A Turn of Light (95 page)

As spectators, they were anything but. The turn-born revealed themselves, each body filled with its particular substance, each head topped with white hair, every face a mask over light. Peggs, Jenn realized almost at once, couldn’t see the change, not yet. She would at the turn.

“Sweetling.”

“Yes.” Jenn’s eyes found Flint and Chalk. “Before I look, I want to thank you.”

The expressions on the masks couldn’t change, but they inclined their heads.

Her feelings a tangle of anticipation and dread, Jenn tipped the contents of the first bag onto the chest. As smooth white stones rolled out, she gasped. They’d found her pebble and more! Her mouth watered.

The stones stopped rolling, to became ordinary rock.

Jenn swallowed and reached for the next. When she opened the bag, something small and white leapt out, skittering across the chest in a blur of too many legs. Peggs squeaked as it dropped from the chest to run over her skirt. Kaj, curled up and asleep, aroused in an instant to give chase, barking furiously. There was a scramble, a moment of digging, then a decidedly final crunch.

“Not that,” Jenn said faintly.

Her sister gave her an appalled look.

Before matters worsened, she grabbed the third bag and dumped its contents.

A globe of purest white landed on the chest with a loud “crack.” Before her horrified eyes, fissures grew over its surface, deeper and deeper, then, all at once, giving way.

An orange jelly slowly, steadily, inexorably oozed forth, followed by a “plop” as a round green yolk joined it.

Jenn turned her head to glare at Flint and Chalk. “A white pebble,” she said, making the words as clear and distinct as possible.

“Don’t blame them, Sweetling. What looks one way in the Verge na?” She clicked her tongue. “Might not here. Try again.” Her fingertip poked the fourth and last bag closer.

Wary of another egg, Jenn opened it with more care. But what came out when she gently tipped it wasn’t an egg or a stone or even something that scampered.

It was fine black ash.

Her heart gave a sickening lurch of recognition.

Ash that sparkled silver-white, looked at a certain way. Glittered emerald green, another.

“Jenn? Is that—is that what I think it is?”

Jenn shook her head at Peggs, not because her sister was wrong, but that wasn’t the question to ask. That wasn’t it at all. She looked up at Sand. “Where did they find this?”

“They searched near the Wound. On the Verge side.”

Jenn didn’t let her eyes fall, though the brilliance where Sand’s should be burned and left images dancing at the edges of her sight. “And you believe them?” For once, she welcomed the frustrated anger building inside her. The turn-born understood emotion. They’d feel hers, even if they stopped what it could do. “I made this.” Satin and hair, Melusine’s toy block, her map. She rubbed her finger in the ash, touched it to her tongue. It tasted as she’d thought it would.

Like Wyll.

“I made this,” Jenn repeated harshly. “I used it at Night’s Edge to wish my friend into a man and it disappeared with him. It wouldn’t be near the Spine or the Wound. It would be wherever Wisp fled.”

“His hiding place.” Sand slowly rose to her feet. “I was there at the sei’s summons. I watched one complete your wish. For the sei, I sent the dragon back to Marrowdell. Why na?”

The others, disturbed, stood as well. Riverstone shook his head emphatically. “We don’t question the sei, here or in the Verge. They punish the dragon lord as a lesson to his kind. Don’t give them cause to punish us!”

“I’m no fool.” Sand turned to stare at Flint and Chalk. “But you na? You were to take the dragon’s advice, not go to his home.”

“Trust that old fool?” Chalk protested. “Going near the Wound is madness.”

“We couldn’t take the risk,” agreed Flint.

“Now you think as one na?” Sand made a disgusted sound. “Tomorrow, I’ll go myself.”

She couldn’t, Jenn thought, seeing the same fear cross Peggs’ face. Without Sand, the others could agree that she was too much trouble, too dangerous. To be rid of her. For all her brave talk, she had little doubt the turn-born could do what they pleased.

“Flint and I will do it,” Riverstone announced. “He can be spared.” With a glare of his own at that turn-born.

Just as Jenn went to thank them, a cramp struck and she doubled over, her arm sweeping the chest clear. Peggs took hold of her. “It’s happening!” she cried.

“Close. Not yet,” Sand said briskly. “Tooth. Clay. A place for our Sweetling, so the turn passes her quickly.”

The turn-born gathered blankets and made them into a bed. Jenn sat down, arms pressed to her middle, Peggs at her side. When Sand brought her a tall cup, she asked hopefully, “Beer?”

“Stronger. Drink it. All of it.”

Jenn raised the cup, grimacing at the smell. The dark liquid wasn’t anything pleasant. “What is this?” she delayed.

Peggs put a reassuring hand on her back. “Ancestors Witness, it can’t be worse than one of Covie’s remedies.”

It could, Jenn suspected, but nodded and took a cautious swallow. Sour as unripe sweetberry, with the consistency of syrup, it tasted purple, which wasn’t a taste yet suddenly was, and burned like a hot coal to her stomach. “Whoa,” she gasped.

“From home,” Riverstone explained.

The Verge, unblended with Marrowdell. Remembering the rose petals, Jenn drank as quickly as she could. Her eyes watered from the heat of it and her hands began to shake. At once, Peggs’ fingers covered hers, helping hold the cup.

“Don’t look,” Jenn urged, meeting her sister’s compassionate gaze. “During the turn. Close your eyes.”

“You brought her here,” Sand disagreed. “Why else na?”

Not to have Peggs see her as she became. “I didn’t—she came—”

“Hush, Dearest Heart.” Peggs lifted her head to regard the turn-born, spots of red on her cheeks. “I came for my sister,” she declared. “And to see the truth. You’ve lied to us from the beginning. When Kydd tried to convince the rest to leave, you lied to him too—or worse—” with a grimness Jenn had never heard in her sister’s voice before. “You lie and you hide. If you’re the friends you claim to be, you’ll show yourselves to everyone!”

“My. My. My.” Sand chuckled and lifted a hand to the other turn-born, bringing it around in a grand gesture, palm up, at Peggs. “See it na? Melusine’s fire! You want to know why we hide na?” She leaned close; Peggs didn’t move. “Because we’re like Marrowdell itself. Too strange. Too different. Only a few can bear it. Your mother understood, Sweetlings.”

“Our mother?” Shocked, Jenn hardly felt the next cramp. “What do you mean?”

“She knew,” Peggs said, almost a whisper. “Our mother knew what they were.”

“That’s why she hid on your wagon.” Jenn’s eyes widened. “She knew you could take her where Horst couldn’t follow.” Like Wen and Wainn. Like Bannan. Poppa’d as much as told her outright. How could she not have understood? Melusine Nalynn had loved Marrowdell because she’d seen it for what it was.

“Melly was our friend.” Riverstone stepped up. His crystal mask had the strong features of the face he showed the world, its cleft chin and hooked nose, but none of its warmth. His voice, though, was tender. “We helped her roses. You can’t imagine our grief—”

“It’s time,” Sand broke in. “Sweetling. The milk na? Should help. It does us. We’ll see na? You must lie still.”

Jenn laid down, her body so rigid she couldn’t tell if the stack of blankets made a soft or hard bed. Peggs sat beside her on the floor, taking her hand with a valiant smile. “I won’t leave you, Dearest Heart.”

And she wouldn’t, no matter what she saw. Not her sister. Jenn rolled her head to look in the direction of the setting sun. “It comes.”

The tent grew dim. The turn-born, perhaps for her, perhaps because they must, appeared as tinkers once more. All seven stripped their gloves and stood with arms outstretched, as if daring the light to expose them.

Flint, Fieldstone, and Clay were nearest the door.

The turn found them first.

Peggs’ fingers clenched around hers as their faces became masks, their hair shocks of white above. She was silent as that otherworldly light poured from the holes once mouths and eyes.

Though she flinched, just a little, as their arms became glass filled with flint, brown stone, and red clay.

The turn passed and three rather self-conscious men lowered their arms.

Jenn braced herself as the turn came closer and closer, but it didn’t help, nothing helped. She cried out as pain ripped through her . . . lost Peggs’ hand, or did she lose hers . . . her hand was found again and warm . . .

Then the turn closed in and she emptied . . .

“Jenn!”

Tinkers. Turn-born. Peggs, her face distraught. The dog, teeth bared. Bannan didn’t care who or what else was there as he rushed to the figure writhing in agony. “Jenn!”

He dropped to his knees. Ancestors Despairing and Doomed, she was fading before his eyes, her dear face barely discernible, her skin little more than a hint of purple. The blankets beneath showed through her arms.

Peggs, with incredible courage, clung to that shell of hand with both of hers. Her eyes flashed to him. “Help her!”

The only magic he possessed was the truth. How could that—

Jenn’s ghostly face turned to him as if she spoke. As if she knew he was there. Wasting no more time in doubt, the truthseer desperately looked deeper.

And found her! Her eyes were like the edge of night itself, purpled with magic. Against the cream of her skin, her lips were rose red and parted in wonder. Trembling with relief, he bent to press his lips to hers.

And touched nothing.

Bannan flinched back. The horror in Jenn’s face mirrored his own. “I see you,” he told her, told himself. “You’re not gone, Dearest Heart. I can see you.”

She just wasn’t here.

But she lay on top of the blankets, that much he could tell. And Peggs held something, if only the memory of a hand. “It’s almost over,” he promised, looking to the turn-born to be sure.

Mistress Sand, busy pulling on her gloves, gave a small nod. “The light from the Verge fades sooner than your sun’s. There. See na?”

A small hand slipped into his, like a bird to its nest.

Bannan glanced down to find Jenn Nalynn gazing up at him. “I stayed this time,” she said with such relief his heart ached. Then her eyes suddenly twinkled. “You’re dripping on me.”

“At least it’s not mud,” he said, a ragged edge to his voice. He helped Peggs ease her to sit. Their eyes met over Jenn’s head, shared a fear.

For she felt . . . different. Fragile, as if she might shatter. His fingers were loath to leave her shoulder.

Jenn covered them with hers. “It’s over,” she said gently. “I’ll be better in a moment.”

Heart’s Blood. “What about tomorrow?” He looked to Flint and Chalk. “You didn’t find it,” he accused, rising to his feet. “Why?”

“Why are you here, truthseer na?” Riverstone demanded, stepping in front of the others.

Sand clapped her hands. “What’s done, is,” she said sharply, looking from Bannan to her fellow turn-born. “What’s waiting na? Supper and those hungry to eat it.” More gently, to Jenn, “Tomorrow.”

Jenn nodded, climbing to her feet before he or Peggs could move to help her. “My thanks.”

Sand shrugged. “Thank us then.”

As the three headed out of the tent, Bannan going last to be sure Jenn was steady, he wasn’t surprised when Sand beckoned him to stay.

“I’ll take care of her,” Peggs assured him when he hesitated. As Jenn frowned, ready to protest, her sister hooked a firm arm through hers and pulled her along. “We can’t leave Hettie to serve my pies, Dearest Heart. She cuts the pieces too big for the plates.”

The flap dropped behind them.

Bannan turned to face the seven turn-born. None looked happy. Fair enough. Neither was he.

“For what you did to help her,” he said with the villagers’ short bow, “I’m grateful.”

“You, last night na?” Sand pursed her lips and made a kissing noise. “We—” a gesture to the rest, “—enjoyed.”

The truthseer flushed.

“We meant no trespass.” Riverstone shrugged. “Jenn Nalynn controls her passions, but hasn’t learned to keep them private. She will.”

“She’ll still have feelings?” It came out before he could stop it.

“For you na?” Sand asked astutely. Not waiting for an answer, she sat cross-legged on the floor, the panels of her dress draped neatly over her tall boots. The men followed suit. “Sit.”

Bannan sat, schooling his expression to polite interest, unable to keep his heart from pounding like a drum.

“A trade, truthseer,” Sand proposed. “Our Sweetling hides something from us. Say what and I’ll tell you what to expect in a turn-born’s bed.”

“I think not.” Though, Ancestors Tempted and Torn, his curiosity on the subject was close to pain. That Sand mentioned the topic at all? A good sign. “I like surprises,” he finished.

Sand raised a brow. “Not all are pleasant.”

He forced a chuckle. “That’s the way of life.”

“So it is.” She considered him, then tried another approach. “Being what you are, you know when I speak the truth. Am I right na?”