Forgotten Truth

by Dawn Cook

  Yet it seemed he had.

  As he traveled the road to Ese’Nawoer, the moon slipped from behind the clouds. Before it had moved a hand’s width, the sound of Frightful’s steps echoed between houses and walls. His mount slowed, and at Lodesh’s subtle suggestions, he wove his way to a house surrounded by an unusually large yard, made more so by bordering one of the city’s open tracts.

  To his surprise, light still flickered against the curtains. Lodesh softly found the ground. There was an eager blowing from behind the house, and Frightful tossed his head, nearly knocking Lodesh over in his awkward haste to greet a onetime stablemate. Satisfied Frightful wouldn’t stray, Lodesh turned to the wide, cracked steps leading to the door. He stepped over the squeaky boards and dodged the pots of cat-grass Sati kept to entice the feral cats to stay. He boldly raised his hand to knock only to hesitate before contact.

  They hadn’t parted on the best of terms. They hadn’t parted on any terms. Others had told him to go.

  Lodesh grimaced at his guilt. Taking a deep breath, he knocked. There was movement within, and the door opened, mixing the dim light of a candle with the moonlight.

  “Lodesh.” Her eyes were haunted. “You’re here for my horse.”

  Taken aback at her firmness, Lodesh blinked. “No,” he said, then slumped. Sati was the best shaduf the city ever had. It was obvious she not only knew what his question was, but probably already had his answer. The horse was an excuse to evade answering him.

  Standing before him in her nightclothes, Sati looked like a child, but her eyes were old, having seen death a thousand times. “You promised next time Beauty was in season . . .” She gestured to Frightful energetically stomping, pushing against the fence.

  “It’s fall, Sati. You can’t be serious,” Lodesh protested, willing to play her game.

  “Yes.” It was low and insistent.

  Lodesh looked askance at his mount with an unmistakable disgust. “But he’s so—”

  “Ugly? Yes. But his coat is very soft.”

  “It’s that horrid splotchy brown! He looks like he has had the mange.” Lodesh winced as the two horses began twining their necks.

  “He is very tall,” Sati whispered, her gaze upon them.

  “Too tall.” Lodesh grimaced. “He’s all bones and sinew.”

  “It makes him very fast and even of gait.”

  Lodesh hesitated. “It does at that,” he admitted, “but there must be some other horse.”

  “If I can’t have the man,” she snapped, “my mare will have his steed.”

  Lodesh slumped. “Sati. . . .”

  They stood awkwardly, he on the porch, she in the threshold, neither reaching out though it was obvious they wanted to. They knew better. She was a shaduf. The smallest touch from her would set his Keeper tracings on half-resonance, filling Lodesh with an unbearable nausea. It hadn’t always been so.

  “Let Beauty out before you come in,” she finally said, listless. “They’ll get to the field with no problem. Everyone knows Frightful; no one will deter them. Besides, no one is up at this hour but madmen and—” Biting her lip, she spun inside, leaving the door open.

  Telling himself he had every right to be here, Lodesh went to the horses. It was a challenge to remove the tack from the excited animal. He had to shove Frightful aside to untie the gate. With a squeal and toss of her head, Beauty was away. Frightful followed, agitated and quick. In a heartbeat, they were gone. Lodesh hung the bit and pad on the fence.

  Lodesh paused as he shut the gate, picking at the latch. It was still broken. He had tried to fix it once, but Sati hadn’t let him. “Why?” she had said, giving him that empty stare that pained him. “The rope works. Just because it wasn’t meant for that purpose doesn’t mean you should change it.”

  Depressed, he looped the gate shut. With steps slow and reluctant, he mounted the stairs, hitting every squeak and groan. He shut the door behind him, giving it that extra kick it needed to latch. He looked about in the fresh brightness of a newly stirred fire. There had been changes.

  Once this had been an expansive kitchen belonging to Sati’s mother, a contented chaos of sly, youthful cleverness, tempered with firm, aged wisdom; the heart of the home. Now it was a sitting room, far more useful in Sati’s profession of shaduf. She only needed a small space to prepare her solitary meals.

  Sati’s parents and siblings had been granted quarters in the citadel. It was supposed to have been in gratitude for bringing Sati into the world. In truth, the honor was a guilt payment from the city. Try as they might, her kin couldn’t stand to live with her anymore. It had been easier to go, leaving her at least the shell of their presence to give her solace.

  Softness was everywhere: the muted colors, the multitude of pillows, the voluminous drapes. Even the floor was swathed in what must be three or four rugs atop each other. Unable to find comfort, Sati had surrounded herself with it.

  There was a thump from a back room, and Lodesh sat down, cautiously feeling the chair to see if he would be able to get back up again. He hadn’t been here for five years—not since her shaduf status had crashed down upon her. Lodesh grimaced.

  As if drawn by the heat in his face, Sati appeared in the draped archway. She had dressed, donning her blue robe of office in a silent accusation. Lodesh winced at her choice of hair ribbon. It was faded and worn, still showing the blue of forget-me-nots embroidered on it. Sati’s mother had once given it to him as a token of her motherly affections, an heirloom handed down through the generations. Lodesh had felt obligated to return it when it became obvious he and Sati weren’t going to wed. Now, Sati wore it like a battle scar.

  Striding across the room, she flung herself into a chair, almost disappearing among the cushions. She clutched a pillow to herself, looking like a lost child as she eyed him over it. “You didn’t come tonight for my horse,” she said stiffly.

  “No.” Lodesh shifted himself to the edge of his chair, remembering the soft feel of the ribbon’s colors sliding through his fingers. Elbows on his knees, he placed his palms together, unable to meet her accusing eyes. “I have a question.”

  “You promised!” she cried, her grip tightening on her pillow until her fingers showed white. “You promised you wouldn’t ask me anything!”

  “No, I didn’t.” He hated himself for asking her, but it was clear by her distress she already knew both his question and answer. “I don’t make promises—anymore.”

  Sati took a ragged breath. Lodesh knew she was considering if she was going to throw him out or not. “Fine!” she snapped, and he grew more anxious. “But it’s going to cost you.” Her jaw clenched. “I want a fertile seed from the mirth trees.”

  “Done.”

  “What!” Her grip on the pillow loosened, and it rolled to the floor.

  “Done,” he repeated, his face twisting. “I said, done!”

  She sat up, confusion softening the lines in her face. Almost, it was his old Sati peering out through those haunted eyes. “I—I didn’t think you would.”

  “I met your price, Sati.”

  “You really have one?”

  Lodesh forced his hands apart. “It took me three weeks in the tops to find one, but yes. You are the sole owner of a seed that will germinate.” Lodesh felt a touch of anger. He had made plans for that seed. It was likely going to be the only fertile seed he would ever find, and giving it to Sati was not one of them. “Now, do you know if Alissa and I have a future together?”

  She abruptly stood and snatched her pillow from the floor. Lips pressed, she flung it to her chair and stomped, as much as her slippered feet could stomp, to the small nook that served as her kitchen. A kettle of water was set noisily over the low flames. Still silent, she stalked back and stood before Lodesh, her arms crossed. “Tell me about her,” she snapped.

  “Since when do you need to know—”

  “Tell me!” It was a frustrated cry, thick with hurt and jealousy.

  Lodesh sighed. “She’s fair of hair an
d eyes,” he said to the floor. “Her skin is dark. Her accent is Ese’Nawoer, but she claims to be from the foothills.”

  “I want to see her,” Sati interrupted.

  “Sati!” he cried, shocked.

  “I don’t want to meet her,” she said in such a way that told him that was just what she had intended. “Just see her.”

  Thick unease settled over him. He looked up, then away from the hurt in her eyes. “I was going to invite her for a tour of the city,” he offered slowly.

  “Fine.” Sati was dangerously calm. “I’ll find you.”

  The silence soaked into Lodesh, disturbing him further. This used to be one of his favorite hiding places, full and warm with Sati and her family, everyone busy with their own lives but somehow keeping tighter than the closest weave. Now even the memory of the contentment was gone. “You— have my answer?” Lodesh prompted.

  “Yes.” It was barely audible. Sati turned to face the large hearth sheltering a small fire.

  “Well?” he asked gently as he rose to stand behind her.

  “Would you like some tea?” she said with a forced brightness. “You’ll have a long walk without Frightful.”

  “Sati.”

  She turned, and Lodesh felt a stab of pain. Her face was frozen into a polite smile, but her eyes were desolate with loss. “Please, Sati?” he entreated, steeling himself before taking her cold hands into his. To his astonishment, there was no response from his tracings. She had indeed known he was coming and intentionally burnt her tracings to a temporary state of unresonating ash. “I know it must be hard.”

  “You know nothing!” she exploded. “I didn’t ask for this!” Sati jerked free, and with a cry of frustration, she swung at him. Expecting it, Lodesh ducked and clutched her to him, trying to ground her, to give her something solid and real. She struggled, but he refused to let go. He felt he deserved far worse. Her muffled, shouted curses melted into shaking sobs, and she leaned against him, allowing him to hold her as she cried. It was the only release she had left. It was the only way he could show he still cared.

  “I didn’t ask for this,” she wept as the tears slowed. “Knowing the tragedies of your neighbors before they do.” She looked up, her eyes dark. “I met a boy today, Lodesh. His mother was so proud and happy. He . . . I . . . It isn’t my fault!” she wailed, and the tears began anew, but they were for the boy and his mother this time, not her.

  “Hush, Sati,” Lodesh whispered. He tilted her head up, forcing himself to smile. “You will always be the sweet girl who threw dandelions at the night watchman with me.”

  “Maybe,” she whispered. “But you’re meant for another.”

  Lodesh’s breath hissed out. He tried to keep the light from his eyes, knowing he failed when she gasped and turned away.

  “But, Lodesh?” She hesitated, letting her breath out and taking another. “I can’t see if it’s a good thing or bad. I only know your fates twine together.”

  “It’s enough,” he said, and he took a step back.

  “Can you stay?” she asked, clearly knowing the answer.

  His steps were soundless. The creaking of the door as he opened it pulled her gaze to his. “No,” he said. “As you say, I have a long walk.” And he shut the door behind him, leaving her standing alone and desolate as she had left him five years ago under the mirth trees with a blossom in his hands and the question of marriage standing shattered between them.

  7

  “Alissa, wake up.” It was lovingly whispered, so she hid her smile and feigned sleep. If she were lucky, and Talon was absent, Lodesh’s next words would be accompanied by a kiss upon her fingertips.

  “Alissa?” His breath caressed her cheek. She mumbled, thrashing her arm to hit something. There was a muffled grunt, and she bit her tongue so as not to laugh.

  “Please, Alissa. The Keepers are arriving for breakfast.”

  Keepers! she thought. Her eyes flew open as she recognized the stench of sausage, and her breath came quick in understanding. Smiling thinly up at Lodesh, she tried to disguise her dismay in finding the previous evening hadn’t been a horrible nightmare.

  A rough sound of disgust pulled her gaze to the door. Earan stood framed by the archway to the great hall. His disdainful gaze lingered on her jaw, and she swung her long hair to hide her healing scrape. Embarrassed, she stuffed her feet into the slippers Lodesh handed her.

  “Lodesh tells me you’re entitled to Keeper privileges,” the bearded man said, “but I’ll be ash before I share a table with you. You eat with the students.”

  “Earan!” Lodesh stepped between them. “You’ve no authority to banish her to the pit.” Several new faces filed in, all in Keeper garb, all ignoring the ugly scene with a weary restraint.

  “Until the formalities, she eats with the students,” Earan said with a sneer.

  “The mental noise they put out will drive her mad.” Lodesh stood toe-to-toe with Earan.

  “She already is insane!”

  Alissa backed up nearly into the kitchen. Her head was throbbing. Mumbling an unheard excuse, she fled into her inner stronghold, only to halt in shock. “’Scuse me,” someone said impatiently, and Alissa shifted so he could pass. His absence from the kitchen went all but unnoticed. There were only five people, but their dashing about made it seem as if there were twice that. Over it all was the nauseating stench of cooking sausage.

  “Don’t just stand there gawking, dearie. Do something!” came an exasperated shout.

  Alissa spun to a generously endowed woman who looked as if she could be everyone’s grandmother. Fixing upon Alissa’s alarmed stance she laughed. “Oh! Beg your pardon. I thought you were one of my girls.” Collapsing on a stool, the old woman peered at Alissa though well-earned wrinkles. “You must be that Alissa that Lodesh was going on about this morning. Aye,” she murmured, “you’ll do.”

  “Sorry?” Alissa stared blankly at the woman.

  “He’s a fine lad, that one.” She patted Alissa’s hand. “Just needs the right lass to settle his roving eyes apace.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Alissa stammered, feeling her cheeks warm.

  “Course you don’t. If you did, it wouldn’t be half the fun!”

  A girl nearby cutting apples shook in silent laughter. Noticing Alissa watching her, the kitchen girl dramatically rolled her eyes. “Um,” Alissa said, determined to change the subject. “Would you mind if I took some water? I haven’t a room yet, and—”

  “M-m-m,” the woman interrupted. “You want a wash.” She stood with a groan. “Kally!” she shouted, though it wasn’t that loud in the room, and the girl at the apples set down her knife. “Pour Redal-Stan’s tea water into a bowl for Alissa. No, not there. Over here!”

  Alissa’s eyes widened. “I can’t take Redal-Stan’s water,” she stammered as a deep bowl was placed before her. It was quickly followed by a splash of water and a soft towel. Kally went back to her work but pointedly kept close enough to overhear.

  “Nonsense!” the old woman huffed, seemingly unable to lower her voice. “It’ll serve to remind him what it’s like to be inconvenienced. He can wait for his breakfast. He deserves it, I say. Making you sleep in that smelly chair of his.”

  “I don’t mind,” Alissa said as she washed, shocked at the woman’s accusing tone.

  “In that drafty dining hall,” she continued, waving at the heat.

  “The fire was very warm,” Alissa offered hesitantly.

  “He needs a reminder who butters his bread,” she finished as if Alissa had said nothing, but the woman’s clear, green eyes stabbed into her, daring Alissa to contradict her again. There was a crash of pottery, and the woman rose along with the noise. “Oh, for the Navigator’s Hounds!” she cried. “Must I do everything?” Then she shook her head. “My name is Mavoureen, but only Redal-Stan calls me that, the silly dear. Everyone else calls me Mav. And dearie?” She met Alissa’s gaze knowingly. “After your wash, get back in there. Earan is a bully; he has been ev
er since he was knee-high.”

  A voice loud with anger slid into the kitchen clatter. “I’m not moving quarters for any half-witted Keeper. She can sleep with the students.”

  Alissa’s chest tightened. She couldn’t go in there. Not right now.

  Mav pursed her lips and looked towards the archway. “M-M-M, yes,” she said, snagging a plate from a stack headed into the room where the heated discussion was taking place. “Have you seen Talo-Toecan’s garden yet?” she asked. “He keeps his students busy in there. I hear it’s a sight to please the most discerning gardener. I haven’t seen it in years.” Her voice softened. “Not since a certain lad was courting me.” She smiled a small, wistful smile. “I’m sure it’s changed since then. But you will undoubtedly enjoy an early morning walk. Yes. You will.”

  Her hand hovered over a plate overflowing with sweet rolls. Seeing Alissa’s pleased smile, Mav chose one. A small teapot was next, and she guided Alissa through the commotion to the garden door. There was a welcome flush of cool morning air as the woman opened it and handed Alissa first the plate and then the pot. “Enjoy the morning,” Mav said as Alissa’s feet backed off the low step. “But, dearie? You’ll have to confront Earan soon. A man like him won’t forgive you for seeing him afraid.”

  Alissa felt a moment of worry, not sure what to think.

  “Just bring it all back when you’re done,” the woman fussed. And she shut the door.

  “Whew!” Alissa exclaimed as she stared at the blue of the door, distressed by the turmoil in what had been her quiet kitchen. Blowing her tension away in a soft huff, she started down the well-manicured path. Her gaze went to the clear sky to search for Talon, and a sigh escaped her.

  It was blessedly quiet. Her footsteps kept time with her pulse, soothing her headache away. In the light of day, it was spectacularly obvious this wasn’t the long-fallow garden she had started to tend but one bursting with care. She slowed as a flock of young exuberance came laughing and jostling around the corner. Spotting her, they attempted to settle to a smidgen of decorum, but as soon as they were past, they began whispering.