What might have been the nests of weaver birds hung from the threads, except these were far more than nests. Each teardrop shape had doors like windows, complete with balconies and delicate perches. Yling homes.
No, Jenn realized, as she tried to estimate their number. A yling city. A very quiet city.
With only one yling, hers, in sight.
The toad squirmed gently. ~We have arrived, elder sister.~
She put him down on what wasn’t sand or a beach but a woven carpet that met the silver of the lake or became part of it. She knelt to take a closer look, entranced by map-like patterns in the design, though like no map she’d ever seen. There were stories in it, layers upon layers of stories, as if the carpet surrounding the lake was an ever-growing quilt.
“Are you sure you want to be here, Lovely Jenn?”
The hoarse whisper broke a lengthy silence she’d quite enjoyed, having guessed it meant Crumlin recognized where the yling would lead her and didn’t care for it.
Making the ylings’ extraordinary city a place she liked very much, Jenn told herself, despite there being no signs of life.
The ylings’ webbing was secured, on this side of the lake, to rocks that jutted from the ground. The rocks were remarkable—for the Verge—in appearing to be simply rocks, gray and rough. The tallest was about three times Jenn’s height, its girth that of a privy, though most were no larger than the toad. In fact, the toad, having turned itself gray, might have been one of them.
Not wanting to break a thread, she watched for them as she explored, but those she found were well above her head. Finally, she chose a rock the size of a chair and tapped it politely. When it remained a rock, Jenn sat gingerly.
“Leave, Lovely Jenn. Leave while you can!”
Leave to go home she’d do and happily. Once they were done here.
Done what? Jenn touched the toes of her new boots together, regarding their scuffs and marks wistfully. She moved her toes apart.
To find something stood behind them. Something no larger than her hand.
A yling?
But they didn’t stand on the ground.
Or rather, half in the ground.
Curious, she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her cupped hands. What was this?
It had wings, like a yling, but withered and curled against its back. The chest was little more than ribs over a hollowed belly and, though it had a pair of arms, those were thin and ended in stubby claws. As she watched, it struggled free, revealing legs very much, she thought with a horrid growing surmise, like those of a nyphrit, but more bone than flesh.
Then it lifted its head, and it wasn’t just a head, but a man’s head, with a mouth and nose and ears.
Except for eyes that were yellow and round with pupils like pits of darkness.
Crumlin.
The wind howled and raged, sending drifts of snow and shards of ice, and Bannan knew only that they moved through it.
He couldn’t imagine how.
The kruar fought the storm as they might an enemy of flesh, snapping and snarling. They hummed too; he heard it. The idiot beasts expected their riders to die first.
And planned to honor them, by taking his and Lila’s last breath.
Well, they weren’t, that was all. If the kruar could keep going, so could they. When he could see his sister, she was a mound of white crusted to her mount’s back. Holding on, his Lila. She’d make it.
He’d better, or he’d not hear the end of it.
It was then Bannan felt something wet and hot strike his cheek. Then again.
He brought up a hand gloved in a sock, wiped it away. Somehow brought it close.
Saw a dark stain.
Ancestors Dire and Doomed.
Blood.
The kruar refused to fail. They ran themselves to death, for glory.
And for a child.
Bannan lowered his face to that burning hot hide, and wept.
Old, he was. That too. Wrinkles seamed a face no larger than the tip of her thumb and his body was hunched over, so he must use the claws of one arm like a cane. She’d have judged him a pitiful, miserable creature.
Except that he’d escaped her dragon. Harmed him. Jenn sat straight, resisting the urge to rub her arm where Crumlin had put his shackle, and stared into those too-familiar yellow eyes. “What do you want?”
Oh, and didn’t the wee thing bow, then, and didn’t the tiny mouth smile? “To save you, Lovely Jenn.” The same voice, from everywhere as well as before her. A trick. “Or would you become like me?” The free hand gestured from head to toe.
“I will never be like you,” Jenn countered, for she knew—didn’t she?—why he was so monstrous. Everything he’d consumed had left its mark on that twisted body. “The Verge shows your true shape, Crumlin Tralee. Stealer of lives!”
“I harvest magic, Lovely Jenn, from those who need it less.” A blink, rustlerustle. “I can show you how.”
“I am magic,” she told him and was.
He pretended to cower, then straightened with a triumphant laugh. “So you are. Such a waste in someone who cares so little for it.”
Was this the shape he wanted? Jenn quickly became herself again. She could step on him. Squash him flat.
But this was the Verge. She couldn’t trust size here. Perhaps Crumlin had made himself small to avoid notice.
Or set another trap.
It was then Jenn realized they were no longer alone.
Ylings filled the air between the rocks, some clinging to the surface, others balanced along silver threads. They were armed, these ylings, some even armored, and in such vast number that the light of the Verge shattered within their hair, making it impossible to look up.
The little cousin. Her yling. They’d planned a trap!
“Your turn!” she exclaimed with fierce joy, surging to her feet. “We’ve caught you!”
“Have you, now?” A chuckle, dry and dusty, made her hesitate and doubt, then Crumlin bowed once more. “How very, very, kind of you and your friends, my dear and Lovely Jenn, to be all here, together, away from their nasty lake. Just for me.”
He raised his tiny arms.
Nets sprang from the ground, black and twisting as if alive. Nets that climbed faster than the ylings could fly, that their weapons couldn’t cut—though they tried desperately to free themselves and those near them. When this failed, masses flew at the nets, offering themselves so those behind could escape—
But it was a dreadful mistake.
As the sparks within their hair failed, as they died, the nets grew darker and stronger. More nets loomed, filling the sky!
“No!” Jenn changed to turn-born, lunged at Crumlin.
Hearing him laugh as his nets caught her too.
“Sir.”
He’d fallen. No, the kruar had. Ancestors Despondent and— Bannan tried to feel the great beast, his eyes refusing to open.
“Sir! Ancestors Witness. Give me a hand. He’s not hearing me.”
Of course he heard, Bannan thought, but didn’t bother to respond. He’d dreamed they’d arrived over and over. Dreamed that voice, in particular. Dreamed falling.
Falling.
“Momma!!”
Heart’s Blood. Hands held him and were real. Arms steadied him and finally, at last, he opened his eyes.
Marrowdell.
They were in his farmyard, by the fountain! He gripped Tir’s arms, staring around. “Werfol—” That first. “Get Lila to Werfol—” he couldn’t speak in more than a whisper. “She can save him.”
“That’s Werfol’s mother!” A parade-ground bellow. “Get her inside to the lad! Hurry!”
Figures began to move on every side, making Bannan dizzy. Big Davi, with Lila in his arms. Dusom. Kydd. Peggs. Semyn, running beside his mother.
&nb
sp; Who roused herself at the porch. “Put me down!”
Ancestors Blessed. They were home. Because of— Bannan leaned on Tir, shaking his head to clear it, looking for the kruar.
They’d gone down, the female on her side, the male with his legs under him. Blood dribbled from their nostrils and mouths, staining the snow. They breathed still.
Enough to snarl warningly at the surrounding villagers.
Bannan pulled himself toward them, Tir tucking a shoulder under his arm. “Two more?” the man muttered, but it was with respect and remorse.
Lips curled over bloody fangs as the truthseer knelt in the snow between them, but they endured his hand on their necks. He could feel their hearts laboring. “The bravest of us all,” Bannan told them. “That’s what you are. Please. Let these people help you.”
Though he knew not what could be done. Were these horses, it would have been mercy to dispatch them.
Tir helped him stand. “Werfol,” Bannan said next.
His friend nodded, helping him to the house. “The lad’s hardly in better shape than yon beasts,” he warned.
“Lila will save him.”
Unless, despite the kruars’ great sacrifice, they were too late.
The warmth indoors hurt, after the bitter ride, smarting his cheeks and bringing tears to his eyes. Blinking his eyes clear, Bannan saw Lila already beside her son. She’d paused only to strip off what covered her hands. Looked only at Werfol’s too-pale face.
Semyn stood beside her, doing the same, taut with hope.
Tir pulled at his coat and the truthseer accepted that help before going to his sister. “Lila—”
Ice melted in her hair and shivers wracked her body, but the eyes that glanced at him were green and bright and fierce. “I will save him.”
She kissed Semyn, then pushed him to Bannan. Without another word, Lila lay on the bed at Werfol’s side.
And took his little hand in hers.
And the dream unfolds . . .
Into darkness and cold, without hope or light . . .
See the candle . . .
A flicker, smaller than a teardrop. Too far. Too small!
Bring it closer . . .
Closer?
You can do this . . . bring it closer . . .
Near now, the candle. In a holder shaped like a crow. On a . . . on a . . .
See the table . . .
Dark and cold but there, a candle. In a holder shaped like a crow. On a table, round, and carved, with a . . . with a cup, steaming . . .
Taste it . . .
There was nothing here and nothing was ever here and he was alone and . . .
Taste it, Dearest Heart. I brought it for you . . .
Because Momma did that, every night. She brought a cup . . . a cup . . . but he had no hands . . . he had no hands . . . he couldn’t stop falling without hands . . .
I’ve got you . . . taste it . . .
For there was a candle, in a holder shaped like a crow that his father had given him, on the table he shared with Semyn, and on that table was the warm drink Momma brought them every night, to have with their story . . . and it . . . tasted like . . .
Love.
The dream gently fades . . .
“Momma?”
As Werfol opened his eyes, Lila sat up and gathered him to her, tears slipping down her cheeks. Semyn jumped on the bed to join them, landing on Werfol’s foot so he kicked at his brother who shouted. And their mother’s laugh as she straightened out matters to take both in her arms was surely the most wonderful sound Bannan had ever heard.
So his eyes filled and Tir’s did as well, though his friend wiped his with a rough sleeve and mutter about fool boys who scared their elders.
And the second best moment came next, when Werfol, who didn’t recall being in bed so long, realized he urgently needed the chamber pot but insisted he would not, under any circumstances, use it in front of his mother because he was a big boy.
At which Lila laughed again, though she did grant him privacy.
Privacy she used to come to Bannan and Tir, with abrupt concern. “The kruar?”
“Look!” Semyn called.
“What?” Werfol demanded. Bannan picked him up and brought him to the window with the others.
Scourge had come.
Bannan handed his nephew to Tir. “I’d best go outside.” There could be only one reason, he knew. To take the final breaths of their mounts. “Wait here.”
Lila shook her head. “We’ll all go.” She wrapped Werfol, who didn’t protest about being too big after seeing her face, in a quilt, then waited while Semyn threw on his own coat.
Bannan went to the door, to find the house toad there and waiting. He nodded and let it precede them all.
The sun was low over the Bone Hills, the sky free of cloud. He could see his breath, but there was no wind. They’d left the storm on the road. Too late for the kruar.
Scourge stood near his fallen kindred, neck and tail curved. When Bannan stepped out on the porch, the old kruar turned to regard him.
Waiting.
“Brother,” Lila said quietly. “Their names.”
The truthseer nodded. It was the least they could do. He walked to his former mount, stopped before him, and stared into a barely open eye. “Whatever you require of your kind to earn a name, by the Hearts of my Ancestors,” he said, circling fingers over his heart. “I swear to you both of these have done so.”
The fallen pair roused at this, eyes widening, and Bannan felt a surge of hope. Could it be?
Scourge let out a roar!
More than a roar, a summons!
The kruar on her side flung up her head, fought to bring her legs under her, then lurched to stand, limbs shaking. The other rose to his knees, fell back, then surged up.
Scourge circled them, nostrils flared. The kruars’ struggle to stay upright was pitiful and Bannan’s heart went out to them.
But they had to stand, if they were to live.
Scourge came back to him, bent his head to push, gently, at the truthseer’s chest. “Name them.”
Bannan glanced back at Lila, who must have heard for she gave a tiny shrug. Your problem, that was.
Ancestors Witness.
He could only go with what he felt. Bannan went to the male who had carried Jenn through the Verge and Lila across Rhoth. “Spirit.”
Eyes lit, at that. A neck curved.
Next the mare, who’d carried him. “Dauntless.”
Lips pulled from fangs. Was that a purr?
Scourge went to each in turn, nipping them on the nap of the neck. “You have been named.”
Werfol cheered, surprising everyone, but why not, Bannan thought, and let out a “Hurray!” of his own.
As if names were a tonic, Dauntless and Spirit took a step, then two, aiming for, to Lila’s obvious consternation, Werfol.
And didn’t that bode something for the future, that they recognized another truthseer?
Ancestors Witness, he wanted a sleep, dry clothes, and a drink—and explanations—and not in that order.
Because first and most of all, he wanted someone.
Someone who should . . . should be here. Should have been here long before and waiting.
Bannan turned to Tir, a terrible fear growing.
“Where’s Jenn?”
Though everything in her screamed to struggle, and fight the net, Jenn held herself still, knowing she couldn’t, not alone.
“That’s a good girl,” Crumlin told her. He might not have had hands to rub together gleefully, like a story villain, but he managed with his voice. “Such a good girl. Stay—”
Stay? She was in his net already.
As a woman. Even as she thought it, Jenn felt it. A draining, a loss. She stared down at herself as i
f it could be seen, but it couldn’t, this theft. And it wasn’t of the magic she possessed as turn-born or sei—
Magic, as she kept thinking, Crumlin hadn’t dared take, or couldn’t.
He feasted on the magic of small things. Ylings. Efflet and nyphrit. Of—of real things, like this shape she remembered for him. This flesh.
Making it Melusine’s gift being taken by this sneak! Her mother’s magic. Hers! That was how he could use her.
“I don’t think so,” Jenn Nalynn said, and wasn’t a “girl” anymore.
Her hands opened.
Out flew moths. The first few stuck to the net, but those behind pushed at it, stretched it, twisted it. As more and more pushed, stretched, and twisted, parts of the net came free from the ground.
To wither, like the tops of uprooted carrots. That was it! Jenn thought. Crumlin lived in the ground, hid there. His power was there.
Her moths, untold, fluttered to where the nets began, pushing with delicate legs and wing beats against what should have been too strong, but wasn’t.
Because they wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop. And now she knew he couldn’t steal magic from what of her was sei.
Crumlin took a step back, eyes blinking. “What are you doing?”
Jenn thought it obvious, but she didn’t waste her breath. Not that she breathed, at the moment, but something she did used the same feeling and effort, so she wouldn’t spend a bit of it on him.
She didn’t notice the moment she was freed, too intent on freeing the ylings as well.
“NO!”
More nets around her, thicker, darker. Those around the ylings fell away as Crumlin turned his remaining might against her, nets adding to those sticking to her hair and clothes. Smothering, the nets, and they pulled at her, even as the ground softened so she sank. To her knees.
To her waist!
~Elder sister!!~ The toad crept toward her, as if swimming.
Even as the ground took her deeper—
And she heard Crumlin laugh—
Then.
A roar!
A Play of Shadow Page 58