Jynna wasn't certain what the girl would do once they returned to Lowna and she found herself surrounded by the Fal'Borna. She wasn't even sure that Vettala understood that they would be headed to the city before this day was out. S'Doryn had tried to explain this much to all of them over the past several days, as they awaited the end of their isolation. Vettala, however, had given no indication that she cared or even understood.
Jynna was ashamed to admit it, but she had avoided the injured children as well. She didn't run from them, and when forced to be near them, she tried to be as kind as she could be. But she never chose to be with them. The truth was she felt sorry for them and guilty for having escaped injury. Had her father not sent her away, she might well have been burned or killed herself. None of the other children said anything of the sort to her, but they didn't have to. She knew it was true. So she kept her distance. She avoided T'Kaar as well. Though she trusted that he meant her no harm, she hadn't liked him from the beginning. While others in Lowna had been willing to believe her tale and accept her as one of their own when it became clear that she had lost her family, he continued to doubt her. She liked his younger brother, T'Noth, and S'Doryn, though she even tried to keep away from them at times. Both of them asked her questions constantly. Do you recall seeing anyone unusual in the market that day? Is there more you can tell us about the sickness that took your parents? What else do you remember?
I remember everything! she wanted to scream at them. I remember it all, and I just want to forget!
That was why she stayed with Etan. He didn't ask her anything. He didn't bear any scars from that night, at least none that she could see. He was just like her: sad and scared and desperate to think about anything other than their last day in Tivston.
If only they would let her.
"Here he comes again," Etan said softly, nodding toward the bottom of the hill.
S'Doryn was trudging up the slope, the morning sun at his back so that his shadow reached up the hill, darkening the golden grasses. She'd spotted him several moments before, and she merely nodded.
"He'll ask you more questions," Etan told her.
Jynna nodded at this as well.
"They have to let us live with them, right?" he said. "Even if we can't tell them anything?"
"They don't have to, but they will."
She was mostly certain of this. S'Doryn and T'Noth were too nice to leave them out here alone after all they'd been through. But she wasn't totally sure, which was why she tried to answer the questions as well as she could. Her father and brothers had spoken of the Fal'Borna; of how fierce they were in battle, and of how wary they remained of outsiders. She saw how T'Kaar looked at her still, and she knew this last was true. She remembered U'Selle, the a'laq from Lowna, and she wondered if the woman would welcome the Y'Qatt back to the village if Jynna didn't tell these men what they needed to know. U'Selle had seemed fair-minded, but as a'laq she could do nothing that might endanger her people. What if that included letting Jynna and the others stay with them?
"Try to remember, Jynna," Etan whispered as S'Doryn drew nearer. "It'll be better if you remember."
"I am trying," she shot back in a low voice.
They didn't have time for more.
"We've been looking for you," the Fal'Borna said, as he reached the top of the hill. He was slightly out of breath, and tiny beads of sweat covered his brow. His bright yellow eyes flicked toward Vettala. "For all three of you, actually. We'll be leaving soon, returning to Lowna."
"So you are taking us with you," Etan said.
S'Doryn frowned, though there was a bit of a smile on his lips. "Of course we are. You thought we'd leave you here?"
Etan shrugged and wouldn't look at him again. After several moments, the Fal'Borna glanced at Jynna, a question in his eyes.
"I haven't been able to answer your questions," she said. "We were afraid you were angry with us."
He shook his head and smiled, the kind smile she remembered from the first morning she met him. An instant later, though, his brow creased again. "No," he said. "We're not angry. If we thought you were keeping things from us on purpose, then maybe we'd be angry. But I don't think you're doing that."
"We're not."
"Tell me about the woman again," he said. "The Mettai." They'd been through this before. Then again, they'd been through everything at least two or three times, and the old woman was the only odd thing that Jynna could recall from that last day in Tivston.
"What do you want to know?" Jynna asked, her voice flat. "When you found her, she was doing magic. Isn't that right?"
"Yes. She was in a thicket of trees, with her baskets spread out around her."
"And do you know what she was doing to them?"
"I've told you. I know, but I can't say. I promised her."
"Jynna, there's a good chance that this woman is dead by now, killed by the same pestilence that took your family."
"What if she's not?"
"What if she's responsible for what happened to your village?" S'Doryn answered.
"She isn't."
"What if she lied to you, Jynna? What if none of what she told you about the magic she was doing was true?"
Jynna shook her head and opened her mouth to deny it, but then she stopped herself. Maybe S'Doryn was right. How much did she really know about the woman? Hadn't she been afraid of her at first? Hadn't she tried to run away?
"She was coloring her baskets," she finally said, her voice low. "Coloring them?"
"Mettai baskets are supposed to be made by hand and dyed by hand, too. They're less valuable if they're colored by magic. But she had some new ones that she needed to color, and she hadn't brought her dyes with her."
"And that's what she was doing when you found her."
She nodded. "She made me swear that I wouldn't tell. And when I promised, she gave me another basket."
S'Doryn nodded slowly, but he was frowning still, as if deep in thought. "So she only had out a few of her baskets."
Jynna stared at him. "What?"
"Well, you make it sound as though she only needed to color a small number of baskets. The new ones, right? So if that's the case, she would have had out only those that needed coloring."
Jynna shook her head slowly. "She had all of them out." Her stomach felt queasy and her mouth had gone dry.
"You're certain?"
She nodded, feeling more ill by the moment. Had the woman lied to her? If she wasn't coloring the baskets, what was she really doing to them? "I helped her pack them up and carry them to the marketplace. She had all of them out, spread in a half circle."
"And you're certain she was really using magic on them."
"She'd cut herself. That's how they do it, right? They use their blood?" "Yes."
"She was doing magic, then." A tear rolled down her cheek and then another.
“Jynna-"
"It's my fault," she sobbed. "I should have run and found my father as soon as I saw her. That's what I started to do, but she called me back and I listened to her."
"We don't know anything for certain, not yet."
"But she lied to me!"
S'Doryn hesitated. "She may have, yes."
"She must have been doing something to those baskets. Why else would she lie? She put a curse on them or something. She made everyone sick."
"Not you," he said. "You say you handled the baskets?"
Jynna nodded, took a long breath, nodded again. Perhaps it wasn't her fault after all. "Yes, I helped her pack them, and she gave me two. One I gave to my teacher, the other I took home to my mother."
S'Doryn opened his hands and smiled. "Well, then it probably wasn't the baskets, right?"
"Right." She actually managed a smile, though it faded quickly. "But then why would she lie to me?"
"Most likely she colored all her baskets with magic, and didn't want you to know. You're right: They are more valuable when they're dyed by hand. She probably was afraid they'd fetch a lower price in the marketplace if you knew the truth."