Hidden Truth

by Dawn Cook

“Exuberant dances celebrate the coming of a new year,” Alissa said drowsily, completely involved her daydream. “The music of pipes and drums weaves an ever-changing, never-ceasing melody. Gifts are made of the falling blossoms,exchanged between the as yet unpromised, a gentle query as to the possibility of a future union of matrimony.”

  In her thoughts Alissa saw an unremembered face with a lighthearted grace and an undeniable expression of longing. He held a single flower in his hands, a look of desire in his green eyes. Alissa jerked her eyes open in surprise. Far above her, a solitary white shadow was drifting down. Frozen where she sat, she watched it float first one way, then another. She held out a trembling hand, and a flower settled softly into it. A hauntingly familiar fragrance blossomed: the sweet, painful scent of hard-won wisdom, and sacrifice, and love.

  The unexplained ache of loss crashed over her, and her eyes closed against a tear. She held her breath, trying to remember, left with the feeling the memory hadn’t yet been lived. Slumped with an unknown grief, she opened her eyes to try to find a sense of what was real again. The sun hit the icicles rimming the trees, and the glittery shimmer through her tears made it seem as if the branches were alive with flowers.

  A tingling began in her palms, seeming to come from the flower. As she sat in shocked indecision, the tingling turned to a warmth that rose through her arms and filled her entire body, making her as warm as if it were summer. She couldn’t help but cry out at the sudden relief from the cold.

  A child laughed, and frightened, she scrambled to her feet before realizing it was a slump of snow and icicles falling to the ground. Her new warmth was gone. She felt herself go pale as the west wind slipped under the branches, seeming to tug at her. Silent and unnerved, she stood as the wind died and the hush turned profound. What the Wolves was going on?

  Magic? whispered a thought through her, and she shoved it away. But how else could she explain the flower and the one who had given it to her. He wasn’t from her imagination. Ashes, Alissa thought. He had felt like a memory. Her memory. Her desire. Her loss. But recalling a memory you hadn’t lived was impossible. Alissa’s gaze dropped to the white bloom cradled in her palm. Just as impossible as a flower falling from dormant branches.

  She tucked her flower behind her coat front, and the sky darkened as the sun went behind a developing cloud bank. Alarmed, she sent her gaze to Strell. He was looking at her across the distance, his eyes wide in dread. Alissa’s confusion shattered in a wash of panic as Bailic snatched the book from Strell and cuffed him into motion. Unusually docile, Strell took the abuse, lagging until Bailic pushed ahead of him, frustration in his every motion.

  Alissa held her breath as Bailic stalked past her. “Home,” he barked, never slowing.

  She fell into step beside Strell. “What happened?” she said in a hushed whisper.

  “Didn’t you see them?” Strell said, his face ashen. It was the first time she had seen him afraid, and Alissa felt the true beginnings of fear.

  “See who?”

  “He did it. The Navigator save us, Alissa. He woke the city.”

  Shocked and confused, Alissa stopped. “But he—”

  “He doesn’t know,” Strell whispered, tugging her into motion. “He didn’t see them.”

  Alissa glanced forward to Bailic. “See who?”

  Strell shook his head. “The city,” he said harshly as he pulled her into him and whispered in her ear. “It was alive. I saw it when I held your book. Somehow he woke them. He’s going to do it. He’s going to destroy the foothills and plains, whether the book is open or not.”

  Her heart gave a frightened thump. “What are you talking about? I didn’t see anything.”

  “Ghosts!” Strell hissed. “I know one when I see one, and the grove was full of them. Dancing, playing games, telling stories. Ashes, Alissa. Tell me you could at least hear the drums. I don’t want to be the only one to have seen them.”

  Alissa shook her head, fear making a quick tremor go through her. She glanced at Bailic’s stiffly held back ahead of them. “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” she said, stumblingas her pace broke from Strell’s. “And Useless said he couldn’t open the book; only I could.”

  “Burn it to ash, Alissa,” Strell said as he let her go. “Talo-Toecan never said Bailic couldn’t wake the city. I’m telling you it’s awake. And if Bailic finds out, we’re both dead.”

  Alissa said nothing, trying to find a way to understand what Strell was saying and what it meant to her. She felt her cheeks, stiff with cold, grow even colder. Bailic couldn’t have woken the city. He would have known. Not saying anything, she numbly moved her feet, wondering how much worse it could get.

  9

  “Bailic did what?” Useless said, clearly shocked.

  Alissa rubbed a hand under her nose. It was closer to sunrise than sunset, and the cold bit deep, relieved little from the tiny fire in the center of the firepit. Talon huddled close to her neck. The smooth feathers pressed against her seemed to make her all the more cold. “He took off most of Strell’s finger. With a ward. To punish him.”

  “Did you see it?” Useless asked, his brow pinched. “The ward, I mean?”

  “The ward!” she cried, shocked. “Bailic mutilated his hand, and you’re worried I might have learned how he did it? No. I didn’t!”

  Clearly relieved, he resettled his coat about him. “If all the piper lost was a finger because of his impertinence, he was fortunate. I warned you not to underestimate Bailic’s abilities or the depth of his depravity.” The Master frowned at her scowl. “Unfortunately, the loss of a finger is not enough to call our agreement ended. Is Strell all right?”

  “No,” she said, almost sullen. “And then he made us go to Ese’ Nawoer.” She dropped her eyes, feeling like a child complaining about an older sibling. “He wanted to see if he could use the book closed. Strell says he woke up the city—”

  Her instructor’s eyes went wide. “Wake Ese’ Nawoer? Bailic hasn’t the finesse to wake the dead.” He harrumphed. “Neither do I. And if he had woken them, he wouldn’t be sleeping in my room; he would be planning his next move.”

  “But Strell saw them,” she insisted. “He said the grove came alive with people! Bailic doesn’t know he woke the city because he didn’t see them.”

  “Did you see them?”

  Alissa winced, embarrassed. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe Strell, but it sounded so unreal. “There are no such thing as ghosts,” she said softly, and it was with no little relief that she saw the Master nod. Last fall, she had said there was no such thing as magic.

  “I thought not,” he said. “Plainsmen see ghosts when the wind blows the sand. It’s their nature. I would be more inclined to believe a fish can grow hair than Bailic can wake Ese’ Nawoer. Perhaps we will practice reaching my thoughts from a distance before we call it done, in case Bailic is foolish enough to leave the Hold again.”

  Alissa reached for the warmth of the fire, glad Useless supported her own beliefs that Strell had been imagining things. The small sack of dust her mother gave her slipped from behind her coat, and she tucked it back. “Bailic said leaving the Hold when the snow was so deep was clever,” she said, her eyes on the flames.

  Useless harrumphed again. “Trying it once and getting away with it is clever. Trying it twice and getting caught is foolish. He won’t do it again.”

  An uneasy silence descended as Useless removed his box of tea from under the bench. He added a handful of leaves to the steaming pot and set it to brew. The pot and the two cups had come into existence somewhere between Useless landing on her roof to wake her and her making her way down to the firepit. “May I see that bag for a moment?” he said casually. Alissa hesitated in confusion, and he added, “The one you just tucked away.”

  Startled, she took it from around her neck. Useless held out his hand, and she reluctantly let it slip from her grasp, not understanding her unwillingness. “Ah, this isn’t good,” he murmured, running a finger delicate
ly over her mother’s initials. He handed the bag back, frowning. “As soon as we have a large enough space of time, I’ll show you how to bind that source you have so untimely acquired. Until then, don’t let Bailic see it. If he takes it, I can’t replace it. Such a large volume as you have is typically generated from— ah—ashes. It’s a careful secret. Even Keepers don’t know.”

  Alissa settled the pouch back over her neck, tucking it in its usual spot behind her shirt. The unsettled feeling that had gripped her when Useless held the bag eased. “But you’re telling me?” she said, glad to know she had been right in what it was.

  “I like you,” he muttered. “Now,” he said, clearly changing the subject. “Let me see you set up the first circuit.”

  A sound of disappointment slipped from her. Useless might call her tracings a neural net and the first loop the primary circuit, but manipulating them was still something she already knew how to do. “But I know how to set up the first circuit,” she complained.

  “Then show me how fast you can do it,” he said with an infuriating patience.

  Alissa thumped her heels against the firepit’s bench. “Faster,” she said, thinking longingly of her abandoned bed. It was hard to justify leaving it for something she already knew. Learning how to reach Useless’s thoughts at will would be far more useful than more practice in setting up her primary loop. Eyes half vacant, half intent, she fussed with the fire. Maybe, she thought glumly, she could make a game of it. The next snap of the fire, and she would go.

  Alissa settled herself to wait, easing her thoughts with three slow breaths. The small fire collapsed in on itself with the sound of sliding coals and she jumped, slipping her awareness into her source with a quickness she hadn’t found before. The first crossed loop flowed into existence before her heart had finished its beat. She smiled. Holding herself calm had helped.

  “Playing with fire?” Useless said. His eyebrows were arched, and suddenly the night wasn’t so cold as she blushed. Talon responded to her emotions by pinching her shoulder painfully. “Even so,” he continued, “that was excellent.”His brow furrowed in thought. “You have permission to practice this alone. See how fast you can become before we meet again.”

  A grin edged over her. Seeing her smile, Useless chuckled. “Actually, it would be a good idea to leave you with a few other exercises to keep you out of trouble.”

  “That would be—wonderful,” she said, trying not to sound so blessedly eager. If he knew how excited she was, he might reconsider.

  “I’ve something in mind,” he continued. “It would test your abilities, stretch your endurance. It’s not a ward recommended so early in your career as a—student, but when done properly, it will offer you a measure of protection from Bailic.”

  Alissa’s pulse grew fast. Her first ward. “Show me?”

  He grimaced, clearly not convinced his idea was a good one. “Bailic’s faulty decision to name Strell the latent Keeper was undoubtedly due to seeing the destruction of your neural net caused by improperly removing my ward,” he said. “The layout of tracings are notably different between Keeper and commoner, but being a Keeper himself, Bailic can only perceive another’s tracings when invited or the subject is near to death as you were.”

  Alissa stifled a tremor. The pain in her mind had sent her so deep into her unconscious, she never would have found her way out but for Strell.

  “I would like . . .” He frowned. “. . . to give you a ward to overlay an illusion of scar tissue over your tracings. Once you master it, even if you should be injured to the point of profound unconsciousness again, Bailic won’t realize you’ve healed.” Turning to her, his golden eyes appeared to flicker eerily in the firelight. “Holding it in your thoughts would strengthen your stamina, give your eventual fields more staying power. It’s difficult, but if the ward is beyond you, there’s no harm done.” He hesitated. “Would you like to try?”

  “Hounds, yes!” she exclaimed, dropping her eyes as he laughed.

  With a final glance up at the star-filled sky, Useless drew his legs up under him. Sitting cross-legged on the bench, he hid his odd hands among the folds of his sleeves. “This will be easier to explain if we move our thoughts to your tracings.”

  Steeling herself, she nodded and closed her eyes. She heard his grunt of approval, and with a flash of outrage that was surprisingly easy to suppress, she allowed him among her uppermost thoughts. Alissa’s shoulders eased down. As Useless had promised, sharing her mental space was getting easier.

  “Now,” Useless thought, “you have deduced how to form fields in your thoughts?”

  She nodded, forgetting for a moment he couldn’t see. “Yes,” she affirmed, forming a bubble of thought.

  “So fast,” he mused, then louder, “That’s it. For this ward, you need a three-dimensional field large enough to encompass your entire neural net.”

  “The whole thing?” she asked, not sure what three-dimensional was but very clear upon the length and breadth of her thoughts.

  “It need not be much mass,” he thought. “Imagine a hollow sphere of mist encompassing every corner of your pattern.”

  Willing to try, Alissa focused on the bubble, or field as he called it, expanding it.

  “Good,” he encouraged. “Next, set up the primary circuit while maintaining the field. It might take several tries to find the balance of keeping both at once, so don’t be discouraged.”

  Alissa recalled her mornings when, while traveling to the Hold, she had practiced the art of seeing both her real sight and that of her mind’s eye simultaneously. To walk a stony path without tripping, yet retain her vision of her source, had left her with stubbed toes and banged shins. Eventually she gained the skill of it, but not before acquiring a reputation for being clumsy. Now the practice allowed her to easily hold her concentration as she manipulated the field and the pattern all at the same time. She had the first crossed loop up and glowing as quickly as she could imagine it. Alissa knew she must be grinning like an idiot by now, but she didn’t care.

  “Um, very good,” came his thought, and she grinned all the more. “If you would, show me what your neural net looked like before your burn healed.”

  Alissa hesitated. “How do I do that?”

  “From your memory,” he encouraged. “Recall it. It will show itself.”

  Steadying herself, she cast her memory back to when she first gazed in panic at the charred, twisted remains of her tracings.

  “Bone and Ash!” Useless exclaimed out loud, nearly jolting her attention from her tracings. His horror-struck reaction slammed into her in a wave of revulsion, shocking in its honesty. She struggled to hold the memory of the burn in place as he yanked his emotions back, smoothly hiding them. But she had seen, and she now knew she hadn’t been a sniveling weakling for nearly accepting Mistress Death’s invitation. Rather, it was a miracle that she had survived.

  “Alissa,” he thought shakily. “I had no idea. You escaped death from—from this?”

  She examined the holocaust spread before them with its ash and char smelling of cold, twisted metal and snow. After his response, it didn’t bother her anymore. She had survived. “Barely,” she thought tightly. “Strell convinced me to find a way back.”

  “I didn’t realize,” Useless seemed to whisper, apparently in awe of the destruction. “The pain alone would have . . . Even I—” Shuddering, he let his thoughts go unfinished. “Everyone gets their tracings burned badly at least once; perhaps now you’ll be more careful.” Clearly unnerved, Useless seemed to gather himself back together. “Well then, if you would turn your attention to your—your tracings.” Alissa heard him take a deep breath. “I have set up the relevant path in my own network to instigate the proper ward. Do you see it resonating against yours?”

  “Yes,” she thought. A simple, wide-flung pattern began to glow faintly, the blue black lines weaving behind her mind’s eye, giving off an even luminescence. The thin lines of gold that ran through the tracings seemed to fade
under the increased light.

  “When properly set, the ward will bind to your neural net, giving it the look of unusable scar tissue. Draw a trickle of energy from your primary loop to fill the paths I’ve indicated.”

  “Like this?” Alissa held everything as it was and allowed a ribbon of force from the first loop to enter the resonating paths. Immediately the lines of gold burst into life, making the larger pattern glow from within. She felt a slight tug. It was unfamiliar, and she resisted it.

  “No, don’t hold it so tightly,” Useless advised. “You’ve done it correctly. Let more energy flow, and let the two attract each other.”

  Alissa had no idea what he meant by the last part, but she did as he suggested. “Oh!” she exclaimed as the field collapsed, binding loosely through her tracings, carrying her vision of destruction with it.

  “Marvelous,” Useless praised.

  She wrinkled her nose. Her tracings looked scarred and unusable. “It’s ghastly.”

  “Marvelously so. Marvelously so,” he thought as he chuckled. “With practice and concentration, the ward will remain after you disengage the circuit. Let both go right now. I want to watch you set it up without me helping.”

  “All right,” she said, casually breaking the first loop. Her pathways returned to their original, pristine elegance as the ward fell. Useless promptly disappeared from her thoughts. Startled, she opened her eyes.

  “Set it up! Set it back up!” Useless waved his arms, sending his coat sleeves flapping. If she had known him better, she would say he looked concerned, not pleased, as she would expect.

  Alissa replaced the ward, surprised at the ease of it. It had taken longer to explain than it did to repeat. Looking at her handiwork, she thought about what she had done. “Useless?”

  “Yes?” he said worriedly. His fingers were almost in the flames as he poked at the fire.

  “Did I neglect to fix the force into a state that was stable enough to withstand the change to reality?” She was referring to her disaster that blew out the protection wards on her windows, shook the Hold to its foundations, and put her and Mistress Death on a first-name basis.