Truth - Hidden Truth Part 21

Alissa glanced out at the garden through a gap in the curtains. The snow had a thick, treacherous crust from the repeated thawing and freezing of the last few days. Though the acc.u.mulation had been steadily decreasing, it was apparently still too deep for Useless. "Tell me about the sea?" she mused aloud.

"The sea?" Strell stuck a stylus behind an ear.

She stretched for her cup and took a sip. "Yes. I've been dreaming about it."

Strell stopped working, set down his tools, and turned. Just noticing her light, he blinked in surprise.

"Are your dreams frightening?" he asked, his expression blank. "Do they wake you?"

"Hounds, no!" she exclaimed, laughing.

"Oh." With a grunt, Strell returned to his work. "The sea is flat at times, and at others it's full of motion. It can be blue, or green, or even a dirty white, depending on the sky."

"Is it warm?" Alissa asked, her eyes shutting in her effort to picture it."No." Strell pulled his stylus from behind his ear and scratched a mark. "I've heard if you go far enough south, the sea warms, but the coastal people seldom go there."

Alissa s.h.i.+vered for some reason. "The sand is warm then."

"Sand?" he exclaimed softly. "No, it's rocky beach."

"All of it?"

He squinted, holding his progress up to her light. "Most."

"Well, the gulls fly above it, don't they?" she said dryly, determined at least part of her dreamscape was correct.

"Course," he mumbled absently.

"And the breeze is fresh and tangy, smelling of salt and purple sea plants."

"Uh-huh."

Her eyes had shut in her effort to visualize it, and she smiled faintly. There was a small sc.r.a.pe of noise as he abandoned the table and brought his work to the fire.

"And," she continued more confidently, "when the sun rises, it flashes green through the water."

"Uh ... no." Strell sat down, his chair creaking softly. "But it's said if you go out far enough, weeks and weeks, occasionally you will see such a flash when it sets."

"Never when it rises?"

"No."

"Why would anyone go out that far?" she asked.

"Very big fish full of oil and fat."

"M-m-m." Alissa thought that over as Strell worked quietly in his chair. Curious as to what he was doing, she opened her eyes. "Oh!" she blurted upon seeing he was polis.h.i.+ng his old pipe. She thought he had been fiddling with his new piece of mirth wood. Evidently, he was done for the night, and Alissa dropped the ward glowing over the worktable.

His fingers slow and methodical, Strell ran through his warm-up piece, "Taykell's Adventure." She couldn't help but smile as she recalled the first time she had heard him play it when she had been stuck at the bottom of a ravine, and she sang the words of one of her favorite verses: "The blus.h.i.+ngly fair maiden, She had some brothers four.

And scowling quite nastily, They met him at the door.

For though her mother liked him, He found he couldn't stay.

He had to charm, so to disarm, Or soon be on his way."Strell gave her a quick grin and switched to a quick, sharp-noted dance tune. The fingering was too complicated, and she winced as he ceased playing it at his first mistake. Slightly red-faced, he took up a sad lament, gently filling the room with its ethereal beauty. The tune never came close to using the last note. It was mournful, speaking of loss and regret. Alissa had never heard it before, and it washed over her in a sudden tide of emotion.

"That sounds like my sea," she said with a sigh when he finished.

Strell blinked in astonishment. "It's a coastal tune telling of a young woman's regrets at having fallen in love with a seafarer."

"What's so bad about that?"

"The sea," he explained, his eyes wide and serious, "is a jealous and spiteful mistress. Those souls who hear her seductive whisper the clearest and respond to her call are often consumed by her pa.s.sion, never to return to their true loves who wait for them on the sh.o.r.e."

Thinking she might understand, Alissa dropped her eyes from Strell's intent gaze. "Oh."

"Here, let me play another song of the open waves," Strell suggested. "I should practice them more, and you might get a better idea of the perilous beauty that makes up such a wild and tempestuous mistress. She can be so many things, one would think she would have uncountable names, not just the simple one men call her by." He lost his gaze in the fire and began to play.

Alissa sat up straighter, determined to catch every nuance of it. He had been to the coast; she hadn't.

His songs were the closest she would probably ever get to it, and she was intensely curious about it these days. But Strell's playing had its usual relaxing effect, and after three or four songs, she found herself slouching. "Are there no happy songs of the sea?" she complained as he stopped to wet his throat.

"Many," he admitted, and he launched into another melancholy tune. It was simply the most sorrowful rendition of emotion she had ever heard from him, bringing tears to her eyes and stirring her with a rush of unfulfillment. She felt an aching need to go and see for herself the rolling ma.s.s of wind and waves, to taste the salt in the air, and to know that tomorrow would be nothing like today, the horizon never changing, but never really the same. She couldn't let Strell leave her! she thought suddenly. She had to go with him.

With a sharp intake of breath, Alissa realized Strell had done this on purpose. He had chosen each song, each melody, to provoke the restlessness she was now feeling. She should be angry, but she wasn't. She would have done the same had she possessed the skill. "Strell," she said softly, her vision swimming and a catch in her throat. "I can't go."

His music abruptly ceased, his deception having been realized. "I know," he said, his voice level and centered, his eyes riveted upon the fire. "I can't stay. As soon as this game between Talo-Toecan and Bailic is over, I'll be gone."

Although his words were spoken gently, they hit Alissa hard, and she struggled to keep her breathing even. To hear it, admit it openly, made it terribly real. It was no longer possible to pretend their friends.h.i.+p hadn't grown into something stronger. And they would soon part ways.

Numb and empty, Alissa listened to Strell's music rise into the silence. But then his melody broke harshly, and he played nor spoke no more the rest of the night.

Chapter 24.

There was a gentle pull on Bailic's thoughts as the window wards went down. He was expecting it, but still it caught him unawares, and he started. No longer would the Hold see that all remained warm inside, at least not until next season's first hard freeze. The piper, he thought snidely, would have a cold night, seeing as he hadn't taught the man how to ward windows.

Setting his quill down by the remains of his supper, Bailic looked out into the dark. The soft hiss of the rain came slowly to fill his room, bringing with it the biting smell of wet stone and yellowing vegetation too long without the sun. He closed the book he was studying from, rising to stand at what was left of his balcony. Mist, damp and cold, drifted in to caress the tight scar across his neck in a soothing balm. Later he would put up a ward to keep the rain out, but now he stood with his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation on his sensitive skin. The moon would be full tomorrow. Tonight its near perfection was hidden behind the rain. He could see little of the night. He wished he could. It smelled glorious. Come morning, even the last drifts of snow taking refuge in the shadowed places would be gone, and his prison would become less secure.

Bailic brushed the beads of condensation from his long Master's vest to leave a dark stain. He wasn't worried about the piper leaving. The man's tie to the book wouldn't allow it. Bailic had watched him still its aggressive protection ward with a simple touch. It was obvious the First Truth had a claim upon him.

Still, with the lower pa.s.ses open, the temptation to take the book and run would be strong. It was definitely time to remind the piper of his tenuous position.

Bailic had finished most of the basic wards, and still the book remained closed. The piper's skills had grown surprisingly fast, leaping ahead to eight- and ten-year tasks just this week. It only proved Bailic's belief that the Masters dragged their students' lessons out to prolong their slavery. He would begin some of the more complex wards tomorrow. It wouldn't be long before the book was open, but encouraging his student to work all the harder would be both productive and a pleasure. Hara.s.sing the girl would do nicely.

Pleased with the idea of inflicting some harmless torment, Bailic sent out a thought to find them. "The scullery," he muttered. "Precisely where they belong." He spun about and reached for his tray. Taking it down would be a convenient excuse to visit the kitchen. He had never returned his trays before, but he felt the need for a reason to enter their domain.

Bailic froze, his hand outstretched. Burn him to as.h.!.+ What, by the Wolves, did he need an excuse for?

The Hold wasn't theirs. Fighting to keep his anger in check, Bailic stormed out and down the stairs. A frown twisted his lips as he reached the open walkway above the great hall. It was cold without the window wards, but that wasn't what bothered him. It was the thin, white ribbon stretching in graceful curves from one end of the great hall to the other along the outside of the railing on the fourth-floor walkway.

"I should have taken out the rings," Bailic said, fingering the loops of metal hammered into the stone that the ribbon was draped through. Divesting the fortress of its belongings had given him a sense of control over the ancient stones. The Hold's seasonal banners had gone into storage the morning after he imprisoned Talo-Toecan. Seeing them up again made him feel as if something had s.h.i.+fted without his knowing. Even the color was right, white for the melting snow.

Brown for furrows churned, Bailic thought, slipping into the simple rhyme he had learned as a student.

Green for solstice turned. Red for the first frost / White for winter's loss. Gold for dreams realized / Blue for my true love's eyes. Bailic frowned. Or green, or brown. Occasionally gold if a Master sang it. It was never pink.

"Talo-Toecan must still be having tea with the little wench," he growled. How else would they know white was the proper color-and had been for the better part of four hundred years? Even the timing of its appearance was right. Only a Master could have guessed the window wards would fall tonight. The ribbon hadn't been there yesterday. To have hung it earlier would have been bad luck.Bad luck. Bad luck. The words hammered at Bailic as he stomped down the remaining stairs.

Apparently he had allowed his guests too much freedom. They were starting to undo his careful a.s.sault of the Hold. Their domain, indeed! Thoroughly disgusted, he stepped to the floor of the great hall, stopping stock-still as his shoes tread not upon stone, but fabric. He looked down in disbelief. It was too dark to see properly, but he knew by the familiar give beneath his feet that the large rug depicting the ever-changing path of the sun had been replaced. His pulse pounded, and he took a calming breath before he strode into the dining hall.

"Great stars above us!" he gasped. He hadn't been here in weeks. The room was nearly back to its original state. The tables were out of place, but everything else was nearly perfect. Everything was as it had been almost twenty years ago: the floor coverings, the drapes, the small table before the hearth, even the picture hanging above the fireplace, the one done all in blue that gave him the s.h.i.+vers. How had they known? It was perfect.

Almost, he seethed. There were two chairs before the fire instead of the traditional one. "And the smell-of mirth wood," he whispered, forcing himself to relax as he breathed deeply of the pleasant aroma. It was everywhere, mixing with the musty, earthy smell of the garden that ghosted in with each billow of curtain.

He knew the scent well as his Keeper status had allowed him to possess a rather large piece of it, nearly as long as his finger. It had been on a chain around his neck until a Keeper he briefly "entertained"

one afternoon ripped it from him, claiming he had no right to it anymore. In his rage, Bailic forgot to take it back before literally burning the Keeper to dust.

The fire was only a tongue of orange, and he slipped through the gloom to the table to investigate. It seemed the piper was making something, as Bailic could discern the shapes of saws and drills. Wood chips littered the floor, and he scooped up a handful to bring to his nose. "Yes," he whispered. "It's mirth wood." Shavings of it were lying about as if it were a common wood to be shaped and worked. With a shock, Bailic realized the plainsman was using mirth wood to make a pipe. Where did he get enough for that?

The answer was obviously Talo-Toecan. It wasn't a breach in their contract, but it was close. Bailic's eyes rose to the archway leading to the kitchen, the flame shadows cast by the cooking fire flickering upon it. The chips fell slowly through his fingers, clattering down in a cascade of rustling fragrance.

"Listen to that rain, Strell," he heard. "The window wards have fallen." There was a masculine comment and the noise of water splas.h.i.+ng followed by a feminine shout of dismay.

"Piper!" Bailic barked in frustration.

The laughter and splas.h.i.+ng ceased. "In the workroom?" Bailic heard, then, "I'll see."

The lanky silhouette of the piper appeared in the shadowed archway, followed shortly by the smaller form of the kestrel. The agitated bird hovered until Strell raised a hand to provide her with a perch.

Together they stood, blocking the way. "Yes, Bailic?" the man said, keeping his mutilated hand behind his back.

Bailic sneered, glad to see that lesson had been learned. "You will meet me in the garden tomorrow,"

he said on the spur of the moment.

"In the rain?"

"It won't be raining tomorrow, Piper."

Strell nodded suspiciously. "Why outside?"

Bailic looked Strell up and down disparagingly. "I'm going to attempt teaching you the difficult task of s.h.i.+fting the source's energy to that of light," he said. "I simply don't want to have to sc.r.a.pe you from thewalls if you get it wrong."

"It's that dangerous?" Strell's eyes grew round.

"You will arrive well before sunup," Bailic continued, stepping to stand toe-to-toe with the surprised man. He wanted to torment the girl. It was the reason he had come down here. "I want to see how bright a light you can manage."

A worried frown crossed Strell, and his eyes grew vacant.

"Early, Piper," Bailic growled, "or I will roust you out from beneath your warm covers myself. Now, get out of my way!"

There was no ward behind the command, but Strell stepped aside, seemingly dazed by Bailic's demand of an early meeting. "Wait!" Strell cried as Bailic whisked past.

But it was too late, and Bailic strode into the brightly lit kitchen with a satisfied air. He stopped short, giving Strell a black look as the annoying man almost crashed into him. "Where is she?" Bailic muttered.

Water was standing upon the floor by the abandoned sink, half full of dishes. In the center hearth, a cooking fire burned low and even. A teapot hissed over it. The room was suspiciously lacking the girl.

Bailic's fingers drummed against his crossed arms. He sent a thought to find her, but her hiding spot was so close, it seemed as if she were still in the room. Perhaps in the garden ... Well, he wasn't going to chase after her in the rain. His hand slapped on the table in disgust, jolting the bird into motion. The wicked thing flew to one of the unused hearths and fluttered over nothing until she finally settled upon the mantel. A chill took Bailic as she glared into s.p.a.ce. Then she turned her anger to him and hissed, all her feathers raised.

"Tell the girl we will be meeting at the firepit," Bailic said, his eyes riveted to the bird. "She already knows where I expect her to put the breakfast tray." With a last suspicious look, he spun on his heel and left.

"Something isn't right," he muttered as he crossed the dark hall. "I don't like this, not at all."

Chapter 25.

"Strell," she whispered, then rolled her eyes. Why was she whispering? The whole idea was to wake him. Alissa moved to his hearth to see if any of his coals lived through the night. She s.h.i.+vered as she cupped her hands close over the small spot of orange she unearthed. It was cold without the wards-they had fallen last night-and in the dim glow of the predawn, she looked about Strell's spa.r.s.e room.

He had never done anything to change his quarters as she had, and there was little to mar the stark, stone walls. With the exception of the crack in the wall, his room looked nearly the same as when they found it. Alissa felt slightly ill as she realized he could leave at a moment's notice and there would be nothing to show he had ever been here. Grimacing, she turned back to Strell. He had buried his head in his blankets, and he looked nearly immovable. "Strell." She stood up and dusted her hands. "Your lesson."

"Uh?" came his m.u.f.fled groan.

She gently shook his shoulder. "Come on," she demanded. "I told you that second pot of tea lastnight was a bad idea."

"Uh." He rolled over, her proddings beginning to have an effect.

"I'm getting my hat," she threatened. "If you aren't up when I get back, I'll-I'll..."

"You'll what?" Strell mumbled, his eyes open but by no accounts focused.

"I don't know," she huffed, "but you won't like it."

"Uh-h-h-h."

With a final harrumph, Alissa left to open her shutters. The thought of her room remaining stuffy as the rest of the Hold was being swept clean of winter's staleness was intolerable. The shutters creaked open, and Alissa leaned out into the icy stillness that spilled in to pool about her feet. There was a bright twinkle of a fire burning in the pit in the garden. Alissa pulled herself back in, not liking Bailic in her cla.s.sroom.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed her hat from the bed-she had finished it yesterday; it matched the one she had given Strell perfectly-and returned to Strell's room. Peeking hesitantly around the open door, she wasn't surprised to see he hadn't moved. "Hey!" she shouted, her hands on her hips.