A Turn of Light (54 page)

“Hearts of our Ancestors, we are Beholden for the food on the table, including these uniquely shaped carrots, for it will give us the strength to improve ourselves in your eyes. We are Beholden for the opportunity to share this meal with our guest,” Aunt Sybb nodded graciously to Tir, who turned an interesting shade of pink and sat straighter. “We are Beholden for the fine futures our young women have found for themselves—”

Peggs’ turn to blush. Jenn folded her hands and held her breath. There was more to come. There had to be. Aunt Sybb had that gleam in her eye.

“—though we most earnestly hope it does not involve toads.”

Radd made a small choking noise as he stifled a laugh. Jenn’s cheeks grew warm.

“Hearts of our Ancestors,” Aunt Sybb finished with satisfaction, “above all, we are Beholden for this time we are together, as family. However far we are apart, Keep—”

Tir surged to his feet, circled fingers over his heart. “Hearts of our Ancestors—!”

He’d arrived a smidge the worse for wear, as their father would say, and it simply wasn’t done to interrupt the conclusion of a Beholding, which is why both Jenn and Peggs gave their aunt stunned looks when that gracious lady merely sat back and nodded.

“Hearts of our Ancestors,” Tir repeated fervently, “we are Beholden for the fine hospitality shown by this family to someone who’d be served well enough by a spot on the porch, thank you, and scraps, if he deserved that much after—” a prolonged wet sniff, “—after deserting his captain.” His voice rose a notch. “Deserted m’friend!”

Jenn eased as far from the impassioned and still-damp Tir as she could without being obvious, seeing Peggs do the same on his other side.

“Keep Us Close,” Aunt Sybb prompted.

“‘Keep Us Close,’” the rest murmured at once, including Tir who, the Beholding finished for him, hesitated before sinking back down.

“Turnip?” Peggs offered brightly. She’d been quick to add a seat and setting for Tir when he’d appeared at their door with their father just as supper was being laid out, refusing to take no for an answer. A kindness a lesser person might now regret.

“In return for accommodation, Tir’s offered to help at the mill,” their father announced over the clatter of dishes and serving spoons. He bestowed a pleased look around the table. “His uncle was a miller.”

“But—” Jenn closed her mouth. She helped, didn’t she? As for the heavier work, Uncle Horst was able and willing.

Radd’s eyes twinkled. “I’ve boasted of your fine touch with the stones, Dear Heart. But we’re lucky to have someone of Tir’s experience in time for the harvest.”

“Spent some years at it.” Apparently feeling this a formal affair, Tir had left his axes at the door and wore his mask. To eat, he tipped it from his chin with a finger and adroitly slipped a spoonful behind. Jenn supposed he wasn’t planning to drink until alone. “Yon’s a fine mill,” he complimented when finished chewing. Their father beamed. “Better’n the one at Endshere, ’cepting your water course.”

Radd looked a little less pleased.

“More bread for our guest, Peggs,” Aunt Sybb suggested.

“Water’s the key. Have you thought of building a ’race?” Tir continued doggedly, oblivious to such bids for his attention. “To bring water to the wheel year-round,” this to Peggs, who countered with an emphatic thrust of the bread basket. “Mill grain for others. Be a sawmill, off times. There’s need.” He stabbed his fork at the Nalynn parlor. “You could use some proper planks, if you don’t mind my saying. I’d be happy to help.”

“My thanks, but there’s water aplenty when it’s needed,” Radd stated. “The mill runs but once a year, to grind our harvest, and we’ve no need for more, or interest.”

Tir’s eyes glinted with interest of his own, but he bowed his head. “Fair enough.”

The rest of supper passed without incident. Their guest responded courteously to questions but offered nothing of his own. Aunt Sybb, as her habit, filled the silences with little stories of life in Avyo. Her stories tended to be instructive, particularly about the proper deportment of young ladies and the pitfalls of life alone for widowers who waited too long, but Jenn was delighted when tonight was something new. Their aunt regaled them with tales of the steamships that fought their way up the mighty Kotor River to Avyo, bringing cargoes across the Sweet Sea from Eldad, and the great barges, twenty or more linked together, that came down the Mila from the trade city of Essa bearing goods from mysterious Mellynne. In Avyo alone did cargoes from those domains mingle, for Eldad and Mellynne were separated not only by the southern mountain range, steep and impassable, but by their natures. Mellynne was the larger domain, content in its age and accomplishment; Eldad the upstart, pushing ever at boundaries. Only sailors and diplomats routinely traveled between.

Sailors who came through Avyo stayed at inns owned by the Mahavars, their captains entertained at the home of Hane Mahavar and his lady. Little wonder Aunt Sybb knew their stories so well.

Jenn was enchanted.

Pie came and went. Tea, then another round. Still they sat, round-eyed, listening to tales of piracy, adventure, and the unending, oft-amusing, contests between Avyo’s port authority and would-be smugglers.

“Parrots stuffed in a peg leg?” Radd protested with a laugh. “You can’t be serious, Sybbie.”

His sister’s eyes glowed. “Quite serious. The birds fared better than the smuggler. His empty leg was confiscated as evidence.”

Tir, who’d begun to slouch in his seat, straightened with a jerk to nod with sudden enthusiasm. “Smugglers always think they’ve found a foolproof trick,” he volunteered. “We’d come across them in the marches, pretending to be shepherds hunting lost sheep or ladies looking for a quick—”

Aunt Sybb raised a finger the slightest degree, halting Tir midsentence. “Brother,” she said equably, “I do believe the rain’s stopped. Might our guest join us for a convivial glass on the porch? I’d enjoy hearing your experiences,” she told Tir, a gently regal command. “Dearest Hearts,” this to Peggs and Jenn, “feel free to take your leave. Our thanks for a most satisfying repast.”

The sisters nodded at once, but Jenn glanced at Peggs, catching a flash of the same disappointment she felt.

Once their elders had left, they began to clear the table. As Peggs stacked cups on her tray, Jenn sighed. The sun was setting on another day; she felt her emptiness gnaw at her, though she’d had her share of supper and more tea than usual. Tir’s stories would be the most interesting ever heard in Marrowdell, she just knew it, and would take her mind off everything, including her middle.

“I don’t see why we can’t hear his stories,” she complained, but quietly. “They treat us like children and we’re not.”

Her sister pursed her lips then leaned close. “Silly goose. They didn’t go out for stories. You saw them. Tir’s beyond exhausted and so’s Aunt Sybb, despite her nap. They’re taking a quiet drink together, hoping to prevent the dreams.”

She was a child after all, concerned for herself instead of others. Jenn thought of her earlier wishful belief, that she could simply want the terrible dreams to stop, and flushed. “Is there nothing we can do?”

Peggs’ dark eyes were troubled. “Hope with them.”

Stone swept upward to either side, its pale surface smooth and featureless except where it rippled uneasily, glistening wet, within her shadow. Jenn reached out and something surged forward to snap at her fingers. With a cry, she staggered back.

She shouldn’t be here.

How could she be here?

The sun wasn’t shining, yet she could see. She could see, but by a light unfamiliar, that cast her shadow in rainbows and broke over the stone like a wave. Light she could almost taste.

But light wasn’t what she wanted.

A cramp flamed across her middle and she pressed her arms over the pain, empty of all but need.

She had to hurry. She had to hurry, or the pebble would be gone!

Which way? Jenn stumbled through bands of mauve shadow and green-gold light, gasping for breath, stumbling. She had to leave Marrowdell to be whole. She must leave.

She broke out into the meadow, which wasn’t a meadow and was. She’d gone the wrong way, yet the pebble was here, in Marrowdell. She could see it, white and glistening wet, round as a caught tear and impossible to resist.

As she reached, wind battered her, like giant wingbeats. Wind that drove her to her knees and shrieked in thin wild voices. “STOP!!” “GO BACK!!!” “THE TURN-BORN FORBID IT!!” Wind that shrieked and wailed, as if she frightened what flew beyond reason.

And how could that be, when she was the one who crouched and cried in terror? Whose clenched fist pushed into her middle against agony . . . whose other hand stretched trembling fingers to the pebble . . . the pebble already sinking out of sight because she wasn’t fast enough or strong enough or . . .

The ground shook as something pounded it! The wind faltered and fled, wingbeats rising and falling away, shrieks drowned beneath a ROAR!

Then silence.

The pebble sank from sight. Sobbing, Jenn scrambled forward on hands and knees. She plunged both hands into the ground, reaching with all her will and might until her fingertips touched the pebble and, with a sharp cry of triumph, she thought she had it. But it was too smooth and too small to grasp, and slipped from her fingers.

Without the pebble, she was empty. Jenn dropped her forehead to the ground and wept, arms locked in cold, unyielding stone.

“Go back, little one.” A new voice spoke, ancient, filled with a dreadful patience. “Cross at the Great Turn. Only then may you be filled.”

“I don’t understand—” she tried to say, lifting her head to find herself alone.

No, not alone. The Bone Hills were closer, as if they’d moved when she hadn’t been looking, their pale stone bulging and wet. They loomed over her and Jenn began to struggle. She had to pull her arms free before they moved again, before they crushed her, before . . .

Something warm and soft nudged her cheek. Breath, not the nicest-smelling but hot and wonderfully alive, stirred her hair. “I’m stuck!” she said desperately, as if it wasn’t completely obvious her arms were encased.

“Wake up,” the breeze ordered impatiently.

This was a dream?

The relief made her cry a little. Of course it was a dream.

And, in the way of dreams, once noticed, one woke.

Seeing where she was, Jenn screamed.

Bannan’s eyes shot open. The thunderclap had been close enough to rattle the pots and he sat up, heart pounding. Where had that come from? It had been a peaceful sort of rain, last night. A little melancholy, but with no anger to it. What was wrong?

As he waited, tense, for the next clap, he saw the house toad in the doorless front entrance. To his deeper sight, it had a disturbingly martial appearance, cloaked in chain mail and braced as if ready for battle. With what?

The truthseer rolled to his feet, biting his lip as his head protested the quick change in elevation. Without making a sound, he eased across the floor to wrap his hand around the broom handle. With an unknown foe, he preferred a weapon with reach.

The toad guarded the front door. Bannan took up his post at the back, staring out at the privy. Small things moved in the hedge beyond, rustling its branches. Moonlight lay at his feet, gilding leaves and stones.

The thunder hadn’t come from a storm, he realized with a chill.

It had been Jenn Nalynn.