A Turn of Light

by Julie E. Czerneda

“It’s time,” Sand broke in. “Sweetling. The milk na? Should help. It does us. We’ll see na? You must lie still.”

  Jenn laid down, her body so rigid she couldn’t tell if the stack of blankets made a soft or hard bed. Peggs sat beside her on the floor, taking her hand with a valiant smile. “I won’t leave you, Dearest Heart.”

  And she wouldn’t, no matter what she saw. Not her sister. Jenn rolled her head to look in the direction of the setting sun. “It comes.”

  The tent grew dim. The turn-born, perhaps for her, perhaps because they must, appeared as tinkers once more. All seven stripped their gloves and stood with arms outstretched, as if daring the light to expose them.

  Flint, Fieldstone, and Clay were nearest the door.

  The turn found them first.

  Peggs’ fingers clenched around hers as their faces became masks, their hair shocks of white above. She was silent as that otherworldly light poured from the holes once mouths and eyes.

  Though she flinched, just a little, as their arms became glass filled with flint, brown stone, and red clay.

  The turn passed and three rather self-conscious men lowered their arms.

  Jenn braced herself as the turn came closer and closer, but it didn’t help, nothing helped. She cried out as pain ripped through her . . . lost Peggs’ hand, or did she lose hers . . . her hand was found again and warm . . .

  Then the turn closed in and she emptied . . .

  “Jenn!”

  Tinkers. Turn-born. Peggs, her face distraught. The dog, teeth bared. Bannan didn’t care who or what else was there as he rushed to the figure writhing in agony. “Jenn!”

  He dropped to his knees. Ancestors Despairing and Doomed, she was fading before his eyes, her dear face barely discernible, her skin little more than a hint of purple. The blankets beneath showed through her arms.

  Peggs, with incredible courage, clung to that shell of hand with both of hers. Her eyes flashed to him. “Help her!”

  The only magic he possessed was the truth. How could that—

  Jenn’s ghostly face turned to him as if she spoke. As if she knew he was there. Wasting no more time in doubt, the truthseer desperately looked deeper.

  And found her! Her eyes were like the edge of night itself, purpled with magic. Against the cream of her skin, her lips were rose red and parted in wonder. Trembling with relief, he bent to press his lips to hers.

  And touched nothing.

  Bannan flinched back. The horror in Jenn’s face mirrored his own. “I see you,” he told her, told himself. “You’re not gone, Dearest Heart. I can see you.”

  She just wasn’t here.

  But she lay on top of the blankets, that much he could tell. And Peggs held something, if only the memory of a hand. “It’s almost over,” he promised, looking to the turn-born to be sure.

  Mistress Sand, busy pulling on her gloves, gave a small nod. “The light from the Verge fades sooner than your sun’s. There. See na?”

  A small hand slipped into his, like a bird to its nest.

  Bannan glanced down to find Jenn Nalynn gazing up at him. “I stayed this time,” she said with such relief his heart ached. Then her eyes suddenly twinkled. “You’re dripping on me.”

  “At least it’s not mud,” he said, a ragged edge to his voice. He helped Peggs ease her to sit. Their eyes met over Jenn’s head, shared a fear.

  For she felt . . . different. Fragile, as if she might shatter. His fingers were loath to leave her shoulder.

  Jenn covered them with hers. “It’s over,” she said gently. “I’ll be better in a moment.”

  Heart’s Blood. “What about tomorrow?” He looked to Flint and Chalk. “You didn’t find it,” he accused, rising to his feet. “Why?”

  “Why are you here, truthseer na?” Riverstone demanded, stepping in front of the others.

  Sand clapped her hands. “What’s done, is,” she said sharply, looking from Bannan to her fellow turn-born. “What’s waiting na? Supper and those hungry to eat it.” More gently, to Jenn, “Tomorrow.”

  Jenn nodded, climbing to her feet before he or Peggs could move to help her. “My thanks.”

  Sand shrugged. “Thank us then.”

  As the three headed out of the tent, Bannan going last to be sure Jenn was steady, he wasn’t surprised when Sand beckoned him to stay.

  “I’ll take care of her,” Peggs assured him when he hesitated. As Jenn frowned, ready to protest, her sister hooked a firm arm through hers and pulled her along. “We can’t leave Hettie to serve my pies, Dearest Heart. She cuts the pieces too big for the plates.”

  The flap dropped behind them.

  Bannan turned to face the seven turn-born. None looked happy. Fair enough. Neither was he.

  “For what you did to help her,” he said with the villagers’ short bow, “I’m grateful.”

  “You, last night na?” Sand pursed her lips and made a kissing noise. “We—” a gesture to the rest, “—enjoyed.”

  The truthseer flushed.

  “We meant no trespass.” Riverstone shrugged. “Jenn Nalynn controls her passions, but hasn’t learned to keep them private. She will.”

  “She’ll still have feelings?” It came out before he could stop it.

  “For you na?” Sand asked astutely. Not waiting for an answer, she sat cross-legged on the floor, the panels of her dress draped neatly over her tall boots. The men followed suit. “Sit.”

  Bannan sat, schooling his expression to polite interest, unable to keep his heart from pounding like a drum.

  “A trade, truthseer,” Sand proposed. “Our Sweetling hides something from us. Say what and I’ll tell you what to expect in a turn-born’s bed.”

  “I think not.” Though, Ancestors Tempted and Torn, his curiosity on the subject was close to pain. That Sand mentioned the topic at all? A good sign. “I like surprises,” he finished.

  Sand raised a brow. “Not all are pleasant.”

  He forced a chuckle. “That’s the way of life.”

  “So it is.” She considered him, then tried another approach. “Being what you are, you know when I speak the truth. Am I right na?”

  Trap or opportunity. He nodded warily, prepared for either.

  “What you saw happen to Jenn Nalynn at this turn was far worse than has happened to any of us.” A finger went up; her first truth. “Isn’t terst, might be why. Born between worlds, might be why. We don’t know.” Another finger rose; the second truth. “We can help her through tomorrow’s turn. The Great Turn na?” Her other hand lifted, turned palm down. “We cannot. It will last beyond her enduring and past any help of ours. All we can do is provide comfort. Do you understand na? Unless Jenn is complete and whole, she will empty and be gone before your sun shines again. Is this the truth na?”

  Unable to speak, he gave a terse nod.

  Riverstone leaned forward. “On the Day of Balance, truthseer, we leave the village at midday. We need time in your barn to pack what remains there—with your permission na?”

  The trunks? He waved them past the inconsequential. “You have it.”

  “The Great Turn will take place two hours past dawn,” Tooth volunteered. “We will remain in our tents.”

  “If tomorrow we fail her,” Sand told him, “bring her to us for the Great Turn. We will ease her end as best we can.”

  “Let her die. That’s your advice?” Bannan’s hands wanted to grab the turn-born and shake her. He flattened them on his thighs. “You can help Jenn—you must!”

  “My my my.” She had him and knew it. “What you know, tell us now. Keeping a secret’s worth nothing if she dies. I love her well,” she added, looking him in the eye. “What more can we do na?”

  The turn-born offered him the truth, dared him to accept it. With an inner apology to Jenn Nalynn, he did.

  “Jenn has heard a voice. It’s told her she must help herself. That to find what she needs, she must cross at the Spine during the Great Turn.”

  A daunting silence filled the tent.
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  “She doesn’t know how,” Bannan pressed. “If you want to help, teach her!”

  Sand rocked back and forth, her gloved arms across her middle. “Even were we willing . . .” she said at last, then looked to Riverstone. “Tell him.”

  “During a Great Turn, the edge becomes brittle, like thin ice.” The tinker shook his head ominously. “We don’t dare to cross then. Jenn cannot.”

  “Disturbing the edge could wake the trapped ones!” this from Flint, in a tone of near panic. “We could all die!”

  The dragon’s fear. What sort of place was Marrowdell, that the very hills could come to life? The truthseer pretended a calm he didn’t feel. “‘The trapped ones,’” he echoed. “The Fingers and Spine. The Bone Hills and Marrowdell. Your names?”

  Sand stopped rocking. “The first settlers’,” she surprised him by saying. “The landscape troubled them and they left, but the names na? Stayed behind.” She nodded at Flint. “He’s right. What’s exposed in this world has its roots in ours. Disturb it na? We don’t dare and won’t. She mustn’t cross then.”

  Something else said she must. A game, Bannan decided with rising anger, tossing Jenn Nalynn like a nillystone across a table—but for what? “If it’s so dangerous, why does Marrowdell want her to do it?”

  “‘Marrowdell.’” Sand drew a finger across closed lips as she studied him, eyes a blaze of light. The finger dropped. “You know of the Wound.” Not a question. “Yet you, like the dragon, believe our Sweetling hears another voice. A voice to obey.”

  “Sand—” Riverstone shut his mouth to keep in the rest of his protest. The other turn-born sat, grim and still.

  “They let me speak,” Sand observed. “They know I must. What we are, na? Cautious, careful, safe. Know our power and our place.” She raised a finger, wagged it. “Know not to disturb those greater. Wise na? We think so. In the Verge, the sei are greatest of all, man of truth. If—and I still do not believe—if the sei are here and call our Sweetling na? We will not interfere.” She tipped over a palm. “If the Wound calls our Sweetling, we won’t aid her to that death.”

  He’d gambled and lost. There’d been but a faint chance; nonetheless, her refusal felt like a blow. Bannan swallowed what he might have said and bowed his head graciously.

  “To act, we must agree,” Sand said more gently. “Understand na?”

  Meaning she couldn’t help, but the rest couldn’t harm. The turn-born stood aside, for better or worse. He nodded.

  Riverstone rose to his feet, the rest doing the same. “We’ll hunt the pebble at first light,” he promised. A gesture sent Tooth to retrieve a tall bottle. “For our Sweetling. It may soothe.”

  “I’ll make sure she gets it,” Bannan said with a short bow.

  He thought they were done, but when he went to the door, Sand slipped past to lift the flap for him. “Jenn must not make that journey alone,” she whispered. “How brave are you na?”

  He met the turn-born’s blazing eyes. Whatever she read in his produced the smallest of smiles.

  “Well, then,” the erstwhile tinker said loudly. “To supper, before the food’s gone!”

  “We shouldn’t have left him,” Jenn argued, though it was futile trying to sway Peggs when she felt firmly in the right.

  Sure enough. “We’re the ones late for supper. Will you hurry?”

  Already half-trotting to keep up, she dug in her heels and pulled. Hard.

  Her sister twisted around, dark hair swirling like a cloud. “Heart’s Blood!” Suddenly, her face crumbled. “Oh, Jenn—”

  They hugged one another right there, in the middle of the commons, Peggs weeping on her shoulder.

  “It’s all right. He saw me,” Jenn whispered. “Bannan saw me and I was—” Saying “real again” wouldn’t comfort her sister, though it was true. Something in his eyes had kept her safe, kept her here. “I was better this time,” she finished lamely. “Please, Peggs. I’m fine.” Then a horrible thought struck her. “You aren’t upset because—because of how I looked, are you?”

  Peggs pushed back. “Of course not!” She sniffed. “I was shocked to see Mistress Sand and the others for what—as they are—but who wouldn’t be?” Pulling a newly embroidered handkerchief from her bodice, she blew her nose with a vengeance. Over it, her eyes were red and troubled. “I couldn’t feel your hand,” she mumbled. “I thought I’d lost you, Dearest Heart.” She lowered the ’kerchief. “I didn’t let go. I wouldn’t.”

  “I know.” Jenn kissed her sister’s damp cheek then tipped her head to the village with a small smile. “Hettie and the pies?”

  The elder Nalynn drew herself up. “What are we doing still here?”

  Waiting for Bannan, Jenn thought wistfully, with a look over her shoulder. But there was no sign of him outside the tinkers’ tent and Peggs, reminded of responsibility, wasn’t to be denied again.

  When Devins wasn’t looking, Jenn slipped the pie from her plate onto his and stepped back into the shadows. His was a healthy appetite. She’d none, but it had been easier to let her plate be filled than to argue, especially with Peggs.

  A hand took her empty plate. “Try this.”

  “Bannan.”

  He didn’t smile as he held out a cup. “A gift from our friends.”

  The gift was having him back and safe. Jenn took a quick swallow. More of the purple-tasting milk, it settled in her stomach, easing the ache there. As for Bannan? “You saw me, Dear Heart,” she said softly, cradling the cup, knowing what drew those fine lines at the corners of his mouth and tensed the muscle along his jaw. “You made me real again.”

  At this, the brown of his eyes took on that apple butter glow, but there was nothing happy in the look he gave her. “You were almost gone.”

  “Well, I’m here now.” Somehow, she’d become the one to offer reassurance and comfort; perhaps, as Aunt Sybb promised, facing her trials had given her strength. Jenn put her arm through his. “Come with me.”

  She was tempted to lead him deep into the welcoming night, to kiss away his unhappiness and forget her own. Resisting that urge was difficult indeed; it didn’t help to be quite sure that if she asked, or merely hinted, this remarkable man she loved with all her being would sweep her up in his strong arms and carry her—well, somewhere close, because if they reached that state she wouldn’t want him tired nor could she possibly wait.

  Jenn found herself breathing a little faster than she should.

  Being sensible, she led Bannan through the apple trees to where Riverstone and Frann sat playing a quiet song. After dipping a polite finger in the water, they took a seat on the fountain wall, where everyone could see them, but not overhear a quiet conversation.

  They didn’t touch, they couldn’t, for so many reasons but above all because neither would risk hurt to Wyll. She laid her hand on the stone; casually, he put his nearby.

  Which shouldn’t have been intimate, but, oh it was, since there was a warmth along the side of her little finger which could only be from Bannan’s hand, and surely he felt the warmth from hers which led to another distracting series of thoughts about warmth and feeling she let flow and tingle, it being a silly, happy thing to sit so properly and think otherwise.

  Wen would approve.

  Reluctantly, Jenn withdrew her hand and put it on her lap. They had matters to discuss. She could think of only one reason the tinkers had kept Bannan back, and it was important he not listen. “Mistress Sand tried to convince you I shouldn’t try to cross, didn’t she?”

  “She pointed out the difficulties, yes,” Bannan replied easily, his eyes on the musicians. “What she really wanted was to know what you’ve kept from them.”

  “Oh.” Jenn studied his profile but he’d assumed his dauntingly polite public face. “You told her,” she guessed. “I don’t mind,” she added quickly. “Mistress Sand is a friend, I’m sure of it.”

  “She is. I tried a trade,” he admitted, which was, as she thought of it, a very apt approach with a tinker. “I
n return, I asked them to teach you to cross. They refused. They don’t know what speaks to you or what it might want. That you hear this voice? That it wants you to cross? They’re terrified, Dearest Heart. I heard the truth of it.”

  Hadn’t the dragons howled that the turn-born forbade her to cross, back when she’d understood none of it, or herself? Jenn blew out the breath she’d unconsciously held and collected herself. “Thank you for trying. We’ll find another way.”

  His mouth curved in a smile. “That’s the spirit.”

  “I may have already,” she said. “Dema Qimirpik has an Ansnan wishing—a rite—to bring my pebble here, from the Verge.”

  Now he did look at her. “Your pebble?”

  “He calls it a Tear from the Celestial, but when they described it—Bannan, it’s the same, the very same. Urcet wants it to prove there’s magic, but it’s—” Jenn stopped before “mine.”

  “Yours,” he agreed, finishing for her. “Well well. I’d planned to talk to our fine guests tonight. This will help.”

  “They don’t know,” she cautioned. “What magic really is. What it can do. They’re—” one of Aunt Sybb’s sayings came to mind, “—playing with fire inside a full tinderbox, that’s what they’re doing. We can’t allow it.”

  “Then, Dearest Heart, we’d best take away their matches, hadn’t we?”

  Her smile started deep inside, where the turn-born remedy had eased her emptiness, rising through the heart he’d filled with his, until it was all she could do to only smile at Bannan Larmensu and not throw herself in his arms.

  “Jenn Nalynn,” he whispered huskily, smiling himself. “‘What magic really is.’”

  If she kept gazing at him, and he at her, they’d cause, if not scandal, then certainly interested comment. She broke away first, deliberately looking for her dragon in the gathering. “I haven’t seen Wyll today. Have you?” He might be avoiding her for a reason, now that she thought of it. “I hope he didn’t sleep in a hammock.”

  “Sand made us welcome in her tent,” Bannan explained, easing her concern only to add a new one. “Wyll sent the toad, by the way.”

  Jenn covered her mouth with her hand and stared wide-eyed at the truthseer.