First Truth

by Dawn Cook

“Who will tease you until you stamp your foot?” he sobbed, his unnoticed tears of frustration freezing on his cheek.

  Clang!

  “And who,” he whispered fiercely, raising Alissa’s staff high over his head. “Who will ever love you more than I?”

  With a cry of anguish, he brought the smooth shaft down with all the force he could. The staff shattered, the fragments cutting cruelly into his hand. He didn’t feel it at all, the wind having turned his hands a dull blue-white. He stared at them and the bright crimson that slowly seeped out to freeze on the rock face.

  As if in a dream, he watched the heavy metal gate creak, shift, and majestically fall to crash against the rock face just below. There was a resounding boom as it hit, seeming to make the mountain tremble. It was followed by a tremendous roar. Strell clung to the rock as something large streaked out past the fallen gate. Craning his neck, he spotted it, and his mouth fell open. High above him doing barrel rolls and loops was a raku, yellow and glistening in the early-afternoon sun. It was the first, no, the second he had ever seen.

  “Useless?” he called raggedly, his eyes riveted to the beast. “Did you know there was a raku with you in your cell?” But of course, Strell reasoned frantically, that was what he had seen earlier. It hadn’t been Useless’s eyes that has sent terror through him, it had been his raku’s. It made sense that anyone who laid claim to the Hold could control such an animal as this.

  “Useless?” he cried with a tinge of fright. “Your raku is loose. Come catch hold of it!” For now the beast had fixed a hungry stare upon him. Strell began to wonder if the man was still alive. Perhaps upon seeing his freedom, his pet had turned upon him. Well, Strell thought, he wasn’t going to stay out here with that great carnivore eyeing him.

  “Useless!” he called. “Stand back, I’m going to try and swing myself in.”

  The raku hovered a stone’s throw away, his wings beating furiously with the effort to remain stationary. The gusts rocked Strell as he painfully loosened his grip on the stone. Panicking, he forgot his hands, cramped and unresponsive, were also slick with his own blood. Reaching for a once-secure handhold, he gasped, feeling his fingers slip.

  “Noooo!” he shouted, flinging his arms desperately. A fingertip snagged a crack. His jaw gritted in the terrible effort, he hung on for a heartbeat. Then another.

  The raku, forgotten, snorted.

  Strell jumped in surprise. His tenuous grip was lost. He fell, arms outstretched in a final bid for safety. I am done, he thought sadly. The world spread before him, seeming to come no closer as the air rushed passed him. The prospect of his imminent end made him all but delirious.

  “I’m falling, falling, falling,” he chanted, half mad with the absurdity of his demise. He had always pictured himself dying in bed in an overdone show of doom and gloom surrounded by his children and grandchildren, not falling off a cliff rescuing an imprisoned Master of a legendary fortress. What, he wondered, would his mother have thought?

  “I’m falling, down, down, down,” he continued witlessly, closing his eyes. Such a long way, he mused. Would he never reach the end? And with a suddenness that made his eyes flash open, there was a swift jerk.

  “Falling?” He shook himself free from his crazed state. “I’m not falling, I’m . . .” Strell gulped. “I’m flying?” he quavered. The ground spilled before him still, but the air no longer beat against him. Incredulous, Strell looked up into the molten gold eyes of the raku. A wickedly taloned hind foot was clenched tightly about his middle just under his arms. Like a child’s doll, Strell hung completely at the mercy of the enormous beast.

  With a huff, the raku turned his attention from Strell and back to the business at hand. They had climbed up almost to the summit of the great peak, the raku clearly laboring from the effort to carry his weight.

  “You can drop me here!” Strell quipped, shouting over the wind. He knew he should be scared witless, but failed to be. He had outwitted a murderous Keeper, had his hurts healed in moments, frozen so as to be nearly frostbit, and slipped to his death on his own blood—all before the noon meal. Being rescued by a raku was a small thing.

  Giving a snort that seemed almost laughter, the raku turned. Down he streaked in a lazy spiral. There followed a snap that left Strell breathless as the beast pulled up sharply before the fallen gate. Hovering, he delicately reached out a clawed hind foot and grasped the gate still hanging by its lower hinges. Heavy gusts of wind buffeted Strell as the raku struggled to maintain his position.

  Metal groaned and shrieked as the raku pulled at the heavy bars; the ward was apparently ineffective now that the gate was no longer standing. Stone rained down until, with a final creak and a tremendous lurch, it came away from the rock face. Strell bit back a cry as they plunged at the sudden dead weight of the gate. Then the raku dropped it, and together they watched it dwindle to nothing. It took a startlingly long time.

  “Onward!” Strell cried in jest as he dangled helplessly, brandishing a raised fist. “We go to free the fair maiden!” It was just too ridiculous, like one of his tales he told to gathered children. There was a sudden trembling, and the grip he was suspended in tightened spasmodically. The beast, he realized, was laughing.

  “You—you understand?” he shouted, craning his neck to look into his eyes, only now recognizing the intelligence in them.

  There was an answering rumble of mirth as the raku slowly blinked a single eye.

  “Useless!” he cried. “We have to get Useless!” But the raku only laughed all the harder, flying up and around to the east side of the mountain. Far below lay the Hold, tiny with the distance. The abandoned city looked a stone’s-throw away from this height. With no warning, the raku fell into a steep dive, nearly stupefying Strell with their speed. The Hold grew large alarmingly fast, but it was not there they were headed. It was to the adjacent forest they fell.

  “Up! Pull up!” Strell screamed, the wind of their passage ripping his frantic words away. Closer and larger the dormant woods grew until he could see individual trees, and still they dropped. “Ohhhh noooo . . .” Strell shrieked, closing his eyes in panic, but at the last moment the raku shifted his balance and again they climbed.

  Behind them there was the sound of breaking wood and the briefest scent of fir. It seemed his rescuer had snapped off the top of a tree in their passage. Then there was only the clear, winter sky before them spinning madly. The beast was doing more barrel rolls. It was still climbing, too, apparently getting ready for another pass.

  “Please,” Strell croaked, closing his eyes in misery. “No more, just let me drop.”

  With a snort of what could only be merriment, the winged monster checked his upward progress and smoothly banked. He descended at a much gentler angle, laughing all the way. At least Strell thought the raku was laughing, and by the time they were again above the trees, Strell had regained part of his composure. It was, unfortunately, not to last.

  Roaring in undeniable anger, the raku lashed out with a powerful foot. Grabbing the top of a pine, he beat his wings furiously until, with a groan and the sound of splintering wood, the tree was uprooted. Strell watched in awe as the pine was tossed aside to crash in the distance. Again the foot descended, and again a tree succumbed. A third was ripped from the frozen ground, and finally Strell could see what was happening. His face went cold, and for the first time, he became truly afraid.

  Below him among the shattered ground and ice stood two figures. Silent, with faces upraised, they appeared oblivious to the destruction around them. One face was lost in hatred, the other in wonder. “Alissa,” he whispered, his heart sinking.

  Snapping his wings in a tight, backward flip, the raku landed gracefully in the clearing he had made. Slowly the grip around Strell loosened and was gone. Finding himself under his own power, Strell collapsed with a muffled groan. He blearily tried to rise but failed, having to be content with his view of the dirt-splattered snow. Sprawled before the immense beast, he was ill-prepared for what hap
pened next.

  “Stay back, Talo-Toecan!” he heard Bailic scream in fear and anger. “Or I will burn your precious book to ash—and the girl with it!”

  39

  "And stay out!” Alissa cried after the retreating shadow of her bird. Bone and Ash, she thought darkly. This was all she needed. Flour was everywhere: the table, the floor, even her. Alissa squinted up at the ceiling as more continued to drift down in a sedate shower of dust. It seemed Talon had gotten it into her little avian head to go poking about on the top shelf. Alissa had just shoved the stock sack of flour away, and Talon had shoved it back off. But it was rather heavy. Now that Alissa thought about it, it was far more likely the sack had tipped by itself.

  Feeling a well-deserved wash of guilt, Alissa wondered if she should find Talon and apologize, but decided she hadn’t the time. She was late with Bailic’s tray—again. Unable to leave without picking up the worst of it, Alissa sighed and reached for the broom. By the time the kitchen was halfway decent, it was too late to even change her skirt.

  She tried to beat the film of flour from her as she put Bailic’s meal of bread and cheese together. It wasn’t much, but if he didn’t like it, he could throw it out his window. She frowned in consternation as she picked up the tray. It looked terribly empty. Snatching the pot of tea she had been warming, she impulsively set it next to his plate.

  “What a mess,” Alissa said under her breath as she strode out of the kitchen and through the empty dining hall. Her eyes rose to the south window as she entered the great hall. Strell had been there for weeks working on something or other, but today the sill was empty. A trace of worry crossed her before she dismissed it with a faint smile. Tomorrow was the solstice, a day of pleasant secrets and surprises. She wouldn’t rob him of his fun by seeking him out. Besides, his ankle was still very sore. How much trouble could he get into?

  Alissa listened closely as she made her way on the stairs. Strell often shadowed her on her way to Bailic’s room. It was sweet, really, and she never let on that she knew he was there. But only the slight whisper of her ill-made shoes accompanied her today; her limping shadow was busy on his own errands.

  Her steps grew wary as she neared the top of the stairs to find Bailic’s door standing open in invitation. Sliding the tray noisily onto the table in the hall, Alissa peered inside, brushing at the flour on her skirt.

  “Ah, there you are.” Bailic’s silky voice filtered into the hall. “Do forgive my forwardness, but it’s in your own best interests, I assure you. Come in. We need to talk.”

  Alissa’s eyebrows arched suspiciously, but she took the tray and stepped inside. Bailic turned from the window and motioned to a table and two chairs. Eyeing them uneasily, Alissa put the tray on his cluttered worktable instead, shoving his things carelessly out of the way. “If this is about your previous offer,” she said coldly, “I’m not interested.”

  Bailic chuckled, and her face burned. “I ask again regardless,” he said. “And this time, think carefully before you let your answer spill thoughtlessly from your lips. Your very state of mind depends upon it.” He turned, and Alissa’s next sharp retort died. He was far too confident. Something was seriously wrong.

  “You bring me tea this afternoon,” he all but purred. “How fortunate, but there are no cups!” The ends of Bailic’s sleeves furled elegantly as he spun to rummage in a tall cupboard. “Ah, here they are,” he sighed, his fingers lighting upon two tiny cups. “I knew I still had them. They’re pretty little things, aren’t they? So frail and delicate.”

  “What is it, Bailic?” Alissa said warily. Something had been bothering Strell this week. Unwilling to mar the otherwise pleasant mood he had been in, Alissa had ignored it. Now she thought Bailic would be the one to break the bad news. He did seem to enjoy it so.

  “Your time is up, my dear,” and he took the pot of tea and set it squarely on the table. He smoothly sat in one chair and gestured for her to sit in the other.

  She shifted uneasily. “I already gave you my answer.”

  “Oh, no!” he said with a chuckle. “I don’t mean your time to answer me is up.” His eyes went hard. “I mean your time is up.”

  “I don’t understand.” Alissa found herself reaching for the support of the chair. Slowly she sat down, not trusting her suddenly cold knees to support her.

  “There, isn’t this nice?” Beaming, he served the tea in a demented parody of normalcy. Alissa stoically waited for him to get on with it, her hands in her lap. Visions of her papa swirled through her. She had seen this before.

  Bailic sampled the tea gingerly. “Oh,” he sighed with a mock sadness, “a bit cool, but as you know, it’s a long way from the kitchen to my rooms.” There was a whisper of a touch on her thoughts, so faint as to be only imagined, and his cup began to steam. It had to be her imagination, Alissa thought. Her tracings were less than nothing.

  Easing back in his cushions, Bailic eyed her. He jerked himself forward, and she fought to remain unmoving. “Oh, try the tea,” he simpered. “I won’t say another word until you do!”

  “What do you want, Bailic?”

  “No, no, no,” he said in the manner of a spoiled child. “I simply won’t hear of it. You must join me in some tea!”

  He’s mad, she thought. Her papa wouldn’t play his game; she wouldn’t either. Alissa picked up her cup and dumped the tea back into the pot. The cup went upside down on the table, the click seemingly loud in the silence. She lifted her chin, daring him to continue the travesty.

  His eyes narrowed. “Fine,” he grated. “I don’t have to be pleasant. Your piper has dropped his contention for the book in exchange for my services in bringing you back to the living. If I don’t have in my hands the book of First Truth by sunset tomorrow, your piper has condemned you back to the death I pulled you from a month ago.”

  “You didn’t . . .” she said hotly, refusing to let Bailic claim responsibility for her rescue, then caught her breath. “Back?” she whispered, feeling her face go white.

  Bailic smirked as he turned her cup upright. “Yes,” he drawled around the gentle sound of the tea chattering into it. “You remember the gray fog, don’t you? So soothing and warm. It’s quite nice, as I recall, until you realize what’s happening and find you can’t get out.” He leaned forward. “And you do understand now—don’t you?”

  Alissa was silent, the memory of the thick, cloying scent of the slow death she had been trapped in swirling high through her.

  “I’m not an unfair man,” he boasted. “I only do what has to be done. Don’t fault me for that. I have no wish to put you back there if you can serve a purpose for me here.”

  Blinking, Alissa focused on him, the absurdity of his claim of fairness pulling her from her dark remembrances. Bailic tilted his head toward her and ceremoniously drank. “So you see, your time is up,” he said, “unless you wish to enter into my service. Only that would preclude any, shall we say, previous arrangements? The choice is yours. I’ll put you back in your pit”—he smiled—“or here at my side.”

  Choice, Alissa thought wildly. What choice? Either she align herself with Bailic’s demented plans of conquest and revenge, an unwilling slave, or she would die.

  Die! she thought in a stark astonishment. She couldn’t die. She wasn’t done yet! This wasn’t fair. Why didn’t her papa put the cursed thing where she could find it! Alissa’s eyes shot to the balcony where her papa had taken his last breath. The Navigator’s Wolves hunt her, she wouldn’t help Bailic. She was going to die. Ashes, she had been a fool. But to serve Bailic . . .

  Somehow she found herself standing, her dazed eyes fixed on the balcony. Bailic rose as well. Clearly thinking she was going to fling herself from his window in some feminine heroic gesture of foolishness, he placed himself in front of her. “Sorry, m’girl.” He shook his head and grinned. “Not that way. Nasty little ward prevents that sort of thing these days.”

  She wasn’t going to jump. One Meson at the base of the tower was enough.
But there had to be something she could do. Alissa refused to believe there wasn’t another choice.

  “You’re lying,” she whispered, and Bailic gave her a patronizing look.

  “There’s still some time!” she agonized.

  “Of course there is,” he crooned. “Lots of time.”

  Cold in panic, Alissa looked past him toward her unseen home in the foothills. In the distance glinted Ese’ Nawoer, the bright sun reflecting off her roofs and walls. Closer, the woods stood—gray and cold and dead. Nearer still, the barren pastures lay smooth and unbroken under the grainy white of old snow. Her eyes were drawn to the edge of the field where, surrounded by birches and pines, a perfectly round circle of black made a sharp outline against the snow.

  She stared, looking at that circle of black, recognizing its shape from somewhere, wondering what it was and why she even cared. The angle was wrong to see it from anywhere but a tower room. Ashes, she thought. The answer was so close, dancing out of reach. She almost knew . . . “Help me, Papa,” she whispered, not knowing why. “I’m slipping.”

  Alissa licked her lips; her heart pounded. With a slight gasp, it came to her. It was a well. That black circle beneath the pines was a well! Her eyes flicked to Bailic’s. His consuming need to dominate shone from him, lusting that he had command over her decision. “Strell’s ankle,” she stammered. “I—we need more time.”

  “There are no excuses,” he breathed.

  The Wolves hunt her! The book was in that well. She could feel it. Alissa glanced frantically from the well to Bailic. It was there. It was hers! How could she just give it to him? If she could get it without him knowing, but then . . . Alissa felt herself collapse. Oh, what did it matter? She couldn’t use it anymore.

  “I can get it,” she said into the stillness, wondering if Bailic could hear her soul withering.

  “He told you where it is!”

  With an ethereal tinkling, his cup hit the floor and shattered. The other, still whole, but made useless without its mate, sat on the table.