A Turn of Light (103 page)

“Help?” Bannan looked from Sand to Wyll. “I thought they were gods.”

Sand shook her head. “Sei are powerful beyond our knowing, yes, and act as they choose, but they are no more gods than is a dragon. What do you mean, help na?”

“What we’ve named the Wound—what almost claimed you today,” with a disdainful curl of his lip, “is a sei, caught in the edge. It’s dying and calls to the turn-born for help, but you don’t listen. If you do, and go to it, you die, because what’s killing it—” Wyll bared his teeth in what wasn’t a man’s smile, “—will kill anything else.”

Scourge had told him this much. “What’s up there?” Bannan demanded.

“Nyphrit.”

The name meant nothing to him, but it did to the turn-born, who exchanged quizzical looks. “Such are a threat to little cousins,” Riverstone argued.

“These are like no nyphrit you’ve seen before, in dreadful number. They could clean the meat from a kruar before it screamed.” The dragon smiled. “Only a sei could have endured this long.”

“Go on,” Sand said grimly.

“Kruar, dragon, turn-born. We’ve each had our part of the truth, but never all of it. Until now.” It wasn’t triumph giving Wyll’s voice such compelling strength, the truthseer thought, but despair. “I saw it for myself, carried there by a sei who told me, ‘The girl is the promise and last hope.’ They’ve known since her birth. The one trapped here helped her survive; the others, helpless here, made me her guardian.”

It wasn’t a game. These beings, whatever they were, had meddled in Jenn Nalynn’s entire life. “To what end?” Bannan asked harshly. “Did they tell you?”

“They told me,” a grimace. “‘At the Great Turn, all things are possible.’ The dying sei needs Jenn Nalynn to cross and save it. If she does, she will live and the Wound be healed.” The dragon pressed his lips together, as if there was more.

The truthseer would have asked, but Sand spoke first. “Save a sei na? We couldn’t do it. How could our Sweetling na?”

“We must help her. All of us.”

The truth.

Against hordes of whatever nyphrit were, in another world. The truthseer shook his head, not in denial but protest. “What can we do? What can Jenn do? This is unfair, Wyll. She’s—” he stopped himself. Jenn Nalynn was many things; helpless wasn’t one of them.

That didn’t make her a slayer of monsters. Or the savior of one.

Flint rose to his feet, eyes and mouth ablaze. “We hold the edge as much as any. Do more! Why are we lured to our deaths na? The sei could have explained. Told us what to do. Why not na?! Are we not worthy na?!”

The turn-borns’ attention, and Wyll’s, snapped to the moth. Sand gave a dismayed cry.

The dragon laughed.

“What did it say?” Bannan looked from one to the other. “Tell me!”

Flint and Riverstone shrank back. Sand cowered.

“This sei blames them,” Wyll answered with grim satisfaction. “When first called to hold the edge, to help it, the turn-born were afraid and refused to listen. All of them.”

Meaning they’d agreed. The truthseer stared at Sand. “Is that what you wished? Not to understand it?”

She knew what he meant, but spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “I wasn’t yet born, but even if I’d been there, truthseer, I wouldn’t know. What we do, whatever we’ve done na? Becomes part, becomes real. For us as much as the Verge.”

“To undo this na?” Riverstone shrugged. “We could do more harm. We dare not.”

“Still afraid,” the dragon accused. “What use are you?”

“Enough. I’ve this.” Bannan pulled the pouch from his belt and held it up. “It’s Ansnan magic, to call Jenn’s pebble from the Verge to Marrowdell.”

“Useless. The girl does as much in her sleep.” Wyll looked at Sand. “We need your help—all of you. She can’t do this alone.”

“Hello. I thought—”

They turned.

“—I’d come early.” Jenn Nalynn stood in the opening to the tent, framed in sunlight, or did sunlight pour through her? Her gaze went from him to the dragon, paused thoughtfully at the moth, then came to rest on the turn-born. “I’m glad to find you all here. We need to talk about tomorrow.”

Wyll’s eyes were silver and hard to meet, but his anger wasn’t at her. Mistress Sand looked unhappy, which might be about her. Riverstone and Flint? Aunt Sybb would say the pair looked rattled; they hadn’t found her pebble either, Jenn decided. Bannan, though he smiled to see her, was pale under the harvest dust.

She’d interrupted an argument; easy to guess the topic. Jenn came into the tent and sat on the stack of blankets beside the moth. It tucked away its parchment and stepped on her offered hand, walking up her arm to her shoulder. “The others are on their way. And Peggs. We don’t have much time.” The turn. Would she feel it the rest of her life? “We need a plan.”

“Yes.” A careless wind swept through the tent, stealing pillows from the tinkers’ beds. Wyll settled on the resulting pile with a satisfied grunt. A breeze tickled the hairs of her neck, then found her ear. “They’ve been humbled. Hurry, Dearest Heart, before they remember their pride. Get their aid.”

She didn’t smile, but she gave him a warm look.

The turn-born sat more slowly. Bannan hesitated, then sat as well, his eyes intent.

“My my my.” Sand clicked her tongue. “Tomorrow na? Your birthday. Three Golden Day weddings, though not four,” with an unreadable glance at Wyll. “Our farewell. You’ll come here, to be safe, during the Great Turn. What more needs be said, Sweetling na?” she asked. “Besides what you’d like for a treat.”

Pretend, Sand suggested. Pretend to be carefree and happy, before slipping away from her family and friends to die.

“You think I’ll fail,” Jenn accused. She’d come knowing what she must say, and what she mustn’t. She dared not lie, not that she would, but if she was to save herself—if she was to save them—it started now. “I won’t fail. Not if you help me. Please tell me, Mistress, what is a sei and how does one save it? For tomorrow I will cross.”

Wyll half smiled. Bannan looked to Sand as if to remind her he’d know the truth. Flint shook his head and went off to sit in a corner.

Sand pursed her lips and glanced at Riverstone.

“You’re sure what you saw na?” He pointed to the moth on Jenn’s shoulder. At Sand’s nod, he sighed. “Then what we know is yours, Sweetling. Turn-born do not dispute what a sei desires.

“As for the rest . . .”

The turn came and went. Knowing what to expect hadn’t helped. Nothing could. Seeing her beloved face disappear before his eyes, fading beyond even his deeper sight, had been like losing her there and then. Peggs had sobbed in silence; Wyll had fled the tent, his face terrible to see. When it was over, what remained of Jenn Nalynn was nothing more than light within a shell if he looked too closely. For all that, despite it, she rose and thanked the turn-born with courtesy and grace, the only one of them able to speak.

Bannan found Wyll by the gate, staring at the Spine. The dark blue sky hung behind the bleached stone like a curtain, hiding that other world. A world he’d see for himself tomorrow.

“Jenn’s gone home with Peggs.” Needing the support, he leaned his arms on the top rail. “I have to believe . . .” He coughed the huskiness from his throat. “With her courage, anything’s possible.”

A breeze tore through the mighty oak by the ford, rattling acorns and rustling leaves. Its branches creaked a protest; the little wind subsided.

“No, it’s not fair,” he agreed, resting his chin on his arms. Bannan turned his head to gaze at Wyll. “You held something back. What?”

“What I can say, I have. What I can’t changes nothing.” The dragon’s eyes flared silver. “Jenn Nalynn must succeed.”

They’d made what plans they could. He and Wyll would wait at the tinkers’ tent; Jenn would be there as soon as she could slip from home. According to the turn-born, all she need do was seek her pebble. The edge was weakest between the tallest mounds of the Spine; step there during the Great Turn and she’d cross into the Verge. By holding Bannan’s hand, she’d bring him with her.

How to save the sei? They’d exchanged helpless looks, then shrugged. Hopefully, it would tell her how. As for how to fight through hordes of slavering nyphrit . . .

“We could use some help.” The kruar and the terst turn-born wouldn’t risk the Wound; Jenn wouldn’t risk her family and friends. Just as well, in his soldierly opinion. Fear of any kind worked for the enemy.

“I’m here to seek it.”

Bannan raised his head. “From what?”

“Don’t be hopeful,” Wyll warned, a snarl behind the words.

Something small, like a leaf and not, danced in the air. A house toad squatted by the gatepost. How could he not hope, when Marrowdell was so much more than it appeared?

Suddenly, the air filled with wings. Bannan gasped and moved his feet as something unseen pushed up and through the ground.

Dragons!

He saw nothing, heard nothing beyond the murmur of the river and the clatter of dishes back in the village, but there came a pressure, a call as powerful as any horn. His blood quickened. This was a summons to battle. More, to glory!

The air emptied.

Wyll raised his hand, then let it fall. “I don’t blame them,” he said at last. “If turn-born dare not interfere in a sei’s workings, how can dragons?” He turned away. “The fools trust me with their fate.”

Grief, not disappointment. The truthseer frowned. There was a question no one had asked, perhaps knowing the answer. He asked it now. “What happens if the sei dies?”

“It must not,” came the disquieting reply. “More I cannot say and you needn’t know. Now go, Bannan Larmensu. Join those who celebrate and see if you can make Jenn Nalynn smile. I must rest.”

The heart of the village was aglow with light and music. Appetizing smells wafted past the hedge into the commons and Bannan’s stomach told him how long it had been since that quick lunch in the field. Leaving Wyll, he strode quickly past the now-empty tinkers’ tents and the pond. One of the sows regarded him sleepily then closed her eyes.

Tir Half-face eased from the shadows, matching his steps. “What’s to do, sir?”

“Tomorrow morning, we go up the Spine,” the truthseer informed him. “I’ll want your spares.”

“Steel against magic?”

“Against flesh and blood. There’ll be creatures trying to stop us. Nyphrit, they’re called. Like the mice here. Bigger, I’m told.”

“Ancestors Glorious and Grim.” There was light enough to see Tir drop his hands to the axes in his belt. “Give the word, sir. I’m ready.”

Bannan shook his head. “Your post’s at the gate.” Before the other could object, he went on, “Keep Jenn’s family and friends here and safe. Make sure Urcet doesn’t change his mind.” Sensing, if not seeing, the other’s thunderous scowl, he added, “Don’t worry. Wyll and Jenn have their magic, I’ve my own.”

“Yours, sir, pardon my saying, is hardly a weapon.” Though unhappy, Tir didn’t argue; he understood the stakes and no one would pass him. “My spares are in the mill with my kit. I’ll sharpen the edges tonight. Mind you don’t cut yourself.”

“I’ll do my best.” The truthseer grinned without humor, then nodded to the caravan. “Anything new with our friends?”

“That lot?” Tir raised his mask to spit. “Aie. They’re going to cook one of their cursed dolls.”