Authors: Julie E. Czerneda
Night and damp. He hated night and damp. The dragon restrained a snarl as he straightened from his hiding place.
~ They were not pleased, elder brother, ~ the toad said anxiously. ~ I but did as you commanded— ~
~ You acted well, brave cousin, ~ Wyll assured it, stumbling as his good leg cramped. His body hated being bent and motionless even more than standing, but he hadn’t dared move until the girl and the truthseer went out of sight. Hadn’t dared be seen.
So that was it. He glared at the Spine, thrust against the stars. Only turn-born could bring an object into Marrowdell; they would never risk the Wound. This pebble Jenn Nalynn had found there, that she had to have? Something else had brought it from the Verge.
The sei. It had to be.
Bait in a trap, but it made no sense. The sei had their own world and, unless disturbed, rarely left it for the Verge. To come here? Why?
What didn’t he know?
~ Your pardon, elder brother, ~ the toad ventured. ~ But shouldn’t I follow them? They may—ah—continue. ~
Despite the grimness of his thoughts, Wyll found himself smiling. ~ They very well may, little cousin. They very well may. ~ For so long, for her sake and Marrowdell’s, he’d sought happiness for Jenn Nalynn. He’d been prepared to do whatever she wanted.
At last, he knew what that was. For a moment, her joy and delight had warmed the night, thanks to Bannan Larmensu and her own heart. Like being bathed in her smile.
The turn-born hadn’t disagreed; perhaps, in this, they couldn’t.
The rest likely thought it was the beer.
The drink smelled as foul as his dragon-self remembered; admittedly, the taste had been bearable. Had he the stomach to drink sufficient of the stuff, doubtless he’d be listening still to Tir’s tales of the many well-endowed women he’d married and left behind. Wainn had been fascinated; Wyll unconvinced.
But the brew left a trace of the Verge on his man’s tongue, to remind him of all he’d lost, and he’d wanted no more of it. He’d followed Jenn Nalynn, when Bannan had taken her from the disruption caused by the old soldier’s confession, knowing she was upset. He’d listened, appalled by the girl’s secret and her pain.
Let them be, to find happiness, until Roche and others came stumbling.
Now Horst had fled, Tir was drunk and maudlin, and both truthseer and his former enemy were distracted by urges they surely could have postponed.
Better to be a dragon. Mate all at once, just the once; the business over and done before an enemy could take advantage.
Not that his kind were of use in this.
He was left to rely on what—little cousins? Frustrated, Wyll sent an irate breeze to whistle and snap over the ground, relenting as the faithful toad shrank into a contrite ball, eyes shut.
Jenn Nalynn needed his help, not this. ~ Forgive my temper, inestimable little cousin. ~
The eyes popped open, disks reflecting the rising moon. ~ There is nothing to forgive, elder brother. Will you send another letter? ~ it asked hopefully.
The time for letters had passed. ~ Guard them both, ~ he ordered.
Leaving the toad, Wyll went in search of a more potent ally.
Nyphrit rustled in the deeper shadows as he passed. They hunted scraps from the feast, he supposed, uncaring. The little cousins would attend to any who grew too bold. When he reached the edge of the lamplight, Wyll looked for the turn-born of sand.
He found her where she’d been throughout, seated apart where she could watch the villagers yet reach the beer table unimpeded. She was with the one full of red earth, Clay, and the dragon stopped at a safe distance. Music played, though no one danced. He waited with deliberate patience to be acknowledged.
At last, Sand waved her fellow away and gave him a grudging nod. The small white dog, perhaps remembering dragons and their appetites, showed a tooth as he approached, then slipped to shelter behind his mistress. Wyll twisted himself into a chair, accepting the pain.
“Tell me, lord of dragons,” Sand said, leaning back to laugh at him. “Was it you warmed our Jenn or a man born and whole na? I’ve coin on the answer.”
It deserved none. Before he spoke, Wyll looked for moths then gave his attention to the turn-born. “The sei are meddling.”
“Sei na?” The mockery left her face. “Their business is none of ours.”
“When it is here? When it is her?”
She gave him a bemused look. “You’ve gone mad, I see. Flint said you would.”
Wyll showed his own tooth. “The sei want the girl to cross at the Great Turn,” he told her, sure of that much. They’d thrust their secret on him, that the girl mustn’t step beyond the edge or all would unravel with her, without giving him the rest. Why they’d let her live. Why she had to live. “They’ve given her a reason—a hunger. I don’t know their purpose.”
“What a dragon doesn’t know na?” Sand took a drink. “Everything. Sei don’t cross. They can’t, is the way of it, any more than little ones. So sei aren’t here and don’t want and can’t meddle.” She pointed a finger at him and wiggled it. “That hunger our Sweetling feels na? No more than proper. Time comes, a turn-born empties and must be filled. We’ll bring her what she needs from the Verge.”
Sei were here. He’d heard them. Arrogant, insufferable turn-born, their bodies hollowed out and stuffed. How and why—he hadn’t cared. The thought didn’t trouble him, any more than the difference between a kruar’s entrails, preferably steaming on the ground, and his own, preferably whole.
Wyll snarled to himself. He should have guessed what was happening to the girl. His ability to feel her distress or know if she was happy had lessened of late. Because he was now a man, he’d thought. Because she tried her earnest best to contain her feelings.
No. It was because with each day, there was less of Jenn Nalynn. To survive, she must become turn-born inside too.
He sincerely hoped Aunt Sybb wouldn’t think it his fault.
“What she needs is the white pebble,” Wyll said sharply. “Did she tell you? Where she found it?”
“In a dream. A strong one, I grant.” Sand made a dismissive gesture. “What matters na? Our Sweetling’s not terst.” Explaining anything they didn’t understand. “We’ll find some thing like.” Fingers stroked her gloved arm. “Let her touch. Let her taste. She’ll be complete, dragon, and content.”
“It wasn’t a dream. The pebble’s real and she’s touched it.”
“Impossible.” The turn-born narrowed her eyes at him. “None of us brought such a thing here.”
As he’d feared. “She found it on the Spine.” Wyll saw horror on her face; he shared it. “The sei left it for her. As bait—” The air in his mouth turned ice cold, locking his tongue.
“To reach the Spine means entering the Wound and it would never let one of us escape. You lie, dragon,” with utter menace. “To what purpose na?”
His body, already cramped in the chair, prickled with frost. He forced words through numb lips, “No lie—truth. We must save—save her!”
His breath thawed. He sat, shivering, in the cruel chair, waiting for the cold to leave his heart.
“If this is the truth,” Sand said very quietly, “then saving our Sweetling becomes—a difficulty. The Wound—it’s not beyond belief it could use such a lure. Oh, there’s something in that void, dragon, despite what your kind believes. Something that hungers for us. We hear it whisper. Say our names. Wail in fury when we resist it. Having Jenn Nalynn,” she concluded, pale and set, “it should have swallowed her whole. Release her. She’s not terst. A bad taste, maybe. Then why summon her back na?”
“The sei—”
“Are beyond our knowing.” With a dark scowl. “They play their games on the Verge side of the edge, Dragon Lord, and care nothing for Marrowdell or the Wound or what happens to any of us. No, this is about what waits there. If you’re right—and truthful—the Wound wants Jenn Nalynn. She can’t go back to it. She must be stopped.”
His duty? “I won’t kill her,” he stated, bracing himself for her rage.
Sand appeared amused. “Of course you won’t.”
Turn-born trickery. Wyll gripped the chair’s arm, feeling it crush and splinter within his hand. “Try to force me and I’ll kill you!”
“Of course you can’t.” She leaned back again, studying him. He refused to lower his eyes. Sharp little gusts of wind kicked dust at their feet, the worst he could do to her, but it said something, that he dared. “Bold dragon,” she acknowledged. “Peace. I was first to hold the babe. Think you love her more na?”
Wyll glared. “I didn’t think you loved at all.”
“Most don’t.” Her continued amusement confused him and he lowered his head in threat. “Peace, I say. You don’t remember me, do you na? I was the size of Alyssa when you stole me from my family.”
“You all smell the same.” There’d been such a child, hidden long and well. Unusual, for terst to cling to their turn-born, but not unheard; once her existence had been discovered, he’d been sent to retrieve her. As he recalled, he’d left the village in shards.
For the fun of it.
“I remember you,” Sand replied. “And that other life. Well enough to treasure our Sweetling as if she were my own. I’d not want her harmed.”
“So long as she stays here,” Wyll snapped, as he wouldn’t have dared in the Verge.
She wasn’t used to being contradicted; he saw that in her face. But instead of lashing out, or sending him from her, the turn-born nodded. “If Jenn could cross—cross and survive na? There’s needful magic we do, dragon, tending the Verge for the good of all. She could disagree or worse. Being different, being from here, she could attempt what we’d not imagine. We can’t harm our own, so yes, dragon, you were sent, your duty to kill our Sweetling if it came to it. I’ve hated you ever since.”
Honesty from a turn-born. It was almost pleasant. “Now?”
“Now I know you couldn’t touch a hair on her pretty head.” A startling laugh, loud and long. “You love her too. You’ve proved it.”
“I have.” Suspicious, Wyll hesitated, then glowered. “How have I?”
He tensed as Sand leaned too close and winked. “We can’t act against the nature of a thing. We only help it along. Do you understand na? Jenn Nalynn couldn’t have left you weak and helpless, great lord of dragons, unless that’s what you wanted to be.”
It wasn’t true. Wyll uncoiled and surged to stand, the chair falling over behind him. “I wanted to stay strong!” The villagers gave him startled looks; the turn-born looked to Sand, who shook her head. “I’m her protector!” he railed. “Why would I want to be useless?”
“Who’s always been the greatest threat to our Sweetling na? You.” Sand half-smiled. “How better to keep her safe than pull your own teeth.”
He hated being out at night. Hated chairs. Hated standing. Hated being near any of the terst turn-born.
Especially this one.
“Dragon.” Sand had lost her smile. “Wyll.”
Jenn’s name for him, from a turn-born. The strangeness of it gave him pause.
Stranger still, she rose to her feet. “Walk with me.”
He’d prefer to tear out her throat. Surely that fierce bloodlust meant he’d not wanted to be weak, but had had everything taken. Fangs, claws, wings.
Power.
“We do her no good standing here,” the turn-born reasoned. “The villagers will start to worry about you more than Horst. We’ll get questions we don’t care to answer. Come.”
“Where?” he growled, but his shoulder bent, his body twisted, and he’d taken a step with her before realizing he would, so what did it matter?
Sand went by the table to put down her tankard, waving with a smile to those still by the beer, then took the road that led to the commons, to the river, to Night’s Edge. Beyond. The white dog trotted behind them, at a distance.
“What you’ve told me is disturbing,” she said quietly. “If true—don’t bristle at me—” as he stopped, “—if the Wound tricked Jenn into touching something of the Verge, we must find it.”
Mollified, he resumed walking. “The Spine. It’ll be there.”
“There’s where we’ll die and to what good na? No. We must look elsewhere.” She shook her head. “Aiee. We aren’t dragons, to fly. Abandon the harvest na? We’d suffer. The villagers would leave. What can we do na?”
Honest hate, now honest desperation. “You ask me?” Wyll stared at her shadowed face.
“I’d ask the stars if they cared. Well na?”
“Would you ask the sei?”
“If I knew how,” she said, surprising him most of all. “Though their answers aren’t safe to want, are they na?”
If they had answers and not more opportunities for his penance. The turn-born keeping to his pace, Wyll lurched through the open gate and thought. Lamplight glowed within two of the newcomers’ wagons, curtains drawn to hide those inside, and torches burned on poles outside the tinkers’ tents, casting light like pools of warm gold. Beyond, moonlight and shadow and the Spine.
“Look on the Verge side of the Wound,” he suggested abruptly. There, it was a thrust of stone, jagged and windswept, with its own crooked path from the lands below; a place worthy of dragons, if it didn’t bleed poison and death. “You needn’t climb or go close. Search the loose stones along its base. Some from the summit should have dropped there.”
“A day’s travel from our crossing,” she protested. “Treacherous.”
“There or here.” Turn-born couldn’t be trusted, he snarled to himself. They didn’t listen.
But Sand gave a slow nod. “I’ll send Flint and Chalk.”
“Those two?” He scowled. “Why?”
“None safer.” Was that a smile in her voice? “They can’t agree.”
And thus couldn’t make expectations without the others. The dragon smiled.
The dog barked a warning.
“Hallo!” Tir, running to catch them, came to a quick and awkward stop when Sand and Wyll simply stopped to wait. “Wyll,” he exclaimed, as if surprised. “Glad to find you. We’ve been waiting. C’mon back. There’s beer,” with solemn certainty.
The man’s breath stank of the tinkers’ brew, his surprise was feigned—nothing else in Marrowdell moved as the dragon did—and as for waiting? It was, Wyll realized with real surprise, a rescue.
“Beer na?” Sand chuckled. “Sorry, friend Tir. Riverstone’s about to put in the corks. The harvest’s just begun.”
“Too right.” Tir draped his arm around Wyll’s bent shoulders. “It’s time I showed my friend here where he’s sleeping. C’mon, Wyll. They’re stringing hammocks between the trees. S’all cozy.”