Lost Truth

by Dawn Cook

  A harrumph startled her into taking a step back. Strell’s hands fell from her with a guilty swiftness, and she spun. Connen-Neute stood at the edge of the flattened grass, his white teeth glinting in the glow of Alissa’s warded light. Mortified, she flushed. “Strell,” the young Master said, “you’re supposed to be Alissa’s and my chaperone, not the other way around.”

  Alissa’s blush deepened as Lodesh pushed around him. The Keeper let his scanty armful of wood clatter to the ground. “It’s not sand in the west,” he said sourly as he brushed his immaculate clothes clean. “It’s sand from the west.”

  “When did you become a minstrel?” Strell said, frustration soft in his voice.

  “I was there when Redal-Stan wrote it.” Jaw muscles tight, Lodesh tried to scuff through the thick mat of grass to make a spot for the fire. “Bone and ash, do you know how well sound carries out here? Show some restraint, desert man.”

  Face burning, Alissa became very busy with the tarp. Strell’s motions were sharp and abrupt as he dropped back to the grass and continued to clean the cuff of his trousers. The smell from the new mud on her shoulders was obvious, making her more embarrassed. Connen-Neute shifted, and as a sleek raku the size of a small house, he edged Lodesh out of the way and cleared a spot for the fire down to bare earth with a single swipe of his taloned hand.

  “Thank you,” Lodesh said, clearly peeved as he went to rummage in the packs. With a tweak on her awareness, four gray cushions made from the same cloth as Connen-Neute’s vest winked into existence. Clearly put out, Lodesh sat on one as he pulled his pack closer and found his striker rocks and charred tow.

  The bells tucked in her pocket made a soft chime as she slapped at the insect on her neck. She started as she felt a large field sweep over her. Eyes wide, she turned to Connen-Neute. “It will keep the insects out,” the raku thought, sinking down into a comfortable crouch.

  As Strell continued to scrape at his trousers, Lodesh arranged what sparse wood he had found into the shape of a fire. Making a nearby nest of tinder, he pulled a spark from his striker rocks and set the charred tow glowing. There was a tug on her thoughts as Connen-Neute warded the wood alight. Lodesh closed his eyes in a suffering blink. “Can I make tea?” he asked Connen-Neute as he patted his tiny fire out. “Can I make the tea all by myself?”

  The young Master blinked his great eyes good-naturedly. Frowning, Lodesh pulled a double-wrapped packet of tea from his belongings.

  Alissa’s eyes widened; she hadn’t thought to bring tea. “Is there enough for everyone?” she asked, and Lodesh’s frustration dropped from him like a mask.

  “You’d like some tea?” he questioned, beaming as he moved to sit on the cushion beside her. “I’ll make you some.”

  Strell made a rude noise, and Lodesh turned. “Piper,” the Keeper mocked, “you smell.”

  Strell froze, his stubbled face looking worried. “I—uh— didn’t have room to pack a proper change of clothes,” he said. Alissa winced. She could carry only so much. “I was going to buy something at the coast,” he finished, making her feel worse as he moved himself to the edge of camp and continued to scrape the mud from his lower legs.

  Alissa frowned at Lodesh, but her anger stopped short and fell to ash at the surprising, heavy look of promise she found in his eyes. Her thoughts flashed back to him catching her with Strell, and she became worried. She had said no, but she knew Lodesh wouldn’t stand by and do nothing. He looked so young, it was hard to remember he had a lifetime of sly wisdom to draw upon. She had once heard him tell Strell that he had no qualms about waiting Useless out. He had bided three centuries for Alissa. What were a few years more?

  He smiled, and her pulse leapt as she recalled their dance under the mirth trees the fall before last—or three centuries ago, depending upon how one looked at it. The wild, desire-filled emotions he had stirred that night had all but persuaded her to abandon Strell. She knew Lodesh’s love was real and that he would never hurt her again, but the memory of his betrayal haunted her. Being trapped in the past had been a confusing mix of heartache and joy. The younger Lodesh, innocent and unaware of who she really was, had been an unexpected anchor, keeping her sane. And she had fallen in love with him, just as the wiser, older, world-weary Lodesh had planned.

  “Um, Lodesh?” she stammered, flicking her attention between him and Strell.

  “Your tea is ready,” he said softly, his eyes unmoving from hers.

  Taking a quick, disconcerted breath, she resettled herself upon one of Connen-Neute’s cushions. The raku had curled up like a great cat at the edge of camp. His second eyelid drooped to turn his gold eyes to red as he drowsily watched the heat stream from the fire.

  Lodesh poured her a cup of tea. His gaze never left her, and Alissa nervously flicked her attention between his eyes and the rising level of liquid. But he knew exactly when to stop. “Thank you,” she said, and he leaned forward, tucking a strand of her hair behind an ear. He smelled like mirth wood, all pine and apple.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, his light words standing in contrast to his body language.

  Her gaze went unseeing as images of Ese’ Nawoer’s grove sweet with blossoms swirled through her. Alissa felt her resolve weaken. “Lodesh?” she stammered. He took her hand, testing to see if she would lean into him if he, by chance, pulled. His grip was warm, and his green eyes made her forget.

  “By the Wolves, stop it, Lodesh,” came Strell’s irate voice from the shadows, and she pulled her hand from Lodesh’s. “Have the decency to wait until I’m not watching.”

  Connen-Neute’s eyes slitted open, and he rumbled an agreement.

  Grinning, Lodesh gracefully eased back from her, and Alissa breathed easier. Shifting suddenly, he dug awkwardly in a pocket. “Here,” he said with a surprising formality as he extended a closed fist. “I’d like you to have this. You wear it. On your ankle.”

  Alissa held her hand out, and with a soft chime, a tiny bell weighted her palm. Her eyebrows rose, and she set her cup aside. Another bell?

  “It’s a traveling-to-the-coast present,” Lodesh said, his green eyes shining. “The last time I was there, all the affluent women had them. Will you wear it for me?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” she said softly as she brought it close. “Thank you, Lodesh.” It was smaller than the ones Useless had given her—barely the size of her pinky nail—and by the amount of tarnish, older as well. Its sound, though, was sweeter, like water over rocks, and she couldn’t help but smile. Two of them, now, had given her bells. What were they for?

  There was a strong pull on her awareness as the massive shadow of Connen-Neute vanished in a mist of pearly white, swirling down to his human shift. “I’ve got one for you, too, Alissa,” the young Master said as he reappeared, sitting down upon the cushion that had just held his head and dragging his pack to him.

  Sure now something was going on, she held out a hand across the dying fire to take the bell as he extended it. The cool sphere was much like Useless’s, tinkling merrily as it rolled in her grip.

  “You’re supposed to wear them on your left foot if you aren’t married,” Connen-Neute said. “Isn’t that a quaint tradition? It’s nice you have two of them.”

  Strell came forward, his pack in his grip as he knelt at her other side. “Alissa? I was going to give this to you tomorrow, but—”

  She turned, eyebrows high. “Another bell?”

  Saying nothing, he fished a bell out from his pocket and handed it to her. It was appreciably bigger than the others, the dent in it making an inharmonious clink. “I—uh—made an ankle strap for you, too. See?” he stammered, his neck red.

  He held it out, and when Alissa refused to take it, he set it cautiously beside her on the ground. It looked like the strap he had once tried to fasten around Talon’s feet, and her eyes narrowed at the comparison.

  Lodesh leaned toward Connen-Neute. “Where did he get a bell?” he whispered loudly.

  Strell’s face darkened.
“I bought it. It took me two winters, but I bought it. Where did you get yours? A drawer in the citadel?”

  Alissa took a breath. “All right. What are these for?” Not one of them met her eyes in the suspicious silence. “You all gave me one. They must be important. What are they for?”

  “I told you,” Connen-Neute said with wide, innocent eyes. “It’s to show the marital status of a coastal woman. I didn’t want you to be stared at. I know how you like to fit in.”

  Lodesh topped off her tea. “They make a lovely sound when you dance.”

  She turned to Strell. His gaze had dropped. “Bells are used to show status on the coast, Alissa,” he said softly. “I bought it for my sister. I’d—like you to have it.”

  Alissa’s anger vanished. His entire family had been lost years ago in a rare desert flood. That he would think to give it to her touched her heart. “Status?” she questioned. “The more bells, the higher your standing?”

  Strell’s mouth opened in obvious surprise. “You aren’t angry?” he asked. “I thought you’d think it was demeaning to ask you to wear a bell to show your worth.”

  “Uh, no.” She laced his bell onto the strap, embarrassed she cared about something so fleeting as status. “Everyone shows status somehow. The plains by how long the women grow their hair and the number of children they can keep alive. The foothills by how many sheep they have and the amount of trinkets they buy from the plains. I haven’t figured out how status is shown in the Hold.” She thought for a moment. “Perhaps by how far up in the tower your room is?” she said, and Connen-Neute shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve—uh— never had any status.” She winced upon recalling the misery of market day when she covered her fair hair with a scarf and tried not to talk for fear of revealing the accent her plains mother had instilled in her. “It might be nice—for a change?” she finished.

  Strell and Lodesh looked at each other, their surprise that she cared about status making her ashamed, almost. But burn it to ash, it was hard to hold her head up when whispers of “half-breed” trailed behind her like hungry curs.

  His face slipping into understanding, Strell said, “A man’s status on the coast is that of his mother’s until he marries; then it becomes that of his wife’s. It has given rise to the state that though men earn the money, the women generally have it all. Their husbands give them everything to heighten their own status by association. With three bells, I’d say you’re equal to a merchant’s daughter, or perhaps a small ship holder.” He ducked his head, smiling as he met her gaze from under his shock of dark hair. “Congratulations, Alissa. You’re rich.”

  Returning his grin, Alissa jiggled the strap to make them chime. Alone they were nice, but together they made music. Tomorrow, when no one was looking, she would put them on her ankle where they belonged, adding Useless’s three as her secret.

  Strell looked decidedly relieved as he took up his pipe and ran through a quick scale to warm the mirth wood his pipe was made of. “What would you like to hear, Alissa?” he asked. “I need to practice, and it won’t hurt to have a little money to spend on you. Seeing as you’re now wealthy and all,” he added, his eyes glinting.

  Her eyebrows rose at his rare offer to entertain requests. Feeling magnanimous, she tossed a careless hand and said, “Your choice.”

  Clearly pleased she let him decide, he sent the first phrase of “Taykell’s Adventure” into the air. Her breath caught, and her eyes went wide. Her eyes darted to Lodesh, blushing as she recalled the bawdy verses they had composed together under his mirth trees while she had been trapped in the past. “Anything but that!” she amended.

  Connen-Neute all but snickered, and Lodesh grinned at her obvious fluster. Strell paused, clearly knowing something was going on but not having a clue as to why one of her favorite tunes now made her blush. Slowly he began to play a lullaby, eyeing Lodesh warily.

  Alissa settled back on her cushion. She gave the three men an honest smile, content to sip Lodesh’s tea while Strell played what he would.

  7

  Alissa inhaled deeply, thinking the scent of dead fish and too many people was almost an assault. The combined sights and sounds of the coast were overwhelming, but she smiled, insufferably pleased with them. The afternoon’s rain had slacked to a faint mist, disappearing under the strong sun. Moisture glistened on the planked road—a landlocked dock, really.

  The way had been covered to keep the busy thoroughfare from turning into a slurry of mud from the rain that Strell said fell daily. Whereas the wooden road would be an extravagance anywhere else, here, made of wood too inferior for shipbuilding, it was a commonplace luxury. And over it all was the faint chiming of tiny bells to draw her eyes downward to feet demurely covered, teasing as to what might be hiding about the women’s ankles.

  It had come as a shock to Alissa to find that not everyone wore shoes. Since sighting her first pair of mud-covered, hairy-toed feet, she had kept her horrified eyes firmly above knee level. Strell and Lodesh had banded together to tease her, exchanging clever plays on words and sly descriptions until she was red-faced and tight-lipped. She had been more than a little peeved they hadn’t warned her, but it was nice to see them drop their rivalry for a time.

  Even so, the coast fascinated her. Strell had once said everyone looked different at the coast, and he was right. Though he stood taller than most, the difference wasn’t unduly great. Her skin was lighter than theirs, but not so anyone would stare. And a few people had hair as fair as she did, so she didn’t feel out of place. Everyone was different, the only unifying feature being the wide-brimmed hats made of reeds that everyone wore to keep off the rain. She walked confidently on Strell’s arm as the passing people eyed her with varying amounts of interest.

  Alissa thought the attention might be from Talon safely perched on her shoulder inasmuch as from her odd dress and jangling walk. Her bells put out a recognizably louder noise than most, and she suspected Strell knew she had more than the three they had given her.

  The looks might also be attributed to Connen-Neute. He was nearly a head taller than everyone except Strell. His eyes and hands were bandaged in several of Alissa’s black sashes such that he could still see through the thin fabric. Lodesh was making a great show of leading him by the elbow as if he were blind. Together they must make an odd sight, strolling down the wood-planked road in the slackening mist.

  Bringing up the rear was a rattling pushcart with their belongings. Upon reaching the outskirts of the busy coastal village, Lodesh had rented it and the services of a young boy for the day. He had claimed they would raise too many eyebrows if they carried their belongings on their backs like paupers. Alissa thought he was being lazy, but it was nice to feel important.

  “Look, Strell,” she said, pointing at the barren trunks of trees clustered above and behind the roofs of the surrounding buildings. “What do you think happened to those trees?”

  Strell leaned close, amusement in his eyes. “Those are masts,” he whispered. “From the ships and boats. See the ropes hanging on them? And the bound sails?”

  She winced, feeling stupid, but she had no idea they would be that tall.

  “We’ll go down for a look before it gets dark if we have the chance,” Strell added. “I want to try to find a clothier before we get a room.”

  “Maybe I can find a hair ribbon, too,” Alissa added as Lodesh snickered. Her tone hinted at an accusation, and Strell stiffened.

  The scent of mirth wood filled her senses as Lodesh appeared at her side. “Let me buy you a ribbon, Alissa,” the well-dressed man graciously offered.

  Alissa beamed. “Why, thank you, Lodesh. You are the gentleman.”

  Strell’s grip on her arm tightened. “I’ll buy you a ribbon,” he said, his neck reddening.

  “Lodesh wants to get me one,” she said, pleased it bothered Strell.

  “Look,” Strell said, pointing. “Let’s ask that man where the nearest clothier is. I want to get you a ribbon.” Pulling Alissa away from Lodesh
’s grasp, he angled them across the street to where a man stood with a cart of late bread draped with a cloth to keep off the weather and flies. Halfway there, a piercing shout of recognition brought them to a halt.

  “Strell?” a woman called exuberantly. “Strell! By the Hounds. You’re back?”

  Surprised, Alissa spun. A tiny woman with a child on her hip was striding across the street with no regard to her safety. The chimes on her ankle seemed to magically open a path. Alissa dropped back, falling into a stunned shock as the woman flung herself at Strell. Turning to keep the child on her hip out of the way, she wrapped one arm about his neck and pulled him down to her height, kissing him soundly on the mouth.

  “What the Wolves—” Connen-Neute whispered into her mind. The intrusion jolted Alissa out of her surprise, and she shot a black look at Connen-Neute’s grin.

  “Look at you!” the ribbon-decked woman scolded fondly as Strell tried to disentangle himself. He was flushing, and his embarrassment only made Alissa all the more peeved. “You said you were leaving,” the short woman scolded. “Have you been down-coast all this time? Was that just one of your tales to put me off? Ashes, what happened to your finger? It’s half gone! And this?” she cried, tracing a ringed finger across his whiskered cheek. “Wolves and hagfish, a beard? You’d never grow one for me, you cad. Where are you staying? I’ll have your room aired out, and—”

  “Lacy!” Strell cried, placing a hand over her tiny, pretty mouth. “Let me talk.”

  Eyes wide, the small woman glanced at Alissa, Connen-Neute, and Lodesh as if only now realizing they were with him. She stepped back and put her free hand to her hat. It made her look all the more comely, and Alissa felt herself warm. Strell had spent six years on the coast. Of course people would know him.