Lost Truth

by Dawn Cook

  He came up for air, coughing violently. His eyes were watering, and she took a step closer in concern. “Oh, Wolves,” she swore. “You found them. Are most of them dead?”

  Not looking at her, he put up a hand to forestall her from saying anything more. Alissa’s heart sank. Her eyes closed as she thought of Useless. It was done. It had all been for nothing. Better she had never come out here than to have given Useless a false hope. Above her on deck she could hear Hayden shouting instructions. The muted sound of wind and waves grew stronger, and the boat began to move. She reached for a handhold as the floor shifted.

  “But Silla,” she said, refusing to believe the worst. “Someone has to be alive.”

  Connen-Neute took a ragged breath as he lowered the water sack. “You should wash your hair,” he said. “Wash your hair, wash your face, wash your feet.” He took a breath. “Mend your stockings. Clean your nails. Scrub your back ridges.” His long finger pointed as he spoke, and his focus wavered.

  Alissa peered at him, her lips parting in surprise. Taking the waterskin from him, she brought it to her nose, recoiling. It wasn’t water, it was Hayden’s stash of rum! Her jaw dropped as he took the skin back and tried to eke out another swallow.

  From above them came Hayden’s muffled, excited call. “Land! I see land!” Alissa stood torn between joining the jubilation on deck and shaking Connen-Neute until he told her what was wrong. “What are you doing!” she questioned angrily as his golden eyes suddenly struggled to focus. “Why didn’t you tell me you had found them? You did, didn’t you?”

  “Found them,” he said slowly, blinking at her like an owl. “They’re there. All of them—mostly. I found their thought signatures.”

  Frustrated, she clenched her hands. “Then what are you doing? We should fly out there and tell them we’re here!”

  Connen-Neute shook his head. She tried to grab the empty sack, but he wouldn’t let go. He stumbled as he fought to keep it, falling to slump at one of the galley benches. His long face took on a mix of fear and defiance. “I like who I am,” he said, and she drew back in confusion. “I like everything the way it is. I didn’t want to find them. I only came with you because—” He hesitated. “I won’t let her hurt you,” he said suddenly with the fierce loyalty of a big brother.

  “No one is going to hurt me,” she said, and he shook his head dramatically. He had gone from stone sober to drunk in the time it would take her to tie her shoes.

  “Not that hurt. Inside hurt. I like you. Maybe together—we can stay the same?”

  She was very confused. Connen-Neute tried to rise. He quickly gave up, leaning toward her on an elbow with a conspiring expression. “She’s devious, Alissa. She picks at your foundations. She finds the gaps in your updraft and steals your wind.”

  “Keribdis?” she whispered, feeling a pang of fear. Connen-Neute nodded, settling back to look wise despite being drunker than a sailor newly in port.

  “I don’t like her,” he admitted. A shocked expression came over his wide, innocent eyes. He took a breath, as if seeing the sun for the first time. “I don’t like her,” he said firmly as if Alissa might tell him he was wrong. He plucked at his red sash, trying to pull it from around him. “They called me dead when I turned feral,” he said, his words slurred. “I don’t have to wear her sash anymore.”

  “Connen-Neute, wait!” Alissa said, thinking he should make the decision when he had all his wits about him, but he had fallen asleep, the scarf undone but not removed. Worried, Alissa tightened his scarf back up. She gazed at him for a moment, her concern growing. He had done it on purpose. He wasn’t drinking to forget. He was drinking to cloud his tracings so he couldn’t shift and fly, knowing she wouldn’t go ahead by herself.

  “Keribdis can’t be that bad,” Alissa whispered as she pulled a blanket over him. But a thick sense of foreboding filled her. This was not like Connen-Neute at all.

  14

  Alissa sat in the bow of the dinghy beside the captain and tried not to fidget. Her stomach hurt, and she wished she hadn’t eaten anything. She was dressed in her Master best, and the heavy winter outfit was miserable in the afternoon sun. Strell was at the oars, the lean muscles in his back sending them quickly through the water. His loose brown hair shifted in the breeze from under the dilapidated hat that had once been hers. She had yet to see the supposed hat he had bought on the coast. She had a suspicion there wasn’t one.

  Connen-Neute was in the stern, his long fingers tapping restlessly. Talon was on his shoulder, and he cringed every time she screamed at the gulls flying overhead. Despite the healing ward Alissa had run on him—he had been too drunk to do it himself—the Master was still shaking the last of the rum’s effects and wasn’t feeling well. Though he could shift, he couldn’t fly yet, which might account for some of his mood. Lodesh, though, was cheery, standing up in the back of the dinghy despite Strell’s muttered complaints about balance.

  Hayden and the captain had been emphatic about remaining on the boat while the rest searched for water and survivors, but when Connen-Neute took the Albatross’s rudder off to keep them from leaving, Captain Sholan decided he would accompany them. “To keep an eye on ya, nothing more,” he had said sourly as he clambered down the rope ladder and into the Albatross’s remaining rowboat. The rudder was currently tied to the back of the Albatross like a raft. It would be impossible to reattach without Connen-Neute’s help in raku form.

  Much to Alissa’s surprise, Connen-Neute had shown only anticipation since throwing off his drunk. The closer they got to the cove, the more impatient he became. “I thought you didn’t want to find Keribdis,” Alissa said as the young Master cracked his knuckles at their pace.

  His long face went solemn. He and Lodesh exchanged a look, piquing Alissa’s curiosity. The two of them had cloistered themselves in a long conversation while Captain Sholan looked for a good anchorage. “She’s my teacher,” the young Master said, not meeting her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I want to find her?”

  Alissa frowned at Lodesh. “Telling him to hide his feelings is a mistake,” she said to him alone. “Especially when it was so hard for him to admit to them in the first place.”

  Eyes on the approaching cove, Lodesh said, “You should meet her before you start pointing fingers. She’s a hard woman to argue with.”

  “I don’t want to argue with her,” Alissa protested. “I don’t even want to know her.”

  “But that doesn’t mean I have to like her,” Connen-Neute said, unwittingly interrupting their private conversation. “For all her shortcomings, she is highly experienced. I can learn a lot from her. But I won’t allow her to sway me any longer when the conclave votes.”

  The captain grunted as if surprised Connen-Neute might have someone to answer to.

  Having to be satisfied with that, Alissa watched the approaching shore and the odd trees. Slowly the sound of surf came over the wind. She peered down at the ocean floor, their shadow giving no clue as to how deep the water really was. The black patch following them grew suddenly larger. A thrill went through her as the dinghy scraped onto the beach. “Sand,” she whispered, squinting at the glare of white expanse between her and the greenery. “Just like in my dream.”

  Lodesh was holding his hat on his head against the breeze. “What’s that, Alissa?”

  “Nothing.” Pulse quickening in anticipation, she gripped the gunwales as the boat rocked. Strell and the captain jumped into the surf and pulled them farther up. Strell held his arms out to Alissa in invitation. Gathering her skirts, she half fell into his grip, enjoying the feeling of being cared for as he lifted her over the last of the waves to the shore. Her bells jingled as he set her down. Strell’s hands tightened about her waist before letting go. It pulled her gaze to his, and she wondered why his brown eyes were pinched in worry.

  Lodesh and Connen-Neute both jumped from the bow to keep their nicer clothing clean. “It’s hot,” she said, feeling the sand’s warmth through her thin soles. Strell bobbed his h
ead, clearly glad to finally have something firm under his feet again. As she took it all in, the captain and Connen-Neute pulled the dinghy past the high tide mark. One hand gathering her skirts, the other holding her hat to her head, Alissa took awkward, tiny steps in the loose sand. Behind them stomped Captain Sholan with a small pack.

  There was an almost impossibly impassable band of vegetation, but once they got through that, the undergrowth thinned. Birds called from within the forest to join the noise of the gulls on the beach. Talon called back, and Connen-Neute soothed her. It was all vaguely familiar but possessed a sense of permanence that Silla’s dreams lacked.

  The captain frowned as he peered into the greenery. “I hope there’s hardwood in here,” he said softly as he adjusted his pack. “We need something to repair the boom with.”

  Lodesh took her arm as she stumbled. “We should’ve sailed around the island until someone noticed us,” he said cheerily.

  “Lazy citadel man,” Strell said half under his breath as he held a vine out of Alissa’s way. Her footing improved once under the trees, but her skirts kept snagging, making her twice as slow as everyone else. Slowly hardwoods began to appear, but none of them were thick enough for Captain Sholan’s liking. His mood eased dramatically when they found a small stream, and it was here they stopped to rest at Strell’s insistence.

  Alissa sat down gratefully atop a fallen tree not too badly decayed. Sweat had made her forehead damp, and she knew her face was red with exertion. She had drastically underestimated the thickness of the island’s vegetation. Her long sleeves and full-length skirts were proving to be almost impossible to get around in, and the heavy fabric was making her hot. Lodesh, too, looked warm, but at least he wasn’t snagging on everything.

  Alissa took off her heavy Master vest to leave only her nondescript shirt and skirt. Immediately she felt better. Setting it aside, she fanned herself with her hat. Strell sat with her, and she accepted a gulp from his waterskin. Lodesh immediately put himself on her other side.

  “Would you like something to eat?” the Keeper asked solicitously, bringing out one of the ship’s hard biscuits from a pack. Feeling ill from the heat, she shook her head. The sudden tension between the two men rose. She took a steadying breath. Feeling like the last candied apple on the tray, she put her hat back on and went to help Connen-Neute fill the waterskins.

  “See what you did?” Strell muttered.

  “I wish I had worn something else,” she complained to Connen-Neute, wanting to fall into the creek and let it wash right through her. Talon chittered from his shoulder, and she wondered how he tolerated her sharp claws through his lightweight summer outfit.

  “We have time,” the young Master said, crouching as he refilled a second waterskin. “Why don’t you splash off?”

  Alissa’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t mind waiting?” She turned back to Strell and Lodesh. They had gone to stand at opposite ends of the temporary camp. “I’m going to go wading,” she said. They stared at her blankly, and she added, “In the stream, to cool off.” Not wanting them to see her bare feet, Alissa headed upstream. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Not too far!” Strell called, and Talon chittered as if in warning.

  She stifled a sigh of bother. Jerking her skirt free of another stick, she followed the bank until their voices grew faint. A final pause to listen, and she leaned against a tree to remove her shoes.

  “Are you all right?” Strell called distantly, and her head came up.

  “I’m fine!” she shouted back, tugging at a lace. “Don’t come up here!” Ashes, couldn’t they leave her alone for even a moment?

  “Come on back,” Lodesh called. “You’re too far away, Alissa.”

  There was a soft gasp at her name, and a twig snapped. Alissa’s head came up. Breath held, she stared across the running water. Beast surged to the forefront of her thoughts, looking through Alissa’s eyes at the surrounding vegetation. “There,” Beast said, and Alissa’s heart pounded. A quick shadow darted away. Purple, with a red sash.

  “Silla!” Alissa cried, her fear shifting to excitement. She lunged across the shallow stream. Her shoes filled with water, and her wet skirts tangled about her ankles. Heart pounding, Alissa scrabbled across, slipping to fall into the water. Beast animated her, getting her up. Snatching control back, Alissa ran.

  “It’s Silla!” she shouted as she found the opposite bank. “I’ve found her!”

  “Alissa, wait!” she heard faintly. She didn’t.

  Silla’s heels vanished behind a clump of decaying roots. “Silla!” Alissa gasped, scraping her palms as she swung around it. “I’m not going to hurt you. Let me explain!”

  The girl was fast, darting around fallen logs like a deer. Alissa scrabbled up an incline. Rocks bit her palms. She lost her footing, and her face went into the dirt. “Silla!” she cried, spitting leaf mold from her. “Wait!”

  Alissa reached the top of the hill. A path ran along it. The red of Silla’s sash showed through the vegetation, disappearing. “I just want to talk!” Alissa cried. Gasping for air, she ran after her. Alissa’s hair caught on a branch. Making a frustrated cry, she tore free. Her pulse pounded. The path was hard under her feet, making her way easier.

  Finally she seemed to be gaining. At the forefront of her awareness was Beast, warning Alissa about low branches and dips in the path. Together they made progress.

  “Silla, please!” Alissa called again. She was almost close enough to touch her black hair. Alissa’s hand stretched out, and Silla surged ahead. Feeling the heat of the chase, Alissa grinned, finding more speed. Her lungs burned and her muscles hurt, but she would catch her.

  “Get her,” Beast exclaimed. “Now!”

  Alissa lunged. She missed, reaching out even as she fell. Her fingers found a shoe as she hit the ground, and she gripped it tight. “Got you!” she wheezed, stretched flat on the ground.

  Elated, Alissa took a huge gulp of air. She looked up from the dirt and went cold. It wasn’t a shoe. She was holding the ankle of someone in sandals. And the foot was facing her.

  She let go as if burned. Alissa looked up to find a red hem embroidered with the likeness of grapevines. Panic coursed through her.

  It wasn’t Silla.

  15

  Heart pounding, Alissa looked up from the dirt path. A lightweight, red linen skirt stretched upward, bound about a slender waist by a red scarf decorated with black, twisting vines. The dark Master’s vest was open over a sleeveless shirt lying loosely upon narrow shoulders. Gulping, Alissa peered up to see long black hair arranged with ribbons, high cheekbones with red spots of anger, and flashing golden eyes. There were dark eyebrows very unlike her own, furrowed in anger. The hands upon the woman’s hips were abnormally long, her fingers having four segments instead of three.

  “Who are you?” the woman said, her voice musical and hard.

  Alissa scrambled to her feet. She hastily brushed herself off, mortified to see she was damp and covered in leaves. Silla was hiding halfway behind the stately woman. Alissa looked at her, and the girl, a young woman, really, shrank back with wide eyes.

  “Why were you chasing her?” the woman said, her Hold accent clipping the words.

  “It’s her,” Silla said, tugging at the woman’s arm. “I told you I wasn’t going feral.”

  “Don’t be a goose,” the woman said, one hand gentling Silla. “We’ve got a marooning is all.” She sounded irritated. “I really don’t know where we are going to put her.” She pursed her lips, and as she pushed back her hair, Alissa noticed it was shot with gray. Her face, too, was lined. She was older than Alissa’s first estimation, but it made her no less formidable.

  “No,” Alissa said. “We were trying—”

  “We?” the tall woman interrupted. “There are more of you? Burn it to ash.” She sighed. “Just go to sleep,” she said absently.

  There was a tug on Alissa’s awareness as a ward of sleep went up. Her eyes widened. Taking a gasping breath,
she broke the field before the ward had time to coalesce. “Wait a moment,” she exclaimed. “Would you listen to me?”

  Surprise cascaded over the woman’s face. “You’re a Keeper?”

  “Not exactly,” Alissa said, peeved. She was hot, out of breath, and had sticks in her hair. And where had her hat gone? She wasn’t about to be put to sleep.

  “Uh, Alissa,” Beast whispered, deep in her thoughts.

  “Shut up, Beast,” she thought. “I don’t care how angry you get, don’t say anything.”

  Silla came out from behind the woman, her fear replaced with a wide-eyed awe. “You’re real,” she said to Alissa, her relief so obvious it was almost painful. “All those dreams?” she exclaimed. “They were real? The snow? Bailic? The Hold? Everything?”

  Alissa found herself grinning. Silla believed. Finally, Silla believed. Perhaps they could be friends again. “Yes. I’m sorry I chased you—” She hesitated as a sudden shadow covered them and was gone. She looked up to see Connen-Neute in his raku form making a sharp turn.

  For the second time, the woman seemed shocked. “Connen-Neute?” she stammered, a long-fingered hand over her mouth. “No! You’re feral!”

  “I told you!” Silla shouted, pointing. “I told you it wasn’t a dream!”

  The wind buffeted them as Connen-Neute landed on one of those odd trees, bending it down to make room for him to land. It unexpectedly snapped, the loud pop pulling a gasp from Alissa. “I thought you couldn’t fly yet,” Alissa said, and he shrugged.

  “How—” the older woman said, taking an involuntary step back. “You were feral . . .”

  Connen-Neute shifted in a swirl of white. As a man, he jumped from the broken tree to the ground. “It was Alissa’s fault,” he said merrily, and Alissa’s jaw dropped. Her fault?

  The woman stared at Connen-Neute. “But how?” she said, reaching forward to run his sleeve through her long hand as if to prove he was real.

  “Alissa,” he repeated, flicking glances at Silla. “She brought my sentience forward in time, leaving me to go feral back then.” All trace of his morning’s reluctance was gone.