A Turn of Light (76 page)

Bees paused and hovered. Birds stopped singing and stared.

So they should, Jenn thought with growing delight. Between the magnificent oxen, their gilded horns gleaming in the sun, the exotic wagons, and the cheerful babble of voices and harness bells echoing from building to building, Marrowdell had its first parade.

The grand procession wound its way past the mill, then the Nalynn home, where Aunt Sybb and Peggs sat watching from the porch. Jenn’s father waved at her, spotting the little group by the fountain.

“Stop!” Wyll launched into view, flinging up his good hand. Wind whipped dust and leaves into a frenzied cloud as he thrust himself between Jenn and the oncoming walkers. “Go back!”

The men stopped, coughing, arms over their faces. The oxen jerked up their heads, horns rattling together. There were cries of consternation from the villagers, most of whom couldn’t see what was happening, and Old Jupp shouted something, cane in the air.

He couldn’t have waited, Jenn thought with disgust. She stepped toward him. “Wyll! Stop!”

“These are my guests—” Dusom began to sputter, as Radd Nalynn gave his youngest daughter a despairing look. Her heart sank. She’d promised to control Wyll.

Before she could try, Kanajuq leapt forward, bell in hand, and struck Wyll on his bad shoulder.

As Wyll staggered and fell, Scourge charged from nowhere, knocking the old servant flat. The golden bell sailed up in a slow sparkling arc to land with a thump on the back of an ox. The offended beast bawled loudly, Scourge roared back, and the entire team began to stamp and bawl.

It was no longer a parade; it was a disaster.

At least the wind died as quickly as it started, dust and leaves dropping to the ground. Jenn crouched beside Wyll, who turned his head to look at her, face twisted with an emotion she’d not seen there before.

He was terrified. Her dearest, oldest friend. Forgetting everyone and everything else, Jenn ran her hand down his arm, feeling him tremble. “Did he hurt you?” She found his hand and laced her fingers with his. “Wyll? What’s—”

“Uhhhh!” Qimirpik pressed his hands over his chest. As he did, his breath came out in a fog, as if the air was suddenly cold.

Urcet staggered back with a frightened cry, his breath visible too. He began a desperate chant, something about stars and blameless lives and resisting evil, and Qimirpik quickly joined in, adding a chorus of meaningless sounds that almost, but not quite made a nice harmony. All while frost rimed the edges of the wagons and coated the oxen’s harness, and there was a dark shadow where the newcomers stood, but not over anyone else.

He could make a storm. She should have known he could bring winter. The servant shouldn’t have hit him, but it had only been a bell and Wyll was a dragon, or had been. “Wyll,” she pleaded, low so her father wouldn’t hear. “Don’t do this. Please stop!”

Wyll shook his head.

He tried to send the newcomers away, to make them unwelcome here. Which wasn’t right at all and she wouldn’t have it. She wouldn’t! Jenn tore her hand from his. “I want them to stay!” she cried, having no idea what she did or what good she could do, but disagreeing with this, oh, yes, with all her heart.

Coincidence, surely, that the sun came out, as it should, to wipe away the shadow. That warm summer air settled over them all.

Until the frost was memory.

The dema and Urcet stopped chanting to stare at one another. Urcet looked entirely satisfied, and the dema said in an unsteady, but pleased voice, “The home of the Celestial, at last!”

“Did you feel it? We passed the first trial,” the Eld exclaimed, slapping his thighs in triumph. “We did it, Qimirpik!”

They thought they’d saved themselves. Jenn’s eyes widened. Had they? Did they have magic too?

“Manners, sirs,” Uncle Horst scolded the gleeful pair. “You’re in Rhoth. Speak so all understand you.”

But they must have, Jenn thought, momentarily distracted. She’d understood every word. If they hadn’t, she swallowed hard, how was that possible?

Dusom glanced at her father. “They claim to have worked magic.”

Had she, back on the road, when she’d wanted to understand? It was all most confusing, though, she thought pragmatically, that would explain her newfound ability to converse with toads.

“Indeed we have,” the dema said proudly. “It was foretold there would be trials to overcome. We’re gratified to be tested so soon and succeed. Most gratified.”

Judging by the beads of sweat glistening on his shaved head, the Ansnan was more than a little relieved, too.

Breathing easier, Jenn helped Wyll to his feet. “Aren’t you sorry you did that?” she whispered. “These might be friends.”

“These are fools.” The disapproving breeze nipped her. “Dangerous fools. Stay away from them, Dearest Heart. For all our sakes.”

“Why—”

“Let’s keep everyone moving, shall we?” Kydd beckoned toward the commons. “We’ve harvest underway and only so much sun.” His tone was light, but his eyes were troubled when they met hers. “Jenn?”

“To the commons,” she said brightly. Like Wyll, Kydd was afraid. She wasn’t sure what had frightened Wyll, but Kydd worried about something that had happened so long ago, trees covered the scars; if it had happened at all and not been a story.

Right now, she’d be much happier if it had been a story. Her magic grew more potent and less under control with every use, which made it worrisome to think that Ansnor might have mad and magic people, including, perhaps, the dema and his companion, who so worried her dragon.

Jenn made sure to take Wyll’s hand before turning around.

To face the truthseer, who looked at her and saw everything.

This was the change.

Heart’s Blood. How had he not seen it?

Jenn Nalynn stood before him, wearing light like skin, her eyes still huge and purpled with magic. The world itself had bent to her defiance, the turn-borns’ will broken, for he’d no doubts who’d tried to remove the intruders with that touch of winter. Tried, until Jenn brought summer back again. She was glorious and powerful and . . .

Knew. Bannan saw the awareness cross her dear face like a cloud. No longer innocent. What the dragon feared had come to pass. Jenn Nalynn knew, if not everything, then enough.

And that he saw.

The truthseer bowed, sweeping his fingertips through dust and leaves, his heart aching for her.

There was altogether too much bowing going on, Jenn Nalynn thought, deciding she felt cross. Cross was better than anxious and much better than afraid. Cross let her walk past Bannan without a second glance, a glance she didn’t dare take.

She’d seen herself change in his eyes, seen awe and something akin to pity in his face. Bannan knew. How could she doubt she’d done magic, when he saw it in her? When he knew, better than anyone, how that made her feel?

Cross made her take quick steps, but not so quick that she abandoned Wyll. He’d left his hand in hers as they walked to the commons, though it turned his every movement further off balance and was surely painful. His good foot left scars in the dirt. His other dragged and bounced.

His hand was warm and smooth, the strength in it oddly placed, so she wasn’t sure at times if she held a hand at all. He was different. Special. She wouldn’t blame him, Jenn decided. The caravan had surprised them all.

He must hear what she’d learned about herself, a conversation both urgent and daunting. “I’ve missed you and Night’s Edge,” she began as they passed the Ropps’ barn. The cows would be brought from the orchard for milking, though it was likely the excitement would throw a few off. “I hope you’ve been—” happy trembled on her lips, to die unspoken. He couldn’t be; she hadn’t been. “—busy.”

“Yes. I did as you asked,” Wyll replied. “I built our house. I wrote letters. But our meadow remains as it was. I cannot restore it.”

Jenn squeezed his hand, as much for her comfort as his. “We’ll try together,” she promised. They neared the open commons’ gate and she had to smile as she spotted the familiar bright yellow tents, smile and add without thinking, “Mistress Sand might help.”

Through his hand, she felt his intention to stop, there and then, but he couldn’t and didn’t; they had the village and caravan at their heels. A breeze toyed with her hair instead. “We are acquainted, Dearest Heart. Be prepared. They will not speak well of me and I ask you not try to change their opinion. Some things are impossible.”

This time Jenn tried to stop, only to have Wyll’s strong hold keep her moving forward into the commons. “What do you mean?”

He answered aloud, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Tinkers don’t bother with those like me unless they must. It’s their way. Don’t take it to heart. I don’t.” This with a low chuckle.

“Like you.” Did he mean crippled in body or not-always-a-man? Looking at Wyll didn’t help. He’d set his young handsome face to such innocence Jenn couldn’t bring herself to ask.

Then she heard a glad cry, “Sweetling!! Jenn!!!” and dropped Wyll’s hand to run ahead and meet Mistress Sand.

Unlike Aunt Sybb, whose frail bones meant any embrace must be cautious, Mistress Sand was as strong and solid as could be. Jenn wrapped her arms around her and squeezed, almost losing her breath as the other generously returned the favor. “Look at you,” Sand exclaimed, squeezing her again as if vision alone wouldn’t do. “A fine lady, tall as your sister.”

Before Jenn could do more than smile and say, “I’m so glad to see you—” she was passed to another for more squeezing. Master Riverstone. They were all here, Flint, Tooth, Chalk, and Fieldstone, every one glad to see her, including Kaj, the little dog who lived in Mistress Sand’s shadow. By the final embrace, she felt hurried, bruised, and well-loved. And licked.

It was always like this, when the tinkers arrived in Marrowdell. Jenn was relieved to see the presence of strange faces did nothing to change the whirl of enthusiastic greetings or the bewildering speed with which Master Riverstone and Davi organized those bound for the fields. Daylight was precious; she felt that truth in her flesh.

Mistress Sand hadn’t needed a warning after all. She and the others had been waiting at the gate. After greeting Jenn, and pointedly ignoring Wyll, who’d lurched away with a sneer before she could do a thing, the tinkers waved the dema and his caravan through with smiles and invitations to their tents. Did the newcomers need knives sharpened? Leather work? To trade?

Overwhelmed by the din of business and reacquaintance, to be truthful, unsure of her place in it, Jenn found herself easing away from the rest. It was then she saw Bannan Larmensu.

Was he coming to her? Oh, how she wanted him to—no. No, she didn’t, she told herself hastily. She should run if he did. It was all most upsetting.

And unnecessary. For, without a look in her direction, Bannan walked over to Urcet and the dema, his hands out in the latter’s greeting, smiling as if they were long-lost friends. Within moments, they might have been. Master Dusom joined them and their conversation grew animated.

Others might think it odd, knowing Bannan had fought the Ansnans most of his life, but Jenn understood, too well. He was doing what he’d told her he’d hated, using his magic to look for lies.