A Turn of Light (14 page)

She buried her face in her hands.

“Sybbie,” firmly. “Peggs. We’re done with refreshments, thank you. Kindly clear the table.”

“Radd—”

“A moment alone with my youngest. Please.”

“Place could use less toads,” Jenn heard her aunt mutter as she and Peggs collected the plates and trays, then walked into the kitchen.

The settee creaked as her father sat beside her. “Now, Dearest Heart. Look at me.”

She lowered her hands and obeyed. His normally apple-red cheeks were pale, and his throat worked as he swallowed before saying, “Was it your little wind? The one from the meadow?”

Of all the things he might have said, nothing could have shocked her more. “You—you know about Wisp?”

“‘Wisp?’ I knew something there kept you safe. Not its name. Wisp.” He almost smiled at her astonishment. “Heart of my Hearts, did you think I’d let you run off otherwise? What kind of father would I be?”

It hadn’t occurred to her. Night’s Edge was part of her life, like her favorite cup or comforter. “How—?”

“How did I know?” Her father hesitated, as if unsure where to start within a longer story, then gave a short nod. “When you were a baby, if you weren’t well, or became unhappy, all I had to do was take you to the meadow. The little wind would tickle your cheeks and you’d stop crying. You’d smile that wonderful smile of yours. I thought at first—” he sighed and tipped his hand over, “—whatever it was, it wasn’t there for me.” A chuckle. “For one thing, when it rained, only I got wet. It—Wisp—was there to look after you.”

“He isn’t!” Jenn sobbed, the horrid words spilling out with her tears. “Not anymore! Poppa, I tried—I tried to make a husband. I tried to turn Wisp into a man. What I did hurt him. I could tell. Hurt him and—” she hiccupped, “—then he—he was gone!”

Her father pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Hmmm.” He took his handkerchief and tenderly wiped her cheeks. “Don’t be too sure of that.”

Jenn blinked. “Why?”

“Marrowdell’s little curiosities are stronger than they appear. And so, my little princess,” he put his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head, “are you.”

The mist was slow to leave the road; the sun slow to find it. Bannan eyed the wagon’s hard seat with distaste. Going around the back, he pulled out Scourge’s gear and gave a short, quiet whistle between his teeth.

Tir settled the yoke on the drowsy ox and glanced his way. “Scouting ahead, sir? Very sensible. There could be half-naked bandits lurking in the woods. Or bears.”

“I’ll take my turn in the wagon,” Bannan promised. “Where’s that—” He stopped and grinned at the loud trot coming up the road they’d traveled yesterday. No horse was as noisy as Scourge when he meant to be noticed. Sure enough, a moment later, he came into view, neck flexed and legs prancing. Making an entrance.

“They were only bandits,” Tir pointed out dryly, eyes bright above the mask. “Probably armed with farm tools.”

Scourge broke into a thunderous run straight at him. The poor ox bawled and tried to pull sideways. Tir stood his ground. The horse plunged to a stop, mane and tail flaring, his hooves almost touching the small man’s boots. “Farmer bandits,” Tir repeated, chin up. “With rusty pitchforks.”

A hoof slammed into the ground.

“If you two are done,” Bannan commented. “I’d like to get started.” Tir’s shrug and Scourge’s snort were equally expressive. He hid a smile.

Riding was better. Not only did Scourge demand a good part of his attention, being nothing loath to dump him on the road if ignored, but the saddle’s higher vantage let him see over the trailing mist. Not, Bannan thought ruefully, that he knew what he was looking for.

Something new.

Something different.

The horse’s eager strides left the ox, wagon, and Tir behind in short order. Bannan waved as they turned the next bend.

The road didn’t merely take them north; it climbed, slowly but surely, through steep, broken hills. The evenings were already cooler, easier for sleeping. He wouldn’t miss the cloying heat of Vorkoun’s nights. Winters would be harsher here; they’d been told few traveled once the snows hit. Fine with him, Bannan thought, envisioning a snug little cabin, evenings by a fire, a book. He’d brought some, planned to ask Lila to send more once he had a place of his own.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Scourge snorted and pretended to shy, a tower of muscle waiting an excuse to explode. Bannan grinned, keeping his seat with ease. “Too slow for you?” All at once, he was impatient too. The future lay ahead. He took a handful of mane and dug in his heels.

The horse’s leap would have snapped his head back, if he hadn’t leaned forward the instant those legs tucked beneath Scourge’s haunches. The leap turned to a surging run and the road became a blur. Trees lost their shape. Bannan pressed his cheek against the hot mighty neck and half closed his eyes, letting the motion consume him, as safe as he could be. Scourge might throw him in a fit of pique; he’d not let him fall.

So when, a short time later, he found himself flat on his back and gasping for air, Bannan was understandably shocked.

He glared up at Scourge. The horse was standing, legs braced, where he’d decided to stop and launch his rider.

“Idiot beast!” Bannan finally managed to sputter.

Scourge ignored him, head high, nostrils flared.

Not good.

Bannan forgot the parts of his body that would undoubtedly not want to ride in the wagon later and lifted his head for a wary look around.

Just ahead, their road was joined by another, narrower and heading more west than north. No threat there. His eyes searched the rest of their surroundings. Trees and moss. Rocks and road. The same as every other stretch they’d passed since Weken. Rough terrain, impossible to move through with any speed or numbers. “What is it?”

Scourge relaxed, shaking his head and neck until dust flew. Birds sang. A bee buzzed past, taking the western road.

Bannan rolled to his feet, feeling bruises but nothing worse. He’d landed on dirt, hadn’t he, though gray-pink boulders jutted everywhere, guaranteed to crack a skull. “You’re up to something,” he accused.

The horse gave him an innocent look, the only evidence of wrongdoing the rein left hanging after Bannan’s flight over his head.

Tir’s act was more convincing. Tir of the light fingers, who had uncanny luck with nillystones if unwatched. Tir, left well behind by their now-foolish gallop. They’d best go meet him, Bannan decided, his mood soured, and started toward the horse.

Scourge took a deliberate step back, a familiar wicked glint in his eye.

Bannan stopped. “Don’t you dare,” he warned in a pleasant, don’t alarm the horse, tone. The idiot beast would turn contrary here and now, when he’d been the fool and come away without water or food, armed with naught but the short eating knife at his belt.

When Tir caught up? Oh, he’d never hear the end of it.

That great head swung toward the western road. A restless hoof tapped rock.

Was that his game? “We’re not,” Bannan said firmly, “going that way.”

Scourge growled a singsong protest.

“No.”

The horse’s head lowered until his nose neared the ground. The rein trailed temptingly in the dust.

He readied himself, hands loose at his sides. “Easy, boy.”

Scourge snorted as if stung and bolted. Risking his feet, Bannan lunged for the rein as the huge body rushed by. He grabbed it and held.

Leather and buckles gave way with a snap, leaving him flat on his rump for the second time.

Bridleless, Scourge thundered down the little road, tossing his mane, tail up and proud.

In an instant, he was gone.

Bannan leaned back on his hands to consider how best to skin his four-footed betrayer when he returned. Perhaps it was time for that overdue gelding. “Should have brought a normal horse,” he told his deserted surroundings. Tir wasn’t alone in his doubt of Scourge’s usefulness on a farm.

Not that he’d brought Scourge. The beast was his shadow, impossible to govern or leave behind.

Until now.

Bannan got to his feet, brushed off the worst of the dust, and retrieved the remnants of the bridle, wrapping the long rein over elbow and palm as he pondered his options. Wait, he supposed. Tir and the wagon would be here eventually. A long and thirsty eventually, given the ox’s lethargic pace.

Then what? Leave Scourge?

“Serve you right,” he muttered, with a pensive gaze down the road the horse had taken. Less used than the Northward, but with signs of proper maintenance. Dead limbs didn’t lean over it. Low spots had been recently filled. Which meant . . .

“Someone at the other end.” He couldn’t see much more; the cleft through which the road ran bent sharply.

Whatever had drawn Scourge, the creature would return in his own good time or not at all. The world would be a smaller, more ordinary place without him. Bannan felt a lump rise in his throat and he shook his head. No. He wouldn’t believe Scourge had abandoned him.

He was about to turn back to wait for Tir when the rising sun peeked over the crags behind and flooded the road with light.

Making it beautiful.

What had been dark, moody trees became open forest, with glades beneath. The packed dirt warmed to reddish brown. Birds twittered and a heavy throated heron passed overhead.

A heron. He sniffed and nodded. Water ahead. A great deal of it.

And wasn’t he thirsty?

Bannan hung the bridle over a branch so Tir would know where he’d gone and draped the rein across his shoulders. He wasn’t chasing after the fool horse. He’d walk a little distance past the bend, see if he could find a stream.

The air was pleasant, the sun warm on his shoulders. He hadn’t gone far at all when his steps gained a four-footed echo.

Bannan smiled and didn’t look around.

Which was a mistake.

~ What’s happened to you? ~ From above.

Another, closer. ~ Does it hurt? ~ The question held a hopeful malice. Those of his kind who’d escaped penance took singular joy in his.

Wisp spat black ash and ignored them all. He hobbled down the path to his home, desperate to be alone, to understand. He would have gone faster if he didn’t keep . . .

He fell again, hard on one side, and fought to catch his breath. Crystal wept beneath him. Above, air pulsed, driven by great wings. Curious, they swooped perilously low, trying to see him within the narrow cleft.

~ What are you? ~

How could he answer, when he didn’t know himself?

Wisp forced himself to his feet and stumbled downward, falling twice more before he reached the blue shimmer that was the door to peace and safety. He lunged for it, only to strike a solid barrier.

The impact threw him backward. He huddled where he landed, rocking back and forth in sullen misery as he stared at what was now forbidden. Why?

What had she done?

~ You cannot stay here. ~ From above, with none of the mockery of the others. ~ You must return to her world. ~ The bone-shaking timbre of the voice left no doubt.

Sei.

Wisp looked up. The being had shaped itself into one of his kind, though none of his kind would be this gaudy emerald green. Its clawed feet clenched the rock wall above the blue shimmer, but the limbs connected to those feet shouldn’t have bent at such angles. The wings folded reasonably, but the bearded face and maned neck were too large for the body. As for the fanged jaw—that was farce. Though sei tried, their manifestations were never perfect. Which was just as well. It was important to know what you faced.

~ What did she do? ~ Wisp demanded. Tried to demand. Nothing came out. Why could he hear, but not speak? Instead, he lifted a limb. One ended in a man’s hand, the other in a proper set of claws. The rest of his body was the same, a horrible blend of what he’d been and this—this travesty.

The sei understood. ~ You fled before the transformation was complete. ~

This was somehow his fault? Wisp trembled in fury, clawed feet—foot—shredding crystal. War was forbidden, not battle. And his kind excelled in battle.

~ We see an opportunity for your penance. ~

Opportunity and penance together in the same sentence was not, in his experience, a good thing. The sei had considered his servitude with the turn-born to be an “opportunity” too.