The Twisting (22 page)

Daeryn said she could add something. She thought for a moment.

“I am learning my way in your world. Thank you for sending these people to guide me. Please help me to give fully of myself and my talents.” She hesitated a second, then ended with, “Amen.” Mother had avoided religious affiliation, but this wasn’t so different than the few prayers she’d overheard friends say.

Annmar lifted her hands. The doodem glowed blue.

Her heart pounded. The light shone bright enough she could see it in the sunlight filtering through the branches. Blue. Yes, of course, the doodem was blue. What had she expected after seeing this lumination in the other doodems? But it’d happened so fast…like an answered prayer?

Behind her, a throat cleared, and Daeryn dropped to his knees beside her. “Looks like your blessing worked,” he said. “It’s darker, that mulberry color they all turn to once they’ve been blessed. Something to do with the heat that rises.”

He knew of the heat, so that must be normal doodem blessing results. But he didn’t mention the glow. That remained only her gift…yet she hadn’t even called upon her Knack. What if—

Annmar opened her talent. The glow separated into the threads of blue light swarming over, and into, her squirrel figurine. Several of them arced toward her. She reached out a finger and touched one. It spiraled around her finger and disappeared into her skin. She felt nothing. Another bent to her and did the same, a third following. One went into the root of Patrice’s tree. Then a filament appeared from the end of her finger and zipped back to the doodem.

She retracted her hand, and as it neared Daeryn’s knee, a light filament jumped to him…and stayed luminated between them. She watched it, unwilling to move before the thread did. When it didn’t, Annmar slowly advanced her hand, tracing the path of the blue light to Daeryn’s knee. Just as she touched him, the tiny light brightened and disappeared.

Daeryn laid his hand on hers. “Annmar?” he asked, his voice low with concern. He gently rubbed her skin with his thumb.

Now
that
she could feel, and it certainly was nice. Longing surged through her, right to her middle, and stayed there. She couldn’t look away from those beautiful eyes. “I…”
Mercy
. She couldn’t speak either. These feelings he brought up in her were so strange…and so wonderful. But what should she say? What should she do? Nothing proper came to mind…and now she wasn’t so sure she necessarily needed anything proper to say…or do…

Good heavens. Liking Daeryn a whole lot was not a simple thing, especially with today’s plans. Tomorrow—what might happen between now and tomorrow? Her face heated. The next day, then…or someday. Soon. She’d just have to settle for soon.

“It’s nothing,” she mumbled and looked away. Her gaze fell to their hands. Another line of light emerged and streamed over the back of her hand, just like it did on the Basin machines. It reached Daeryn’s stroking thumb, circled it, and then flowed onto him. For a few moments, it spiraled on the back of his hand before returning to her. It continued moving between them.

Connecting. The blue fungus filaments—for that was indeed what they were—connected. They came from the ground, made the lacy webs of roots she’d seen in Wellspring’s fields and entered the plants, the machines and the people. The fungus must live all over Blighted Basin.

The reach of these tiny threads was bigger than she’d imagined—and she was part of it, could be
more
a part of it if she found someone to teach her.

So where did the fungals live? Where were her people…and her father? Annmar heaved a sigh, and with her inhalation detected the scent of something familiar: the aroma she found so intriguing around the farm, the one underlying all the other smells. It wasn’t Daeryn, or that scent when a long-awaited rain came. Annmar scooped up her squirrel with its mushroom and breathed deeply. It had to be the fungus.

She smiled down at the figure fitting nicely in her cupped palm. Dashing blue lights wove a tangled nest around and through it and her hand. Yes, part of what she wanted might still be hidden, but she was learning more, and those parts made sense. Like Daeryn, they felt right for her.

He squeezed her arm. “They smell good, don’t they? That freshly dug smell.”

She lifted her gaze to his. “Do you see, uh, anything on the doodem?”

“Do you?” He gave her a half grin.

She released her breath. He had believed her from the beginning, when Rivley hadn’t. “Blue lights, the same as on the Harvester and other farm machines. And Master Brightwell’s brew. Seems they’re fungus fibers from the soil here.” She told him what she saw and smelled, and thank heavens, he listened, like he had before.

“This is good news for the Harvester, then? You’ll be able to tell if the new doodem comes alive for it and will work?”

“Yes.” He didn’t think she was a lunatic. He didn’t. She wanted to kiss him, but settled for sliding her hand in his and lacing their fingers—connecting. He might listen to this, which related to Basin ceremonies and stories he’d heard all his life, but the rest of what she had to do today walked a fine line of impropriety. Except Mr. Shearing had offered her the plan, and a chance to compensate Mistress Gere for the hardship Annmar had caused.

What would Daeryn think if she managed to gain a just repayment from the magnate? Would he understand why she agreed to a night in the same room with such a scoundrel? Or would he disapprove? She didn’t want to ask, or even put it into words with anyone but Mary Clare. She’d do what she had to, and when she got back, she’d deal with…whatever she had to.

chapter TWENTY-Four

Old Terry sat
kneading her handful of soft earth in the same spot as last week, chair at the edge of her tan canopy. Under its shadows, doodem figures lined the tables. Annmar, Daeryn, Rivley and Mary Clare stopped feet from her booth, and a smile curled across the old woman’s face before she even looked up.

“Couldna stay away, could you, my pet?” Old Terry’s piercing hazel eyes peered at each of them in turn, meeting Annmar’s last and staying. “Stronger than when I first met you. More sure of yourself, are you?” She lifted her chin to Mary Clare on Annmar’s right. “But not confident enough to come without friends. Hmm.” She squinted at the boys just behind them, raking over Daeryn’s frame until he swore under his breath.

“Give me your hand, pet.” Old Terry dropped the half-formed lump of earth into her lap and said to Rivley, “You stay out of it this time. We’ll be right here.”

Daeryn’s brows were drawn, but Rivley looked…ill. Mary Clare had her lips pressed together. She and Rivley had lagged behind, not speaking the entire walk down into Chapel Hollow.

Despite her friends’ concerns, Annmar was drawn to the comfortable old lady, yet she still closed her Knack using an opposite technique from Patrice’s directions on how to open it. Securely wrapping her Knack’s very walls in additional luminated threads was the only precaution Annmar could think to try, given none of the others could say what the hedge-rider might do. She had to appease her to conduct their business, and perhaps slip in a question about Basin soils and this fungus—without allowing Old Terry to lure her in like she had last time. Annmar stepped forward and placed her hand in Old Terry’s two stained ones.

The smells of the earth came faster and sharper, a dank, moist odor of rot and renewal. This time the old woman made no attempt to carry Annmar deeper into her world. Instead she magically circled her, looking from all angles, poking, peering within even. The intrusion made her innards squirm.

Annmar held steady, bearing it like an itch she shouldn’t scratch. When Old Terry pushed in further with no regard for Annmar’s privacy, as brazen as Mr. Shearing’s kiss, Annmar mentally reinforced the threaded walls around her Knack.

The old lady withdrew and dropped her hand. “Well served, my pet. You’ll do nicely when we come to an agreement.”

Agreement? Before Annmar could form a polite question, Old Terry turned to Mary Clare.

“I think introductions are in order. Number three of Martin and Maria’s brood. Mary…”

“Clare.” She dipped a curtsy.

“A daw. With one claw full of colorful feathers and coins in the other.”

A small gasp broke from Mary Clare before she pressed her lips tight again and nodded, an annoyed look on her face.

“A Jackdaw,” Rivley said. “Member of the crow family. Small, vocal, gregarious. Fitting. But the coins?”

Mary Clare threw him a glare and snapped, “My doodem is not your business.”

Old Terry raised her brow to Rivley. “You’re an interesting one. Knife-edged feathers on a sparrowhawk. And what’s that in the talons? A screwdriver? Ah, always trying to set things right.” She chuckled. “We’ll see. Name?”

He frowned. “Rivley Slipwing.”

She nodded slowly before turning to Daeryn. “Much more straightforward. Robust weasel. Crouched. Teeth bared.” She glanced at Annmar. “Determined. Your name, beast.”

“Daeryn Darkcoat.”

“Of?”

“Rockbridge.”

“Oh,” she said with some surprise. “You couldna have picked easy, could you, pet?” Heaving a sigh, Old Terry shook her head in Annmar’s direction. “I would never have expected you to gravitate to the most barren portion of the Basin.”

Daeryn looked as though he was about to speak, but didn’t. What did the woman mean by that? It was as if the hedge-rider expected her to understand these things.

Old Terry sniffed. “I’m not so proud I can’t admit they know a thing or two about the old ways in Rockbridge.” She folded her hands across her substantial belly and leaned back to survey them. “What have you come for? I’m warning you, my prices are high.” She gave them a smug smile, accompanied by half-closed eyes.

“A replacement doodem for the Harvester machine at Wellspring Collective,” Annmar said.

Old Terry’s eyes flew open, and her face twisted darkly. “What happened to its first?” she snapped.

Mercy, the woman was touchy about her craft pieces. In a firm voice, Annmar said, “The machine was sold outside the Basin. It didn’t work there so was returned. It malfunctioned last night, and we believe the Outside oil damaged the doodem.”

Rivley unwrapped a cloth and offered the white doodem to the old woman.

She touched it, gently stroking the smooth surface and shaking her head. “You must bury it, poor thing. There, on the farm soil.” She folded the cloth over it and returned the bundle to Rivley. “Starved to death, it did. I won’t release another to you if it’ll be going to the same fate.”

“It won’t,” Rivley said. “We’re keeping the Harvester at Wellspring. It’s needed to capture the vermin destroying the crops.”

“Bloody beasts, not natural. That’s all you need say.” She nodded to Annmar. “I’ll allow my creations to go out for that purpose. Now to choose the proper one. Tell me more about this machine.”

Rivley waxed poetic about the strong, gentle giants designed to delicately survey the plants, trained to select the ripe fruits and vegetables.

She nodded with a sage look. “Horatio Brightwell’s work, I see. You’ve a hand in it as well?”

“He completed the prototype before I arrived, but I worked start to finish with the assembly of the additional machines. Together, we made a few adjustments to the design.”

“Good enough.” She hoisted herself from her chair and shuffled into her booth. Standing over the lines of doodems, Old Terry reached out and then withdrew her hand several times before she finally chose one. Then she picked up another lying next to it.

She offered them to Annmar. “What do you think?”

Annmar took one in each hand and started to lift one for inspection, but Old Terry put a hand to her arm. “Just feel them, pet. Inside.”

Annmar closed her eyes. Sounds filtered into the booth from the street, and Rivley’s fidgeting made some shuffles. One felt different, more familiar. Like Wellspring. Henry would have liked it, she decided. She opened her eyes and held out that doodem. “This one.”

Old Terry took it, gave the figure a squeeze, then returned it with a nod. “Tell Master Brightwell he should have no problem getting the machine to accept the new doodem.”

Annmar held up the gray figurine, a badger baring two rows of pointed teeth. It was nothing like she’d imagined Henry. Yet he had had a badger’s fight inside him when she thought back to the boy’s long hours learning from Master Brightwell, his offer of his wages to help Wellspring and his determination to avoid returning to the orphanage.

“He’s gone for the day,” Rivley said. “I need to get the machine up and running to test it. Can I perform the blessing?”

Old Terry studied him.

“Rivley’s done it for the smaller machines,” Mary Clare offered.

“I can tell,” Old Terry said. “Normally, I would agree, but this machine is tainted, you say, from being on the Outside. You want a strong connection to overcome this damage, and she’s your strongest conduit.” She pointed to Annmar.

“Me?”

“You. Let me see your doodem.” She gestured to Annmar’s satchel.

How did Old Terry know she had her doodem with her? Annmar withdrew the mulberry-colored squirrel and handed it over.

A look of pure joy spread over Old Terry’s face. “Ah, yes, my pet. This is how it’s done. Lively, it is now. A perfect helper for this stage of your life. Soon you’ll grasp what you need to.”

Her words clarified something. “Is that why Mother had three of them? For the stages of her life?”

“Certainly.” Old Terry handed back her squirrel. “Is that all you needed?”

Annmar met Mary Clare’s gaze. As they planned, Mary Clare pulled the boys out of the booth with her. “Annmar has a private question. Come on.”

Oh, Lord, she didn’t need to make it sound like that. But Mary Clare’s words did the trick. With the boys out of hearing, Annmar leaned close to Old Terry’s curious face.

“We may have two additional Harvesters returning from Outside. I expect their doodems will also be dead.”

“You need to replace them, of course.” The woman returned the doodem she still held to the table. The time it took her to find others seemed endless with Mary Clare and Daeryn arguing just outside the canopy. Annmar glanced around, meeting Daeryn’s gaze. He didn’t look pleased. A second later, Mary Clare pulled him off another few steps, and Old Terry offered Annmar the doodems. Both clay figures felt like Wellspring as well. Annmar slid them into her satchel, casting another glance at Daeryn’s back. His concern would be touching any other time, but right now—

“Why the secret?” Old Terry asked, her chin lifting to the others.

“I…I don’t want to get their hopes up,” she whispered. The doodems were safely tucked away, her business with Old Terry nearly complete. This was her opportunity to risk asking the question she wanted most to ask. “Am I the best conduit for the blessing because I’m a fungal?”

Old Terry chuckled. “Like I said, you’re stronger, but you still have much to learn.” She leaned closer, her hazel eyes gleaming. “I can teach you things about yourself that you’re only just starting to imagine.”

The enticing aroma of fresh earth wafted over Annmar again, urging her to return underground. She steeled herself against the feeling. Dash it all, the woman wasn’t to be trusted, just as Daeryn and Rivley had warned. “Can’t you just answer my question?” she asked with more irritation than she should.

She received a smirk in return. “Then what next? Another question and another? I have things I want to know as well, things you can help me with in return for my tutoring.”

Annmar pressed her lips closed on words of exasperation. She had no time for games. “Perhaps next week we can discuss it. I have an appointment to keep today.” Annmar extracted her money from her satchel and edged to the booth opening, not just to signal her departure, but also to distance herself from the woman who suddenly seemed too eager. “How much do we owe you?”

“Put your money away, my pet. I want you for my payment.”