A Turn of Light (56 page)

Company, after all.

“Fair morning, dragon.”

“It appears so, truthseer.” Wyll lurch-stepped through the door. He’d slept outdoors by the creases and bits of moss on his clothes, and badly, by the dark circles beneath his eyes. His hair needed a comb, though his short beard was neatly trimmed—or was it always the same?—and he’d either washed or had his breezes scrub his skin. “Be grateful.”

“For such a morning,” Bannan inquired, at once wary. “Or something more?” Involving his escape from dragons, perhaps?

Wyll’s eyes glittered, but all he said was, “This is Marrowdell. Where’s the warrior?”

“Tir spent the night in the village.” Bannan found himself unwilling to say more, not until he knew for sure.

Wyll, for a wonder, accepted the statement. “I slept in my new home,” he announced with a casual air the truthseer didn’t believe for an instant.

His heart sank. “You’ve built it?” His house didn’t have doors yet.

“Yes.” A breeze shifted the discarded stool back into position. “There’s more to be done before it’s fit for Jenn Nalynn.”

Which wasn’t quite the truth. Bannan hid his relief. “I take it ‘more’ includes a kitchen, since you’re in mine.”

“Perhaps I prefer your cooking.”

“You’d be the first to say so,” with a chuckle as he sliced potatoes and an onion into the pan. “Tir’s convinced I can burn anything.”

“Do you?”

“Not if I’m paying attention.”

Wyll nodded, and perched on his stool. “Then I will not distract you.”

Moments later, Bannan felt an unexpected glow of pride as he slid fragrant ham and crisped vegetables onto Wyll’s plate, then his own. “Sorry there’s no eggs.”

Wyll glanced at the house toad, dozing in a sunny spot near the bed. The creature woke with a startled croak and took a prodigious hop out the door. “A duty neglected,” the dragon said dryly. “There’ll be eggs for lunch.”

So they’d be sharing all their meals. Well, Bannan decided cheerfully, the coin for that would be information.

Once seated, he raised his mug and took a welcome swallow, then regarded Wyll over its rim. “Speaking of duty, Scourge spent the night guarding the village. Against what?”

“That’s your first question?” Wyll appeared amused.

Bannan lifted a brow. Today was to be blunt, was it? “What should I ask, then?”

The dragon sipped his tea. “Are you not curious concerning eggs and toads?”

“Tir’s explained why I haven’t seen a chicken.” He set down his cup. “I have, however, seen dragons. Last night. Friends of yours?”

Wyll tackled his meal, one hand wielding the knife, the fork as deftly handled by air alone. “I have no friends,” with such calm certainty pity was impossible. “I trust you did nothing foolish.”

“Smacked one with a broomstick.” The truthseer stabbed a morsel of ham and demonstrated.

“I wondered at the haste of their crossing.” Wyll almost smiled. “You’ve courage, Bannan Larmensu. Not much sense, but courage.”

He shrugged. “Trust me, I regretted the impulse. But they left.”

“Not,” the dragon now a man cautioned, “because of you. It’s—unlucky—to attract the notice of those who live in Marrowdell. They feared the consequences.”

“You don’t.” Suddenly they’d arrived at waters of unknown depth, but Bannan could no more quell his curiosity than stop breathing. “Why is that?”

“Are all of you the same, truthseer?” Wyll remained amused. “Possessed of the same strength and abilities? Equally wise or foolish? These were . . .” A pause for tea. “Call them feckless youths, of more heart than brain. They tried to stop the turn-born.” A flicker of silver beneath his lashes. “Had they bothered to ask me, I’d have told them they could not.”

That name again. Bannan leaned forward. “Who are the turn-born? Scourge said they’d would be here soon. Are they what he guards against?”

Wyll’s face went still. “Toads and eggs. Better to ask me about the little cousins, truthseer, and their admirable ways.”

Advice, not outright refusal. A test, Bannan judged it. If he backed down now, he’d have let the dragon decide what he should know, so he waited, eyes fixed on Wyll’s.

After a long moment, measured by their mismatched breaths and the uncaring trill of a distant bird, Wyll shrugged his good shoulder. “The turn-born? Cursed.” He eased his useless arm within his jerkin, as if soothing an ache. “Powerful. We guard the edge on their behalf, not that they’re grateful. Or gentle. I’ll make you a gift, Bannan Larmensu, in return for this meal. Keep what you see to yourself, in their presence. The turn-born won’t be pleased to find one such as you here.”

The dragon gave him too much truth at once and dared him to understand. Bannan took a steadying breath, determined to find his way through, then paused, his eyes widening. “‘Cursed’ and ‘powerful.’” He half rose from his stool. “Jenn Nalynn.” Almost a whisper.

“Now, at last, you understand.” Wyll lifted his cup in mock salute. “The girl is the sole turn-born on this side of the edge, unlike any others of your kind. This is why she must live with me and not you.”

“So the dragons—” Bannan sat again, ignoring this last. “When you said they came to stop a turn-born, you meant Jenn. Why? Stop her from what?”

“The girl yearns for what’s been forbidden. Her wishes have force, as you’ve seen.” An eloquent gesture at his body.

Bannan narrowed his eyes. “What does she want?”

“To leave Marrowdell.” With all innocence.

“To find what she wants,” he countered impatiently. “Tell me what I don’t know. What’s been forbidden? By whom? These other turn-born? Where are they?!”

The dragon shook his head and turned his attention to his plate. “Do not interfere in matters beyond your grasp, truthseer. What Jenn Nalynn desires is nothing either of us can provide.”

The truth.

Bannan fought disappointment. There had to be a way and he’d find it. Wyll wasn’t a man, despite appearances. How could he know a woman’s heart?

“Perhaps I will show her my house after all,” the dragon said smoothly. “When she comes today.”

“She won’t,” Bannan snapped. “Jenn’s staying in the village.”

Wyll looked stunned. “Whatever for?”

“We’ve confused her. Ancestors Witness! If you were more than the seeming of a man,” he goaded recklessly, “you’d know how hard this is for her.”

“I know more of Jenn Nalynn than you ever will!” The dragon’s fingers clenched into a fist; the knife folded. “This is your doing!” His eyes flared silver. Wind gusts shook the little house, a threat to the new shingles.

Bannan glared back. “Hardly. I’m to stay here. Tir’s to run any errands.”

Silver became an unhappy brown; the wind, a fretful whisper in the grass. “For how long?”

For letters to ride forth and be answered, as if letters and a distant sister could defeat dragons and wishes and the power of a heart’s longing. For . . . he pushed his hopes aside. “It’s up to Jenn Nalynn.” Which was the truth.

The two sat in silence, breakfast cooling on their plates.

Until Bannan remembered the question unanswered, and his eyes shot to Wyll’s.

“What does Scourge guard against?”

“Up you get, slugabed,” Peggs said cheerfully. “It’s a lovely morning.”

No, it wasn’t. Jenn snuggled deeper.

With a whoosh! the bedclothes were pulled off. “Muummfph!” she objected, keeping her eyes closed.

“Up!” Her sister shook the mattress. “I’ve the best news!” Joy in her voice. “Aunt Sybb’s still abed! Sleeping like a baby.”

Why was that a surprise? Sleeping was a very good idea. Everyone should be sleeping.

“Ancestors Lazy and Layabout! Jenn, get up. It’s time for breakfast.”

Her stomach rumbled. “Fine,” she murmured into the pillow. “M’m up.”

“No, you’re not.” The next thing Jenn knew, her pillow was whisked from under her head and heartily thumped on her backside.

“Hey!” Thoroughly awake, she grabbed Peggs’ pillow, gave a “Whoop!” and launched into battle.

The pillow fight ended with them both on the floor, rosy-cheeked and laughing. “Oh, my,” Peggs gasped. “We haven’t done that for a while.”

Jenn clawed hair from her eyes and mouth. “That’ll teach you to steal my pillow.”

“It got you up,” her sister pointed out. “You don’t want to miss this morning.”

“It’s true, then? Aunt Sybb’s sleeping?”

“I doubt it, after the racket we made.” But Peggs sighed happily. “It’s true. The cider must have done it. I took a peek at her with Poppa and she couldn’t look more peaceful.”

At the mere thought, Jenn yawned.

“You, on the other hand, don’t seem to have slept at all. What happened last night?”

“Last night?” Remembering, Jenn rose and began gathering the sheets. “We went to bed. I slept.”

“Dearest Heart, you smell like carrots and your nightdress—the one on the floor—needs a boil in soap.” Peggs’ eyebrow lifted. “Tell me how that happens in bed.”

She hesitated, hands full of sheets.

Her sister’s gaze sharpened. “Jenn?”

“I will,” Jenn decided abruptly. Couldn’t her sister make sense out of anything? And, other than her unfortunate reaction to Wyll’s powers, which was only because she’d worried about Kydd, and the overdoing of pies, only because, again, of Kydd, wasn’t her sister the calmest, most reliable person in Marrowdell? “It happened in the garden,” she began earnestly. Roses peered in the open window.

Peggs waited for the rest, a quizzical look on her dear face. “The garden?” she prompted.

Jenn took a deep breath. “The garden. I must have walked in my sleep. When I awoke, I was outside. I was—I found myself back on the Spine, or thought I was.” She pushed forward, the words spilling out. “I was there because I needed something, and that’s where it was. Or so I thought. Something I’ve needed desperately all summer; something,” she finished with triumph, “that isn’t in Marrowdell.”

Peggs sat on the unmade bed, eyes wide. “What?”

“I don’t know.” Jenn sat too. “Last night, it looked like a white pebble.”

Her sister’s forehead creased. “Like the toads’?”

“No. Yes. But, different. It wasn’t a real pebble. When I tried to pick it up, it sank into the ground, like it did the time before. When I went up the Spine.” She gave Peggs an apologetic look. “I’d have told you, but I thought it was over.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“No. Last night, the pebble was here. In our garden. Somehow I reached after it when it sank, but dragons stopped me before I could touch it and . . .” She continued with the rest, Peggs not interrupting, though her face went so white, her eyes were like dark holes themselves.

“. . . the house toads dug me out,” Jenn finished, turning her forearms to show the scratches.

Her sister sat very still. Too still. “I know it sounds like a dream,” Jenn pleaded, “or a nightmare, but I swear . . .”

Peggs lifted a finger, just like Aunt Sybb when she wanted to forestall an interruption to her train of thought.

Jenn closed her mouth and waited anxiously.

Finally, her sister blinked and gave a brisk little nod. “Well and well again, Dear Heart.”

This being far from the reaction she’d expected, Jenn blinked too. “Really?”

“Of course. We know how to keep you safe and out of the carrots. That’s the first and most important thing. And Wen said it. We’ve hope!” She leaned forward to grip Jenn’s hands. “Don’t you see? The Golden Day.”

Jenn, who didn’t see at all, frowned. “My birthday or the weddings?”

“Neither!” Peggs had that gleam in her eye, the one that meant she’d decided on a course and wasn’t about to be swayed. Kydd would come to recognize it, without doubt. “It can’t be coincidence. An eclipse on the equinox? It must be this ‘Great Turn.’”

Saying a thing with certainty didn’t, Jenn was sure, make it so. Still, “Even if you’re right,” she said doubtfully, “what does that mean?”

“It means . . . it means . . .” Peggs sagged. “I don’t know what it means,” she admitted. “But it has to be important. The voice promised you could get your answer at the Great Turn and Wen said anything was possible then. Anything!” She squeezed Jenn’s hands. “What if you can be rid of the curse? Find whatever it is you need so badly?”

Jenn’s heart lifted. “Oh, Peggs.” Thirteen days left. Too few a brief moment ago; all too many now. “How can I wait that long?”

Her sister’s cheeks grew spots of pink. “I feel the same, Dear Heart, believe me, but we must be patient.” Belying her own advice, Peggs released Jenn and surged to her feet, gathering the sheets so Jenn had to jump to her feet too. “Patient and careful,” she said, plumping a pillow. “I’m glad you’ve decided to stay home. You must keep from that dreadful path. And we need to learn everything we can about the eclipse and this Great Turn.”

“The equinox matters to the tinkers,” Jenn mused aloud as she helped make the bed. “Maybe they know about the eclipse and—and about the rest. I could ask Mistress Sand.” Her tent was Jenn’s second home during the harvest; they’d sit and weave baskets from dried reedgrass, the soft-voiced tinker woman curious about what had happened in the village since the last harvest. Everything fascinated Mistress Sand, from the escapades of the piglets to Roche’s latest prank, and Jenn made sure to tell her everything, except for Wisp and her meadow. Not because she didn’t trust Mistress Sand, but because the other cared about the ordinary, not the extraordinary.