Hidden Truth

by Dawn Cook

  She would take Useless at his word, she vowed silently, and figure out all there was to know about fields. That trick Bailic did, sculpting the dust, had been incredible. It must have taken years to master. Clearly, fields were a lot more versatile than Useless had led her to believe.

  And how, she wondered, did Bailic know her mother? It seemed the world knew her.

  “I’m sorry,” Strell whispered in her ear, and she jumped, not having heard him come up behind her. Turning round, she could tell he was, and her anger started to subside. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t understand. He handed her a cup and sat down before her. “I’m really glad you got permission to do fields alone.” He sipped his drink and grimaced. “You’ve no idea.”

  Relenting, Alissa smiled. “I don’t think Bailic would have waited another two weeks for you to produce a field.”

  “No.” Strell looked at the view, lost in thought. “He wouldn’t have.”

  They sat and watched the day grow darker as the snow swirled down thicker and more violently. It was an odd sensation, watching the cold and not feeling it, one she had grown to appreciate in the short time she had been behind the Hold’s walls.

  “You were going to try something,” Strell asked. “What was it?”

  “Nothing.” Alissa felt her face warm. She could have gotten them both killed. The only good to come from it was knowing Strell cared about her. That pleased her to no end, and she couldn’t help her faint smile.

  “Come on,” Strell cajoled, clearly misunderstanding her look. “What were you going to do? You know I’ll get it out of you eventually. You may as well tell me now.”

  “Well,” she hedged, “Bailic was trying to reach my thoughts.”

  Strell’s lip curled in distaste. “Past the Hold’s ward of silence? He can’t do that.”

  “Yes, I know.” She flushed again. “I thought he might be catching on to our ruse, so, um.” She hesitated, not sure how he would react. “So I thought I might try to see—”

  “What?” Strell shouted. His cup hit the bench. “Are you moonstruck?”

  Alissa looked up. He had stood and was staring down at her, his face aghast. “Well,” she said in her own defense, “if Bailic thought he could see my tracings, I was going to try to see his.”

  Strell’s eyes widened. “You are moonstruck!”

  Her shoulders slumped. There was no graceful way out of this. Her idea had about as much merit as a dip in an iced pond. And if yelling at her made him feel better, she probably deserved it. Besides, the stronger his reaction, the more he probably liked her, and she wondered how upset he would get. “Well, I didn’t try it,” she said, sneezing.

  “I can’t believe Talo-Toecan gave you the go-ahead for that. Maybe I should have a chat with him!” Strell paced to the far end of the room in long, agitated steps.

  Alissa smiled as she pictured Strell confronting Useless over her tutelage. “He didn’t give me permission,” she said softly.

  “He didn’t?” Strell said, aghast. “What under the Eight Wolves were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t,” and she sneezed again. This was getting ridiculous, and she formed a field encompassing most of the room. She was going to finish the lesson right now.

  “She wasn’t!” Strell cried to the ceiling, arms upraised. “She admits it! What the Wolves brought you to your senses?”

  Strell had worked himself up to an almost comical state. He must really like her, she thought, delighting in the knowledge. Wanting to avoid the higher concentration of dust she was about to create, she stepped to the end of the room, planning on letting the field slip over her as soon as possible. Slowly, she began to contract it. Oddly enough, she felt no sensation as it passed through her. She had expected something and was disappointed. Still, her air was now dust free, and she took a deep, cleansing breath.

  “Well?” Strell shouted from the far end of the room.

  She beamed hugely at him. His hair was wild, and his eyes were dark with emotion. Tall and lanky, he looked absolutely splendid in the dark green, almost black, clothes she had stitched for him. “Well what?” she asked pleasantly. She honestly couldn’t remember what his question had been. Somehow it had slipped her mind when she met his fervent stare.

  “What brought you to your senses?” he asked again.

  “It was you, Strell,” she said, remembering the storm of emotion she had witnessed. He cares, she thought, and her entire being seemed to resonate with the knowledge. He cares, perhaps as much as I do for him.

  “Me!” he exclaimed, and then Alissa’s field passed through him.

  Strell shivered, blinked, and reached out to steady himself against the wall. His eyes went blank, and he struggled to focus. Concerned, Alissa quickly shrank the containment field to the size of her hand. Leaving it to float in midair, she went to Strell as he leaned heavily against the wall. “What,” he whispered, his eyes soft and distant, “was that?”

  “My field,” she said, hesitating in her reach for him. She had felt nothing when her field passed over her, but obviously this wasn’t the case with Strell. He was positively shaken.

  “For a moment I thought . . .” He swallowed. “Never mind,” he mumbled, turning away. “I have to go. I—I’ll see you later—to help with the noon meal.” Still not meeting her eyes, he left.

  Alissa remained alone in the once-bright room. Her eyes went to the gray globe of dust hanging forgotten in the air. Tentatively cupping her hands around the faintly swirling sphere, she moved it to the box. She looked inside, not really seeing what it contained, and shut the lid with a loud snap. Only now did she collapse her field.

  The snow swirled and eddied, falling so thick as to hide the nearby woods from view. Its insulating layer only added to her feeling of uncertainty, and she began to gather the cups on the tray to return them to the kitchen.

  The lesson, apparently, was over.

  18

  Strell lay in his bed, staring at his ceiling. He had been in peaceful slumber for hours, but now he was wide awake. Always, at about this time, Alissa would stir, and he would go to quiet her. His body had come to expect the nightly interruption and had woken him in anticipation.

  He contorted in a quick spasm as he tried to stifle a cough. Ever since this morning in the practice room with the dust, he had been fighting a cold. Alissa had plied him with concoction after concoction—some tasty, some not— in her effort to make him feel better. He had stoically accepted her fussing, growing more and more despondent. Finally realizing she was making things worse, though she didn’t understand why, she quit. They spent the rest of their evening before the dining hall fire, talking of nothing, until Alissa’s eyes drooped.

  Having since admitted to himself that he saw Alissa as far more than a friend, he had, over the last month, subtly shifted their evenings together out of her room as was proper. Most of their free time was spent in the dining hall. It was more of a pleasant workroom now, with her needles and thread and his wood shavings.

  A faint smile eased over him as he recalled having found the long, black tables shoved up against the far wall. Alissa had shifted them from their accustomed position while he had been busy in his potter’s stead, covering them with her scraps of leather and cloth. He had quickly moved his own slice of chaos out of the kitchen to join hers.

  He was crafting a new instrument. The debt he owed Alissa for returning his music to him could never be repaid,but making himself a new pipe with which to play for her was a start. One corner of the room was littered with his chips of wood and discarded tries. There were the beginnings of several fine instruments tucked away in a basket under the table, but he hadn’t quite got the positioning of the last hole correct. He didn’t mind. Half the pleasure of his work was knowing Alissa was busy beside him.

  With her sewing to keep her occupied, the kitchen nearby, and her overindulgent chair before the fire, it was a wonder Alissa ever went to her room. Everything she could ever want was right there. Strell felt hims
elf droop as his depression returned. Right here at the Hold.

  Strell dismally tugged his blanket free of his bed and wrapped it about himself. He went to awaken his fire, settling wearily upon the warm flagstones. All day and evening his thoughts had revolved around one thing. Could he, or rather, should he, tell Alissa how much he cared for her?

  Wiping his nose and snuffing, Strell slumped as he recalled the heavy wave of emotion that had crashed through him in the practice room as her field went over him. It had been as if her entire being slipped into him, warm and comforting as his beloved desert. He knew without question Alissa would reciprocate his love, she only needed to recognize her feelings for what they were. It was only the shock that had kept him from proclaiming his love for her right then and there, and he had fled, trying to sort out his confusion.

  He had spent the rest of his morning sweeping his courage into one moment of truth. Full of hope and promise, he sought her out, determined to tell her. But then he found her sitting cross-legged upon her worktable in the dining hall practicing her new game of fields, and his resolve scattered with a feeling of hopelessness. She looked so right there, so happy and content, enjoying the skills that he couldn’t ever hope to match. It was then he knew he had no right to tell her of his love. And the realization tore at him.

  She belonged here. Here at the Hold she would be a Keeper. Born to it, she now could live it, reaching her full potential under Talo-Toecan’s tutelage. Someone, probably the old Master himself, would make an end of Bailic. The Hold would return to life, and she would remain, while Strell would leave. He knew he wasn’t a Keeper. Either of his crafts needed people, and he wouldn’t ask her to abandon her place here for the uncertain life behind a wandering minstrel. He couldn’t do it, not after what he had seen and experienced this morning. Her gift was too strong to allow her to shackle herself to him.

  Twisting awkwardly, Strell withdrew from a pocket a fold of cloth. His fingers stiff with the cold, he opened it to reveal the fragile charm he had crafted from the leftover spun gold of Alissa’s hair. It matched the charm he made for her in every way but one. His wasn’t of luck but of something vastly more precious: love. He smiled faintly. Alissa’s eyes had glowed in pleasure when he had given her the luck charm. Eyeing his own version, he wondered if he had been wise to have made such a thing, old woman’s fantasy or not. Carefully, he folded it back in its cream-colored cloth and shoved it back into a pocket.

  Ashes, he thought miserably. What was he going to do? He had overcome the prejudice of two worlds for nothing. He was born to a chartered name, able to trace his lineage back to the first families to settle the plains, and still he wasn’t good enough for her. Not if she was a Keeper.

  If it wasn’t for Bailic, he would leave with the spring thaw, before things became more complicated. But he had to wait until Bailic was dead. He would see his Alissa safe from the insane man or die in the attempt. And death was beginning to look like a distinct probability. It was ludicrous to expect their farce to continue much longer. It was luck that had gotten them this far, and when that ran out, it would be over.

  Strell closed his eyes. He would lose either way. If Bailic prevailed, his crazed, mixed-up life would be over. If Alissa succeeded, his reason for living would be forever out of reach. It was a difficult position to be in but one he was willing to endure. After having seen her delight yesterdayas she practiced her fields, catching one of Talon’s feathers as it drifted, he couldn’t bring himself to ever tell her of his feelings. It would only make things worse, however things turned out.

  His room darkened as the moon was eclipsed by a cloud, and in the sudden blackness, Strell sat on his hearth and brooded. He was accustomed to marriages of convenience. In the plains, a girl married the best she could to help insure she and her children wouldn’t go hungry during the long, cold winter. Starvation was too common to exchange safety for desire. It was what he was raised upon, and he accepted it, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Lodesh would probably step in when he stepped out.

  Strell frowned, unable to stop a tight feeling of rivalry. He had been keeping a close eye upon the stables lately, having sprinkled sand on the floor to know if the Warden ever returned. But there had been no sign of the man, and for that, Strell was glad. He hadn’t liked it as Alissa stared into the dark box stall covered in rugs and fabric to make a cozy nest, looking as if she had been deserted.

  It was obvious that Lodesh was protecting Alissa in a way that Strell couldn’t. The thought made him envious and angry all at the same time. Strell ought to be able to protect her. Otherwise, he didn’t deserve her.

  He slumped, pulling his blanket tighter. There was the wind behind the storm, he thought dismally. He didn’t deserve her. And what could he offer Alissa? Nothing. Even his name had lost its worth.

  Faint through their shared chimney flue, he heard Alissa’s muffled noise, right on time.

  “There you are,” Strell said through a sigh, rising from his huddled position. Not bothering with his boots, he crept through the darkness to her room. Lulling Alissa back to sleep was a pleasure. She never woke up, and so he was free to treat her as he wished he could openly. It was a dangerous game he played, but this he wouldn’t change.

  Strell cautiously opened her door, catching the faint scent of pine and apples. Poking his head past the frame, he darted his gaze to the corners of the room for a glimpse of Lodesh. There was no one, and he finally decided the smell was from the flower Alissa had found at the walled city of Ese’ Nawoer. The frail-seeming thing was in remarkably fine condition. Alissa had flatly refused to throw it away, and so it sat next to his grandfather’s broken pipe on the mantel. Flushing at the memory of the night he broke it, he tiptoed over the threshold to meet Talon’s icy stare. “Be still, old bird,” Strell admonished. “I’m here.”

  Talon settled her ruffled feathers, satisfied now that Strell was present. Still, she never took her eyes from him as he gently placed a forgotten blanket over Alissa’s rumpled form.

  “Alone,” she mumbled, thrashing her arm to undo Strell’s work.

  “Hush, you aren’t alone,” he said, tucking the blanket back. He cringed, hoping she wasn’t going to wake up. He didn’t have on any stockings. It might be hard to explain.

  “No. . . . He’s alone, all alone.” Alissa frowned, deeply asleep.

  He? Strell thought. “Who?” he asked, bending low to catch her words. She was tossing forlornly, her hair covering her face, and he knelt next to the chair she always slept in. He gently put his arms around her, as he had vowed he wouldn’t any longer while she was awake. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes at the smell of sun and meadow, wishing he didn’t have to go back to his cold room.

  “Alone,” she whispered, her voice taking on Talo-Toecan’s odd accent. “I cannot do it alone.”

  An icy dread slipped through him, and he drew away. In all the nights he had gentled Alissa back to sleep, this had never happened. Her hands shifted restlessly, and he took them into his own. They were cold. She grew still, but her brow was furrowed, and he daren’t leave yet.

  “I will lose her. It’s beyond me,” Alissa sighed. “The Hold is empty; the holden is broken. I can’t hope to catch the beast alone, much less break it. There must be someone!”

  Her eyes flew open at her shout. Unseeing, they stared, almost black in the dim light. Slowly they closed. “Hush, you’re not alone,” Strell repeated nervously. He knew now it was Talo-Toecan calling his lost companions, but the Master probably didn’t realize Alissa was responding. It would explain her restless sleep the past months. Talo-Toecan must be very close tonight for her to be reacting so strongly.

  Strell’s brow furrowed as he stood and gazed down at the peacefully sleeping young woman. He was fairly certain that Alissa was the “her” in, “I will lose her,” and that left him afraid in a way Bailic’s threats never could.

  The beast Talo-Toecan spoke of might be Bailic, but it lacked the usual accompaniment of death thre
ats, and Strell was uncertain. Perhaps he should seek Talo-Toecan out and ask, the bargain with Bailic be cursed. Strell dropped his eyes in frustration. He knew it would only make matters worse, and a knot of worry settled about him. There was little he could do to help Alissa. He knew all too well that the purpose he served was solely one of distraction, and even that was becoming ineffective.

  Reluctant to leave her, he peeked out at the night through her shutters. The moon shadow cast by the mountain behind him stretched long over the woods as if protecting the land between it and the unseen city. In a startling smack of feathers, Talon streaked over his head into the bitter night. Strell stumbled in, biting back a curse. He couldn’t believe the bird would be able to navigate in the dark, much less be in such a hurry to do so.

  Squinting after her, Strell felt his chest tighten as suddenly a much larger patch of stars was eclipsed by a dark shadow. It was Talo-Toecan, swooping silently over the Hold to land at the edge of the woods. Talon hovered, looking like a gnat next to his monstrous form, finally landing out of sight among the trees. The raku’s silhouette showed well against the snow despite the distance. His great eyes seemed to glow, reflecting the unseen moon, and Strell shivered as the Master turned his gaze upon the Hold. Bird and raku kept a silent watch.

  Strell flushed. His presence in Alissa’s room was terribly improper, made more so by the late hour. Assuring himself his intentions had been honorable, Strell shut and latched the shutters. He returned to her, sleeping soundly in her chair before her fire. “Sleep well, my love,” he whispered, but he dared not touch her, not with Talo-Toecan standing so near. “You have stronger guardians than I.” For a long moment he gazed at her as if he were never to see her again. Finally he turned and left, clutching his blanket about him, slumped with loss.