A Turn of Light (55 page)

The thunder was louder than her scream. Jenn cowered, shaking, but gradually regained her wits. She wasn’t hurt. She wasn’t on the Spine or surrounded by horrible stone.

Or in bed, where she should be.

She was in the carrots.

Buried to her elbows, which wasn’t easy to do without a shovel even in rain-softened soil, with carrots to either side. Their fragrant tops tickled her nose. A moth hovered nearby, then two. They seemed amazed by where she was.

Trying not to think of how she could be where she was, Jenn tugged, but her arms didn’t budge. She was stuck fast.

In carrots.

“You need a shovel,” the breeze in her ear announced unhelpfully.

She looked up to find a great dark shadow against the starred sky. Scourge. Moonlight pooled in two deep scars in the soil near her, scars the size of his front hooves, where he must have reared and pounded down with all his strength. “You chased them away,” Jenn said with wonder. “Like you calmed the river.” Had the waves been like the wind and driven by wings? “Dragons. They were dragons.” Not like Wisp. Dragons who could fly. “They’re real?!”

“So are you.” An amused snort. “You should be more careful in your sleep.”

How was she supposed to do that? And how was she supposed to get out of the carrots, without waking the Nalynn household? This wouldn’t be something she could explain to Aunt Sybb. Jenn managed to get first one, then the other knee between her arms, pleased not to rip her nightgown in the process, though it would be filthy. To no avail. No matter how hard she pushed and strained, her forearms stayed buried.

“Shovel.”

Jenn sagged. “Which means someone to use it,” she said miserably. Someone to witness the spectacle of her buried to her elbows, in the middle of the garden and night, not to mention in her nightgown.

Wainn would help, but he slept in the loft with Kydd. Uncle Horst would tell her father. Tir—he’d tell Bannan, she knew he would.

“Wyll,” she whispered with sudden hope. “Can you bring him? Or summon him?” He’d have her free and clean in a heartbeat.

The breeze in her ear turned cold. “Would you risk him for so little? Dragons still rage nearby.”

Moonlight bathed the Nalynn yard, finding nothing more exotic than the garden, privy, and hedge, but Jenn didn’t doubt him. Not Wyll, then.

A house toad hopped into a patch of moonlight, gave her a dismissive look, then tipped its body to gaze up at Scourge.

The beast shook his great head as if annoyed by flies. “This little cousin claims help is on the way. I suggest,” with dark humor, “you wait for it.”

“Don’t go—!”

But he was already trotting soundlessly away.

Jenn looked at the toad. “What sort of help?”

In answer, it sat and stared at her.

The vigil of man and toad continued, though only the latter knew what the vigil was for and the former had begun to stare longingly at the privy, standing in plain sight. Finally, Bannan couldn’t wait. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered.

The farmyard was empty of all but a few moths, none of which appeared to have satchels. Nonetheless, Bannan kept a wary eye around him. One step. Two.

A warning croak!

Without hesitation, he dove for the ground with the broom against his body, rolling over and over before coming up to one knee and raising his flimsy weapon in defense.

A gust of wind rocked him. Bannan shifted to face it, only to be buffeted from the opposite side. He crouched lower, offering a smaller target. Wyll’s tricks, but where was the dragon? The moonlight was generous and bright; he should be able to see him.

Another gust almost toppled him. The truthseer whirled around, broom swishing through empty air.

Desperate, he looked beyond the moonlight. There. And there. Glimpses, blurred at that, for what he strained to perceive was in constant motion. Man-sized, but not man-shaped. More than one, but he couldn’t tell if three or fifty flew about. For they flew.

Through more than air. He was knocked over as something more substantial than wind rose through the ground to bump him aside.

Dragons!

Bannan held the broom by one end and gauged his moment, then swung with all his strength. The broom struck and shattered!

The wind stopped.

The glimpses were gone.

The farmyard was empty again.

Shaken, the truthseer tossed aside the remnants of the broom, rubbing his palms to ease the impact’s sting. “Ancestors Daft and Idiotic.” Could he be more a fool? He should have pretended confusion. Better yet, he should have ignored the wind gusts, made his way to the privy, and shut the door. Now the dragons knew something about their new neighbor.

He could see them.

Come morning, Bannan resolved, he was going to have a long talk with the dragon he knew.

Moonlight silvered Wen’s wild hair and shone white over her nightdress. It missed her face, but glittered in the eyes of the house toads at her feet. Four of them. Under their stern regard, though she didn’t know why, Jenn felt such guilt her glad greeting choked in her throat.

Wen stepped past the toads and went on her knees between the rows of carrots and beans. Lit, her face showed only mild interest. “Are you held or holding?”

“I’m—just buried,” Jenn whispered. “Please help me. Did you bring a shovel?”

A small smile. “I brought better.” She rose and moved aside. “They may scratch,” she warned. “Hold very still.”

“‘Scratch?’” Before Jenn could protest—for what good it would do, since Scourge had deserted her and she couldn’t raise her voice without disturbing everyone—the house toads hopped beside her arms and started to dig.

Their clawed feet made quick work of the soil. Jenn closed her eyes and averted her face as best she could, trying not to flinch as yes, the occasional claw found her skin. But overall, they were careful and soon she was free.

Jenn sat back and wiped dirt from her fingers on her already filthy hem, eyeing the house toads. They squatted in front of her and eyed her back, their huge dark pupils giving them clear advantage. The largest had a familiar pattern of raised bosses and warts on its head, and she nodded a respectful greeting to the Nalynns’ particular guardian.

It blinked.

That Wen talked to toads no longer seemed an oddness. “Thank you,” Jenn said to the four, then looked up at the silent woman. “Do they understand what I say?”

“Of course. They also understand what happened and aren’t happy. They protect the village. You put it in danger.” Wen tilted her head as if listening. “There’s no crossing here. You tried to make one. You mustn’t do that again.”

“I—” It was Jenn’s turn to blink. The house toads didn’t. Two opened their immense mouths, baring needle teeth. “How? I had a dream—”

“Because you went where you shouldn’t.” Wen offered a hand to help Jenn to her feet. “There are always consequences, Jenn Nalynn.”

Her hand was cool and strong; Jenn didn’t let go. “Help me,” she pleaded, heart in her throat. She’d endangered Marrowdell. How could that be? She shivered; the night wasn’t warm after all. “I can’t hurt anyone. I don’t understand how I could, but I wouldn’t. I mustn’t! Please. What must I do?” Tears filled her eyes. “How can I stop a dream? If I can’t—if I’m dreaming like Aunt Sybb or Tir—I have to leave Marrowdell. But if I leave, they say I’ll die. I don’t—I don’t want to die.”

Something touched her. Jenn looked down to find the Nalynn house toad had placed its clawed foot over hers. The others gazed upward, their faces impossible to read.

“They say,” Wen told her gently, “you should hope. The Great Turn is coming.”

To hear the words from her dream made hairs rise along Jenn’s bare arms. “What is it?”

“When all appears as it truly is, and anything is possible.” Wen, who was taller, stooped to gaze into Jenn’s eyes. “You’ve such a good heart. Rest lightly, Jenn Nalynn. Your dreams are your doing, not Marrowdell’s.” She bestowed a light kiss on Jenn’s forehead, then smiled. “Find something safer to wish for, little one, before you close your eyes. And hope. Your time is soon.”

Comforted, if no less bewildered, Jenn promised, “I will,” and found herself yawning.

Wen walked away without another word, moonlight flowing through her wild hair. The toads had left when she wasn’t looking, though an alarmed squeak from the hedge suggested they, too, had gone back to their nature.

“I don’t understand any of this,” Jenn whispered. But if toads could talk and a dream plant her with the carrots?

Anything must be possible.

Including, she yawned again, sleep. Before going in, Jenn cleaned the soil from her hands and arms as best she could without water, and brushed her sadly stained nightdress. On tiptoe, she snuck through the kitchen, avoiding the creaky plank, and climbed the ladder to the loft. Though so tired her bones hurt, an impulse stopped her partway up.

Moving as quietly as she could, though it was unlikely anyone would hear footsteps over their father and aunt’s dueling snores, Jenn climbed down. She took the pebble jar from beside the fireplace and tiptoed outside again.

As if she’d imagined it, as if a dream, all was normal. A lamp burned at the Emms; the baby still woke for a late feeding, and Gallie used the time to write. Moonlight and shadow sculpted nothing more alarming than the hedge, larder door, and privy. Small things rustled at a distance, doing whatever small things did by night.

Without a whisper of dragons.

Had she imagined it? With a thrill of hope, she looked toward the garden.

Carrots lay strewn across three rows, and dark soil scarred the ground. There were holes—

Jenn tore her eyes away. Her body wanted to tremble. Her hands did and she focused on her nails, which would need a thorough scrub in the morning, and her task. She tipped the jar’s contents onto the plank beside the wash tub and, by moonlight, sorted out the white ones, putting the rest back. She divided the result into four piles of three.

Little enough thanks for what the toads had done, but all she knew to do.

Satisfied, Jenn went up to the loft. As quietly as she could, she stripped out of her filthy nightgown and pulled on a clean one, then slipped under the quilt. Peggs mumbled something and rolled over, taking most of the bedding with her. Jenn tugged her share back and settled, staring up at the rafters.

Wish for something safe, Wen had told her.

So with all her heart, Jenn Nalynn wished for a lovely morning, with sunshine and dew on the asters and birds singing.

Then closed her eyes, to sleep without dreams.

The next morning dawned so blue and bright, so full of birdsong and busy bees, Bannan had to laugh. “Thank you, Jenn Nalynn,” he told the sky. After a quick wash and shave, he filled a bucket for breakfast, eager to start the day.

Inside, he started a fire in his new stove, holding his breath until the flame caught, then set his makeshift table for one. He pushed the second of his new stools aside, along with his worries about Tir. The man was resourceful. If anyone could find a way to stay in Marrowdell, he would.

While water boiled for tea, Bannan laid a thick slice of ham to sizzle in his new skillet, only to stop midmotion as breezes chuckled through the room, collecting a plate, finding a knife, fork, and cup, then arranging them neatly at the table across from his. Bannan reached for more ham, grinning to himself.