A Turn of Light (104 page)

Adjusting their number. Bannan raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s joined them.”

“Or will. Could be they expect reinforcements. Without Horst,” Tir shrugged, “who’s watching the road into the valley?”

“Scourge and his lady friends roam the woods.” The truthseer chuckled. “Pity anyone who tries to pass them.”

“Bloody beast,” more cheerfully. “Could be they plan to take someone, then. I know you trust the dema, sir, but with all that’s going on, is that wise?” A grimmer tone. “Ancestors Witness, they’re Ansnans.”

“Stars witness, we’re heretics who worship our dead and probably boil kittens.” Bannan clapped Tir’s shoulder. “This is Marrowdell, not the marches. I’ll go and ask about the doll while you, my distrustful friend, wash off the harvest and change. There’s to be a dance, as you’ve said so often today.”

“You dance. I’m for the feast and the beer.” Lightly said, but his hand found Bannan’s shoulder, fingers digging deep. “It’s no bad way to spend the night before a battle.”

It wasn’t.

The two parted company, Tir for the village, Bannan heading to the caravan. Sure enough, there was a pyre of smooth shaved sticks in front of the middle wagon. He sniffed, nodding as he smelled an aromatic oil. They’d come prepared.

Ansnans did. For an instant, the truthseer saw another pyre, already lit. It had been in the center of another patrol’s camp, one seemingly abandoned, and they’d worked frantically to douse the flames and pull out half-consumed dolls. Fifteen, in sum. The number of Rhothans taken prisoner that dreadful night.

Prisoners now freed, he told himself, forcing a smile as Qimirpik spotted him and came forward, his hand out in greeting.

“Welcome! I’d hoped for more witnesses, but everyone’s busy. Come. Come.”

Urcet was nowhere to be seen, perhaps, Bannan thought, unwilling to be part of an Ansnan ritual. The odemi, Kanajuq and Panilaq, were waiting, the former with a blazing torch, the latter with a bucket of water. The three dolls sat in chairs and the veil of the leftmost had been lifted, as if its painted eyes, large, black, and round, should survey the proceedings.

Roche Morrill stepped from the wagon, pausing on the lowermost stair when he saw the truthseer. He was fresh scrubbed and dressed in a fine linen shirt. A flush mottled his cheeks, but he came the rest of the way. “Bannan.”

Smiling broadly, the dema waved to the younger man. “Good Roche wishes to see Ansnan for himself,” he announced. “We’re about to adjust our numbers—for luck, I’ve told him,” this as he placed a hand on the other’s back to urge him toward the dolls. “Can’t have too much when traveling.”

Bannan gave Roche a sharp look. “Does your family know?”

“Soon enough.” His look was met with a defiant one. “The world’s larger than this hole. Dema Qimirpik’s offered to teach me astronomy. I’ve no interest in that, but I want a chance to be special. To do what no one here can. I’ll earn my way. I’ll work.” The voice might be sullen, but the words rang with truth; not that Roche could help that.

Whatever else, the boy had courage, to leave not only his home but domain. He might have a bright future after all. “Then accept my congratulations,” Bannan said. “I wish you the best.”

Roche blinked uncertainly, but he was given no chance to say another word. The dema pointed to the unveiled doll. “There you go. Make room. Make room.”

They’d told him what to do, for Roche didn’t hesitate. He picked up the doll as he might a child, supporting its torso and legs, and carried it to the waiting pyre. Laying it down, he took the torch from the servant and looked up at the sky. The Mistress showed, if nothing fainter. “By the stars’ grace.” He touched the flame to the oil-soaked wood. “I, Roche Morrill, take your place in this company.”

He looked queasy as the doll’s clothes charred away and the wood of its head and body caught fire, but the dema gave a loud “Whoop!” and took the torch, tossing it carelessly on top to produce a shower of sparks. “I, Dema Qimirpik, bear witness.”

The elderly servants echoed the words, together and with enthusiasm. Roche might be Rhothan, but he was strong and young and used to hard work. Having his help would ease their lot for the journey home.

The truthseer bowed and said, “I, Bannan Larmensu, bear witness.”

“Excellent. Wine, Kanajuq. Wine for everyone. This is a great day!”

Roche looked more bewildered than happy. He wasn’t used to being the center of attention for the right reasons, Bannan judged. The truthseer circled his fingers over his heart. “Hearts of our Ancestors,” he said solemnly, “we are Beholden for the fresh start being offered this man. And,” a nod to the dema, “for the quality of his new friends. However far we are apart, Keep Us Close.”

“‘Keep Us Close.’” Roche said unsteadily. He held out his hand. “My thanks for your advice, Bannan Larmensu. I hope you find in Marrowdell what I couldn’t.”

Bannan clasped it with both of his. “Thank me by writing to your mother. Often.”

There was already a subtle change in the other’s bearing. A new confidence. Roche nodded. “I will.”

“Wine!” urged the dema, a full glass in his hand. “This is a moment to celebrate!”

“It is, and my thanks, but I can’t stay.” Bannan indicated his dusty clothes. “There’s the feast—”

“And Jenn Nalynn.” Roche actually smiled.

“And Jenn Nalynn,” Bannan agreed, smiling back.

Nothing was held back from the farewell feast. Tables creaked under the weight of platters and bowls, although this year’s differed in that three of the offerings were the grooms’. Radd Nalynn kept refilling his plate, Kydd having proved an excellent cook. The Ropps took dutiful mouthfuls of Tadd’s sausage stew before urging it on others, a spice having been mysteriously added that didn’t agree with his to-be mother-by-marriage’s stomach. Allin had no better success, his bread pudding being discreetly whisked away as there was something unnerving about its consistency. Hettie and Palma were not impressed, but Devins collected on bets with both twins.

Though the purple-tasting milk was all her body craved, Jenn Nalynn sampled every dish but the pudding, going back twice for her sister’s summerberry pie. Tonight, she belonged here. Tonight, she was no different from Hettie or Peggs or Cheffy or anyone else in Marrowdell and she intended to live every moment to the full.

An intention her sister must have read, for Peggs didn’t hover or fuss or even give her those thoughtful, worried looks. Instead, the eldest Nalynn daughter was all smiles and laughter, a vision of such beauty Jenn began to worry Kydd would walk into a tree.

The second loveliest woman in Marrowdell, however, didn’t smile or laugh. Riss sat by herself, holding a ring of tapestry on her lap like a shield, and Jenn’s eyes wandered to her more and more often. Finally, she excused herself from a lively discussion about waterworks in Eld and how they differed from Ansnor’s between her father, Urcet, Tadd, and Dusom, a topic she’d ordinarily find fascinating, and, filling two tankards with beer, went to sit beside Riss.

The older woman tucked her needlework in its sack and stood. “Your pardon, Jenn. It’s time I went home.”

No, Jenn thought, it was time Riss began to heal. “Do you wish you’d never met him?”

“Heart’s Blood!” Green eyes sparkled with fury, or were there tears? Riss sank back down. “What sort of question is that, Jenn Nalynn?”

“An honest one.” Offering one of the tankards, Jenn waited until Riss took it. “You’re so unhappy.”

Staring into the drink, the other brought her lower lip between her teeth, then said quietly, “Ancestors Witness, I wish I’d met him sooner. Before all this. I wish we’d met when we were free to love and stay together the rest of our lives.” She drank, deeply. “The sad truth? I wouldn’t have loved him then. I wouldn’t have noticed him, wouldn’t have understood him, wouldn’t have guessed the person he was or cared. The Hearts may move us at their whim, but we must be ready when they do. I wasn’t.”

“The circlet—” Jenn hesitated, unsure how to ask.

Riss almost smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m glad Palma’s excited to wear it.” The almost smile disappeared. “More than glad. Of the things I most regret . . . my friend Sisyl came to say good-bye. She brought the circlet to show me. Her mother’d had it made by our favorite silversmith, you see, just as I’d hoped mine would do. I was so bitter and angry, I stole it.” She sighed. “Ancestors Petty and Foolish, I don’t know what I thought to accomplish. I could never marry in it.”

Jenn touched Riss’ arm. “Aunt Sybb says, life’s trials make us the women we are. Whatever you think of your past, Riss, it’s made you someone we all love. Especially Uncle Horst and he’s—” with emphasis, “—no fool.”

“No. No, he’s not.” Riss sniffed and drank a little more beer. “Ancestors Blessed. I miss him. I’ll always miss him.” She looked at Jenn. “How strange. It helps to say it.”

Jenn smiled. “Then you should try saying it to someone else,” she suggested gently. “My father, for instance. He misses Uncle Horst too.”

“Radd?” A sudden dimple. “And risk your lady aunt thinking I’m interested at long last?”

“You knew?”

Finally, a smile. “Since Melusine’s passing, Sybbie makes a point of taking tea with me just before she leaves, for the company and to discuss, in exquisite good taste, of course, her brother’s many virtues. In case I become interested.”

Why . . . why that was . . . exactly what Aunt Sybb would do, now that Jenn thought about it. “Oh. Has that been awkward?”

“Not really.” Riss lifted her cup toward where Radd Nalynn stood talking. “Your father shows up the next day to apologize and share a glass of wine.”

Jenn almost choked. “He knows?”

“From the start. Radd asked me not to tell. He didn’t want to spoil her hopes and, between us, I think he feared she’d try to pair him up with Lorra or Frann next, though Sybbie’s wiser than that.” Riss laughed, the first time in days. “Your aunt’s a treasure.”

“She is.” Jenn couldn’t wait to tell her sister.

As if Riss’ laughter had been a sign, Covie and Cynd bustled up to claim their friend, their faces wreathed in relieved smiles. Jenn took her leave.

There was no rush, not tonight, for the feast to end and the Beholding to start. Just as well, since the dema was late, and his servants, along with Roche who’d been helping them all day. More importantly, because she did have favorites, Bannan and Tir had yet to arrive and Wyll was nowhere to be seen. He’d promised he wouldn’t leave the village tonight. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure he had his strength back, but she wouldn’t underestimate him.

Master Riverstone, Mistress Sand, and the rest were here, being congratulated and thanked. There was a great deal of backslapping and tankards raised to one another, the harvest having been successful, and the tinkers’ wagons would be loaded with their share in the morning.

Jenn refused to think about the morning. She wandered contentedly through the gathering, admiring Alyssa’s new ribbons and Cheffy’s new-to-him shirt, walking a little faster when she overheard Lorra ask about the coming eclipse and Dusom launch into an explanation of what to expect, and a little slower when she noticed Aunt Sybb was talking with Old Jupp.

Which was just as well, or she’d have run right into Wainn and Wen. “Fair evening,” Jenn greeted the pair, her smile fading when they didn’t smile back. Thinking she understood, she added quickly, keeping her voice down, “Wyll made up his own mind. You can ask him.”

“And you’ve made up yours,” Wen said. She’d added a ribbon to her wild hair, a concession, no doubt, to her mother, and wore a dress that had been Covie’s and didn’t fit her slender frame, but in that instant, she looked like a queen. Not a story queen, but the grim kind from history books, who’d order armies with a crook of a finger, and were liable to have heads removed rather than debate.

What Wen was, whatever she’d become, in Marrowdell, for the first time, Jenn felt a thrill of fear. She looked to Wainn for help, but his eyes swam with grief and he shook his head. “You want to go alone, but you mustn’t.”

How? How they knew didn’t matter. Gathering her courage, she turned back to Wen. “I will go alone. The sei told me to help myself; that anything’s possible at the Great Turn. That seems plain enough. I needn’t risk anyone else. I won’t.”

Wen tilted her head, as though listening to an unheard voice, then her gray eyes glittered. “‘Anything’s possible,’” she echoed carelessly, lacing her fingers with Wainn’s as if it no longer mattered who saw. “But what risk love will take is not yours to decide, Jenn Nalynn. You aren’t being fair.”

“I know.” Jenn laid her hand over theirs. “But it’s my love that won’t let me do otherwise.”

Though they remained unhappy, Wen bowed her head. “Ancestors Dear and Departed. You take all our hearts with you. Be careful of them.”

“I will. I promise.”

Wainn gave her a searching look. “Know who you are,” he said abruptly.

She couldn’t see why she wouldn’t; then again, the youngest Uhthoff saw a great deal she didn’t. Jenn nodded gravely.

“And dance,” he added, his face making one of its lightning changes from solemn and wise to simple and kind. Suiting action to words, he took Wen in his arms and whirled away into the night.