by Jeff Wheeler
Marciana looked at Lia pointedly. “As you passed it. When did you, Lia? I did not know you were a maston too until you made the sign.” There was a look of awe in her face.
“After you left Muirwood in the night.” Lia felt abashed, seeing not only awe but a little hint of jealousy in her eyes. She rubbed the spot on her shirt where the kishion’s knife had ripped the fabric but could not pierce her chaen. Being a maston had saved her life.
“Does Colvin know?”
She nodded and the grin on Marciana’s face was blinding in its intensity. “You must save him, Lia. You told me that he and Ellowyn were hostages at Dochte Abbey. That is where the Dochte Mandar come from. I do not know if they move in secret or not, but they are powerful with the Medium. There are rumors that they are coming to take over the Abbeys in our kingdom, to change our customs. In Dahomey, I heard from some of the knights that were escorting me here that they open the Abbeys for all to enter. That the secret rites of the mastons are being changed and proclaimed openly. They insist all must receive these rites. They say that we are keeping knowledge from the people to hoard power. There are riots from those demanding to be let inside the Abbeys. It is beginning to happen in our kingdom as well.”
“But what about the Leerings protecting them?” Lia said, angered.
Marciana looked sad. “They are failing. Many learners have returned home and said the Leerings are not working any more. Lia, the Blight is coming quickly. I can feel it. We do not have much time to stop it.”
Lia saw the nervous look in her eyes, the wild fear. She hugged her tight, grateful that she could face Colvin with the knowledge that his sister was safe. It was a burden she no longer had to carry.
It was Kieran who spoke next. “You cannot stop it. The Blight comes by Twelfth Night. I was alive when the Blight came to Pry-Ree. I do not wish to be here when it comes again. We leave in ships for another shore. It is less than a fortnight from now.”
Marciana straightened and looked him firmly in the eye. “If that is where the mastons go, then so will I.” She squeezed Lia’s arms. “Fetch my brother, Lia. Bring Colvin and Ellowyn back to Muirwood.”
Lia wished she could tell Marciana the truth about herself. She opened her mouth to try, but the Medium forced her not to speak the words. Truly, she had not really expected it would let her. “I will use the orb to find a ship to Dahomey. I will leave in the morning.”
“I do not know how many ships will be sailing in the morning,” Marciana said. “There is so much damage by the fire. But consider this. There is another port eastward. Doviur is the major port on our eastern shore. The straits there are the nearest point to Dahomey. I could send a mounted escort. If you rode hard, you could be there in the morning.”
“Does Doviur have any Abbeys?”
“There is one Abbey in that hundred. It is called Augustin Abbey.”
A feeling of peace came through her. “Then that is my road to Doviur. I will leave tonight.”
“Let me send an escort with you,” Marciana pleaded.
“They are needed here, Ciana. Those who will flee must go. They must warn others before the Blight comes. This is our last chance to warn them.”
She looked over at Kieran and took his hand in hers, gripping it firmly. “There is something about the Leerings in Muirwood. They will heal you faster than you think. And you will walk, Kieran Ven.” She squeezed his hand. “I know it.”
“You are not what you seem,” he answered softly, his face enigmatic.
She looked him in the eye, wishing she could tell him. Something passed between them, a spark of recognition. “Do I remind you of someone?” she asked simply.
He studied her face, her eyes. He looked as if he would speak, but his jaw clenched shut. Then he opened his mouth and said, “Yes.”
She patted his hand, thanking him with her eyes. You did me service this day, Kieran Ven. I will not forget it. She was about to withdraw her hand, but he clenched it tightly, making her wince.
“I was trained in the city. You were trained in the woods. Let me teach you what I know. Maybe some of it will help you.” He shifted slowly, wincing. “Dahomey is a land of great wealth. It sits in the center of many kingdoms. Just as Muirwood is the oldest in your realm, Dochte is the oldest Abbey in Dahomey. It is the richest Abbey in Dahomey. It is situated on an island, off the northwestern shore. When the tide leaves, it opens a land bridge to the island. It is dangerous to time it, for if the tide comes in during the journey, you will drown in quicksand. The orb will help you. When the tide comes in, sometimes there are fishing boats that will row you to the Abbey. Where there is great wealth, you will find corruption. The Abbey is built on top of the island. It is surrounded by the village of Dochte. There are huge walls separating the village from the Abbey proper on the dome of the hill. The walls are enormous. It is actually a giant castle, five or six stories high, that surrounds the sanctuary. The Abbey itself rises like a spike in the center of the island. It must have required two hundred years to build it, stone by stone. It is impressive. The village houses are lower down and are not as imposing. The only way in or out of the Abbey is through the main gate in the wall. I was able to enter because I was a maston, but I recall the disdain with which I was treated because of my clothing. Even though I was an ambassador from Pry-Ree, I was treated with contempt because I did not look like one. This is important, Lia. You may be allowed in because you know the maston signs, but you will stand out because of the way you dress. The women of Dahomey are very particular in their appearance.”
Lia understood and looked down at the soot stains on her shirt. “Are you afraid I will barge into Dochte the way I did at Lambeth?”
“It had crossed my mind,” Kieran said pointedly.
“I would give you this gown I am wearing,” Marciana offered. “Except I have no other gowns. They were all burned in the fire.”
“I cannot wear it,” Lia said, shaking her head. “I appreciate the warning, but the orb will show me another way. I think…perhaps…it is the reason I have had it all these years.”
Another pulse of warmth in her heart confirmed it.
Lia patted Kieran’s hand again. “I will see you again in Muirwood. Thank you. I am…proud of you, Kieran Ven.”
There was a voice, a whisper in her mind so faint she barely heard it. I wish I could serve you in Dahomey, my lady. Daughter of my Prince.
You will serve me again, she answered in her mind, pushing the thought at him. In a far country where there is no Blight.
A small smile crept on his mouth and he nodded at her.
It was the first spark of hope Lia had since learning of the binding sigil. If she could not tell Colvin the truth with her words, perhaps she could tell him with her thoughts.
CHAPTER NINE:
Augustin Abbey
It was the first time Lia had tried to cross the Apse Veil on her own. Summoning her courage, she focused her thoughts on Augustin Abbey, repeating it over and over in her mind. The Medium swirled around her, sending a pricking feeling of dread deep inside her heart. There was something terrifying about the possibility of going so far with one footstep. It was even more terrifying to think that if she focused hard enough, she could step over to Idumea itself where the power of the Medium would probably devour her. Reining in those thoughts, she took several deep breaths and then walked forward through the shimmering curtain. The wrench of time and distance made her dizzy and nauseous. For a moment, she tottered, nearly falling. Her balance returned gradually, so she leaned against the side of the pillar and struggled to calm her heart.
As she opened her eyes, Lia noticed the surroundings had changed. The construction was beautiful but different. This Abbey was bigger than Muirwood, more impressive in its design and craftsmanship. Glancing around as she walked, she noticed the lush furnishings, the ribboned ironwork, the white tassels and gauzy curtains. Walking deliberately, she approached the Rood Screen, separating the chambers and promptly met several casso
cked mastons, wearing white with golden trim.
“Where do you hail from?” one of them asked her, his face curious. “How old are you, child? You cannot be eighteen years, if that.”
“I am Lia from Muirwood,” she replied. “This is Augustin?”
“Muirwood.” There was something in the way he said it, the sudden wrinkle in his forehead that alarmed her. “The Aldermaston will wish to speak with you.”
“Have there been others?” she asked, watching their three faces for signs of a reaction. They all looked uneasy, wary, and a little disgusted by her sudden appearance.
“Knight-mastons,” another answered gravely. “Come, child. The Aldermaston will speak with you.”
“I am on urgent business,” Lia answered, approaching them cautiously.
“We will not delay you long,” replied the third.
Lia felt a shiver of apprehension. She followed the three mastons to the exterior door where there were several porters on duty holding lanterns. There was a strange smell in the air, the odor of incense. The floor tiles had been scrubbed and waxed until they shone like glass.
“Bring her to the Aldermaston straightaway,” one of the mastons said. “She is from Muirwood.”
The porter nodded and started down the path away from the huge Abbey. Lia followed, suspicious, but the porter did not deviate from his path and brought her immediately to a large and spacious manor, festooned with flags surrounded with gardens sculpted into the maston symbol of two offset squares. Every shrub had been painstakingly cut and molded, creating intricate shapes and hedgerows. The air carried the strong scent of a fishpond, through she could not see it through the blackness. Even at night, there were gardeners at work, pruning and tending and cleaning the grounds. Some glanced up at her as she passed, but most focused on their duties. The porter escorted her to the doors of the manor house, which were guarded by servants holding long polished black staves. The doors were opened for them as they ascended the steps and Lia entered the voluminous main corridor.
Her boots thudded against the polished tiles and she was struck with the splendour of the place, especially in contrast to the manor house in Muirwood. There were vases full of fresh flowers, mirrors and bowls and sculptures of polished stone. There were rows of small pillars with spherical orbs the size of pumpkins polished to a shine as decoration, for she could discern no other purpose for them. Tall velvet curtains flanked the walls and hung from silver rods. She inhaled through her nose and discovered the faint scent of incense again, permeating the air though she did not see any braziers.
“This way, lass,” said the porter as she nearly stumbled into him when he stopped.
“The grounds are impressive,” Lia said.
“Augustin is the only Abbey in this Hundred,” he replied. “Ahead, if you please.” He knocked on the door firmly.
The door opened and a venerable maston appeared, wearing a silvery cassock with black threading.
“Tell the Aldermaston he has another maston visiting from Muirwood,” the porter said.
Lia noticed the inflection in his voice and was surprised when the aged maston nodded and motioned for Lia to enter.
“Your name, child?”
“I am Lia.”
“So young to be a maston,” he observed. His brow furrowed as he examined her unkempt appearance. She felt awkward being in such a pristine place.
“Who is it now?” complained a voice thick with a northern accent. He rose from a stuffed couch, a goblet in his hand which he set down on a marble pillar. He was very young for an Aldermaston, probably not even fifty. His hair was shorn very close to his scalp and it was dark with occasional slivers of gray. He was healthy, athletic, and approached with a swagger, his mouth twisting into a scowl at the look of her.
“Look at you, as filthy as a beggar. You are a maston, are you? You hail from Muirwood?”
“I do,” Lia replied, nodding respectfully but bristling at the Aldermaston’s tone.
“How old are you?” he demanded.
“I am nearly sixteen.”
“Sixteen? And you passed the maston test, did you? What is your Family name? Would I know it?” He raised the goblet and took another sip of the drink, which smelled strongly of apples. It was probably cider.
“I do not think so,” Lia replied, hedging. “I am on a journey to Doviur.”
“I know most of the Families in your Hundred. Even the minor ones, like the Fesits. I would have heard if any passed the maston test so young. Who is your Family?”
Lia clenched her fists, trying to calm her anger. “I must be leaving. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”
“You will not tell me. I command you to speak. This is my domain, my hospitality.” He paused, looking at her again, more closely. “You have no Family, do you? I can see it in your bearing, your countenance. You must be a wretched.” He looked genuinely startled. “He elevated a wretched?” he murmured to himself. “Is that the new fad in Muirwood these days? Anyone who can kindle a gargouelle spark can take the test? I should have known. Cunning old fool.”
If Lia’s temper was not already smoldering, it suddenly blazed white hot. She said nothing, for any words out of her mouth would have been insulting.
The Aldermaston took another drink, regarding her closely. “So why are you bound for Doviur, my dear? Did Gideon Penman suspect that I would fail to warn the port cities about his imagined dangers? That I would not see through his ploy to legitimate Demont as usurper and king? Flee to Muirwood, there is danger! Leave your homes or you will all be destroyed! Bah! Does he truly think I am that naïve?”
A cold feeling ran down Lia’s back. “You have not warned them?” she asked, aghast.
“Warn them of what? You are a wretched, so what can you possibly know about the ways of the world.” He turned away from her, cradling his goblet, then turned on her fiercely, his dark eyes smoldering with anger. “Let me educate you, child. Your Aldermaston conspired to murder the king. An anointed king! Why? Because the king had threatened to revoke his tax immunity. The king’s tax can only be collected in the jurisdiction of the king’s sheriffs. Poor Almaguer was murdered too. Child, do you not understand that Muirwood is the richest Abbey in the realm? Did you not know that this cider, this Muirwood cider that everyone craves, has tripled in price over the last three years? I am sure his coffers are fit to burst with the wealth he has earned from the cider trade. Enough wealth to lure Demont back from overseas and pay for his army of pretended mastons.” He reached out and handled the smoke-stained fabric of her cloak. “One would think he could afford to attire his wretcheds more appropriately.”
Lia grit her teeth, furious at the accusations. “I can assure you that the Aldermaston of Muirwood is not as wealthy as you presume. The Blight is real. Manifestations of it are ravaging the woods in our Hundred. Have you not heard of Sempringfall Abbey? It was burned.”
The man snorted. “It is a lie. It is a story you have been told because you trust an old man who cannot stand to lose his power and influence. Word of the king’s murder has reached our ears. I have it on good authority that the High Seer of Avinion has sent instructions for him to be arrested and brought to trial here, at Augustin. The wild tale of a great Blight coming is just a distraction. Every time the earth shudders, or a storm ravages a crop, or a new pestilence kills the grain, there is a quick opinion that we are being wicked and that it is the Blight. The Medium would not destroy the inhabitants of seven kingdoms. It is blasphemy even to suggest it.”
Lia shook her head. “You must warn the people. Even if you do not believe it is real, it is your duty to warn them. You are an Aldermaston…”
“I know very well who I am, child.” He gave her a look of condescending smugness. “Gideon will not be the Aldermaston of Muirwood for much longer. When the High Seer’s missive arrives, I will be taking it personally to deliver. I have it on good authority, you understand, that the post will be given to me.” There was something in his eyes, a look of
glee that was nearly incoherent. He raised the goblet to his mouth and frowned to learn it was empty. He thrust it angrily into the older maston’s hand with a nod to go fill it again.
He looked at her and his voice was a little slurred as he spoke. “You are sixteen, you say? What position do you serve? I see a weapon – a girl with a weapon. Is that a bow on your shoulder? It is. You are a hunter then?”
Lia nodded, clenching her teeth.
“I should like to see how well you hunt. In the morning, you will bring me a pheasant for my afternoon meal. Or a pig. You are no doubt used to hunting the pig that root amidst the oaks of Muirwood. I hear they are especially delicious. Pig and cider.”
“I have duties to perform in Doviur. I beg you excuse me.”
The Aldermaston leveled his eyes at her. “Even were I to let you go and you managed to return to warn Gideon in time, do you think it would really matter? Muirwood will be mine at last. The most ancient Abbey in the realm will finally become the grandest. When I become its Aldermaston, there will be no more profits spent on Demont and his pitiful army. Then perhaps he will finally be persuaded to end this fruitless contest for power.” He put his hand on her shoulder, his thick heavy hand. “A pheasant. Or a pig. You may hunt on my grounds, but you cannot leave them. I forbid it. You serve me now, child.”