A Turn of Light (84 page)

The Spine rose directly across from her, taunting and dangerous. Understanding her longing for it hadn’t helped at all.

“Turn-born.” Jenn Nalynn flung the cup and its contents in the river. “Monster!”

Wyll knew what she was, if not this. Bannan? Sand was right, he’d see for himself. Neither would repudiate her. They were better than that.

Even if they should.

She dared not despair. Dared not cry or be angry or anything normal. Overwhelmed, Jenn dropped her forehead to her knees.

~ What is wrong, elder sister? ~

She rolled her head. A house toad squatted in the grass, its eyes half-closed against the bright sun. “Do I become something else and live,” she asked dully, “or stay as I am and die?”

It shut its eyes completely, becoming, to a casual glance, a lumpy stone. ~ Which is more honorable? ~

She closed her own. “Where’s honor in this?”

~ There is always honor! ~ It sounded dismayed by her doubt. ~ I will explain. ~

“That’s not—” She didn’t get to say, “—necessary.”

~ It is honorable to die, ~ the toad declared proudly, ~ if, by so doing, you protect others. It is honorable to live, if you have a duty to fulfill no other can. It is also honorable to die if your queen asks it, but you do not have a queen, do you? ~

Toads. Jenn sighed again. “Just a prince.”

~ Yet you have those who love and need you, elder sister. ~

She opened her eyes. The toad gazed back, she’d swear with a smug tilt to its chubby body. “You’re about to tell me,” she said after a long thought-filled moment, “that it’s more honorable to live for their sakes than accept death for mine. That if I have any chance to stay with Peggs and Poppa and Aunt Sybb—with Wyll and—and with everyone I care about and who cares about me—I owe them to take it.”

It shifted cautiously. ~ I would never presume— ~

“You’re right.” Surely how very much she loved her family and friends was a kind of magic too. Jenn sat up straight and gave a firm nod. “I must help myself.”

She reached into the sack and pulled out the boxes, arranging them in a row. The letters carved in their lids weren’t the tinkers’ initials as she’d thought, nor proper letters at all. She tried to make them out, but what magic let her understand what she heard didn’t work for writing.

The house toad and a small brown bird watching, she brushed an ant from the top and carefully removed the first lid.

It contained a lump of something purple and shiny. To her astonishment, the lump slid quickly to one side as if to avoid the sunlight.

“Definitely not you,” Jenn told it, replacing the lid.

The second box contained yellow feathers, or something like enough; the third, a disappointingly ordinary white sand—ordinary until it opened a bloodshot eye to leer at her. That box went back in the sack.

The fourth held pebbles, but they were brown and dull. The toad wasn’t impressed either. The fifth, something dark green that stank like rotting turnip leaves.

The sixth box hissed and rattled when she touched the lid. Unopened, it joined box three in the sack.

“Last one,” Jenn told the toad.

The white pebble could be inside. Her mouth watered as she slowly lifted the lid.

Fantastic gems sparkled and gleamed within, each facet holding her disappointed reflection. She closed that box and regretfully put it away with the rest. The turn-born expected her to choose from these?

Well, she couldn’t.

They weren’t right.

Nothing tempted her except the white pebble, which, as she considered how it sank through the ground, must be magical enough to be from the Verge, though why it had been in the meadow she couldn’t guess. Or had it been left for her to find?

Disturbing as the thought was, it was worse to imagine the pebble, like the sand in the box, might have waited of its own accord.

She’d touched it with her bare hands. If it came from the Verge, according to Mistress Sand, that was that. Touch then taste then . . .

“Oh, no.” She stared at the toad.

The toad stared back.

“It’s my fault. That’s what Wainn meant.” Like Wisp and Bannan. Had she waited a day, she wouldn’t feel drawn to both. Had she not climbed the Spine, any of these little boxes might have satisfied her. Well, not the eye or the moving purple goo or what hissed, but one of the others surely. The gems, preferably. She mightn’t mind so much if she could sparkle inside. At least then she could show Peggs.

Jenn refused to think it defeat. Though it wasn’t at all gracious to ask for a new and different gift, Mistress Sand had said she’d help. What better help than for the turn-born to cross back to the Verge and find her pebble? She’d ask, most politely, and hope.

She lifted her eyes to the Spine, its mounds brilliant white against the clear blue sky, like clouds.

If the turn-born couldn’t find it by the Great Turn, she’d cross herself to look.

There was honor for you, she thought, with a nod to the stalwart toad.

To die trying.

Any other evening, especially after a day’s hard work, Bannan would have been among the first to wrap his fist around a tankard of beer and fill his plate with steaming fragrant meat.

Not this night.

He’d stayed with the rest to see the animals cared for; not that the kruar required more than being free of their harness, but the livestock in the orchard needed to be coaxed into the now-cleared field. The Ropps’ little bull, unwilling to concede space to the Ansnans’ giant oxen, found himself to the fore and refused to budge; big Davi and two more men had laughingly pushed him through the hedge gate. The riding horses eagerly followed, kicking up their heels as they galloped across the wide open space. The rest of the cattle, the oxen, cows, and calves, came next, spreading out with heads down and mouths busy in full approval of their new forage.

Last, but not least, the fat old pony wandered after, with a nicker and fuss when he realized the draft horses and Aunt Sybb’s team were to spend the night in their barn, a worry swiftly forgotten once the children tossed apple cores into the field for him.

Clean and dressed for the evening, Lila’s letter safely put with his belongings, Bannan began his search for Jenn Nalynn.

The villagers were assembling for the welcome feast, so he headed there first. Platters and bowls of food covered the trestle tables laid along the path leading from the main road to the Treffs’ and Emms’. The stretch between the former’s home and the latter’s barn offered a pleasing unobstructed view of the river and valley, so an abundance of benches and blankets and chairs had been set out wherever there wasn’t garden. The tinkers had brought several of their barrels, tapping those to cheers and hearty applause. The barrels might not be the wood they appeared to others, but the beer looked and smelled as it should.

Lamps hung from poles and porches and even the branches of nearby apple trees. Candles ringed the fountain in the center of the village. None were lit. Not yet.

For the sun still hung over the Bone Hills, its low rays gilding the valley where it wasn’t striped by long shadows. The crude log buildings took on a russet glow and the river sparkled like diamonds.

For the first time, Bannan found himself immune to Marrowdell’s remarkable beauty. The turn was coming. He slipped through the gathering, avoiding pleasantries, fending off platters and jugs, looking everywhere for Jenn Nalynn. So intent was he, he staggered when Davi clapped him soundly on the back. “Fine work today, Bannan. We’ll make a farmer of you yet.”

“Good to hear,” he said when he had his breath. Nodding toward the beer barrels, the truthseer made his escape.

Twice, he thought he’d spotted Jenn, only to be wrong. Once, he almost collided with the Ansnan dema and took a quick step out of the way. The dema and Eld, hosted by a smiling Dusom, mingled cheerfully with the villagers and tinkers. Their servants stayed close by the beer, eyes wary and tankards clutched to their chests as if chances to indulge were few and far between.

Horst stood apart, as usual, tucking into a plate of misguided ox. He was too adept a watcher to make his attention obvious, but Bannan was sure nothing the astronomers said or did went unnoticed. Especially now that Horst knew they might be here for more than the eclipse.

The truthseer hadn’t told him of the turn-born or that Jenn Nalynn was one of their kind. There’d been no time or need. Simply passing along Wyll’s warning, that the newcomers might try to use Jenn Nalynn as part of Ansnan magic, had been enough to put fire in the old soldier’s eyes.

Tir should hear it all, but that had to wait. His friend would be busy in the mill with Radd until after sunset; Bannan had to find Jenn first.

Was that . . . ? The tantalizing glimpse of fair hair and round cheek was lost behind a forest of tall black feathers. As he attempted to peer around the hat without offending Lorra Treff, who mistook his attention and immediately smiled, someone took hold of his hand and tugged.

He glanced down to find the Ropps’ youngest daughter, Alyssa, who wasn’t smiling at all. “Bannan, you must come,” she urged, tugging harder. “Your horse is starting a fight!”

Scourge. He’d wondered how long it would take, but now? Ancestors Witness, the beast had impeccable timing. The sun was touching the Bone Hills; in moments it would set.

Jenn . . .

As Bannan hesitated, an enraged squeal from the commons shocked the festive crowd to silence. A second brought worried murmuring, especially from the astronomers. “Your pardon,” Master Riverstone said loudly. “Our horses play. We’ll see to them.”

Nods and relieved looks. The villagers went back to their party, Dusom busy explaining to the dema. That should be a conversation worth overhearing.

Knowing exactly how kruar could be, at play or otherwise, the truthseer nodded to Alyssa and headed for the commons.

Riverstone and Chalk were ahead, bound for their tent. As Bannan caught up to them, the latter turned and stopped in his way. “It’s best to leave them alone. Our horses aren’t the tame sort.”

“My horse’s there,” Bannan snapped.

An eyebrow lifted in polite disbelief. “Why would—” A deep, bloodcurdling roar echoed through the valley and the other eyebrow rose in shock. “It can’t be . . .”

So Scourge was adept at hiding from turn-born as well. Until, Bannan winced inwardly, now. “I have to go,” he said as calmly as he could, stepping around Chalk. “Can’t have a fight, can we?”

“What is it you see, man of truth?”

This was it, then. How they’d found out didn’t matter; what did was what happened next.

Who did he fool? Whatever they decided, that’s what would happen.

Though his heart thudded in his chest, Bannan kept his face pleasant. “Do we do this now, turn-born?” he asked grimly, with a meaningful nod to the gathering behind them. “Here? I’m not the one with secrets.”

“Peace. We’ve no quarrel, Bannan Larmensu, unless you make one.” Chalk smiled then laughed outright. “Sly old kruar. He brought you! His disguise na?”

The truth. All of it. For whatever reason—and he thought at once of Jenn Nalynn—the turn-born accepted his presence. He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d held. “Scourge just wants to go home—” A pained squeal from the commons drew Bannan’s head around. “Heart’s Blood!”

He heard the turn-born shout, “Leave them!” as he broke into a run. He didn’t look back.

The “sly old kruar” may have planned how to get here, the truthseer thought furiously, but had he expected to meet six of his kind in Marrowdell? Well-armored, and for all Bannan knew, younger and stronger?

He’d bet on Scourge, no question.

Still. Just in case, he grabbed a pitchfork on his way.

Through the open window, Jenn watched the golden tinge on the crags consumed by darkness that moved steadily, stealthily upward. There was no stopping it.

All she could do was hide.

She’d returned to the tent with the boxes and her request, only to find Mistress Sand had left. She should have remembered. The tinker helped the Treffs each year with the welcome feast. Urgent as the pebble was, Jenn couldn’t bring herself to risk Lorra and Frann’s curiosity.