Free Carousel Seas by Sharon Lee Page A

well-wish.”
    “Of course it is.”
    * * *
    The day had turned into a scorcher, and night hadn’t brought much relief. The only thing that made the proximity of the carousel tolerable was the wind generated by the passing of the animals. With the ride locked down for the night, it was stifling under the roof, and when I stepped out to pull the storm walls together, heat rose in waves off of the asphalt and smacked me in the face.
    By the time I had the walls in place and the door closed, you could’ve wrung me out like a dishrag and hung me over the fence to dry.
    I’d just slipped the padlock key into the pocket of my jeans, when I felt a . . . frisson, like something with a lot of cold feet had marched down my spine. Straightening, I reached for the land, sending a query, and almost immediately receiving the impression of weight , somewhere in the darkness to the right; in the space between the carousel and Summer’s Wheel.
    A weight on the land—mundane folk don’t often have much, or any, land magic in their makeup. They pass along and over the land as unremarked as dead leaves dancing across the street on a playful breeze.
    Trenvay , though . . . trenvay are tied to the land; they are magic; and despite what they tell you in novels, magic has weight, though it shouldn’t, according to Mr. Ignat’, be a burden . Others who are not native to this land of which I am Guardian may also have weight. Specifically, those who possess jikinap , such as an Ozali from another of the Worlds might—and those would also weigh upon the land. The more powerful the trenvay or the Ozali was, the heavier they would stand.
    The person skulking nearby, now . . . I thought they might be trenvay of a certain age and service. Respectable; say, middle-aged. Possibly Ozali, but if so, an Ozali new to power.
    Whoever it was, they were motionless, as if they had crouched down and were hoping to pass undetected. Another reason I was thinking trenvay . I still didn’t know all of the Archers Beach trenvay , though I was working on it. If somebody decided to take action and meet the Guardian, and then been overcome with shyness . . .
    I’m not particularly scary-looking, but some trenvay are so timid, rabbits look heroic in comparison.
    So, a timid trenvay , come to see the Guardian, now trembling at their own temerity. That was how we’d play it.
    Again, I reached to the land, projecting calm welcome, and spoke very quietly, trusting that my voice would carry far enough.
    “Good evening. My name’s Kate. I’d like to meet you; to learn your name and your service. I guarantee your safety. Nothing will happen to you while you are in my care.”
    I turned slowly, until I faced the narrow passage, which was, of course, dark as pitch, the utility light having burned out again.
    Carefully, I turned my hands palms up, showing them empty and unthreatening.
    There was a long moment when nothing happened, as if whoever was checking the level in the courage tank. Then, there came an increase in weight. I smiled, letting my approval flow, even as the land registered a second and far more substantial presence upon it.
    I smiled, recognizing Borgan—and then bit back a curse.
    The sense of the timid trenvay had evaporated.
    I thrust my awareness into the land, but it was no use. Whoever’d been waiting was gone.

CHAPTER NINE
    WEDNESDAY, JULY 5
    HIGH TIDE 7:10 P.M. EDT
    SUNSET 8:26 P.M.

    Borgan shook his head with a sigh.
    “Sorry ’bout that, Kate.”
    “You couldn’t have known,” I told him, then gave up a sigh of my own. “I just wish I’d gotten a fix on who they were, or where they call home.”
    “Land don’t know?”
    I shook my head.
    “And you’re sure they were trenvay ?”
    “Well, no, not that either. The land’s . . . ambiguous; it kinda, sorta half-recognized he/she/it. I figured trenvay because of the timidity—even a new Ozali is going to have some ’tude. Well.” I reached up to put my arm through Borgan’s.