Dawn Cook - Truth 01 - First Truth

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SECRETS ARE MEANT TO BE KEPT

Alissa doesn’t believe in magic. Her father’s stories about the Hold, a legendary fortress

where human Keepers learn magic from the enigmatic Masters, are just that—stories. But

her mother insists that Alissa has inherited her father’s magical ability, and so she must

go to the Hold—the only place her talents can be trained.

On her way, she crosses paths with Strell, a wandering musician from the plains. And

though Alissa is not sure she can trust a plainsman, Strell has something Alissa

needs—one of her father’s old maps. Traveling together, they can reach the Hold before

the snow sets in.

But they don’t know that the Hold is nearly empty. The Keeper Bailic has sent the

Masters on a fool’s errand and systematically killed the other Keepers in his search for

the First Truth, a book of magic that will give him ultimate power. And he believes that

Alissa and Strell hold the secret of the book’s hiding place...

Seeing is believing...

Strell dragged Alissa’s numb feet across the frozen ground to stand wide-eyed before

the huge entryway of the Hold. Even after having seen it through her papa’s eyes, it was

impressive. The outer set of doors still hung open, and snow had collected against the

thick, rough timbers ...

It had been left to the decorative set of doors to keep the Hold secure. Between the

two sets of doors hung a huge bell. Shrugging, Strell grasped the frayed cord and gave a

firm tug.

Even expecting it, the harsh clank made Alissa jump. The snow seemed to swallow the

sound, and she fidgeted as her pulse slowed. It seemed to take forever until the doors

opened and they were greeted by a pale figure clenched with cold under a long, elegantly

trimmed housecoat.

“Burn me to Ash,” Alissa whispered, her eyes going wide and her knees threatening to

give. Her papa’s memory hadn’t been a dream.

“Dawn Cook’s First Truth is a fun book, sure to appeal to fans (like me) of Tamora Pierce

or Robin McKinley. With characters to cheer for, vicious villains, and attack birds, First

Truth had everything I need in a good read. I look forward to Alissa’s next adventure.”

—Patricia Briggs, author of

the Locus bestseller The Hob’s Bargain

“In her beguiling debut, Cook has woven together magical threads ... a tale of courage and

quest... a world rich with vivid detail... and characters, whether valiant or villainous,

impossible to forget.”

—Deborah Chester, author of

The Sword, the Ring, and the Chalice

FIRST TRUTH

Dawn Cook

ACE BOOKS, NEW YORK

Copyright Information

Contents

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

23

24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

For Tim, who not only loosed the beast, but gave it wings and a heckuva strong

updraft.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank those who helped me bring this work up from its first scratchings:

My husband, Tim; my dear neighbor, Natalie; and the many friends who were kind

enough to read the works in progress and offer encouragement. Your criticisms fanned

the spark of creativity rather than put it out.

The core members of my writers group: Misty Massey, who showed me the back

roads to everywhere; Norman Froscher, who kept the red ink and libations flowing in

equal proportions; Craig Faris, who agreed we could all kill him on paper; Todd Massey,

whose questions always pulled something out I had forgotten; Virginia Wilcox, who

showed me it was possible to put poetry into prose; and of course, Gwen Hunter, without

whose business savvy and forceful critiques nothing would have moved from the kitchen

table. Thank you for your honest criticism and friendship.

I would also thank my agent, Richard Curtis, for giving me the incredible opportunity

to bring my work to light and for being so generous with his time. And my editor at The

Berkley Publishing Group, Anne Sowards, whose willingness to explain rather than

demand made the difference in keeping the joy of creating alive.

Dawn Cook

“There’s no such thing as magic,” he protested, clutching his thin coat closer,

shivering in the cold.

“That’s what they all believe.”

“And the only way to insure our survival,” said a third, “is to be certain that it stays

that way.”

The meeting was over. With the scrape of a claw and the downward pulse of a

leathery wing, he was alone.

Chapter 1

^ »

“You were up late again last night,” she said into the morning quiet. “I don’t recall

hearing you come in.”

Alissa cringed. Ashes, she thought. Her mother hadn’t heard her come in because she

had fallen asleep in the garden. Again. “I was out on the rock watching the night,” she

admitted, trying to sound as if it meant nothing. “The big one in the squash patch.”

Standing before the sink, her mother sighed, gazing out the window as she continued to

clean the pumpkin seeds she had put to soak last night.

“I wasn’t alone,” Alissa protested weakly. “Talon was with me.”

Her mother’s shoulders drooped, but she said nothing. Alissa knew her mother’s

opinion wasn’t very high when it came to her one and only pet. That Talon flew at night

only made it worse. Kestrels generally didn’t, but no one had told Talon that, and the

small oddity was easily overlooked. At least, Alissa thought, she could overlook it.

Alissa’s mouth twisted as she scraped her knife across her toast, rubbing off the burnt

parts with a stoic acceptance. It had been toasted only on one side. At least half of it was

edible. She glanced up as her mother slumped at the harsh, repetitive sounds. Breakfast

was invariably well-done. Alissa had taken over the kitchen in self-defense years ago, but

her mother refused to let go of their morning meal.

It didn’t matter how much she scraped at it, Alissa thought. Burnt is burnt. And she

pushed the plate with its crusty, black char away with an all too familiar resignation.

Slouching on her stool, she stretched until her boots reached the patch of sun that made it

into the kitchen. The sound of dripping water slowed. Her mother’s shadow lay long

behind her. A frown stole over Alissa as she realized it wasn’t moving. She looked up,

straightening in unease. Her mother was still washing the same handful of seeds as when

Alissa had come in. Something was up.

“So, what are your plans this morning?” her mother asked, her gaze never shifting as

the water dripped unnoticed from her fingers.

“Um,” Alissa grunted, forcing herself to be casual. “I thought the side vegetable patch.

The beans are about done. I was going to clear them out, give what’s left to the sheep. Oh!

That reminds me,” she blurted, glad to have some bad news that couldn’t possibly be her

fault. “I think a dog is about. The sheep have gotten skittish. Even Nanny won’t let me

touch her.”

“M-m-m,” was the distant answer, worrying Alissa all the more. Her mother stared

out the window, her gaze seeming to go all the way to the unseen plains. The silence grew

uneasy. Alissa watched her mother take her eyes from the hills, turning to her hair ribbon

draped on its hook next to the sink.

Oh, no! Alissa thought with a tight stab of alarm. Her mother only tied her hair back

when she was planning something strenuous like a spring-cleaning, or meting out

punishment. And Alissa hadn’t done anything wrong lately—she thought. Alissa’s eyes

widened as the pumpkin seeds fell back into the slop her mother had been rinsing them

free of and she absently dried her fingers on her skirt. “Don’t do it,” Alissa breathed, but

her mother’s fingers twitched, and reached, and grasped the thin, coppery band of fabric.

With a determined abruptness, she gathered her long, dark hair.

Alissa took a shaky breath. She was still all right. If her mother wrapped it about her

hair once, she was all right. Once is no problem, twice is lots of work, three, and she was in

trouble.

Alissa swallowed hard as her mother wrapped it four times, tying it with a severity

Alissa had never seen before. “I should have locked her door,” her mother said to herself

as her fingers worked. “I should have shuttered her windows.” Without another word her

mother turned, strode into Alissa’s room, and shut the door.

“I’m pig slop,” Alissa whispered. “That’s it. I’m pig slop.” Breakfast forgotten, she

tip-toed to the door and put an ear to it. The sharp sounds of cupboards opening and

shutting met her. There was an annoyed squawk, followed by a muffled, “Then get out of

my way!” and Talon joined her, having flown out the bedroom window and back in

through the kitchen’s.

Chittering wildly, the small bird landed upon Alissa’s shoulder. “I don’t know,” she

said. Talon cocked her head at the closed door. With a slight gasp, Alissa flung herself back

to the table trying to look nonchalant. Her mother didn’t seem to notice Alissa’s artful

disinterest as she blew out of her daughter’s room and into her own, a bundle of cloth in

her arms, a determined look on her face. The door crashed shut. Alissa’s ear was against

it almost before it hit.

“No,” Alissa heard her mutter. “She won’t need that. Yes. Most definitely yes. That

would be nice, but it won’t last a week.”

“Oh, Ashes,” Alissa whispered, and feeling decidedly ill, she sank down on her stool at

the table. It had been her spot ever since she could pull herself into a chair. She had a bad

feeling it wasn’t her spot anymore.

In a flurry of soft, quick steps, her mother burst forth. Talon gave a startled peep and

flew out to lose herself in the bitter smell of frost-killed pumpkin vines. Alissa’s overnight

pack, the one she used when they went to market, was in her mother’s hands. “This isn’t

big enough,” her mother said, then turned to Alissa. Her mother wore a tight smile,

looking pained and desperate. “Good. At least you’re dressed for it.”

Alissa’s eyes slid to the work-stained trousers tucked into her boots. She usually wore

a full-length skirt, but slogging about in the garden demanded something a bit more

sturdy.

Not wanting to admit what the pack meant, Alissa hastily shifted her plate as her

mother dropped her load on the table. She strode briskly to the storage chest and brought

out a larger pack, Alissa’s winter coat, and a second set of work clothes. Under them was

her mother’s treasured pair of cream-colored boots. All of it went on the table.

“Are we going somewhere?” Alissa asked weakly, noticing that almost everything on

the table belonged to her.

“Half right, dear. Half right.” The oiled tarp hanging behind the door joined the pile.

Alissa’s stomach dropped. It was worse than she thought. “Mother,” she protested. “I

know we talked about this, but you can’t send me to the Hold. It’s just one of Papa’s

stories. The Hold doesn’t even exist!”

“Yes, it does.”

Alissa’s brow furrowed. “Have you seen it?” she accused.

As expected, her mother’s eyes dropped. “No. He said— he said it wasn’t safe.” What

Alissa thought was fright slipped into her mother’s eyes, sending a chill through her. “I’m

not supposed to know it’s there,” her mother said softly.

Taking a quick breath, Alissa pushed her fear away, turning it into something far more

familiar. “You’re going to send me there, though,” she said sharply.

Much to her surprise, her mother didn’t tell her to hush, or be still, or even give Alissa

that look of hers. Instead, she reached out and ran her hand through Alissa’s hair. Her

fingers were trembling and she looked worried. “I waited too long to send you on,” her

mother whispered. “I didn’t want to see. Your papa said it was a month’s trip, and you’ll

have to get there before it snows.”

“You’re going to make me leave because of a bedtime story?” Alissa cried in disbelief.

Silently her mother took from a pocket a small pouch and reluctantly extended it.

Alissa had never seen it before, but she was sure it was a piece of her mother’s childhood;

the initials stitched on it were from her maiden name. Slowly Alissa accepted it, feeling

the heavy weight of uncertainty in her hand. It smelled faintly, sort of a rank, back of the

throat smell. “What is it?” she asked, grimacing at the stink.

“Your inheritance.” Her mother leaned forward, her eyes pinched. “Go on. Open it.”

At her encouraging nod, Alissa picked at the knots holding it shut. Finally they

loosened and she peered inside. “Oh, Ashes!” she cried, her head snapping back as she

struggled not to retch. The stench was a sharp, eye-watering assault that seemed to close

off her throat. Fish wrapped in decaying cabbage, summered at the bottom of a wet ditch

didn’t come close. Alissa couldn’t even see what the bag held for the tears streaming

down. It was worse than her mother’s salve, if that was at all possible. “What is it?” she

gasped when she found the breath to speak.

Her mother slumped where she stood. “Bone and Ash,” she whispered. “That decides

it. Falling asleep in the garden I could dismiss, but this?” She took a deep breath, closing

her eyes in a slow blink. Alissa shivered when they opened. Her mother looked old. For

the first time, her mother looked old. “You have to go,” she said faintly, taking the bag

from Alissa and tightening the strings. “Now. It was wrong of me to make you wait.”

“But what is it?”

Slowly her mother sank down in a chair. “Dust. Your papa said it was your

inheritance.”

“My inheritance? A rank bag of dust is my inheritance? Can’t I have a goat instead?”

Her mother’s lips pursed and she frowned, returning for a moment to the mother

Alissa knew. “Don’t be flippant, Alissa. It’s from your papa. He said it would free you from

the guilt of obligation. He kept it in that jar I store my salve in, but he said you should

carry it on your person after you leave, and I thought the bag would be easier.”

Alissa lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m not going.”

“Here.” Her mother made a loop of the drawstring and put the bag around Alissa’s

neck.

Alissa looked down at the unfamiliar bump. The bag was well-made. With the

drawstring tightened, she couldn’t smell a thing. “Mother,” she protested, starting to take

it off. “I’m not a Keeper. Papa wasn’t a Keeper. There is no such thing as Keepers or

Masters or the Hold. And I’m not wearing this. It stinks!”

Her mother’s hands covered hers, stopping her. “I can’t smell anything, Alissa. But

your papa could.”

The first faint stirrings of panic began to swirl through Alissa, and she swallowed hard.

“This is ridiculous. I’m not going.” She felt her throat catch. “If you don’t want me

anymore, I—I’ll leave, but don’t expect me to believe this!”

Her mother’s eyes grew wide. “Of course I don’t want you to go, but you belong to the

Hold. For almost twenty years you were mine, but look at you.” Her brow furrowed, and

she brushed her hand through Alissa’s hair again, trying to arrange it. “I can’t ignore it

anymore. Up all night, staring at the sky. The Hold is calling to you as strongly as it used

to call to your papa. Always, just before he would leave, he would lie awake at night until

he thought I was asleep, then slip out to the garden. He never knew I watched him, sitting

on that same rock. . .. Oh, Ashes!” Biting her lip, she turned away.

“I can’t pretend anymore,” her mother said to the floor. “Curse you, Meson, you

warned me this might happen if we had a child, but I didn’t want to believe. You promised

me I wouldn’t be alone, but I’m going to lose her just like I lost you. .. . And it’s not my

fault!”

“Mother?” Alissa reached out. She had never seen her mother like this. It was scaring

her.

Taking a ragged breath, her mother seemed to steady herself. “It’s not your fault

either. Come on.” She smiled her eyes shining with a hint of tears. “Let’s raid the kitchen.

You’ll need more cooking tools then you have. The mortar you chipped out last year is

large enough for a cooking pot. Let’s start with that.”

Alissa’s thoughts went terrifyingly blank as her mother took her elbow and led her

unresisting to the cupboards. She was going to be forced out because of Papa’s stories?

Had her mother gone mad? It was almost winter. The passes would be closed in a month.

She had to do something! But nothing rose to disturb Alissa’s wonderfully empty skull.

Sitting numbly on the floor in the patch of sun, Alissa watched item after item

disappear into her much larger pack. She hardly heard the patter of her mother’s voice as

she talked of the importance of the placement of this and that— warning Alissa that she

should pay attention or she wouldn’t be able to find anything. Her mother’s voice was too

cheerful, a thin disguise for her growing grief. All too soon the pack was full. The shelves

looked bare, though her mother had taken little.

“There,” her mother said with a forced brightness as she stood and dusted her hands.

“Warm clothes ... kitchen tools. You’ve the tarp, extra blanket, water sack, supplies.... Oh!

I’ve something else.” Alissa rose as her mother took her papa’s fire kit from the mantel.

“You will need this for a while,” her mother said, blowing the dust from it before handing

it to her.

As a child, Alissa hadn’t been allowed to touch her papa’s fire kit. Now it was hers. “It

looks like it hasn’t been used,” she said, eyeing the unblemished striker rock.

“It hasn’t.”

Alissa went cold as the fire kit thumped into her pocket. Her mother was serious.

Whether or not the Hold was real, she was leaving. Today. Now. Alissa’s eyes went wide.

“Mother. You can’t do this. What if it snows?”

“You’ve just enough time. Here. Put these on.” She extended her cream-colored boots.

“Your papa gave them to me when we were traveling.” Her voice had begun to tremble.

“Wear them out for me?”

“What if I get sick!”

“When have you ever been sick? Put them on. They should fit now.”

So Alissa did, too bewildered to appreciate the smooth softness of the fine leather. Her

old boots sat abandoned in the patch of sun, looking as if they belonged to someone else.

“What—what if I get hurt!” Alissa threw out desperately.

That seemed to take her mother aback, but she gave herself a little shake and

straightened. “I know it’s going to be hot, but put on your coat. There’s not enough room

in your pack for it.” She held it up until Alissa obediently put her leaden arms into the

sleeves. They struggled a bit; her mother hadn’t helped Alissa put on her coat since she

was five. They were out of practice. “And here is your bag,” her mother said, “and your

hat.”

“Mother,” Alissa said firmly, realizing her excuses weren’t working. “I don’t want to

go.”

“Yes, you do.” The pack hit Alissa’s shoulders, and her floppy hat was placed lopsided

on her head. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have fallen asleep in the garden. Your papa was the

same way. There.” Her mother hesitated, looking Alissa over. “By the Hounds of the

Navigator, you almost forgot to take a cup.”

“What if I promise to not sleep outside anymore?” Alissa cried, but her mother had

gone into the kitchen. In a moment she was back with the cup Alissa’s papa had carved

for her when she was three.

“Take this,” her mother murmured, unbinding her hair to use her ribbon to tie the cup

to Alissa’s pack. “I’d give you a metal one, but this won’t be stolen if you run into

someone.” Her mother’s eyes went distant, and a wash of worry crossed her features.

“Mother. Wait!”

“My,” her mother interrupted desperately, her eyes wide, “with that hat and pack,

you look just like your papa. Even your eyes have darkened to his gray.”

Almost of its own accord, Alissa’s gaze dropped. “They’re blue,” she said sourly,

knowing they weren’t but wishing they were. Everyone born in the foothills had blue

eyes, fair skin, and light hair. It was glaringly obvious that Alissa wasn’t a proper farm

girl. She looked too much like her plains-born mother. And though Alissa’s hair and eyes

were as fair as her papa’s, she had her mother’s height and dark skin. Alissa didn’t look

enough like plains or foothills to be accepted by either, so was scorned and hated by both.

With a gentle, resolute hand, her mother took Alissa’s chin and tilted her eyes up to

hers. “They are not blue,” she said lovingly, “and don’t be ashamed of your heritage.

You’re not a half-breed. You’re just—you. You belong to the plains and hills, Alissa, not

neither of them.”

Alissa’s eyes dropped. It was an old argument.

“Now, out the door with you,” her mother said softly, and Alissa’s breath caught.

“It’s a wonderfully crisp morning, you should make good progress,” she continued,

opening the door and gently leading Alissa out. “Here. Don’t forget your walking stick.”

The familiar, smooth length of wood was pressed into Alissa’s hand.

“Mother! Don’t!” She looked back to see her mother standing in the threshold, her

arms tight about herself, looking small and alone.

“Just head west,” she said. “That’s the way your papa always went. He said you would

be able to find the Hold on your own, that it was instinctive, like geese going south. He

said those who dwell there will complete your studies. I hope I’ve done you no disservice

in your book learning. Your papa never said what was needful.”

The sun streamed down about Alissa, her new boots planted firmly upon the

hard-packed dirt in front of the house. Faint over the pasture still damp with dew, came

the nervous bleating of the sheep. Their watch goat, Nanny, rattled her bell as if in

warning.

“Good-bye, dear,” her mother said as she gave Alissa an abrupt hug, filling her senses

with the musty smell of pumpkin. “Mind what I taught you. Especially about controlling

that temper of yours. It’s going to be the end of you someday.” Her mother pulled away,

leaving Alissa’s cheek damp. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, taking a quick breath. “I didn’t

want to lose you. You were all I had left of him.”

“Mother!” she cried, grasping her mother’s sleeve. “Don’t make me go. Papa didn’t

believe in magic. He said there was no such thing as magic.”

Her mother drew back, her face still. “Of course he said that. He didn’t know if—if you

would be able to do it.”

“But I can’t!” she protested vehemently. “I can’t do anything a Keeper can do in

Papa’s stories. I can’t start a fire, or speak silently without words, or still anyone. I can’t

even keep a cat from running away from me.”

Her mother smiled, a mix of pride and heartache. “You will,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“Magic isn’t real!” Alissa shouted. “They’re just stories!”

“It’s real, Alissa. I’ve seen it.” Her mother closed her eyes in memory. “Your papa

once stopped the wind for me.”

“Then why didn’t he ever show me anything? Why didn’t he ever do one thing?”

Her mother gestured helplessly. “He said if he did, it might trigger your abilities. It’s

not his place to teach, and ...” She hesitated. “He didn’t want you to be like him. He

wanted you to be like me. He was so sure you would take after me, but at the same time

was worried you wouldn’t.” Her mother bit her lip and her eyes dropped. “He was afraid.”

she said softly.

“Of what?” Alissa nearly shouted, terrified that this was really happening.

“He was afraid for you. Or of what you might become,” her mother whispered. “I was

never quite sure which.” And the door shut with a frightening sound of finality.

Chapter 2

« ^ »

“I should have just eaten the burnt toast!” Alissa shouted, her voice echoing off the

hills before her. Exhausted, she collapsed at the cliff’s edge. Her rump hit the dirt, and her

breath puffed out. Talon landed with a soft rattle of leaves, her chittering sounding almost

abusive.

“Oh, do be still,” Alissa said. “I’m not going another step today.” Squinting at the low

sun, she gestured to the tree-choked valley below them. “It’s already dark down there.

Do you want to make camp in that? It’s not going to start snowing tomorrow.”

No, Alissa thought as she bent to loosen the laces of her lovely new boots. It won’t

snow tomorrow, but soon. And if she was in the mountains when it did, she wouldn’t get

out.

An aggressive scolding exploded from the pines behind her as a squirrel protested

Talon’s presence. Together Alissa and her bird turned to see it, dancing on the branch tips

in outrage. Talon launched herself after it, and the squirrel fled with a startled chirp.

Grimacing, Alissa turned away as the sound of smacking branches filled the air. There

was a tiny shriek.

“Talon.” She rubbed at her eyes. “Let the squirrel go. I’m not going to eat it, and it’s

too big for you.”

Ashes, she thought miserably. Her feet felt as if they were going to fall off, her neck

ached, and her back was sore from the constant rubbing of the pack.

There was a rush of dry leaves as Talon returned to shove a tuft of tail-fluff into

Alissa’s fist. “Very nice,” she dryly praised her bird, tucking the trophy into her hatband.

“Now go find yourself a grasshopper.” Talon appeared to swell in pride, seeming to know

by Alissa’s actions that her gift had been accepted.

Together Alissa and Talon looked out over the bluff as the soft, green damp from the

valley rose, easing the heat of exertion from Alissa’s face. Far below in the shadow of the

surrounding hills lay a lake, black and still, not yet hidden by the evening fog. The

southern end of the long lake looked the easiest side to traverse. It was as good a

direction as any, she thought, tucking her legs up and propping her chin on her knees.

Seeing as she didn’t know where to go. West, her mother had said. Burn it to ash. What

was she doing out here?

Of course she’d go west. North or south would be more foothills, and why go east to the

plains? Everything was dull there, up to and including its inhabitants. The last original

thought they had entertained was baked out of them by the sun generations ago. Besides,

her scandalous mix of hills and plains features was obvious. A plains’ encampment would

run her out, as would any respectable foothills village, hers included. The only time she

was tolerated was market day, when her mixed blood wasn’t so obvious.

Alissa pushed her worry aside and rose with a spine-tingling stretch to set up camp.

Tomorrow she would make an early start. Wherever she was going, she had to clear the

mountains before winter.

But it was hard to keep her thoughts upon snow on such a warm evening, and as Alissa

kicked up last year’s leaves looking for wood and something to eat, she found herself

humming a song concerning an addle-brained lad and his incessant predicaments. She

flushed as she realized what she was doing. It was a tavern song. She had often slipped

away from her mother at market, drawn by the promise of music and dance, hiding in the

shadows to learn the songs and steps her mother deemed improper for a lady. Alissa

flushed again. But as there was no one here to find fault with her, she gave up all pretense

at decorum and began to sing.

“Taykell was a good lad,

He had a hat and horse.

He also had six brothers,

The youngest one of course.

His father said, ‘Alas, my boy.

I’ve nothing more to give ye.‘

His name forsook, the path he took,

To go to find the blue sea. “

Talon seemed unimpressed. Shifting her feathers in mild agitation, she preened in the

reddening light. The refrain was next, and Alissa bellowed it out as was proper.

“Oh, fathers hope for daughters,

Someone light and frilly.

They leave the house, to find a spouse,

A blessing in it really.

The land your father farmed on,

Was split among his sons.

If this goes on much longer,

Soon there will be none! “

The wintry, accusing voices of wolves rose to challenge Alissa’s in a series of low

Dawn Cook - Truth 01 - First Truth

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