A Turn of Light

by Julie E. Czerneda

  And unrolled, covering her lap with color.

  A map.

  Lila had done more than well, Bannan decided happily. The cartography was superbly detailed, yet elegantly done. “Do you . . .” he looked up at Jenn and words failed him.

  Tears filled her eyes and her lips trembled. She trembled, even her fingers shaking as they hovered over the parchment.

  What had he done? He was an idiot. Worse than an idiot. How else could she react, shown all she couldn’t have? “I’m sorry, Dearest Heart,” he said desperately, reaching to take the offensive thing away. “I don’t know what I was thinking—I—”

  Her hands stopped his. “No. It’s perfect,” she said with such determination his heart ached. “I had a map once. Like this. Well, not really. Mine had holes in it and the roads ended at the border with Ansnor which I knew wasn’t right and . . .” her voice grew steadier, then filled with wonder. “. . . this shows Avyo’s bridges . . . and look . . . there’s more to Mellynne?” Her finger traced the western expanse of that domain, with its many cities, then went back to Avyo. She lifted it to touch where the Sweet Sea met the coast.

  And laughed. A moth he hadn’t even noticed took flight. The air filled with the scent of roses and birds sang in the hedge as if surprised by spring. “I found the ocean!” Jenn exclaimed. “Look, it’s right here and much much bigger than all of Rhoth. What’s it like?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Lila’s sailed on it.” Then, because Jenn Nalynn was glad again and anything was possible, he dared go on. “We’ll ask her when she comes to Marrowdell. I want her to meet you.”

  A flicker of worry in those glorious eyes. “Are you certain she’ll want to meet me?”

  Her concern was real and not to be trifled with, so Bannan carefully didn’t smile. “I don’t believe we could stop her, Dearest Heart.”

  “I could.” All at once, she wasn’t Jenn Nalynn but turn-born. Skin of glass, light and pearl . . .

  And magic incarnate.

  The map. A gift of love. A treasure. Jenn Nalynn let it fall to the grass as she stood. That dream was over. Beyond her family’s home, by the fountain, those she loved gathered in joy and happiness, well into the beer and summerberry wine, full of laughter on this perfect day. She would not let regret or despair or anything else enter her and touch Marrowdell.

  She dared not.

  Bannan rose to his feet as well, but didn’t back away. The compassion in his eyes made her tremble. “Turn-born,” he acknowledged, refusing to avoid the truth, knowing perhaps better than she why this was the shape she’d taken.

  “Is that all I am?” she asked desperately, reaching for him with a hand that wasn’t a hand, but glass and tears and light.

  For a wonder, he smiled. “Shall we find out?” Before she knew what he intended, he’d untied the bows at the top of her shoulders and eased the dress over the curve of her breasts.

  Jenn gasped.

  Breathing deeper himself, Bannan touched the side of her neck with one finger, then traced a loving line to the hollow at her throat and over, then down.

  Down to what became flesh and warm and felt—

  She gave a most unmagical squeak.

  Was the Jenn Nalynn who’d drunk the tears of a sei, who had such unimaginable power, the same woman he’d loved last night? There was, Bannan decided cheerfully, only one way to be sure, for both of them. His hands eased their way inside her dress and . . .

  “Ancestors Tried and—!” Jenn grabbed him by the ears and pulled his mouth to hers.

  . . . no, Bannan thought, reeling. This wasn’t at all the same woman.

  This was . . . whatever this was, she was everything wonderful about Jenn Nalynn and more.

  Whatever she was, could love and be loved.

  Jenn Nalynn felt as though she danced on air as she took the eggs into the kitchen, for Aunt Sybb wouldn’t want her to neglect her task even when that task had been, as she would put it, to “help things along.” Things had been helped. Her marvelous new map of the world safely in its carrying case, Bannan had promised to help her write a thank you letter to Lila, because his sister had chosen it and Jenn wasn’t too sure how you wrote a baroness. He’d laughed at that and refused to explain why, pulling her close for a kiss.

  Jenn found her aunt on the porch, peacefully surveying the activity around the fountain. The tinkers had lingered longer than usual, and the music from Master Riverstone’s pipe joined that of the birds. The older woman smiled a greeting and Jenn took a seat on the bench nearby.

  “How went your egg hunt, Dear Heart?” At her blush, Aunt Sybb nodded with satisfaction. “I’m so happy for you. For you both.” She gazed over the village. “For everyone.”

  “You could stay another day,” Jenn said wistfully.

  “My heart grows impatient for my own love.” Aunt Sybb patted her hand. “I’m sure you understand.”

  At last, she did. Jenn leaned over and kissed her aunt’s soft cheek. “Please bring Uncle Hane with you, one day.”

  “Maybe I will, Dearest Heart. Maybe I will.” Another pat. “And your Wyll. He’s proved a true friend and a remarkable man. I trust you’ll be seeing him again?”

  “Wyll’s gone,” Jenn said simply. “He’s Wisp again and free.”

  “Ah.” Aunt Sybb raised an eyebrow. “But not a—” she paused, delicately, and pointed under her chair.

  “Not a toad, Aunt. I promise.”

  Her aunt looked relieved. “Well, I’m glad that’s settled. Now, here comes my brother with some tea. My thanks for your company, Dearest Heart, but I’m sure you’ll want to say your farewells to Mistress Sand and the tinkers. They’ll be leaving shortly.”

  Jenn rose. “I will.” Impulsively, she crouched before her aunt, taking her hands. “Aunt Sybb, I’ve listened to everything you’ve told me, truly, even when it didn’t seem I did, and I want you to know how much your words have helped me, especially these past weeks. You’re wise and kind and I want you, very much, to take care and come back to us. Please.”

  “Ancestors Blessed.” Aunt Sybb blinked as though overwhelmed, then smiled. “Of course I will, Jenn Nalynn. However Far We Are Apart—”

  “Keep Us Close,” Jenn finished, and, though she didn’t know if magic worked outside of Marrowdell, she did know one thing.

  She’d just made a wish.

  The pile of small white pebbles was, quite simply, extraordinary. Wainn had found her and brought her behind the great oak tree to see it. Wen was already there, along with three house toads.

  Jenn picked up a pebble to be sure it was the plain sort, then put it down and looked at Wen. “It wasn’t me.” She looked at the toads and inclined her head. “Though these are well deserved.”

  The toads didn’t blink, maybe loath to take their eyes from what was to them, treasure of the highest order. She’d meant to ask Wyll, or Wisp, why the toads preferred white pebbles. Jenn sighed.

  “You didn’t go alone,” Wainn said smugly.

  “About that,” Jenn began, looking from one to the other. The timely arrival of the toads and Marrowdell’s other small defenders hadn’t been coincidence. Don’t look so hard at a kindness, Aunt Sybb would say, that you forget to be grateful, which was, she thought, exactly right. So instead of asking, she smiled, from her heart. “Thank you.”

  Wen looked at Wainn, he at her, then both smiled back.

  While the toads edged up to the pile of pebbles, touching them with their toes as if to be sure the stones were real.

  “What do you think?” Jenn asked. She sat with Mistress Sand in the second wagon. The turn-born had stopped beside the path, to feel the difference for themselves, and Master Riverstone had gone so far as to walk a few steps before coming back, shaking his head in wonder.

  “What I think na?” Sand put her gloved hands on her knees and shook her head. “I think Melusine should have ridden like this, with us, and not died. Then I think, if she had, we wouldn’t have you, Sweetling, and this—” a
gesture to the path, “—would still be killing us and a sei would still lie dying. What I think na? It’s best not to think too much.”

  The wagons started up again, the others walking alongside.

  “I understand, now, why you didn’t want me to cross alone. Not,” Jenn added hastily as Sand gave her a worried look, “that I did anything terrible. There are,” she confessed, “rabbits. And a little meadow. But Bannan showed me how to see the Verge for what it is and—” remembering, her breath caught, “—it’s magnificent. I won’t cross again if you tell me not to, Mistress—” she owed them that, “—but may I? I can’t leave Marrowdell and I want—I’d like—to see more.”

  “My. My. My.” Sand clucked her tongue, abruptly in a much lighter mood. “Such care and good sense. I’m sure the others would be glad to have you come and visit, after what you’ve done. Besides,” with a wink, “you’re part sei now. Who are we to argue na?”

  Jenn wasn’t sure about that.

  “As for more na?” Sand held out the arm with the bracelet, its polished amber like little eyes. “Happy birthday, Jenn Nalynn.”

  She wasn’t giving her the bracelet, Jenn thought, puzzled, but a riddle. “I don’t understand.”

  “Didn’t the dragon tell you na?” Sand laughed outright. “Turn-born aren’t always truthful.” She shook her wrist, making the bracelet jiggle. “The dema has a sharp eye. This pretty thing comes from Mellynne. I traded for it in Channen myself.”

  Jenn stared at her. “You? But turn-born only exist within the edge—”

  “The edge is where our worlds overlap, Sweetling. We call our side the Verge and we’ve yet to find its end. Why would Marrowdell be all there is on yours na?”

  Because she’d believed it. Because she’d accepted that her life would be confined, yes, but in a place she loved, with those she loved. Heart pounding, Jenn asked with the greatest care, “What else is there?”

  Sand smiled. “Anywhere touched by magic, Sweetling. When you’re in the mood to explore, we’ll show you the crossings we know. Maybe how to find your own na?”

  She could leave Marrowdell. Not only for the Verge, which was astonishing, but to visit the places on the map?

  “I thought I’d lost my dreams,” Jenn admitted.

  Sand winked again. “You can’t lose dreams, Sweetling. Only misplace them for a while.”

  Which sounded so much like Aunt Sybb, and was so much more than she’d hoped, Jenn Nalynn’s smile began in her heart and grew until the turn-born laughed aloud and clapped her hands, then pulled her close. “That’s what I’ve waited to see,” Sand whispered huskily. “That’s what I wait for all year. You be happy, Sweetling.”

  It was affection and, Jenn realized, earnest advice. She hugged the tinker. “Thank you. More than I can say.”

  The wagons pulled into Bannan’s farmyard, golden in the low rays of the sun. When Jenn jumped down, willing to help with the bags, Riverstone stopped her. “You’ve your own work to do,” he said, and pointed. “We’ve agreed.”

  Toward Night’s Edge.

  “I’m not sure—”

  Sand lifted down her little white dog. “You don’t need us. Do what your heart tells you.” She winked. “We’ll see you next year or sooner. And your handsome farmer.”

  Jenn hugged them, everyone and Sand twice, then rubbed the little dog behind the ears. Feeling generous, she looked to the tinkers’ horses, but they curled their lips and she kept a prudent distance.

  Then, tucking her hair behind her ears, she took the path to Night’s Edge.

  It was like coming home, or would have been, had there been anything left but ash and death. Jenn stopped where she’d stood that day.

  Where she’d wished away her friend.

  She stood long enough for the ash disturbed by her footsteps to drift back to the ground. Bees passed her, bound for living places, and she watched her shadow lengthen as the sun sank toward the Bone Hills. Not yet, something told her, though in the village they’d be refilling lamps for the wedding dance. Dema Qimirpik had promised to show them the steps to an Ansnan one favored by young couples.

  Bannan was there, waiting.

  But Sand was right and she belonged here, where her magic had done its worst. Only she could make this right. If she couldn’t, so be it.

  This had been her favorite time of day, before. The sun’s rays poured gently on the valley, making everything appear better than it was or perhaps, she wondered, being officially a year older and hopefully a little wiser, they merely revealed beauty hidden by the brighter busier light of full day. When she’d planned to leave Marrowdell, this was the view of it she’d wanted to remember. When she’d believed herself trapped here, this was the only one that eased her heart.

  A moth fluttered nearby.

  Now, Jenn agreed, feeling the coming turn of light not as pain, but as a joy that made anything seem possible.

  Night’s Edge.

  As she loved it . . .

  As it should be . . .

  She wished it, with all her heart and will. At first, she wasn’t sure, then thought, was that a hint of green? With the thought, the hint became a wash sweeping from hedge to forest, covering the ash. Not any green, but the green of spring, new and vibrant and unstoppable.

  Leaves popped and stems grew and flower buds nodded. She danced to keep from squashing any, not that it seemed they could be squashed.

  The turn came, pouring blue down the Bone Hills, that weren’t hills, she knew now, but the sei who was, like her, part of Marrowdell, part of the Verge.

  The turn came, and flowers opened, which flowers usually didn’t because this was the start of night, but Jenn was so very glad to see them. Daisies and asters. Summerberries and thistles. A late-flying bee streaked in and landed, surely surprised but willing.

  The turn came and now she could see it as Bannan did. How there were quiet creatures in the hedges who bowed, claws to their breasts. How the turn flowed past and the old trees came alive, lit with dancers, their hair like stars. How the road was lined with guardians in chain mail, their eyes like coins. Everything in Marrowdell had a shape and a life and something to risk.

  And had risked. For her.

  “Thank you,” she said numbly, sinking down into the flowers. “From my heart, thank you.”

  A daisy tumbled into her lap.

  A voice softer than petals warmed her ear. “You’re welcome.”

  “Wisp?” Jenn scrambled to her feet. “Wisp!” Oh, it couldn’t be, but if it was . . .

  “I am! I am!” Flowers flew in dizzying spirals, the bee hapless among them, and caught at her hair and skirt and whirled her in circles until she fell, laughing. “I am.”

  As smug as ever.

  “And here.”

  Jenn turned to find herself facing her dragon. “I can see you.” Just. In the twilight, he was blue shadow and silver shimmer, his eyes deep wells. Perilous, in the way of truly wild things.

  Precious, beyond words. “Are you—” it was selfish to say it, because hadn’t she so much joy in her life, but the words slipped out, “—back?”

  The proud head tilted. Steam rose in curled tendrils. “Where else should I be?”

  She narrowed her eyes. He was being difficult. “You know what I mean.”

  “Ah.” Her bangs flipped. “What I mean, Dearest Heart, is that I’m your friend. That is what I want. That is what I am. Always.”

  Then, suddenly, wings opened and beat and he rose into the air. “When you dance with the truthseer, tell him the little cousins have sewn his book back together. There are some holes, but I’m sure he can fill in the words. Tell him any should do.”

  “It was you!” She’d been sure of it. “Wisp, you can’t take books.”

  “Books. Books. Books.” Leaves and flowers whirled upward. “Come tomorrow, Dearest Heart. Bring thistles!” With that so very familiar request, and a most unfamiliar roar, Wisp flew into the night sky and disappeared.

  Jenn Nalynn stood
in her meadow, staring up. If she cried, and maybe she did, the tears were glad and warm and fell on flowers.

  Was he back? Really?

  She circled her fingers over her heart and whispered, “However Far We Are Apart . . .”

  “Keep Us Close,” whispered her best and dearest friend.

  The dragon settled to watch the girl walk home, though the Wound was no more and the evening barely dark. His pleasure, not his duty, but they were, were they not, the same?

  The little cousins knew. Despite enough nyphrit hearts to cover themselves in gauds and glory, they patiently stood guard along the road and at every doorway. Including his own, much to his chagrin, but there was no arguing with them. Though they could be puzzled. He’d managed the pebbles without any the wiser, and, best of all, without having to touch water.

  Efflet cuddled against him. He couldn’t very well stop the silly things and they were, he had to admit, better than damp leaves.

  Dragons were nearby. Curious, appalled. Whatever their reason, he ignored them.

  Those closest suddenly scattered.

  Ignoring them too, the old kruar stalked from the forest. ~ Are you going to lie here all night? ~

  ~ If I wish. ~

  Scourge snorted. Then, slyly, ~ There’s another bear. ~

  Wisp blew steam. ~ So now you need help hunting? ~

  ~ From a toothless dragon?! ~

  ~ Old fool! ~

  Together they watched the lamps being lit in the village. Music spread across the valley for those who cared to dance.

  The dragon gave a pensive snarl. ~ A bear. ~ The efflet, ever sensible, crept away.

  ~ Maybe two. I’ll go first! ~ Scourge whirled and plunged back into the shadows.

  She’d saved them all, Wisp knew. Jenn Nalynn. His charge all these years, his worry and joy. He’d thought to protect her, and she’d turned everything around, to protect everything he cared about.

  And some he didn’t.