A Turn of Light Page 8

  The small fire they’d made had shrunk to a few glowing embers. His bones ached from the wagon. Traveling this road was slow and monotonous. He supposed it taught patience. He felt in no hurry.

  Or was he still numb?

  The Ansnans worshiped the slow dance of the moon and drew faces from stars, faces they believed watched and remembered your deeds, good or ill. Based on that sum, judgment would be passed upon your death. You could try to cheat. Rhothans learned to expect the bloodiest raids on cloud-obscured nights. But from what Bannan knew of their religion, nothing went unnoticed.

  The aloof star had witnessed all of his life, then. The privileged childhood, the closeness of family. The loss of parents eased by work, friends, his sister. Scourge. The training and lessons that let him pretend to be adult. The skill that let him lead others. Years on the restless border. Raids. Counter raids. Spies, betrayals, blood. How many times he’d lain in the dark like this, between wild trees and rock, listening beyond his own heartbeat for footsteps, sword to hand because a pistol flash would give him away . . .

  Bannan deliberately rolled over and pulled his blanket up to his ear. He was a farmer now.

  He’d claimed a settler’s portion from Vorkoun’s treasurer, a woman who knew him, his family. She’d been flustered but managed the right stamps and seals. The law was dusty, not changed: any citizen of Rhoth willing to move north for life, upon relinquishing his or her property to the crown, was entitled to supplies and land. In Weken, signed and witnessed by a rather surprised magistrate, the document had become binding. It also became the sleepy-eyed ox, a wagon, older than he but sound, and the wagon’s contents. Contents he hoped would prove worth their weight. It was one thing, Bannan reminded himself ruefully, to live off the land while scouting enemy terrain, quite another to prepare to live peacefully in one place forever. The trader had given several of his purchases, and himself, an amused look. Worrisome, that.

  Tir, who knew all about farms and life on them, could have helped. Oh no. He’d disappeared into a tavern, since it was Bannan’s name on the document, Bannan who wanted to dig dirt for a living, and Bannan who had them heading away from civilized parts where they might have found work wearing fine for-show-only swords, with the worst hazards being parade duty and sore feet from standing outside the House of Keys through long debates, and had he mentioned the admiration of beautiful, civilized ladies for uniforms?

  What, he’d asked, was wrong with that?

  Everything, Bannan thought bitterly, shifting to avoid a root. Officers from the border guard were being scattered across Lower Rhoth, their companies disbanded, while the people of Vorkoun, people he’d protected most of his life, waited for their new overlords. Too many had histories better forgotten, for Vorkoun had been rife with smuggling and secrets. How else to survive, when your enemy was closer than any ally?

  Now, they’d be at the mercy of Ansnor, who’d shown none before.

  Yet his sister . . . all the family he had left . . . gladly remained in the thick of it. Lila’s letter hadn’t been about finding a wife. She’d written of what life could be without war. Of how Vorkoun—how all of Rhoth—could change. She planned for a future he couldn’t imagine and urged him to do the same. To look ahead, not back. And, because no one understood him as she did, to find his own peace. “Keep Us Close,” she’d finished, her handwriting sure and strong, as if will alone would be enough.

  Ancestors Lost and Adrift, he missed her already.

  Should have insisted on the brandy, Bannan decided wearily, opening his eyes to stare up at the sky. The star gazed back, indifferent.

  “AIEE—argh!!!!!” The scream was accompanied by the SNAPCRASH of something large taking the shortest path regardless of the undergrowth. More screaming, at a distance.

  An approving grumble from the dark. “Bloody beast.”

  Some things hadn’t changed.

  Bannan smiled as he closed his eyes.

  Once Wainn left, the three women gathered around the table and regarded the paper with the “wishing.”

  “Something of me,” Jenn said at last.

  “That’s easy.” Peggs tugged her braid, then lowered her voice ominously. “Or . . . your blood.” She laughed. “Just nothing irreplaceable.”

  “Something of love.” Aunt Sybb’s eyes sparkled. “I enjoy a riddle. Perhaps one of your mother’s roses?”

  Jenn preferred not to think about the roses. “Dreams I can do. I’ll be right back.”

  She went to the kitchen. The ladder to the loft pulled down easily and, as she climbed, there was sufficient light to make out the bed she and Peggs shared, the chests their father had built for their clothes, and the wonderful window seat. When they were young, they’d both been able to curl up and sleep on it. They still sat there and talked by moonlight.

  The window seat was cushioned with a mattress. Mindful of the sloped ceiling, Jenn crouched and unbuttoned the end. She shoved her hand inside, eyes closed, and felt through the straw for . . . there. She pulled out the folded paper and hesitated.

  Was she sure?

  Jenn sat, the paper in her hand. It had been folded and unfolded until its creases were mostly gaps; handled until its outer surface was smooth and tanned, like leather. She opened it with care.

  A map of the world. She’d found it years ago, between the pages of one of Master Uhthoff’s books. It hadn’t belonged there. It had belonged here, with her.

  Jenn traced the Northward Road with a fingertip. So small. Insignificant. It crossed a gap in the paper, met Endshere, then Weken. It followed one river and met others, wider. Crossed a bridge and plunged into Lower Rhoth where it split, half reaching to Vorkoun to stop at Ansnor, which was silly. Surely Ansnor had roads too.

  The other half, the exciting half, went to Avyo and burst in all directions. Roads and rivers took her finger to the famous trade cities of Essa, to the west, or Thornloe, to the south. From Essa, a great bridge arched into Mellynne, whose roads curved and flowed like writing. Thornloe, connected to Avyo by road and bridge and tunnel, was the sole Rhothan port, squeezed into the mouth of the canyon where the mighty Kotor River emptied into the vast freshwater lake Rhothans called the Sweet Sea and the Eldad called Syrpic Ans, the Mother’s Elbow. All the names were here. Eldad itself lay on the far side of the sea, beyond the southern mountains, its straight roads crossed at neat and tidy angles like well-sewn seams.

  The map ended there, inviting her finger to draw more on her skirt. Mysterious places. Unknown domains. New sounds and shapes and . . .

  Jenn folded the map and pressed it to her heart, the promise her emptiness could be filled. Would be.

  If the wishing called for dreams, this held all of hers.

  When she climbed down to the kitchen, Jenn found her father pouring his evening tea. The weariness in his face eased at the sight of her. “There’s no pie left,” he noted wistfully. “Or cookies.”

  Her remorse rushed back. “Peggs gave them to the Uhthoffs. Would you like bread with some jelly?”

  “Tea’s fine. I didn’t work tonight.”

  So he’d gone to the mill to avoid her. “Poppa. I’m sorry. I truly am.” Jenn leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I spoiled supper.”

  Radd gave a rueful smile. “It took the both of us. Hopefully your aunt will let me back in the house. The last thing she’d want is a dispute before—” his smile faded, “—before she leaves.”

  “Does she have to go so soon?” Jenn asked in a low voice.

  “Your aunt’s stayed longer than she should. The journey to Avyo isn’t easy on her, Dearest Heart. Best we can do is help, don’t you think? I brought her cases from the mill,” more briskly, “and left them on the porch. You and Peggs can pack for your aunt tomorrow. So. Do I dare?” With a meaningful glance at the parlor.

  “I think so. Aunt Sybb’s much happier.” At his lifted eyebrow, Jenn made herself say, “We’ve been talking. About husbands. Aunt Sybb’s been giving us advice.”

  His
eyes widened. “And you’re listening?”

  “Yes.” She scrunched her nose. “I won’t say it’s easy.”

  “I imagine not.” Her father raised his cup in invitation. “Care to escape?”

  She couldn’t very well say no, though the map burned a hole in her pocket. She nodded.

  “Let’s sneak around,” he whispered conspiratorially and led the way outside.

  The porch ran the full width of the Nalynn home. Most of it disappeared under snow each winter, but the rest of the year, its wide planks became an extension of the front room, used for whatever was best done outside by sunlight, from shucking beans to reading. On hot summer nights, there was no better place to sit and talk after chores. Or sleep. It took a foul wind and rain to keep Radd from his hammock. He slept either here or in the mill while his sister visited, leaving her his bed.

  His favorite chair sat on the porch all summer. Zehr Emms, who’d made fine furniture in Avyo, had put a seat in a broken barrel, tacked on wide arms, and added curved rockers beneath. It had been a gift for the pregnant Melusine Nalynn and the babe to come.

  Jenn had been rocked to sleep in it, but by Zehr’s wife, Gallie. Gallie had been her wet nurse, about to wean her twins when Melusine, her dearest friend, died in childbirth. Gallie’s big heart had easily accommodated not only another baby, but a grieving Radd Nalynn and his young daughter as well.

  They saw too little of Gallie these days. She was busy tending Loee, the tiny baby a joyful surprise to both parents, as well as her much older brothers.

  Her father settled into the rocker’s cushions; Jenn sat on the nearby bench. The forlorn stack of her aunt’s luggage waited against the wall; the house toad, for whatever reason, was in the midst of slowly climbing to the top, moving each clawed foot with implacable precision. She’d have to make sure it was gone in the morning, before Aunt Sybb spotted it.

  Porch lights were beginning to glow here and there in the village, though the last rays of the sun flooded the valley.

  The treeless ivory of the Bone Hills was almost white, tinged blue in the distance. From here, she could see every one. She idly counted the five to the west, lower than the surrounding crags. They were called the Fingers and ran alongside one another, herding the river into the valley then splitting it, so part ran through Marrowdell while the rest writhed north in impassable cataracts. Their work done, the Fingers buried their tips in the fields. To the south rose the Spine, its massive slope and crown heaves of barren rounded stone, girdled by meadow and rugged forest. A path led up it. A path no one took.

  Nestled between the base of the Spine and the first curved Finger, alongside the Tinkers Road, lay the empty farm, Jenn’s meadow, and Wisp.

  Elbows on her knees, she leaned her chin into her hands and pondered what to say to him. No need to mention marriage right away, she decided with relief. She’d ease in to the subject of his taking a man’s shape, how they’d be better friends, the many other advantages, such as Peggs’ pie. If the wishing could be trusted, the marriage part would take care of itself anyway. They’d be in love, wouldn’t they?

  Meanwhile, her father rocked back and forth, sipping his tea; a comfort and company.

  Until he planted his boots on the porch and leaned forward, cup between his hands. “I visited your mother.”

  Meaning he hadn’t gone to the mill at all, but past it and Uncle Horst’s, and through the gate to the secluded glade the villagers had made home for their dead. It wasn’t a great ossuary, like the ones in Avyo, where, as Aunt Sybb explained, for a small tithe your bones could mingle with those of your Ancestors. Instead, there was a peaceful spot beneath the crags, shaded by old trees and carpeted in wildflowers. Those who’d moved on and were now Blessed were buried in the ground, as close to one another as could be done without disturbance. Little Ponicce Uhthoff, in her mother Larell’s arms. Mimm Ropp, who’d drowned saving her son. Riedd Morrill.

  And Melusine Nalynn.

  There was a fine bench for visitors; Zehr and Davi had crafted it, complete with fanciful iron legs. It was taken into a barn before the snow each winter and its return, freshly painted, each spring was a festive event. Uncle Horst had bought carved blessing sigils for each of those buried, having them shipped all the way from Weken. These were raised on poles, set so the sun would shine through and cast their names and Heart’s Blessing on the ground throughout summer.

  Aunt Sybb thought it a much better place to rest than a proper ossuary. Jenn wanted to see one anyway.

  Her father’s going there . . . it was his habit when troubled or perplexed. A condition usually brought about by his beloved daughters, truth be told. Jenn gave a little shrug. “I ask your pardon, Poppa—”

  “No need, Dearest Heart. I find it easier to think, near your mother.” He seemed to find his tea of engrossing interest, then looked up at her. “I realized I’ve never asked you why you want to leave Marrowdell.” Quietly. “Aren’t you happy?”

  “Of course I am.” Her father’s eyes were steady and kind. Hers fell. “Not always,” she admitted. “Poppa, I love Marrowdell. I love our home and the mill. It’s just . . .” How could she tell him that every time the sun set, she felt she’d lost another day? That what had been a normal restlessness this spring had blossomed into wild impatience over summer, until now she ached inside as if she starved? “I need something. Something more.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know—only that it isn’t here.” She wrapped her arms around her knees. “Is that so wrong, Poppa?”

  “No.” Almost bleak. “No, it’s not.”

  Her heart pounded. “Then you’ll let me go with Aunt Sybb?”

  “I can’t.” The unhappy words low and hard to hear. “Jenn, no. It’s not possible. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” She sat back and sighed in resignation. “I know why.”

  This gained her a slight frown. “You do?”

  “You want me to take a husband first.” Jenn did her best not to sound put upon and misused. Dignity first, Aunt Sybb would say. “Very well. I’ll pick one.” Or make one, she dared add to herself.

  Her father carefully set down his cup. “You believe that’s what I want? What your aunt wants?”

  “Isn’t it?” Jenn asked warily.

  The scent of roses filled the warm evening air, rich and impossible to ignore. Her father lifted his head and closed his eyes. His nostrils flared as he drew in a long, reverent breath, then he exhaled and gazed at her, his face strangely at peace. “It’s time I told you about your mother and Marrowdell.”

  Implying something she didn’t already know, which surely wasn’t right. Her family didn’t have secrets. The world stilled around her, as if astonished too. All but the house toad, busy settling its unwieldy bulk atop the luggage.

  “When my mills, our home, everything was taken? Like the rest, I was given three choices. Stay, with nothing. Leave, and take exile in Mellynne or the north. Not that it was a choice,” he reminded her. “We were Rhothan, born and raised, regardless of our great-grandparents. What welcome would we have in Mellynne? At least to the north, we were offered land, a chance to start again. Your mother being pure Rhothan . . .” her father began, then confounded her. “Understand me, Jenn. Your mother didn’t have to leave.”

  About to say, “But she did,” Jenn hesitated and changed her mind. What could he mean? Everyone knew the decree had stripped wealth; it hadn’t split families. Not directly. “Aunt Sybb was able to stay.” Why hadn’t he?

  “Hane’s family accepted her as their own. Melusine’s?” His lips twisted as if over something sour. “Our marriage wasn’t to their liking, in any way. They cast me loose once the decree was law, glad for the excuse and to see me gone. Melusine and Peggs were, naturally, to stay with them.”

  They’d relatives in Avyo?

  She couldn’t wait to tell Peggs.

  Then, all at once, the full import of what he’d said struck home. “They wanted Mother to leave you?�
�� Jenn echoed in disbelief. “To take Peggs? How could anyone want that?”

  “For the same reason I begged her to obey them,” he said heavily. “Fear of what this life would be. Fear for her safety, and little Peggs’. None of us knew what to expect.”

  Jenn had heard the stories. Exiles had died, in the exodus north. Whole settlements had failed that first terrible winter. She understood why, in the Midwinter Beholding, all in Marrowdell gave thanks for the sturdy buildings they’d found waiting, for the water and grain. Who had lived here first, raised the buildings, cleared the land, no one knew. They must have been driven away by their dreams, as had some of those who’d arrived with the Nalynns. What they’d left behind saved those who came after.

  Her father had been very brave to take that journey. And her mother. “She came anyway.”

  “Yes.” At his radiant smile, Jenn drew a soft wondering breath. “Yes, she came. Melusine laughed at her family’s fears. Kissed mine away. ‘For love,’ she said, and would hear no more arguments.

  “The truth, Dearest Heart? Life was hard, but joyous. Exile, the cold, learning the mill—an undershot wheel, Ancestors Witness, and me used to turbines and ordering others to their work. I sent a stone flying through the wall the first harvest, did I tell you? Lucky I didn’t kill someone, including myself. What did it matter?” Warm and sure, “I had Melusine at my side and Peggs in my arms.

  “Your mother made this place our home. She loved it. So much, she gave you to us before she—before she had to go. When she passed you to me . . . ‘For love,’ she said then too.” His voice thickened. “Her final words.”

  Eyes brimming with tears, Jenn rushed to kneel at his feet. She put a tender hand on his knee. “I’m so sorry, Poppa—”

  “No. No, Jenn.” He took her hand between his callused ones. “Nothing about her death was your fault, sweet child. You’re what helped me survive it.” He bent to press his lips to her forehead, then sat back. “I’m telling you this so you understand. So you believe me when I say I would never want you or Peggs to marry for convenience or to leave home. All I want—with all my heart—is for you to have a great love, a lasting one. Like mine with your mother.”