasion, Jenn gave a token curtsy and put the apples on the table so hurriedly two fell off and rolled.

Kydd caught one in each hand, and gave them a peculiar look, as if suddenly reminded the apple trees had been strangers here too, once. Jenn took advantage of his distraction to sit herself; she folded her hands and waited. “Let intentions reveal themselves,” Aunt Sybb would say, usually followed by “first to speak’s the last to listen.”

The men sat as well, Kydd placing the apples in the bowl. “Our honored guest has come with a proposal, Jenn,” he said, proving Aunt Sybb right, as always. “One I believe you should hear for yourself.”

Jenn turned to Urcet and waited.

The bead twinkled at the side of his nose as the Eld smiled. “The wealth of knowledge contained in this small valley continues to impress. Kydd,” a gracious nod to the beekeeper, “knows more about Ansnan magical rites than anyone I’ve met. A shame we didn’t correspond, as your brother with the dema, before my coming. I’d have saved considerable time and funds.”

Kydd smiled too, but it wasn’t a smile that warmed his eyes. “Anything’s possible.”

Waiting in silence having proved useful, Jenn gave a small, experimental cough. It didn’t sound like one of Aunt Sybb’s; nonetheless, Urcet waved a hand. “Excuse my digression, good lady. I appreciate that you’re busy.” With a flourish, he produced a slender brass case, displaying it on the palm of his broad hand. “Here is the Rite of Petition, to open the door to paradise. If you help me cast it, Jenn Nalynn, I’ll give you the Celestial’s Tear.”

Stunned, Jenn looked from the case to Kydd.

“Urcet’s well aware you’re someone special, Dear Heart,” the beekeeper informed her, his lean face without expression. “He came to me for advice, as your soon-to-be brother, and I said you might be interested in such a trade. Let’s hear him out, shall we?”

This was the Uhthoff who’d stood up to an entire village, who’d named her magic and loved her sister. Trusting him, she nodded.

“First, we want to see it for ourselves, Urcet. The complete rite.”

“Proof. Of course.” Putting the case on the table, the Eld pressed the ends, then pushed his thumb firmly against its polished upper surface. The case popped open, revealing a folded paper and three flat-sided glass vials, their tops sealed with wax. “I ask your discretion. My esteemed colleague doesn’t know.” Urcet emptied the case, standing up the little vials, unfolding the paper. “He refused to countenance bringing such to Marrowdell, in case we offended the stars.”

He chuckled as though the dema was foolish, but he wasn’t, Jenn thought. Urcet was, to do what he wanted and not listen to warnings.

Kydd held out his hand for the paper. “They’re only words until said at the proper time and place. And—” blandly, as the other man hesitated, “—by someone of magic.”

Urcet gave her a hungry look. Jenn felt herself blush, then pale.

The beekeeper sharpened his voice. “The rite.”

“As you wish.” The Eld and Jenn watched intently as Kydd read what was inscribed.

Done, he tossed the paper on the table and lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve the tokens?”

Urcet folded the paper with care, first, returning it to its case. “I’ve the tokens.” He didn’t offer them.

Kydd rested his elbows on the table and put his artist’s hands together. Pressing lips to fingertips, he regarded the Eld, then leaned back. “What’s the price, these days, for a dragon’s heart?”

A . . . ? Horrified, Jenn was about to object, but something gleamed in Kydd’s eyes and she held her tongue.

“No more than its worth,” Urcet said smoothly.

“I’ve no doubt you paid far more than that,” the beekeeper assured him. “They saw you coming, good Urcet. Dragon’s heart? A chicken’s. A goat’s. You’ve fallen for the oldest ploy out there. Impossible ingredients for impossible magic.”

“You lie.” The Eld closed the brass case. “You seek to discourage me. To stop me casting this rite and bringing magic to my people.” He thrust himself violently from the table. Apples spilled. “I will not be denied!”

As quickly, Kydd was on his feet. “Cast it as often as you want,” he suggested, ice to the other’s heat. “I guarantee nothing will happen, other than possibly the relief of gout, for what you’ve brought is a word-for-word translation of the Rhothan wishing to that purpose. I suggest, good sir, Dema Qimirpik is not so much a fool after all.”

The two men glared at one another.

There was not to be a brawl in the parlor, the night before her sister’s marriage, especially not a brawl between her sister’s betrothed and a man half again his size. Jenn stood, welcoming the sudden bite to the air, glad to see the Eld lose his certainty and stare at her in dismay. “You’ve come to a place you don’t understand,” she told him sharply, “to take what isn’t yours. While I admire scholarship, I suggest, good sir, you’ve a great deal to learn.”

Kydd ducked his head and smiled as the air warmed again.

Urcet looked, if anything, more alarmed, but met her eyes without wavering. “It is plain that I do, Jenn Nalynn,” he conceded, touching his throat. “If you wish me gone from Marrowdell, I will depart before the sun sets on this day.”

Before the turn. If only he’d brought real magic. A rite with words and tokens to let her cross into the Verge.

But he hadn’t. And if all the dema could do was summon a pebble, he couldn’t help either.

Send them away? That was hardly fair. Jenn sighed and gave herself an inward shake. The two men stood watching her, each with his own intensity, and whatever happened tomorrow, as Peggs would say, today had to be finished first. Which meant tonight’s dance, a thought that lightened her spirit, a little.

“Ancestors Witness, the more dance at a wedding,” she said to Urcet, “the better. Please stay for the eclipse and enjoy what else Marrowdell has to offer. I’d not have such a distinguished visitor leave thinking us poor hosts.”

His mouth worked, as if something about this struck him more deeply than she’d expected, and he touched his throat with the fingers of both hands before turning and walking out the door.

Kydd bent to kiss her forehead. “Well done, Dear Heart.”

“Was it?” She sank into the nearest chair. “He’ll be angry at the dema.”

“Protest being found out?” The beekeeper grinned. “I suspect Urcet will do a fine job of observing the eclipse and otherwise avoid magic for the rest of his visit with us. After all, he’s met the real thing.” With a satisfied bow to her.

Seeing his relief, Jenn knew she mustn’t spoil the feeling or this night, though as far as she could tell, matters weren’t at all resolved. “Magic doesn’t do dishes,” she said practically. “I’ve promised Peggs I’d clean up—” she began to smile, “—and hide anything breakable before you take over the kitchen. And don’t worry. Poppa’s promised to finish at the mill in time to join the feast.” For, with this being the harvest dance, everyone would eat together.

He pretended a look of horror, but couldn’t hold it, breaking into a laugh. “Ancestors Witness, I’ve no intention of missing a chance to prove myself.”

She rose and touched a finger to his heart. “You already have.” Lightly said, not lightly meant.

Kydd caught her hand in his. “Not until you’re safe,” he declared. “Whatever tomorrow brings, my new sister, you won’t face it alone.”

He was wrong. As Jenn gazed into his earnest face, that certainty settled around her heart, sure and oddly comforting.

Alone was how she would be.

“I couldn’t ask for a better brother,” she told him. “Be ready after breakfast. Now, enough of this. Go.” She smiled. “Tomorrow’s your wedding.”

“Three weddings. And your birthday. Peggs’ arranged the gifting to be before the ceremony, so—” All at once he blushed, looking years younger. “Ancestors Forgetful and Slow. That’s a secret. Was a secret. Pretend to be surprised?”

It was silly and sweet and so far from what occupied her thoughts that she was too startled to answer right away.

“Peggs hopes to make you happy. We all do.”

“I’ll be properly surprised,” Jenn assured him.

If she was there.

“What’s that about?” Tir sat straighter, though the mound of stalks shifted under his weight and the wagon was moving at a clip that said Battle and Brawl were equally aware their work was done once they reached the village.

Bannan saw what had caught his friend’s sharp eyes. Roche and Kanajuq were using sledges to hammer in supports for the small wagon, it having been moved to the center of the most open part of the commons, the telescope wrapped in protective canvas. He sagged with relief. The dema must have done as he’d promised and found some way to keep Urcet from the Spine.

“I’d say they’ve decided to view the eclipse from here.”

“Ancestors Gullible and Taken, glad I didn’t bet on it.” Taking off his hat, the other wiped his bare head. “Rarely seen a man as set on his way as yon Eld. Going up there was all he’d talk about. That and his best friend’s sister—”

“Tir.” Absently. It should be good news, but Bannan felt a shiver of doubt. “What—”

Not a shiver. A breeze had slipped down his neck. A breeze that whispered, “Come! Now.”

The dragon, and in no good mood.

“A summons from Wyll,” the truthseer advised his friend, sliding down from the pile. “Keep an eye on them,” he added as Tir made to follow, pointing to the caravan. Scowling, the former guard settled back.

The wagon behind was pulled by kruar he’d driven yesterday. Seeing him on the ground, the mares did their best to run him down, snorting their amusement. Evading their rush, Bannan bowed, then turned and made his way across the commons, urged by breezes that nudged him along as if there was no time to lose. However alarming that was, he kept to a walk, not about to rush headlong with everyone watching.

Wyll stood outside the tent nearest the river; not the one assigned them for sleeping, but where Jenn Nalynn had gone to be helped through yesterday’s turn and would do so again today. Bannan threw an involuntary glance over his shoulder, but the sun rode above the Bone Hills still.

As he approached, he saw Wyll was without his boots and wore an ill-fitting shirt and pants. Moreover, his face, hands, and feet bore the scabs and yellowing bruises that, in a man, would be days-old wounds. He held his good hand cupped to his chest, as though over a pain.

What had happened yesterday?

Worse and worse. Tossing aside the pitchfork, Bannan lengthened his stride.

“Inside,” the dragon said aloud when he was close enough, leading the way into the tent.

They’d prepared for the turn. Despite the sunny afternoon, the pole lamps set around the centermost mat were lit. There was a low table at one end, with Sand in her accustomed place behind it, and the stack of blankets made ready, on which Jenn Nalynn would lie. For now, the little white dog claimed it, tail covering its black nose, eyes alert.

Riverstone stood to one side, outside the lamps. Flint sat in a far corner, knees drawn to his chest and head down.

Something was wrong. Something new. “What’s happened?” Bannan demanded.

“The Wound almost claimed them,” Sand answered. “By day.”

“It strengthens—” Riverstone began.

“Weakens,” Wyll interrupted. “I’ve seen for myself. I know the truth.”

There was no pebble on the table, no sacks, only an ewer and cups. They’d failed, Bannan thought bitterly, no matter the excuse.

“What truth na?” she asked grimly.

Wyll lowered his hand. A bedraggled moth sat on the palm, pinned by his thumb over a wing. “Do you know what this is?”

Sand made a dismissive gesture. “A pest with too much curiosity. Don’t waste our time, lord of dragons.”

“Imagine it much larger.” Wyll held out the moth. “Imagine it filling a sky.”

There was something implacable in the dragon’s voice, a note Bannan hadn’t before heard. That, or something in his face drew Sand to her feet. She came around the table to stare at the moth.

Then gasped and stepped back, her face filled with horror. “Sei!”

“It can’t be,” Riverstone objected, coming forward.

“Yet is.” Wyll released the moth. After tidying its wings, it flew to perch on the stack of blankets, the little dog jumping out of its way. The moth took out its parchment, clearly intent on recording what happened next. The turn-born stared at it.

“A sei in Marrowdell,” the dragon continued. “Most of it lies between but this,” a flick of fingers at the moth, which lifted its plumes as if startled, “this much is here. To spy. To interfere. Above all,” he said heavily, “to summon help.”