A Turn of Light (30 page)

Hope stirred, an unwelcome guest. It brought back duty. Demanded effort.

Wyll forced open his eyes to find the jaws no longer at his throat. ~ You were drawn here, ~ he told the creature. ~Your truthseer was drawn here. You will not be the last. ~

Another fearsome stamp. ~ I go where I choose! ~

More spit in his face. He remembered how much he hated this particular kruar. Wyll moved his good hand listlessly. ~ Old fool. Have you been so busy playing the horse you forgot to track the years? ~

Silence.

Then, ~ Another Great Turn is nigh upon us. ~ The kruar’s head rose. ~ Why else do you think I’ve returned? The sei will be distracted. My chance comes! ~

~ Chance for what? To slink into the Verge and hide from the sei? Your penance won’t be forgotten, any more than mine. ~

~ I’ve suffered enough! ~ Another fearsome stamp.

~ When did that matter? ~ Wyll pushed himself to an awkward sit. The rest stood at a distance, wise for once. He refused to look at the girl. Not until he’d found a way to protect her from her own folly. ~ You know what she is. You can smell it. ~

~ Turn-born. ~ The great head swung to stare at Jenn Nalynn. ~ She pulled your teeth. You deserved it, toying with my truthseer. ~

Wyll refused to be deflected. ~ A turn-born of this world, not ours. ~

~ Impossible! ~

It would have been, had the mother’s plight not met a foolish heart. How could he be glad, knowing what he knew? How could the girl’s existence matter to him? How dare he let it?

~ Yet she exists, as even you can see. ~ The sei put value to her life; he shouldn’t. Her existence threatened everything he once cared about, cared about still. Dead was safer, safest, best of all. Here and now. The kruar could do it.

He couldn’t. ~ She is ignorant of that heritage and its risks. ~ Wyll continued. ~ The sei made me her keeper. ~

~ You?! ~ Fangs snapped in front of Wyll’s face. Snapped, and stayed closed. Nostrils flared to take in his scent. Kruar rarely trusted outside their kind. He’d sorely perplexed this one.

~ The sei want her safe. ~ Wyll left the rest unsaid.

~ Then they should be disappointed in your service. It took the old soldier to stop her slipping beyond the edge. The old soldier and my truthseer. I was there. ~ A satisfied rumble. ~ You were not. You are of no use. You cannot protect her. ~

Had he ever felt pride? ~ But you can. ~

~ The sei will notice. ~

How long did it take a thought to travel that thick skull? ~ Making this an opportunity to serve your penance. ~ Use their words. ~ They may consider it favorably. ~

~ And allow my return! ~ A blast of hot, odorous breath. ~ I will take this opportunity. I declare common purpose! ~ The jaws snapped near Wyll’s throat. ~ Until I decide to end your suffering. ~ Magnanimously.

~ Until then, a common purpose. ~ Wyll grabbed the kruar’s neck and pulled himself to his feet.

“Nice horse,” he said aloud.

ELEVEN

“‘N
ICE HORSE?’” JENN
rushed to Wyll’s side, not letting Scourge out of her sight. “He attacked you!”

“A misunderstanding, Dearest Heart.”

She narrowed her eyes. “About what?” Neither answered.

They’d wanted to kill one another. She hadn’t misunderstood that. Some private conversation had gone on between the two, Jenn was sure. Wyll’s eyes had flickered silver. Scourge’s remained black, but had widened or narrowed as if Wyll argued some point. A truce may have resulted, but tense quivers continued to shudder along Scourge’s flanks and Wyll gave a tiny pained wince every so often. A truce, she thought, dry-mouthed, neither trusted.

Why?

“Jenn.” Peggs beckoned urgently, her face pale. “Come away.”

“What?” Jenn frowned in puzzlement, then her face cleared. “Scourge won’t attack me.” For assurance, she looked to Bannan, who’d gone to the animal.

Scourge, as suited the embodiment of “nice horse,” laid his face against Bannan’s chest with a ridiculously placid nicker. “Your guess is as good as mine,” Bannan admitted as he patted Scourge’s neck. “Idiot beast.” With fond exasperation.

“Overly protective,” Wyll offered generously. Scourge flicked his tail.

“Are you all right?” Jenn ran a worried eye over her friend. Dressed, he looked more normal, if she overlooked the drool drying on his jerkin. His face was drawn. Exhausted, at a guess. Who wouldn’t be?

Wyll smiled gently. “I am well.”

“Jenn!” Peggs’ voice was shrill. “Come here this instant!”

Overwrought. Her sister was never overwrought. Or hysterical. Maybe it was her proximity to Kydd. “Everything’s fine, Peggs.”

“No, it’s not!”

With a concerned look at his eldest, their father stepped in. “First things first,” he said gruffly. “Bannan, this is not a stable. Kindly remove your horse.”

Bannan took firm hold of Scourge’s mane. “Of course. My apol—”

“Forget the horse! Poppa! Get Jenn away from him! Him!” Peggs cried, pointing wildly at Wyll. “He tried to kill Bannan. He has—he has powers! He’s dangerous!”

“Peggs!” Jenn protested.

“I assure you, I’m quite harmless,” Wyll said calmly.

Scourge blew loudly through loose lips. Bannan gazed at Wyll, his eyebrows raised.

“What’s going on?” In rushed Dusom Uhthoff, with Zehr, Tir, and Riss at his heels, grim-faced and carrying whatever they’d been able to grab quickly. A pitchfork, hammers. Riss held a broom and looked ready to use it.

Wrong. All wrong. Jenn put herself beside Wyll, taking his good hand in hers to hold tight. “Bannan’s fine. See?” she urged. “It was—it was a little bit of fun.”

“Heart’s Blood, girl!” Tir could growl as fiercely as Scourge. “Fun?”

She sent a beseeching look at Bannan, who hesitated, then gave a small nod. “No harm’s been done,” he said.

Jenn sighed gratefully.

“Not because harm wasn’t meant,” Kydd objected, shaking his head. He stood by Peggs, his arm around her waist as if he’d forgotten to take it away. “Jenn, your friend would have killed Bannan. I’ve seen his powers for myself. Without lifting a hand, he could kill any of us.”

The villagers stirred.

“He wouldn’t,” Jenn insisted.

“I couldn’t,” Wyll put in, which wasn’t helpful. Scourge snorted.

“He can’t stay here,” Kydd went on, avoiding her eyes. “Not in Marrowdell. He has to leave.”

Send Wisp away?

Wind banged a shutter. The sky darkened. The storm should come back, Jenn thought, furious, opening her mouth to protest. Before she could, Wyll’s fingers pressed hers ever-so-lightly and a familiar breeze whispered soft in her ear, “Peace, Dearest Heart. They aren’t wrong. I let myself be angered and their fear is the result. Peace and patience, or you’ll make matters worse.”

To the rest, “I regret causing any distress, good people of Marrowdell. It won’t happen again.”

“How can we believe you?” Kydd pointed outside. “Look at this!”

“Now you’re blaming Wyll for the weather?” Jenn exclaimed, outraged. Lightning flashed, a strike so close its thunder shook the mill. “Stop this! All of you! Leave him alone! You don’t understand.”

“Jenn, please—”

“Wyll came to Marrowdell to marry me.”

Scourge’s head shot up, making Bannan jerk back with an oath. Everyone else looked stunned.

Including Wyll, again not, Jenn glowered at him, helping. “We’re in love,” she snapped. Lightning flashed again, limning faces, turning those around her to strangers.

Why wasn’t anyone saying anything? Why did they stare at her like that? Tears blurred her vision. Jenn blinked furiously and pressed her lips together, afraid to say another word, afraid she’d said too many. That was the trouble with words; once spoken, you couldn’t take them back.

“Then congratulations are in order. The Ancestors Blessing on you both.” Bannan put his circled fingers over his heart and bowed. When he raised his head, something in his eyes jolted her heart.

“Yes, they are,” Jenn replied unsteadily. “Thank you.” She tugged on Wyll’s hand.

Prompted, he said, “Thank you.”

Scourge snorted again.

Sunbeams flowed through the door; the storm must have been a passing remnant. Kydd exchanged a sober look with his brother.

Radd Nalynn bore that aggrieved expression his daughters knew very well indeed, the one that meant he had a great deal to say and wasn’t going to say it until they were home and alone. “You.” He looked up at Scourge, who looked back with a curled lip. “Out!”

The commotion had drawn Marrowdell together again. Outside the mill, silent villagers gave Scourge room to pass, then pulled close again. They looked over their shoulders. At the horse. At Tir. At him. Doubtful looks. Fear-filled.

Exactly what he didn’t want. “Couldn’t have gone worse,” Bannan muttered once he and Tir were past the crowd. “Idiot.” To Scourge.

To himself.

“What happened in there?” Still tense, Tir glanced from side to side as if they might be ambushed at any turn, instead of walking a lane of sparkling puddles and red mud, surrounded by pleasant gardens and hedges. A bee droned by, on its way to one of the hives under the apple trees.

“What happened was my fault.” The words were sour in Bannan’s mouth. “And if they throw Wyll from Marrowdell, it’ll be because I lost all common sense.”

Tir stared at him, scarred forehead crinkled. “Tell me you didn’t fight over the maid.”

That had been the worst of it. To hear Jenn proclaim her love, her intention—to see the truth in her face.

To begin to comprehend what he’d lost, before the chance of having it.

“We didn’t fight,” Bannan said numbly. “I gave him reason to strike at me.”

They’d reached the wagon. He sat, arms limp, on the driver’s step. Tir leaned on the wheel and pulled off his mask. He scratched his beard. “How good a reason?”

“You tell me, old friend.” Bannan put his hands behind his head and studied the sun-drenched crags that loomed behind the orchard, his gaze caught in the deep scars that ran from summit to base. “This Marrowdell is a rare and wondrous place. So wondrous, it contains a farm maid whose best friend commands the very air. A friend who, only this morning, mind you, she wished into the shape of a man for love’s sake. Misshapen, crippled, but a man nonetheless, who nearly drowned trying to reach her.”

“I didn’t know you’d hit your head, sir,” Tir said kindly.

“I know how it sounds—”

Tir chuckled. “Like a child’s story. A silly one at that.” Bannan faced him and waited. “Heart’s Blood.” The other man’s eyes slowly narrowed. “You’re serious.”

“Never more so. I look at him,” Bannan said simply, “and see the man you see. I see what he was, as well. Not all. Not whole. Glimpses. He had wings.”

“‘Wings.’” Tir shook his head. “You’re seeing wings, now.”

And so much more . . . something he’d rather not discuss. “They were there,” the truthseer insisted. “Once.”

To his relief, his friend merely shrugged. “That’s a bad trade. As a man, he can barely walk.”

“I know. I knew. But . . . when I met him, saw what he was capable of . . . I was dazzled. I lost sense of which parts I saw were this Wyll and which weren’t. When he hesitated at the top of stairs, I—I suggested he fly.” Bannan remembered the furious flash of silver. “He didn’t take it well.”

“I’d have hit you too,” Tir agreed. “Though not hung you out a window. Sir.”

“We are what we are.” Was Wyll? He’d twice claimed to be no threat. The first time, he’d lied. The second? There was the rub. The second time, he’d told the truth. Something had happened. Had it been Jenn? “I don’t believe he’ll do it again.”

“Belief is a fine thing, sir, and the Ancestors approve. But if you don’t mind, I’ll add this Wyll’s not doing anything else unnatural to tonight’s Beholdings.”

Tir’s Beholdings tended to lengthy grumbles about the food and weather or, lately, the condition of the Northward Road and his, Bannan’s, mind. “I’d be grateful,” Bannan half-grinned.

“What I’d be grateful for is a look inside yon bloody beast’s head.” Tir nodded at Scourge. “What was that nonsense in the mill? I’ve seen him do daft things, but nothing like that.”

The beast in question tilted back an ear, then gracelessly lowered himself into a puddle like the brat he was to roll with grunts of delight, hooves flailing in the air. When he finally lunged to his feet, he was thoroughly coated in red mud and as thoroughly smug about it.

“You’ll stay that way,” Bannan warned him. The only thing Scourge loved more than a mud bath was the endless grooming to get him rideably clean again. He’d purr himself to sleep and, given any opportunity, be back in the mud the next day.

As for Tir’s question, he’d been asking himself the same thing. Bannan gazed at Scourge. “For a being who can command the air,” he suggested smoothly, “a horse can’t be much of a challenge.”

This garnered the full-on glare, complete with teeth and forelock toss, of Scourge at his most insulted. Point made, the horse strutted away, though mud-speckled haunches did little for his offended dignity. Bannan refrained from comment.

He waited until Scourge was safely beyond the hedgerow. “When Scourge charged into the mill—let’s say to my rescue—”

“He has before.”

“He has indeed.” Bannan leaned forward. “What troubles me this time, Tir, is Scourge went straight for Wyll. He couldn’t have seen what happened.”

“They know each other, sir. That was plain enough.” Tir’s blue eyes held a chill. “Know and hate. I was sure there’d be blood.”

He’d been sure too, just not whose. “None of it makes sense. If Scourge came to Marrowdell to pursue an old foe, why help me save—what is it?”

Tir had come erect, tugging his mask into place, another mask sliding behind his eyes. “Company, sir.”

Horst and Kydd, with Wyll between them. They didn’t offer support; he didn’t appear to need any, lurch-stepping his way around puddles, taking his time, his head held high. Like any of the maimed veterans Bannan had known, too young to be betrayed by their bodies, dealing with blindness or missing limbs with an ease borne of tiresome practice and the certainty of nothing better ahead.

He was caught by an incongruity that slipped away before he could name it.

“Think they’ll send us all packing at once?” Tir tried not to sound eager.

And lose the silver road, the wondrous hills, the farm?

“We’ve nothing to pull the wagon,” Bannan answered, for the first time glad the poor ox hung from a butcher’s hook. “Scourge certainly won’t.”

“Bannan. Tir.” Horst was polite and expressionless. His duty face, Bannan judged, the one he’d show no matter what he was called upon to do.

In contrast, Kydd was wan and tense, understandable in a man courting one sister and likely feeling the frowns of the other, Bannan thought sympathetically. “What can we do for you?” he asked.

“Wyll’s to spend the night in my home,” Horst said.

“There’s a meeting this evening at the Emms,” Kydd elaborated. “For villagers.” The words drew a line. To his credit, he looked distressed.

A meeting doubtless to discuss the not-man’s alarming abilities, during which they wouldn’t want him unwatched. “We’d be glad to help Wyll settle,” he offered. “Tir and I are sleeping by the wagon anyway.” Thus keeping all the strangers in one place, as far from the other homes as possible. He’d have done the same.

Horst nodded gravely. Kydd tried too hard not to show relief. “Gallie’s sending a supper.”

Aloof to all this, Wyll studied Tir, a scrutiny the former border guard bore with growing discomfort. Finally he snapped, “What?”

“Why do you wear a mask?” the other replied.

“It covers this.” Tir jerked the metal down.

“To what purpose?”

Tir scowled and scrunched his face into a grotesque shape. “So I don’t scare children.”

Wyll appeared puzzled. “The young respect the marks of battle.”

While he enjoyed the rare spectacle of Tir speechless, Bannan took pity. “Why don’t you save Gallie the trip and fetch our supper?” he suggested.

Tir gladly escaped, though he made sure to replace his mask and glare at Wyll first. Kydd hesitated, then took his leave as well. “Ancestors Baffled and Beloved.” Bannan said in earnest. “I don’t envy him tonight.”