Lost Truth, Page 2

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  The wind had dried Alissa by the time she passed the abandoned city of Ese’ Nawoer. The thick walls that encircled it directed the rising heat into a soft upward blue swirl that she imagined looked like restless souls rising to heaven. She skirted the updraft, feeling eerie, even though all but one of Ese’ Nawoer’s ghosts were gone. Just ahead lay the Hold. The nearly empty fortress rested snug against a towering crag. Behind it, the mountain dropped in a sheer cliff, plunging down to the floodplain that led to the distant sea.

  Once the Hold had been a hidden place of learning where raku Masters taught select humans, Keepers, how to use their stunted-by-comparison magical abilities. But of all the Masters, only Useless and Connen-Neute remained. Twenty years ago, Bailic, a Keeper, had convinced the Hold that a map Alissa’s father had drawn led to a fabled lost colony of Masters. But it was an argument between Useless and his wife, Keribdis, that prompted the strong-willed, self-proclaimed matriarch to take the rest of the conclave and fly across the sea to find them. She had been hoping to cause a shift in power. What she did was empty the Hold and make it vulnerable.

  Bailic murdered the Keepers that remained, Alissa’s father among them. With the Hold empty and Useless trapped in its cellar, Bailic was free to set his plan in motion. He wanted to force the ghosts of Ese’ Nawoer to spread their madness among the foothills and plains, stepping forward as the land’s grand and glorious redeemer when he deemed the plains and foothills punished enough for having shunned him.

  Between Alissa and Lodesh, they had stopped him, but the skies had been empty of all but feral rakus for almost twenty years. Despite Useless’s searching by wing and mind, he had never caught a glimpse or whisper. The rest of the raku were dead, perished in their search.

  The Hold’s tower glinted yellow in the sun just now reaching the surrounding fallow fields and hearth-wood forest. But it was to the walled garden surrounding the Hold that Beast angled them. Wings moving in a flurry of backward grace, Beast put down in a clearing Alissa would have said was too small to land in. The chaos that twenty years of neglect had wrought in Useless’s garden brought a grimace to Alissa: tangled fruit trees, beds of flowers overwhelmed by grass, pathways overgrown and moss-covered. It was a mess.

  Fatigue fell upon Alissa as Beast seemed to disappear. Only flight, fear, or Beast’s newest preoccupation with dancing would bring her to the forefront of Alissa’s thoughts. Weary, Alissa settled the eggs on the grass so as to not accidentally incorporate them when she shifted to her original, human form.

  Alissa sent a thought into her source, instigating the loop of power that gave her wards strength. She set the tracings in her mind to glow with the proper pattern. A touch more energy, and the disconnection of time plucked her as the ward jumped from her thoughts to her body.

  In a heartbeat, the tangled garden vanished. She dissolved to a thought, changed that thought to her human form, then made the thought a reality. At the last moment, she added a second ward to the first to ensure she would be clothed when she reappeared. She swirled back into the physical world, her ill-made shoes standing in the large oval she had pressed out in the wet grass. Alissa straightened as the chill of the spring morning shocked her awake. Clutching her arms about herself, she looked over her Master’s garb.

  It had taken her all winter, and more attempts than she would like to admit, but she had finally fixed another thought-form into her memory. Smiling in satisfaction, she shook out her floor-length skirt. It wasn’t the elaborate attire Connen-Neute and Useless could fashion, but it adhered to the basic outline that designated her a Master instead of a Keeper.

  A knee-length, dark green sleeveless vest was bound tight about her waist with a black scarf whose hem brushed her ugly shoes. Below the vest was a matching green skirt edged with a gold ribbon. A blouse the color of sand finished the outfit, its sleeves deep enough to serve as pockets if she wanted. The shadows of ivy leaves were woven into the fabric of both the vest and blouse. Connen-Neute had patiently spent two months teaching her the pattern.

  Lips pressed, Alissa ran her hand over her hair. It had gotten down to the middle of her back this winter. Strell had threatened to punch Lodesh in the mouth if Lodesh gave in to Alissa’s pleading and cut it for her. Strell was from the desert plains, and long hair was synonymous with status. Alissa had been raised foothills, and long hair was synonymous with irritation. Being fair as it was, it didn’t make her look any more like a plainswoman, and she saw no use for it. Her features were a scandalous mix of foothills and plains. Strell said the coastal people were much as she was, and she would love to be able to walk down the street with impunity.

  Wondering what time it was, Alissa bent to retrieve her watch from the ground, where it had fallen when she shifted. Metal was too dense to break down and so remained unchanged. The oversized bland ring with a hole in the band was too large to wear as a ring in her smaller form, and Alissa dropped it into a pocket. When dangled in the sun, the ring would show her what time it was by where the light fell upon the hours scratched on the inside of the band.

  The repeated thunk of an ax into wood drew her attention, and she gathered her eggs into the flap of fabric her sleeve made. They made a comfortable weight as she picked her way through the damp grass to the overgrown path. Useless’s formal gardens were too extensive to keep up with by herself. In its prime, Useless had kept all his Keeper students out here. Now it was just her and occasionally Connen-Neute when he did something to irritate Useless—which wasn’t as often as she wished.

  She slowly made her way to the kitchen, mindful of the eggs. The rhythmic crack of wood grew louder, and the banter of two voices brought her to a standstill. She peeked around the corner of the path to see both Strell and Lodesh before the door to the kitchen, splitting wood for the fire. Her heart gave a lurch, and she drew back into the shadows.

  Strell had stripped to his waist. The morning sun had yet to find him, and his dark skin glinted in the shadow-light. Though he looked too thin and tall to be able to wield the heavy metal, he moved with a confident precision, striking the wood Lodesh was setting up for him with almost a vengeful force. His muscles slid smoothly as he swung the ax. Sweat trickled down his shaven face, catching into drips at the cleft in his chin. His shoulder-length hair was tied out of his way, the loose waves all the darker for being damp from his sweat.

  Her eyes traveled over his lanky build as he worked, and she warmed from her thoughts. Strell had spent much of his life as a minstrel, and his occasional, worldly-wise comments attracted her as much as his exotic plains appearance. They had met by chance: she traveling to the Hold, he fleeing the pain of learning that his family had died in a freak spring flood. That they had fallen in love while struggling to survive Bailic had been a shock to both of them. Useless wasn’t timid in expressing his unhappiness with the situation, but Strell and Alissa didn’t care. They had not overcome the scorn of two cultures to be held back by a third. Especially when it was one neither of them cared anything about.

  Beside Strell, Lodesh was a study in opposites. Dressed in traditional Keeper garb, he carried a refinement that spoke of an easy nobility and confidence. His green eyes glinted more often in mischief than anything else, standing at great odds to his past responsibilities as Ese’ Nawoer’s Warden. Shifting forward and back, he wove between Strell’s strikes with a well-earned dancer’s grace. He wore a sturdy but elegant cloak against the morning chill, and a hat covered his short, blond waves. His cheeks, too, were clean shaven after Alissa had pointed out last winter the beard he was growing made him look old. He was Ese’ Nawoer’s last ghost, brought back to life to absolve his curse.

  As Warden of the once populous city, he had denied entrance to the long-ago refugees from a plague of madness. Turning a deaf ear to the people as they cried for succor, or at the very least, a clean death, he and the other citizens of Ese’ Nawoer had watched in horror as the women and children outside tore themselves apart against the gates. For so hei
nous a crime, a onetime friend condemned Lodesh and his city to an eternity of servitude until they made amends. The city’s population had since found their rest, but as the one making the decision to keep the gates closed, Lodesh remained.

  A whisper of regret tinged with guilt swept over her. It had been over a year since Lodesh—driven by a love she had yet to experience—had betrayed her, allowing her to go 350 years back in time to a Hold that was alive and flourishing. She met him anew as an innocent youth, balanced on the cusp of becoming the Warden and beginning the inexorable slide to his fate. Thinking that a return to Strell was impossible, she had been captivated by his ardent desire and her wish to spare him his tragic future. But she had found her way back to Strell, complicating her ties to both of them. She could not bring herself to hate Lodesh for what he had put her through, but neither could she trust him completely.

  “You’re wrong,” Strell said to Lodesh between blows. He was speaking with a hard plains accent, as he did when agitated. “She loved me first.” The ax bit deep, with a dull thunk, to cleanly split the wood. “That means more than you want to admit.”

  “Loved you first?” Lodesh answered, his careful speech making Strell’s accent sound even more exotic. “That depends on your point of view. And what can a plainsman know of love? You all marry for gain. Love has nothing to do with marriage in the desert. Nothing at all.”

  Alissa hesitated on the path. They had fallen into one of their noncombative jousts with words. The winter had been painfully full of such conversations, calculated to start when they knew she was near. Each believed he would be the one Alissa wed. Tensions between the two men were as strong and hidden as the current of a deep, fast river.

  Strell chuckled. “Marry for gain? Not by choice. But perhaps we understand love better for having it unrequited most of the time.” He lifted the ax and brought it down a bare hand’s width from Lodesh. The well-dressed Keeper started, then looked up askance at him. His lips pressed together as he put another chunk of wood in its place, boldly keeping his hand upon it.

  The ax rose again. “I know for a fact she will choose me when it comes to the sticking point,” Strell said as he swung. Thunk. “I’ve saved her life more times than a beggar goes hungry.” Thunk. “A woman won’t throw that aside for fancy manners and sweet words that melt with the morning sun.” Thunk. Strell paused, leaning against the handle as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was cold, and steam rose from his bare shoulders.

  Lodesh brushed the bark from his sleeve as he straightened. “She doesn’t need your protection, Piper,” he said, and Alissa felt a flush of gratitude. It vanished as he added, “Not with Talo-Toecan looking after her. Shake the sand out of your ears and listen. A woman wants a man who can move her body and soul. A man with power, my desert friend.” He grinned, but she could see the seriousness behind his green eyes.

  “Power?” Strell blew as he caught his breath. “The last time I looked, your city was empty. And if you’re talking about your Keeper skills, she makes you look like a commoner—my dead friend.” Strell sent the ax into the wood.

  “I’m not dead,” Lodesh asserted, sounding hurt as he set another log in place.

  Grunting with effort, Strell brought the ax down. “You’re not all-living,” he shot back.

  “I’ll outlive you,” Lodesh said, and Alissa drew herself up, thinking the Warden had stepped over the line. But Strell laughed, leaving the ax stuck in the block as he kicked the split wood from his feet. Though their words were light and their manners civil, it was obvious their underground competition had grown fierce.

  Still breathing heavily, Strell looked at Lodesh. “The extra years your curse gives you won’t mean a thing after Alissa weds me, and she will.” He yanked the ax free. “Love stretches beyond the grave. Your patient waiting will mean nothing.”

  Anger flickered across Lodesh’s face, then vanished. He straightened to his full height and ran a hand under his elegant hat. “No,” he said, shaking his head as if explaining something to a child. “Despite her human beginnings, Alissa is a raku. They live in the present. Once you’re gone, she’ll forget.” His manner shifted, becoming lighter. “But I’ll tell you what. We’ll switch off, if you like. I get her for the first fifty years. You can have her the next.”

  A small sound of outrage slipped from Alissa.

  “Untie your tent and blow away,” Strell said with a chuckle. “I get her the first fifty years. After that, it won’t matter to me.”

  She stiffened. Angry, she strode forward, her shoes crunching on the gravel Useless had set down just this week. The men spun to face her. Lodesh found his voice first, carefully brushing his short Keeper’s vest smooth. “Alissa! Can I help you with those eggs?”

  She pushed between them, her temper worsening as she tripped on the scattered wood. She had no idea that it had gotten this bad. With one hand, she yanked the door to the kitchen open. Leaving them to stare at each other in a masculine bewilderment, she slammed the door.

  “Alissa?” came Lodesh’s mental question, and she blocked him out, thinking it was unfair the Keeper would try to talk to her through the walls when Strell couldn’t.

  Fuming, Alissa felt her way across the Hold’s kitchen to the dry sink as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. A globe of warded light glowed in a corner, setting her tracings to resonate when she came within a raku length of it. “Good morning, Useless,” she said sullenly, sensing his presence with a quick mental search. There was a welcoming chitter of noise from the open rafters, and she wasn’t surprised when Talon, her pet kestrel, dropped to her shoulder.

  The small bird’s claws dug painfully into Alissa, and she moved her to the back of a chair. Alissa ran a finger over the bird’s markings, long since gray with age, as she snuck a glance at Useless to estimate his reaction to her less-than-respectful greeting.

  “Good morning,” the Master said slowly as he looked up from his work. By the stench, she guessed he was mixing up a batch of masonry paste to repair another crack in the Hold’s twenty years of neglect. Her teacher was in his human guise, seeing as a raku couldn’t fit in the Hold’s kitchen. As her eyes adjusted, she took in his gold, floor-length, sleeveless vest, cream-colored shirt, and matching trousers. He had the same black scarf around his waist as she did. The light from his ward made odd shadows on his white eyebrows and his short hair, cropped so close it was almost nonexistent. Wrinkles edged a serious-looking face and a hawklike nose.

  More old than young, he nevertheless appeared to be in his sixth decade, not his eightieth. The fingers gripping the stirring rod were abnormally long, with four segments rather than the usual three. They, along with his golden eyes, gave away his raku origins even when in his human form. But Alissa returned without fail to her original short fingers and gray eyes when shifting from raku to human. Even as a Master, she didn’t quite fit in.

  Avoiding his questioning look, Alissa washed and stacked the eggs in a bowl. One was cracked, and she put it on top. Still upset, she slumped at one of the narrow black tables. Talon hopped close to bump her head under Alissa’s fingers. Fingers moving aimlessly over her bird, Alissa stared at nothing. She had to get Strell and Lodesh sorted out in her mind. Soon.

  The chirping of sparrows intruded as the kitchen door opened and closed. Alissa didn’t look up, knowing it was Strell and Lodesh. The soft and certain sounds of wood being stacked intruded.

  Lodesh busied himself at the smallest of the three hearths. “Would you like some eggs with your toast, Alissa?” he asked cheerfully.

  Alissa looked up, thinking his courtly figure looked odd with the heavy pan in his hand. “Of course I want eggs,” she said. “Why would I bother to bring them back if I didn’t?”

  Useless hesitated in stirring his paste. His eyebrows bunched, and Alissa added contritely, “Sorry. I’d like some eggs. Thank you.”

  Her gaze fell upon Strell, noticing he had put his shirt back on. His shoulders pulled at the brown fabric as he stacke
d the wood. There was a click as Useless set his stirring rod down. “Are you feeling well, Alissa?”

  She flicked her gaze up and away. “No. I mean, yes. I’m fine.” She took a slow breath, settling her eyes and fingers on Talon. She wasn’t going to tell Useless what she had overheard. He would only put more restrictions on her. Rules were his answer to everything. “It’s spring,” she said impulsively. “I want to go to the plains.”

  “Have you found your mother’s thought signature yet?”

  “No-o-o-o,” she moaned. “But—”

  “Then you know your answer.”

  Alissa’s brow furrowed. There was a soft flutter as Talon retreated to the rafters. Strell and Lodesh glanced at each other uneasily, but Alissa’s forthcoming complaint was interrupted as Connen-Neute pulled open the garden door. In his human guise, he was tall and scholarly, dusky of hair and solemn of manner. His long face was pinched in apology as he gave Useless a sheepish look. Connen-Neute wouldn’t meet her eyes, and she was pleased to see him sweating under his black and gray Master’s vest and trousers.

  Talo-Toecan sighed and pushed out a chair across from him. “Come here, Alissa. I’d like to speak with you for a moment. Alone, gentlemen, if you don’t mind?”

  A quick breath of worry and defiance shifted Alissa as Lodesh pulled the pan he had set over the fire off the flames. “Not again,” he said sourly under his breath, avoiding her gaze as he headed for the open archway and the rest of the Hold.

  Strell was a soft blur of brown as he brushed past her, “I’ll be at the firepit, Alissa,” he murmured, taking the opposite direction of Lodesh and going back into the garden.

  Connen-Neute rose with an effortless movement, but Useless cleared his throat. “Connen-Neute? Stay,” he said, and the young Master blanched.

  From the dining hall came Lodesh’s voice: “Well, why didn’t you just say no humans?”