A Turn of Light (80 page)

Wyll lifted his head. “I’ve been waiting for you. You took a long time.”

Meaning he’d been bored. Hands on a soft black wheel, she quickly leaned into the wagon. Nothing appeared broken. She gave a sigh of relief as she turned to the dragon. “You mustn’t touch other people’s belongings, Wyll. Not without their permission.”

“They didn’t ask permission to come here,” he countered, unrepentant and not in a whisper.

“Wyll! Hush. Come with me.”

He followed quietly into the small copse of trees near the pond. The caravan sat across the pond from the tinkers’ tents. Jenn stopped where she couldn’t see either.

Birds scolded from a lower branch and Satin, dozing in the shade like a mud-gray boulder, wrinkled her snout. Catching a familiar scent, she didn’t wake.

Wyll surprised her by speaking first. “We need to talk, Dearest Heart.”

“Yes, we do.” Ignorance makes mistakes, Aunt Sybb would say. Knowledge prevents them. Comforted, Jenn put her hands on her hips, determined to educate her dragon. “People don’t need permission, yours or mine, to travel the road or visit Marrowdell. Furthermore, it’s our custom to be welcoming. You shouldn’t have—” she strained for a neutral word and settled on, “—disrupted the dema and his caravan.” She lowered her hands and finished miserably. “Everyone’s upset with you again.”

Upset? If the newcomers hadn’t been thoroughly delighted by what happened, and convinced they’d defended themselves, the villagers would have sent Wyll away for good. Not that he needed to know.

Not that she’d have allowed it.

Wyll regarded her soberly. “Are you upset with me, Dearest Heart?”

Jenn sighed, then shook her head. “Of course not.” She half smiled. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I, you.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve changed, Jenn Nalynn.”

He didn’t mean the hair. Closing her eyes, Jenn caught his hand and pressed it against her cheek. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

Easier, with the world shut away and the warmth of his skin against hers. “I can do things, Wyll. To other people. Magic, Kydd calls it.

“It started, I think, when I—I wished you a man. Then I made Peggs and Kydd—” she skipped to, “—well, they might have done that anyway, and I’m almost sure I stopped Aunt Sybb and Tir’s dreams, which was a good thing, but then I did something this morning to Roche to make him always tell the truth, which is going to get him in trouble, so that’s not good, is it?” She opened her eyes to search his. “And I’m not sure at all those men stopped you, the way they say they did, when you tried to scare them away. I—” she swallowed, but made herself say it, “I think I did. I wished them to stay.”

Silver flared. “Why?”

Hadn’t he listened? “Wyll, I can do magic—”

“Why do you want them here?” he demanded, anger roughening his voice. “They shouldn’t be, not now, not near you. They’re dangerous!”

Like stones tossed in still water, the words disappeared, leaving change to spread behind.

Wyll knew. He’d known about her magic all along and it didn’t matter to him, so long as she was safe. Jenn turned her face and pressed her lips to her protector’s palm, unsurprised to taste ash. “You’re my dearest friend.”

“I am.” Gently he reclaimed his hand, fingers curled around the kiss. “As you are mine.”

“I am,” she echoed. “Wyll. Friends help one another. I need to know—” Everything. Why did she grow up having Night’s Edge and a dragon friend? Why did she have magic now and not before? Why did Marrowdell want her to stay? Why did she crave a pebble instead of kisses and why—oh, why—was she disappearing, for that’s how it had felt, she admitted it, at the sun’s last light of the day? The desperate questions spread like ripples, wider and wider, consuming all they touched.

Until they reached Melusine’s promise and folded into one.

“What am I?” Jenn’s breath caught. “I became this when I was born. What am I, Wyll?”

Wariness flickered across his face. “My friend.”

“Since birth,” she said, again sure. “What am I? Am I my mother’s daughter?” Thunder rumbled in the distance, despite the clear blue sky. “My father’s? Please, Wyll!”

Wyll looked her in the eye; she looked back, careful not to force an answer. No matter how desperately she needed to know, she would not.

After a long moment, an approving smile changed his face. “Yes, Dearest Heart. You are theirs.”

The relief was so great, she trembled. “Thank you.” She brushed her fingers over his sleeve, fretted at a button, then looked up. “But . . . if that’s so, why am I magic?”

“Because you were born at a turn of light,” the dragon said. “As such, you belong to the Verge as well as Marrowdell. The Verge is where I am from. It is—” As he paused to search for words, she waited, her heart hammering in her chest, for what he told her was strange and true and more important than anything. “—it is a place of magic, you might say. Those who are turn-born are able to impose their will.”

Turn-born.

Those? She wasn’t the only one.

In her dreams, hadn’t others opposed her? Willed the grain to fall? While on the road, this very morning . . .

“It wasn’t you,” Jenn concluded, feeling blood drain from her face. “You didn’t make it winter over the caravan, turn-born did. They’re here, in Marrowdell, now. They’re—” Her hand shot to her mouth, holding in the rest, and she stared at Wyll.

Mistress Sand, whose eyes and mouth hadn’t been eyes or a mouth but holes filled with light.

And if Mistress Sand was one of them, then so was Master Riverstone. Flint and Chalk. Tooth, Fieldstone, and Clay. All of them. Turn-born and magic.

“Think of them as the friends you’ve always known,” Wyll warned, which was the same as agreeing. “They have a purpose here and will brook no interference.”

Jenn threw a wild glance in the direction of the tents. “But if I’m like them, if I’m turn-born too, shouldn’t I go, couldn’t I ask—”

His fingers closed like claws on her arm. “You’re not like them,” Wyll said sternly. “They’re terst, from the Verge. They lie. They appear as men and women here so you and the villagers accept them. You’re not like them,” this with abrupt gentleness, his grip eased. “You have such a good heart, Jenn Nalynn. No,” almost to himself, “all we need do is wait. The turn-born will cross at harvest’s end. After that, we will live together and be happy.”

Wyll feared them, she realized with an inner chill. What power they must have, to make a dragon afraid. Or was it what they were willing to do with it?

He told himself she was different.

Was she?

Of course she was. She was Jenn Nalynn, almost nineteen. An educated Rhothan lady, to hear her aunt, when she remembered her shoes. A fine young woman, to hear her father and sister, even in bare feet. “We’ll be happy,” she agreed. “So long as you,” with mock severity, “leave other people’s property alone.”

“So long as you stay in Marrowdell, Dearest Heart.” She hadn’t lightened his mood. If anything, Wyll looked grimmer, with troubled flickers of silver in his eyes. “Though they know it not, these foolish men seek the Verge. If they attempt to reach it at the Great Turn, they could disturb what mustn’t wake. You could show them the way. You must not.”

She’d found the way no others dared, Wainn had said.

Only during the Great Turn could she cross, the dream voice had told her, and only then be answered.

Her heart sinking, Jenn finally understood. To save herself, she must return to the Spine during the eclipse, but that wasn’t all. She must—somehow—use magic and cross into this Verge.

Where . . . what? If she went by stories, she’d face some trial or test. Succeed and be rewarded; fail and . . . succeeding was clearly better.

She’d rather find someone waiting there, someone sensible with a trustworthy face who’d explain what she felt at sunset and how to stop it. Her hopes soared. Maybe end the curse keeping her in Marrowdell!

After she crossed to the Verge.

As her path became more certain, if no less terrifying, it was as if Wyll moved farther away. He couldn’t know. He mustn’t try to stop her.

Jenn Nalynn wasn’t sure he could.

“Dearest Heart?”

He awaited her promise. “I won’t show the dema or Urcet anything of magic,” she said solemnly. “And I’ll treat the tinkers as I always have, as friends.” It was as her father said, and Kydd. Don’t look too closely; accept what was here. “Marrowdell has rules.”

“Rules? Yes.” A moth fluttered past and Wyll’s gaze distractedly followed, then snapped back to her. “Rules to keep you safe,” he insisted.

The thought, all warmth and comfort, abruptly twisted on itself. The wailing of the dragons rang in her ears; she would, if she closed her eyes, see the toads’ reproachful stares. Wyll, watching, interfering, guarding. Forgiving her anything. Her mother’s dying promise. Uncle Horst’s vow.

She was turn-born and magic. Mightn’t Marrowdell need to be safe from her?

It made such terrible sense, Jenn shivered and rubbed her arms, finding the air strangely cold.

“What’s wrong, Dearest Heart?”

She couldn’t look at him. “I’d never hurt anyone. You know that, Wyll.”

“Yes, I do,” he said at once, though she’d hurt him, hadn’t she? Each of them lied to comfort the other, when she needed the truth.

Jenn lifted her face, desperately searching his. “You mustn’t fear me. I couldn’t bear it.”

Silver flared in his eyes. “I fear nothing.”

Brave dragon, to lie for her. He feared the other turn-born, why not her? “Please, Wyll. Don’t be afraid of me,” she begged. Teeth chattering, she could almost see her breath, which wasn’t right at all.

“How could I be?” Wyll replied gently, his eyes brown again. “You’ve a good heart,” the breeze in her ear, like the old days in the meadow. “The very best of hearts.”

He was the very best of friends, she thought, comforted.

Just like that, it was summer warm again.

Dismayed, Jenn moved her hand through the air, fingers wide. “Wyll—?” Cold, biting cold. Her fingers stung and she cried out, drawing her hands to her chest. “Is it them?” she gasped.

“No.” Wyll’s arm came around her. “Be calm, Dearest Heart, and it will stop.”

If she was calm?

Shaking like a leaf, Jenn burrowed her face against his healthy shoulder, his beard tickling her ear. With all her might, she thought of sunny mornings and dumplings with honey, as if this was night and she fought against dreams. She managed a breath, then another, smoother.

The chill left the air.

Because . . . She couldn’t barely think it, let alone say it. “. . . Wyll?”

She felt his sigh. “Must you know? You could do what I say. I’m not used to explaining.” This last as though he complained to someone else.

“Please. Tell me the truth.” Jenn pulled back to see his face. “The way it turned cold, then warm again—was it them or—or was it me?”

“Yes,” the dragon answered.

She tried to shake him; easier to push a tree. “Wyll!”

“Both.” A little breeze chuckled in her ear, but he spoke aloud. “Dearest Heart. My friend. I swear I will tell you whatever you wish to know, no matter the consequences.”

He made it her choice. He believed in her. Jenn summoned all her courage. “You say I’m turn-born. What does that mean? What happens around me? Why?”

His eyes gleamed. “To be turn-born, Jenn Nalynn, means not only your will but your feelings manifest around you. The terst turn-born have great self-control and work as one. They expect fair weather for the harvest and Marrowdell answers.”

Such power. Jenn blanched, but nodded for him to continue.

“You can’t undo that expectation now,” he told her. “Only if you’d disagreed at the instant it began, as you did with the caravan, would it fall apart. So these—moments—of yours are stopped as soon as they start. To impose their will, turn-born must agree. Do you understand?”

They hadn’t agreed with her in her dream and she’d lost her pebble. Jenn trembled, fighting back anger. Her feelings could manifest? She’d been anxious and the air chilled. Ancestors Desperate and Doomed, what if she’d been terrified? Or lost her temper; Peggs knew she had one. She could . . .

Jenn’s eyes went wide. “Night’s Edge. Oh, Wyll—”

“Easy.”

“—Wyll, it wasn’t the wishing,” she gasped, sure now. Her despair and grief had destroyed their meadow. Heart’s Blood, what worse could she do? “Help me,” she begged, as emotions came crashing over her in waves. She was drowning. In fear, in worry, in dread. Thunder rumbled and she jerked in his hold. “I can’t stop! Tell me what to do!”

“Do nothing,” he whispered soothingly. “Wait.”

Sure enough, the air calmed, though Jenn’s heart pounded and she couldn’t stop trembling.

“See?” The little breeze flipped up her bangs and tickled her neck. “Don’t be afraid.” Wyll kissed her forehead. “All’s fine again. The turn-borns’ expectation can’t be changed now; the weather must be fair for the harvest. Anything else I’m sure they’ll disagree with before harm’s done.” He set her from him with a wide smile. “Once they leave, Dearest Heart, I’ll teach you their tricks so you can control yourself.”

Wyll sounded suspiciously like someone trying to convince himself. “You know how?” she asked, wanting not to doubt.

“I will,” the dragon promised. “You must live in Marrowdell and be happy.”

Jenn made herself smile. “Another rule?”

“Your duty, as mine is to help you.” Then, breath more than breeze, low in her ear, “Dearest Heart, Good Heart, if you answer to nothing else, answer to friendship. Trust I know what’s best.”

Words like those he’d said at Night’s Edge. Words to keep her safe.

If only it was that easy. “I do, Wyll—” she began unsteadily. Maybe she should tell him the rest after all. Maybe she was wrong and he would help—

“Good.” He half-straightened with a wince. “I’ll watch these men. You’ll stay far from them and away from the Spine.”

As if she’d promised, which she hadn’t and couldn’t. She hadn’t been wrong; Wyll mustn’t know. Jenn said quietly, “I’d best get back. I left Peggs with lunch and Poppa needs me. I’ll see you at the feast.”

“Yes.” Wyll frowned. “Davi said everyone sleeps in the village during the harvest. He offered me a hammock.” The frown became anxious. “I don’t like hammocks.”