Forgotten Truth

by Dawn Cook

  Clearly confused, Lodesh drew back, turning to his breakfast to give her the opportunity to collect herself. There was the harsh whine of a cicada, and he set his bowl down. “Redal-Stan has kept your lessons in the morning?” he said, clearly trying to change the subject.

  Alissa wiped her eyes and nodded. She knew they were red, and she wouldn’t look at him.

  “Then I would like to invite you to a gathering tonight.”

  Warning coursed through her as to where that might lead. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “It’s at the grove,” he drawled confidently, and Alissa looked up at his dancing eyes.

  “Really?” she breathed in anticipation, then grimaced. “All those people.”

  “It’s after sunset,” he continued. “Small gathering. Invited guests. The city has access during the day, but the citadel claimed that night as theirs. There won’t be lots of people mucking it up. Just dancing and music.”

  But music reminded her of Strell, and she pushed her blueberries about with her spoon. She blinked in surprise when Lodesh tilted her chin up. “Music reminds you of Strell?” he asked, and Alissa gave him a sour smile. “Lots of storytelling, then,” he asserted, and she winced. “That, too, eh?” he said softly. “Plenty of food,” he began, then hung his head in mock sadness and held up a protesting hand. “No,” he said with a forlorn sound. “I’m sure he eats.”

  Alissa couldn’t help her smile at his playacting. “I’m afraid so.”

  His dramatic melancholy vanished as Lodesh took a sip of tea. “Well, there must be something I can do that doesn’t remind you of him.” His cup hit the bench in a soft clink. “Alissa,” he said, serious. “I have made it my goal to see you happy.”

  “Don’t say that!” she exclaimed, frightened.

  “Why not?” His eyes flashed in defiance.

  Alissa’s gaze fell from his. “I’m going back to him.”

  “Oh.” It was a short sound, carrying all his disbelief. “I see. When?”

  “As soon as I learn how,” Alissa mumbled over the rim of her cup, then hesitated. The tea was bitter. Had Lodesh made it?

  “Learn how?” he asked.

  Alissa put her cup down. “I meant, as soon as I convince Redal-Stan I have enough self-control to be off the Hold’s grounds unchaperoned.”

  Lodesh leaned back, satisfied. “Ah. Rogue Keeper. All the responsibilities of a Keeper but the freedom of a student.” He paused. It may take years,” he cautioned.

  Alissa’s breath caught. “I’m well aware of that,” she said, stiffening.

  “It’s how it is, Alissa,” he said. “You’ve no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice,” she said tightly. “You just may not like it.”

  “Regardless,” he countered. “If you leave without permission, you can’t come back. And as you already have a source, your tracings will be burnt to ash so you can’t use them.”

  She looked away, her lips pursed. Still, he persisted. “The harsh reality is he likely won’t wait the possible twenty years necessary for you to return. And even if he did, he won’t be the same man or you the same woman.”

  Alissa glared, angry he was forcing her to come to grips with this. Twenty years? She was looking at over three hundred if she couldn’t get back.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he protested with a hint of anger. “I’ve seen it happen. Just because I’ve only walked the earth for twenty-two years doesn’t mean I haven’t seen pain.”

  Her anger abruptly softened. “I don’t think that at all, Lodesh.”

  Appearing lost in a memory, Lodesh went still. “I don’t want you to suffer that,” he said. “I want to see you happy.” His eyes cleared, focusing on her with a familiar longing that made her go cold. “I want to see you happy with me. I can see in your eyes that you could be happy with me. Why squander your time on a maybe?”

  “I love him, Lodesh,” she whispered.

  Lodesh took her bowl and put her hands in his. His face was frighteningly neutral. “Love springs from many sources. It need not be channeled into a single path.”

  Unable to meet his gaze, her eyes dropped to her hands cradled in his. A scuff of gravel jerked their attention up and she pulled away. It was Nisi in the fog with a plate in her hand. “Nisi!” Alissa exclaimed, relieved. “I looked for you in the dining hall.”

  “Yes, what a surprise,” Lodesh echoed distantly as he shifted away.

  Nisi hesitated. “If I’m intruding—”

  “No,” Alissa interrupted. “Not at all. Come sit down.”

  “Yes. Stay,” Lodesh said faintly.

  Smiling, Nisi edged down the stairs and sat beside Alissa. She silently eyed the blueberries. “A group of us girls are going to the city this morning, Alissa. Want to come with us? There’s a little candle shop, fourth arc out, where if you ask them, they will—”

  “Alissa has lessons this morning,” Lodesh interrupted.

  Peeved he hadn’t let her answer, Alissa glanced at him.

  “Oh. I forgot.” Nisi’s brow furrowed and she sipped her tea. “Perhaps tonight?”

  “Alissa is going to the grove with me tonight,” Lodesh asserted.

  Nisi drew back, the tips of her hair swinging to brush her shoulder. “All right.” Looking put out, she rubbed a spot on her cup.

  Not liking how he had made Nisi feel, Alissa frowned. “I haven’t said yes, yet,” she said.

  Lodesh opened his mouth, and as she gazed at him with wide, mocking eyes, he looked alarmed. “Yes!” He exploded into motion, jumping dramatically up onto the bench across from them and striking an elegant pose. “Alissa does as she chooses! And I hope,” he stepped down and took her hand, “she chooses to accompany me to the grove tonight.” His gaze probed her expectantly.

  Nisi gave a short bark of honest laughter. Alissa’s grin couldn’t be deterred either, and she nodded, forgiving him. The sound of running feet turned their heads as Ren jogged around the last turn. “Hey! Hi!” he exclaimed breathlessly as he came to an unsteady halt. “Am I late?”

  Lodesh shook his head with a cheerful resignation. “No. Have a seat. Use my cup. I’ve already had my tea.”

  Ren flopped to the bench, taking a huge quaff. “Ow!” he cried, leaning forward and dabbing at his lip. “Hounds, that hurt. Now I won’t be able to taste anything all day.”

  “Have you had breakfast?” Alissa asked, willing to share.

  “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

  Nisi gasped. “Get the surgeon. Ren’s not hungry!”

  “What’s going on, Ren?” Lodesh’s eyes ran over the restless student’s attire. “Isn’t that your good shirt? And a new pair of boots?”

  Ears red, Ren glanced at the brightly colored leather. “Yes. Mav gave them to me. Today is my anniversary.”

  Lodesh and Nisi exchanged knowing looks. Nisi patted Ren’s knee. “Good luck. I’m sure you will be recognized this year.”

  Ren smiled weakly. “Ashes. I hope so. The students’ hall is getting obnoxious. It would be grand having a room with a door, four walls, and a window.” He sighed dreamily.

  Nisi chuckled. “And a floor you sweep, and a hearth you supply with wood, and—”

  “No!” Ren wailed, waving a protesting hand. “Let me dream.”

  Alissa turned to Lodesh. “Anniversary?”

  Lodesh paused midchew, then nodded. Swallowing, he said, “That’s right. You’ve been here less than a week. It seems longer,” he added, and Alissa silently agreed. “Every year, a student is evaluated for possible Keeper status.”

  Nisi raised the pot of tea. Seeing Alissa’s smile, Nisi topped off all the cups. “Ren has been a student for twelve years,” Nisi said. “And though seventeen is young for a Keeper, there’s precedence.”

  Ren fidgeted. “The younger you start, the easier it is,” he explained.

  “So,” Alissa exclaimed, “today you might become a Keeper?”

  “I wish it was that easy.” Ren slumped, then
straightened. “But I’ll find out if I will be considered for such. The decision must be sanctioned by a caucus of Masters. There won’t be enough of them here until the first lowland frost and they start flocking back to the Hold.”

  From Alissa’s side came Nisi’s sigh. “Then it’s back to lessons and practice. I do so enjoy it when the wanderlust hits them this hard. Everyone gets a well-deserved break.” Nisi looked at Alissa apologetically. “Well, almost everyone.”

  Reminded, Alissa rose and brushed the crumbs from her skirt. “Speaking of which, I ought to go.”

  Lodesh rose with her. “I’ll come with you.”

  Alissa smiled wickedly. “Redal-Stan will remember you owe him two days in the students’ dining hall. He might insist you start tonight.”

  “Just as far as the kitchen,” he said, taking her empty plate and cup and helping her up the steps and onto the path.

  “Yes, go,” came Ren’s quick agreement. “Don’t get him in a mood, whatever you do.”

  “I’ll do all I can to further Redal-Stan’s good humor,” she said, warm with the feeling that she might be starting to fit in.

  Ren shifted awkwardly and mumbled, “Thanks.”

  Together, she and Lodesh walked to the kitchen. The path was designed for one, but they managed it side by side. She kept her eyes lowered, feeling awkward not for his closeness, but for the silence he kept. He was clearly thinking, and that worried Alissa. The bright blue of the kitchen door showed through the fog when he pulled her to a stop.

  “Alissa,” he said. “You’ll think on what I said?” he asked.

  Her gaze went to the path. She knew he wasn’t speaking of going to the grove but of his words concerning love. Her eyes rose to his against her will. His hope and vulnerability shone like honesty in a child. “Yes,” she said softly, not knowing why. Gathering her scattered self, she snatched the dishes from him and ran to the door.

  She would get home. She would get back to Strell.

  21

  Distracted by her worried thoughts, Alissa slowly as-cended the stairs. The pendulum hung unmoving below her in the middle of the great hall. It had been so ever since the Warden’s death. In her grip was a bowl of cooked ham chunks. Kally had pressed it into her hands with the assurance it would help put Redal-Stan in an accommodating mood.

  She slowed as the passage narrowed at the base of the tower, more from melancholy than from being out of breath from the climb. Alissa glanced at Useless’s shut door in passing. Part of her would be relieved to see his familiar face, but she knew it would be a false security. Seven more flights, and Alissa wearily found herself before Redal-Stan’s door. She took a deep breath before she tugged her skirt straight and knocked.

  “Alissa. You’re late. Get in here,” came his sour thought.

  Stifling a sigh, she pushed open the door to find him writing at his paper-strewn desk. His head came up at the disgusting scent of ham, and he set his quill down with meticulous care. “Morning, Redal-Stan,” she said, then turned to the balcony. “Connen-Neute.”

  Redal-Stan’s hand met his desk in a sharp slap. “Bone and Ash!” he cursed in disgust.

  “Told you,” Connen-Neute crowed as he moved from the shadows of the balcony’s pillars. “I told you she has keen eyes.”

  “What,” Alissa asked in confusion, “are you talking about?”

  His expression sullen and cranky, Redal-Stan sank back in his chair and stared into space. “Connen-Neute and I were discussing who was going to mind the Hold tonight and who was going to the citadel’s gathering.” He briefly met her eyes. “I don’t like to leave the Hold entirely empty of Masters. No telling what might happen.”

  Alissa silently agreed. “So what does that have to do with my eyes?”

  Clearly pleased, Connen-Neute sat on the long couch before Redal-Stan’s desk. “He didn’t think you would notice me under a ward of obscurity. I knew you would.”

  “Burn it to ash. I lost,” Redal-Stan moaned, his eyes on the ceiling.

  “There will be other gatherings under the mirth trees,” Connen-Neute said, and Alissa felt the ward drop from him.

  Redal-Stan stiffened, glaring irately. “Verbalize, infant,” he growled, then pointed at her. “I see Lodesh failed to impart even the beginnings of telling time to you.”

  Shrugging, Alissa set the bowl of ham on his desk, just out of his reach. “He tried, all the way to Ese’Nawoer. I can’t seem to get it. I can read the pendulum. But relating it to the sun?”

  Gaze fixed intently on the bowl, Redal-Stan leaned forward. “I’m not surprised. Lodesh owes me three days in the students’ dining hall.”

  “It was two days,” she said, more than a little peeved. With a single digit she pulled the bowl away as he reached for it. From beside her came Connen-Neute’s horrified intake of breath. “And why are you not surprised? Do you think me that stupid?” she added.

  Redal-Stan pursed his lips, standing up to take firm possession of the bowl. “Nothing of the sort,” he said as he fell back into his chair. “No Master can. And would you care for some?” He proffered her the bowl.

  Shuddering, she refused, then sat beside Connen-Neute on the couch. “I was raised foothills. I don’t eat anything that has feet.”

  The Master blinked, the long-handled fork halfway to his mouth. Eyes wide, his jaw snapped shut and the fork dropped. He glanced at Connen-Neute and back. “You don’t eat meat?” he asked in a hushed voice. “A raku who doesn’t eat meat? Don’t you get hungry?” Not waiting for her reply, he leaned and offered her a forkful. “Here. Maybe if you tried some.”

  “No, thank you.” Alissa struggled not to gag as he waved it under her nose. Undeterred, he extended it farther, brow high in encouragement. “I don’t eat meat, Redal-Stan!” she cried.

  “Perhaps if you tried it,” he persisted, then drew back at her fierce expression. “Maybe you just don’t like ham?” After a moment to be sure she was serious, he abandoned himself to the bowl’s contents. Alissa looked at Connen-Neute, surprised at his wistful dismay.

  “It seems,” Redal-Stan said between bites as he returned to their original topic, “that we’re too much in tune with the sun to be shackled with the self-imposed rules humanity indulges in to give predictability to their lives.”

  “But I wasn’t born a raku,” she protested.

  “But your mind is arranged as are theirs.”

  Alissa sighed, wondering if she was forever doomed to be behind her time.

  Redal-Stan sat back in thought. Wiping his mouth, he reached for a small box hidden under a sheaf of papers. He rummaged in it with several intriguing clatters. “There it is,” he said, snapping the box closed and handing her a single object.

  She weighed its heavy presence in her palm. “A ring?”

  He slumped into his chair with a very unmasterly sprawl. “It’s a clock.”

  “It’s a ring,” she said, holding it up and squinting. “With a hole where the stone fell out.” Connen-Neute shifted uneasily at her challenge, and she looked at him. “Well, it is.”

  “It is—a clock.” Lips pressed, Redal-Stan dared her to contradict him again. “If the sun were brighter, I’d show you how it works. It’s yours.”

  “Mine!” Blinking, Alissa extended it back. “I can’t. It’s too precious.”

  “On loan, then, until whenever,” he replied lightly.

  “Thank you.” Alissa slipped it into a pocket. It was too big to fit her finger. Later she would find a length of twine and wear it about her neck.

  “Hm-m-m.” Redal-Stan frowned. “I’ve asked Connen-Neute to sit in on the cataloging of your abilities so he may see that lack of knowledge is a natural state that must be rectified slowly, not all at once like a dog consuming a haunch of venison.”

  Losing his usual dignity, Connen-Neute slouched into the cushions. “He means to prove I’m not the only one who lacks the basics that a Master should know.”

  Redal-Stan placed a piece of ham in his mouth and c
hewed. “Hush.”

  “Half the Keepers know more than me!” Connen-Neute cried.

  “Enough! And verbalize!”

  Alissa watched in amusement, thinking the exchange was very familiar.

  “Well?” Redal-Stan said loudly, and she couldn’t help but jump. “What can you do?”

  Put on the spot, her mind went predictably blank. “Uh,” she stammered, “internal and external fields.” She hesitated. “Both permeable and impervious.”

  Redal-Stan blinked. “Wolves!” he cursed. “I forgot that.”

  “What’s an impervious field?” Connen-Neute asked.

  Redal-Stan waved absently. “Later. What else, Alissa?”

  “Um, wards of ignition, illumination, warming, stillness, sleep, silence, obscurity, and from you, calming. I can also maintain the appearance of scar tissue from that burn I showed you over my tracings with no conscious effort, and block my whereabouts from a mental search. Took me three months to learn how to do that.” She sighed with remembered frustration. Connen-Neute slumped, and thinking to bolster his spirits she added, “I’ve seen but have been asked to not practice several wards of offense that I can demonstrate.”

  Redal-Stan’s eyes were closed. He said nothing, and she began to wonder if she had done something wrong. “Wards of stillness, silence, tracing disguise, and wards of offense,” he finally said. “By my Master’s Wolves, Alissa. Where were you schooled? A war field?”

  She fussed with her sleeve and said, “Yes. I can also hide one ward within another to—”

  “Stop!” Redal-Stan raised a quick hand. “Perhaps you should leave, Connen-Neute.”

  It wasn’t a request, but the young Master didn’t move. His eyes turned determined.

  “That’s about it,” she hurriedly added as Redal-Stan’s brow furrowed at Connen-Neute’s blatant defiance. “The only other skills I have are wards of creation and—ah—line tripping.”

  “That’s it, eh?” Redal-Stan was decidedly sarcastic.