A Turn of Light (85 page)

So she’d made her way home, to help Peggs. Her sister’d accepted her return without question or fuss, quietly keeping her busy.

Keeping her in sight, too, as the afternoon drew to an end. There was no fooling Peggs Nalynn.

Jenn hadn’t tried. She’d stayed close to her sister, helping to set out platters and baskets, letting others do the fetch and carry. She’d waited for the tinkers and looked hopefully for Wyll, but there was no sign of either. Her dragon had promised to come tonight; she supposed he was busy too.

Then the wagons returned, those who’d worked the fields sitting atop the day’s last loads, waving their pitchforks in tired triumph. The grain wagon went on to the mill while those not heaving stalks busied themselves with moving the livestock to their new pasture. Though every face wore a mask of dust and sweat, there was no mistaking Bannan Larmensu for anyone else.

Her eyes had followed him, her heart beating like a drum. Whenever he looked in her direction, Jenn would pretend to drop something under a table and crouch down. It was all quite exhausting.

It didn’t help that Peggs tried not to smile.

Between trying to avoid Bannan and find a private moment with Mistress Sand, Jenn had felt sunset crawling closer and closer. Now, she understood the tinkers’ daily observance; like the house toads hiding under Aunt Sybb’s coach, they avoided exposure inside their tents. She couldn’t face the turn in the open either, especially not in front of almost everyone she knew. But how to evade her determined sister?

Scourge. Just when it seemed Bannan had spotted her at last, the great beast had let out a roar, answered by the tinkers’ horses. Everyone else had looked to the commons, including Bannan, and she’d nipped around the Emms’ barn and home, quick as could be.

She owed Scourge a very large plate of hard-boiled eggs. In their shells.

So now, waiting for sunset, Jenn sat on the window seat and let the breeze from the river cool her flushed cheeks. Their father would stay at the mill as long as there was light, while Aunt Sybb happily held court on a chair Tir had placed for her in the center of the festivities.

She was safe, here, and alone.

Voices and laughter rose from the feast. After sunset, the lamps would be lit and the music begin. Quietly at first, to allow full stomachs to settle and dishes to be cleared. A foot might tap the beat. Heads nod slowly. There’d be satisfied smiles and peace.

The Beholding for the harvest would be said, pulling everyone together, then the tempo would rise along with the laughter. The eager would jump up; others tarry for another beer or take their turn on the drum. The hardest part was that the dancing need end, but all must be at work by dawn. Master Riverstone would hold firm; though he could be coaxed into an extra song or two.

Her extraordinary new dress hung on its hook. Jenn wore her former best, having lost her courage at the last moment. The pale green with white stripes was still pretty, though the bodice no longer allowed a deep breath and she’d caught Peggs giving her an amused look.

The last touch of gold left the crags.

Jenn braced herself, but the first cramp struck like a blow, driving the air from her lungs. Gasping, she stumbled toward the bed.

At her second step, she sank to her knees through the braided rug and wood of the floor, feet and ankles gone.

She tried to scream and couldn’t, bent to push herself free but had no hands! No hands or wrists . . . She flailed her elbows uselessly, knowing she must be free before the turn ended or be stuck in the floor, which wasn’t like dirt or carrots.

She’d die and be found like this. Peggs would have nightmares forever.

No. It wasn’t going to happen. Rolling on her back, Jenn fought past her skirt to pull her knees close with what remained of her arms, trusting her feet and ankles followed.

All the while, the hunger. She shouldn’t be here—she should be there, where she could find what she needed.

Another cramp shuddered through her and she whimpered. So much of her gone, the rest so empty. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t—

Something landed, where she’d once had a hand. A rose petal. As Jenn stared, another settled in the air below her knee, where she’d had a leg. Then more petals drifted through the window and more, until they coated her in red velvet skin, until it looked as though she had wrists and hands, ankles and feet again. Whole, again.

It wasn’t true, but it was. Somehow, the illusion of shape helped her endure until, with a final agonizing pain, it was over. The sun had set. The turn passed.

As one, the petals slipped from her skin to the wooden floor, surrounding her with scent and softness as she curled into a ball and wept with relief.

Melusine’s roses. She’d been right to come home.

And sensible, Jenn assured herself as her sobs became hiccups, not to have followed her first inclination, to lock herself in the privy.

That did not bear thinking about at all.

She’d survived, which did. Now to get back before the Beholding, or she’d surely be missed. Jenn wiped her face and went to stand.

She couldn’t.

Her limbs. She could see them, touch them. They trembled and shuddered, but wouldn’t obey.

The sky through the window was dark blue, lighter only on its lower edge. In a short while, the first star would show. The turn was over. Why wasn’t she right again?

Jenn pinched the skin of her forearm as hard as she could, relieved by the pain. Her arm was there, but it wasn’t, not all of it. She would empty, Sand had said, to make room.

Not yet. Not now. It wasn’t fair! Jenn struggled but it was like trying to force her way through heavy snow. In the midst of all that was magic and strange, her once-best dress fought her too, its bodice a cage.

Then, of all things, a moth fluttered in through the window, landing lightly on the floor near her face.

“Help me,” Jenn gasped. “Please.”

~ Help yourself. ~

It was a much larger voice than was reasonable from so tiny a creature. Larger and older and, yes, familiar. Perplexed, Jenn blinked away tears. Had the moth been in her dream? “I mean to. I will,” she said urgently. “But I have to move and I can’t.”

The moth regarded her with its round dark eyes as it absently used a leg to pull down and stroke one of the feathery plumes on its head, so like Peggs fooling with her hair while pondering what to do, Jenn felt a rush of hope. Would it help her? Could it?

The leg, dainty and white, released the plume and reached out to tap a rose petal.

“I don’t understand.”

Another tap, this impatient. ~ Taste. ~ A single wing flip took it a distance away.

There were petals against her face. Left with no other choice, Jenn touched her tongue to the nearest.

Fire!

She swallowed greedily, feeling the burn down her throat. Like the tinkers’ beer but stronger, as if the rose held even more of the Verge. Best of all, her fingers twitched.

Jenn didn’t question. With each touch of tongue to petal, more of her body answered until she could lift her head and use her fingers and wrists. With every swallow, she felt more herself, and more of herself.

Enough, she felt. Jenn Nalynn climbed to her feet, her limbs once again her own. The empty feeling was gone, replaced by that warm inner comfort. She crouched before the moth, bare feet crunching on now-dead and shriveled petals. “Thank you.”

~ We promised. ~ In that too-large voice.

It looked like a moth, but wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. It could talk, for one thing, which moths couldn’t do, and had brought Wyll’s letters. “‘Promised,’” she echoed, then her eyes widened. “You promised my mother—Melusine—that I’d live if I stayed here. Why? Who are you?”

It mightn’t have heard. ~ You must cross at the Great Turn. Only then can you help yourself. ~

“Thank you. Yes, I understand that part.” Jenn curbed the impulse to wish answers from it, sure such a magical creature would be offended and possibly angry. “But Mistress Sand’s told me I can’t cross. That I’d die in the Verge. She said they’ll bring me what I need.”

It curled its wings and body, abruptly resembling a white pebble.

“Yes! The pebble.”

The moth tidied itself to its proper shape. ~ Turn-born cannot. They are too full of fear. You must cross at the Great Turn. We wait. ~ Suddenly, it wasn’t a moth, or small, but huge and white and glistening wet.

Jenn stumbled back, knowing it was impossible that one of the Bone Hills could be in the Nalynn loft without the floor cracking or roof bursting or . . . but here one was and moving closer. She scrambled atop the bed and clutched Peggs’ pillow.

The mass of stone vanished, as if it had never existed. The moth fluttered and tipped to land near her toe.

Jenn lowered the pillow. She opened her mouth and closed it, shaking her head. When nothing else untoward happened, she loosened the ties of her once-best dress and took a wonderfully deep breath. Only then did she speak, rather impressed her voice came out without a squeak. “Who are you? Why are you waiting? What do you want from me?”

To her amazement, the moth produced a tiny satchel from under its wings, then pulled out an even tinier parchment, just as Bannan had told her. Using the tip of one leg, it began to write at a furious pace.

Her answer?

No. For when it was done, the moth neatly replaced the parchment, then tucked away its satchel. Its wings opened.

She barely stopped herself from grabbing for it. “Please wait. Tell me.”

It paused, tilting its head. ~ I cannot, elder sister, ~ it said in a small and fussy voice, quite different from what she’d heard from it before. ~ I bring tidings, when given me. I write what is new, when encountered. I wrote your questions, for they are new. Perhaps they will become tidings to those who can answer. ~ A leg wiped shakily over both plumes. ~ Perhaps not. I do not decide such matters. ~

Why, the creature was as confused as she felt, but less willing to admit it. “You came when I needed you. Thank you,” she said, to be on the safe side, and climbed off the bed.

The moth flew up and out the window without another word, leaving her standing in the midst of fresh and shriveled rose petals.

On impulse, Jenn stooped to sweep up a handful, pressing them to her face to breathe in their fragrance. For an instant, it was as though her mother’s arms were around her.

She lowered her hand. Melusine’s roses were of Marrowdell yet, somehow, of this mysterious Verge as well. “I’d much rather have you inside me than pebbles,” she told the flowers at the window.

They turned as one to regard her, and she held her breath. Then, as one, they turned away again. Dark green leaves rustled, like a disturbed bird settling its feathers.

If it was an answer, she feared it was no. Still, she’d ask Mistress Sand about the roses tomorrow.

Hoping she hadn’t been missed, above all hoping things would be better at tomorrow’s turn, because today’s had been hard enough, Jenn gently tossed the petals that had helped her out the window and made ready to rejoin the welcome feast.

Tir caught up with Bannan by the commons and, without a word, they vaulted the gate together. His friend, well aware of Scourge’s tactics, had grabbed a pitchfork of his own. There was no close combat with a kruar.

Luckily, combat had yet to be joined. Scourge stood as if guarding the road from Marrowdell, neck arched until veins stood out, prancing in place. The other kruar, smaller but equally aroused, prowled like giant wolves in front of him. Heads down, lips back from their fangs, they made a moving wall of death incarnate.

“Bloody beast,” Tir muttered as he and the truthseer ran forward. “What’s he thinking?”

“He’s not,” Bannan replied. The turn was close, he thought suddenly. The kruar must want to be out of sight. Why would Scourge get in their way? “Hey!” he shouted, brandishing his makeshift weapon. “Over here!”

They were ignored.

Tir shrieked his war cry and Scourge’s head jerked up.

The other kruar attacked.

Hooves slipped on grass and dug into ground. Heavy grunts and infuriated squeals mixed with the smack of body into body and the rip of teeth into flesh. Bannan charged with Tir, having no idea what they could do but determined to even the odds.

A blast of wind sent them toppling on their backsides, pitchforks flying. “Wyll! Heart’s Blood,” Bannan swore as Tir gasped for breath. Scrambling to his feet, the truthseer looked around furiously, spotting the dragon against a tree. “Let us help him!”

Not that any normal voice could be heard above the kruar. A cool breeze slid over his face to one ear. “They aren’t fighting.”

From Tir’s sudden rigidity, he’d heard too.

It looked like battle. As Scourge knocked one of his opponents flying, two more snapped at his heels. Another lunged for his vulnerable throat and he whirled to present his shoulder instead, paying the price as fangs closed on that flesh and tore free a bleeding mass. The remaining two pounced, the first giving way with a squeal as Scourge locked his own teeth on its muzzle, but the other drove headlong between Scourge’s front legs and heaved. The others joined in, pushing him up and back until he released his hold and began to fall over.