Truth - Hidden Truth Part 10

"Bailic is your problem, old friend," Lodesh said with a chuckle. "I have my city to administer to. It has its own price, coming long before my allegiance to the Hold. If I abandon my people by attempting to end Bailic's life, who will guide them to their own rest? Besides, I don't know if I can best Bailic, and I'm not going to risk dying again. Not so soon."Without getting up, Lodesh moved the empty plates to the windowsill. "A spirit can do very little-the odd bad dream, perhaps a book falling off a shelf, souring milk, small things-but one with flesh on it?"

He flushed. "Can do so much more." He looked out the window. "I will wait." Talo-Toecan's chair creaked as he leaned back. The sound drew Lodesh's attention. "Fear not, my long-lived friend." He smiled thinly. "You will find a way around your promises. You always do."

"If you refuse to help me, that's your choice."

It was clearly an accusation, and Lodesh's eyes grew hard. "I said Bailic wasn't my responsibility. I never said I wouldn't help," he said sharply.

The Master's breath hissed out and he stiffened. Lodesh met his glare with a mocking, questioning look until Talo-Toecan relaxed, recalling his unusual circ.u.mstance of having his hat in his hand. "Anything you would see fit to do would be appreciated," he said. "I would spend my time seeking help. I have searched from my prison hoping to find another Master to free me. Now that I'm loose, my range has expanded to include the plains and much of the western sea."

Lodesh grew still, refusing to return Talo-Toecan's hopeful look. "Wouldn't someone have returned by now had they been alive?" he asked, swirling the pot to brew it faster.

"A Master?" Talo-Toecan frowned. "No, an absence from the Hold for twenty years isn't uncommon. But I fear Bailic's plan to kill them by enticing them to search for a mythical island succeeded admirably. If any were alive, I should have reached at least their thoughts by now. But I'm still going to search."

Silence wedged stealthily between them, relieved by the hissing fire and the call of a jay sounding faint and unreal through the warded window. Lodesh stirred uncomfortably. "They're gone. Let them go," he said into the dismal hush.

"I can't," came Talo-Toecan's distant voice, his eyes on the Hold's tower. "I'm a foolish old raku, Lodesh, clinging to maybes and somedays as tightly as a small child does." Avoiding Lodesh's eyes, he reached for the tea and filled both their cups. "Sometimes, in the still point of the night, I can almost hear her."

"Keribdis?"

His eyes on his long fingers encircling his cup, Talo-Toecan nodded slowly.

Lodesh cleared his throat. "Ah, well," he said overly loud. "You must continue to listen."

The Master glanced up sharply, seeming embarra.s.sed by his admission. "Did Redal-Stan ever tell you of his one and only prophecy?" he said, pointedly changing the subject.

Lodesh's eyebrows rose. Redal-Stan had been both their teacher, although admittedly not in the same century, and the cranky Master had never mentioned such a thing to him.

Talo-Toecan smiled with a dry humor. "He once spoke to me of a great friendship that would arise behind the walls of the Hold, destined to end at the hands of a woman. It would be a lover's triangle, the fallout of which would change the very course the Hold would follow." He paused and sipped at his tea.

"The two men fall into contention over her favors. One ultimately betrays his friend, giving him a burden he cannot surmount."

The Master took a slow breath. "Redal-Stan told me to watch for this triangle, claiming it would be the turning point of the Hold. He said the Hold would prosper as the triangle does, or die as the triangle does. I fear, old friend, I have failed in heeding his warning."

"How so?"

Reaching to clean the lip of the jar of preserves with a cloth, Talo-Toecan frowned. "Bailic andAlissa's parents were such a triangle. I was there when it both began and ended, and though I strove to avoid their inevitable conflict, my efforts only worked to worsen it." Having only tasted his tea, Talo-Toecan pushed the cup away. "I imagine the worst has fallen, that the Hold has dipped to the point where it can no longer stand. I'm the only one left," he agonized, his sharp features suddenly creased with emotion. "Alissa's potential will be lost."

"She won't be lost," Lodesh said with an undying certainty. "You already have my help."

Talo-Toecan met his eyes briefly. "What can you do, Warden? You have no wings."

"No wings," Lodesh agreed, "but I can bring something no other could."

The Master shifted with an obvious embarra.s.sment. "It won't be easy. I broke the holden after I escaped. It wasn't built to imprison a sane Master, and I couldn't allow it to remain intact if I was the only one left."

Lodesh shrugged. He hadn't planned on using the Hold's cellar anyway. "Will you accept my help or not?" he asked.

"Of course. I have no choice."

"There is always a choice," Lodesh said, tensing at the wash of pain that came and went, no less intense for its short duration. Again Talo-Toecan fixed him with a sharp look, and Lodesh managed a small chuckle. "Redal-Stan was many things," he softly quipped, "but a shaduf wasn't among them.

Alissa isn't lost yet. And besides," he cajoled, "shadufs can't see into the future your long-lived existences cast. Redal-Stan has no way of knowing what may or may not happen. He was just giving you something to worry over after he was gone from this earth."

Talo-Toecan settled back with a grimace, his knees. .h.i.tting the underside of the table to rattle the cups. "Maybe," he grumbled, blotting at the tea that slopped over. "But he seemed most adamant about it."

Giving him a sharp nod, Lodesh drained his cup. "How often will you be checking up on them?"

Talo-Toecan settled himself. "I have promised Alissa to return upon the full and new moon to repair any damaging ideas Bailic imparts to her through his instruction of Strell. I dare not come any more frequently than that. Not until I devise a way to get rid of Bailic."

Trying to appear disinterested, Lodesh took up the teapot and refilled his cup. "Would you like me to check up on her on a more regular basis? To allow you the opportunity to range farther afield in your searching-of course."

As if recognizing that more was being said than what actually was, Talo-Toecan leaned back with a wary look. "Just how substantial are you, Lodesh?"

Lodesh immediately rose to tend the fire. This wasn't a topic he cared to explore just yet, and most a.s.suredly not with Talo-Toecan. Alissa, perhaps, when she finally remembered him. If she remembered him.

Behind him, he heard Talo-Toecan's fingers tapping on the table. Then they stopped. "Yes," the Master said guardedly. "Check on them both, if you would. Every third day or so. I'll sleep better, if nothing else. Just don't get caught. Bailic might-misunderstand."

Relieved, Lodesh turned. He would have checked upon Alissa regardless, but now he had an excuse, should Bailic spy him. "I will run up a flag if your presence would be an a.s.set."

"I know you, Lodesh," Talo-Toecan said with a watchful tone. "I would think twice about letting Alissa know of your visits."

"Not tell Alissa when I'm there?" Lodesh froze indignantly. "You want me to skulk about like athief?"

Talo-Toecan made a scoffing sound of amus.e.m.e.nt. "She would want you to stay, and Bailic would ferret you out, even within the span of an afternoon. The less she knows about you right now, the better.

Strell, too. If Bailic guesses you're awake, he will undoubtedly find a way to use that information against Alissa." He grimaced. "You and your city."

Lodesh's brow furrowed, and he exhaled slowly. His citizens. They were as vulnerable as Alissa and held just as much potential. "Yes. Yes you're right," he said softly, not liking it. "I'll be as subtle as a mouse upon my visits."

"Good." Talo-Toecan stood with a smile. "Thank you for breakfast, Lodesh. Next time, I'll bring the sausages."

Lodesh allowed himself a small laugh as he escorted Talo-Toecan to the door. "That would be fine,"

he said. "But make sure the pig is truly dead and not just stunned. It took me three days to get the mess cleared up last time, and I don't think Nisi ever truly forgave me."

Chapter 12.

"Come on, Alissa," Strell pleaded. "You've been at it all afternoon. It's time to quit."

Alissa blew the mud-clotted strand of hair from her eyes in frustration and glanced up from the misshapen lump of clay that was spinning before her. "Almost done," she grumbled.

"That's what you said before," he said gently, and her jaw clenched. She was determined she should have at least one something worth going into the kiln by sunset.

Strell shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. "I'm going up to get the water. It should be warm by now.

Remember, you promised you would stop when the sun was off the wall."

Seeing her tight nod, he left. She listened to the scuff of his steps fade, then raised her eyes to the band of sun. It was creeping far too fast. She bent back over her work and lost herself in the clay. It could be considered a bowl in the loosest of terms. It was round, in a warped sort of way. It could hold water, in theory. She supposed it might be suitable for, say, a slop dish? But it looked nothing like the simple, elegant forms that Strell had produced earner today, one right after the other, all disgustingly perfect, all disgustingly alike. Lacking a full pinky hadn't diminished his talents as a potter at all.

There was a small scuff in the tunnel, and she acknowledged his appearance with a heavy sigh. He had a teapot in each hand. Giving her a smile, he poured the steaming water into a bucket, warming the frigid water from the annex kitchen's well to a bearable temperature. Strell had cleaned up ages ago using the cold water. It was his unspoken hope the promise of a warm wash would entice her away from his wheel.

She certainly needed a wash; she was a mess. There were splatters of dried clay in her hair. Her skirt, once a vibrant blue, so fine as to be worn only on market day, was now a dingy gray in most places. It had grown distressingly damp. The hem was dragging against the spinning flywheel, long since ragged from its continual contact with the rough stone. Her knee was sore from constantly kicking the wheel up to speed, and her hands were cramped and stiff as was her neck. And, yes, she was cold, too.

"There you go!" he called cheerily as the last of the water went into the bucket. Alissa hunched into herself and gave the flywheel a stiff kick, ignoring him. The distinctive churrch of an apple pulled herhead up, and she stared at Strell; he was deliberately ignoring her. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, skipping her noon meal because cleaning up was so much a bother. Only now did she realize how hungry she was, and her stomach rumbled.

"Got one for you, too." Strell held it up. She smiled her thanks and extended a mud-slicked hand, but he grinned, placing it out of her reach. "I want you away from that wheel first. You've hardly left it alone the last three days."

Alissa's smile vanished as she weighed her options. Warm water and food, or more cramped fingers and cold, gritty clay. Shaking her head, she shifted on the hard stool and leaned back over her bowl.

"You're going to have to do better than that," she said.

He sighed. "How about you choose the first three tunes I play tonight?"

Shocked at his offer, Alissa glanced up. His face was twisted with a sudden pain, and she looked away before he realized she had seen it. Strell couldn't play anymore. The stub Bailic had left of his finger was too short to reach the pipe without contorting his entire hand. It misaligned everything, preventing the easy flow of music Strell had worked so hard to achieve. She had heard him trying late one night. His abrupt wrong notes and awkward hesitations had filtered through their shared chimney flue. She had listened, helplessly clenching a pillow to herself in misery. He hadn't played a note since.

"No," she said casually, not wanting him to know she knew he couldn't play. Clearly his hurt was too raw for his pride to accept her concern. He would probably call it pity.

His breath came in a quick heave, and he busied himself with his back to her. "How about I make you dinner in the garden again?" he offered.

"Tempting, but it's too cold," she said, not looking up. One side of the bowl was definitely higher than the other, and she took a wooden knife to trim it away. "Why do yours always turn out so nice?" she grumbled, eyeing the apple core he had left behind on the table. Burn him to ash. She could smell its sweetness from here.

He squatted to wipe a piece of imaginary dust from one of his bowls. "I started learning to throw a pot when I was two."

Alissa nodded her acceptance of that and turned back to her disaster. One side of the bowl's wall was thicker than the other. Her lower lip between her teeth, she tried to even it out. That only made the bottom lopsided. "But still," she accused, hoping there was a simple secret she only needed to worm out of him, "it's been years since you left home. When you sat down the other day, it looked as if you had been practicing all week! The clay took shape as if it wanted to please you."

Strell came back and reclaimed his apple core. "Working clay isn't anything you can forget how to do. That is, once you know how, and besides," he paused, nibbling the apple down to nothing, "I was the best of my siblings."

She gave him a dubious look. "The best?"

He bobbed his head, smiling with an obvious pride.

"Why did you bother?" she asked. "You knew you couldn't stay."

Frowning, Strell tossed his core into an empty bucket. The soft thump as it hit seemed unnaturally loud for the tiny bit he hadn't eaten. "Yes," he said hesitantly. "I had known I was going to leave ever since my eighth year, although I didn't know why." His eyes went distant in thought. "I can't blame my parents for not telling me. Being expelled from the family craft to fulfill a pact made decades ago is shameful, even if the agreement was made with a shaduf. I think the only reason my parents respected my grandfather's promise was to ensure the shaduf's forecasting wouldn't change and cause my family name to become forgotten again." His distant look cleared. "But," he continued lightly, "my brothers and sistersdidn't know I was leaving until the summer I left."

He sat on the table to watch her. She was silent, knowing he wasn't done yet. The creak of the spinning potter's wheel was the only sound, that, and the occasional muttered curse. She could tell he was having a difficult time watching her. His hands twitched, and his thumbs locked together as they had been when he worked the clay earlier. Wondering if it might work better that way, Alissa linked her thumbs and he visibly relaxed, not aware he had given her the subtle pointer.

"The reason I wanted to be the best," he continued, "was so I could take my grandfather's pipe when I left."

"That was the one you broke, right?" she said, and Strell winced as he nodded. Alissa pulled her jar of water closer. It had been a marvelous pipe, possessing a tone she had never heard before. Strell had broken it in a fit of temper and left it for sc.r.a.p. She hadn't been able to burn it, and now it lay on her mantel next to her flower from Ese' Nawoer. "Your parents wouldn't just give it to you?" she asked, recalling him once saying he was the only one who ever played it.

"Oh, no!" He reached to halt her hand's motion as she dipped her leather rag into the jar of water to dampen her clay. "I had to earn it, just as my father and his before that-and if you add any more water, your bowl will fall completely apart."

"Thanks," she said, squeezing the water back into the jar.

"Sarmont wanted it as well." Strell sighed and rubbed his nose. "He thought he would get it, too, seeing as he was the eldest. But he didn't know I had been practicing in secret."

"Secret?" she mumbled, trying to even out the top again.

"Yes. That way Shay wouldn't break my fingers as she did Sarmont's."

Alissa looked up, shocked. "Your sister broke your brother's fingers over a silly pipe!"

Strell chuckled and leaned back. "Yes, indeed. But we could never prove it was anything more than an accident. Backed a wagon right into his hand as he was shutting a gate."

Alissa arched her shoulders painfully. "Why? You said no one but you could play."

"It's not just a pipe, Alissa," he said softly, his eyes intent upon hers. "It's the right to claim the profits of my entire family's efforts, so don't lose it, all right?"

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. "You want it back?" she finally managed.

"Keep it." Strell dropped his gaze. "It doesn't mean anything now that they're-gone." His eyes flicked to hers and away. "It may sound an odd way to choose who will run the clan's affairs for the next generation, but it does ensure the quality of work continues. And it's safer than the way a lot of houses decide who a.s.sumes the leadership."

"It's a problem?" she asked. Most hills children set up a farm next to their parents in the rare instance it was necessary.

"It can be a very large problem." Strell sighed. "There are many family names that have disappeared from treacherous schemes and betrayals."

"You're jesting," she said, and he shook his head. "Why?"

Unable to meet her eyes, Strell turned away. "I have noticed," he said slowly, "that you prefer your apples skinned when you have a choice."

Startled at the shift of topics, she nodded.

Strell rubbed the back of his neck. "Even the wealthiest plainsman leaves the skin on.""Meaning ..." she prompted.

He took a careful breath. "We would starve if we made a habit of throwing a perfectly edible rind away."

Alissa went cold. The wheel spun, all but forgotten. Food was plentiful in the foothills. Sc.r.a.ps, or even the slightly imperfect parts, went to the sheep. She had never imagined it was that much different anywhere else.

"Carrying a chartered name, I never went hungry," he said, "even in early spring. Being able to trace one's lineage back to one of the original families to settle the plains does have advantages. But many aren't so skilled as to meet the cost of grain at market."

"I'm sorry," she apologized in a small voice. Hounds, she must have looked so arrogant.

"Oh, Alissa," Strell said as he leaned to tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear. "I didn't tell you to make you feel guilty but so you would understand why Shay would find cause to break our brother's fingers.

Sarmont was a better potter than her, but he was loose with his money. He would've gambled the family's a.s.sets away. I think Father asked him to throw the contest, and when Sarmont refused, Shay 'explained' it to him."

"So what happened when you won?" Alissa asked meekly.

Strell rubbed his nose. "Shay had Sarmont beat me to a paste until I granted her the power to act in my stead while I was gone-had a paper drawn up and everything-but if I was staying, I think she would have accepted it."

"Oh." Alissa felt ill. She would have never guessed the plains were that bad. "All the plainsmen I have seen were thin," she said hesitantly. "None looked starving."