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  Truth felt his own chest tighten. The shame and guilt, the years of blame and beatings—everything he’d worked so hard to forget, to stuff down inside himself and never think of—his younger self’s wavering voice brought it all back. All my fault, he thought. I deserved it—everything he did to me. Because it was all my fault.

  “It’s not your fault,” Far said softly. He was speaking to Truth’s younger self but the dark twin felt almost as though his brother was speaking directly to him.

  “But Apa said…he always says—” the boy started.

  “It’s a lie,” Far said firmly. He pulled the young Truth close. “A lie that hurts—a lot. And don’t worry, young one. It’s all right to cry if you need to.”

  “Rai’ku…do not…do not c-cry,” the boy whispered. But tears were coming anyway, rolling down his thin cheeks and wetting his ragged sleeping tunic.

  “They may not,” Far murmured, gathering the boy into his arms. “But Kindred do. And there is no shame in it.”

  As Truth watched his brother comfort his younger self, he felt something welling up inside him. It was as though a knot inside his chest was loosening. As though a door he had locked and lost the key to was suddenly standing at least partially open. He felt his younger self’s terrible grief—his need to fit in, to make his father proud. His fear that he would never be able to do this—the burden of his father’s hatred and blame. It was so heavy—too heavy a burden for the thin, slight shoulders of the small boy in front of him to bear.

  And yet, somehow, Far was helping him bear it.

  “I know you’re scared right now,” the light twin was murmuring as he held the sobbing boy. “I know you feel lonely and all alone—like no one loves you. Like no one cares.”

  “Yes,” Truth whispered, unaware he was speaking aloud. “Yes, exactly.”

  “Truth?” Becca whispered, and he felt her take his hand. “Truth, honey, are you okay?”

  “Fine.” Truth couldn’t take his eyes from what was happening.

  “But I promise you that someone does love you,” Far said softly, wiping the boy’s streaming eyes gently. “There’s someone on the other side of the galaxy—someone who misses you every bit as much as you miss him. And someday you’ll find each other and then you won’t be alone anymore. You’ll be whole. I promise. I promise.”

  “H-how do you kn-know?” Young Truth looked up at him, his eyes still red from weeping.

  “I just do.” Far smiled at him sadly. “It’s going to take you a few years to find him but when you do—the two of you will be like two halves of a whole.”

  “Is it my twin?” the boy asked eagerly. “Please say it is. Apa says he died with my mother and my other father but I always have the feeling that he’s still out there somehow.”

  “He is. And he’s wishing for you every bit as much as you’re wishing for him.” Far helped the boy back into the swaying hammock bed. Then he unbuttoned his heavy green satin uniform shirt and laid it across the scrawny, shivering form. “I wish I had something warmer to give you,” he murmured. “But I’m afraid this will have to do for now.”

  “Thank you.” Young Truth’s eyes were already growing sleepy as he snuggled under the thick, silky fabric. Clearly the emotional scene he’d just gone through had worn him out. “It’s nice,” he murmured.

  “Sleep well.” Far bent over and kissed the child’s forehead gently.

  Reflexively, Truth raised his hand and pressed his fingertips to his own forehead. Had that really just happened? Had Far actually comforted and protected his younger self despite all their angry words and disagreements?

  “Truth, honey? Are you okay?” Becca murmured and he somehow dragged his eyes from the scene in front of him to look at her.

  “I’m fine,” he said huskily. “Why…why do you ask?”

  “Because you’re crying.” Reaching up, she brushed her fingertips over his cheek. They came away wet in the dim light.

  “It’s nothing.” Truth quickly rubbed his face with his sleeve. “I…must have gotten something in my eyes.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Becca didn’t sound convinced. “All right then, baby. As long as you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine,” he repeated. Just then Far came over to join them.

  “He’s almost asleep,” he murmured softly. “I think we should go now.”

  “Can we?” Becca asked.

  Far nodded. “I think our work here is done.”

  “I am…sorry I couldn’t help you,” Truth said, speaking up at last. “I found myself…frozen. Unable to say or do anything as everything…unfolded.”

  “I had the same sensation,” Becca exclaimed. “It was awful! All I wanted to do was go slap that drunk bastard—sorry guys, I know he’s your father but—”

  “No apology needed,” Far said. “He was, as you say, a drunk bastard.” He looked at Truth. “But maybe you feel differently?”

  “I…used to,” Truth said slowly. “I really believed everything he told me. That I was the reason he was stuck on Pax. That everything bad that happened to him was my fault.”

  “But that’s crazy!” Becca exclaimed indignantly.

  “I see that now,” Truth said. He turned to Far. “So I guess you’ve uncovered my secret,” he said harshly. “I did long for a twin when I was young. For a brother.”

  “That is no secret to me,” Far said softly. “We are Twin Kindred and we were separated. Of course we yearned to be together. It’s only natural.”

  “Why did you do it?” Truth demanded. “Why did you defend me—my younger self—after all the harsh words I’ve said to you? All the anger between us?”

  “How could I not?” Far said gently. “You’re my brother. Though we may quarrel, I still care for you. I could not stand by and see you harmed or watch you mourn without comforting you. That is part of what being a brother is. Remember when I said I wanted to share your pain as well as your pleasure?”

  “I remember,” Truth said in a low voice. “I…did not believe you at the time.”

  “And now?” Far asked.

  Truth thought of the small boy crying in his brother’s arms, thought of the pain and fear and shame and the soothing way Far had comforted him. Me…he was comforting me. For didn’t that same, small child still live inside him? Wasn’t there a piece of his soul that would forever be eight cycles old, a little boy dealing with the fear of failure, the belief that his father would never love him?

  “Yes,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “I believe you, Brother.” He held out an arm to his twin. “Thank you, Far. For defending me when I could not defend myself.”

  “I only wish I could have done it for real…instead of just in the shadow of a dream.” Far took his arm in a hard clasp and looked into Truth’s eyes. Truth met his gaze unflinchingly.

  “You did,” he said. “This…this was real. I do not know the Mindscape’s reason for showing it to us but I know that much, at least.”

  They might have stood there, holding each other’s arms indefinitely if they hadn’t heard Becca’s muffled exclamation.

  “What is it, Rebecca?” Truth asked and at the same time, Far said,

  “Are you well, mi’now?”

  “No.” Her voice wavered uncertainly. “Not if that’s what I think it is.”

  “What?” Truth turned to look behind himself, in the direction Becca was staring. “What is it?”

  “I believe,” Far said in a low voice “It’s another door.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Though it had been over five years since she’d seen it, Becca recognized the door to her college dorm room at once. It was the poster that did it—the olive green USF background with the gold Bulls logo in the center. Becca wasn’t the one who had placed it there—her roommate, Cynthia was. Cynthia was a cheerleader who was so stuffed full of team spirit she was downright annoying. Luckily, her perky presence was mostly absent from their dorm room—she was always too busy partying to do anything boring like sleep