Lost Truth

by Dawn Cook

  Fidgeting, he held the long sleeve of his traditional, plainsman’s robes out of the way and carefully stirred the thick concoction over the fire so the bread wouldn’t sink. His fingers felt the outside of his pocket for the reassuring weight of the copper ring he had bought at the coast. The plains didn’t exchange rings, but the foothills did, and so that was what he was going to give her. But not tonight. She wouldn’t see her ring until later.

  A faint tickle in his thoughts brought his head up. Strell swallowed hard. There she was, standing where the land met the ocean. Her back was to him, and she was unaware he was watching her. A panicked feeling raced through him and settled in his belly. Sand and Wind, she looked beautiful with one arm clasped around herself and her free hand gripping Redal-Stan’s watch on its cord about her neck. The gesture had become a habit lately, showing itself more strongly when she was worried.

  A pang struck him as the wind lifted through her hair. It was free and unfettered the way he liked it. And long. Long enough to show the status she deserved. She looked like the ghost he had found standing atop the rock at the mouth of the harbor: sad and melancholy. He had known it was a ghost when her hair and dress moved against the wind. He hadn’t said anything to Alissa; it made his skin crawl that he could see things even she couldn’t. He blamed it on his upbringing. It was said his grandfather had been able to see them, too.

  Seeing her so sad, Strell stretched his thoughts out, wishing he could reach her mind. “Alissa,” he whispered, but she never turned.

  Grimacing, he dropped his eyes to her dinner. It was depressing that touching her thoughts at will was a skill Lodesh possessed that he never would.

  When he found the strength to look up, she had seen him and was striding across the beach. Her awkward, too-long stride of one not used to the footing of sand quelled his feeling of nervous anticipation. Her ineptness made her all the more endearing. She beamed as she noticed his attention. A stab of emotion went through him as he stood. Now, he would know.

  23

  Alissa hesitated, her toes damp on the hard-packed, surfwet sand. Frowning, she looked again at the note in her grip. She had found it this afternoon just inside her door. It said to be by the sand spit at sunset. She knew it was Strell’s handwriting. His loops were cramped, a result of having learned to write when the air was cold from winter.

  A slow breath slipped from her as she settled her nerves. Thanks to Connen-Neute and Lodesh, no one but Strell had learned about Beast last night. Strell had taken the news well, cornering her this morning on the excuse of bringing her a breakfast she couldn’t possibly eat. His questions had been pointed but unaccusing, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved that he knew the truth and still thought no less of her. Still, it had been embarrassing.

  She flushed at the memory. Ashes, she had been stupid. She had risked Beast’s safety to avoid Keribdis, and it had only bought her one day. The gossip, too, had worsened. But the fury on the woman’s face as Alissa walked away without comment had made it all worthwhile.

  It had only been since the sun began edging to the horizon that her stomach had settled. She hadn’t eaten anything all day and was half starved. Clasping an arm about herself, she looked out over the ocean toward the distant Hold. A wry smile crossed her. It was so far, even the memory of it seemed to have faded. She took a breath, hesitating at the smell of something on the evening breeze. “Potatoes?” she whispered, turning to look behind her.

  The sight of a tent and fire pulled her into motion. Feeling awkward on the loose sand, she slogged forward. The figure hunched over the flames stood, showing he was dressed in long robes of crimson and purple. The color flowed to the ground in narrow bands of fabric. “Strell?” she called out, and he looked up, waving to acknowledge he had seen her.

  Alissa made her slow, bell-chiming way with her skirts held out of the sand. She hardly recognized him, especially with that beard of his. He was dressed in the traditional robes of his homeland, with an odd, purple hat she had never seen before. “You haven’t worn a robe since we were in the plains,” she exclaimed when she was close enough to be heard over the wind. She squinted as she halted before him. “That’s not the one you brought back with you.”

  Strell nodded sharply, his attention lost in an unknown memory. “I bought this special when we were out there.”

  “You brought it all the way from the Hold?” she said surprised. “Why didn’t you wear it when you got muddy in the salt swamp?”

  He shrugged, extending a hand to help her sit down before the fire. His fingers were warm, slipping reluctantly from hers as he sat on the rug across from her. Ashes, he looks good, she thought as she ran her gaze over him. She had forgotten how exotic he was in his traditional dress. His tall, lanky height was elegant instead of awkward. His lean, wind-scarred features now lent him the mien that he could confidently weather any storm. The cut of his clothes hinted at a Master’s vest, but looked more authentic in its simplicity. It was like comparing a jewel-bedecked bracelet to the beauty of a single band of silver. And Strell wore it extremely well. Realizing she had been staring, Alissa snatched his hat in fun.

  “That’s mine!” he protested.

  “Let me see,” she said playfully, holding it behind her, and he came to a curiously docile standstill. As he sat helplessly across from her, she gave it a through once-over. Her eyes flicked from the hat to him and back again with a teasing mistrust. The cap was made of colored leather cut into hexagons, sewn together with a darker stained leather between them. It was round, and so much like a bowl that she decided it wasn’t much of a hat. “I can’t imagine that would do much against the sun,” she said as she gave it back to him.

  Strell seemed unusually relieved as he took it. “It’s not for the sun.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “I don’t recall seeing a hat like that in the plains.”

  “It’s plains,” he said as he replaced it on his head.

  Alissa waited for more of an explanation, tucking a wind-blown strand of hair out of her eyes as she thought it finished off the most fascinating outfit she’d ever seen. When it was clear Strell wasn’t going to say more, she turned to the tent. “Did you put this up?” she asked, thinking he obviously had but feeling she had to say something.

  “Yes.” Strell’s attention was on the fire.

  Again he was silent, so Alissa got to her feet and poked her head in. It held only a thick bedroll and his dilapidated pack. “Oh, look!” she exclaimed, realizing the floor was substantially lower than the beach. “You dug out the floor.” She stepped inside to find the rug was thicker than she expected. Wondering who had crafted it, she looked at the ceiling. It was two hand spans above her head and made the tent look larger inside than out. “Why did you dig the floor out?” she asked, thwacking the ceiling to find it properly taut as her mother had shown her.

  “There’s less temperature fluctuation that way,” he said, his voice strained.

  She was silent, hearing how the sound of the surf was muted through the thick fabric. Satisfied, she came out and resumed her seat on one of the rolled-up rugs beside the fire.

  “Do you—” He hesitated. “Do you like it?” he asked, running a hand across his beard.

  “The tent?”

  He nodded, and she blinked.

  “Uh—yes. I guess. It’s a nice color.”

  Strell exhaled in a long, slow sound. Alissa glanced at him, wondering what was with him tonight. He was positively mysterious. “Are you going to sleep here in the tent?” she asked. “It would be nice to get away from everyone. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like when they get back to the Hold.” She bit her lower lip, having a pretty good idea and not relishing it.

  “I might.” Strell stood and shifted to kneel before the fire, and her breath caught at the image he made. “Uh, where’s Talon?” he asked guardedly as he took the lid off the pot over the fire.

  Alissa smiled as she breathed deeply of the fragrant steam. She
hadn’t known he was going to make them supper. “With Silla. She made the mistake of giving Talon a slice of meat.”

  “Good,” Strell said. “I mean, it must be nice for her to have a pet to amuse herself with.”

  Alissa’s smile went wry. “Yes. Good for her.”

  Strell dipped out a portion of the thick white slurry into a bowl and extended it to her. “Here.”

  She gave him a smile and accepted it, eagerly taking a spoonful of the creamy soup. Warmth, and a spicy taste of nuts, filled her mouth. Her eyes closed. “Oh, ashes,” she almost moaned. “Bone and Ash, this is good. What’s in it?” She looked up at his pleased expression. He was watching her, his hands empty. Her thoughts went back to the last time she had eaten something he had made for her. Her face went slack. “Strell?” she quavered, and he chuckled.

  “No grubs,” he said, grinning. “Nothing with feet. Promise. Not even those water animals with all the legs you can’t decide about.”

  Flashing him a relieved smile, she took another bite. “Aren’t you going to eat?” she mumbled around mouthful.

  “I don’t know,” he said cryptically.

  Her eating paused. Then she chewed rapidly and swallowed. “This is all for me?”

  “Yes.” He looked at her, his eyes glowing in an excitement she didn’t comprehend.

  She lowered her spoon, trying to figure it out. The tent, the clothes he had carted halfway around the world, the meal he wasn’t eating. She knew it meant something. “I’m sorry, Strell,” she finally said. “I don’t have the slightest idea what’s going on. I can tell this is important . . .” Her words trailed off into the sound of the surf.

  He ducked his head to show the top of his round hat. “I’m trying to propose, Alissa,” he said, and her jaw dropped. She went cold, then hot. “Didn’t your mother tell you anything?” he continued, smiling. “The tent is supposed to show I can provide a home, though I’ll admit it’s to sneer at. And the meal is to convince you I can keep you and your children from starving through the spring. The robes and hat? They’re just for show.”

  She blinked, her fingers going slack around the bowl. Propose?

  “Dinner was supposed to be potatoes, goat, and apples,” he was saying, the words tumbling over themselves. “But you don’t eat meat, and I haven’t seen an apple or potato since the crewmen stole what I had hidden. It’s mostly roots and some of those clams that stick to rocks that Silla showed me. About the only thing right here is my beard and the sand.”

  She swallowed hard, her pulse racing as she remembered the comment Lacy had made. “You grew that beard for me?”

  Strell ran a hand over it. “I couldn’t propose without it. It’s to give a man time to reflect on what he’s doing. Sort of a waiting period.”

  She couldn’t seem to keep her mouth closed; her jaw kept falling open. “What am I supposed to do?” she said, her voice high and squeaky.

  “Well—uh—” he stammered as he dropped his eyes. “If you want to say no, then you eat everything and walk away. If you want to say yes, you—ah—leave me something.”

  “Leave you . . . what?” she questioned.

  “Something to eat,” he rushed. “Because you care enough that we will either eat or starve together.” He reddened, and she could tell he was embarrassed that starvation was such a possibility in the plains that it had worked its way into even their wedding traditions.

  “But . . . I can’t get married,” Alissa said as her cheeks warmed. “Useless said I have to adhere to foothill traditions. My mother must show favor.”

  Strell looked up, his brown eyes devious. “I already have her favor,” he said softly. A slow grin spread itself behind his dark beard. “Remember this?”

  Alissa felt her jaw drop yet again as he reached behind him and untied his hair. His usual hair clip had been replaced with a familiar, copper-colored hair ribbon. Her eyes widened. “That’s my mother’s,” she exclaimed. “The one she put around the map you bought from her.”

  He nodded. “She knew I might catch up with you, or hoped I might. At least, I think so. Why else would she give me a map for a paltry length of silk?”

  A thrill of emotion rushed through Alissa, leaving her feeling as if she couldn’t catch her breath. “But Useless said I have to adhere to foothills traditions, not plains,” she said as her heart pounded. “Ribbons aren’t a sign of favor in the foothills, just affection.”

  Strell smiled lopsidedly. “You don’t need a sign of favor. I do. And as I’m plains and your mother is plains, the ribbon stands, regardless of what traditions you have to hold to.”

  “But is it enough?” she asked as she leaned forward. “Will Useless accept it?”

  He tucked a strand of hair out of her eyes and his smile deepened. “I know it would stand up in a plains council. Your mother knew I was a Hirdune potter. That would be reason enough for most plainswomen to court a match for her daughter.”

  “Then . . .” She blinked several times, feeling unreal. “Then we can? You . . .” She bit her lower lip, afraid to believe he was serious. “You truly want to marry a—a half-breed?”

  “Do I really want—” His voice cut off as if in disbelief. His face went serious as he took the bowl of food from her and put it upon the ground. Settling her hands in his, he leaned close. His eyes were deep in memory. “Alissa. I loved you when you were a foothills girl defying the mountains and an early winter. I loved you when you were a Keeper determined to not let Bailic dictate your future. I loved you when you were a Master, more wild than the mountains themselves. Nothing has changed.” His eyes shone with unshed tears. “Nothing ever will.”

  His eyes flickered with an old pain, and her heart pounded. “I’ve made a place for myself in the Hold, but even so, Lodesh is much more deserving of you,” he said without a trace of bitterness. “I don’t care. I don’t care that my kinsmen would stone me, or that the Hold will likely refuse to allow the marriage to stand. They can’t keep you safe. I can.”

  His words began to get faster. “I love you,” he said, and she couldn’t breathe. “I think I have since finding you in that ravine, spitting mad and scared. I try and I try to keep you safe. But every time I see you clear of one danger, you find a new way to turn my life upside down. I can’t take it anymore. The only way I can think to keep my skin intact is to marry you.”

  She couldn’t say anything. Her hands trembled as they rested in his.

  “I need you to decide between us,” he said. “If only to keep myself sane. I have to know before I kill myself chasing a raku who doesn’t need me.”

  Doesn’t need him? she thought as she wiped the back of her hand across an eye. Didn’t he know how she depended upon him? And as for choosing? Connen-Neute had been right. She had chosen a long time ago but was too afraid to admit it. Her heart said Strell. Not for what he had done, but for who he saw her as, as she truly was: a child of the foothills who jumped to conclusions and had too quick a temper. He was as simple and plain, as common and enduring, as honest and true as the sand he grew up amongst. And she loved him.

  “Will you stay with me, always?” he asked, pulling her attention to him and the warmth of his hands. “At least as long as I walk the earth?” he said, sounding apologetic. “I know Lodesh will live longer than me, and after I’m gone, I’ll understand if you—”

  Making a cry that was both happiness and sorrow, Alissa dropped her head onto his shoulder. “Yes. Yes I will. I love you, too,” she said as she took in the scent of hot sand. The tragedy of Strell’s short span pained her, but she was fiercely determined to take what she could.

  His breath came in a relieved, joy-filled noise. Strell pulled her close, his arms reaching all the way around her. Her eyes blurred with tears as he tilted his head and kissed her. Emotion coursed through her, seeming all the sweeter for knowing it was fleeting.

  Then the dismal thought of Strell’s short life was gone in a wash of heat. Tomorrow meant nothing. There was only now. His lips were warm
, pulling her into prolonging the kiss. The softness of his beard was almost a shock. She reached up, drawing him closer by twining her fingers in his hair. There was a soft thunk as his hat hit the sand. Nothing existed but him. Nothing else mattered.

  As her heart beat wildly, she absently noted her right hand drop from him. A wisp of alarm went through her as her fingers unexpectedly tightened into a fist. In slow motion, she found her arm pulling back. Her eyes opened wide in alarm. Beast was not happy.

  “Mummph!” she mumbled, trying to draw away.

  It was too late. Her fist slammed into his middle. Strell’s breath whooshed out. Gasping, he clutched his stomach. He fell back to sit in the sand beside the fire.

  Horrified, Alissa put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Wolves!” she cried, realizing what had happened. “Strell,” she said, her hair covering his face as she bent over him. “I’m so sorry. It was Beast. It wasn’t me! Ashes, I’m sorry.” She put a hand on his shoulder, not liking how red his face was. He still hadn’t taken a breath, either.

  “What did you do that for?” Alissa thought at Beast. She could feel Beast’s anger at Strell curled up in pain on the sand.

  “He wanted to bring you to ground!” Beast said in shock. “I saw it in your thoughts!”

  “I love him, Beast. I want him to ground me,” she exclaimed as she knelt beside Strell. “Here,” she said, taking his shoulder. “Sit up. Come on. Sit up so you can breathe.”

  “Au-u-u,” he moaned, waving weakly at her to go away. She fell back, guilt making her unsure what to do. Slowly Strell pulled himself from his hunched position into something marginally upright. He flicked a glance at her from under lowered brows, and she felt tears of helplessness prick. Still not having said anything, he knocked the sand from his hat and placed it upon his head like a helmet. “Cursed, burning-ash fool,” he muttered, not looking at her.