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.
“They’ll kill him!” Tir protested.
“Quite possibly,” the breeze agreed. “He won’t thank you for interfering.”
The dragon was amused. While he couldn’t tell if a breeze told the truth, Bannan trusted his instincts. He gestured, “Wait,” to Tir. The man gave him a disbelieving look but obeyed.
Scourge landed with a thud that shook the ground, only to roll to his feet in a blur of powerful motion. He charged, catching his attackers off balance. As they scattered, then spun with open jaws, Bannan and Tir retreated to where Wyll stood watching. When close enough to be heard over the din, the truthseer shouted, “What do you mean, they aren’t fighting?”
“What I said.” Wyll pointedly looked anywhere but at the kruar. “They think the old fool’s a hero. Their warlord returned from exile, to seek redemption at the Great Turn.”
Another series of roars and a very loud, drawn-out squeal.
Tir, whose eyes hadn’t left the kruar, abruptly tilted his head far to one side. “Ancestors Blessed and Bountiful!” He let out an admiring grunt. “Those are . . .”
“Mares,” Wyll supplied dryly. “Yes.”
Bannan turned in time to see Scourge most decidedly not fight with one kruar as the other five eagerly crowded close, snapping at one another. He quickly and politely looked away again. “I see.”
“Bloody beast!” Tir exclaimed with enthusiasm. “He’s doing another one!”
Eyes half-closed, the truthseer pinched the top of his nose and deliberately shook his head. “Must you watch?”
“As if he didn’t,” Tir retorted, but turned away, though he glanced over his shoulder every so often, once with a whistle.
“Scourge can go home?” Bannan asked the dragon, trying to ignore both squeals and whistle.
Wyll shrugged his good shoulder. “The sei exiled the old fool. Only they can permit it. Do hurry up.” This as an uproar burst out among the mares. “We should leave,” he added. “They’ll want blood afterward. They always do.”
Tir stopped looking over his shoulder. “What kind of blood?”
All at once, the commons fell quiet, so quiet Bannan heard music from the village. He turned.
Seven kruar, drool steaming from their gaping mouths, stood gazing raptly at them.
“Dragon’s, if they can,” Wyll replied, his smile as predatory as his man’s lips allowed. “Yours may do.”
Scourge stood with the others, sides heaving. The truthseer hadn’t
appreciated the sheer terror of being regarded with hunger by those wild red eyes.
It wasn’t to happen now. “Scourge!” he shouted, stepping forward with a brisk clap of his hands. Anything to break that predatory glare. “Rabbits!”
With a loud “Whuff!” his oldest friend pricked up his ears and gave what might have been a nod, then slammed his head into his nearest new love, knocking her sideways. Scourge chivvied and chased the rest around, then, with a roar, broke into a gallop.
Full at the hedge. The mares followed, all running headlong at a barrier impossibly high for a horse.
Just as the sun went behind the Bone Hills, and the turn flowed over Marrowdell.
Manes became swords, hides became armor, and the kruar took flight.
Leading the fearsome creatures, jumping higher and further, plunging through the river beyond and up onto the road, their magnificent warrior king, naked of all but scars, needing nothing more.
Bannan found himself unable to speak.
Tir swore cheerfully under his breath.
“He’d better have them back by morning,” Wyll grumbled. “Old fool.”
But when the truthseer glanced at the dragon, he caught the hint of a smile.
Marrowdell’s fountain stood ringed by cobblestones, then hard-packed earth. With the night sky above, candles around its rim, lamps hung from every likely branch and from ropes strung between, it became the sparkling center of an airy, beautiful hall. As lovely as any in Avyo, Aunt Sybb proclaimed kindly, though its dance floor could use some improvement.
The feast done, seats circled the lit space; chairs, benches, and blankets shifted to offer respite and a good view. Instruments waited near the commons gate, as did a table laden with barrels and tankards and pots of tea. But first, following the feast and sunset so all could attend, the Beholding.
“Hearts of our Ancestors . . .” Old Jupp began.
Marrowdell added their voices, from Alyssa to Aunt Sybb. “We are Beholden for the abundance of this valley, for it will give us the strength to improve ourselves in your eyes . . .”
Jenn nipped in between Peggs, who gave her a worried frown, and their father, who smiled. “. . . We are Beholden for the company of friends,” she joined in with the rest, “for the harvest is a task beyond us alone. We are Beholden for the opportunity to gather in this Welcome Feast, to share your gifts. Hearts of our Ancestors, above all we are Beholden for Marrowdell, our home . . .”
As she spoke, she looked around as best she could beneath properly lowered lids. Everyone stood around the fountain, hands circled over their hearts, faces touched by the soft glow of lamps. The Uhthoffs next to the Nalynns, Kydd, of course, beside Peggs. The Emms and Ropps, with Palma and Hettie. Riss, with Old Jupp. The far curve was filled with Treffs, with hats and without, then Roche with Devins, as if no one but his brother would stand by him. The tinkers were next and Jenn acknowledged Mistress Sand with a nod when their eyes met.
A little apart, but still in the circle, Horst, with Tir and Wyll, though Wyll, like the tinkers, didn’t even pretend to say the words. The dema and Urcet sat outside with their servants, as if watching a play.
There he was.
Bannan Larmensu.
He stood between Wyll and Wainn, taller than either, fingers circled over his heart. Being here at all, she thought with relief, meant that Scourge, who wasn’t, must be fine.
Bannan said the Marrowdell Beholding as confidently as those born here and kept his eyes fixed on the fountain, allowing Jenn’s to linger. Like the rest, he’d changed from his work clothes; unlike the other men, his white shirt was tied with black laces at the open throat instead of buttons and pants of leather, not homespun, clung to his strong legs. She’d held those pants, before Tir had taken them. The leather was glove-soft.
Which was not a proper thought during a Beholding. Hurriedly, Jenn looked away.
Then back, not done. Aunt Sybb would admire Bannan’s knee-high black boots, polished to reflect the lamplight. Most of Marrowdell had bare feet. He’d tied back his hair, but an errant curl hung like a question mark over one eyebrow.
Her hair fell loose over her bared shoulders and back; strange, to feel it against her skin, but ever-so-reassuring. She no longer took skin or shoulders for granted.
Aunt Sybb said the last words alone, her voice full of such warm strength, Jenn’s eyes prickled with proud tears. “. . . However far we are apart, Keep Us Close.”
“‘Keep Us Close,’” came the echo. The Beholding done, people began moving around, smiles on their faces.
Bannan raised his eyes, catching and holding hers. He didn’t smile, perhaps because she wore Aunt Sybb’s daring and adult dress, with shoes, and her hair was clean for once. She must look very different from the Jenn he knew.
For some reason, she couldn’t smile either. For an instant, forever, they stood looking at one another across the open space.
Then she was surrounded. “You look beautiful, Dearest Heart,” Aunt Sybb declared happily, coming close to adjust the long twisted ribbons down the front of the dress. She herself looked radiant, her elegant black shirtwaist and skirt topped by a lovely new shawl, golden and with sleeves. Bannan’s gift; Mistress Sand’s work. “Doesn’t she, Radd?”
“Ancestors Witness,” their father agreed, his voice thick with emotion. He’d missed some flour in his haste to wash up and attend the Beholding, and Peggs hovered with a handkerchief at the ready. “I shall visit your mother this very night and tell her how much like her you’ve become.” He offered his hands to Jenn.
More than anything, Jenn wanted to run into his arms and stay there, safe from the world. Either world. Instead, she laid her hands on his callused palms and smiled. “I hope so, Poppa. Thank you. And you, Aunt Sybb. It’s a wonderful dress.”
As Master Riverstone and Frann retuned their instruments, Davi having produced his battered bass, there were murmured compliments everywhere, for Marrowdell wore its proud best. What better night for it? The evening was summer-warm, kind to bare arms and tired bones, and they’d reason to celebrate. Friends returned after a year’s absence, larders filled, and, most welcome of all, the harvest well underway. There’d be a simpler gathering tomorrow night, as work took its toll, then all would meet again for the farewell dance, the night before the tinkers left.
Much as Jenn anticipated her birthday, this first night was always special though, to be honest, she’d paid heed to the dancing and precious little else. Tonight, Jenn found herself aware of much more. The little knots of conversation. Mistress Sand, with the Treffs. Her father and Tadd, waving tankards at Chalk. About the mill, she’d no doubt. Old Jupp, his ear trumpet aimed at Tooth, the pair laughing. Flint in earnest discussion with Dusom and Kydd. Clay listening to Tadd and Allin. Fieldstone with Alyssa, who was clutching a new doll and regarding him with wide-eyed worship.
How had she missed how Wainn looked at Wen, or how their fingers met in the shadows?
She’d lost sight of Bannan.
“Finally.” Peggs took her hand and drew her aside. “Jenn, are you all right? Where did you go?”
“I changed my mind about the dress.”
Peggs had brought them near a lamp; by its light, her face was drawn tight with worry. “Not the dress. Sunset.”
Impossible, really, to fool her sister. “I thought I might be sick,” Jenn admitted, trying not to squirm, “so I went to our room for the—for that time. I’m fine now. I’m here, aren’t I?”
Her sister fluffed her bangs and drew a gentle finger down her cheek. “You look lovely and worn to the bone. An early night couldn’t hurt, Dear Heart. With a second cup of Covie’s remedy?”
The first had tasted like tar. Jenn grimaced. “I’d rather stay here,” she confessed. Here, where there were people and lights, where she wouldn’t, couldn’t vanish. Music began to play again, louder and with a happy, irresistible beat. “There’s dancing,” she added, which was hardly necessary since couples were taking their places b
y the fountain, with Anten, who couldn’t dance but tried his best every year, laughingly fumbling through the steps with his youngest daughter.
“Jenn! Peggs!” Despite her excitement, Hettie approached with the wary dignity of someone unused to shoes. Palma came with her, her feet happily bare. “You have to hear this. Go on, Palma. Tell them about your book.”
The soft light couldn’t hide Palma’s blush. “Ancestors Witness, Hettie. Allin’s mother’s the real author. She’s famous. I just—just dabble.”
“I’m sure everyone starts that way,” Peggs said kindly. “Gallie must be thrilled to have another writer in the family.”
“What are you writing?” Jenn asked, relieved to have a topic that wasn’t about sunset or her stomach. “When can we read it?”
From blush to pallor, but if Palma thought she might evade such questions, she hadn’t taken the measure of her soon-to-be sister-by-marriage. “It’s a book about us,” Hettie said proudly. “Avyo’s Forgotten Exiles.”
“That’s—I haven’t decided on the title,” Palma protested in a low voice.
A book about them? Jenn exchanged astonished looks with her sister, then both stared at Palma. Peggs spoke with care. “It’s illegal. The prince—”
“Won’t live forever,” the young innkeeper proclaimed fiercely. “Nor will the barons who profited. History deserves the truth!”
Jenn blinked.
Peggs’ eyes sparked with fire of their own. “And the truth has found its champion! Good for you, Palma. Ancestors Tried and Triumphant. Good for all of us, I say. It’s about time.”
“Time we have to spare,” Jenn insisted. When had she become the sensible sister? “The prince is old and fat. Aunt Sybb says it’s a wonder he’s lasted this long. Please be patient, Palma. And careful.”
“So long as you finish,” Peggs added, not to be denied.
Palma smiled. “Thank you.” Hettie nudged her shoulder and she laughed. “You were right.”
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