A Play of Shadow

by Julie E. Czerneda

  She smiled to herself. Or not.

  Marrowdell was in fine spirits this morning, with the storm passed and adventure in the offing. That the adventure would involve hard work—the snow doubtless having buried the boxes and the wagon, from Tir’s unsettling description, having toppled on its side—didn’t appear to matter to those who’d volunteered.

  What did matter was the promise of supplies. Though none said it and none ever would, Bannan knew what had been careful rationing before would have been dangerously tight with Tir and the boys added. He’d sleep better.

  Once they were back.

  First things first. “I’ll check on the boys,” he told Jenn.

  “Shall I come with you? We haven’t been introduced.” With an anxious frown.

  “They’ll love you,” he assured her, kissing her nose. “As much as I do—”

  “Ancestors Late and Laggard!” Davi cursed loudly. “Are we going today or not?” He climbed into the sled and took the reins, face creased in an unfamiliar scowl.

  A man beset with troubles, giving his time. “Your pardon,” Bannan said quickly. “Start on your way. I’ll be right behind.” He waved at Tadd to wait with Perrkin, then gave Jenn an apologetic smile.

  “Go,” she told him, smiling back. “I’ll introduce myself after I change.”

  The village echoing the sound of bells and hooves crunching snow, Bannan hurried to the Nalynn home. Radd, about to leave, stopped him at the door, chuckling. “Your pockets?”

  Puzzled, Bannan reached into one, finding it full of snow. As were the rest of his pockets and the tops of his boots. Taking off his coat to give it a shake, he discovered a great lump in the hood, sure to melt down his neck. “I’ve a great deal to learn about snow,” he said ruefully as he stepped inside.

  The miller laughed as he closed the door behind him. “You’ll get plenty of practice here.”

  Tir had moved to a chair at the family table, his mask back in place. He grimaced at Bannan, nodding at the food before him. “Unfair tactics, sir,” he complained.

  A bowl of thick rich soup. Half a loaf, already buttered. Pie, steaming from the oven. Peggs’ doing, this was. The truthseer managed to keep a straight face. “Impossible odds,” he agreed. “Just as well you’ve orders to stay off your feet as much as possible.”

  Tir gestured with his eating knife. “Ancestors Fattened and Filled,” he said with mock gloom. “Suppose it’s doing m’duty, sir.” Bright blue eyes looked sidelong at Bannan. “You’re off, then?”

  “Once I speak to the boys.”

  “Brave as any soldier, the pair o’them.” As if embarrassed, Tir traded his knife for a spoon, then tapped his mask. “M’lady’s doing.” He slipped up the lower portion before pouring in soup. Another glance. “The lads won’t want you to leave, sir, not so soon.”

  Bannan felt weight settle around his heart. “It’s necessary. You know why.”

  “Aie.” Tir paused, a frown furrowing the scars on his forehead. “Can’t promise the wild things haven’t already done their work. We heard howling, sir, most o’the way.”

  “Then I’d best not dawdle,” the truthseer said lightly.

  “Sir.” Almost a protest. “They were strangers.”

  “Perhaps not to me.” Bannan rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder and bent to speak in his ear. “I’ll waste no chance to learn who came after you.” He straightened. “Mind you listen to the healer. Peggs isn’t the only Nalynn keeping an eye on you.”

  He took Tir’s resumed interest in his hearty meal for assent.

  The boys were in the kitchen, standing shoulder to shoulder at the worktable. Semyn, his lower lip between his teeth, was cutting carrots while his younger brother lined the pieces back up as if they were a puzzle to solve. Over their heads, Peggs gave Bannan a dazzling smile. “Your uncle’s back,” she told the boys. “They’ve been excellent helpers,” to Bannan. A second look and she pulled out a cloth to hand him, miming rubbing his head.

  Bannan reached up to discover his hair was indeed soaking wet. “I was playing in the snow,” he explained and almost mentioned the dragon.

  Not yet. He dried his hair, using the moment to study the small and solemn faces aimed up at him, noting with dismay the pallor in once-rosy cheeks and purple bruises beneath their eyes. Tense, the pair, and ready to bolt. Despite being here with Peggs, in the most homely house imaginable, they were still afraid.

  Heart’s Blood. Shaken, the truthseer returned the towel with a small bow and deliberately easy smile. “I won’t be long,” he promised. “I’ll play with you this afternoon.”

  “We will look forward to it, esteemed Uncle,” said Semyn, with a deeper bow of his own. Every bit the baron’s son.

  Well enough, Bannan thought, returning the courtesy. Manners could be comfort and shield.

  Werfol wrinkled his nose at his brother. “Father took us up the mountain last summer to play in snow. You didn’t like it.”

  “I daresay it wasn’t snow like Marrowdell’s,” Peggs said smoothly. “Why don’t you get dressed and see for yourselves? You can play outside till lunch. I’ll ring a bell when it’s ready.”

  Two pairs of dismayed eyes snapped to their uncle, an uncle who felt very much the same way. Bannan did his best to look delighted. “A splendid notion, Peggs.”

  “Do you think so, Uncle?” Werfol asked him, looking up through long eyelashes. “Truly?”

  Of course he didn’t. Let them roam a strange place on their own? Lila’d have more than his ears.

  But Lila wasn’t here, and he couldn’t have her sons start their lives here being afraid to go out and play. “Of course I do,” Bannan said heartily. “There are other children here. Cheffy and Alyssa. You can introduce yourselves.” What else might entice them? “There are barns. You can visit the animals.”

  “Alone?” Semyn asked, abruptly sounding much younger.

  “Marrowdell is full of kind people,” Bannan replied, though his heart went out to the boy. Had they ever simply wandered without guard or nursemaid? “If you need anything, knock on any door.”

  Semyn considered this, his brow furrowed like his father’s in thought, then nodded dutifully. “Is there a map, Uncle, we may borrow? We mustn’t get lost.”

  “Or miss lunch,” Werfol added.

  Peggs laughed. “You’ll hear the bell, Dear Hearts. Marrowdell’s not big enough for a map. Stay within the hedges and gates. Open any door you like. We’re friendly folk and everyone knows you’re here.” She tilted her lovely head. “Now wish fair journey to your uncle, so he and the others can be on their way.”

  Bannan stepped around the counter and squatted, his arms open. The boys came into his embrace, pressing their soft cheeks against his. They trembled, or he did, or both, and for an instant he wondered if he was wrong about all of it, about leaving them, about giving them freedom . . .

  About Marrowdell.

  Then a breeze found his ear. “Go, fool,” the dragon ordered peevishly. “They are in my care!”

  He laughed. He had to. And it was the right thing to do, for the boys stood back and looked at him with the beginnings of real smiles.

  Marrowdell, Bannan thought gratefully. He should never doubt it.

  Dragonlings needed little more than the occasional snap and snarl to remind them of their lowly place, which was safely distant from their elders. Especially from their elder’s meat, tails—or jaws.

  Not so children. They demanded such care that the villagers took turns and seemed exhausted most of the time. In Wisp’s experience, as babes, they were at their best asleep. He’d tuck the girl in thistledown and clover, watching dreams play beneath her delicate eyelids. Awake? That had been more challenging. The ways her tiny toddling self could find to get into danger had appalled him. Even the newly hatched had more sense.

  Fortunately these two wer
e into the vastly more interesting stage that followed, being able to move on their own and talk. Wisp followed at a distance, fascinated.

  After going outside to wave good-bye to their uncle, they’d evaded all other elders almost as easily as the girl had, at the same stage. It must be a skill children acquired when ready to explore their world, though the boys seemed less curious than desperate.

  Wisp wasn’t sure what they were after. They’d been fed and were well dressed, yet from the moment they’d believed themselves unobserved, they’d made sure to stay that way, going around the back of barns and crouching to hide behind drifts.

  The elder carried a kitchen knife. The younger—Wisp tasted the air—the younger had taken food.

  Where did his duty lie? He’d saved them once, which should have been sufficient, but for some reason he couldn’t quite leave them. Perhaps, the dragon told himself, he hadn’t finished saving them yet.

  Though what threat there could be in the village, he couldn’t imagine.

  Still, it was a dragonish game, furtive movement as if all were potential enemies, and one they’d clearly practiced. He saw no harm in it. He even helped, here and there, surreptitously clearing the deepest snow from their path.

  The elder, Semyn, couldn’t see him and didn’t notice.

  The younger, Werfol? Wisp wasn’t sure. His golden eyes flicked here and there. Twice he stopped to stare, seeing what only he could; without a word, Semyn took his arm to pull him along. Something else, the dragon judged, well practiced.

  At each barn, they’d stop to peer through gaps in the wood, only to move on. Whatever they sought, they didn’t find it until the barn filled with cows.

  This barn had a side door, light enough for two small boys to slide open. They slipped inside.

  As did Wisp, unsurprised to find Semyn and Werfol, who were themselves most surprised to be confronted by the barn’s guardian.

  ~Elder brother?!~ The Ropps’ house toad, having leapt in the boys’ path, now puffed in alarm. ~Who are these? What do they intend!?~

  ~Let them pass, worthy little cousin,~ Wisp told it. ~These are the truthseers’ kin. They mean no harm.~ They certainly couldn’t do any. The knife Semyn held outstretched and shaking might damage a vegetable, but his arm hadn’t the strength to puncture hide with it. ~They were told to explore the village.~

  The little cousin shrank, slightly, but didn’t budge. ~I guard,~ it said, inclined to be stubborn. ~I do not want them here.~

  Werfol stared at the toad. The toad stared back. “Semyn,” the boy said uncertainly. “This isn’t a toad.”

  “I don’t care what it is. It’s in our way.” Semyn firmed his grip on the knife and gestured with it. “Shoo! Go!”

  In their stalls, the cows turned their heads to watch. The pigs, half-buried in straw like great boulders, ignored the entire business. The old pony nickered, wanting attention.

  The barn being warm, and inclined to curiosity, the dragon settled himself on a rafter.

  ~Elder brother.~ With as much reproach as a toad dared. ~They must leave!~

  ~Patience, little cousin. I would see what these newcomers do.~

  Semyn raised his knife but didn’t move.

  Neither did the toad.

  Werfol stepped between the two. “Let me try.” Without waiting, he went to his knees in front of the toad. “You’re a guard, aren’t you? You protect this barn.”

  “You’re wasting time.”

  “I am not.” The younger boy reached slowly into a pocket, bringing forth a carrot. “We brought this for the pony,” he said to the toad.

  The old pony’s nostrils flared with interest. The house toad blinked, slowly, then shrank to its normal size. ~It is proper for children to bring carrots, elder brother.~ Having pronounced judgment, it hopped into the shadows.

  “Well done, Weed. Now hurry. He has a halter. There should be a saddle.”

  Ah. So that was their plan. Wisp laid his head along the wood, vastly amused. He’d watched the girl with this pony. It would take more than a carrot to convince such a wise and self-centered creature to leave its cozy stall.

  But it soon became clear these boys were well accustomed to horses and ponies. Before the pony could finish its treat, it wore a blanket and saddle, the girth tightened by small, but knowing hands. When it balked at being led out, the elder boy jumped in the saddle, legs giving an authoritative squeeze. The surprised pony found itself walking forward, Werfol hurrying ahead to widen the door.

  Why the little thieves, Wisp thought with some admiration.

  The little cousin scrambled to stop them. ~ELDERBROTHER!~

  The dragon yawned, sending a breeze to slide the door closed. ~No harm done,~ he assured the outraged toad, now swollen into a fierce ball in front of Werfol.

  The boy cautiously edged around the toad, then put both hands on the door handle. “Help me, Semyn!” he cried. “I can’t open it by myself.”

  The delay gave Wainn’s old pony time to remember it didn’t have to obey a rider but should, always, the house toad. Moreover, it remembered wanting to have nothing to do with going out in the cold. Blowing out through loose lips, it turned and walked back into its stall, ignoring its rider’s now tearful efforts. As a final insult, the pony lowered its head, closed its eyes, and to all appearances, fell asleep.

  The toad gave itself a proud shake and returned to normal size. It did not, however, abandon its post by the door.

  Semyn slid off the pony.

  “What are we going to do?” Werfol demanded, taking hold of his arm. “We can’t stay here. Mother said we’d be safe. She lied, Semyn! She LIED.”

  “I know.” Semyn hugged his younger brother, the pair a picture of misery. “We’ll find another way, that’s all. We have to.”

  They were afraid?

  An intolerable situation. In their meadow, the girl had spoken of leaving Marrowdell, but she’d been happy, imagining wonders beyond this world and eager to see them for herself. He’d been the one filled with fear, hiding dread.

  A dragon lord’s penance, just and deserved.

  ~Keep them here, little cousin,~ Wisp ordered. With a silent roar, he leapt into the air, then plunged into the ground.

  It wasn’t to be theirs.

  SEVEN

  “DO YOU THINK they’ll like it?”

  Hettie examined the little book with care. “I’m sure they will. The poor lads.” Her eyes filled with sympathy. “They’ve been through so much.” Passing the book back to Jenn, she heaved a great sigh and took up her tea, a determined smile on her face. “Ancestors Blessed, little ones recover before their parents do. You’ll see.”

  She and Peggs had been deep in a discussion of children, babies, and their upcoming care when Jenn arrived. To be honest, it was more a case of Hettie holding forth and Peggs listening with both fascination and horror, Hettie having helped raise her younger brother and sister, and being present, as Peggs had not, to assist her mother-by-marriage with the birthing of innumerable calves and piglets, not to mention Gallie Emms’ daughter.

  Not being pregnant, Tir had excused himself and now snored, peacefully, if not-so-quietly, on Radd’s bed. Not to be pregnant, Jenn supposed it was still worth learning. After all, she planned to help Peggs, when her time came.

  However, she’d interrupted and now they discussed her book. Jenn held it in both hands. It was a very well-read book, with rounded corners, soft to the touch. When the spine had fallen apart, years ago, despite her always being careful, Frann had sewn the pages back together, her stitches so even and sure Jenn thought them much better than the original. Remembering, she ran her finger along the threads.

  “It’s a kind and generous gift, Dearest Heart.” Peggs hesitated, then went on, “But can you bear to part with it? It’s your favorite.”

  “That’s why I want Semyn and Werfol to have
it.” Jenn put the little book on the table. “Aunt Sybb says actions are what matter. This—this is the most special thing I have from when I was their age.” She stroked the faded cover, feeling the bumps of the title. Something you had to do, since the gilt had worn off before she’d learned to read. If she closed her eyes, she could see every page, with its whimsical illustrations—three in glorious color—and wonderful words. This was the book that had first taught her the world was wider and deeper and vaster than Marrowdell.

  Peggs tugged her braid. “Then it’s perfect. I’m sorry they aren’t here. I sent them out to play, but they’ll be back for lunch. Join us?”

  Jenn shook her head. “I promised Gallie.” She glanced around the room. Everything was in its place, as if there’d not been four extra guests staying the night. There remained the question of where they’d spend the coming ones. “Will they stay with Devins?”

  “I’d not wish that for anyone,” Hettie said, then pointed at Peggs. “Don’t give me that look, Dear Heart. You’ve seen the inside of my stepbrother’s house. If he hopes a certain cousin of Palma’s comes to visit this spring, he’s work ahead if she’s not to turn right ’round and leave. As it is, I swear mice wouldn’t step inside.”

  Hopefully an exaggeration. If true, Jenn thought to herself, then Bannan shouldn’t be living there either. Yes, he’d cleaned up the long-abandoned farmhouse, but that didn’t mean he should have to do it again for a winter’s lodging. She should help and would.

  “‘A night with a willing host is better than a month in a palace,’” Peggs countered, something Jenn didn’t think Aunt Sybb had ever said. Then again, her sister was prone to creating her own sayings.

  “I’d like to try the month first.” Hettie laughed, hands on her swollen belly as if the baby laughed too. “Especially if the palace has a bathtub I can climb out of without calling for Tadd.”

  Peggs’ eyes widened. Time to escape, Jenn decided, before more intimacies came to light. “My thanks for the tea and company,” she told them as she stood. As for her book? “Please don’t wait to give Semyn and Werfol my gift, Peggs.” Surely a small entertainment would be welcome, while they waited for Bannan to return, and give her sister a little peace.