Hidden Truth

by Dawn Cook

  Useless turned to her, his eyebrows raised in question. Alissa would have liked to have died right there in the garden. She had barely begun to admit the possibility of something between her and Strell to herself. She didn’t want the world to know.

  All of Lodesh’s pretense at sorrow vanished in a small chuckle. “You, old beast, have been too long from the minds of mankind,” he said conspiratorially. Apparently satisfied the damage had been done, he stood. “Well, I’ll be going,” he said cheerily. “Be assured I’ll be present when needed.” He smiled at her. “Perhaps you might grace my city with your presence again this spring? Remember, you have a standing invitation.”

  “Good-bye, Lodesh,” she said from her seat as he crossed her proffered hand with his own. She was blushing again, hating herself for it. Lodesh seemed inexcusably pleased to see it.

  He turned to Useless. “And clear skies to you, Talo-Toecan. Or is it Useless now?” he asked, his face deadpan. “I’ve been gone so long. Have you taken a new name?”

  “She has my permission. You do not,” Useless said darkly. “Keep this to yourself.”

  “Who would I tell?” Lodesh said. “Join me for breakfast? There are things we should discuss.” Lodesh bowed with an exquisite flourish, and showing a dancer’s grace, he stepped out of the firepit and into the darkness. There was the fresh scent of apples and pine, and the sound of snow beneath boots, and he was gone. Slowly the snow that had been threatening all evening began to fall.

  Sand and wind! Alissa thought, straining to catch the last of his whistled tune. She turned to Useless for an explanation, but he was deep in thought, shifting the coals. Lodesh had left his cup behind, and she picked it up. It was so large she needed two hands. Etched upon it was the same pattern that was on his coat, hat, and ring. Now she recognized it as a dim representation of the flower he had given her. The fire settled, and Useless added a good-sized stick to it. It appeared they would be awhile longer. “Strange days, indeed,” the Master said to the flames.

  “Useless?” Alissa set the formidable cup down. “Who was that?”

  His eyebrows rose in surprise. “That was Lodesh.”

  “Yes, but who is he?”

  “Ah, I forgot,” he exclaimed softly. “You lack much of the history surrounding your heritage.” Resettling his coat, his eyes went distant into the past, staring at the fire. “Lodesh is the last Warden of Ese’ Nawoer, or rather, he was—a long time ago. He ranked among the inhabitants of the Hold as second only to the Masters, privy to all our secrets, yet bound only by the laws of man.”

  She sipped her tea, watching the new snow melt as it hit the surface. The cup had gone cold, and she set it aside, hiding her hands in her coat sleeves as the snow continued to sift down. “But who is he?” she persisted.

  Taking a tentative look at the snow-filled heavens, Useless settled back. He added two more sticks to the fire, shaking his head at some private thought. “Did your father ever tell you the tale of the great madness that took the world and of Ese’ Nawoer’s walls?” Seeing her nod, he took a slow breath. “Well, Lodesh, the unlucky scoundrel, gave the order to build them.”

  “No,” she protested. “That was—”

  “Three hundred, and, oh, eighty-four seasons past, yes,” Useless finished.

  “Then he is a . . .” she began, then stopped. She couldn’t bring herself to say he was a ghost. She had seen Lodesh, touched him. Hounds, the warmth in his eyes had made her blush!

  “A ghost?” Useless shrugged. “I don’t rightly know what he is. The last time I saw him, he was at the end of a long, productive life. I didn’t expect to see him again, much less as a young man, at least not until I breathed no more. A ghost, while assuredly not correct, may be the easiest concept to accept until we know more.”

  “But he’s so alive!” Alissa exclaimed.

  “Yes,” he accused. “Your visioning must have been vivid to give him so much substance.”

  “But I didn’t do anything! ” she protested.

  Useless silently waited until Alissa looked up. “You most assuredly did something,” he said. “What its eventual outcome will be, I can’t guess. If Bailic realizes the city is awake, he will force you to do his will, and the result will be the same as if he woke them himself. The souls of Ese’ Nawoer would do much damage,” he whispered, staring into the fire, clearly worried. “This is not good. Lodesh has suffered enough, as have his people.”

  “I didn’t mean to wake them,” Alissa began plaintively.

  Useless raised a comforting hand. “Hush. I don’t know how you managed it, but it can’t be changed. Perhaps some good may come of it someday. They’re bound to you until you find a way to set them free from their guilt.”

  “They serve me?” she stammered.

  Useless gave a dry cough. “Not really. It’s the other way around. There are sixteen thousand souls now depending upon you to find a way to set them free.” He looked at her with what she thought might be pity. “It’s a fearsome task you have undertaken.”

  “I didn’t know, Useless. I don’t want them!”

  “It’s too late. Be still,” he admonished. “They have slept for centuries. They will easily wait a lifetime more until a way can be found to free them.” He turned to the fire, and another stick followed its brothers already burning.

  Alissa sat and worried. Useless was silent, watching the snowflakes meet their end in the flames, seeming to know she would have more questions. “Useless?” she said softly.

  “Yes?”

  “You asked Lodesh if he would do anything, and he said no. If I asked him, would he—could he best Bailic?”

  Useless shifted and frowned. “If you asked him, he would try. I don’t rightly know if he could. All things being equal, I think so, but things aren’t equal. Harming, much less killing with one’s thoughts, is something Keepers were conditioned to avoid. An entire generation of Keepers have been lost as Bailic honed his skills. Though Lodesh has more wards at his disposal, he would be at a great disadvantage, unaware of what kills outright, what simply maims, what—”

  “I understand,” she interrupted, shuddering as she remembered Bailic’s easy voice as he casually snipped off Strell’s finger.

  Useless nodded. “Lodesh wouldn’t be fast enough to best Bailic’s instinctive reactions. I wouldn’t ask him to do anything.” He hesitated. “The Warden seems to be working under his own agenda. As usual,” he added, sounding worried.

  Alissa thought this over, her hopes of ending her difficulties so easily, dashed. “Useless?”

  “Yes, young one?” This time he sounded tired.

  “Lodesh knows you, yet you said you never expected to see him again.”

  “Yes,” he offered cautiously, seeming unsure where this was headed.

  “How,” she said, then hesitated. It was rather personal. “How old are you?” she blurted.

  “I’ve lost count.”

  “Please . . .”

  He sighed. “Let me see. I was young when I built the Hold, and old when I met you.”

  “When was that?” Alissa asked quietly.

  “Officially? Your second summer. Don’t you remember? You turned red and cried until I tickled your nose with a tuft of grass.”

  “Useless,” Alissa cajoled, but she was relieved to see his good humor returning. He had grown so distant when talking of Ese’ Nawoer.

  “Very well, a short history lesson.”

  “Your history,” she demanded.

  “My history,” he affirmed, taking a sip of tea. “I completed the Hold long ago.”

  Silently, Alissa waited.

  “Five hundred forty-nine seasons past, minus a few days.”

  Stunned, Alissa felt her mouth drop open.

  “Long, long, ago,” he said, an amused glint in his eye.

  Her jaw snapped shut. “Do you live forever?” she asked, half expecting he did.

  “No, of course not.” He smiled. “But change is slow. I have at least a cen
tury left.”

  “A century?” she whispered.

  “Maybe more,” he admitted, sounding almost guilty.

  “Maybe more . . .” Alissa shook her head as she tried to wrap her thoughts around the concept of so long a span. She couldn’t do it. The snow filtered softly down in a quiet stillness, alarming in its opposition to her reeling thoughts. It was too fantastic to accept. She had a raku for a teacher who was, at the very least, six centuries old. He was acquainted with a ghost who lived roughly 400 years ago. That ghost, along with 16,000 of his people, expected her to free their souls from a 384-year-old tragedy.

  “I can’t do it, Useless,” she whispered, feeling her breath quicken. “I can’t.”

  “No one is expecting you to do anything, child,” Useless said as if knowing where her thoughts lay.

  She looked up with a wide-eyed panic. “But I can’t. I can hardly keep myself intact. I can’t save the world.”

  Useless smiled softly. “You only need to save yourself. Ignore the rest until you can do something about it.”

  “Ignore them!” she cried out in disbelief. “All those people? How?”

  “May I see your staff?” he asked mildly.

  Astounded at his callousness, Alissa snatched it up and held it stiffly out. He took it, examined it for a moment, then cracked it across her shins.

  “Ow!” she shouted as pain raced through her. “What did you do that for!”

  “Distraction,” he said, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. “You aren’t worrying about things you can’t control anymore, are you?” Slumping, he turned to the fire. “It’s surprising how quickly one forgets when distracted,” he said. “At least while the sun is up.” He handed her staff back. “Feel better?”

  “No!”

  “You will,” he said. “Lodesh is correct,” he said louder. “Your new stick won’t break easily. Mirth wood is extremely dense.”

  Alissa pulled up her skirt to find her shins swelling already. “I can tell,” she snapped.

  Useless looked away. “One thing I am certain of is that Lodesh never gave away so large a piece of his precious trees before, at least not to my knowledge. It was a thoughtful gift. It’s served you well already,” he said dryly.

  “It’s too long,” she said, tugging her skirt back down.

  “Is it?” He shifted uncomfortably and glanced up into the falling snow.

  Useless didn’t say a word, but Alissa knew when he started looking at the sky, their meeting was over. She sent her heels to thump against the hard stone bench. “So, you’ll tell me how to call you with my thoughts, now?” she said, knowing he wasn’t going to.

  He shifted uneasily. “It’s cold. Why don’t we call it done?”

  “I’m fine,” Alissa said, forcing her arms to unclench about her. He was trying to get out of it, and she wouldn’t let it go without a fight.

  Useless stood and adjusted his coat. “I’m not. Get yourself back inside before you freeze to the stone. Replace that ward of disguise every time you notice it’s fallen. When you can hold it in your sleep, you will have mastered the technique. I’ll be back on the full moon.” He stepped from the firepit and dissolved in a swirl of gray fog and a tug on her thoughts.

  Alissa’s eyes widened. He had never shifted form that close to her before. Within a heartbeat, the fog grew to the size of a small barn, solidifying into the massive shape of a raku. Useless swiveled his arrow-shaped head to her with a startling quickness. She gasped, nearly scrambling back in sudden fear, stopping only as she met his eyes. They were seemingly ten times larger, but the soul behind them was unchanged. Her pulse slowed as he waited, undoubtedly seeing how she would react to this sudden, very real reminder of who and what he was. Letting out her breath, she unclenched her fists.

  Just so, his amused look seemed to say. He leapt into the air, and with a rush of wind he was gone and among the stars, leaving her to put the fire out and find her unsettled way back to her bed.

  II

  Lodesh squinted up into the low sun as the frightening silhouette of a raku ran silently across the snow. It was startling, even when expected, pulling forth primitive fears and reactions that had to be carefully soothed. Letting his armful of wood clatter to the ground, he brushed his arms clean of the bark and moss, waiting for his friend to land and shift to his more familiar form.

  The reality of sharp eyes for detecting prey and claws meant for tearing flesh melted into a gray mist, swirling down to coalesce into a tired man dressed in a gold-colored, floor-length vest tied tight about his waist with a black sash. From behind the sleeveless vest showed yellow trousers and a matching shirt, the sleeves of which were wide and expansive. “Lodesh!” came Talo-Toecan’s call. “I’m surprised. I expected you would have situated yourself in your family’s holdings in the citadel, not out here on the field.”

  Smiling faintly, Lodesh waited for Talo-Toecan to come even with him. “These are my family’s holdings,” he said softly.

  Talo-Toecan paused, his golden eyes drifting over Lodesh’s shoulder to the ring of impressive mirth trees, well within hailing distance of the sod-covered house. “Yes, of course,” he admitted, clearly uncomfortable.

  “Forgive me. But still, with an entire city to choose from, why Reeve’s cottage? Bone and ash. It’s almost a hovel.”

  With a subtle gesture, Lodesh moved them inside before Talo-Toecan’s slippers could become any more damp. Shortly after his mother died, Lodesh had been apprenticed to the grove’s caretaker. It was a modest occupation for one of the younger nephews of the current Warden. The small house was the only dwelling besides the Hold that Lodesh thought of as home. They entered in a stomping of boots and soft scraping of slippers.

  “It’s easier to heat,” Lodesh said as he went to build up the fire. “Besides, there’re more pleasant memories here than at my first and final house, regardless of how tall the ceilings are or how smooth the floor was worked.”

  From the corner of his sight, Lodesh watched Talo-Toecan’s gaze run over the comfortably but sparsely furnished room. The warmth and scent of cooking sausages visibly relaxed the Master even as he stood there, his head nearly brushing the low ceiling. Small, numerous windows had their shutters open to let in the light; the cold was kept at bay with wards now instead of wood and cloth. Propped in a corner was a pair of carefully preserved pruning shears, shining faintly under a new coat of oil. Talo-Toecan stiffened and turned away upon seeing them, undoubtedly uncomfortable with the thought of the man who once worked them.

  Lodesh hid his smile as he shook out his coat and carefully hung it by the fire. “I don’t think you were ever invited into Reeve’s stronghold,” he said, draping a rag over his arm to keep it free of splatters as he shifted the sausages.

  “No,” was Talo-Toecan’s stilted reply. “He never forgave me for stealing you away from him, as it were. Once your potential as a Keeper began to show, he knew it was a foregone conclusion. But I think Reeve clung to the hope you would return regardless, even after you left.”

  Lodesh took a slow breath, keeping his back safely turned. “I would have come back,” he said faintly. “I was ready to, but my city needed me more than the trees he taught me to care for.” Depressed at the reminder of opportunities that never really existed, he turned to see Talo-Toecan’s eyebrows raised in question.

  “I’m not complaining,” Lodesh said with a thin smile. “The path I chose had its own joys.”

  The Master gave a soft harrumph and sat at the small table under the window. His elbows nearly slipped off its narrow width. It was as large as the room would allow, and that wasn’t much.

  There was a tug upon Lodesh’s thoughts, and he wasn’t surprised to see the plain teapot appear on the hearth. He accepted its arrival without comment, knowing it would be asking too much of the raku’s dignity to use the pink, rose-covered pot that had belonged to his adoptive mother. “I can’t believe you never took the time to learn to craft anything better than this horrib
le pot,” Lodesh said, filling Talo-Toecan’s teapot and setting it to boil.

  “It’s sufficient,” was his short, dry answer. Talo-Toecan held his sleeve tightly to his arm to keep it from dragging as he reached to ladle a portion of the strawberry preserves onto his plate. Lodesh pulled the sausages from the fire, watching Talo-Toecan’s gaze stray to the full pantry shelves, then out the window to the tall woodpile just outside the door. “You seem well stocked for only having been among the living since yesterday,” the Master said. “One might think you knew you would return.”

  Lodesh bit back a muffled curse, sticking his knuckle in his mouth to feign having burned it. This wasn’t where he wanted the conversation to go. Silently he slid two plates upon the table, his eyes lowered. They were glazed a pale pink to match his mother’s teapot and looked extremely out of place. “I’m not a shaduf to know the future,” he said guardedly.

  “But still . . .” the Master persisted. “When the city was abandoned, they took everything down to the last spoon. Here you have an entire winter’s supply of food and fuel safe under protection wards for how long? Nearly four hundred years?”

  Lodesh set two dainty but badly tarnished spoons beside the plates. “Reeve made me promise to keep Mother’s home as she left it,” he said reluctantly. He retrieved the brown sausages, and with his back to Talo-Toecan, he muttered, “I’d rather not talk about it. Reeve and I didn’t part on the best of terms.”

  “Of course.” Talo-Toecan leaned back as the cooked links hit his plate in a series of rolling plops. The squat, almost-burnt bread soon followed. The raku’s silence told Lodesh more clearly than words that he was unconvinced; Talo-Toecan was just too polite to say anything.

  They ate with only the sound of forks and knives to break the guilty silence until Lodesh set his knife down and sighed heavily. “Are you going to tell her?” he asked.

  “What, that she is more than she thinks?” Talo-Toecan frowned. “No. Absolutely not. She might believe she was capable of more than she is and bring about her downfall that much faster.” He rose, grimacing as he nearly knocked his head on the low support beams. Retrieving the steaming teapot from the hearth, he set it upon the cloth embroidered with hummingbirds and bees. Lodesh’s gaze traveled up from Talo-Toecan’s hands, conspicuously clenched at his side.