A Play of Shadow (75 page)

“Weed! Werfol!” After a look into his brother’s face, Semyn pulled him up and over a knee, then began striking him between the shoulders.

~Shouldn’t we stop him, elder brother?~ The agitated house toad, watching from the porch, actually hopped into the snow.

“Wh—?” The word garbled in a wheezing cough.

Semyn grabbed Werfol’s shoulders, sitting him up. “One breath at a time, Weed. It’s just like when I fell from the tree. You’ve the air knocked out of you, that’s all. By a bloody idiot!” With a glare at the kruar. “How many times must we tell you? He’s too small!”

“Am—am NOT!” Werfol struggled to stand, accepting his brother’s help only after it became clear he remained wobbly. “With Uncle Bannan gone, Scourge is mine and I’m to ride him.”

Semyn glared a second time at the kruar, who was doing his utmost to appear blameless. The result was more like Wainn’s Old Pony, a conniving creature at the best of times, the dragon thought with amusement, not that the boy was fooled. “Weed can’t get up on you without help,” the baron’s heir stated, making his case. “That makes this your fault. Again. This has to stop!”

“He’s MINE!” Werfol punched his brother.

Semyn pushed him back into the snow. “Listen to your elders!”

Werfol launched himself at Semyn’s knees and they both went down, fists flying.

“What’s all this?” roared Tir, coming out of the house.

Spoiling everyone’s fun, in the opinion of a dragon.

Scourge, the old coward, twitched his tail and bolted from the farmyard. He left not a dimple in the snow.

But two red-faced, angry warriors.

Who, after Tir did nothing but look down at them for a long moment, became two shivering, pale, and ever-so-contrite little boys. A trick worth learning, Wisp thought with envy, the disciplining of the truthseer’s nephews having become something of a sore point.

Tir shook his head. “Dragon, you were to stop this.”

He’d have pretended not to hear—or even be in the vicinity—but the truthseer looked right at him, lower lip trembling. “Wisp, it wasn’t your fault.”

So of course it was. “Scourge cannot resist the boy,” the dragon began.

“Oh, and you’re better at it?” Tir scowled where he thought the dragon to be, then turned back to the boys. “In the house. The pair of you,” he ordered gruffly.

Inside was warmer. With biscuits, Tir being the better cook. But when Wisp tried to slip through the door behind them, the man stepped in his way, then closed it, leaving them outside.

Where it was colder. Wisp wrapped himself in light, Tir being annoyed by invisibility.

“There you are,” the man said unnecessarily, then spat to one side. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Any sign of them yet?”

Efflet and ylings having taken up posts at each crossing, with the little cousins eager for their reports, the dragon would know before anyone. “No.”

“I thought they’d be home by now.”

He wanted reassurance. Wisp had none to offer. “They went swiftly through the Verge. They must still be in Channen, delayed by your kind, not mine.”

Tir seemed pleased by the answer. “Sir’s no fool,” he declared. “Between him and the baroness, I can’t see any Naalish stopping them.”

If that were true, thought the dragon, would Bannan and Jenn not already be home?

Perhaps it was time he crossed. Looked for himself.

Tir opened the door. “C’mon, dragon. There’s biscuits.”

He would cross tomorrow, Wisp decided comfortably. And—

“Tir! Wisp!”

Man and dragon rushed inside, the dragon veering up and sideways to avoid a crash in the doorway sure to end his chance at more biscuits. Together, they entered the house.

Semyn knelt beside his brother, crumpled amid a pile of jackets and boots. “He just fell,” the boy said tearfully. “I didn’t push him, Tir. He just fell.”

“Don’t move him,” Tir cautioned the dragon. “I’ll have a look. Semyn, go stand by the fire.”

The boy took two steps away before he stopped and turned, arms wrapped around his middle. Tir took a look at his face, then nodded. Wisp flew to a rafter where he could watch without being in the way.

The house toad eased closer. ~Is this a new game, elder brother?~ An understandable confusion, the little cousin having witnessed innumerable tumbles, fights, and—yes—games in which the winner was the one who remained motionless the longest while the other made faces.

This was no game. The dragon lowered his head. Werfol’s face was sickly pale and covered in sweat. Beneath blue-tinged eyelids, his eyes were in constant motion. ~Something’s wrong, little cousin.~ But what?

“He fell from Scourge. More than once. The last time knocked his breath out, but he was fine after,” Semyn said all at once, his voice cracking with worry. “Why isn’t he fine?”

“Give’m time,” Tir said gently. Finished his examination, he gathered the child in his arms. “Your uncle’s bed.” That was a mattress in a corner of the room and Semyn ran to pull down the covers. After putting Werfol in bed with great care, Tir looked up. “Dragon. Bring the healer.”

A snip of thread, touched by skin and warmth . . . a drop of sleep, under the tongue . . .

And the dream unfolds . . .

Falling . . .

Falling . . .

No. A road, blinding white, stretching to a point of darkness.

Darkness widens. Opens. It’s a mouth!

FALLING FALLING FALLING

The dream shatters . . .

“I need my things.” Covie dried her hands, trying not to look at the dragon. He may, Wisp thought regretfully, have been a bit precipitous, snatching her into the air as she stepped from the larder. Yes, a basket had tumbled, but she’d been dressed for the cold, so he’d been pleased overall. Covie, by her shriek, had not.

“Tell the dragon what to fetch,” Tir said, by his tone more concerned with speed than manners.

Wisp sent a polite little breeze. “A list would do.”

“Ancestors—” She closed her mouth, nodding. “First, I’ll take a look. Poor lad.”

Semyn looked up. “He’s dreaming. He can’t stop.”

The healer frowned, then bent over Werfol. She ran a fingertip between his brows, to the tip of his nose.

Then lifted her hand in haste, as though she’d touched flame. “This is no natural sleep. You say he’d had a few falls into the snow. Did he strike his head on anything harder?”

“Not that I saw, mistress,” Semyn said very quietly.

“Nor I,” volunteered Wisp.

Her eyebrows rose. “Thank you.”

~He did not, elder brother!~ as if they’d asked the toad. Being a sincere creature, the little cousin clarified, ~That I witnessed.~

Tir hadn’t taken his eyes from Werfol’s face. “He’d another of his tempers.”

Covie frowned. “What do you mean?”

Semyn looked miserable. “I made Weed mad. We were fighting.”

“Being angry doesn’t cause—” the healer gestured at Werfol, seeming lost for words.

“Begging your pardon, healer, but it might. I’ve seen the like, once.” Tir shook his head. “Sir—Bannan lost his temper. Ancestors Witness, he’d every right and reason—I’ll say no more—but what happened next was worse. His gift, you see. He lost control. Couldn’t see what was in front of him—or saw too much that wasn’t.” His voice turned grim. “Tied him to his bed, we did, and had to stuff a cloth in his mouth or our camp would have been found for sure. To this day, I don’t know how he survived it.”

“Weed?” Tears flowed over Semyn’s cheeks.

Covie gave another, slower nod. “If that’s the case here, we need Bannan. How long until he’s home?”

“Dragon?”

But the air was empty.

J
ENN STRETCHED LUXURIOUSLY,
scented bubbles sliding over her skin, and still couldn’t touch the far side of the bath. Her toes did find Bannan.

“Careful there!” He sank under the water, then appeared laughing beside her, covered in bubbles.

“Hold still.” Jenn skimmed the offending bubbles from his broad shoulders and strong arms, then worked her way—oh, quite methodically, this being an important task—over his chest and down the line of wiry curls. With an incoherent moan, Bannan pressed his whole length against her and, not for the first time, they lost themselves in the delirious possibilities warm wet skin afforded lovers.

Really, Jenn thought a while later, she could stay in this tub the rest of her life. Especially as she was now, half-afloat with her back along Bannan’s chest, his arms and legs entwined with hers.

He nibbled her ear, then her neck, and she might have mentioned they’d both eaten their fill from the refreshments provided, except she’d no wish for him to—

A crow flew in the arched window, to the wrath of the house toad. ~ELDER SISTER!~

“It’s all right. A messenger,” Jenn told the creature as Bannan pulled himself from the tub and padded over to the bench where the crow now perched. She floated where she was, enjoying the slip of bubbles down the pleasing landscape of his back.

Bannan bowed to the crow. “Scatterwit. What news?”

A messenger in truth. How could it talk? If so, could she understand it?

Curious, Jenn half-swam to the edge closest to them. The crow twitched, regarding her with a bright black eye. Judging her harmless, it turned back to the truthseer.

Balanced on one foot, it raised the other, unrolling four scaled toes, each ending in a sharp black claw. Three faced forward, one—the longest—behind. Toes that began to make small deliberate movements.

Signs! Making no sense to her, but there was meaning, she could tell. “What a clever bird,” Jenn praised, delighted. The crow bobbed its head, uttering a series of low throaty clucks. Smug, that was.

Bannan nodded, not looking away. When Scatterwit stopped, standing again on both feet, he signed something back to it. The bird watched intently.

The truthseer finished, pressing his hands flat over his heart. After a shake to settle its feathers, Scatterwit flew back out the window.

With a reply to the message it had delivered.

It was all quite amazing and Jenn resolved, then and there, to learn some of these signs for herself. With two boys and Tir now living with Bannan, and herself with the Emms, she’d been resigned to any private conversations being outside. With this? She could imagine several charming possibilities.

First, though, they had the bath.

“Lila’s on her way.” Bannan wrapped himself in a towel before turning to face her.

Ending any thoughts of lingering in bubbles. “What’s wrong?” Jenn asked worriedly as she climbed out. For he thought something must be, she could see it in his eyes.

“Scatterwit’s message said only to meet Lila at the canal.” He came close, wrapping her in one of the sheet-sized towels, then in his arms. “How long do I have?”

Before they were to cross, he meant. “The best part of an hour,” Jenn said. She might not own a clockwork, but she needed nothing to remind her of the approaching turn. It sang in her blood—or what was inside her—a song that today was stronger and more beautiful than ever.

Because they were going home.

She watched him dress in haste, choosing the clothes the yling had mended and Appin cleaned. They’d both new boots and cloaks like the sect member’s, for they’d be moving in daylight. Bannan had filled his pack from the generous platters of food and drink, while Jenn had a new sack full to bursting.

Having dried herself, she reached for her clothing.

“Please wait for me here, Dearest Heart,” Bannan said quickly. “Unless I misread, Lila’s asked to meet me alone. Probably,” he made a face, “for a lecture.”

Jenn sat, clothes in her lap, so he knew she’d wait, and searched his face. “That’s not what you believe,” she concluded.

A face set to mild exasperation, perhaps to hide concern. “There’s no guessing, with Lila.” He tied back his hair. “Maybe she wants to send something for her sons.”

Jenn nodded. “Anything,” she urged. “We can carry it.”

Warmth in those apple butter eyes. “I’ll tell her you said so.”

“And that when she comes for them, in spring,” Jenn went on impulsively, “we’ll have a Beholding to thank the Ancestors your family is back together.”

More than warmth. As if uncertain of his voice, Bannan sketched a quick but dashing bow before striding from the room.

The turn was coming. Jenn dressed slowly and with care. She hadn’t bothered to warn him not to be late, for what did it matter? This turn or the next. She wouldn’t leave without him.

How could she?

Pat. Pat.

The yling having announced his intention to come along, Bannan took care donning the cloak and hood. He covered his head, grateful for the disguise. Being dressed once more as Rhothan felt a step closer to home. He wasn’t there yet.

The wide cobbled street was busier than he remembered, or the alarm racing along his nerves since the crow’s arrival made the bustle of strangers and wagons and other vehicles somehow ominous. Act as if it were all familiar, he reminded himself, and walked the pace of a man on business but in no hurry for it, managing not to flinch when a crack like pistol shot marked the end of an axle and the beginning of a traffic knot.

Once through the gate and sheltered within the walled landing, Bannan abandoned his pose, going down the steps as quickly as the slick of leaves and mud allowed. At the bottom, he eased around the column that hid the opening of the stair from the walkway beyond.

And there was Lila, standing by one of the other columns. Scatterwit perched atop it, quiet as Bannan approached but ever-so-curious. The crows could initiate a report, as well as carry a message, and no one read their clawed toes better than Emon, who’d taught his birds to so speak.

Unlike the crow, his sister appeared a statue till he was near enough to see her tremble. He closed the space between them in a rush, put his hands on her shoulders. “What’s happened?”

Lila looked at him with such horror his breath caught in his throat. “Werfol. He’s trapped in a dream. A nightmare!”

How she knew was plain; safe with Emon, Lila’d taken the chance to truedream. What she believed? “In Marrowdell—” Bannan stopped himself. Jenn had told him she’d wished both boys freedom from the valley’s dreams. Then what Lila believed sank home. “You think his gift’s out of control.”

“I know it,” low and hoarse.

Ancestors Torn and Terrified. The truth. It pulled free his own dreadful memories: of being unable to stop seeing
beyond the now and the real. The faces of friends rotting to bone. Trees around him burning or falling to axes or turning to tall dead stumps filled with carrion birds and decay. The sky’s ending . . . “Heart’s Blood.”

Lila seized his forearms. “Weed’s a child. How can he understand what’s happening? How can he free himself?” She shook him. “Brother, I must get to him and quickly. Take me with you!”

“Dear Heart.” He stiffened in protest. “You can’t cross with us.”

“The beasts like Scourge, then. Give me one of them!”

“A kruar can’t bring you with it. Only Jenn—”

“Then take me to her!”

“Even if she would, Lila, trust me, you can’t.” Bannan stared into his sister’s desperate eyes, his heart hammering. “You ’dreamed the madness. You’ve seen it. That’s the Verge and you wouldn’t survive it.”

She shook her head impatiently, as if he hadn’t heard, her hair flying. “Blindfold me. Lead me through. Bannan. Carry me unconscious. I’ve my draught. But you must take me with you. I beg—” And her voice failed, as Lila’s voice never did, and her face was full of fear, as Lila’s never was.

And he knew, no matter what he said, this she would do.

“Come with me.”

There had to be a way, Bannan thought furiously as he led his sister up the stairs. Appin had granted them the privacy he and Jenn had requested, and would meet them at the turn. Being witnessed was vital, Jenn had explained. Two Keepers having come?

Two must go.

Mounted, in his cloak, Lila had the height to pass for him. He could make it back to Marrowdell on his own.

By spring. With no way to know if Lila had survived the Verge or not. To know if Werfol—Bannan refused to think it.

And he’d thought waiting for news of Channen would be difficult.

They reached the landing. At the gate, Bannan warned, “Not far, but it’s public.”

A nod. His sister had kept her Naalish clothing and, likely Emon’s doing, no longer wore her sword in plain sight but a full pack hung from a broad strap over one shoulder and hip. Ready for travel, that said. Fair enough. Doubtless word had spread that Channen’s barges were leaving their moorings, perhaps why the streets were busier.

His skin crawled during the walk to the door, but he strode with confidence. If any observers from the Shadow Sect watched, let them think him one of theirs, escorting a last minute delivery.

Inside. Lila took in the empty room, with its polished floor and ornate lamps, with a sweeping glance, a brow rising in question at the three closed doors along the far wall.

Bannan pulled off his hood. “Let me talk to Jenn.”

“I won’t be denied.”

A battle line, that, drawn as much by the set of the jaw as the tone.

“Nor will you be a fool,” he said with matching strength. “You’re no good to Werfol dead.” Bannan circled his fingers over his heart. “Hearts of our Ancestors, I swear to you we’ll find a way. But you have to trust us. For once, Lila, listen to me.”

Her eyes searched his. Unexpectedly, the corner of her mouth twitched. “Listen to my little brother? I suppose the time had to come.”

He didn’t smile, couldn’t. Not even when the leftmost door opened and Jenn Nalynn stepped out to join them, toad under one arm.

Seeing his face, hers turned sober. Quickly, she closed the door behind her, motioning to the half door of the kruar. “Appin’s back,” she explained as they went through and she closed that. “He came to tell me one of their lords waits to watch our crossing. Why are you here?” to Lila. Curt, that demand, and uneasy.

“She’s—” started Bannan.

“To save my son,” Lila answered.