“Yes.” With help. Bannan decided not to mention the moth. Though unoffended to be the subject of a wager—it was hardly the first time—he found himself abruptly indignant. “Why didn’t anyone—” Ah, but he’d been warned, hadn’t he? He took a steadying breath. “How is it you remember?”
Tadd found the ends of his reins of surpassing interest. Their horses, long-time companions, matched stride for stride in an easy walk. After a moment, he answered quietly, “We’re different, Allin and me. We’ve known since we first left the valley.”
Something they’d done each summer since being old enough to ride. Tadd’s becoming the miller’s apprentice and his twin living in Endshere, the question of who would graze the livestock beyond the valley next year remained to be settled. From what he was hearing, with what he’d felt himself, Bannan wasn’t sure who else could. “Davi didn’t remember Jenn.”
“Not anymore.” Tadd shrugged. “He used to, but she’s changed, hasn’t she? More—more Marrowdell than anyone else. That’s what they can’t remember, Bannan.”
Jenn had told him turn-born couldn’t live outside the edge. She’d done her best to accept that terrible truth. Now this? That outside, her very existence was forgotten? He’d have to tell her.
He couldn’t imagine how.
“Does anyone else remember?” Bannan asked, dropping his voice below the clop of hooves on the road. “Sennic—Horst?” Surely the old soldier.
“He taught us to keep what makes Marrowdell special secret.” A dimple showed. “’Course, once in a while we slip. I got in a fight at the inn last year, bragging about our grain, and Allin—well, fortunately no one believed him about the dancers in the trees. But Horst?” He shook his head and Bannan’s heart fell. “Our first trip outside, we didn’t know any better. Horst wouldn’t talk about Marrowdell, so we didn’t. Then Allin saw.” Lower. “I did, too.”
“Saw what?”
Tadd looked askance at him, then brought his horse closer. “You see when someone speaks the truth.” He waited for Bannan to nod. “We see something—Allin calls it ‘Marrowdell’s light’—in a person’s eyes. I can see it in yours.
“When we don’t, when it’s gone, the person has lost Marrowdell. We saw it leave Horst. Oh, he knew about home. About us. But when we talked about what makes Marrowdell special—what he’d warned us to keep secret before we left? He warned us not to make up wild stories. Said they’d attract attention. They weren’t stories, Bannan.” A resigned shrug. “Horst simply couldn’t believe them, away from Marrowdell. He’d forgotten.”
If not for the moth, Bannan thought desperately, he’d have done the same. “The others?”
“Hettie’s lost it,” with regret. “My parents. Loee hasn’t, but she’s a baby. The Treffs and Frann have. Devins. Naught’s wrong with any of them.” This was said hastily, as if worried what Bannan might think. “The light comes back, once they pass between the crags. Once home.” His fingers circled his heart. “Ancestors Blessed and Bountiful. It’s just—they won’t remember having forgotten.” He added, almost too quietly to hear, “Or believe us, if we tell them. Here or there.”
“Tell me the Lady Mahavar remembers,” Bannan pleaded. If Aunt Sybb forgot her youngest niece, if her letters from this time forward came without mention, Jenn Nalynn would be heartbroken. “She must.”
“Aie. Her light’s there, bright as yours.” Tadd carefully examined his reins again. “Allin and I, we keep hoping to talk to her, when our paths cross each spring and summer, but every time there’s no way to—the lady’s not someone we—she’s—” He looked up helplessly. “She doesn’t care for magic.”
For this was magic, no mistake.
Bannan reached out and gripped the villager’s shoulder. “Hard enough to bear such a gift when you can’t tell those you love. Harder still when you can see them change as you have. You’ve done well, Tadd. Both of you. Very well.”
The other’s eyes shone. “Allin said you’d understand if anyone could. We just had to wait until—”
“You saw,” Bannan finished for him.
“Yes.” Tadd beamed. “Which means I win for once!”
Their bet. He laughed. “Glad to be of service.”
“We must talk again. With Allin.” Tadd glanced over his shoulder and waved. “I’d best get back to Hettie.”
“Thank you.” And when they spoke, Bannan resolved to ask Allin about the Dema and the Eld, and their servants. Roche too. Much as he’d come to respect Qimirpik, it might be as well if Marrowdell kept its deeper secrets.
From Tir as well?
Ancestors Witness. Doubtless his friend would sleep better at night if he forgot Marrowdell’s eccentricities. Why did it feel like betrayal? Because that’s how Tir would consider it. He’d demand a way to remember.
Which there was. The moth.
As Tadd reined back to rejoin his family, who’d forgotten magic, Bannan found himself reconsidering it. Was this forgetting deliberate, with a cause and purpose? Or, like the dreams within the valley, simply a consequence of moving between a place saturated with magic and one—almost—without.
No wonder Scourge had wandered, lost.
Heart’s Blood. He should turn around, now, before he was.
Should, but wouldn’t. Dropping the reins, Bannan’s fingers found that now-cool spot on his neck. The moth—be it the sei or Marrowdell itself—had marked him for a reason. Had saved him, that was the truth, and he was beyond grateful. He’d fulfill his duty, though the next few days would be an eternity.
It was then Bannan realized he’d let himself become dangerously distracted.
They weren’t alone on the road.
“I’m pleased you’re going at last, Dearest Heart.” Peggs Nalynn Uhthoff brushed a lock of black hair from her brow, leaving a whimsy of soap bubbles above a shapely eyebrow. “Just tell me before you do.”
“So you can worry?” Beckoning her sister close, Jenn moistened the corner of her apron and wiped the bubbles from otherwise flawless skin, then stood back and admired. Happiness sparkled in Peggs’ eyes these days and, though always graceful, wasn’t she now the most beautiful woman in Marrowdell, perhaps even in all of Rhoth? Now she moved as if hearing music. “Kydd agrees with you,” Jenn declared with satisfaction.
Roses bloomed along those high cheekbones, but Peggs merely shook her head. “And you’re changing the subject.”
The subject being Jenn taking that first step beyond Marrowdell, though the process wasn’t so much a step as a desire and intention to be somewhere and someone entirely not here and her?
Changing it was exactly what she wanted to do. “I’ll hang these.” Jenn grabbed an armload of steaming shirts and headed for the door. She paused to look over her shoulder. “I promise to tell you.”
That won her the smile she’d hoped. “I suppose I should be grateful you’ve decided to talk about this at all. If not with me, then with—” Peggs waved the big paddle, shedding bubbles “—someone.”
By which she meant “someone” who knew everything. Oh, each and every resident of Marrowdell had their version of what had happened at the fall equinox, when the eclipse had passed over the valley on the Ancestors’ Golden Day. Most believed Uncle Horst had succumbed to old guilt and tried to leave the valley, only to be mauled by a bear. How fortunate the tinkers had still been in the valley to help heal his wounds.
Most believed the mysterious and magical Wyll, once Jenn Nalynn’s promised husband, had spurned her and also left, for good. Both events, it was tacitly agreed, had been for the best, Horst now happily married to Riss Nahamm and Wyll, never easy company, surely better off elsewhere.
Few knew the whole truth. Wainn and Wen, of course, who likely knew more. Bannan. Peggs and Kydd. Radd Nalynn, because his daughters had blurted it all out over supper and who, to his credit, had merely nodded and gone a bit pale. Aunt Sybb? It was difficult to
say if the Lady Mahavar would bother with the truth, being unsettled by magic and toads at the best of times, and they’d promised their father not to disagree with their aunt’s view of things, whatever that became.
Of the rest, Jenn suspected nothing in Marrowdell slipped the notice of Master Dusom, Kydd’s elder brother, or Old Jupp, but none of them spoke of it. She hoped Uncle Horst had told Riss, which was their business and not hers, but surely Riss deserved to know he’d almost died defending Jenn Nalynn so she could reach the Verge to save the sei—and, not incidentally, Marrowdell itself—and that Wyll hadn’t left at all, but had been returned to his true self.
A dragon named Wisp.
Jenn slipped through the doorway, her breath joining the steam from the damp clothing. It wasn’t quite winter, but her fingers numbed as she hastily pegged shirts, shirtwaist, and—oh, yes—a pair of men’s full undergarments that did not belong to their father. She managed not to drop them or blush.
Back inside, Jenn ducked under the line of clothing hung across the kitchen and planted herself on the second last rung of the ladder that, before the equinox and weddings and all else, had led to her bedroom as well as Peggs’. “Nice underwear your husband has,” she commented, reaching chilled hands toward the cookstove with its bubbling pot of laundry. Every window stood open despite the cold outside; it was that, or have the entire house smell of wet cloth and soap.
“I’m sure Bannan’s are more modern,” her sister retorted.
“Peggs!”
“When he wears any.” With a wink.
Jenn launched a soggy sock. Laughing, Peggs caught it in midair and sent it flying back, but not before Jenn found another, then another. When they finally ran out of socks, the pair settled side-by-side on the stair, laughter subsiding. “Were you tempted?” Peggs asked quietly.
Jenn leaned into her sister’s shoulder. “To stop him? For a moment. But the others need him. After all. There could be bandits.”
“More likely a baby.” Both chuckled then shook their heads. There’d been no arguing with Hettie, who’d pronounced, firmly, that babies were like calves and would be born whenever and wherever they chose. “It’s because Bannan’s away you’re going now, Dearest Heart, isn’t it?”
Was there anything Peggs missed? “I need to cross alone. I must.”
She felt her sister tense, then relax. “Ancestors Witness. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Not in the least. That’s why, you see.”
Peggs fell silent. Jenn waited; her sister preferred to chew on a thought, especially when it involved change. Finally, “I’ve no idea what that world—the Verge—is like. How can I give you advice? Or help?” Her arm came around Jenn and hugged, hard. “Just know you’ll be doing dishes the entire winter for two households if you aren’t careful. Including the pots!”
Though the consequences of her not being careful in the Verge would be far worse, Jenn pretended to shudder. “Anything but pots. I promise, Peggs. I’ll visit Mistress Sand and come straight back.”
Perhaps having learned enough, she added wistfully and to herself, to welcome Bannan’s interesting laundry into a pot with her own.
There. A glimpse of brown. Or was it black? Had he imagined it? No. Bannan trusted the wary flick of Perrkin’s ear over his eyes. Something paced them through the shadowed woods.
If it was Scourge, the great beast had graciously allowed both man and gelding that fleeting look.
If something else . . . ?
Bannan spread the fingers of his left hand where it rested on his thigh before remembering there was no Tir Half-face to catch that guard’s signal for caution. Then again, were they not a caravan of simple villagers? He turned easily in the saddle, hooking one leg over Perrkin’s neck. The seemingly careless position would allow him to swiftly dismount with the horse between him and any attacker, a horse who might not have fangs, but who’d been trained to use hooves and teeth. “Ancestors Famished and Faint, Davi,” he called to the smith. “When do we stop for lunch?” A meal they’d eaten already, at the same spot he’d camped with Tir on the journey north, giving the horses a breather and watering, and there was no plan to pause again.
The big man had been half asleep himself. To his credit, he understood at once, coming awake with a stretch and an outwardly cheerful, “Not long now. Past yon bend. There’s a stream, as I recall.” His own hand, twice the breadth of Bannan’s and callused rock-hard by years working metal, wrapped around the hammer tied to Brawl’s harness. He didn’t pull it free. Not yet.
Tadd, riding by the cart, frowned. “Lunch? But—”
“Ooooh,” Hettie groaned fervently, a hand on the swelling at her waist. “Oooh!”
Her husband looked horrified. Bannan, seeing the lie in her face, winked to acknowledge her quick wit. Though pale, she winked back.
The playacting roused Lorra, who fussily straightened her hat as she peered around. Frann, meanwhile, remained sound asleep. Devins, on the opposite side of the cart, glanced at his stepsister, made a face as if to declare his intention to stay out of any baby business, then pulled his hat down over his brows to doze again.
But didn’t. Bannan saw the young man’s hands gather the reins, ready to send his mount wherever necessary.
Lorra began to scowl. “What’s the matter?” she snapped.
“A kick surprised me, Great Aunt, that’s all.” Hettie smiled, the little gap between her teeth giving her a mischievous look that was, Bannan knew, wholly appropriate. “She’s a strong one.”
“He,” Lorra corrected—not for the first time. “Covie’s guessing. And don’t call me that. I’m not a hundred years old.”
“My mother, Lorra Treff, doesn’t guess.” With a decided snap. Tadd, anxious now for a new reason, looked over at Devins; that worthy’s shoulders were shaking suspiciously. “My mother’s the best healer in Marrowdell!”
“Which doesn’t say much, does it? I say it’s a boy.”
Bannan wondered if he should hope the bickering would distract any bandits.
Then Davi let go of his hammer to join the fray. “Now, Mother—a wee girl would be wonderful.”
“Another girl, and we’ll have to order in husbands by the handful!”
Frann woke up, blinked, and said happily, “You’ve had the baby?”
“You haven’t, have you?” Tadd demanded. “I mean, you can’t, like that. Can you?”
Devins leaned back and roared with laughter. Hettie’s face turned pink.
Perrkin’s ears went flat.
In one fluid motion, Bannan threw himself around in the saddle and dug in his heels to drive the willing horse toward the wall of trees. He put his hand to the hilt of his sword, but didn’t draw it as they charged, hearing but ignoring the shouts from behind.
Almost in the shadows, he leaned back sharply in the saddle. The gelding almost sat in its urgency to obey, then half reared as now Bannan did pull free the blade. “Hold!” he shouted, thrusting the gleaming thing high as his blood pounded in his ears and all his better sense told him he was an idiot.
The martial display wouldn’t impress Scourge in the least. Hopefully, it might deter a few faint-hearted bandits.
Unfortunately, it did nothing to slow the onrush of the huge and shaggy bear, mouth agape in a roar!
Perrkin, wiser than his rider, whirled and bolted.
While Lorra, never one to miss the essential point, shouted, “Save us! It’s after the sausage!”
Later, Bannan couldn’t be sure exactly what had happened, and was glad of it. He remembered turning the gelding back toward the caravan. The shouts and commotion as horses rightly contested being asked to stay anywhere close to the bear. The roars and snarls of what wasn’t a huge bear after all, but a miserable and maddened creature, late to its den, bent on attacking anything edible.
Then the smack! as Scour
ge hit it from the side at full charge, likely breaking its back, but that hadn’t been enough for the old kruar who’d . . .
The truthseer swallowed. According to Devins, who’d promptly lost his lunch at the side of the road, Scourge had ripped out the bear’s entrails and tossed them high in the air.
Before diving back in to pluck out and eat its heart. While purring.
Drama done, the little caravan resumed its journey. The horses were understandably unhappy, an opinion they expressed by breaking into a jog toward Endshere and its stable as often as allowed. The villagers, who thankfully remembered Scourge as his warhorse, if nothing more, accepted with good humor that the beast had followed the caravan and heroically saved its master.
From what they emphasized had been a very small bear.
Bannan was almost offended, for Scourge’s sake, if not his own; surely the beast had been large enough to bring down a horse or man, and enraged at that. Seeing the truth in their faces, he kept his peace. Perhaps the north harbored a different sort of bear.
As for the giant mass of flesh stalking alongside poor Perrkin? Bannan shook his head. “You could go home,” he suggested quietly, again.
A roll of a still-red eye.
“Do you—can you remember? Home? What you are?”
Scourge might be unable to speak beyond the edge, but that curled lip eloquently dismissed any of his, Bannan’s, concerns as trivial.
Fair enough. Scourge had brought him to Marrowdell in the first place. They’d make do. “Idiot beast.” Bannan reached over to slap the dusty hide, avoiding a glob of bear blood. His voice thickened. “Hearts of my Ancestors, I swear I’ll get you home again.”
A shudder worked under the skin, whether at his touch or the alternative.
Well enough. They were safer for the kruar’s company.
If not any mice in Endshere’s stable.
The turn came, sliding night’s deeper blue over the Bone Hills, leading shadows down the Tinkers Road to the village, spreading wide across the fallow fields. It roused efflet to whisper in their hedges, their eyes cold and pale as they watched for unwary nyphrit. They remembered, did efflet, how very many of them had died on the Spine, and took an accounting whenever they could.
A Play of Shadow Page 5