A Turn of Light (22 page)

Should he stay.

Bannan found it a recurring theme. Other would-be settlers had come, he learned, and left before, as Davi put it, mud could dry on their boots. The villagers were friendly and willing, even eager. They had, however, entirely reasonable doubt.

None more than Horst, who didn’t eat or drink with the rest. Instead, he took up station against the corner of the house where he could see Bannan and Tir at all times. The others let him be. Confident, perhaps, that the solitary soldier would protect them. Or was it habit? He had the impression Horst stayed on the outskirts at the best of times.

Let him. Stuffed, Bannan got to his feet, empty plate in hand. He’d noticed others taking theirs to the kitchen door and went to do the same, hoping to find Jenn at last, but Hettie spotted him and took it. “There’s another pie coming fresh from the oven. I’ll bring you a slice,” she promised and rushed away in a swirl of braids and bright skirt.

More? He’d have to let out his belt.

“Hello.”

Bannan turned to the voice, turned and froze in place. Standing before him, at the edge of the crowd but not part of it, was a most extraordinary man. “Hello,” he managed.

They were close in height and he guessed age, though there was a rare youthfulness to the other’s face. The straight nose and high cheekbones echoed those of the village scholar, Dusom Uhthoff, but his eyes . . . They shone, as if everything before them was wonderful and new. No. He shone, because everything within him was exactly that. Bannan found himself reaching out.

The man smiled and met his hand in a warm grip. “You can see me,” he said with great delight and laughed.

“I can indeed.” Bannan laughed with him. He couldn’t help it. “I’m Bannan. Who are you?”

“This is Wainn.” The man who spoke stepped close and put a fond hand on Wainn’s shoulder. “I’m his uncle. Kydd Uhthoff.” Similar features, but in the older man, sharper, more inquisitive. Another, like Horst, who didn’t take him at face value. Unlike Horst, Kydd smiled pleasantly. “Welcome to Marrowdell, Bannan Larmensu.”

Wainn looked at his uncle. “He can see me.”

“He can?” Kydd gazed at Bannan with greater interest. “And what do you see?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Joy.”

The uncle’s other hand shot out to grip Bannan’s shoulder, grip and hold. Something warmed his eyes and his voice fell to a whisper. “Then twice welcome, truthseer.”

Whatever showed on Bannan’s face made Kydd smile. He gave his nephew a tiny push. “Check on the hives for me, will you, Wainn? In the excitement, I can’t recall if I left some of the combs pulled out.”

“I’d like to leave,” he admitted. “There are too many here.” He smiled at Bannan. “Except for you.”

Honored, Bannan inclined his head. His eyes followed Wainn then went back to Kydd’s face. The interest was real. The curiosity brimming.

The potential loyalty, as true as he’d seen in any of his former company.

Bannan smiled back.

“He can see me.”

So much for her attempt to sneak home unnoticed. Not that she was sneaking, exactly. Jenn hefted the full water buckets, proof she’d had a reason to be gone for a while, if not for as long as she had. That Horst had filled the cistern behind their home to the brim yesterday was of no matter. After the lunch expanded to include all Marrowdell, there’d be dishes. Dishes needed water. Water she was bringing—she blinked at Wainn, registering what he’d said. “Who can see you?”

“The truthseer.”

Not helpful. Wainn reached for one of the buckets, which was. “Have they started to leave yet?” Jenn asked hopefully, looking ahead. Someone stood by the house, but from here she couldn’t see the area with tables.

“There are more pies.”

Meaning no. Jenn slowed as she walked beside Wainn, taking her time up the path. “I’m surprised there’s any left.”

“Peggs will make more.” With the calm assurance that all would be right with his world so long as this were so.

Jenn reminded herself it was her sister’s own fault.

The cheerful murmuring grew louder with each step; low voices and high, laughter and words. They blended into a dull roar, like a distant waterfall.

Had no one left?

Wainn stopped. “There are too many,” he apologized, giving back the bucket.

“Everyone wants to meet the visitors.” And hear what happened. Such goings on! They’d be comparing notes all winter, Jenn thought dourly. Bannan would have told his story by now, several times over. They’d have to wait for her side of it. “Sure you don’t want to come with me and meet them?”

“I did. He can see me.” This with a smile of delight.

“So you said.” The buckets were heavy, but Jenn hesitated. “I can see you, too,” she ventured.

Wainn gave her his father’s look, the one Dusom reserved for a student who’d completely missed his point. “You see what you expect, Jenn Nalynn. He sees me.”

Patience, she told herself. “Who?”

“The truthseer. Bannan. He’s looking for you.” Then, to top it off, “I’m glad he’s going to stay.”

Finding herself gaping like one of Wen’s fish, Jenn closed her mouth. Before she could sort any of this out, the figure by the house noticed them and started toward her. She knew his walk.

Horst.

Her heart sank.

“I’ll leave now,” Wainn told her, eyes somber. “You need to ask your questions.”

“Wait—” She found herself pleading with his back as he strode off to the orchard, leaving her with the buckets and Horst.

“Here, Jenn. Let me take those.” The man stepped close with a smile, then stopped, losing it. Something changed in his eyes as he looked into hers. “What’s wrong?” The words were quiet; the demand was not.

She wanted to say it. Wanted to tell him she knew. About him. About Melusine. Demand to know the rest . . .

She couldn’t.

Instead, Jenn blurted the first thing she could think to say, “Roche’s gone to steal Bannan’s horse.”

Whatever Horst had braced himself to hear, it wasn’t this. “Why would he do a fool thing like that?”

“He thinks—he thinks I’m leaving with him.” It wasn’t hard to seem embarrassed when she so thoroughly was. “I had to say I would. It was the only way he’d let me . . .” The terrible look on his face stopped the rest in her throat.

“Go to your father.” Horst whirled and walked away with stiff unnatural strides, faster and faster.

“Uncle!” Jenn dropped the buckets, splashing water on her skirt. She caught up to him. “Wait!”

“Leave this to me, girl.”

Leave what to him? What was Horst planning to do? She wanted to take his sleeve, but dared not. “Let me find Bannan. He can handle Scourge.”

“I’m not worried about his beast. Go home.” A sideways glare that froze her blood. “Go!”

She had no choice. Jenn started back, glancing over her shoulder every few steps. She saw Horst go into his home. Saw him come out with quiver and bow in his hands. Not the bow he used for teaching or practice. His prized hunting bow. The one that brought down elk.

She saw him go through the gate.

The Horst she knew could never harm Roche. Not for this.

The Horst who’d chased her mother to her death . . . would he?

Jenn broke into a run, this time for help.

“I’d rather the rest not know.” A test, of sorts, though Bannan had reached his own conclusions. This was someone he’d trust at his back. Someone he’d gladly call friend, given any chance at all. “Not yet anyway.”

“Too late,” Kydd chuckled. “Some already do. Others will see it, if not understand what it is about you. Marrowdell welcomes the perceptive.”

The promised pies arrived, a distraction that brought a surge of villagers to the tables. Including Tir, after an assessing glance toward Bannan and Kydd.

“Your man’s careful of you.”

“Tir’s convinced I couldn’t survive without him. Many’s the time he’s been right—but don’t tell him I said so.”

“Ah, yes. I—” Kydd’s eyes trailed the lovely dark-haired woman who’d brought the pies. She looked up as if she’d felt his regard. With a shy smile, she went back into the house.

“I take it that’s Peggs Nalynn, the accomplished cook,” Bannan observed, straight-faced. “Is she spoken for?”

“Yes!” At Bannan’s grin, Kydd looked sheepish. “No. Not yet. But a man can hope.”

Could he?

Bannan tucked the unfamiliar notion away. “The empty farm. Surely it’s promised to someone here.” The fields would be harvested by the village as a whole, but there was another, distinct generation milling around the pies. Kydd himself, should he catch Peggs’ eye, might need a home of his own.

“It’s too close to the Bone Hills for any of us,” Kydd said matter-of-factly. “You might manage, though.”

Intrigued, Bannan was about to press for an explanation when Horst straightened from his post. Not to get pie; to leave.

At a guess, he’d gone to check on the man from the river.

If those of Marrowdell were perceptive, as Kydd claimed, had any of them seen what he had—the other shape beneath the flesh? “I wonder when the interesting fellow in the mill will stir,” Bannan said as idly as he could. “I’d like to hear his tale.”

“You find him interesting.” Kydd raised an eyebrow. “Should we worry?” Not an ordinary question. Not when asked of a truthseer. Like Sybb, his instincts were to protect.

“He’s survived more than most.” The rest—the rest was like the road. Bannan found he couldn’t share it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. As if Marrowdell offered its secrets to him alone. To deflect Kydd’s attention, he went on, “I daresay Jenn Nalynn knows more. He’s her friend, after all.”

“What?” The color drained from Kydd’s face. “What did you say?”

Heart’s Blood. No one knew? “I must have misheard,” Bannan hedged, well aware of the peril of betraying a lady’s secrets. His dear sister gave a wicked pinch. When she could catch him. “A mistake—”

“Those with your gift don’t make mistakes.” He might have stirred a hive of Kydd’s bees. “Why would you think she knows this man? How could she? Jenn’s never left Marrowdell!”

“And I’ve just arrived,” Bannan pointed out.

“Of course. My apologies.” The man composed himself at once, giving the hint of a bow. “Our Jenn has a good heart, you understand, but she’s a free spirit. It’s not possible to keep her where it’s safe.”

Considering where he met her, Bannan wasn’t surprised. “Here’s your chance to ask,” he observed with pleasure as Jenn Nalynn, as if summoned by her name, came around the house.

Instead of joining the gathering, she flattened herself against the wall where no one else could see her. She was barefoot, her hair falling from its knot and the hem of her dress soaking wet. Their eyes met, roses bent to stare at him, and she waved a desperate summons.

Bannan moved at once, Kydd with him. Tir’s head lifted and he signaled him to wait as he was. If both new arrivals left, the villagers were sure to be alarmed.

As they weren’t, he noted, by roses that moved.

Jenn stepped from the wall to meet them. Her eyes, huge and purple in a too-pale face, locked on Bannan’s. “You must come with me,” she urged, hands clenched together. “It’s your horse.”

No, it wasn’t. Or was something more. He went stone cold, thinking of Horst’s abrupt departure, thinking of the stranger in the mill. “What’s wrong?” He kept his voice down.

“What’s he done?” Kydd demanded, all trace of the affable beekeeper gone.

So. He wasn’t the only one to suspect a greater problem than a stray horse though, to be fair, Scourge was capable of being an immense problem on his own.

“Nothing, if we hurry! Please.” She turned and ran off toward the gate, tanned legs flashing.

The men followed, Bannan for his part regretting his enthusiasm for lunch.

A chill breeze swirled around them, nudged them from behind, raced ahead. It tore the head from a rose and spread petals on the road. The road that shrank until they were at the village gate faster than they should have been.

Than they could have been.

Bannan grabbed Kydd’s shoulder. “What just happened?”

The other’s eyes were full of wonder. “I—I don’t know.”

The road from the village. He’d taken it this morning, hoping for something new. Something different. Joy bubbled in his chest.