Forgotten Truth Page 6

  The truth ward took her, but she wanted to tell him. Useless’s teacher was possibly the only one who could help her. “I’m Alissa Meson, born to the same,” she stated, making her marital status clear. “And my responsibilities are to myself and the freedom of one other soul.” Whether he knew it or not, Lodesh’s future self looked to her to free him from his curse.

  “One other soul?” he questioned. “Go on.”

  “I’m a student—and Master of the Hold,” she finished, her chin raised defiantly as it was obvious he didn’t believe her.

  Redal-Stan topped off his cup, replacing what he had spilled. “You can’t be. Your eyes are,” he squinted in the fire-light, “gray? Anyway, they aren’t gold, and your fingers are short.”

  “So are yours,” she said. He thought her insane, deluded into believing she was a Master.

  “Regardless . . . you aren’t.”

  “Yes, I am.” Frustrated, she snuffed out the fire with an impervious field. Redal-Stan grunted in the new darkness. Keepers knew permeable fields, but only Masters knew of the potentially deadly impervious ones capable of smothering flames and anything else in them. “And as for my fingers, it’s amazing what a good book can do,” she said, speaking of the First Truth, the book that had made her jump from Keeper to Master possible. Demonstration complete, she relit the fire with a satisfied thought.

  Redal-Stan’s eyes meeting hers were wide. “Talo-Toecan taught you impervious fields?” he whispered hoarsely. “But even worse, told you of my First Truth! How else could you know that it’s possible for a Master to come from a human?”

  “It’s my book,” Alissa muttered with a flush of possessiveness, but he wasn’t listening, having lurched from the flagstones to his full, narrow height.

  “Talo-Toecan,” he whispered as his gaze went distant. “Your rebellious tendencies have lifted you far beyond the limits this time.”

  Useless a rebel? Alissa thought. Do tell? She stiffened as her gaze fell on Redal-Stan standing with one hand on the mantel, the other on his head.

  “I have to call him back,” he muttered. A thin arm was flung dramatically into the air. “I’ll have to call them all back! Burn him to ash, there will have to be a trial. A Bone and Ash, spit-in-the-wind quorum . . . What the Wolves was he thinking!” he exclaimed.

  Trial! she thought, fear slicing cleanly through her. She had made a mistake. She should have kept quiet! “Wait!” she cried. “It wasn’t his fault! Let me explain.”

  Alissa leaned forward and grasped his sleeve. He jerked free, staring down at her as if she had the plague. “One—ash-ridden, wind-shredded—reason.”

  And this was the sticky part. The truth ward wasn’t reliable when insanity figured into it. Alissa placed her cup on the nearby footstool and clasped her hands together. “I— uh . . . He . . . Talo-Toecan doesn’t know me yet?” she said, feeling sheepish.

  The silence was rather long, but true to his Master standing, Redal-Stan’s anger eased in the presence of a conundrum. He pulled Lodesh’s abandoned chair closer. Sitting down, he hunched so as to look her eye to eye. “Yet? I thought he was teaching you.”

  Cringing, Alissa decided if worse came to worst, she would drag him into the great hall and shift to prove her Master standing. It was hard to argue with a room full of sharp teeth and wings. She took a deep breath. “The Hold has been my home for nearly a year. Before that, the foothills.” His forehead wrinkled in disbelief, and she noticed he’d lost even the hair on his eyebrows. “The Hold,” she asserted, and at his derisive snort, she added, “My Hold, not yours.”

  Redal-Stan pursed his lips. “You will have to explain.”

  “Well,” she hid behind her cup, sneaking glances at him, “we were in the garden, Talo-Toecan and I—”

  “You said he doesn’t know you.”

  “He doesn’t—yet,” she said, then winced as Redal-Stan frowned. “Anyway, I was practicing to set up the pattern for tripping the lines using a septhama point. Strell was coming, so I shifted back from my—my raku form. I didn’t want to forget my clothes, so it took a long time.” Her eyes flicked up, but she saw interest, not amusement. “I-I’m not that good yet. The lines were set for a septhama point. I never meant to actually use it,” she continued, going desperate for answers. “Only compare it to what I had seen already. I think it was an accident!”

  “I see,” Redal-Stan breathed, his gaze distant. “You were in transition and got pulled into it.” His focus sharpened, and he blinked. “Wolves. Do you know what you’ve done?”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Your entire being was thought, so you sent yourself where only thoughts could go! How?” he barked, his eyes wondering. “The patterns don’t cross. You can’t use them together!” It was almost an accusation, and she stared helplessly at him. Then his face went slack. “You are a Master!” Reaching out, he grasped her hand and stared at it, cradled against his rough skin. “Wolves, tears, and sorrow. You’re the next Bone and Ash transeunt!”

  “I just want to go home,” she cried, tugging from his grip. She could stand no more. She had mislaid herself only to be found by a stranger wearing a dear friend’s face, been taken to a place she had made her own now strange and foreign, been threatened with being burned to commoner status, called a liar and a rogue, and all she wanted was to go home.

  Miserable, she stared fiercely at the fire, but it was no use. A tear slipped down as she sat stiffly in her chair that wasn’t even her chair anymore. “Nothing is right,” she whispered as an overwhelming sense of loss broke over her. “I can’t find Strell. . . .”

  There was a tug on her awareness, and Redal-Stan handed her a soft cloth. At his show of compassion, she allowed herself one gasping sob, then held her breath, refusing more. She felt another ward, and the edge of her sorrow inexplicably blunted. The tightness in her chest loosened, and she took a deep breath as her grip on her cup eased. “Sorry,” she mumbled, dabbing her eyes. Obviously it was a ward. She hated being manipulated, but she hated crying in front of people even more. “What kind of a ward was that?”

  “Talo-Toecan is teaching you to trip the lines before a ward of calming?” he said, aghast.

  “That’s what that was?” Glad for the distraction, she sniffed back her tears and set the pattern up to glow in her thoughts. “Do I have it right?” She glanced at him, looking for approval and finding a startled alarm.

  “M-m-m, yes. You do, actually.” Stiff fingers ran over his nonexistent hair in a gesture she was rapidly equating with worry. “Here.” He topped off her cup. “Have more of Nisi’s tea. She makes an excellent brew.” He hesitated. “Strell is your—ah—suitor? Is that short for something?”

  “No,” she said shortly.

  Seeing her eyes pinched in heartache, he added, “Best tell me now, while the ward lasts.” He froze in his reach for the fire irons. “Ah—Strell isn’t the name of a Master.”

  “No. Strell is from the plains,” she said, suddenly wary.

  “They’re letting a Keeper court you?” he said, brown eyes wide.

  “They aren’t letting me do anything of the sort,” she said, and Redal-Stan knelt before the fire with a satisfied sound. “Strell is a commoner,” she finished.

  “A what!”

  “There’s no one left to choose from,” she said, “but feral beasts and dimming memories.”

  He said nothing as he took that in. Brow furrowed, he looked away to stir the fire. For a time there was no sound but the dry rattle of coals. “Is that why Keribdis isn’t teaching you?” he asked. “Did she . . .” He took on an uncomfortable look. “Does she go feral?”

  Alissa’s eyes widened with a sudden thought, and her pulse leapt. With a few words, she could change the path the Hold would take. Ese’Nawoer wouldn’t be cursed! Lodesh wouldn’t be condemned to an eternity of servitude. The Masters wouldn’t drown while trying to find a mythical island. The Hold would be strong and standing when she found it.

  She took an
eager breath only to have it slip from her in dismay. If the city wasn’t cursed, who would destroy Bailic? Perhaps he would do worse than he had. Perhaps he would marry her mother, and she wouldn’t even be born! Ashamed for her cowardice, she dropped her gaze to her tea. “I don’t think I should say anything,” she said.

  Redal-Stan set the fire iron away with an excessive clang. Alissa thought he might insist, but then he sighed and returned to slouch in his chair in an unmasterly sprawl. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “No telling what your words might change, and I think you would prefer to return to find the Hold as you left it, fallen though it is.”

  “I never said the Hold fell!” she exclaimed, meeting his knowing expression.

  “But it has, hasn’t it,” he said. “Talo-Toecan would never be allowed to instruct you if there was any choice. He isn’t trained for it.” The Master frowned. “Obviously.”

  Alissa bit her lip, resolving to watch her mouth.

  “So,” the Master said firmly, “Lodesh will be unhappy when he finds you gone, but Earan will be pleased. You should leave directly. Talo-Toecan always comes back early from his too-infrequent leaves. He shouldn’t make your acquaintance for another—six hundred years?”

  “Closer to four hundred, I think,” Alissa corrected, her thoughts very relieved in that he seemed sure he could get her back home.

  Redal-Stan went still. “Four hundred,” he repeated. “It happens so soon?”

  Her eyes widened, and he smiled a sad, uncomfortable smile. “No worry, Squirrel,” he said as he watched the amber depth of his tea. “I can keep my mouth shut. Let’s just get you back. And I’m anxious to see this new ward of yours.”

  He settled in his uncomfortable chair, set his cup aside, and waited. She stared at him, a sick feeling slipping through her. “I thought you would know how to get me home,” she said.

  Astonishment filled him. “Isn’t this a new ward?”

  “I told you,” she whispered, her stomach clenching. “It was an accident. I don’t even know how to trip the lines.”

  Redal-Stan stared at her “You’re jesting.”

  Alissa shook her head, her throat going tight. Redal-Stan opened his mouth but nothing came out. He pursed his lips and rubbed his head. Miserable, Alissa’s gaze drifted to her empty cup. She would never get home.

  “Well,” Redal-Stan said, “I can see no help for it. I’ll simply have to teach you how to trip the lines so we can piece together how you got here and then how to get you back.”

  Alissa’s head snapped up. “You will?” she cried, relieved.

  Redal-Stan’s eyes crinkled at the edges. “Yes, I’ll teach you the entirety of line tripping. It’s my specialty. Everyone learns it from me. No reason you shouldn’t as well. It might take as long as a week. Can you keep your mouth shut and your wards to yourself that long?”

  “Yes,” she said, not caring that her voice trembled. “As long as Talo-Toecan doesn’t see me.”

  “Ashes,” he muttered. “You’re only worried about Talo-Toecan? What about everyone else? Do we all go Bone and Ash feral?” he said crossly.

  Alissa dropped her gaze, refusing to explain, and he sighed. “Fine,” he said dryly. “Be in my chambers at the top of the sixth hour tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Redal-Stan.” She eased back in relief, glad he had dropped the issue. She was determined not to ask what the sixth hour was and make herself look foolish. Lodesh would know. He’d know which one of the tower’s rooms was Redal-Stan’s as well.

  “The only thing left is to decide if you will pose as Keeper or Master.” He grimaced as he weighed the teapot and set it back down. “The way I see it, you can either confine yourself to your human form and be the mad rogue student, who because of her innocence won’t be burned into commoner status, or you can be a Master refugee from the fabled lost colony over the sea.”

  “Lost colony!” she exclaimed, horrified.

  “We have to explain you somehow.” He drained his cup and looked at the empty teapot.

  “No.” Alissa shook her head vehemently. “Not a lost colony of Masters.” She wouldn’t start the rumors. She wouldn’t.

  “Really?” He watched her suspiciously. “Is that how we’re all done in?”

  Her mouth dropped open. Frowning, she shut it, refusing to say anything. He had guessed almost everything, and she had hardly said a word. Useless’s teacher was more clever than he looked. “I’ll be a mad Keeper, thank you,” she said stiffly.

  “Be sure,” he warned. “Once decided, it can’t be reversed.”

  “Beast?” Alissa whispered into her thoughts. “Can we do this?”

  “It will be my punishment for attacking the arrogant one,” Beast whispered forlornly, hiding herself all the deeper.

  “Oh, Beast,” Alissa thought gently. But Beast didn’t answer, and so Alissa nodded.

  “Keeper, then,” he said, clearly pleased he had wormed so much out of her. “Someone will have to double up. Being mad as you are, you rate a private room. Who knows what you will do next after pinning Earan to the table.”

  “Sorry,” Alissa mumbled, feeling herself warm.

  “From what I heard, he had it coming.”

  “Maybe.” Alissa looked away. “But it shouldn’t have happened.”

  “We all slip now and again,” he whispered, his eyes on the dying fire. It was almost to coals. There was the faintest tug on her awareness as a ward of sleep sifted over her. She tried to fight it, but the ward was too fast, and she slipped into an unwanted, troubled sleep.

  6

  His slippered feet ghosted on the rug in the great hall as Lodesh strode through the dark to the mouth of the first annex tunnel. The white glow of a sprig of asters peeped from his shirt pocket, having been pulled from the display at the foot of the stairs earlier. Entering the tunnel’s more certain gray, he smiled at the comforting smell of leather and horse. Redal-Stan had told him to go to bed, but he was of no mind for sleep. He had a favor to ask someone in the city.

  Soon the sound of grinding teeth on hay reached him. Someone was always awake in the stables, though more often than not it was the horses and not the students assigned to care for them. As expected, he found two girls asleep on cloth-covered bales of straw. He crouched and shook one awake. Blinking in the torchlight, she rubbed her eyes. Upon seeing whom it was, she sat up and reached for her friend.

  “Sh-h-h . . .” Lodesh said. “Go back to sleep, Coren. I just wanted to tell you I’m taking my horse.”

  “I’ll get him,” she whispered urgently. “I should have been awake.” Her face was pinched, making her all the more comely.

  “No, you shouldn’t. It’s the middle of the night. Only madmen and fools in love are up at this hour.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, and Lodesh presented her with the asters. Just as he had hoped, she blushed. “Now go back to sleep and dream of that lad I saw you eyeing in the streets last week.” Lodesh sat back on his heels. “He’s apprenticed to the weaver guild, isn’t he?”

  She nodded, eyes lowered as she twirled the stem in embarrassment.

  “He would make a fine match,” Lodesh said. “Give him a few years to grow up.” He stood, winked, and humming softly, located his boots and tack, filling a cup with grain in passing.

  “G’d evening, Nightshade,” he murmured, stroking the nose of the beautiful black animal who had woken and come forward at the sound of sliding grain. After offering her a quick handful, he moved on.

  “Tempest,” he whispered. “You’re looking better.” Sidled against the back of a box stall was a new arrival. His ears went back at Lodesh’s approach. The stink of rakus was unfamiliar to the gelding, and Lodesh knew he reeked of it. There would be no attempt at taming him. As soon as his leg was sound, he would return to the wild, but managed, herd.

  Smiling, he came to a tall gray. There was no hesitation here, and the smooth-limbed beast nuzzled him aggressively for the grain. “Easy, Tidbit.” He laughed. “Do you li
ke the stables, or would you prefer the open field as would I?” Lodesh gave her a handful of grain and stepped away.

  “Good evening, Frightful,” he breathed, and a long-nosed, awkwardly formed horse hesitated at his dinner, flicking a tattered ear before resuming his grinding. Lodesh hung his bit and pad on the hook and slipped on his boots. “I know you just got here and were undoubtedly planning on regaling Tidbit with your tales of the field, but I need to return to the city.”

  As if understanding, the horse shifted his hindquarters, nearly pinning Lodesh against the wall. Dancing clear, Lodesh shoved him back over. “Please, Frightful. No horse here is as fast and steady as you. I can’t trust anyone else.”

  An ear flicked back, then forward. The grinding teeth stilled, and a clear eye focused on him, black in the almost nonexistent light. Encouraged, Lodesh scratched the tender skin where the flies knew a horse’s tail couldn’t reach. “I go to see Sati,” he whispered into a soft ear, and Frightful snatched a last mouthful of hay and sighed.

  Grinning, Lodesh fastened the pad he used for a saddle and slipped the rope bit in place. The clops echoing off the low roof seemed inordinately loud, and it was with relief that he unlocked the thick stable doors and went into the moonlit yard. He turned as he mounted to wave at the two stable hands standing by the door. They waved back before scampering inside, undoubtedly to compare whispered notes until they fell asleep again.

  Lodesh relaxed, glad he could let Frightful find his way. His mind was swirling, returning time and again to the mystery of Alissa. She was as irritating as a splinter and equally hard to ignore. And rogue, he thought, taking a quick breath. Who knew what she could do? Honesty forced him to admit a portion of his interest was sighted along that line. But it was more than that. He had chased the dangerous and won the unwinnable before. No. It was almost as if he was smitten with her.

  How, he wondered as he slipped under the trees, had that happened? He wasn’t a dewy-eyed goat herder to moon over a pretty face, even if that pretty face sheltered an indomitable will and intelligent spirit. She hadn’t even noticed his charms but saw right through them, treating him with an easy friendship he hadn’t had in—in years. He wouldn’t allow himself to be open to that kind of pain again.