"And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." –John 8:32, Douay-Rheims Bible.

Nothing but the Truth

Now that Gareth was finished with his official page training, he was allowed to structure his days before his knightmaster returned for himself. Although he was expected to continue to study and to devote himself to battle training and physical discipline, it was also assumed that he would allot time for activities that he enjoyed. In the brief period between a page's last official classes and his first missions as a squire, new squires were indulged by their teachers and granted more freedom than they had been accustomed to in the past four years.

Gareth woke early the next morning. His conversation with Alan the day before still troubled him, so he decided to head down to the gardens. There, he would stroll among the greenery and let the music of the fountains calm his teeming mind.

As he dressed, he reflected on how luxurious it felt to be able to choose for himself how he would spend his times. He knew such days would be over soon, and he intended to savor every second of them all the more because of that fact. Certainly, he wouldn't permit a small disagreement with a friend to run them.

When he stepped into the corridor, he immediately felt a tension in the air, as though there was a humming current rippling through the floor, the ceiling, and the walls.

Ahead of him, a few boys stood in a cluster. Approaching them, he recognized Martin of Meron, a new squire his age.

Gareth didn't have to ask the group what they were discussing, for the instant he joined them, Martin's taut face fixed on his. "Have you heard the news? The Old Ones' Knowledge Crystal has been stolen!"

Gareth was naturally pale, but he felt the blood drain from his cheeks, so that he was sure he resembled a corpse or a ghost. "What? How?"

"No one knows how," answered Martin, shaking his head grimly. "It could be anyone. There could even be an intruder in the palace."

"What if it's an evil mage?" whispered Roland of Nond, a slender second-year page.

"Yes, what if it is?" Martin asked. His tone was solemn, but Gareth detected a gleam in the other boy's eyes that suggested Martin was having a joke at Roland's expense. "He could be anywhere. He could be walking the hallways. What if he's behind you right now?"

With a gasp, Martin pointed behind Roland, who jumped in alarm.

The others burst into laughs that were longer and louder than Martin's prank deserved, but Gareth didn't share in their amusement. Instead, his heart thumping like a drum inside his chest, he turned away. There had been no intruder. He was sure of it.

Blood pounded against his eardrums as he rushed to Alan's room. The door was closed, but he tried to open it, anyway, only to discover that it was locked. Jamming his mouth against the crack separating the door from the wall, Gareth ordered, "Let me in, Alan."

There was no response.

"Let me in, or I'll go straight to Lord Ignatius," threatened Gareth, fury surging through his veins at his best friend's cowardly aversion of him. "You can talk to me, or you can explain yourself to Lord Ignatius."

The last word had barely emerged from his lips when he heard a smooth click as the lock disengaged, and the door slid open. Stepping across the threshold and shutting the door behind him, Gareth saw that the room was dark, and the curtains were drawn against the rising sun.

Alan sat in a corner, as if he were trying to push himself against the wall hard enough to melt inside it. His hands dangled between his knees, and, even from across the room, Gareth could see that they were shaking.

"You took it," Gareth stated, the words grating harshly against his throat.

"I didn't mean to," stammered an ashen Alan, whose face was stained with tear tracks, and Gareth was relieved that his friend could speak at all. "I just wanted to look at it."

"Where is it?" Gareth demanded. A brave, noble part of him wanted to destroy the horrible device that had inflicted such damage upon his friend, even as his more craven brain wondered whether he would have the courage to touch a magical crystal that had wrought such devastation upon his friend's psyche.

With a jab of his chin, Alan indicated the far corner of his bedchamber. "Over there," he whispered hoarsely. "Do you feel it? I feel so sick…"

"Why did you take it? For once in your life, couldn't you have not snatched at knowledge that was forbidden to you? Couldn't you have kept your hands off something that you weren't supposed to touch when that thing is a dangerous magical artifact? " Gareth snarled, his gaunt features making him appear older than his years. Sweat was breaking out across his forehead like stars in the northern sky during the winter, and he could feel the dark power of the crystal as if it were a serpent's belly slithering under his palm, and taste it as if it were blood in the air. He could feel it connecting his hurt and anger to all pain and rage.

He could hear it hissing to him that everyone was beset, that everybody had desires, and that all people were afraid. He could hear it murmuring in his ear as though it were a person standing behind him that that to ignore these feelings or to pretend that they somehow didn't apply to the pure protectors of civilization was a lie. The voice of the crystal rose like a cry in his head, screaming at him to stop lying to himself—to stop pretending that he didn't desire what he wanted and that he wasn't scared of what terrified him. Half the day was the night, and the crystal was shrieking at him to learn to see in the dark.

His stomach twisting, he found that he couldn't even bear to glance at the crystal. Just knowing that it was behind him in a dark corner was enough to make his legs tremble.

"I was in the library. I had it in my hands. Someone was coming. I put it underneath my shirt. Then I ran." Alan shuddered. "I was going to take it back, but I can't. I can't touch it again, Gareth. I didn't expect it to be like this."

"How did you expect it to be?" snapped Gareth, thinking that the crystal's constant hissing in his mind would be enough to drive him insane. "Did you think it would be a pleasant walk through the gardens?"

"I have to bring it back." Alan bit his lip. "I need your help."

"I told you I didn't want anything to do with this!" Gareth exclaimed, staring incredulously at his friend.

"But you have to help me!" cried Alan. "You're my best friend."

"You got yourself into this." Refusing to be swayed by this plea, Gareth shook his head. "Just stick the crystal under your shirt again and bring it back."

"I can't do it alone, Gareth," insisted Alan, his hands quaking worse than ever.

A lump building in his throat, Gareth's gaze rested on Alan's trembling hands. He didn't doubt that Alan wouldn't be able to do it.

"Please, Gareth," Alan begged.

Before Gareth had a chance to answer, the door swung open suddenly. Sir Caleb of Marti's Hill, a respected knight who had been maimed in the war against the Bazhir and who now served as the pages' archery instructor, stood in the doorway.

"Are you ill, Alan?" he asked kindly. "None of the pages or masters saw you this morning, and…"

Abruptly, Sir Caleb trailed off, and Gareth felt the atmosphere in the room shift as though the gravity had increased without warning, and he could feel the very air pressing against him, attempting to swallow him.

Staring at Alan and Gareth, Sir Caleb remarked tersely, "There is something evil in here."

Neither Alan nor Gareth could bully their mouths into moving or their tongues into shaping even the most basic of syllables.

Sir Caleb's keen gaze swept the room. Swiveling on his heel, he strode to the corner and scooped up the crystal, which he tucked carefully into the folds of a deep pocket of his breeches. Then, he turned around and regarded the two boys, his stern expression demanding an explanation more effectively and more insistently than a shouted command.

Somehow, Alan used the wall behind him to propel himself into an upright position. Once he gained his feet, he said, "It was Gareth's idea."

Shocked by this terrible, utterly unpredictable treason, Gareth could only shake his head in a mute protestation that he was innocent of the dreadful charge Alan had levied against him.

"Lord Ignatius will want to see you both," announced Sir Caleb, his scarred features more somber than Gareth had ever witnessed them.

"But I didn't—" Gareth began wildly.

"Whatever you have to say, Naxen, will be said before Lord Ignatius." Sir Caleb held up a hand. "The truth will be spoken there." With that, he pivoted and walked out of the bedroom.

"Gareth, listen." Alan started to fill the awkward quiet that choked the chamber after Sir Caleb's departure.

Wrath, pain, and humiliation flooded Gareth. He couldn't believe that his supposed best friend would offer him as a human sacrifice. Never in a million years would he have imagined that Alan would gut him like this in order to save his own skin, and that was what made this blow all the more paralyzing. Pain was always more crippling if you didn't have the opportunity to brace yourself, after all.

Feeling as if his stomach, which was on the verge of vomiting last night's supper onto the floor, was about to backstab him as well, Gareth found that he couldn't even meet Alan's gaze. Blindly, wondering how a broken heart could still persist in throbbing inside his ribcage, he fled from the room and then ran down the passageway, not having the faintest idea where his mind was telling his feet to carry him.

He had so many sanctuaries at the Royal Palace—a favorite table in the library to study at in solitude, a comfortable window in one of the towers to curl up in and admire the ruckus of Corus from a lofty vantage above it, and a large rock by a garden fountain to plant himself upon while the music of the water gently hitting the stones soothed away his every fret—but he could not envision any of those places offering him refuge now. His heart was so full of black rage and bitterness that he felt it suffocating him.

His best friend had betrayed him. Throughout his years as a page, he had always been able to depend upon Alan. They had shared jokes and secrets. They had quarreled and made up. The fact that this person could stab him in the back in a heartbeat appalled him feel so dizzy that he wasn't even confident that he could discern the ceiling from the floor anymore. After all, what could possibly be certain in life if the loyalty of a best friend wasn't even reliable?

Here, there was a swift chain of explosions in his brain as any idea of any best friend, any notion of affection and partnership, any dream of sticking by someone and depending upon somebody absolutely in the jungle of knighthood training went up in flames, burning along with it any hope that there was anyone in the castle—in the world—whom he could trust.

In the ashes these explosions left behind to serve him as a heart, he despairingly searched for something that he could rely on. Not depend upon entirely, since that was forever obliterated as a possibility, but to rely upon a little for some solace and sense that something survived in the ruin of his heart.

He found that single sustaining thought. The thought was that it didn't matter if he got even with Alan for betraying him, because he and Alan were already equal in enmity. Both he and Alan were driving coldly ahead for themselves alone. He did hate Alan for backstabbing him, but what difference did that make? Alan had always hated him for being better in battle skills than Alan could even have dreamed of being. The deadly rivalry was on both sides, and it had always been. Gareth had just been too blind to see it. There had never been a moment when Alan had not longed to destroy him. That was why Alan had tried to do so at the first opportunity.

Even with this thought to buoy him, Gareth had no idea how he managed to survive the day. Somehow the news that he and Alan had been caught red-handed with the Knowledge Crystal had spread like wildfire. Pages and squires shot him sidelong glances when they rushed past him in the corridors as though he would spit out venom. Knights he did not know studied him speculatively when he served dinner in the banquet hall that night.

He yearned to go to Sir Caleb and explain everything, but he knew that the archery master would only repeat what he had said earlier. When it came down to it, Gareth would just have to suffer through the days until Lord Ignatius found the time to speak to him and Alan.

Gareth did not have the appetite or the nerve to face the other pages and squires for a whole meal in their mess hall after serving supper in the banquet hall, so he returned to his room.

When at last the torches in the hallway were put out by servants, he was relieved. At least for the next few hours, he wouldn't be constantly under judgment from knights and his peers alike.

He couldn't wait to be summoned before Lord Ignatius. He knew that the training master would believe him and not Alan. The training master was adept at discerning truth from lies. Alan would not get away with his lie, and Gareth would have justice.

Blowing out his candle, Gareth lay on his bed, his head burning as he imagined how clearly he would speak before Lord Ignatius. When he stood before the training master, he would tell the truth—all of it. He would reveal how Alan had tried to tempt him, how he had refused Alan, and how Alan had pressed him still further.

It was with great satisfaction that Gareth imagined Alan's punishment. A reprimand and punishment would surely not go far enough. Alan could even be expelled from knighthood training.

His vindictive reflection on the harsh penalties that could be meted out to Alan was chopped off suddenly when his door swung open. When he was in his room, Gareth never locked his door, because, before now, he had never needed to do so.

Alan slipped inside. Hoping that his contempt would fill the space better than any words, Gareth said nothing.

Alan plopped onto the floor beside Gareth, chewing on his lower lip. "I had a reason for saying what I did, you know."

"I'm not interested in your reasons," Gareth hissed.

"You don't understand anything," exploded Alan, his face flaming in the darkness. "Everything comes so easily to you. You never think about other people and how they suffer. You just kept telling me I shouldn't agonize over not getting chosen. Why shouldn't I worry about it? Time is running out for me to be picked. I don't want to be the failure rejected as a squire by all the competent knights. It's so simple for you to tell me not to fret about any of that when you were picked right away."

"Are you blaming me for that?" Gareth demanded icily. "Is that why you lied to Sir Caleb?"

"No," answered Alan, shaking his head fervidly. "I don't blame you for anything except not trying to understand how I feel. We're supposed to be best friends, and you never really tried. All you think about is your own pleasure in your success."

"Get out of my room," Gareth snapped.

Instead of doing so, Alan stretched out on the floor. Lowering his voice, he asked, "Can't you understand, Gareth? I'm in trouble. I need your help. I know I was wrong. I shouldn't have taken the Knowledge Crystal, but I was desperate, don't you see? I thought if only I had an edge—if only I knew something that nobody else did—I would be chosen. Can't you understand why I would think that? Can't you see why I would crave that edge?"

"No," Gareth said, although he did understand and see so well that he couldn't even bear to admit it to himself.

Possibly detecting the lie in his tone, Alan continued, "Now if Lord Ignatius finds out I stole the Knowledge Crystal, I could be kicked out of training in disgrace."

"As usual, you're exaggerating," responded Gareth scathingly, even though he had been thinking the same thing minutes ago.

"Everything is at stake for me." Hopelessly, Alan spread out his palms. "However, you have already been chosen as squire by the great Sir Jeremiah of Veldine. Not only that, but Lord Ignatius has taken a personal interest in you, and the king has watched you, too. Everybody knows that you have an extraordinary potential. They'll forgive you for seeking out some arcane bit of forbidden knowledge, especially since your knightmaster is interested in the Knowledge Crystal. You could just say that you wanted to do some research about it."

Ragged with desperation, Alan's voice floated up to Gareth's bed. "I panicked when Sir Caleb walked in. I saw my future, and it scared me. I could get kicked out. Where would I go and what would I do, then?"

"You should have thought of that before you stole the Knowledge Crystal." Haughtily, Gareth lifted his nose in the air.

"I know I shouldn't ask such a big thing, but who else can I ask but my best friend? And, no matter what, you're still my best friend." Alan paused. For a long moment, all Gareth could hear was their breathing. "Will you cover for me?"

Gareth wanted to burst out with a savage "No!" Yet, he couldn't. He didn't know if Alan would be expelled from training. When it came down to it, he didn't think so, but it served Alan right to have to worry about it.

Regardless, punishment would be severe for Alan, especially since he had attempted to mask his crime with a falsehood intended to frame someone else.

Alan was right that Gareth was a favorite of Lord Ignatius, though. He knew how he could spin the story so that he would get a lecture most likely. He could let Lord Ignatius believe it was a hunger for knowledge and a desire to impress his new knightmaster that had driven him to stealing the crystal, but he wasn't ready to lie for his friend.

At the same time, he couldn't bring himself to refuse someone who seemed so desperate, so he said nothing, and, after a long while, the two boys fell asleep.