A Play of Shadow (49 page)

Ending any question as to the sort of moth the poor toad had swallowed.

“Thank you for what you’ve done, little cousin,” she told it, though it hardly had had a choice and now appeared asleep.

~I matter to Jenn Nalynn.~

She had to smile. “Yes, you do.”

Wisp waited, silent, as did Scourge, for a wonder, both now at a distance and behind the turn-born. Jenn looked to Bannan.

By the light of the Verge, the amber of his eyes was darker, richer. Having dressed for the warmth, he wore a shirt, the neck loosely tied, leather pants, and tall boots. He stood with his arms slightly away from his body, his feet apart, as if his instincts told him to run, yet he smiled back at her.

He stayed. It was enough. Jenn turned to Mistress Sand. “What do we do now?” she asked simply.

A hand lifted. ~Go around the lake and up the slope. Wait by our spring for your guides. You can refill your flasks there.~

Bannan looked relieved. “Good to know. I’d planned to ask about water.”

~We’ve put it where we need it and the terst, though most here drink mimrol.~

~Or blood.~ From the dragon and kruar.

“And food, Mistress?” he asked.

Master Riverstone shrugged. ~If you’re in the Verge long enough to starve, it’ll be too long and too late.~

Jenn didn’t like the sound of that at all. “What do you mean?”

~There are things you can eat, Bannan,~ Mistress Sand said quickly. ~Ask your guides. Sweetling, you may feel you can live without food or drink and you can, longer than most, but not forever. Don’t forget.~

They made beer from Marrowdell’s grain. Enjoyed feasting. There was more to being a turn-born than a shell and magic, much of which familiar, and the reminder warmed a part of Jenn she hadn’t noticed had gone cold.

“Then we should go.” Jenn held out her hands, for Mistress Sand to clasp, and Master Riverstone. “Unless you’ve more advice?” She glanced at Bannan.

Whose rueful smile this time was real. “We’d take any and all.”

Master Riverstone gave her fingers a last gentle squeeze, then let go. ~Move quickly through the Verge, is mine. Do nothing to attract notice. Ignore this mirror creature.~

Jenn tensed. She’d told them of the eyes and efflet; shown them the shard from the mirror, which had, perhaps now fearfully, remained black. ~What if he doesn’t ignore us?~

A disturbingly happy snarl from the dragon.

Mistress Sand patted her hand. ~We’ve said we don’t know this thing you’ve seen. If we do not, it’s of no consequence, Sweetling. They die here, man or woman or child, too quickly to notice. Till now or yet, that is.~ The turn-born pointedly didn’t look toward Bannan. ~If this mirror holds anything of this fool who crossed long ago, it’s naught but a spiteful echo.~

Jenn nodded dutifully, hiding her doubt. Oh, how she wanted to believe what she’d seen was harmless, but hadn’t Wisp warned her, often, that the turn-born of the Verge didn’t always tell the truth? Even if they did, she suspected a certain arrogance. That what turn-born didn’t know, couldn’t be important?

Aunt Sybb had a great deal to say on the topic of willful ignorance, none of it flattering.

Mistress Sand clicked the tongue she didn’t have. ~As for my advice? I repeat Riverstone’s. The Verge is what it is. I add my own. We’ve arrangements in Channen. Follow the one who waits at the crossing, but be wary. Expectations go awry there. Too much of the Verge, might be. Too much magic in those living there, might be as well. Most are friendly folk and good traders, minding their own business.~ Darker. ~There’s others, too interested for any one’s good. Know the difference, Sweetling and truthseer. Or you won’t cross back.~

Oh, dear. Yes, they’d spoken of magic in the Shadow District, but Jenn had imagined trinkets like the pendant or at most wishings, like the ones Kydd teased Peggs about, to produce larger babies or smooth wrinkles. Nothing of the Verge.

Nothing to put either of them at risk.

When Jenn looked at Bannan, he dipped his head in a grim nod. He’d known, or feared it.

He’d lived with his own magic, concealing it at risk of his life. Though the thought was chilling, Jenn nodded back. “Thank you for your kindness. We will take very great care.”

~Around the lake and up the slope, then,~ Mistress Sand repeated. ~With luck, you won’t meet any broods.~

With that, she and Master Riverstone turned and left.

Jenn and Bannan looked at one another.

“‘Broods’ of what?” he mouthed, eyes wide with mock horror.

She couldn’t help it.

Laughing, she took him in her arms.

They couldn’t leave the sleepy house toad, so Bannan put it into his pack, Jenn helping. Their fingers touched and mingled in the process, both chuckling at the awkwardness of the limp creature. What had come between them—what he’d put between them—was gone and he was beyond grateful. They’d talk, he decided, losing himself in the wells of beauty that were her eyes.

~Hurry. Hurry!~ the dragon snapped, though he seemed in better temper. The mask had helped.

As had the departure of the turn-born.

Bannan kissed the tip of Jenn’s nose before they both stood. “Hurry it is.” He looked over at Scourge.

Who deliberately pretended something moved in the—they weren’t bushes, being more like fur, but had flowers, or were they eyes?

He made the effort to look deeper,
rewarded by flowers again.

“Bannan?”

“Hurry it is,” he agreed. If they weren’t to ride, it’d be walking.

Walking it was. The sand curved away from the lake, as a beach couldn’t, becoming a road of sorts, if you watched where you stepped. Jenn hinted such roadmaking was within a turn-born’s power, and Bannan decided to be grateful.

There being shadows away from the lake he didn’t care for at all.

Scourge padded alongside. Wisp, with his two ruined limbs, had taken flight. Bannan lost him in a stream of flowing silver, a river of mimrol now overhead.

“Do things change all the time?” he complained mildly.

Jenn grinned. “It seems so. But I feel,” her grin faded as she thought, “it’s more about what can be seen, at any time. I’m glad we’ve guides.”

Guides they hadn’t met and didn’t know. “Are we sure we’ll be able to see them?” he asked, only half joking. “Maybe Wisp and Scourge should stay with us.”

~No.~ The dragon.

Taken aback, as he was, Jenn stared into the sky. “Wisp?”

~Once you are with those the turn-born have sent, I’ve another duty.~ From sharp and adamant, almost harsh, Wisp’s tone gentled. ~If you need me, I will know. I will come. Never doubt that, Dearest Heart.~

Bannan stopped walking. “What about the boys? What of Werfol?” Surely the dragon had a soft spot.

~MINE!~

Ancestors Greedy and Gluttonous, if that wasn’t predictable? “So you’ll abandon us too.” He was more relieved than otherwise; not something to tell the kruar.

Scourge rolled a red-rimmed eye. ~I will stay with my new truthseer. You may die here.~

Jenn’s mouth formed a shocked “O.” Bannan grinned. “I can see you’ve thought it through. Just promise me you’ll look after Semyn and Tir as well.”

~They are mine.~ With affront he’d had to ask.

Jenn’s lips closed into a firm line. No one was dying, that meant. He couldn’t argue.

A short while later they came to what Bannan would have very much liked to argue with, and loudly. He and Jenn tipped their heads back as far as they could, trying to see to the top. “Slope, she called it? It’s a bloody cliff!”

The rock reared from the sandy path, its surface veined in green, bronze, and black, sheer and glistening as if wet. The top, if there was a top, was lost in cloud.

Cloud that had a disturbing tendency to flock and whirl.

“We can walk up it.” Jenn turned to him, eyes alight. “If Mistress Sand said to go this way, she’d expect it to be possible. They would have made it possible, Bannan. The turn-born.”

With those words, she lifted her slender foot, toes spread, and put it against the rock. As if taking a normal step, her other foot rose to meet its mate and Jenn Nalynn stood out from the cliff, her skirt floating in midair. She laughed and waved to him. “It’s wonderful, Bannan. Try it.” She took more steps, quickly beyond where he could reach if he jumped.

Tiny hands patted him encouragingly. “Fine for you,” the truthseer muttered. “You’ve wings.”

“Bannan!” Heart’s Blood, she was almost out of sight.

This was—Ancestors Mad and Delirious—this was the Verge. Tightening the straps on his pack, Bannan planted his boot against the rock.

It was like tipping on a plank. Suddenly, the foot on the rock was the foot on flat ground, while his other was stuck up behind him. Bannan staggered more than stepped forward, putting both feet on the cliff.

Which was now a road, easy and flat as could be.

Yet not. When he tried moving faster than a steady walk, he lost his balance and almost fell backward.

Jenn, well ahead, or above, looked back—or was it down?—at him. He couldn’t make out her expression, but her wave seemed cheery enough. “Almost there!” she called, and he smiled, waving back.

It was around that moment that Bannan realized the rock supporting his feet was occupied.

By things with teeth.

Ancestors Elated and Exhilarated. The more time she spent in the Verge, the more amazed Jenn found herself. The more at home. Not that this was her home, but she’d been more than a little anxious about this other world, being such a stranger to it.

But it welcomed her with open arms. Hadn’t she the all-important mask, to make her acceptable to those who lived here, and now walked up a wall with ease? Being in the Verge, Jenn decided, was like being inside a story, one filled with unexpected wonders at every turn of the page. Pleased by the thought, she glanced back at Bannan and waved. He returned the gesture with a brave smile, being something of a wonder himself.

However the Verge appeared to her, she shouldn’t assume it seemed the same to Bannan. They’d need to compare their observations, like the worthy explorers who’d mapped the roads through Upper Rhoth or sailed across the Sweet Sea to discover Eld. Were there seas here? Other domains than the turn-borns’? With each footstep, Jenn happily came up with more and more possibilities, though she—reluctantly—dismissed the notion of drawing a map. How could a road that went up as well as away fit on paper?

Not to mention a road that, just ahead, disappeared into a cloud that spun and whirled and—Jenn blinked.

Wasn’t a cloud at all.

Running was out of the question. As, Bannan discovered, was walking on tiptoe. So, however reluctantly, he continued to plant each boot against what felt solid but, more and more, swam with things.

Things with teeth. He couldn’t tell more about them, for their bodies, assuming they had bodies, blended into the colors streaking through the rock itself. The teeth, though, were regrettable—white and brilliant. Small, but sharp. They circled and gathered, like obscene little smiles.

Heart’s Blood. Bannan wrenched his eyes from where he stepped, and what on, to stare determinedly ahead. Nothing for it but to reach Jenn Nalynn.

But where was she?