Truth - Hidden Truth Part 22

"I'm up!" He jumped, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng wide and unseeing. "I'm awake." Rubbing his stubbled cheeks, he sat up and swiveled until his feet touched the cold floor. His bare toes poked out from under his trousers, and Alissa hastily spun around, flus.h.i.+ng.

"I'll wait in my room," she said, watching him from the corner of her sight.

"Whatever suits you." He held up two mismatched stockings in the semidarkness. Then realizing they weren't on him yet, he tucked his feet back under his covers.

Alissa couldn't help her grin as she returned to her room, pleased to find at least one moral conviction ran the same from plains to foothills. Knowing he would be some time, she settled herself cross-legged before her fire to practice her latest diversion.

Her breath eased from her in a slow sigh of concentration as she formed a field just above the low flames. Bailic's ability to use fields to sculpt dust was incredible, and Alissa had spent the better part of last month trying to figure out how he managed it. All her fields came out as spheres. She had some success by overlaying one field upon another, thereby giving it the illusion of a different form, but the more fields she had up, the harder it became. It would be years before she could maintain more than a handful at any given time.

But she kept at it. Not with dust, though. That had given Strell a bad case of farmer's fever. So instead, Alissa used the flames of a fire. She hadn't told anyone, especially Useless. It wasn't breaking her word as he had given her permission to explore fields freely, but somehow she didn't think he'd approve of her playing with fire.

Alissa made her field as permeable as possible without it falling completely apart. It was difficult, much more so than making an impervious field, and it was only her incessant practice that made it look easy. The shape of her thoughts became apparent as a tongue of flame curled up the top of the field.

Feeding upon itself, the fire's heat filled the entire sphere to make a fist-sized swirling globe of red and orange. It was a useless trick, she thought, but pretty. Alissa overlaid a second sphere partway through the first, and the flame reached higher than normal, channeled by her field. On a good day, she could hold four fields at once.

There was the small scuff of booted feet, and Alissa looked up as she let the fields collapse in a wash of guilt. Strell couldn't be ready so soon! But he smirked good-naturedly from the door. "Hounds," he said around a yawn. "What time is it? The middle of the night?"

Alissa's eyebrows rose as she took him in. "You haven't shaved.""Later, later," he said, rubbing the p.r.i.c.kly looking stuff. "Can't keep Bailic waiting. He's already in the garden. You can see the fire from my window, and nearly hear him grumping, too."

Alissa rose, relieved he hadn't noticed the odd shape of her fire. "Let's go then."

The predawn sky showed only a lighter blackness through the occasional window, doing little to light their path down the dark stairwell. It didn't matter. The way was as familiar to her as the trails about her parents' farm.

"Where's Talon?" Strell asked as they reached the walkway overlooking the great hall.

"Kitchen. We ladies have been up long enough to make rolls."

Strell grunted, giving her a nod. "Mind if I make dinner tonight? I've got a meal I want your opinion on. It's kind of a tradition in my family. Made entirely with carrots to honor the new season."

"Hounds, yes. I'd love it," she gushed, then paused. Everything made from carrots? What kind of tradition was that?

"Talon," Strell called as they entered the kitchen. He looked up at the rafters, and the bird dropped to land upon his wrist. "What did you catch this morning?" he murmured, sending a thin finger across her age-faded markings. Talon hopped to Strell's shoulder, settling herself by his ear where they compared whispered notes. Alissa shook her head in amus.e.m.e.nt as she checked the breakfast tray.

Strell yawned as he shrugged into his coat and reached for the tray. "I'll take it."

Smiling her thanks, Alissa grabbed three cups. Much to Strell's disappointment, she prudently left Lodesh's cup behind. Strell would have to make do with, as he called them, Talo-Toecan's thimbles.

"What a beautiful day it is," she exclaimed quietly as she opened the garden door and Talon launched herself into the freshly washed heavens.

"Is it?" grumbled Strell. "It still looks like night to me."

"Don't be such a goat," she said cheerily, her gaze going deep into the clear, transparent-seeming skies. "Spring is here. Can't you see it?"

"It's too dark," he groused. Stifling another yawn, he hunched deeper into his coat.

Alissa gave him a friendly shove and moved eagerly ahead, the toes of her shoes quickly going damp.

She should have put on her boots, but she hadn't been able to find them, and she really didn't care; the morning was so grand.

Now that the snow was gone, she would begin to see what surprises Useless's garden would provide. As overgrown and neglected as it was, there were bound to be a few delights among the weeds, and she itched to get her hands dirty in the finding of them. The warm, coastal rain had finally made it over the first of the mountains last night, leaving behind only soft, black earth. Even the ground was thawed where the sun had been upon it yesterday.

"Good morning, Bailic!" Alissa called happily as they rounded the bend.

His head jerked up-he was clearly startled at her pleasant voice. Strell seemed surprised as well, and he gave her a long, questioning look before he set the tray down. The clinking of the dishes sounded comfortable and right among the dripping branches and long, wet gra.s.s.

"Morning," Bailic returned cautiously, apparently not knowing what to make of her cheerful disposition. He turned to Strell, who, Alissa would admit, looked half dead, as he was unshaved and still in the rumpled clothes he had on last night. "I'm glad to see," Bailic continued, "at least one of you is prepared for the day's lesson. Unfortunately, it's the wrong one."

"I'm here." Strell slumped heavily onto the bench. Balancing her roll on the rim of her cup, Alissa retreated to the farthest corner of the pit. The sun was on the peak rising high above the Hold, turning thegray stone a marvelous gold. She could almost see the light creeping down the mountain, growing ever closer to the fortress. Soon it would reach her room to fill it with the strong spring sun, warming the old stones to life.

"Set up your primary loop, Piper," Bailic said, jolting her from her reverie. "You'll eat later."

Alissa reluctantly brought her attention back from the faultless skies. It only took a moment to do as Bailic demanded, but he continued to drone on and on about field strengths, and proper channels, and the perils of setting them up incorrectly. She ignored him, as did Strell.

Just as well Strell wasn't listening, she thought. Bailic wasn't explaining it very clearly. It was obvious he wasn't confident in the process. She just wished he would get on with it. As if responding to her desires, Bailic's globe of light blossomed into existence to throw the shadows from the firepit. "Oh!" she exclaimed, remembering to be impressed.

Strell looked up, half a heartbeat behind. He, too, looked convincingly awed by the light.

"You see," Bailic said, a patronizing lilt to his voice. "It's difficult, and it uses a lot of source, but it does impress the commoners."

Alissa frowned at his last words and looked to see what tracings Bailic was using. Her source was barely touched when she created a ward of illumination, and she couldn't imagine even Bailic would be so miserly over such a minuscule loss of strength. Well, no doubt, she mused, finding a long stick and poking it into the soft earth. He wasn't using the most efficient paths. All that waste. No wonder he used candles instead of his skills. His source would be depleted within a matter of years.

Then she recalled what Useless had said about broken paths and fragmented neural nets. This was obviously the case here. It was a wonder he could create the tricky ward at all. Rather ingenious actually, and her estimation of the pale man begrudgingly went up. The ward was hard enough without the handicaps he had to circ.u.mvent. Something near to pity went through her, and she s.h.i.+fted, not comfortable with applying the emotion to Bailic.

"You see the resonance?" Bailic said, and Strell nodded. "Then try it," the pale man demanded as his light vanished.

"I'm-uh-not sure I have it," Strell said uneasily.

Alissa's eyes rose to Strell. Perhaps he thought she hadn't been paying attention, and so she cleared her throat to let him know she had been listening.

"Sand and wind," Bailic griped. "You're slower than a beggar with a full belly."

"I don't want to make any mistakes." Strell's jaw clenched. "You said it was dangerous."

Alissa thumped her heels against the side of the bench. A ward of light dangerous? Maybe, but not if you knew what you were doing.

"If it makes you feel better, close your eyes." Bailic arched his eyebrows. "Well?" he mocked, almost looking eager for Strell to make a mistake and turn them all to ash.

"Give me a moment." Strell frowned and closed his eyes. His elbows were propped up on his knees, and his head dropped into his hands.

Alissa quickly set up the proper paths, and her containment field snapped into existence as the cold pathways filled. Immediately there was the eerie sensation of being in two places at once as the intricate pattern existed simultaneously in her thoughts and in the field. Unlike most wards, this one required constant maintenance; it remained securely connected to her conscious until disengaged. The sensation of vertigo faded not because the ward left her thoughts to make the leap to her field, but rather because it became overshadowed by the impressions from her other, more frequently used senses. A soft glowenveloped them just as the sun reached the Hold's roof.

"Good," Bailic grudgingly admitted, his confidence in Strell's nonexistent abilities restored. The man frowned up at the Hold. Alissa could imagine his thoughts were in the same vein as hers. It wouldn't be long until the sun reached the garden, and the lesson would be over.

"Drop your ward and begin again," said Bailic, his eyes fixed to creeping beam of light.

"Implementation and dissolution are more important. Maintaining is easy."

Alissa licked her fingers clean of the last of the sticky rolls and did as he asked. The glow of her light mixed with that of the rising sun, illuminating the outskirts of the firepit. Crocus! she silently exclaimed as she spied a small bit of yellow peeping from beneath a barren shrub. Glancing at Bailic-who was watching the encroaching light- she decided she could investigate. It was well within a raku length. The last thing she wanted to do was to step out of range and have that resonance fade.

A delighted smile stole over Alissa as she touched the small flowers in a welcoming caress. They were cold and silky. Bending low, she noticed the stiff leaf of an iris poking up bravely from crowded roots half exposed.

"Make it brighter," Bailic said ingratiatingly, and Alissa did, not bothering to turn around. Moving to a nearby tangle that was once a flower bed, she knelt, feeling her knees grow damp and cold. She didn't care. The earth was coming alive again, filling her with a deep sense of purpose and peace. Her hands went willingly to dig the choking weeds from the soft, new growth hidden amongst last year's dead-looking clumps of vegetation.

"Brighter," she heard distantly, and she made it so.

Alissa knew from sad experience her fine new clothes would be ruined with the dark stains of soil.

She couldn't help it. When she saw disorder, she lost all sense of responsibility. Her clothes were her best no longer, and she didn't care.

"Phlox?" Alissa whispered, puzzling over a familiar-looking leaf before clearing a large swath of weeds from around it. It was sensitive at times of pushy neighbors.

"Thyme." She nodded confidently at the tiny leaves already emerging from the tougher, main branches. She ran a gentle finger over the tenacious herb. This one would need no help from her, and she smiled at it, wis.h.i.+ng it well.

"Brighter, please," Bailic said, all but forgotten, and so it was.

"Mint!" She beamed, and knelt down where it was, overwhelming a nearby patch of something she couldn't identify yet. Br.i.m.m.i.n.g with a vengeful enthusiasm, Alissa bent low and ripped out great handfuls of the aggressive plant from around its gentler companions. The smell of fresh spice rose up, and she nearly burst with her happiness. It was spring at last, and she willingly surrendered herself to the dirt and soil, content to set the small s.p.a.ce by the firepit to rights as Bailic silently watched.

Chapter 26.

"Good," Bailic grudgingly admitted as the piper's sphere of light winked into existence. "Drop your ward and begin again. Implementation and dissolution are more important. Maintaining is easy."

Bailic glanced at the light creeping down the face of the Hold. He didn't want to be in the garden when the sun found the small patch of earth he was standing on. "Make it brighter," he commanded ofthe piper, who was slumped with his head cradled in his hands in concentration. Bailic shrugged his coat closer. It was cold, and the acidic smell of ice rot caught in his throat. Once he found the man's limits, he would call it done, retreating back to his fire and books.

He was almost done with deciphering that second volume he had found explaining the effective use of fear and superst.i.tion as a tool. He was eager to reread it. It was obviously the Masters' benign strategy for keeping the ma.s.ses out of the mountains, but he imagined it could be used to drive them from their homes as well-if used properly.

He sank down on the bench, stiffening at the expected cold of the stone. As he watched, the girl abandoned them to muck about in the dirt. She was getting her clothes dirty, Bailic thought with a smirk.

You can take the girl off the farm...

A slight noise drew his attention to the long row of silent windows where the Keepers once had their quarters, and he gazed at them, frowning. Something was different. The sun shone strong, illuminating the shutters on Meson's window so well it seemed as if Bailic's fuzzy sight had cleared. One of them hadn't been fastened properly, and it tapped an irritating, broken rhythm against the wall in the freshening breeze.

Bailic stared at it, his brow furrowing. Meson never had shutters on his windows. No one did. They weren't needed. Once the Hold dropped the window wards for the coming summer, everyone made their own as needed or got someone else to do it if they weren't skilled enough. That was why Bailic replaced the ward in the piper's room that he had blown out four months past. The wards had fallen just last night. There hadn't been time to make shutters. Why, Bailic wondered, did the girl have shutters on her windows?

s.h.i.+fting slightly, he looked at Strell, silent and unmoving in his deep concentration. "Brighter," he said quietly, and the small, but well-constructed sphere doubled in its intensity.

A cold sensation slipped through Bailic as he realized he had never checked Meson's old room for damage the night the Hold s.h.i.+vered to its foundations. But how many times had he listened to Meson moan and gripe about the injustice of having to share a chimney with the room next door? The force could have easily blown out both their windows by going through it. That would mean the force the piper had manipulated was tenfold stronger than what Bailic estimated.

His breath quickening, Bailic went to stand beside Strell. Could the man be sandbagging, Bailic wondered, capable of far more than he witnessed? Bailic watched him take another slow breath. So relaxed! he thought in alarm. How could he be so relaxed when he was channeling enough source to burn out his entire network? Then Bailic heard a slight sigh, and he bent closer.

"He's not relaxed! He's asleep!" Bailic whispered wildly. He straightened, a stab of fear slicing through him, leaving him open to the icy breath of doubt. Who? he thought. Who is making the ward?

For it couldn't be the piper, not asleep as he was.

Bailic sent a frantic thought out, searching for any presence besides himself, the piper, and the girl. His mental search was more accurate than his vision, but he also scanned the skies for the golden menace he feared was behind the ball of light. But the heavens were clear of beast and cloud, and he sagged in relief.

It isn't Talo-Toecan, he thought. That only left...

"The girl?" He winced, turning to her small figure bent low over the slushy muck. It couldn't be her!

She wasn't even listening.

"Brighter, please," he whispered, and the sphere glowed brilliantly, almost rivaling the sun. The form kneeling in the mud held no sign of the concentration needed to perform such a task, but someone was working the ward. He watched as, with a happy sound, she s.h.i.+fted her attention to a patch of mint. She began tearing out great ma.s.ses of it as if ridding the world of a great injustice.Not caring if the sun burnt him, Bailic edged closer. Running his hands nervously down his Master's vest, he methodically calmed himself, making his mind blank to examine his tracings for the telltale signs of resonance. With the true beginnings of fear, he found no answering glimmer in his thoughts. None at all.

Bailic froze. Whoever was making the ward was using a pattern he didn't have. He had discovered in his earliest, and ironically, bloodiest interviews with peers unwilling to share their secrets, that every Keeper varied in the way their tracings were connected. These differences were apparent in only the most complex and therefore seldom-used tasks. That was why no one had realized it, and their Masters never felt the need to tell them. Resonance only occurred when a perfect match for the ward in question was found. Whoever was working the ward had a more precise network. They were potentially stronger but not necessarily more cunning.

"But the girl?" he whispered. It was unthinkable he could have misjudged so badly. Deathly still, Bailic watched her continue her weeding, oblivious to the dangerous thoughts that raced through his mind.

"The piper wears Keeper garb," he a.s.serted, still wanting to deny the truth. Bailic stared at the girl.

"But she made his clothes, right in front of me, and I never noticed." She, he realized, was the one who blew out the windows and cracked the Hold's wall, burning herself into the death state that he brought her back from. She recovered the book from the well where Bailic a.s.sumed her companion told her it lay concealed. She had shared tea with Talo-Toecan, leaving him thinking it was nothing more than a report of the piper's progress. She, Bailic snarled silently, is creating a ward that is so bright, it casts shadows stronger than the sun!

It is her, he realized, the depth of his folly cras.h.i.+ng down upon him. Then, the blissfully content figure of a slight girl raised her face to the sky, adjusted her new Keeper's hat, and smiled at the sun. For the first time, Bailic saw his young guest in the full morning light, and he saw, with no uncertainty, the color of her eyes.

"They-are-not-blue," he seethed. "They are gray, as were her father's!"

Thick fury roared through him, shocking him with the violent, smothering wash of black rage. His face twisted as he stiffly moved to stand before the oblivious girl. With a violent shudder, he shackled his deadly emotions, a part of him amazed at the strength needed to turn them aside, wondering where he had found it. He consoled himself with the thought he would be able to give them free rein soon enough.

He had been manipulated badly, but he realized his mistake in time. The piper would pay for his interference, just as Talo-Toecan's student would suffer for her audacity, but not yet. There was a book to open, and he had just found the key.

Clenched to an unbearable tightness, he leaned close. "Well, my dear," he rasped, and the girl spun as if having forgotten he was there. Her eyes grew round as she took in his anger.

"W-what?" she stammered, and she s.h.i.+fted to rise.

Bailic lunged, twisting her arm behind her back, forcing her to remain where she was. "No you don't," he whispered harshly into her ear. "We have an appointment to keep, you, me, and a good book.

You know the one, don't you, Alissa Meson?"

Chapter 27.

"Strell?" Alissa squeaked; her throat had gone too dry for more. Bailic pulled up sharply on her elbow, and pain shocked through her. Gasping, she bent low to the ground to escape it. The fresh smellof mint rose to fill her senses. Her light winked out of existence.

"Ah, ah, ah," Bailic admonished. "Let's not wake our dear minstrel. He looks so-o-o-o tired." There was a twinge upon her awareness as a ward of what she prayed was only sleep settled over Strell. From habit, she looked to see what tracings were used. Bailic frowned at her intent expression. "You are the clever one," he said bitterly, seeming to know what she was doing. "But apparently not clever enough."

He roughly pulled her up and spun her about to look her in the face. "You see he is under my field?" he spat.

Alissa's heart pounded as her eyes flicked to Strell and back, unwilling to look from Bailic for more than an instant. He knew. Bailic knew. Nothing could save them now.