Veracity: Rewritten, #2

Introduction

Reality, at its heart, is subjective. Every experience and memory is filtered by our own perceptions. Sometimes a lie is more honest than the truth, and sometimes the truth can deceive.

There is always more to the story than can be viewed on the surface. All that we think we see could be distorted by a single ripple, a thought, a secret, like the glassy mirror of a pool warped by the touch of a curious hand.

But lies and ripples must all someday subside, letting the truth become clear once more. As the lies unravel, the actions of others may abruptly make sense, as though a cloth has been pulled away from one’s eyes.

At least, such is my experience, and such is my hope for these books. The journey toward discovery is as meaningful—perhaps more meaningful—than the discovery itself.

Whether this is true for you, as well, is something I can never truly know. All I can do is wish you well on your journey.

- Morgan Bauman

mbauman@qolpress.com

***

Chapter One

The trees stood so thick that no rain could reach through the canopy; thunder resounded without the glare of lightning to illuminate the ground below. The tightly packed trunks and branches masked all vision in the dank, icy air below. Far behind her, a monster gored a villager in white, screaming with rage before it swallowed her whole.

The venom burned. It stung and tore at the blood that coursed through her veins, setting her arm afire. Haven screamed, but didn’t dare stop running. Scarcely a hands’ width apart, the trees twisted her sense of direction, her mental map of Ilonon.

As the clear poison figured out another of her Colors, her head blurred with pain—she’d lost her Purple, that time, and her feet felt suddenly too heavy to control. Running into a tree so hard that it scraped fresh blood from her uninjured arm, Haven collapsed. Her head spun, her heart pounding as it sent the poison ever more quickly through her blood. Haven used White to get a better look at her dress; the Haubonalyr had ripped off most of it when it shredded her rain cloak, tearing through her arm. Haven’s hands trembled. The Haubonalyr’s poison had stung through her Black and now her Purple, preventing her from a faster escape.

Her Red reminded her that Ryann had once amputated an arm taken by infection; her Blue wailed and flickered as the Haubonalyr’s venom ate through it. Haven was half Blue—she wouldn’t survive long if it got through half her blood. Biting her lip, she pulled off the scraps of her dress and tied them tightly above the gash in her right arm. Her head swam, but she tried to pull back the medical knowledge Ryann had taught her.

Good that it’s not the left arm, Haven told herself, pressing her forehead against the tree’s smooth bark as she tried to catch her breath. The brush scratched her bare legs. Then it’d be in my heart already, and I’d be dead.

Rolling onto her back, the canopy above her seemed like a soft, inviting floor. Though rain thudded against the leaves, no water touched her face through the knotted canopy. Rivulets of unseen water coiled around the slim trunks, dragging chilly fingers down her back.

Haven had only a sliver of White to see by, which offered an experience akin to looking through filthy bath water, only marginally clearer than her everyday eyes. But she preferred seeing even a murky, distorted forest to running blind. Haven staggered to her feet, swaying as she heard thunder mingle with the loudest scream she’d yet heard from the Haubonalyr—then silence fell across the forest.

Haven’s eyes shuddered closed, and she saw Meg. Meg, after all these years. Beyond her stood Ray—the new Ray. The kind Ray. Haven knew in her heart that, if Ray took one more step, she would leave the world for good.

No, Meg! Haven tried to focus on her wavering form, but Meg was transparent. Haven’s tongue felt thick in her throat: thick with guilt and death. She still— has a chance to live, Haven thought. Not like them; Haven felt death drawing closer to her, bringing Meg into sharper focus. —not yet! We can’t take her yet!

I thought you hated her? Meg asked. Meg had always looked out for her. Of course Meg would try to keep Ray from finding her again. Haven shook her head.

She’s not the same Ray! Haven tried to say. There was a— a mistake, an experiment, a lie—too many lies to count. The words got stuck, jamming in her throat. Ray made as though to step forward, and panic tightened around Haven’s heart. No!

Was she still running? Haven lunged, knocking Ray back, only to find herself stumbling into a tree, woozy and weak from her wounds and the cold. A hallucination. So real that she’d believed herself talking to Meg again after all these years. So convincing that she’d jumped face-first into a tree to fight back.

The poison moved more sluggishly as her heart eased, but it continued gnawing through her Blue. Once it got through that—Haven winced at the thought, clutching her arm. She had to get to safety. Which way was she facing? Which way was safe? Her head spun, and she sank to the forest floor, clutching her scalding forehead with frigid hands. Her injured arm burned with pain.

Fog settled low and still against the forest floor, blanketing sounds of thunder and battle alike. Her head throbbed—or was it some new danger thudding through the underbrush? Fear hastened her heart’s unsteady pounding, letting the poison surge anew.

No! Haven hissed, squeezing her arm with her good hand. I have to think! I ran— She bit her lip as the pain rose, willing her heart to slow down and stop trying to kill her. I ran northwest, away from Phoenix. I’m probably north of Ilonon now. If I go back…

Haven looked down at her arm. She’d meant to hide herself away in the forest for a few days, to see if Mommy and Ray could ever forgive her deceit, could ever look past her Colors, but with blood pouring from her arm and her Blue too full of holes to disguise it, it would mean as sure a death as the venom.

Sandwont is too far. She thought of Ryann and her medical kit and her anguished expression when she’d seen Haven’s cut thumb, when she’d watched Haven run from Sandwont into the safety of the woods. There’s nowhere else. Haven staggered to her feet. The river is a little further west of here. Maybe—maybe it’s not as far as I think it is. Maybe I’ll make it.

Still clutching her arm, she used the tree for support. The trees here stood thin and densely clustered, so tightly packed that Haven had to squeeze between them. Maybe she was going west—maybe she was going east. Maybe she was going south to her death in Ilonon. But at least she was moving.

I’ve done it again. Tears burned, unshed, in the back of her throat. I’ve got to start all over again. It’s always the same. It’s always the same…

Haven pushed forward. The rain quieted somewhere above her, and a thick chill lay across the earth, condensing against her skin. She felt it when her Blue died—it nearly took her legs out from beneath her. Her head felt like a clear bowl of water, sloshing around without a single clearly defined thought inside it. Soon after, her White followed suit, and the world went dark. Her Red reminded her that she still had Brown, and Haven warmed herself with it until that, too, passed away.

She had no concept of time, but when she was left with only Red, Green, Yellow, and Pink—her Gray having sputtered out sometime after the Brown—she felt the eerie stillness within herself, and her words died with her Pink. The pain seemed so far away—she couldn’t feel her right arm. Then her Red began to slip away, and the world melted around her, taking her into its icy embrace.

***

Chapter Two

Time after that had no meaning. There were faces—there were words. Haven felt herself deliriously as she spoke in languages she didn’t remember well, as clumsily as a baby and as fluently as an adult. One face stood out, lined and worn ragged. Not Ryann’s, but wider, with softer features and a kind, sad smile. Her name—her name?

Haven sank under the waves again and again. She couldn’t breathe! She couldn’t breathe! Why couldn’t they hear her? Why couldn’t they save her? Water seeped in through the cracks in her eyes and face and heart and drowned her from within—those were the times when she heard a far-off wailing that seemed painfully, irritatingly familiar, when she felt herself torn apart with sobs that left her gasping for air.

Promises—Haven remembered promises. The woman with sad, gray-blue eyes. Et-nelda? Was that a name, or a word that she’d forgotten? And who had promised whom—and what had they promised? Haven couldn’t remember. But she clutched at the sad-eyed woman as others with spears took her away, not understanding, not wanting to understand. Her Red began clearing things at last—sweeping away the dust and cobwebs that cluttered her head.

Be a good girl, Haven, the woman said, her voice clear and strong despite the shine of tears in her eyes. I’m sure that your mommy misses you. We can only— Her voice cracked. We can only care for patients for four months. After that, they have to manage alone. If they can’t, they weren’t meant to live.

Haven’s heart crowded with competing emotions that crashed one after the other, but she remained eerily detached, as if listening to the sound of waves from a great distance.

Et-nelda cupped Haven’s cheek with a warm hand, stirring the waters. You’ll be safe, won’t you? The guards will get you back to Ilonon, and after that—after that, you’ll be with your mommy. I’m sure she’ll protect you.

Mommy? Haven repeated, the distant clash of thoughts turning into a dull roar against the inside of her ears. Et-nelda nodded, and Haven remembered the promises—Haven had promised Et-nelda that she’d keep herself safe, and Et-nelda had promised to get her back to Ilonon.

Goodbye, Haven, she said, holding her close for an instant before giving her away to the strangers with the spears. As they carried Haven away, she watched Et-nelda. Though she tried to reach back to her, lead seemed to fill her muscles. All she could do was stare, head clearing slowly as Et-nelda disappeared into the distance, as the women carried her away from Tesshek—the name came to her only as she left it.

Are you all right, Haven? The woman leaning over her looked young—maybe even younger than Mommy—but the voice had come from above her.

Though she tried to answer, Haven’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, dry and thick, too clumsy to form real words, so she shook her head instead. The spot between her eyes pulsed with a headache that had finally begun to fade after ages of pain.

She’s probably thirsty. This time the woman hovering over her spoke, fetching out a water skin from a pouch at her waist. She had thick, black hair and warm brown skin, and her voice called to mind soft light on fresh grass, fireflies flicking in and out of sight. It took a moment for her words to come into focus. It’s only a few hours to Ilonon if we’re carrying her. I think she’ll be fine.

She’s having an easier time focusing her eyes today, anyway, the woman carrying Haven said. There were three in all; the third woman remained silent, a stern frown firmly etched into her face. Gray streaked through her black hair, and lines carved her face like cracks in desert sand.

The youngest woman offered a water skin to Haven, who tried to grab it. Her fingers refused to grip the leather pouch, too weak to hold it. As the woman carrying her grinned, the one offering water laughed and spoke.

See, Em-vien? Today, she’s even trying to hold things on her own.

Haven grimaced as Em-vien held the water skin to her lips, even though the water felt good on her tongue, sweeter than the water she knew.

What day? Haven managed, after Em-vien had pulled away. Sudden clarity sparked through her mind—she felt almost lucid. She reached again for the water, and Em-vien pressed it again to her lips.

What calendar? Em-vien laughed. Rai-k’myer? Do you know?

The stern woman shook her head, leering into the woods.

Kai-sh’vet?

The Ilononian calendar is too hard, Kai-sh’vet replied. I don’t even know whether they’ve decided what year this is yet. They keep too much to themselves. Try the Harris calendar. She’s been other places, and that’s the only one that’s widespread.

Haven twisted around to finally look at the woman carrying her. She had sharper features than Em-vien and eyes the color of Lake Anonwe—a bluish black. This time, Haven’s head unclouded enough that the woman’s voice sounded only like a voice, wry and middle-aged.

Fair point. Em-vien smiled, and Haven clutched at the water as she tried to take it away. The day was warmer than felt right; sweat beaded up on Haven’s forehead. She felt feverish, and the more she drank, the more things cleared before her. Today is March the thirteenth of 1544, and a Wednesday at that! That’s a lucky day, isn’t it, Rai-k’myer?

Just call me Esh-anur and be done with it, the third woman said. Bringer of thunder. I loathe that name, Em-vien.

Better a bringer of thunder than the little bird who got struck down by lightning, Em-vien said, ruffling Haven’s hair with her free hand while pulling away the water skin.

Her Pink, already primed, recognized the pun—reversing the emphasis, Haven meant wood-warbler. It seemed oddly fitting to Haven, who’d never found a place to roost. Maybe there was something to Tesshek name-lore.

Em-vien laughed and pulled her hand out of Haven’s curls. Though this one looks very little like a bird.

Kai-sh’vet adjusted her grip on Haven as she took the water skin from Em-vien and shook it. She drank it all. Kai-sh’vet groaned. It’s been less than an hour, and you let her drink all her medicine in one dose.

Everything seemed to be opening up around Haven. The sky seemed bright and colorful—her green and yellow were more prominent than they should have been. Slowly, though, the sky began to settle into the more familiar colors. A smidge each of Black, White, Yellow, Gray, Brown, and Purple—just a smidge, each only half the size of the swirl of Pink, which was in turn half the size of each of her blots of Green and Red. Greatest of all was the Blue, twice the size of the Green and Red combined—half her sky was Blue.

She’ll fall asleep. Haven heard one of them sigh. The breeze on her skin felt far away again, and her ears hummed and rang with a thousand unheard sounds. You should have split it up the way that Et-nelda ordered.

She wanted more. I’m a sucker when it comes to kids. You know that.

The sky seemed to grow hazy above Haven; the lines and definitions between all the colors began to blur. The momentary clarity fell apart, and the women’s words ceased to make sense.

Though she fought it, her eyelids slipped closed, and she sank into the stranger’s arms.

***

Chapter Three

When she awoke, the sky had clouded over. Haven blinked up at it for a moment before Em-vien peered down at her, a relieved smile on her face.

How are you feeling, Haven? she asked, her voice low. Haven smacked her lips once or twice, then stretched her arms and legs. She suddenly remembered the exercises that she’d been coached in while in Tesshek to keep her muscles from souring. She remembered glimpses of her convalescence. It hit so suddenly that it felt like getting the wind knocked out of her chest.

I’m great, Haven said, her tongue no longer swollen. The sudden absence of cotton from her head felt dizzyingly wonderful. I can think.

Welcome back to the world of the waking. Em-vien grinned.

Kai-sh’vet grinned too, and Haven realized that they must have traded carrying her sometime while she’d been asleep. Haven noticed anew the spears that they were carrying.

Are you well enough to eat? Well, to eat solid food, that is?

Yes, Haven said, though she wasn’t sure how she knew.

Kai-sh’vet nodded.

The Ilononians eat no meat, Esh-anur muttered. I’ll go ahead and gather plants.

No meat at all? Kai-sh’vet asked.

Esh-anur’s mouth sharpened to form a beak, leaving her wordless. She tossed Kai-sh’vet the spear she’d carried, her arms melting into an owl’s wings.

Kai-sh’vet didn’t hesitate or look; it was as natural a motion to catch it as walking or breathing. That sounds like a hard life.

Haven’s stomach turned. She remembered the only time she’d tried to get meat for herself, watching the blood pour over her hands—it was something she’d only tried once. She’d eat meat, but only if someone else prepared it out of sight.

Everything’s hard in Ilonon. Em-vien sighed, shaking her head. I’ve no idea why our little bird wants to go back.

Family, Esh-anur replied, dropping out of a nearby tree. Only Haven stiffened with surprise. Esh-anur’s arms were full of fruit.

Em-vien shrugged. You’re so serious, Rai-k’myer. She shook her head when Esh-anur glared. Fine, fine. I’ll call you Esh-anur. Is Great Oak really that much better than Bringer of Thunder?

I’d rather avoid unnecessary struggle, she said.

Haven realized that Esh-anur was a good twenty years older than Em-vien; her black hair was studded with gray, and her eyes were heavily lined. Haven recognized her expression—distant with remembrance. Haven looked away, feeling as though she’d invaded Esh-anur’s privacy.

Of course, of course. Em-vien said, clearly not listening. She peered down at Haven. We’re about two hours from Ilonon. Would you rather us leave you there in the morning or get you there tonight? We’d get there shortly after dark.

Haven swallowed, remembering the Haubonalyr and Mommy’s disgusted face.

Tonight, Haven replied. The better to hide herself away in the dark if this turned out to be a terrible mistake. Is that all right?

I guess you’re not tired. Em-vien laughed. That makes sense, as you’ve only just woken up. Sure, we can get you home tonight. Isn’t that right, Rai-k’myer?

Esh-anur ignored her and held out a piece of fruit to Haven. Haven grasped at it, relieved when it didn’t slip through her fingers, even though the strain made her hands ache. She couldn’t recall any hand exercises during her convalescence—maybe it would just take time to get that strength back. Esh-anur’s eyes seemed to smile, though her lips remained taut and serious.

Look at that, Em-vien! Kai-sh’vet said, laughing. She’s going to be fine. If she knew the way, I’d almost say we could turn her loose to get there herself.

Haven turned the purple fruit over in her hands. It looked like an yraipyo, though it was much smaller and slightly soft. Of course the wild fruits wouldn’t grow the same way as those cultivated by Gray women. She shook her head and