A Turn of Light (65 page)

Toads who traded pebbles for eggs. Guardians for the grain.

And dragons. Not so small, but very secret. What was their purpose?

“Wisp,” she said uncomfortably, feeling a chill in the lengthening shadows. “He’s looked after me.”

“Yes,” Kydd agreed, trading glances with Peggs. “At first, we all wondered that Radd let you go off on your own. Horst wanted to follow you, but Radd wouldn’t permit him. He swore Marrowdell protected you.”

Wisp’s purpose.

His duty.

She was that to him?

Jenn had thought the agonizing emptiness at sunset was the worst she could feel. That learning the world wasn’t what she thought, nor was she, the most frightening. Not so.

Now she must question a friendship as much part of her life as the sky or ground below it. The words were like slivers of ice in her mouth, or was it turning cold again? “He didn’t have to be my friend to do that. Why did he?”

Kydd lifted his hands helplessly. Peggs shook her head.

Wainn bent his neck and regarded her upside down. “You became his.”

About to object this was no answer, Jenn hesitated. Wainn blinked peacefully. She’d learned to pay attention to everything he said; it always made sense, if not right away.

She had become Wisp’s friend, hadn’t she? However it had started, whatever Wisp’s reason for being with her, their friendship was real. In her heart, she knew it was. Jenn found herself able to smile, a little. “Quite the friend I turned out to be,” she said weakly. “Look what he is now.”

“Still yours,” Peggs assured her.

Despite her so-called magic. It’d be easier to believe if she could see it. An extra finger or toe. Better yet, a rainbow of feathers in her hair, or hair that stayed clean.

In stories, people with magic were powerful and wise. She was neither, though admittedly she could be willful. Jenn sighed to herself. Aunt Sybb wouldn’t approve of sulking over the state of things just because it displeased her. But she hadn’t wanted magic. All she’d ever wanted was to leave Marrowdell and see the world.

Why wouldn’t Marrowdell let her go?

Peggs, Kydd, and Wainn waited, patient and kind. A bee droned by, impatient and busy. Twilight was upon them. Shadows crossed their legs and cooled their toes.

Finally, Jenn held out her hands, palm up. “What should I do?”

Kydd ran his fingers through his hair, a rueful look on his face. “I wish I knew. My learning proved worse than useless here. That’s why I tore up my books and used them in the hives.”

“After I read them,” Wainn pointed out. “I have all the words, Uncle, if you ever want them again.”

Now that was magic worth having, Jenn thought enviously.

The beekeeper smiled. “For which I thank you.” His smile faded as he met Peggs’ eyes, then Jenn’s. “You trusted me and came to me for help, Dear Hearts. I’m sorrier than I can say to disappoint you. Perhaps the tinkers—?”

“Don’t be sorry.” The youngest Uhthoff rolled over to regard him. “No one can help Jenn Nalynn now. It’s her fault.”

Peggs uttered a soft cry of distress; Kydd’s face darkened. “Nephew!”

“It’s all right,” Jenn said quickly, though her heart plummeted in her chest and it wasn’t. It wasn’t right at all. “Wainn’s just—just being—” Wainn, which should mean gentle and perceptive and often confusing, not this, not terrifying. “—honest.”

“Honest or not, that’s no way to speak to a friend come for our aid,” the beekeeper snapped. “I expect better of you, young man.”

She couldn’t remember Kydd raising his voice in anger, least of all to his beloved nephew, but Wainn paid no attention. He looked directly at her, his eyes unfocused as though he listened to what only he could hear.

“Help yourself, Jenn Nalynn,” he told her. “Your chance comes at the Great Turn. Seize it. Only you can.”

Having made this startling pronouncement, the youngest Uhthoff jumped to his feet with a boyish grin. “I’m going swimming,” he said cheerfully.

“Wait—” He couldn’t leave yet. Not when he seemed to know more than anyone.

Wainn took her outstretched hand in both of his and went to one knee beside her. He brought his face to hers until their cheeks touched and all she could see of him was a brown eye framed by thick dark lashes. He smelled of roses.

“You found the way no others dared,” he whispered, his breath warm on her neck. “Take it again when the time comes, Jenn Nalynn. Marrowdell will show you. Take it again and be your magic. Be brave and of good heart.”

He lightly kissed her ear, then pulled away. “We believe in you.” With that, the remarkable Wainn Uhthoff rose, gave a short unself-conscious bow, and walked into the growing shadows. To swim, presumably.

Jenn held very still, for once understanding all too well. Marrowdell expected her to go back up the Spine. She certainly didn’t want to do that again.

Other than the treacherous part of her that did.

“We believe in you too,” Peggs said, having heard only Wainn’s final words. “You aren’t on your own, Dearest Heart, and never will be. You have me. And Poppa and Aunt Sybb. Wyll—”

“And me,” Kydd jumped in.

Peggs sent him a warm glance, then looked to Jenn. “You’ve us on your side, dear sister, and hope. Wen told you, didn’t she? Wish for what’s safe and wait. Be patient. You have what you need inside you—this magic. You can do whatever you must. I believe it.” And, as if she had magic of her own, warm yellow porch lights began to wink through the trees, lit one by one. Marrowdell, settling itself for the night. Jenn heard soft voices and the lowing of the cows as they came to be milked. Someone sang. A lovely voice, a quiet, wistful song.

Riss Nahamm, Jenn thought, waiting for Horst, wishing her life and loves were different. For the first time, she felt envious. Life and love seemed so simple. She had to worry about magic and pebbles and . . . Help herself. Which meant, like Riss, keeping a secret. Only hers was dangerous. She couldn’t let her sister or anyone, especially Wyll who would be angry, know she had to go back. They’d try to stop her.

Or worse, try to come with her.

They mustn’t, she vowed, feeling much older than almost nineteen. The Spine wasn’t safe.

Wainn was right. She was on her own.

“Jenn?”

She’d been silent too long. “You are the best sister, Peggs,” Jenn said, finding a smile. “You’re right, of course. Everything will work itself out.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” Peggs countered. “We don’t know what’s happening to you or why.”

“This is Marrowdell,” Jenn insisted. “Kydd’s right. We shouldn’t doubt our own home.”

The beekeeper looked as unconvinced as her sister. His eyes searched her face. “This sunset business will likely worsen as we approach the eclipse,” he commented. “Covie has a stomach remedy. It might lessen your discomfort.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Jenn assured him. Their concern warmed her heart, it was true, but at what cost? They couldn’t help; they shouldn’t try. And shouldn’t they be happy? The moon was rising, the orchard peaceful and secluded.

The perfect place for lovers to meet. If only they’d notice each other more than her problem . . .

She wished they would, with all her heart.

The air softened and warmed, rich with the scent of roses. Her sister and Kydd moved perceptibly closer within the dappled shadow of the apple tree, their fingers intertwined, eyes on one another.

Which didn’t mean she’d done something magic, Jenn thought with only the tiniest twinge. They were, after all, in love. She got to her feet, brushing off her skirt “I promised Poppa I’d stop in at the mill on my way home—” she began truthfully, since she also needed to pick up Bannan’s latest letter, Tir having taken his supper there.

Both waited for her to finish with distracted, if fond, impatience.

“—I’ll tell Aunt Sybb you’ll be home later,” she finished.

Jenn’s smile faded once she left the pair. She walked by the still-busy hives without noticing the bees that bumped into her. She stepped out on the road without feeling the cool earth underfoot.

Distracted herself, but oddly, not by magic or pebbles.

She should, she decided rather desperately, have kissed Bannan Larmensu when she had the chance.

With each flash of the knife, the shavings thinned, curling as they drifted to the floor. Bannan rubbed his weary eyes with the back of his hand, but didn’t straighten from his crouch over the wood. Almost finished.

Carving had passed many a tedious hour at camp. Some whittled, eyes on nothing at all, tinder accumulating between their boots. Others shaped arrows or walking sticks or forks. A few, like Tir, took dark pleasure in crafting faces to use as targets.

No words. No names. Nothing the enemy might find and pass to informants in Vorkoun. Regardless, everything went into the last fire before breaking camp, with the same care devoted to burying refuse and scuffing footprints. Anything to conceal numbers and intent, to hide.

Their enemy, naturally, did the same. In the marches, such was life.

A life, Bannan reminded himself, he no longer lived. A man without enemies was free to leave his mark in the world. Encouraged to do so, in fact.

He rubbed his thumb over the edge of the rose. By lamplight, it looked well enough. Returning to the initials beside it, he pressed the little knife carefully into the wood, deepening the J’s lower curve. Next and last, the N.

There.

A moth fluttered to perch on one leg of the overturned bench, its head bent to examine his work.

“What do you think?” Curlicues had proved beyond his skill, but he’d done, he thought, a fair job, especially on the heart that held both rose and initials. Tradition held that to be the most important part anyway.

The moth reached into its satchel and solemnly removed a parchment no larger than a shaving. With an infinitesimal claw, it scratched away at that tiny surface, giving him an affronted look when he tried to peek at what it wrote. “Your pardon,” he apologized, retreating to a more polite distance.

If it recorded him as possessed by hope and dread in distractingly equal measures, he couldn’t deny it. Carving a sigil of love was one thing. To do so under a bench? A coward’s choice, surely. What was he thinking? Ask Jenn Nalynn to sit on it and rejoice in private? “Lila needn’t know,” he advised the moth, though he’d no idea who or what read its little reports.

To be fair, his sister always understood what truly mattered; as often as not before he did.

Tease him over it? Oh, that’d she’d relish.

The moth finished and flew away. Bannan set the bench safely on its legs, hiding his love, and blew out his lamp. Night was settling around the edges of the farm, its shadows tucking in the trees and flowers. Something dipped and dove over the garden.

Something that giggled.

Smiling, Bannan waved a greeting, then yawned.

He went inside, leaving the door ajar; the village habit and a courtesy to his house toad, who was later than usual coming in tonight. Shrugging off his leather vest, the evening having turned chilly, he hung it on its peg, then climbed the ladder to the loft. A gentle breeze came through the open window, fragrant and cool.

Bannan readied himself for a good night’s rest in what was, at last, a proper bed. The mattress might be straw, but it boasted imported silk sheets and two thistledown pillows. The sheets and pillowcases were slightly worn and bore the initials of Lila’s sons; he valued them more for that.

The truthseer ran his fingers across the headboard. The wood from the wagon was rough, but could be, Tir had claimed, sanded and oiled to a fine finish.

Perhaps carved . . .

He shook his head. Not yet.

Jenn Nalynn’s latest letter lay on the pillow, waiting to be reread. He took it to the window, tilting the paper to catch the faint remaining light, though he knew every word.

Dear Bannan

To my shame, I used to look forward to the harvest and my birthday with such selfish joy I didn’t mind that it also meant Aunt Sybb would leave us for the winter. I confessed as much to Poppa today, while we swept the raceway. I thought he’d be disappointed in me, but he wasn’t. He said it had made it easier for Aunt Sybb to go, seeing me happy.

How can I be happy now? I’m not that girl anymore. Everything’s complicated, right down to the welcome feast. Davi’s roasting your ox and wants me to thank you. I can’t bring myself to do that, since your animal’s dead because of Marrowdell. Because this place isn’t like the rest of the world.

The world I’d hoped to see. Imagine it, Bannan. I could have met your sister, and seen Vorkoun for myself. Stood on every one of Avyo’s great bridges and heard seabirds on the Sweet Sea. Taken the old caravan road to Mellynne and beyond.

I shouldn’t write all this. Aunt Sybb would say “don’t let regrets tarnish the future” and she’s right. But it eases my heart to share mine, as I hope sharing with me about Lila and your life has eased yours.

Whatever my future holds, I shall face it. I take your courage as my measure, Bannan Truthseer, and vow to do what’s best for those I love, as you have.

For that, for your example and the warmth of your friendship, I have no trouble thanking you at all.