the patch smooth. “Not since Dan Darrow took him to the borders of the Wraithmire.”
“Wait a minute.
That’s
the last anyone saw of him? That was eight days ago.”
The new moon, chill and thin, stood high in the afternoon sky above the Hold.
Across the court, Bill and Ams Puggle were deep in conference with Dal. One or two others of the little Alyn garrison clustered around, gesturing and muttering. Jenny could catch an occasional oath or a question about the number of gnomes in the slave-buying band and if they’d said anything about who their master was. Dal held out something that was passed around among the men— probably one of the gold pieces with which the bandits had been paid.
Pellanor
, Jenny thought.
Pellanor of Palmorgin. Dead these three months…
“I put the word to old Dan to keep mum about it, and he has, pretty much. But there’s been talk nonetheless. Nobody knows what to make of it.” Muffle turned the pot to the light to see how even the join was, then went back to work with his rasp. He’d been the town bully as a child, Jenny recalled, and always Lord Aver’s favorite. “Come indoors, Jen, you look froze through. The children will delight to see you.”
Aunt Jane, too?
But her heart ached at the thought of little Mag and Adric…
“And do
you
know what to make of it?”
Muffle’s eyes slid sideways to her, and his heavy mouth set. Then a slight shadow darkened the smithy door, and Ian said, “Mother?”
While everyone in the Hold had crowded around Lyra and Dal and the children, cold and exhausted after two nights of hiding in the woods, Jenny had hung back. She still felt stung by the chilled animosity in Aunt Jane’s eyes—and no wonder, she thought. John’s eldest aunt was ferociously protective of all three of her nephew’schildren. Of course she would blame Jenny for Ian’s attempted suicide and try to keep her from him if she could.
Jenny had felt apprehensive at the idea of meeting John, and more so at the thought of speaking again to Ian.
Now all her apprehension melted as her son stepped forward and caught her in his arms.
“Don’t be angry,” he said, hugging her tight. His voice was desperate in her ear. She saw he stood an inch taller than she, and the arms that crushed her to him had the beginnings of a man’s strength. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”
“If you say that again, I’ll put you over my knee!”
He laughed, the release of it shaking his whole body. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh since the summer, and it turned his face from a ghost’s to that of a living boy again, and that boy only thirteen. She laughed, too, looking into the sea-blue eyes.
Then her laughter faded. “It was Folcalor, wasn’t it?” she asked.
His face grew still.
“In your dreams?”
His mouth flinched, and he looked away. Beside the door Muffle stood silent, watching them with wary eyes as if he had seen them suddenly transform from people he knew—his brother’s wife and son—to something uncanny, speaking a language only they fully understood.
“Yes,” Ian said. “I think so. Yes.” And he met her gaze again.
“Love can’t wait, so open the gate,”
he rhymed, with a faint flush of shame tinging his dead-white cheeks. “It sounds so stupid when I say it, but it comes to me just as I’m drifting off to sleep. And it sticks in my mind.
Love can’t wait, so open the gate.
As if byopening the demon gate, I’ll have all the love I’ll ever want. I’ll never be lonely again.”
The love I never gave him.
She looked, mute, into her son’s face. But there was no blame there, or even thought about why he felt unloved. It was just a part of him that he accepted and dealt with as best he could.
“It makes a whole lot more sense when you’re asleep,” he added apologetically. “And it … it got so strong. Sometimes it’s just a whispering, and other times it seems like it’s the only thing real in the world. And it won’t
“Wait a minute.
That’s
the last anyone saw of him? That was eight days ago.”
The new moon, chill and thin, stood high in the afternoon sky above the Hold.
Across the court, Bill and Ams Puggle were deep in conference with Dal. One or two others of the little Alyn garrison clustered around, gesturing and muttering. Jenny could catch an occasional oath or a question about the number of gnomes in the slave-buying band and if they’d said anything about who their master was. Dal held out something that was passed around among the men— probably one of the gold pieces with which the bandits had been paid.
Pellanor
, Jenny thought.
Pellanor of Palmorgin. Dead these three months…
“I put the word to old Dan to keep mum about it, and he has, pretty much. But there’s been talk nonetheless. Nobody knows what to make of it.” Muffle turned the pot to the light to see how even the join was, then went back to work with his rasp. He’d been the town bully as a child, Jenny recalled, and always Lord Aver’s favorite. “Come indoors, Jen, you look froze through. The children will delight to see you.”
Aunt Jane, too?
But her heart ached at the thought of little Mag and Adric…
“And do
you
know what to make of it?”
Muffle’s eyes slid sideways to her, and his heavy mouth set. Then a slight shadow darkened the smithy door, and Ian said, “Mother?”
While everyone in the Hold had crowded around Lyra and Dal and the children, cold and exhausted after two nights of hiding in the woods, Jenny had hung back. She still felt stung by the chilled animosity in Aunt Jane’s eyes—and no wonder, she thought. John’s eldest aunt was ferociously protective of all three of her nephew’schildren. Of course she would blame Jenny for Ian’s attempted suicide and try to keep her from him if she could.
Jenny had felt apprehensive at the idea of meeting John, and more so at the thought of speaking again to Ian.
Now all her apprehension melted as her son stepped forward and caught her in his arms.
“Don’t be angry,” he said, hugging her tight. His voice was desperate in her ear. She saw he stood an inch taller than she, and the arms that crushed her to him had the beginnings of a man’s strength. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”
“If you say that again, I’ll put you over my knee!”
He laughed, the release of it shaking his whole body. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh since the summer, and it turned his face from a ghost’s to that of a living boy again, and that boy only thirteen. She laughed, too, looking into the sea-blue eyes.
Then her laughter faded. “It was Folcalor, wasn’t it?” she asked.
His face grew still.
“In your dreams?”
His mouth flinched, and he looked away. Beside the door Muffle stood silent, watching them with wary eyes as if he had seen them suddenly transform from people he knew—his brother’s wife and son—to something uncanny, speaking a language only they fully understood.
“Yes,” Ian said. “I think so. Yes.” And he met her gaze again.
“Love can’t wait, so open the gate,”
he rhymed, with a faint flush of shame tinging his dead-white cheeks. “It sounds so stupid when I say it, but it comes to me just as I’m drifting off to sleep. And it sticks in my mind.
Love can’t wait, so open the gate.
As if byopening the demon gate, I’ll have all the love I’ll ever want. I’ll never be lonely again.”
The love I never gave him.
She looked, mute, into her son’s face. But there was no blame there, or even thought about why he felt unloved. It was just a part of him that he accepted and dealt with as best he could.
“It makes a whole lot more sense when you’re asleep,” he added apologetically. “And it … it got so strong. Sometimes it’s just a whispering, and other times it seems like it’s the only thing real in the world. And it won’t
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