Hidden Truth

by Dawn Cook

  No! she asserted, her panic returning full force at the visions his words provoked, images of peaceful evenings spent before a fire with a presence she needed more than the air itself. It couldn’t be! she demanded. She needed no fire other than the sun, no companion but the wind. She must flee. She must fly. To remain alive, she must escape!

  “Quickly, Piper. Something else,” Death’s brother whispered.

  “Alissa,” he called desperately, “remember your home with your mother? The smoke from her burnt suppers darkened the ceiling, but her smile was as pure and as honest as the rain. I met her before I met you. You’re as strong as your mother, Alissa.”

  Dreams, she moaned, weaving her head in a frantic arc. How did he know of her dreams?

  Seeing her indecision, the supposedly weak link exclaimed, “I got my map to the Hold from her!”

  “It’s my map!” she cried in anguish.

  The old one jumped, his eyes going wide. His posture suspiciously confident, he looked to Death’s brother. “I heard her, too, old friend,” the specter murmured in astonishment, and then louder, “It’s working, Strell. Her thoughts are becoming coherent.”

  The insignificant-seeming man stepped closer. “And our argument over Talon’s shelter?”

  “It was a dream,” she wailed, shutting her eyes in pain. There was a terrible feeling of double vision, but the absence of sight only made it worse.

  “It had rained for three days,” her tormentor continued gently, “and you let your boots get soaked. Talon found that overhang.” He shook his head. “I’ll never forget the look on your face when you sat down and refused to move. I was so angry, worried really, the rain would turn to snow. But you were right. We both needed the rest.”

  “Let me go,” she begged. “I will be lost to the skies if you don’t stop!” But either he didn’t hear her, or he didn’t care. Sending her tail in great sweeps, she cleared a large swath of scrub and saplings, and the sharp smell of their sap rose to fill the clearing. She was bound by his words, her need to know if it was true. The old one shifted uncomfortably.He apparently could hear her pleading, but he remained firm and didn’t let her pass.

  “And the chair, Alissa,” the man said, his eyes full of a past torment. “Remember my chair? I didn’t move it from your hearth. I thought you had thrown it into my room to tell me to leave you alone.”

  “No!” she cried soulfully, lifting her eyes to the sun. “I thought you had!”

  “Careful, Piper,” Death’s brother warned. “She balances on the edge.”

  Her persecutor stepped closer. “You must come back to me, Alissa,” he said firmly. “Who will I snitch bread dough from if you leave me?”

  “I can’t. I am . . . I must be free!” It was a piteous cry, and the old one winced. Even Death looked uncomfortable.

  “And our evenings?” the man continued mercilessly, smiling all the while. “I would practice my craft, and you would practice yours.”

  Gnashing her teeth, she swung her head in a great arc. “I won’t go back. You can’t force me,” she asserted, but she was unable to strike him.

  “Please,” the man pressed, obviously seeing his victory. “You must know it’s been I who has gentled you back to slumber every night as you tossed in someone else’s dreams of abandonment and search.”

  “I will not be forced,” she cried, shaking her head frantically. “I am . . .” Lashing her tail, a twisted oak near the piper exploded, sending heavy slivers to stab at the air. “I won’t!” she screamed silently to the sky.

  Stunned at the show of strength, her tormentor ceased his onslaught. For a moment, all was still. A shudder rocked her, and her head bowed to the earth. He had chained her with doubt, nailed to the earth as if part of the ground itself. “Please,” she begged quietly, desperately, heard by all but her torturer. “Make it stop. I must be free to be alive. I won’t allow myself to be forced.” Her wings collapsed, and the brilliant gold of her hide dimmed to almost gray. She would die before being dominated.

  A look of horror washed over the music maker. “By the Navigator’s Wolves,” he whispered. “What have I done?” He took a faltering step forward, then another, his hand raised. Gently he touched her shoulder, and a shudder ran through them both. “Alissa, I’m sorry,” he said raggedly. Taking a breath that was almost a sob, he looked up at the uncaring sky. “Look what I’ve done to you!” he cried.

  She slumped farther, her head nearly to the ground, willing herself to death.

  “Listen,” he pleaded. “Please. You belong to the Hold. I can see this more clearly than ever, but it must be your choice, not one forced upon you. I could never stand in your way, even though I can’t live without . . .” His voice broke, and he roughly caught his breath. “No,” he whispered to himself, “I can’t say that. Your freedom is more important.”

  At the word “freedom,” a violent shudder rocked her. The old one and Death’s brother exchanged glances across the clearing. “Piper,” the pale one warned, “what are you doing?”

  “Can’t you see she will die before being forced into something she doesn’t choose herself?” he shouted.

  The old one and the one who carried death looked at each other nervously. They could do nothing, completely at the music maker’s uncertain mercy. If they moved, she would fly. The one who had seemed to be the weakest was the strongest, and it was no longer clear where his loyalties would be. She waited, a thin hope making her muscles tense.

  He tenderly passed his hand over her dulling hide. “Alissa,” he said, his voice thick with pain. “I would like nothing more than to keep you so you would always be beside me. Ever since we met in that ravine I have only been happy when you were near. But look at you!” he exclaimed. “You don’t need me. You’re the wind and mountain made real!”

  “Piper!” Death’s brother shouted. “What are you doing?”

  She quivered, seeing her freedom within reach.

  The man closed his eyes, torture etched deep into his face. “I have no right to lay a claim to you,” he agonized. “No one has. I must . . .” he choked, his hands clenched and his breath coming in a haggard gasp. “Oh, Wolves,” he whispered roughly. “Alissa, I loose you.”

  The old one’s roar of denial thundered, drowning out the pale one’s cry of despair. They were undone. There was nothing they could do. She tensed to leap, to be free, but her strength left her, pulled away by something stronger than her need to fly. “No!” she screamed, reaching for the sky, not knowing why. “I must be rid of the beast!”

  Tears of loss and regret slipped unknowingly from Strell as he turned away, unable to hear her cry of desperation. “It’s your choice,” he whispered. “I won’t force you to take a path you don’t want. Just know that I love you. . . . I always have.” Looking broken, he bent to retrieve his pipe and slowly walked away, his head bowed by what he had done.

  “Strell!” she cried, her dreams shattering back into reality. “Don’t leave me. I love you!”

  His eyes round in astonishment, Strell whipped around to see her last, longing reach for the sky. For a moment she hung, vibrant and alive once more, poised for flight, wings outstretched, her eyes to the sun, a shimmering vision of grace and beauty, and then, with a soulful cry, she collapsed into a crumpled mass of golden wing and hide.

  35

  Lodesh watched Talo-Toecan shift in a swirl of gray from an agitated raku to an angry, tired-looking man. “By my Master’s Wolves!” Talo-Toecan shouted. “What did you think you were doing, Piper!” Ignoring Alissa’s somnolent form, he strode to Strell, glaring as if it was only curiosity that kept him from tearing the hapless plainsman apart right then and there.

  A relieved ambivalence coursed through Lodesh. Thanks to the piper, Alissa was safe. He had known Strell would be the means to bring her sentience back, but that didn’t mean he needed to like it. Allowing himself a heavy sigh, Lodesh buried his feelings deep. Time was on his side. Strell would live out his span in a matter of decades.
Alissa was now destined to live ten times that. Thanks to his curse, Lodesh could remain with her until he absolved his guilt. He had only to wait until Strell was gone. Or she remembered him.

  But it would be hard. In order to help Alissa, he would have to continue furthering Strell’s position. Knowing Talo-Toecan would never let the piper pursue her was a small consolation. And besides, he thought ruefully as he pasted a pleased expression on his face, he liked the plainsman who had been known to sing lullabies to restless kestrels.

  “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” he called cheerily as he came from around Alissa’s bulk. Her tail was bent in what was obviously an abnormal position, and he paused to shift it, straining at its weight. Nodding sharply at the result,he trod gingerly over the splinters of wood and stone to join Strell and Talo-Toecan.

  So dazed and bewildered was Strell, he hadn’t seemed to notice Talo-Toecan’s outburst. “I heard her—in my head,” Strell murmured. “She—she loves me.”

  “Aye,” Lodesh said in bittersweet agreement. “I heard her, too.” Seeing a wing pinned, he carefully shifted the unwieldy mass of bone and hide until it was folded against her properly.

  The Master stood stock-still before Strell, his exhaustion barely hidden by his wrath. “Why,” he seethed, “did you risk freeing the beast before Alissa had conquered it?”

  Strell visibly shook off his wonder, starting at Talo-Toecan’s anger. His own eyes narrowed, and he drew himself up, clutching his mirth wood pipe as if it would give him strength. “She was dying,” he shouted. “How many times do I have to make the same mistake?”

  “What mistake is that, Piper?” Talo-Toecan all but spat.

  Slumping, Strell looked to his feet. “Alissa will seldom be forced into anything,” he said. “Even if it’s something she wants to do.” He shifted a shard of stone with the toe of his boot. “Unless given a choice, she will always balk and do what is most contrary.”

  Lodesh shrugged. As long as Alissa was intact, he would be content. Making a tsk, tsk sound, he surveyed the unmoving raku and began to arrange her to be more comfortable.

  Talo-Toecan pointed a stiff finger at Strell. “We’re talking of the difference between insanity and a sound mind,” he all but hissed, “not whether or not to have cookies with tea today. There was no choice to make.”

  “There is in her mind.” Strell flushed. “I saw her in flight.” He shot an uneasy glance at her. “She was vicious, savage, wild, and free. She may have been a beast, but she wasn’t insane.”

  Lodesh smiled quietly as Talo-Toecan’s shoulders relaxed. Spying a twisted foot, Lodesh braced himself and pushed, feeling himself turn red. It settled into its new positionwith a small thunk. Giving her a reassuring pat, he leaned up against her shoulder to catch his breath.

  “We,” Strell said angrily, “no, it was I alone, tried to force her to choose the Hold and all that went with it.” He looked up, his dark eyes smoldering. “She remembered, and she refused to return because she had no choice. I took that away. She would die first.” Strell looked at the wreckage of the clearing, his face reflecting its destruction. “And I did it to her,” he whispered.

  Done with Alissa, Lodesh returned, brushing his clothes smooth. It hadn’t been easy, but he managed to keep them unwrinkled through the entire ordeal. “You recognized it, Strell. Even I didn’t see. I thought you had betrayed us and Alissa both.” Taking on an air of formality, he stood squarely before Strell. “I was wrong,” he stated, “and I ask your forgiveness, Strell Hirdune.” Lodesh executed an elegant bow, but he was smiling impishly when he finished.

  “Uh—yes, of course,” Strell stammered, awkwardly tucking his pipe away. “She wanted to remember but refused until given a choice. I thought her awareness might return if I freed her.” He gestured helplessly. “I guess—I lost.”

  “Lost!” exploded Talo-Toecan.

  “You didn’t lose.” Lodesh grinned, clapping the confused man across the shoulders. “You won!”

  Strell’s mouth fell open. For a moment nothing came out. “But—she’s a raku,” he finally managed. “I thought . . .”

  Talo-Toecan chuckled. “You thought she would return to her original form as if a matter of course?” Smiling at Alissa, he harrumphed. “No, not yet, but she’s Alissa. She named you in her last cry. She’s returned to us, thanks to you.”

  Lodesh frowned at the old raku. It was his turn to apologize, and under Lodesh’s watchful eye, Talo-Toecan would do it correctly. There were forms to be observed when one saved the sanity of another’s student. The Master grimaced. He cleared his throat and shifted, sending a dark look to Lodesh. “Your decision to free her,” Talo-Toecan began, “was correct. In hindsight, I can see there was no other way, and I ask your forgiveness for my harsh words.”

  “ ’S all right,” Strell said as he rubbed the stubble on his face, clearly ignoring how hard it was for the Master to admit he might have been wrong. “Who could have guessed it would be her ability to choose that would allow her awareness to return?”

  “Indeed,” Talo-Toecan said dryly. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  Strell’s smile went soft. “And she loves me.” Abruptly his face went ashen, and he glanced at Talo-Toecan who was, in turn, scowling. “Wolves,” Strell swore. “I never meant to tell her. It just slipped out! I know I can’t stay.”

  “That’s correct,” Talo-Toecan said. “You can’t.”

  “Talo-Toecan?” Lodesh interrupted. He held his face in a careful balance of neutrality, hating himself for having to strengthen Strell’s position. “He heard her.”

  “Only Keepers are suffered to live in the Hold,” Talo-Toecan continued, lecturing the hapless musician as he looked miserably at the ground, clearly aware of how badly he had complicated his life with those three words, no matter how true they might be.

  “Talo-Toecan, he heard her,” Lodesh repeated patiently.

  “Keepers and students, and Masters, of course, whenever they’re under obligation or the mood strikes them,” Talo-Toecan said. “Anyone else wouldn’t last a week, what with all the touchy tempers and lethal wards lying about. Just get on one Keeper’s bad side, and poof! No more minstrel!” His eyes were distant, lost in the pleasures of imparting doom and gloom.

  Lodesh gritted his teeth. “Talo!” he shouted. The insult of his name being shortened broke through Talo-Toecan’s fascination of his tragic predictions, and he looked up in annoyance. “The piper heard her. We all did,” Lodesh said into the sudden quiet.

  Talo-Toecan waited with arched eyebrows, not making the connection.

  Lodesh shot an apologetic look to Strell. “He has no proper tracings? And I? I’ve never heard a Master of the Hold before. No Keeper I can recall ever has.” Finished, he glanced at Strell, and together they faced Talo-Toecan.

  “Ah . . . M-m-m.” The figure of an old man winced under their combined scrutiny. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “Keribdis would have. Perhaps because of Alissa’s upbringing she will be able to converse freely to Keeper and Master alike. Lodesh hearing her I might understand. But you, Strell?” Talo-Toecan turned an appraising eye upon him. “How she can get through to you is beyond me.”

  “She loves him,” Lodesh said softly, biting back a wash of jealousy as bitter and sharp as last year’s fallen leaves. “Love shifts impossibilities into maybes.”

  “So you say,” Talo-Toecan said sourly as he cast about the demolished clearing. “I must sit,” he whispered, searching for a spot that wasn’t covered in chips of stone or splinters of wood. Finally, in what must have been utter exhaustion, he consigned himself to the bare ground, not even bothering to make a cushion.

  Lodesh joined him, looking up at the pine boughs rocking in the breeze. “Their bond is strong,” he warned. “It saved her. You or I couldn’t have brought her awareness back like that.”

  “I can see that,” Talo-Toecan replied dourly, his eyes shut in the sun’s glare.

  Strell sank down uneasily
between them. His gaze never left Alissa.

  Pulling his sight from the heavens, Lodesh brushed at an immaculate sleeve. “You may lose her anyway,” he said softly.

  “She may turn wild again?” Strell gasped. Eyes wide, he began to stand but hesitated at Lodesh’s reassuring smile. Even Talo-Toecan opened his eyes and raised a restraining hand. Clearly relieved, Strell sank back down.

  “No, she’s forever Alissa,” came Talo-Toecan’s reply. “She merely sleeps.”

  “When will she wake?” Strell asked.

  “Before sunset.”

  “How long,” he continued wistfully, “until she shifts back?”

  Lodesh smiled in understanding. Talo-Toecan, however, frowned. “So eager are you?” he grumbled. “It depends.” He regarded Strell as if trying to decide how much he should divulge. Then he grimaced. “Unless Alissa has a bit of her old form about to joggle her memory, it can take some time. With young rakus, there’s a shed tooth or shard of nail set aside before the first transformation for just this reason. We could have done something similar with Alissa, but we weren’t prepared. She will have to wait until her system calms down and she can recall her primary cellular pattern.”

  “You mean her tracings?” Strell guessed.

  Talo-Toecan roused and looked from Strell to Alissa. “No,” he said with a sigh. “Her neural pattern is entirely unchanged. I meant the form she was born into.”

  Strell was silent for a long moment. Frowning, he asked. “How long?”

  “Not long. Maybe a decade,” was Talo-Toecan’s answer. “Give or take a few years,” he finished apologetically as Strell went pale.

  “Uh-huh.” Strell winced. It seemed all he was capable of at the moment.

  Lodesh’s smile at Strell’s confusion faded. A stirring in him as faint and compelling as a hidden child’s sob prompted motion. His city needed him. Not yet, but soon. “I must go,” he said, rising to his feet to rock restlessly on his heels.