A Turn of Light

by Julie E. Czerneda

  His eyes searched her face. “Is it possible,” her father continued with the air of a man crossing ice of unknown thickness, “this is what you want too? What you feel you must leave Marrowdell to find?”

  Was it?

  Jenn’s brow furrowed.

  She hadn’t thought so before. No. Her hunger was much too personal to include anyone else, intimate in a way she could barely express to herself, let alone explain to her father.

  Anyway, she already loved Wisp. Wasn’t he her dearest, truest friend? The wishing, though. Sitting here, with Night’s Edge lost to shadow, her belief faltered. “What if that love isn’t here, Poppa?” she asked forlornly. “What do I do then?”

  “Give Marrowdell time, Dearest Heart.” He held her eyes with the earnestness in his. “Here you’re loved. Here you’re safe. And here’s where you’ll have a bright future—whether you see it yet or not,” with mock sternness. His fingers squeezed hers lightly then let go. “Trust me to know what’s best.”

  Jenn’s heart beat against her chest like a bird trapped beneath a basket. Here wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

  “I can’t stay, Poppa,” the words forced from numb lips. “I can’t spend my whole life in Marrowdell. I can’t.”

  “You mustn’t say that. Don’t. Please, Jenn.” Her defiance should have made him angry. To her consternation, her father’s eyes sparkled with tears and the pleading hand he raised trembled, as if he aged before her. “You must promise me. Promise you won’t ever try to leave.”

  To refuse was cruel.

  But to stay?

  To promise?

  Impossible.

  She scrambled to her feet and ran from him. Through the door, through the parlor, into the kitchen. Past her shocked aunt and sister. She tugged down the ladder.

  Footsteps. “Jenn! Wait!”

  She scrambled up to the loft.

  There, Jenn threw herself facedown on her pillow and pressed her hands tight over her ears.

  Peggs followed shortly after. The mattress shifted as she sat on the bed. Jenn ignored her for a moment, then freed one eye. Her sister had loosened her hair from its tidy knot and now drew a comb through the long black locks, her face pensive.

  Jenn mumbled into the pillow, “It’s too early for bed.”

  “I brought a fresh candle. We can read, if you like.” A meaningful pause. “Aunt Sybb and Poppa want a private conversation.”

  She rolled over to stare at Peggs with both eyes. “About me.”

  “Who else?” Her sister regarded her, a dimple almost showing. “I wasn’t the one running wild through the house.”

  Their aunt’s phrase, beyond doubt. “He wants me to promise never to leave Marrowdell.” Jenn sat, drawing up her knees. The breeze from the window felt good on her cheeks, hot from the pillow. The pillow, and growing despair. “He’s not being fair.”

  “You’re his baby. Don’t make that face at me. You know I’m right.” Her sister shook her head. “You can’t expect Poppa would encourage you to go.”

  “It’s worse. He won’t let me leave. Ever.”

  “How could he stop you?” her sister said, ever the voice of reason. “No one can. Your name isn’t on a bind; you’re free to travel Rhoth or anywhere. Soon you’ll be nineteen and responsible for yourself. Poppa can’t make you stay, Jenn. He wouldn’t,” as if delivering her most telling point. “When has he said no to you for long?”

  “This is different.” Jenn climbed from the bed. She went to Peggs’ clothes chest and put her hands on one end. “Help me.”

  “Jenn—”

  She gave her sister a pleading look. Peggs sighed and rolled her eyes. “See what I mean?” she grumbled, but put down her comb to help Jenn lift the chest and move it away from the wall.

  Jenn dropped to her hands and knees. The dust tickled and she squeezed her nose hurriedly to stop a sneeze. She inched her way to where a narrow gap between warped floor planks had—through diligent use of a kitchen knife years ago—become a finger-width hole in the parlor’s ceiling. They’d made it to spy on their father’s gatherings with his friends, which turned out to be long boring conversations not worth hearing at all. But now . . .

  “Can you hear anything?”

  Jenn put her finger to her lips. If she could hear voices from below, theirs could be heard too.

  She gathered back her hair, but before she could press her ear to the hole, voices did came through, sudden, loud, and distressingly clear.

  “—her father!”

  “And I’m nothing?”

  “The decision’s mine and made. She stays.” Footfalls, heavy, as if he couldn’t settle. Aunt Sybb would take a seat; her opinion, oft expressed to her restless younger niece, consigned pacing to pigeons. Not that Jenn had yet seen a pigeon, but she did try not to pace like one.

  “Be sensible, Radd. You’ve seen how she is. Marrowdell’s too small—”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Furious. “Don’t you think I’ve longed to show her the world? To show them both?”

  Jenn rocked back on her heels. Peggs came and sat on the chest, hair spilling over one shoulder.

  “I haven’t lost hope,” their aunt returned with equal passion. “You mustn’t. We’ll get you back. We’ll get you home.”

  “Sybbie, stop.” Such regret filled his voice, Jenn fumbled for Peggs’ hand and gripped it tight. “We’ve discussed this. There’s no will in Avyo to repeal the law. The same prince rules. The same barons. Do you think those who’ve enjoyed our wealth and property all these years would vote to give it back? And how could any of us return without setting neighbor against neighbor? Family against—” A pause, then, “Melusine lies here. So gladly will I when my time comes. Marrowdell’s my home, Sybbie. Accept it—”

  “I will not! I’ve hope, I say. Hope that lets me smile and bow and entertain those who believe my beloved Hane married beneath himself. Hope that lets me endure such petty meanness as searches at the gate—”

  Sharp and anxious. “What searches?”

  “For you, Radd. For Peggs. As if I’d hide you in my simples,” an acerbic bite to the words.

  “The Semanaryas.” The grim voice was a stranger’s, not their father’s.

  “Who other? They know full well where I go each spring. A simple thing, for them, to have the gate guards watch for my return. We can’t match their bribes, so I don’t complain. The guards are civil.”

  “Sybbie—I didn’t realize—”

  Jenn reached for Peggs’ hand, gripped it tight.

  “It’s none of your doing, Radd. Our girls concern us now.” Earnest. “Peggs. The House suspended for the summer divided, as I predicted in my letters. Some would allow the return of those exiled as children, others argue to leave what’s done, done.”

  “Pigs will sing opera first.”

  “Inelegant, dear brother, but I fear you’re right. Few press the issue. Peggs isn’t the worry. I do believe she could be happy here, if it came to that. I can’t tell you why, not yet, but I do. Jenn—”

  “Heart’s Blood, woman! How many times must I say it? Jenn can’t leave Marrowdell!”

  “Kindly listen before you bellow.” A pause, during which Jenn imagined their diminutive aunt fixing their father with a quelling stare. “I agree.”

  “You do? But—”

  “I’ve eyes. This past year, Jenn’s grown into the very image of Melusine. Ancestors Witness, if she were seen by anyone who knew her mother . . .” Aunt Sybb stopped, then went on. “Even as a child, Peggs favored the Nalynn side. Jenn could pass as theirs—”

  “She’s not!” Radd snapped.

  “Here.” The word left such an appalled silence, the girls didn’t dare move. After what seemed far too long, Aunt Sybb continued. “The Semanaryas don’t forgive. They don’t forget. Nothing would please them more than to take Jenn from us. In Avyo, they have the means. Legal or otherwise. I tell you we’d never see her again. Never!”

  Peggs let out a gasp. Jenn
shook her head urgently.

  “You can’t let that happen, Radd. You can’t.” All at once, muffled sobs.

  “Sybbie. Sybbie, stop. I won’t. You know I won’t.” A nose being blown. A heartbreaking pause. Then wearily, as if he’d given up. “You’re right. About everything, you’re right. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to rush the girls, but what else can I do? I worry they’re getting older. I worry I’m getting older. What if there’s an accident in the mill?” Something too soft to hear, then louder, with anguish, “I’m lost. Melusine . . .”

  “Melusine, Ancestors Blessed and Blissful, would tell you to stay here, where you’re safe, where you’ve good, trusted friends. Peggs will be fine, Radd. Jenn will come around, you’ll see.”

  “All she wants is to see the world.” Jenn heard the pain in his dear voice; worse, it was for her. “I have to say no. I’ll always have to say no.”

  “Calm yourself, Brother. First things first. Once Jenn settles a household of her own—happily, of course—she should be protected from any legal trickery they could attempt. Next spring, I’ll bring a young man with me. Hane has a promising nephew. We’ll find her someone, Radd.”

  “If only she’d look at one of the poor lads here. Between Zehr and Anten, I get no peace. None!”

  Allin’s father. Roche’s. Jenn felt her cheeks burn.

  “She might yet. Patience.”

  “What would I do without you, Sybbie?”

  “You’d manage. You’re a fine father. Though,” she scolded gently, “it would help if you’d keep their feet in shoes when I’m not here.”

  “Husbands would be easier. Come. Sit with me.” A cupboard opened. The clink of glassware. “I saved a bit of last year’s summerberry.” Their voices faded as they went out to the porch.

  Jenn stared up at Peggs, her eyes swimming with tears. “What can I do?”

  Her sister looked pale but determined. “The wishing.”

  Jenn nodded. “The wishing.”

  No one was going to take her from her family. No one was going to stop her seeing the world for herself.

  Poppa and Aunt Sybb didn’t need to find her someone.

  She’d make one of her own.

  The girl’s world grew elusive once its sun fully set. To see in its dark took effort Wisp couldn’t afford often, not when his place—such as it was—in his own world was chancy at best.

  He didn’t need to see, to find where he belonged. The crossing—the only one in Marrowdell to be both dry and safe and, most importantly, unclaimed—was mere steps beyond Night’s Edge. He need only make his way to that weak point and let himself be where he should.

  And he was.

  Not that his world wasn’t chancy itself. As Marrowdell was different from other parts of her world, so was this portion of his. Here, the two overlapped like twisted ribbons, neither free of the other. It had happened by accident. What the girl called the Bone Hills had tried to reach from his world to hers, only to flinch and be trapped in both. Such things were possible during a Great Turn.

  Proving even the mighty could be fools.

  When worlds touched, devastation followed. In the girl’s, mountains had folded and rivers changed their course. What memory remained of that original cataclysm was writ in rock; what magic, set loose, scattered among those who survived and their descendants.

  In his?

  Oh, in his, something had been born. The Verge. A landscape, scoured and bleak and beautiful, emptied of life but impatient with magic. It called to any who dared live in it. It changed those who did. Those who endured made the Verge their home, a home full of promise, yet always at risk. Who knew how long it would last? The trapped ones need only flinch again to tear the worlds apart.

  Or, as it turned out, be summoned. Time passed, bringing another Great Turn and a fresh set of fools, this time from her world, eager to reach to his, unknowing what they’d disturb.

  Awakened, the trapped ones flailed out in torment. The edge between Marrowdell and the Verge tore and blurred once more, spilling life from world to world. Some died. Some were lost.

  Some sought opportunity.

  The sei, for their own reasons, intervened before the chaos spread further. Marrowdell was scarred.

  As was he, Wisp grumbled to himself.

  Their worlds settled as before, one into the other. Roots restitched the edge. The villagers left the old forest alone because the dullest among them could tell those weren’t trees towering over their heads. What they saw above their soil were the roots of the neyet. Neyet who grew thus were a little different from their counterparts beyond the Verge; they stopped moving while winter gripped Marrowdell and sang in its spring.

  The kaliia, on the other hand, were rooted in the Verge and grew through to the girl’s world, thanks to the longings of efflet. On her side, they were boring brown fields. On this side, during Marrowdell’s day, the kaliia were rainbows in the sky; by night, curtains of green. Until the harvest. Then, his sky regained its pure mauve and night its stars.

  Not that Wisp looked up at the moment. Nor did he look left or right. He was tired and let it show. Those who’d pestered him earlier flew nearby and they’d return to their game given any encouragement.

  No flowers where he walked. No bees or mice. The meadow between the Bone Hills wasn’t a meadow here at all. Beautiful, yes. Wisp’s kind preferred buttresses of naked rock, the clean strength of stone. Best of all, the heights, where a late summer storm drew all to ride its wind and chase lightning through the black roiling depths of cloud. Their wings would clap as loud as thunder and rain hiss to steam on their skin.

  Jenn Nalynn loved storms too. She’d stand in the meadow, arms outstretched, soaked to the skin, and laugh at the thunder. At first, he’d been ready to catch any lightning that came too close. Then he’d realized none would. Even young, she could expect to be safe and was.

  Safer for him to leave all thought of the girl and Marrowdell behind. Safest to make his way home before others noticed he was back.

  His home wasn’t like hers, shared with family. It wasn’t in the heights, with his kind. He could no longer climb there. He could no longer fly.

  He was no longer welcome.

  Those who’d assigned his latest penance had made a sanctuary of sorts for his rest. To reach it, he shuffled down this steep winding path, mindful of the crystal growths whose tears made the footing treacherous. They wept whenever broken, and broke whenever stepped upon. In their way, they tried to warn him if someone or something else had gone this way first, and might be lying in wait. The greater danger was that he’d slip and fall on the damp, but crystals were dutiful, simple creatures. Like the efflet who kept him company, there was no reasoning with them.

  A telltale glisten. Wisp stepped around it and found another the same size in his way. More ahead. Paired feet told him what the interloper was, a terst; daring to intrude here told him who. One of the turn-born.

  The path went on and on, twisting as it descended. The air thickened and warmed, curling over his skin. Tempting, to let that soothing warmth relax his vigilance, but a mistake. A turn-born’s expectations made their mark on the Verge. Warmth, in this case, didn’t mean a wish that he, Wisp, be more comfortable.

  It meant temper.

  The path ended in a tall shimmer of opalescent blue, his “door.” It kept out his peers, his old friends, his former prey, the rain. It would open to a turn-born. Most things did. Wisp hunched what weren’t shoulders in the position of respect and walked through.

  Inside, the blue shimmer became rounded walls, ceiling, and floor. They were aware of him. If he walked toward a wall, it would retreat a pace or two, then rebound in his face. When he lay down, the shimmer would close around him. On good nights, he thought of it as a comforting womb. On bad ones, he fought to breathe and not snarl.

  Most nights were neither good nor bad and Wisp could ignore the nature of his home, be grateful for the protection it offered.

  Protection those he se
rved could remove in an instant.

  The girl’s kind ruled themselves, a method suited to their straightforward, solitary world. From what he’d read, some did profess to serve ideals but, as they were quick to idealize each other, it amounted to the same thing. In his world, everything capable of obedience obeyed the sei, which was perfectly reasonable, since only the sei were capable of insisting on it.

  Which they did rarely. Their interests spanned times and distances greater than anyone else bothered to imagine. For the most part, the inhabitants of the Verge did as their natures dictated. Those who wanted to hunt one another for food, did. Those who wanted to taunt, steal, or make the weaker their target, did. Those who allied with one another to mutual purpose, including to avoid being hunted or a target, did.

  Those who took all this to the level of war risked disturbing the sei. Disturbed, the sei would restore peace however they saw fit, and enact due penance from both sides. Otherwise, they remained aloof and left the care of the Verge to the turn-born.

  For the turn-born and the Verge were one.

  To amuse himself, Wisp sometimes wondered what Jenn Nalynn would think of her counterparts, if she could see them as they appeared here. The turn-born possessed skin, but neither flesh nor bone beneath it. Instead, the body, neck, and head were filled with light, as if a sunbeam had been poured inside glass. Extremities—arms and hands, legs and feet—were filled with what bound them to the other world. Most chose earth, selecting the color that suited them. Wisp had met one whose limbs were filled with teeth. Other someones’ teeth. Presumably collected at some effort from the earth.

  The turn-born who sat waiting for him—one wall of the shimmer having bent into a throne—had shards of black stone filling arms and legs. Like all terst, his head was crowned in thick white hair. With no face below the hair, turn-born wore masks when wandering, shaped in the semblance of man or woman, for terst were like the girl’s kind. This one’s mask had strong features, a hooked nose, and dark eyebrows. Real, save that here, light poured from the holes where eyes and mouth should be.