by Jeff Wheeler
Nestling beneath her cloak on the pallet, her thoughts drifted back to Muirwood again and she relished the memories. Long evening talks with Sowe after Pasqua had gone to bed. The thrum of the rain on the roof shingles during the wet season. How curious that her skills in the kitchen had served her so well. As she lay there, turning it over in her mind, an idea began to bloom. Maybe her skills at cooking would help her get inside Dochte Abbey. Was she just going to arrive and try to declare herself? No, that did not make sense. She wanted to find Colvin first, and if not Colvin, then maybe Martin. There was so much going on that she needed to warn them about.
Her stomach wrenched with a crushing feeling of longing when she realized that Colvin was so near. Would she see him on the morrow? Would it be possible to get close enough to see him? The thought sent another spasm through her, twisting her heart cruelly. She was so thankful to have the Cruciger orb and how it would help her find them. Would the next evening be spent with him? Would she be able to tell him who she really was? She realized that thinking of him would make sleep impossible. Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced away thoughts of the new day. Sleep – she desperately needed to sleep.
The pallet was comfortable, the smells so soothing, that she drifted off to sleep, remembering vividly the Aldermaston’s kitchen at Muirwood. She dreamed of the night of the Great Storm, the night when Colvin had been brought there by Seth, bleeding and unconscious. A knock at the door had announced the arrival. A fitful knocking. A persistent knocking.
“Get thee gone, we are closed!” Huette hissed through the door. “There is no cider here. Get thee gone!”
The voice answering was gruff and heavily accented – the accent of her native country. “Open thy door. We serve the earl of Dieyre.”
Lia’s blood went cold and she sat up instantly.
“Go thy way!” one of the patrons roared from the loft. “We care not!” Mutters of assent came from others.
The knocking turned louder. Lia was about to warn her, when Huette lifted the crossbar and opened the door a small way. “I do not care who thy master is!” she railed. “Thou art foreigners and I shall hail the…”
She was flung backwards as the knight shoved past her to enter. Four men, wearing Dieyre’s colors. Recognizing their tunics made her stomach clench with dread. She did not know any of them, but their arrogance and pride would have announced them as Dieyre’s men without any livery.
“Hold thy tongue, woman,” one of them said. “Rail not against us.” Their eyes searched across the room, looking at the empty tables and the curtains up in the loft. Each gripped a sword hilt menacingly. Four men, alert and angry.
Another man stepped forward, looking at Jouvent. “Lad, here is a coin. Is there a young lass here with golden hair? She arrived in the Holk before twilight. She has hair like flax or gold and wavy with frets. The earl will pay handsomely if she is found. Dost thou know where she is, lad? Dost thou?”
“It be rude to accost us thus,” Huette said with fury. “Thou art not welcome here. Take thy crow coins and fly with them. Buy cider to quench your thirst. Be gone!”
Jouvent slowly backed away from them, towards the front door. He did not look at Lia once. “Aye,” he said slowly. “I have seen the lass.”
“Have you now?” said the knight, walking towards him firmly.
Jouvent backed away even faster. “I shall tell thee what I know. Give me thy coin first, to help me mother.” He looked ready to run. Lia saw the fifth knight enter from outside. Jouvent saw him too late and the man’s hand clamped down hard on his shoulder.
The boy struggled suddenly, wriggling like he was made of nothing but slippery eels, but the knight clenched hard and steadied him.
“If thou hurts him,” Huette warned angrily, seizing the knight by the collar, but he shoved her back.
“Lia,” the new arrival said in her native language. His voice carried through the inn. “We know you are here. You were foolish to stay in one place so long. There are five of us, girl and Dieyre has already warned us what you are capable of. He does not wish you any harm. He only seeks to speak with you. Come with us and then you will be at liberty. I give you my word, Lia.” He squeezed Jouvent’s arm so hard the boy yelped with pain.
Lia stood fully in the corner where she was concealed. Already Huette and Jouvent had sacrificed for her. “I am reassured by your promises,” Lia said tartly. “I know full well the earl of Dieyre is a man of his word. When it suits him.”
The five turned and faced her. They each wore chain hauberks, covered by the tunics of their master, as well as black velvet capes. The one holding Jouvent leered at her. “Well, it is true. But he informs us that you were wounded severely not long ago. That your hand might still be mending and your leg. You seem hale to me, though. As I said, he only wishes to speak with you.”
“I come willingly,” Lia answered, sighing, and approached them. They seemed to watch her warily. She looked at each of their faces, at their smug presumption that any one of them could outmatch her. They were servants of the best swordsman in seven kingdoms, so they had a reputation at least to uphold.
Jouvent shook his head warningly at her, his eyes quailing with fear and pain.
Lia’s stomach wrenched with knots as she approached the knights. She knew she had to be unpredictable – throw them off their guard. She glanced towards the nearest window and wondered if she would have the strength to break it as well as fling herself out of it in time. The scattered tables and chairs would assist her, offering cover and opportunities to distract them. She had absolutely no intention of going with them.
“That is wise, lass,” the leader said, his chin and neck thick and muscled, but he was clean-shaven.
As she approached she gave Huette a reassuring gesture. “I thank thee for thy hospitality,” she said in port speech. Then she looked at the man holding Jouvent and said simply, “It is a wonder, captain, that you only brought five.”
“Why even bring five when only one will do?” he replied tauntingly. His eyes suddenly glowed silver and that was when she noticed the whorl of tattoos crawling up his neck.
His will reached out and clamped around her mind, sending a gush of fear and panic inside her heart. It swelled her anxiety a hundred fold, and even though she knew her emotions were being manipulated, the feelings were real – like a night terror that will not fade after waking.
Lia stomped on the nearest man’s foot, so hard and so sudden she felt his bone snap, and he howled with pain and dropped to the floor. Whirling as fast as she could, she dropped low into a crouch and bashed another knight’s manhood with her fist and as he crumpled, she reversed the blow, bringing her knuckles up as he bent over, smashing his nose. Already two were incapacitated, but the other three had managed to draw their blades and fan out around her.
“Do not kill her!” the leader said, his eyes glowing. His will crushed against hers, trying to force her to cower before him. It may have worked on a weaker person. It may have worked on every other person he had used his kystrel against. Though she experienced the surge of fear, it did not overcome her.
She drew her gladius and dagger in a fluid motion. “Do not expect the same terms from me,” she said threateningly, hoping he would not hear the tremor in her voice.
The leading knight shoved Jouvent roughly away and came at her hard and fast. Lia deflected his blade with the gladius and stepped around him, keeping the others from getting behind her. She kicked a chair over and moved again, forcing them to adjust to her actions.
“You are quick witted, lass,” he said. “But I will wear you down. We have all night to play this game. They say you bested a kishion at Muirwood with nothing but a dagger.”
Another knight lunged at her, grabbing her arm. In a moment, his strength would overmatch her, but she had been trained by the Evnissyen and knew what to do. While twisting her arm hard and down, she struck his hand with the sword pommel and broke his grip. She cut his cheek as he backed away and nearly t
ook his eye with it. He snarled with pain and jabbed his weapon at her. Lia caught it between her gladius and dagger, slid her longer blade up its and sliced his hand open. He dropped his sword.
Lia whirled fast and hard, for the other two were charging in as well. She ducked a blow aimed at her shoulder and thrust her dagger at his stomach, but the hauberk deflected it. Lia brought her knee up into his gut, making him cough. The leader was reaching for her when he slackened and stumbled, and she realized Jouvent had wrapped himself around the man’s leg.
The door of the inn shuddered open, sending wind through the gap with a howling sound. Lia grit her teeth, expecting more enemies and then she saw Malcolm enter, his face furrowed with anger. He turned and called behind him, “She is here! Hasten!”
The leader of Dieyre’s knights hammered his fist at Jouvent’s head and hair, but the boy did not shriek or cry, he only squeezed harder and ducked away from the blows. When at last he was thrown off, the knight stood and saw he was surrounded by twelve iron-hard sailors from the Holk.
Malcolm had a cudgel in his hand and tapped it menacingly against his palm. “Why threaten the lass?” he said roughly. “What beggars are you to do that? Drop your swords or we kill you here and now.”
“Captain?” one of the knights moaned fearfully as the crew quickly surrounded them.
Malcolm glanced at the frightened man. “You should fear us. We are the crew of the Holk.”
The leader of the knights cast his weapon to the floor with humiliation in his eyes. The other man cast his down as if it burned him. The other three men were writhing still.
Malcolm looked at Lia respectfully. “Shall we escort these hostages to our hold? They be Dieyre’s men. He may not miss them for a while yet. That will give us some sport and you a chance to leave Vezins.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “If they ever disturb this place again, I want them to know they will be killed.” She approached the captain of the knights, his eyes full of hate and fear. She reached up and gripped the edge of his sturdy chin, meeting his hateful gaze with her own. “You tell Dieyre that she will not come by boat nor by sea. She is out of his grasp forever. He is nothing but a coward and a fool, and so are you for serving him. May the Blight take you all.”
Reaching down, she glimpsed the chain and pulled the Kystrel out of his shirt and snapped the links with a swift jerk. Then she smacked him with her open palm, so hard her skin stung. His lips quivered with rage and desperation.
“You give that message to your master for me,” she warned. “He would not heed my words in Muirwood. I do not think he will listen now.”
Turning back to Malcolm, she nodded for the sailors to take them away. She listened to the kicking and punching as the crew overwhelmed the knights. Staring at the kystrel cupped in her hand, she remembered Almaguer and Scarseth. She walked to the ovens and tossed the medallion into the pit. She stared at it, amidst the ashes, as if it were a great contorted eye. She summoned the Medium, and it was difficult, like drawing a breath through water. The flames obeyed her though and lit her skin with golden hues as the fire consumed the kystrel and melted it.
Hearing a scuffle of a boot near her, she looked over, seeing Jouvent staring up at her, a trickle of blood coming from his nose and forehead. He stood bravely, gazing at her with admiration. “I will take thee now,” he whispered. “It is not safe in Vezins for thee.”
Lia tousled his dark straight hair and nodded. “Fetch me some woad, Jouvent.”
* * *
“I tremble as I write this. I should not tremble. I must never surrender to my fears. As the Aldermaston of Billerbeck taught me, the soul attracts that which it secretly harbors, that which it loves, and also that which it fears. The Aldermaston of Muirwood taught this. So has the Aldermaston of Dochte. It must be true. If so, then I must proceed with caution. The young king desires to marry me. He said it will end the rift in our kingdom. He wants me to be queen at his side. He has promised me lands, servants, and riches if I accept him. I resist the idea. I do not love him and I do not desire those things. I do not believe that he loves me. He will sacrifice himself for the good of the country, but he will never love me. Therefore, I make this oath to myself. For if it is true that we will always bring to us that which we most secretly love, and if it is true that our thoughts will be set within our reach, then I have but one chance at true happiness. I will marry no other save Colvin Price, the earl of Forshee. I will marry him at Billerbeck Abbey under the hand of his Aldermaston and by irrevocare sigil. We will marry by Twelfth Night. It is written now. I feel strangely calm. Calmness is power. When I go to the dance tonight, I will be calm. Colvin will dance with me tonight. Even if I must ask him.”
- Ellowyn Demont of Dochte Abbey
* * *
CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
The Water Rite
Dahomey was a strange land with many strange sights. The woods were thick with beeches and oaks, which reminded Lia of Muirwood. At dawn, they reached the edge of the Huelgoat Forest without seeing any sign of Dieyre’s men in pursuit. Lia had used all of the tricks Martin had trained her on to disguise their path and trail and to be wary for any sign of pursuers. Worry throbbed in her heart and she constantly glanced backwards, trying to discern the sound of anything amiss. The forest was crowded with moss-covered boulders, jumbled together for leagues, as if some mighty mountain had been smashed. Some of the rocks were amazingly balanced, huge round heads topping smaller stones that gave them the appearance of mushrooms. It gave them plenty of places to hide, but it also shielded sounds from reaching them. Without the orb or Jouvent, she would have become hopelessly lost amidst the treacherous path, but he knew the way and guided her through the forest by noontime.
“Thou art not from Dahomey,” he said astutely. “I know not where, but not here. Why seekest the Abbey? ‘Tis not safe for mastons there.”
Lia glanced down at him. “Why do you say that?” she pressed.
His nose pinched. “The Dochte Mandar. They be the ones who offer coin for a maston’s telling. Silver eyes and painted faces. They see into your heart. I shudder when I cross one.”
“Who are these Dochte Mandar?” Lia said. “Did they come from the Abbey?”
“Aye, they did. They say that all ‘un should go inside the Abbey. That the secrets should be known by all. In Dahomey, all the Abbeys are opened. And the Dochte Mandar taunt and prod and snare any lad or lass who wander by. Their faces were painted black and they were strange to be seen. Nowaday every person is staining their faces and arms like the Dochte Mandar. There are needles and black ink. Folk get poked and stung. It hurts, so they say. But thou are not painted with ink or shadows.” He looked at her shrewdly. “They at the Abbey are painted. They will see thou art a foreigner.”
Lia nodded, thinking about the predicament. In her mind, the Dochte Mandar were the minions of the hetaera. They painted themselves and others with tattoos to hide the kystrel’s curse. Instead of it being a mark to separate themselves from others, they forced others to embrace the branding to mold them after their image. The notion repulsed her, but she realized that not having a tattoo would make her stand out among them. With offers of reward for turning in mastons, she would need to be very cautious as to who she could trust. She believed that with the Cruciger orb’s help, she could find her way to Colvin, Ellowyn, and Martin. However, it was only a matter of time before Dieyre went looking for his men and discovered that she was heading there. As they walked, she looked backwards constantly towards the forest, hoping to catch a sign of riders with enough time to hide themselves.
“That way,” Jouvent said, pointing towards the shore. “The tide is gone now. Thou wilt get wet as we pass to the Abbey.”
They changed direction and followed into the wetlands which were spongy and soft and little bubbles appeared all along the sandy shore. Tall boulders loomed in the distance, offering a jagged edge to the horizon. The air smelled of salt and dozens of gulls glided overhead. The walk was slow
going because of the shifting sand and they left a trail of pockmarks that slowly filled in and vanished. It would be difficult tracking someone in the sandy muck. At times the water was up to the cuffs of their boots, but it was always low enough to keep trudging and would disappear entirely as they reached little cusps of land. The walk was long and tedious, and Lia’s heart vexed her with anticipation. Each step brought her closer to him. Her stomach fluttered with nervousness.
“There,” Jouvent said, pointing. “Dochte Abbey.”
At first it looked like a boulder, but then she noticed the slender silver spike rising from the center of it. As they walked, the boulder became more distinct and she realized something she had not when seeing it from the Holk near dusk. Her initial thought was an Abbey built on top of a hill in the midst of the ocean. The ocean had receded all around it, exposing the land and sea grass. The side facing them showed not just an enormous Abbey jutting from the hilltop, but row after row of houses, walls, battlements, and turrets further down. From the rear she had seen forested slopes and cliffs. As they approached, she could see an entire village had grown up around the lower walls of the Abbey and it was thick and crowded and teeming with chimney smoke and people. There were darker blotches showing some small parks or woods, but the majority of the face was built up and defended. The Abbey was taller than a castle, more grand than any structure she had ever beheld. How had something so large and beautiful been crafted by men?