Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 36
have a big workshop where he could do stonework. Why limit
himself to repair work? People would need detailing for new
buildings. He could do that. So he needed that extra space,
regardless of what Father said.
Evening canted slowly over the village, lighting and
deepening the roofs as planes and parallelograms of russet and
amber. There came a time when there were shadows, and
Jordan knew this was when he should go back. The
hammering from the Penners' had stopped, and now only a few
lazy laughs drifted in, mixed with the barking of dogs called on
to herd the goats back home.
Jordan heard a sound behind him. It was only a
blackbird taking off, but he realized it too late to stop a cold
flush of adrenaline. He stood up, brushing dust off the backs of
his pants, and glanced at the dark line of the forest. Yes, go
back.
He did feel better now, his mind calmed of any bad
thoughts. His father was sitting in the doorway of the cottage,
whittling, as he did sometimes. Yawning, Jordan bade him
good night; his father barely glanced up, only grunting
acknowledgment. Jordan saw no sign of his mother or sister
inside. He padded up to the attic and threw himself on his
narrow bed.
As he drifted off, he saw and heard flashes reminiscent of
his nightmare last night. Every one would jolt him awake
again, a little pulse of fear setting him to roll over or hug the
blankets tighter about himself. He imagined something
creeping in through the little window and whispering in his ear.
He was sure someone had touched his face while he slept last
night, and that this had set the nightmares off. What if it had
been a morph?
Jordan sat up, blinking in the total darkness. It had not