by Jeff Wheeler
Maia swallowed, feeling the anxious churn of her emotions. She knew her mother was dead, that they had parted until the second life was over. She wept with that knowledge, wishing she could have at least said good-bye. Thanked her for sending her a message through the wanderer Maderos. She let herself feel the emotions, even though they were painful. She let herself cry.
“Do you know what will happen next, Grandmother?” Maia asked. “Lia’s tome is blank after that last part.”
Sabine wiped her own eyes and gave Maia a thoughtful look. “No, I do not know. As you said, the rest of her tome is empty. My Gift of Seering is focused on the past. That is what I can see most clearly, the time that happened just prior to the Scourging. I know what the abbeys used to look like, so I have visited the various kingdoms to help with the rebuilding. But I am blind as to the future.”
Maia closed the tome and set it on the table. “The tome was not as long as I thought it would be. How long did she live?”
“We know she was a grandmother,” Sabine said in a small voice. “She mentions her granddaughter in her tome. This was the granddaughter who sailed back to Comoros and began to rebuild Muirwood. It was when her granddaughter was born that she began having visions of us specifically, I think. There is something about the birth of children that makes the whispers of the Medium particularly powerful. She saw our future and began to scribe that tome for us. She gave the tome to her granddaughter to take with her when she sailed across the sea. It was then given to me. That was my mother.” She sighed. “Lia foresaw that if the mastons did not return, the Naestors would completely overrun the land and make returning impossible. Lia saw something else in the future she only hints at. She foresaw that because of the hetaera, women would be forbidden to read.”
“Yes, yet you learned to read,” Maia said. “You mentioned the Ciphers.”
“Yes. As you saw in the tome, Lia was the Aldermaston of Muirwood before she left. She instructed that anyone would always be permitted to read and engrave at Muirwood Abbey. Even the wretcheds. To keep this hidden from the Dochte Mandar, the girls’ lessons are given in the cloisters at night, after all the male students are abed. During the day, they are taught languages and other skills. But their instruction in the Medium and the tomes is done in secret. In the past, all the children of the rulers were sent to Dochte Abbey to study. Now that instruction happens at the chief abbey in every realm. For Comoros, it is Muirwood. You were meant to study there, Maia. You were supposed to go there when you were twelve, but your father refused to send you after your mother took sanctuary there. You have missed the opportunity to learn there in your youth, but you were tutored by Walraven to read. Now you must learn the art of engraving. It will not be difficult for you.”
“Tell me,” Maia said. “Can Chancellor Walraven truly be trusted? My heart is unsure. I feel . . . betrayed by him, yet I also believe he is on our side. I am sorely conflicted.”
“Of course you are,” Sabine said, patting her arm. “You have every reason to be distrustful. He is a senior member of the Victus. They are the ones who control the politics between the kingdoms. They scheme and plot amongst themselves to choose which kingdoms will go to war against each other and to provoke the outcome they desire. They broker the truces and arrange for the payment of ransoms and the murder of rivals. They are superstitiously hostile against the mastons, fearing any power that they cannot manipulate or control.
“You see, Maia, when the first ships returned, the Naestors laid a cunning trap. They welcomed the mastons as the rightful rulers of the land. They had learned a great deal from the artifacts left behind . . . and developed some small, distorted understanding of the rituals and customs. They revered knowledge and hoarded these artifacts, like the Leerings we passed when we left. The jewelry you were wearing, the necklaces and rings and bracelets. That was melted aurichalcum, Maia—the melted tomes from the ancient generations, fashioned by goldsmiths into jewelry. The Dochte Mandar believe that those jewels have great power because of what they were made from. But the power of the Medium is not transmitted that way.” She shook her head and chuckled.
“It was the intent of the Naestors all along,” Sabine continued, “to enslave the mastons. They suspected, because of the Earl of Dieyre’s writings, that they would return someday, and they feared losing the abandoned kingdoms they had claimed. When the mastons returned, they greeted them with celebrations and festivals and honors. The Naestors acceded the lands and abandoned cities to the mastons with the intent of re-creating the kingdoms of the past and restoring the fallen realms to their previous glory. You see, they lacked so much of the knowledge the mastons possessed—how to build, how to make music, how to restore the ruins that were left behind. Their only request was for their own religion—that of the Dochte Mandar—to remain among the populace, allowing the people to decide between it and the maston ways. The goal of the Dochte Mandar was to learn the crafts they did not know, corrupt the mastons through generosity, and then turn on the mastons and enslave them before the abbeys were finished. They suspected, and rightly so, that not all the mastons had returned. They began seeking Assinica, knowing it existed, and sent multiple expeditions into the sea from Naess to hunt for it. They were not willing to risk that the balance would be destroyed and the mastons would conquer them.”
Maia stared at her grandmother. It was difficult to keep up with so much information, but it meshed well with what she had learned in Lia’s tome and from her predictions of the future and with what Corriveaux had said to her.
“But according to Lia’s tome, your mother kept it secret,” Maia said, “that the Apse Veils were still closed. She knew that if the abbeys were rebuilt, not only would the doorway to Idumea open, but also the doorways that connected the various abbeys . . . including Assinica.”
“Exactly! The Dochte Mandar have efficient spies and can move information quickly between the kingdoms, but never as quickly as the mastons could move when the abbeys were fully functioning. They fear this most of all, that they will lose their power over the populace once the Veils open. They would rather destroy the abbeys again than relinquish the power and wealth they have accumulated. They are so desperate to prevent this, Maia, that they were willing to unleash the hetaera in order to stop it.” Her face was grave and serious. “I was able to persuade Chancellor Walraven of this finally. You see, I was at Muirwood when your father and mother’s marriage was on trial. I was there in secret, or your father would never have come. As the High Seer, I would never sanction the divorce.”
“I did not even know you were the High Seer,” Maia said, shaking her head. “It has been a great secret. I knew very little of my mother’s Family in Pry-Ree except for a few cousins I met when I was younger. And I heard you were an Aldermaston.”
Sabine smiled. “There is a great deal of resentment because the High Seership has remained in Pry-Ree. It was held in Avinion during Lia’s time. Hautland aspires for it. They are building a grand city, as you know. But as you also know, coin corrupts the heart. Riches are an illusion. I do not tarry in one kingdom for very long, so the petitions must follow me where I roam. I was lured to Naess recently . . . This is grim news, but I must share it with you.” She took Maia’s hands and stroked them. “Our brothers and sisters in Assinica grew worried since our long absence. They were expecting that the Apse Veils would be opened by now, that our kingdoms would rejoin. They feared we were enslaved to the Naestors, so they sent a ship to seek after us.” She shook her head. “That ship was blown by a storm and discovered by the Naestors, who abducted and murdered them when they learned who they were. There was a tome on board the vessel, which they brought back. They could not read it, for the language was written in a cipher—a code. Only someone with the right Gift could read it. They invited me, as the High Seer, to come to Naess and read a curious tome they said they had discovered. Their intent, as you know, was to get me to read and translate it before using yo
u to murder me.” She smiled sadly. “What they did not know was that Lia had forewarned me about your condition. And Lia knew, as I did, that you would not succumb to their offer of power, just as Lia did not succumb when they tried to win her favor.”
There was a firm pounding on the door of the cabin. Sabine Demont rose from the bedside and walked to the door. When she opened it, Argus squeezed through and padded up to Maia for his ears to be scratched. His tongue wagged faithfully.
“By Cheshu, lass,” Jon Tayt muttered, “get your own hound!”
“What is it, Jon?” Sabine asked.
“Yesterday you wanted to know when we sailed past Pry-Ree. It was glorious seeing the Myniths again, even from the ship. I long to hunt in those woods again. But you asked this morning that I tell you when we reached the coast of Comoros and the Belgeneck River leading to Muirwood. And so we have.”
“Thank you. Well done. Come, Maia. Come see your new home.”
Maia rose from the bed, wearing her wretched’s dress, and joined Jon Tayt and Sabine on the deck of the Holk. The huge ship lumbered up the thick chasm of the river. The air was brackish and musty, but the aching chill of the dark lands of the Naestors lay far behind them. The forest on each side of the river reminded her of the cursed lands of Dahomey. It was not what she had expected, and it conflicted with her memories of her kingdom. The trees were a maze of twisting, black oaks, thick with lichen and moss and overhung by creeping mist. The ship creaked and yawned, and she could hear the waves lapping against the hull as it advanced into the river’s mouth.
“Now where is there a more sick and twisted wood, I ask you?” Jon Tayt said with a scowl. “And this is where I am to be banished next, my lady?” He coughed in his fist. “Ach, this is not a forest, but a swamp.”
Maia could hear the buzz of mosquitoes and the clack of insects. A heron swept overhead, gliding on the breeze. She rested her arms on the railing, feeling the breeze ruffle her hair as she watched the river expectantly.
“It is the Bearden Muir,” Sabine said, her mouth pursed in a dream-like smile. “It rains a great deal in this Hundred. And the rivers swell and flood. It has its own beauty.”
Jon Tayt sniffed. “Well, I hope there is wild boar in these woods. With all those oak trees, there are bound to be acorns.”
“Plenty of wild pig,” Sabine said. Maia could see she was lost in a vision, her eyes seeing something the others could not.
Maia touched her grandmother’s shoulder. “What do you see?”
Sabine sighed, her voice soft and thick with tears. “I can see them in my mind’s eye, child. Lia and Colvin. Marciana and Kieran Ven. I see them leaving these shores on a ship like this one.” She swallowed thickly. “There she is on the deck. So young. Like you. She has wild hair, like my mother’s. There she is, Maia.” Tears flicked down from Sabine’s lashes. “She is looking right at us. Oh, by the Medium! I see her waving. She is waving to us.”
Maia felt tears sting her eyes. She put her arm around her grandmother’s shoulders and hugged her close. She wanted to kiss her, as a child to a mother. She wanted it so badly that the desire began to burn inside of her. There was a tingle of heat on her shoulder and a sizzle of pain. A feeling of anger and rage and blackness churned inside her heart.
Maia wondered if that feeling would ever abandon her fully. “I feel her again,” she whispered in her grandmother’s ear.
“Use your thoughts to tame your feelings,” Sabine whispered back. “Remember, Maia, it begins with a thought.” She lifted her hand to the river, waving to someone whom none of them could see.
Maia swallowed and began to focus her attention, crushing the evil brooding inside her soul. “How did Lia die?” she asked, staring at the river waters.
“No one knows,” Sabine said, wiping away her tears. She turned to face her granddaughter. “She disappeared after my mother’s name-day ceremony, leaving behind her tome and the Cruciger orb. She was never seen again. I think the Medium took her to Idumea to see her father and her mother at last.” She sniffled. “Ah, there—you can just see the abbey through the mist! There is Muirwood!”
Maia gripped the edge of the rail as the mist began to part and dissolve. She saw the abbey grounds, the tall but humble spires. Sunlight momentarily blinded her. A feeling of warmth and safety settled across her shoulders like a blanket. The anger inside her heart was quenched, and the heaviness she had lived with all her life faded away. Her heart thrilled at the sight.
Welcome, it whispered.
EPILOGUE
Lady Deorwynn stared at her husband’s sleeping face. She saw the lines and grooves, the wrinkles that marred his countenance. He was aging before her eyes, the strength of his body beginning to fail. She stared down at him, feeling a familiar sense of loathing and disgust. It was exactly how she had come to feel about her first husband before she had arranged to become a widow. She smoothed the front of her nightclothes, feeling the bulge in her middle and the quickening butterflies dancing in her womb. She blinked, wondering abstractedly whether the child was even his. His arm was sprawled across the pillow and he murmured something unimportant—gibberish.
She stepped away from the bedstead and strode over the plush fur rugs toward the anteroom. There, at his desk, was a stack of scrolls and missives, the most important of the day, left by Chancellor Crabwell. She broke the seals and quickly began reading the messages. She did not fear being discovered by her husband. He did not know she could read. She perused each one, scanning the contents quickly, memorizing the important details. Rumors were spreading across the other kingdoms. Rumors of an abbey burning in Mon. Rumors of Dahomey preparing to invade. Rumors of the hetaera returning. She frowned, her beautiful lips straining into a snarl. Where was that girl? Why had she not returned to Comoros?
Lady Deorwynn set the last of the missives down, and her thoughts turned dark and anxious. What if Marciana failed to become one? Would that cause the Victus to change their plans? Would they seek another to take her place? Her thoughts went to her own daughter, Murer. She could become the empress. She was in the succession, a Princess of Comoros now. Could that be arranged? Her stomach was giddy with both excitement and fear. So many things could go wrong.
She reached for the cup of wine on her husband’s table, her thirst suddenly fiery in her throat as she lifted it to her lips.
“You may not want to drink that,” said a voice from the shadows.
Lady Deorwynn’s hand shook with a spasm of fear, sloshing the wine on her wrist and the table, staining some of the letters.
“By the Rood!” she hissed angrily. She knew the voice.
Her eyes distinguished him in the shadows of the antechamber, sitting in one of her husband’s chairs, lounging like a cat. The kishion. It was so dark she could not see his face. Not that she wanted to. He was riven with scars and had a contemptible manner.
“Is it poisoned?” she whispered harshly, setting down the wine cup with a trembling hand.
“Not this time,” the kishion murmured. There was something in his voice. Something dangerous.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked, annoyed. This time the fear started in her stomach and shot down to her ankles. “Have you been there this whole time?” She tried to sound outraged, but she was trembling violently.
“I did not wish to disturb you, madame,” the kishion said, rising languidly from the chair. “So I waited.”
“How dare you!” Lady Deorwynn spat at him.
“I dare much,” the kishion said, walking toward her. His boots made no sound. Her heart spasmed with dread. She never should have arranged for such a man to enter the kingdom. She had held second thoughts from the start, especially when his poison failed to kill Maia in her mother’s manor house. Careless. He was recklessly careless.
She saw his face as he reached the rim of the candle’s light. He was smiling in a crooked way. He look
ed . . . drunk.
“Why are you here?” Lady Deorwynn demanded. “Where is Marciana? Did you bring her back, or do the Naestors want to keep her?”
“I do not know where she is,” he said with a shrug. “But she is the one who burned Cruix Abbey. She razed it to ashes. She has become.” He scratched the edge of his mouth with a finger. Then he looked at the scrolls and papers scattered about the desk. He took one of them up and then tossed it aside. “Another will arrive in the morning,” he said. “Your enemy is finally dead. She gasped her last yesterday after struggling with a terrible fever. A few drops of poison on her lips.”
Lady Deorwynn’s eyes widened with shock. “Who ordered you to kill her?”
“No one,” the kishion replied. Again, that half smile that mocked her. “She needed to be . . . removed. You must persuade your husband to give the lands and manor houses and castles to his firstborn. Maia is to inherit.”
Lady Deorwynn’s trembling increased. A pit of fear stabbed inside of her. “Her estates were already confiscated and given to the new Earl of Forshee and three other men. They will revolt if stripped of those incomes. You are mad.”
“Quite possibly,” the kishion replied, chuckling. Then his eyes turned deadly earnest. “See it done, Lady Deorwynn. You never know when your next drink will be your last.” He picked up her husband’s goblet, saluted her with it, and drained it in a single swallow.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The origin of this story goes back to December 1998. I was a night-shift supervisor at Intel’s R&D factory in Santa Clara, California. After getting home from working a twelve-hour shift, I would promptly go to bed and sleep for a few hours. One day, I had a very vivid dream about an evil father, his daughter, and a skilled protector who was assigned to guard the girl. I awoke from the dream with the thoughts bubbling inside and hurriedly scribbled notes on some paper near my bed and then fell back asleep. When I woke up to my alarm later, I could hardly remember anything about the dream until I looked at the notes. This was the origin of Maia’s tale.