by Jeff Wheeler
Daughter.
Lia shuddered at the greeting, for it was full of warmth and empathy, not the anger of before.
“I am not your daughter,” Lia whispered, staring at the woman. The gold gleamed about her wrists and throat. The violet shape of the robe clung to her tightly, swaying as she approached. She paused to stroke the side of a Leering and it burned even hotter.
You are my daughter. I am your mistress. I am Ereshkigal, mother of the Unborn. Serve me.
“I will not,” Lia said, trembling with dread.
The white-silver eyes flashed with anger. Gracefully, she lifted the cup and swallowed some of its misty contents. The drink smelled inviting, like cider and sugar and sent pangs of cravings inside Lia.
You will serve me, daughter. All who enter this sanctuary serve me or perish.
“Then I perish,” Lia said.
The woman’s will lashed against Lia’s, so strong and vicious it seemed to pluck her by the head and wag her against the walls of her own mind. She remembered the feeling, the night before Winterrowd, when she had stumbled against the king’s thoughts. She was insignificant next to this power. It could crush her mind with a simple flex of thought. It could reduce her to a gibbering mass of flesh.
Behold!
The scene changed and Lia was suddenly back at Muirwood, within the cloisters. It was night time and the two of them were alone. Row after row of shelves, mound after mound of tomes. The wisdom of the ages, compiled in a single Abbey. They were written in different languages, from hundreds of Aldermastons. Each one contained specks of wisdom and the knowledge of how to interact with the Medium.
All these are yours, if you join me. My daughters speak every language. They read and engrave. It would take a lifetime to master all of the knowledge amassed here. But as my daughter, you would be able to read them all. My gift to you, child. I give you this. Serve me.
Lia hungered when she saw the stacks of tomes. All her life she had wanted to study at Muirwood. She had wished to learn its many secrets. All were laid before her. The entire collection would be hers.
“It is a lie,” Lia said, shaking her head. “You offer what is not yours to give. What use would the tomes be without the Abbeys?”
Again, she saw the woman’s eyes flash with anger.
The power of life and death is in my hands, child. Would you have your precious Abbey survive?
Immediately she was drawn back, swept away in another vision. This time, they stood together on the Tor, overlooking Muirwood Abbey in the valley below. The Abbey was burning. Lia gasped as she saw the flames searing the sky. The stones were burning. Burning! She could hear screams coming from the Abbey, even that far away. Lia’s heart wrenched with pain and sorrow. No! Not her Abbey. Not Muirwood!
Every one you have ever loved in your childhood is trapped inside. We have barred the doors. Will you listen to them burn, child? Know that you can save them. You alone have the power to save them. Join with me, or they die. Surrender your true name. Your earthly tongue cannot speak it, but your mind can. Think the name and you give it to me. Give it to me and I give the Abbey to you. The only one that will not be destroyed by fire. The lives of your friends, in return for your allegiance. Serve me!
Lia heard the shrieks and hugged herself in agony. She could not bear it. Was Pasqua down there? Sowe? Brynn? Was Edmon there? The Aldermaston? They were her family. What about Reome and her unborn child? Had she sent them both to their deaths? Lia struggled with despair. A thought. It begins with a thought. If she only thought the name, surrendered it to Ereshkigal, she would have power to save her friends and those she loved.
Lia trembled with purpose. “I will not,” she answered. “Though you kill everyone dearest to me, I will not serve you.” Lia glared at the woman, seeing the anger flare even brighter in her eyes.
The scene changed again.
She had seen this vision before. Colvin and Hillel were placing rocks on her body in the hetaera gardens at Dochte Abbey. The look of grief on Colvin’s face made her long to reach out to him. He knelt by the column of stones, his eyes wet with tears, and he gently lay his hand on her head. No prayer came from his mouth. There was nothing there – only deadness. Slowly, he stood. Hillel leaned against him, her face pinched with sadness and a concealed smile. Lia watched as Hillel received the Cruciger orb from the Aldermaston. She used to it direct Colvin to the dungeons. There was a short fight between Colvin and the kishion, who drove the man backwards into the bars and then Martin strangled him mercilessly. The cage was opened and Martin nodded in sadness as he was told of Lia’s death. The image flashed to a ship, the Holk, crashing through the waves as it struggled to reach Comoros before Twelfth Night. The wind lashed at it, heaving on the water. The storm threatened them, but it was Hillel controlling the skies with Ereshkigal’s power. The wind blew them home. Another change and there were horses riding hard for Billerbeck Abbey. It was dusk, the eve of Twelfth Night.
You cannot stop them, the woman whispered. He is under my thrall. All men succumb to me, child. No one can resist the power of desire. I can stop the ceremony. I can prevent the binding of their union. Or he will be hers forever. He will be banished here, as I was. Forever. When he dies, he will become a Myriad One. Is that what you wish, child? When the Abbeys are all burned, there will be no gates back to Idumea. The dead will be trapped here forever. Join me, and one Abbey remains. One gateway will be left open for the dead to return. This is your gift to the world, child. Join me, and you save him and yourself. He will be yours and not hers.
It was the hardest choice of the three.
Lia bowed her head, pained to the deepest clefts in her soul at the thought of losing Colvin to Hillel. But even more painful was the thought that all the Abbeys would be burned, that it was true – no one would be able to return to Idumea on their death. The Abbeys were the links. Without them, it would take years and years to contruct another. Even the survivors of Pry-Ree, even those who escaped by ship, would have to start building them anew, stone upon stone.
Lia could see Colvin’s face in her mind as he knelt across an altar from Hillel. He looked determined. Fiercely determined. Their hands clasped.
You are so young, the woman said soothingly. Why lose your life when you are but the bud of a flower and have not yet tasted the first kiss of sunlight? Do you desire children? Do you desire posterity? You will die here, child. Join with me. Save the tomes you crave, the Abbey you adore, and the man you love. A thought is all it will take. A single thought. Give me your true name. Think it.
The feelings were so intense, Lia thought she would die from them. But how could she die if she were already dead? Drawing back into herself, she realized that everything Ereshkigal had promised her were lies. She had no such power. Her only intent was to make Lia surrender to her will, by promising anything she could imagine that would tempt her. It was a deception. All of it. Had she not promised Hillel that she could have Colvin? If that promise was broken, then why not any other promise made? Why did she want Lia to surrender her true name?
Then she understood. It came as it always did when the Medium spoke to her. It was a little whisper of insight, a bit of wisdom broken free from the chaff. The Myriad Ones were the Unborn. They did not have bodies of their own. When they were banished from Idumea, they hungered to take by force what they could not enjoy naturally. A body. Her body. By surrendering her true name, a Myriad One would enter inside her body and control her. She would do Ereshkigal’s will in all things, enjoying the body, using it and then fling it aside when it was past its usefulness. Then she would inhabit another, and then another. Lia was not needed. It was only the shell they craved, not the pearl within.
Lia looked up at the woman, her flowing robes and dazzling jewels. Illusions. She had nothing, wore nothing. Despite her strength of will, she was powerless against Lia. She could not force her to relinquish her right to her own body.
Lia stared at her. “Be gone.”
The look in E
reshkigal’s eyes hardened with fury. You will give me your true name!
“Be gone.”
The feeling in the room swelled with hatred and fury. It was so shockingly strong that it stunned Lia for a moment. The woman shrieked and the sound scalded Lia’s ears and made her flinch.
“I speak your true name. You are Ereshkigal, the Unborn. Be gone!”
Lia felt the Medium churning inside her, growing stronger and stronger.
I will destroy them all!
The woman’s form began to hiss and dissolve.
They will all die, one by one! You have no boat. No orb. You have nothing! You are nothing but a pitiful little wretched. I killed your father and mother. I will kill all you love or who love you. I will kill them all and they will be banished here as I am!
Lia stared at the fading form. “I am coming for you, Pareigis. I know your true name.”
It was at that moment that she awoke, eyes blinking against the glare of lamp lights. She smelled cider and incense and heard the crackle of a hearth fire. She also heard a voice – the Aldermaston of Dochte’s voice.
“She is waking at last. The transition took longer than I expected. Come closer, they are very strong when they awaken. Do not be alarmed, the skin blotches are fading now that the poison has finished its work. Bring the lamp and some cider. She will be thirsty.”
Another voice was next to her, Dieyre’s. “Can you hear me? Do you remember your true name? Waken, hetaera.”
CHAPTER THIRTY:
Awakening
Lia was surrounded by men. As her eyes opened, she saw them hovering at the bedside. There was the Aldermaston of Dochte, the earl of Dieyre, and three Dochte Mandar, one holding a blazing torch.
“The bite marks are fading,” the one with the torch observed in a low tone.
“She must have struggled fiercely,” murmured another.
The Aldermaston stared at her, his face betraying a certain eagerness. His hand strayed towards her hair. “Are you awake now? What is your name?”
Lia’s mouth was parched and thick. Her body was weary for she had not eaten in a long while. She tried to lick her lips and the Aldermaston gestured for a chalice of cider.
“Drink it,” he offered. “It will soothe your thirst and strengthen your hold on her mind. Does she fight you still?”
Dieyre’s arms were folded and he looked at her curiously, his face crinkling with thoughts. “Are you certain it worked?”
The Aldermaston gave him a waspish look. “Of course it did. No one has ever returned from the lair themselves. No one.” He turned back to Lia. “What is your name?”
Lia parted her lips to speak, to whisper, and the Aldermaston bent lower to hear it.
She hit him as hard as she could in the face. The blow crushed his nose and there was blood everywhere, spurting as he roared with pain and flailed backwards. Lia swung her leg around and kicked one of the Dochte Mandar in the chest, shoving him back. Her strength ebbed like sand gushing from a ripped bag, but she managed to find the floor and continued the attack.
The two Dochte Mandar in front of her snarled with fury and their eyes blazed silver-white. She was assailed by terror, their own terror, but she brushed the emotions aside. She dropped low and clubbed one in the groin with her fist and then backturned her knuckles as he crumpled in agony and struck his temple. The blast of emotions intensified like a storm, but she fought against it. The fear rolled over her like oil and slipped away, unable to sink inside her. The Aldermaston cupped his face in his hands, cowering from her, but the other Dochte Mandar barraged her with emotions, trying to smother her with them like heavy blankets. But the feelings would not stick. They slid off her harmlessly.
Her knees buckled with weariness, but she was determined to fight to the last.
“I am Lia!” she said savagely. “I am myself and no other. I passed the ordeal. I spoke the truth.”
The white eyes blazed with determination. They thrust feeling after feeling against her as they backed away, amazed at the strength of her will. Lia rushed forward and tripped one of them, yanking on his sleeve to topple him to the ground. She was about to tear after the other when she remembered Dieyre.
Too late – his arm clamped around her throat and he hoisted her backwards so that her feet left the ground. She struggled and thrashed, trying to claw him with her nails, but his leverage and stance was perfect. Her air vanished. She could not breathe. The bulging muscle in his arm flexed and there were dots spattering in front of her eyes. She pulled against his arm, trying to clear her throat for a gasp. Dizziness washed over her and then she was face down on the bed, coughing and spluttering.
“You are pathetic,” Dieyre snarled. “The lot of you. Stanch the blood, Aldermaston. Your nose is broken, but you will not die of it. And you - do something useful instead of clutching your manhood and moaning, you craven soot. Send for the kishion. Move man, before I get even more angry.”
Lia heard sounds, but she was gasping for air. It took several moments before she could see again and she whirled on the bed. Dieyre stood over her, arms folded, his eyes intense.
“They are gone,” he said, nodding towards the room. She recognized it as his bedchamber. “I will grant you that when you last left this place, I truly believed you would return a different person. I am in shock but not…surprised. You have always had a habit of thwarting my plans. Yet I can see that it is you still. I recognize the defiance that should have been purged by now. How did you manage it, Lia? You are as stubborn as an ass in the mud.”
Lia trembled with rage. She wanted to flail at him with her fists, but she knew she was too weak and tired.
“What day is it?” she asked him in a low tone.
“Twelfth Night,” he replied. “The sun is about to set.” His face twisted with irony. “So I would assume it means that the Blight is truly coming?”
Lia nodded.
“How?”
“I do not know,” she answered, her shoulders slumping. “Where is Colvin?”
The smirk that came in answer was infuriating. “He left the night before last. We gave you a proper burial, of course. You looked disgusting with all those purple bite marks when you were lifted from the lair. But the bruising is fading.” He gave her a scrutinizing look. “The venom of the snakes is not fatal, as you have no doubt realized. It feigns death. But it does not kill. It makes it easier for the Myriad Ones to take over. To settle.”
She was relieved that Colvin was gone. He thought she was dead, however. That was a problem.
“So you do not know how the Blight will come?” Dieyre pressed intently.
She shook her head. “It comes tonight. It will strike here first.”
“Do you remember the promise you made to me?” he asked. “More like a prophecy than a promise.”
“I do.”
Dieyre leaned closer, his arms still folded. “Is it too late for me to switch sides again?”
It made her stomach twist with rage and anger. “I despise you, Dieyre.”
He glanced at the door and then at her. “I can live with your scorn, Lia. Truth be told, I have a fleet of mercenaries ready to sail to Comoros and invade in the king’s name. I was intending to bring you with me. This is not your kingdom. This is not your land. I could use a hunter in my service. Especially one as talented as you. I need your help to find Ciana because I know she will not submit to the water rite and I wish to be on the ships when they leave. Whoever will not submit will be executed. It begins tonight. Even you, if you do not submit, they will kill you. Comoros is the last kingdom to fall. We have mercenaries and Dochte Mandar in the ships. Demont is already murdered. There is only Forshee and the mastons left to defend, and we outnumber them. They will not stand against the fear. The king wants Forshee’s head on a pike, for he took his betrothed and ran away with her. It has all happened according to Pareigis’ plan. Yet despite all these advantages, I have a nagging feeling inside me that you may just win. I have never met anyone as per
sistant as you. As determined as you. I can get you on my boat and bring you to Comoros. If you help me find Ciana, I will help you save Forshee.”
There was the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Dieyre glanced towards the open door and then back at her. “What say you? Will we help each other?”
Lia pushed herself up and glared at him defiantly. “I can never trust you, Dieyre. I will get free without your help.”
“I highly doubt it, Lia,” Dieyre said, glancing again at the door. “I know what they will do to those who will not take the water rite. They will kill you tonight. Right now in fact. Let me help you.”
Lia shook her head. “If my work is finished, then it does not matter if I die.”
His face twisted with frustration. “You are too stubborn, girl.”
“I know who you serve,” Lia said tautly. “I know who she really is. You are a puppet.”
Dieyre’s eyes blazed with anger and his face flushed with emotion. He grabbed her arm and hoisted her off the bed. His gaze was like fire. “But you resisted her!” he hissed in a whisper. “Show me how! I did not believe it could be done, not after you have first surrendered. You broke her spell on that mute slave. Break her chains on me!”
Lia saw the panic in his eyes. It was the look of a drowning man who had long abandoned flailing in the water. “I cannot break the chains you forged against yourself,” she answered. “She snared you long ago in the form of a girl you desired. She lulled you with false promises. But in the end, she betrays us all. As she will betray you. I cannot stop that, Dieyre. And I cannot break your chains any more than I can make you an honorable man. I cannot undo all of the choices you have made.”
His jaw clenched with frustration as the Aldermaston returned, his nose purple and his face still sticky with blood. His eyes were murderous as he pointed to Lia.
“Take her above and let her join the others doomed to die.”
Dieyre’s expression hardened. “What if she submits to the water rite?” he asked.