Hidden Truth

by Dawn Cook

  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, wishing 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. Brimming 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 space by the firepit to rights as Bailic silently watched.

  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 of the 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 superstition as a tool. He was eager to reread it. It was obviously the Masters’ benign strategy for keeping the masses 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?

  Shifting 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 shivered 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 shifted her attention to a patch of mint. She began tearing out great masses 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 asserted, 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 assumed 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 crashing 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, a
nd 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 shifted to rise.

  Bailic lunged, twisting her arm behind her back, forcingher 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?”

  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 smell of 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.

  “He’s mine,” Bailic threatened. “Don’t try anything, my dear, or he will suffer for it. Everyone who underestimates me is dead. No need for you to join them yet.”

  She thought back to Bailic’s rapt expression when he had incinerated Strell’s finger, and her knees nearly buckled. Bailic was insane. He would kill Strell with no compunction.

  “Yes.” Bailic pulled her closer, his pale eyes narrow and tight. “You finally understand. And look closer. See that connection between your piper and me, formed by my field and ward?”

  Silently she nodded.

  What do you suppose that is?” he asked lightly, his face twisting.

  She licked her lips. “I—I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know.” He smiled indulgently. “Let’s just say, if I die, he dies, too. So don’t try any tricks Talo-Toecan may have taught you.”

  “Useless!” she called silently in her thoughts, only now recalling him.

  “Come on,” Bailic said, and she gasped as he yanked her arm so hard her hat fell off. “There’s something you need to do.”

  “Useless!” she thought again as she stumbled into motion. If he was too far away, he might not hear. Bailic didn’t seem to notice, for which she was thankful, but neither did Useless.

  From the tangled brush came the soft call of a songbird. It was answered by its mate, and for a moment the two carried on a gentle duet, standing in dark contrast to her own desperate situation. Alissa’s pulse grew fast. She had to get away. He was going to force her to open the book. It was hers! Bailic couldn’t have it! Twisting suddenly, she struggled to break free.

  “Stop it!” Bailic hissed, pulling her tightly into him.

  Terrified, she gave a violent lunge, stomping on his foot. He let go in surprise. Alissa scrabbled across the sodden earth on all fours, only to find her feet pulled out from under her as she tried to rise. Her face went into the mud, and she bit back a muffled cry as her chin cracked into the ground. Tears welled up from the pain.

  “I said, stop,” Bailic whispered coldly, his knee on the small of her back. “I’m not going to warn you again. The next time, the piper suffers.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she countered boldly into the ground. “You have an agreement!”

  “My agreement?” He snorted. “That old raku finally made a mistake.” Bailic bent so close his breath shifted her hair, and she stiffened. “The arrangement ends the moment the book is opened. I’ll be free to do whatever I want with you. Talo-Toecan has no way of knowing when the book is opened. You,” he smiled as he pulled her back to her feet, “were never as secure as you thought, and now your piper is dreaming his last dreams.”

  She stared at him, fear knotting her stomach.

  “His life hangs upon your cooperation. If you fail me,” he said, beginning to drag her to the kitchen door, “I’ll kill your piper as you watch. I assure you, it will take some time and be very degrading. It’s been a while since I’ve tortured anyone, but it’s not the sort of thing one forgets how to do.”

  With a savage kick, Bailic pushed the door to the kitchen into the wall with a resounding crash. They entered the silent, empty room in a clatter of muddy shoes and stumbling feet.

  “I’d wager you all had a good laugh over it, didn’t you? Poor old Bailic,” he raved as they crossed the dining hall. “Can’t see the first thing before him, all this time blinded by the distractions of a commoner!”

  She was helpless to do more than stumble behind Bailic as he hauled her up the stairs. Her thoughts wove frantically between her need to escape and her need to protect Strell. Bailic held her more tightly in his poisonous grip than he might realize—or maybe he did.

  “Talo-Toecan thinks I’m a fool,” Bailic spat, his face twisting as they reached the fourth-floor landing. “He has been tutoring you all winter! Right under my nose!” Jaw clenched, he reached out a pale hand and tore her white banner from its moorings. She watched it writhe down to make a gentle contrast on the enormous rug she and Strell had wrestled into place yesterday. Her and Bailic’s muddy tracks showed strongly upon its soft, muted colors. “I haven’t taught that man a thing,” Bailic raged. “You’ve been doing everything! Everything!” he shouted, applying a savage pressure to her arm and twisting it far beyond its usual span of movement.

  “Ow, ow! Stop it. Bailic!” she cried as she half knelt under the pain.

  “Useless!” she screamed into her thoughts. “He’s taking me to the book!”

  Enraged, Bailic spun her onto the floor. As she sat there, clutching her bruised arm, she silently heard Useless’s frantic answer, and she nearly cried out in relief.

  “I’m coming,” she heard. “Don’t open it, Alissa, whatever it costs. We aren’t prepared.”

  “You’re a lying, half-breed, slattern,” Bailic growled, and he lunged. Panicked, she skittered backwards, managing to avoid him for all of two heartbeats. But for all his frail looks, he was stronger, and he caught her as easily as Talon catches a grasshopper.

  “Filth from filth. No better than your mother,” he muttered as his fingers dug into her shoulder and he dragged her to her feet. “All this time it was you. Your piper was very clever. He had convinced me, but—he—fell— asleep!” Beginning to laugh hysterically, he halted, trembling. “You were betrayed by the one who tried to protect you!”

  No, she thought as Bailic pulled her up the stairs. It was her fault, losing herself in spring as if she were safe at home. And with that, her situation became irrefutable.

  She was at home.

  Her parents’ small farm in the foothills was her birth-place, and for her first years, it had been her home and school. Now the Hold was her home, and she would die here, very shortly.

  “Useless. Please!” she cried silently in despair. “Bailic linked himself to Strell.
I can’t use an impervious field, or Strell dies, too. Please! We’re almost there.”

  “I’m coming,” came Useless’s firm thought. “Don’t open that book. You won’t be able to contain it. I’ll lose you to the beast.”

  Stumbling, her shin hit the stair, the pain going all but unnoticed in her fright. She reached out a hand to stop her fall, and Bailic yanked her up, impatient at their faltering progress. “I don’t understand,” she sent wordlessly.

  “I’m sorry,” Useless whispered into her mind. “I thought we would have more time. I was going to explain. . . . I tried to begin.”

  Bailic halted suddenly, a mere flight from his room. Gazing at Alissa with a mix of hate and avarice, he grew frighteningly still. Alissa’s breath caught, and she stiffened in terror. “I would wager,” he speculated mildly, “that you have a source. You must have one.” He leaned close, and she tried to back up, hitting the stairway’s wall. “That explosion last winter had to have been supplemented. “Tell me,” he crooned, “did Talo-Toecan let you bind it, my dear, or is it still—vulnerable?”

  “It’s beyond your reach, Bailic,” she whispered, half crazed with the fear he might know a way to tear it from her.

  Snarling, he jerked her up the last few steps.

  “Useless!” she shrieked in her thoughts as she saw his open door.

  “Just use the accursed field, Alissa!”

  “I can’t,” she sobbed, and Bailic shoved her across the threshold. The tingle of Useless’s own ward, perverted to Bailic’s use, heralded her arrival. She was trapped. Catching herself against a table, she took a shaky breath, leaning heavily on it. He took a step towards her, and she shifted to put the table between them. Her wide eyes never left his as she felt her way around it. Behind her, a chair hit the back of her legs.