Lost Truth

by Dawn Cook

  He looked past Talon at the waves as he fingered the edge of his red sash. “You temporarily damaged her eye and gave her a permanent scar on her leg. That might be forgiven, as she forced the conflict. But that isn’t why you’re restrained.”

  A feeling of nausea came over her. “They’re angry about me marrying Strell?”

  “They don’t know, yet,” he said.

  She swallowed hard. “What, then?”

  Connen-Neute took a slow breath. “I told them about Beast.”

  She stared at him, tensing. “You said you wouldn’t!” she wailed, struggling until she managed to lurch into an upright position. The chain tightened and a link snapped. Alissa lurched and fell, almost passing out at the pain in her hand as she hit the sand.

  “It was an accident!” Connen-Neute shouted frantically in his thoughts as he spun to the cliff, and Alissa knew he wasn’t talking to her. “An accident! Let her take the ash-ridden chains off. It’s her! You know it’s Alissa. If she was feral, I would be dead and she would be gone!”

  Alissa froze, terrified. The tips of her wings trembled. There was a buzz of half-heard conversation, and Connen-Neute eased. “Go ahead and shift,” he said. “You’re lucky Silla’s with them. They’re afraid to show their fear in front of her.”

  Fear? Alissa thought. She was the one shaking. Alissa took a steadying breath, then shifted. She took a long time, concentrating on making sure she reappeared in her best outfit. Immediately the pain in her hand grew worse. Nauseous, she fell to sit on the sand.

  Her stomach clenched as she looked at her hand. The wrapping had vanished when she shifted. Ugly purple and yellow discoloration patterned her skin between the red gashes where bones had been slid back under the skin. Alissa’s breath came in short pants to keep from passing out. She would never be able to use it again. She knew it.

  “Here,” Connen-Neute said, holding out a sling. “Yar-Taw set it. He gave you a ward to dull the pain, too. He said you should regain most of its movement. He’ll bind it again for you, I’m sure. But you ought not shift anymore until it’s healed further.”

  Alissa’s stomach was roiling. Why had he bothered? Why were they talking as if she had a tomorrow? They were going to make her destroy Beast. What did it all matter?

  But she let him help put the sling over her shoulder and arrange her hand in it. The pain besting the ward made her grit her teeth until she saw spots, but she wouldn’t pass out. Keribdis was watching. Alissa wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

  She was almost panting when they were done. The wind was suddenly chill, and she shivered. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone,” she whispered.

  Connen-Neute exhaled long and slow. He glanced up at Silla’s peak and back again. “Keribdis recognized Beast in your thoughts. If I hadn’t told them, you would have awoken ringed by the entire conclave with them thinking you were feral.”

  “They’re going to make me kill her anyway!” she exclaimed, dropping her head as the edges of her vision started to go black. “I won’t,” she whispered. “I won’t, and you know it.” She tried to stand, failing. The pain in her hand was almost too much to bear.

  Connen-Neute’s eyes were hard with determination as she fell back. “I got you a chance, Alissa.” He hesitated. “There’s going to be a meeting,” he said quieter.

  “It’s a trial. Call it what it is!” she demanded, her heart pounding. She had to get away. She could fly back to the Hold. She could make it. Why had she ever come looking for them?

  “It’s not a trial,” he said uncomfortably.

  “I’ll be standing alone?” she asked bitterly. “I’ll be justifying my actions?” Connen-Neute wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Then it’s a trial,” she said.

  “It’s a meeting where you will try to convince the majority of the conclave that Beast is not a threat to you or anyone else. You don’t have to convince Keribdis, only half of them—”

  “Keribdis owns all but a handful!” Alissa exclaimed.

  “If you can do that, you’ll be allowed to remain as you are,” Connen-Neute finished.

  “And if I can’t?” she asked, her stomach clenching.

  He said nothing, not even looking at her.

  Silence settled over them. She looked at her hand in its sling. Heartache went through her as she realized she had lost her ring. “Where’s Strell?” she said. Her ring—her wedding ring—gone.

  “Close, but out of sight so they won’t make him leave.”

  A cold feeling went through her. She touched the back of her head, making a small noise when she found a lump. She must have been knocked out. She didn’t remember that.

  “I do,” Beast muttered, and then Alissa did as well.

  The sound of approaching voices pulled her attention down the beach, and her anxiety flowed back tenfold. Connen-Neute extended a hand to help her rise. His smooth face was pale and worried. She stood, wavering. Her knees felt as if they wouldn’t support her. Alissa brushed her good hand down her Master’s attire, wishing she had something nicer to wear to her lynching. Her hand trembled as she reached for Talon. The bird chittered comfortingly, worrying Alissa’s fingers until she put Talon on her shoulder. “I’m ready.”

  31

  Alissa walked beside Connen-Neute, feeling like a prisoner. Her hand throbbed under the pain-deadening ward. The Masters they passed paused their conversations, turning them into a buzz of private mental communication hazing the edge of her awareness. She stiffened, touching Talon’s silky feathers for reassurance.

  Connen-Neute subtly guided her to a table and three chairs waiting in the shade above the high tide mark. They looked out of place on the sand, the impression strengthened by the woven mat under them. The odd trees arched overhead to provide relief from the sun, and the wind off the water made it cool. Her heart pounded as she saw Yar-Taw waiting. His trousers, long sleeveless vest, and shirt were black; his yellow sash went to the ground.

  “Still think it’s not a trial?” she said bitterly to Connen-Neute as she took in the semicircle of empty cushions surrounding the table at a respectful distance. Behind them were benches. They were all alike, the elegant, detailed carvings making it obvious that someone had made them from their thoughts. The table held a pitcher and set of cups. Alissa felt a pang of worry when she found her small, rude-looking cup of stone amongst them. One more thing to have to explain, she thought sourly. One more thing to set Keribdis against her.

  “It’s not a trial,” Connen-Neute muttered. “Yar-Taw promised me it wasn’t a trial.”

  They came to a stop before the older Master. He looked tired. She saw no horror for her having made a pact with her feral nature, just a tremendous weariness. “Alissa,” he said as he helped her with her chair. “Are you always this much trouble, or are we just lucky?”

  “She’s usually worse,” Connen-Neute said brightly, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

  She managed a smile. “Thank you for setting my hand,” she stammered as she sat.

  “You’re welcome.” Yar-Taw settled himself and reached for the pitcher. She reached for her cup and proffered it as he topped off his own drink. His eyebrows rose as the water went tinkling into the stone vessel. “I thought that was your cup,” he said. “You haven’t been here long enough to make it by hand.” He shook his head. “Thought-form, is it?”

  To answer him, she set her tracings alight and made another. He picked it up and blew the dust from it. “I’d like to know how you managed that,” he said softly as he looked it over.

  Alissa felt numb, unable to find the strength to care anymore. “No one told me it wasn’t possible to craft thought-forms out of stone until after I did it,” she said.

  Connen-Neute shuffled nervously, finally settling himself on a nearby cushion.

  Yar-Taw was silent, fingering the second cup. The sound of approaching people pulled his head up. “It is a trial,” he said, and Alissa tensed. “But you can walk from here as you came if you fly the right updraft.
” She went to speak, and he held up a hand. “This arrangement between you and your feral consciousness . . . You know it isn’t the only issue Keribdis has?”

  Alissa nodded, glancing past him to the brightly colored figures moving through the brush. They were all dressed so nicely. She looked like a beggar, even in her best clothes.

  “Keribdis is fighting her own personal war,” Yar-Taw said, bringing her attention back. “It started long before you were born. Wolves, I think it started before the Hold was built. Talo-Toecan is on the other side, and unfortunately you have become a point of contention.”

  “That’s not it,” Alissa protested, going silent as he raised his finger again.

  “Whether it is or isn’t doesn’t really matter,” he said, his words quickening as the people grew close. “The only way you can win this is by not arguing with her. She is a dramatic, spoiled old woman who has the backing of most of the Hold. Don’t get me wrong; she earned that backing fairly. She is intelligent, devious, and has no mercy when she is protecting something dear to her. I expect she will rant and rave, and if you respond in kind, her dramatics will be seen as being justified and not as the method of persuasion they are. Only by letting her rage alone will the rest see how irrational she is being.”

  He pressed his lips together and leaned back as the first of the Masters took their spots. “I don’t agree with what you’ve done with your bestial consciousness, but maybe . . .” He hesitated, glancing at her second cup. “Perhaps some good can come of it.”

  “Thank you,” she said, relieved she seemed to have someone on her side.

  “Or perhaps I simply don’t like a bully,” he added.

  Alissa’s stomach dropped. Unable to meet his gaze, she turned to the surrounding crowd. Silla had seated herself beside Connen-Neute. The young woman was pale, and Alissa wished she had been able to explain to Silla about Beast. Who knew what lies Keribdis had told her?

  Alissa turned to Yar-Taw. “Where are Strell and Lodesh?” she questioned.

  “Keeping themselves at the edges where they ought to be,” Yar-Taw said seriously.

  Stifling a surge of annoyance, Alissa ran a mental search, startled to find both Strell and Lodesh up a nearby tree like boys at a village hanging. Peering closer, she spotted Strell’s hat, the one she had given him ages ago. She gave him a weak smile, and a large leaflike frond moved contrary to the breeze. It made her more confident. She took a sip of water, but her fingers trembled as she set her cup down. Her hand hurt through the ward, and she cradled it.

  “Wolves,” Yar-Taw muttered, his gaze on the sky. “Here she comes. I imagine this is going to be one of her more dramatic entrances.”

  The crowd became noisy as everyone found his or her place. Alissa squinted into the noon-bright sky. She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes with her good hand. Looking as if it was coming out of the sun was a golden form: Keribdis.

  Beast stirred at Alissa’s alarm. Together they watched Keribdis circle and land far enough away that the sand and spray she kicked up would hit no one. The older raku surveyed all from her higher vantage point, nodding to several on the benches. Alissa’s brow furrowed at the discoloration about her eye. It had clearly been subjected to a three-day accelerated healing. It hardly seemed right, Alissa thought with a stab of irony. When in the past, Alissa had taught Redal-Stan the tricky ward, who in turn taught it to everyone else, Keribdis included.

  There was a swelling in the subliminal buzz of private conversations. “I’m not afraid of her,” Beast said into their shared thoughts, and a wash of prideful satisfaction went through Alissa as they gazed at the tender-looking scar on her thigh.

  “I am,” Alissa thought back sourly.

  Beast harrumphed. “She can’t bring us down. Look how dull her hide is. She’s thin from age, not strength. She hasn’t the stamina.”

  “Perhaps.” Alissa pushed her cup away. “But it didn’t do us any good, did it?”

  “She cheated. This one can’t catch us,” Beast added, and Alissa felt a glimmer of hope. She could always flee. Leave Keribdis to sulk on her island. Beast could get them back to the coast. But even as she thought it, her thoughts turned to Strell. She couldn’t leave him.

  There was a pull upon Alissa’s tracings as Keribdis shifted to her smaller size. Smaller, but no less formidable, Alissa decided, blinking in surprise as she took the woman in.

  Keribdis had appeared in an extravagant dress of patterns and colors the likes of which would take Alissa years to make. Gold and red interwove with dark greens and bronzes. Her obsidian hair shone, piled atop her head as Silla’s often was, the ribbons holding it in place trailing in the stiff breeze. Her scarf was the only thing unchanged, and it drew Alissa’s eye like the sun. The stark crimson was surrounded by so many colors and shapes that at first it seemed the only place Alissa could look at. But the color was so vibrant, she finally had to look away.

  Alissa squinted at her, suddenly seeing the woman’s extravagant clothes as an overdone costume worn to appease someone’s idea of self-worth. Looking down at her own attire, she saw it in the same way. Her hair blew into her eyes, and she wished she had cut it to a proper foothills length. She wished she had worn her old clothes. She wished she hadn’t tried to be anything other than a farm girl. What the Wolves was she doing here?

  Keribdis made her sedate way across the hot sand to Silla, ignoring Alissa completely. “Silla, dear,” she said gently as she drew the young woman to her feet. “Why are you here?”

  Silla’s chin quivered, but her eyes grew determined. “I want to stay,” she said.

  “But until you scribe your name on the cistern, you have no voice in the council,” Keribdis said persuasively. “There’s no reason for you to have to witness this. Go wait on the overlook. I’ll tell you what happens. Every little detail.”

  Silla’s lips parted in disbelief. “Alissa is my friend,” she said. “I want to stay.”

  Alissa felt a surge of relief. Silla was still her friend.

  Keribdis drew Silla stumbling out of the conglomeration. “Silla.” Her voice was harder. “This is nothing you need to see. Nothing that concerns you.”

  “The sanity of my friend doesn’t concern me?”

  “Student—” Keribdis started, her eyes holding a severe look of reprimand.

  “Let Silla stay,” Yar-Taw interrupted. “She’s a member of the conclave, whether she has scratched her name on some fool wall or not. If you want to keep with Hold traditions, then I suggest we go back to the Hold so we can.”

  There were muttered agreements, and Alissa watched with satisfaction as Keribdis forced her brow smooth. “You’re such a dear,” she said to Silla as she gave her a quick hug. “If you’re that concerned for your new friend, of course you should stay. There is a spot in the back.”

  “I already have a seat,” she said. Not waiting for a reply, she strode to her cushion beside Connen-Neute and sat in a huff of nervousness and determination.

  Keribdis was left standing alone. She looked shocked. Her eyes narrowed as she met Alissa’s gaze, and Alissa looked away. Silla’s defiance hadn’t helped in the least.

  “About time we saw some backbone in that girl,” Yar-Taw said, making Alissa feel somewhat better. He gave Alissa an encouraging smile, then stood. “Keribdis,” he said loudly, gesturing. “Come and sit with us.”

  “I prefer to stand,” she said, moving gracefully forward despite a small limp.

  “Your preference, of course.” Yar-Taw poured her a cup of water.

  Alissa listened carefully to his tone and decided to take his advice on how to confront Keribdis. His words were slightly sarcastic but still polite. She snuck glances at the surrounding Masters, seeing several with amused expressions. Hope made her sit straighter.

  Keribdis took a stance in the shade midway between the table and the assemblage. She hesitated as if gathering her thoughts, her head bowed in concentration. The crowd grew quiet. Looking surprised at the sudden silence, Ke
ribdis brought her head up. The wind blew upon her ribbons, fluttering her long skirt and sash.

  “I have spent much time in meditation,” she said softly, “thinking how best to confront the problem that has come before us.” Keribdis looked at Alissa, and Alissa stared back. “She has willfully maintained her unlawful feral consciousness. We thought it couldn’t be done,” she said into the uneasy silence. “But her transition from Keeper to Master was not executed properly.”

  “Still think it’s not a trial?” Alissa said silently to Connen-Neute, and his ears reddened.

  “It’s a situation that can be remedied, and I say we should,” Keribdis finished.

  Alissa opened her mouth, but Yar-Taw shook his head. “Not yet,” he said softly, then louder to everyone else, “We meet today to talk over Alissa’s well-being. As has been correctly stated, she has made a pact with her bestial consciousness insteadof outright destroying it. We need to determine if this has a detrimental effect, and if so, begin to explore remedies.”

  Keribdis took a step toward the table. “That is what I said,” she accused as she raised her cup and took a sip. Her eyes fell upon the stone cups. They widened as she realized there were two now where there had only been one before. Clearly they were thought-forms. Alissa mockingly picked one up, silently claiming her accomplishment.

  Keribdis’s shock vanished, and her face went hard. “I want to talk to it,” she said, and Alissa blanched at the force behind the simple request. “I want to talk to your bestial consciousness. Let us see it so we can decide if it’s safe. See if you control it, or it controls you.”

  Alissa’s chin trembled as her shock turned to anger. It? Beast was not an it. She lowered her eyes, swallowing the insult. “Her,” Alissa said shortly, and Keribdis paused.

  “Her what?”

  “Beast is a her, not an it.”

  Keribdis looked over the surrounding people, a mocking arch to her eyebrows. “Her, then,” she drawled patronizingly.