by Dawn Cook
Useless jerked himself to his feet. Clearly in a sour mood, he gestured for Connen-Neute and Lodesh to precede him out. The well-dressed Keeper seemed as bothered as Useless, clearly not liking Strell imagining he could help when Lodesh could not. Useless’s long vest swirled as he stomped out. She listened to their hushed voices echo as they went into the great hall.
Talon chittered, and Alissa took the small bird, finding comfort in running a finger over her grayed markings. Ashamed of her cowardice, she glanced at Strell, relieved to see the understanding in his eyes.
She gave him a thin smile as he pulled his hard-backed chair over to sit facing her with their knees almost touching. Talon chittered aggressively at how close they were to each other, and Alissa set her aside. He hadn’t yet shaved, and the prickly black looked awful.
“I know what’s bothering you,” Strell said softly, and she slumped.
Leaning forward, she dropped her forehead to his shoulder. The scent of dry sand filled her senses, and she felt the prick of tears. Strell leaned forward as well to rest his head against her. They sat for a moment, Alissa taking strength from his silence.
“I can’t do it, Strell,” she whispered, her fingers running over the calluses on his fingers. “What if I lose control? What if I—”
“You won’t,” Strell soothed, interrupting. She took a breath to protest, halting as he put a finger atop her lips. “Alissa, listen,” he asserted gently. “When you’re in a trance, you haven’t given your will to another, just freed your inhibitions. You’re no more likely to do something you don’t want to do than when you’re fully awake. I’m a minstrel. Trust me on this?” Strell tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers rough and warm against her neck.
She nodded, miserable, as she wiped the moisture from her eyes. Shame for her cowardice filled her. Useless had spent twenty years away from his wife, his colleagues, everyone he had known. And now her weakness was keeping them from coming home. She was being foolish. No one in the Hold would hurt her. No one.
Alissa took a steadying breath. “You’ll stay here with me?” she asked.
Strell’s brown eyes glinted with what looked like pride in her. “Yes, I’ll even keep everyone out until you wake up, if you like.” He ran his hand over his hair and gripped the clip that kept his dark hair back. “If that’s all right with you?”
Her heart gave a pound at his last words, and she searched his anxious expression. Ashes, she thought, her heart going out to him. He wanted to help, and as a commoner incapable of working wards, he thought there was nothing he could do. He had no idea the strength she took from him simply being there, keeping her from being alone.
Unable to hold his gaze, she nodded. Taking three slow, practiced breaths, Alissa felt the tension drain from her. She focused on Strell and his encouraging smile before she closed her eyes and prepared to set up her newest ward.
Deep in her unconsciousness lay a glittering, silver sphere of power, a gift from her papa before he died. It had been given in love, and therefore she was left in the unique situation of owing no one a debt of allegiance for her strength. Not even Useless. He taught her to pass on his knowledge, and she put herself under his direction out of respect alone.
The glowing sphere was her source, the beginning of everything. Surrounding it to bind it into shape were un-countable threads. The arrangement gave Alissa the impression of a loosely wound ball of wool. Glimpses of force eked out, making the sphere glow brighter than a star. Never had Alissa been able to form any impression of what lay encased by the threads. Useless once told her it was because limit-bound thoughts balked at infinity.
Alissa slipped further into her mindscape, enjoying the slow immersion instead of the usual dash and crash she used to instigate wards quickly. As the fire hissed and popped, her thoughts slowed, and her tracings, a close companion to her source, seemed to melt into focus behind her mind’s eye. A twisted chaos of blue-black lines spread in all directions about the glowing sphere. The lines were nearly invisible against her thoughts. Dewdrops of a more intense blue marked where tracings met and fractured. A gold shimmer followed the tracings in wisps visible only when she looked at them sideways.
Alissa sent a thought to pierce her glowing source. A silver-lined ribbon of energy shot out and made the jump to her tracings. Touching at a single juncture, the energy made a curving arc back to her source, crossing over itself to make a twisted, crossed loop. It was the primary circuit, according to Useless. Alissa preferred to call it “nothing,” as that’s exactly what it did.
Her awareness focused as she brought back the memory of the ward Useless had shown her earlier. Double-checking as she went, Alissa allowed the energy from the primary circuit into selected tracings. The pattern of lines looping in and amongst themselves was what made a ward. It wasn’t magic, she still contended, but it didn’t hurt to let everyone think it was. It was easier than trying to explain what really happened.
The pattern filled with a hissing energy, lighting her mindscape with a brilliant glow that wasn’t gold or silver but somehow both. Assuring herself again that nothing would happen to her as long as Strell was near, Alissa set up a field within herself to give the ward a place to act. She allowed a tinge more energy to flow into the completed circuit. Her tracings went dark as the ward made the jump from her tracings to her field.
The warmth of the fire on her face seemed to increase as something slowly settled over her. It was the ward, and though similar to being asleep, it was different at its most basic level. The ward sharpened her thoughts, and Alissa intentionally imagined herself in the Hold’s garden in the snow. Silla liked snow, and in her dreams they had often compared the snowflakes that fell upon their sleeves. Alissa shivered in the imagined chill, feeling a gust of wind in her hair. She waited in the moonlit garden, watching the stars grow sharp as the air cracked in her lungs. Still, no Silla.
Perhaps, she wondered, I should try to find Silla? This was harder, and Alissa had seldom managed it. Relaxing further, she felt herself settle deeper into the cushions. The snow-blanketed garden vanished. Again she felt the stuffy warmth of the dining hall. This, too, she worked to block out, believing she should feel nothing, emptying her thoughts so she could find Silla’s.
In her dream state, she closed her eyes to listen with her entire being the way Beast had taught her. Slowly she recognized the wind. It was steady, and with it came an increasingly familiar scent of salt. In her dream, Alissa opened her eyes and gasped.
She was dreaming. She knew that. She was also standing at the edge of a cliff overlooking more water than she had ever seen. It was flat like a tabletop, and so far below her that its motion was lost. “Alissa!” came a high-pitched voice.
Alissa turned, smiling in recognition. “Hi, Silla.” Alissa pulled her hand up to shade her eyes from the imaginary sun. With new understanding, she looked at the young Master in her human form. Silla was almost as tall as Alissa, not yet having grown into her full height. Thin with late adolescence, her face angled to a small chin, its shape accentuated by her cheekbones.
Silla smiled in greeting as she held a wisp of black hair out of her eyes with an overly long hand. Her cascade of ringlets were held off her neck and shoulders by ribbons, and the arrangement gave Silla a regal demeanor only strengthened by the golden eyes Masters had, even in their human form. Alissa’s gaze dropped to the red sash about Silla’s waist, comparing it to Connen-Neute’s. They were the same.
Silla grinned as she saw Alissa’s new Master’s attire. “I like it,” she said, taking an expansive sleeve in her hands and running a thumb across the shadow of ivy leaves woven into the fabric. “How long did it take you?”
“All winter. Two months to learn how to weave the ivy leaf pattern. After that, it was easy.” Alissa turned to the drop-off. “This is nice. Why haven’t you shown me this before?”
Silla shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I come up here sometimes to sit. It looks like a good place to learn how to f
ly.”
Alissa sat down on the conveniently placed dream rock. “Don’t you know how, yet?”
Silla turned away. “Of course. I’m just not that good yet.”
Seeing her obvious embarrassment, Alissa winced. “Sorry. I’m not that good yet, myself,” she added, and Silla flashed her a quick, grateful smile.
“Listen,” Alissa said. “I’m glad I found you today, or tonight, rather. You’re real. I mean, I’m real.” Silla’s heart-shaped face went slack in astonishment, and Alissa added, “You remember me telling you about the Hold?”
“Yes,” Silla said cautiously. “That’s where we came from. It’s cold there.”
Alissa stood up in excitement. “Cold. Like snow! Remember I showed you that? That’s where I am. With Useless. I told you about him. But his real name is Talo-Toecan.” The proper name for her instructor sounded odd coming from her lips.
Silla’s eyes widened. “Talo-Toecan? He’s—he’s Keribdis’s—”
“Yes!” Alissa cried. “Her husband. Is she all right? Useless—I mean Talo-Toecan—has been trying to reach her ever since he realized you were a real person, or raku rather, and that it was possible to reach another from so far away.” Her words tumbled over themselves.
“You’re—real?” Silla looked ill. “I thought you were a dream.”
“And Connen-Neute and Lodesh are here,” Alissa said as she took Silla’s hands.
Silla drew her hands from Alissa and backed away. “Connen-Neute is feral.”
Alissa grinned. “Not anymore. I accidentally brought his sentience forward from the past. It was sort of my fault he went feral in the first place. But listen. I’m a Master, just like you. Talo-Toecan says these aren’t dreams but a communication that’s possible when the mind is relaxed and free to believe in the impossible. It’s fantastic that we can reach that far.”
Face white, Silla took another step back. “I saw you dream of your father,” she said. “He wasn’t a Master. How can you be one? You don’t look like one.”
Concerned at Silla’s fright, Alissa stepped forward. “I’ve got ancestry from the plains, foothills, and even the coast somewhere. I made the jump from Keeper to Master,” she said. “Wait. I can prove I’m real,” she pleaded. “I know your teacher is Keribdis. You never told me that. Connen-Neute wears the same red sash you do. She taught him, too.”
Silla’s head shifted violently in denial. “Connen-Neute is feral. I heard the stories. You’re a dream, telling me things I already know. Keribdis said I shouldn’t think of you. That you’re madness. That I might go feral if I listen to you!”
“Silla!” Alissa cried, seeing in her the desire to flee. “Ask Keribdis about Lodesh Stryska. He’s a Keeper. He’s here at the Hold. Blond hair, green eyes, always trying to get me to blush. Keribdis will remember him. He makes really good tea,” she finished weakly.
Silla looked terrified, and Alissa scrambled to find a way to prove neither one of them was insane. “Ask Keribdis about the cups he can make from his thoughts,” she said suddenly. “They’re the size of two fists! No one ever told you that, did they?”
“But he’s dead,” Silla whispered. Eyes wide, she gazed at Alissa. “He was the last Warden of Ese’ Nawoer.” She backed to the small footpath leading down.
“Silla! I’m real,” Alissa cried. “Talo-Toecan wants you to come home.”
“I can’t fly!” Silla shouted. “It’s my fault we can’t get off the island!” Her face shifted back to fear. “You’re a dream. You’re madness. Get out of my dream! Get out!” she shrieked.
Alissa started awake, gasping. Her heart pounded, and she almost rose from her chair. Strell was gripping her shoulder, his eyes crinkled with worry. Useless stood behind him. He glowed with hope, but it turned to ash as he took in Alissa’s cold face.
She swallowed hard as her pulse slowed. The fire’s warmth felt chill after the balmy strength of the sun on Silla’s cliff. She glanced at Strell, and he let her go. “She thinks . . . She thinks I’m a figment of her imagination,” Alissa said, shaking inside. “She thinks I’ll make her insane. I’m sorry, Useless,” she whispered. “I found her. I tried to tell her I wasn’t a dream. I told her about Connen-Neute—”
“The last they knew, he was feral,” Useless interrupted. “She didn’t believe you.” Face gray and pained looking, he closed his eyes as if unable to tolerate the heartache.
“And trying to convince her with Lodesh was just as bad. And it didn’t help that I’m a transeunt; I don’t think she even knows it’s possible for a human to become a Master,” she added, thinking of Silla’s long stares at Alissa’s short-by-comparison fingers.
Talon hopped to Strell’s shoulder, peering at Alissa with an odd, unbirdlike intensity.
“We’ll try again tomorrow,” the old Master said softly as he turned away to hide his grievous disappointment.
Somehow, Alissa didn’t think it would make any difference.
4
“It’s not working,” Alissa said in exasperation, trying to hide her frustration as Useless sighed. “We should just fly out there and get them.” Slumping in one of the kitchen’s chairs, she pushed her plate of stew away. Strell, halfway across the room, stiffened. Alissa closed her eyes at his abhorrence of wasting food, then gestured he could have it.
Useless said nothing, his attention upon repairing a bowl that would be easier to replace than fix. His usual upright countenance had degraded over the last few days, worn down as their attempts to convince Silla that Alissa was real failed. His craggy features remained quiet as his abnormally long fingers manipulated the blue-glazed shard of pottery into place.
Connen-Neute fidgeted—he was hiding in a corner, if the truth be told—and it rankled Alissa that his nervousness was because she had found fault with Useless’s plan of action.
There was a scrape as Strell pulled her stew across the table and retreated with it to the hearth. His travel-worn pack rested by the garden door beside Lodesh’s far newer one. Alissa eyed the packs in frustration. Strell was ready to go to the coast and charter a boat to find Silla. And as Silla believed Alissa was a dream-demon, someone would have to go fetch them.
Useless set the mended bowl down with a soft clink. His eyes meeting hers across the table were tired but held a daunting determination. “We’ll try again tomorrow,” he intoned.
“But she’s scared of me,” Alissa insisted. “She wakes herself up when I find her. Ever since she told Keribdis what I said, the poor girl is convinced that I will make her go feral.” Alissa’s lips pursed. Silla never would have come to that conclusion by herself. Keribdis must have told her that, and Alissa wasn’t pleased to have been shelved with dream-demons and nightmares.
Useless made a noise of disagreement. They all looked up as Lodesh burst into the kitchen. “Where are my other shoes?” the elegant Keeper muttered. His green eyes were pinched as he riffled through his pack. “Has anyone seen my other shoes?” he asked. Waving his hands in bother, he strode out before anyone could answer.
“Tomorrow, I’ll share your trance,” Useless said as Lodesh disappeared. “If I pickaback my consciousness on yours, we’ll share the same vision. I’ll calm Silla down and convince her she’s not going feral.” His expression darkened as he looked at Lodesh’s pile. “There’s no need to leave the Hold.”
“No,” Alissa said. “I won’t pickaback. Not again.”
Surprise pulled Useless straight. The blatant defiance would normally earn her a severe lecture and a withdrawal of privileges, but pickabacking was a dangerously close sharing of mind and emotion. She was within her rights to refuse.
“You pickabacked with Connen-Neute,” Useless protested. I’m more skilled than he is in keeping my thoughts to myself. If anyone should be worried, it’s me, not you.”
Thinking of Beast, Alissa glanced at Connen-Neute. The young Master solemnly shifted his head. The subtle movement told Alissa volumes. If she allowed such a close contact, Useless would see Beast, just
as he had. That was a bed of worms she had no wish to hoe. “No,” she said.
Lodesh breezed in with a bundle of blankets over his arm. Never acknowledging them, he threw the blankets beside his pack and strode out. He was humming a dancing tune, his steps smacking the floor loudly in time with the beat.
Useless leaned across the table as Lodesh’s footsteps grew faint. “I haven’t given anyone permission to leave. Strell is the only one who doesn’t need it. You and Connen-Neute are students, and have already demonstrated an incredible inability to keep your mouths shut and your skills to yourself when caught by surprise. Lodesh is on probation because he allowed you to become trapped in the past. No one leaves without an appropriate escort, and I’m not going.”
Alissa frowned as she recalled Useless’s aversion to large bodies of water. She took a deep breath. The memory of him pinning her wing to the tower’s roof flitted through her. Her eyes dropped, and she tried to disappear into the hard kitchen chair. “If it weren’t for all the water, we all could fly out and find them,” she muttered.
Useless stiffened with an audible breath. “It’s not the water, Alissa,” he said coldly.
Alissa’s first feeling of alarm shifted to overconfidence at his relatively mild response. She glanced at Connen-Neute. Eyes frightened, he shook his head, telling her to stop. Her foot tapped as she weighed her options. She was disagreeing; she wasn’t being disrespectful. “We should take a boat,” she said. “After all, Strell and Lodesh want to come.”
“It’s not the water.” Motions jerky, Useless stood. He turned his back to her. The hem of his baggy trousers trembled. The warning was clear. Alissa ignored it.
“Besides,” she continued, “I wouldn’t risk flying off to the horizon without a place to land.” She hesitated, knowing that’s exactly what Keribdis had convinced the entire Hold of Masters to do. “That’s foolish.”
“It’s not—the water,” Useless said, his soft voice tight. He turned, and Alissa was surprised to see an old pain hiding in his weary gaze.