by Jeff Wheeler
Anger and frustration boiled inside of her. This was not fair! She was a wretched. How could she be expected to pass a test that required reading? She stared at the word again, intently, the light burning her eyes. She winced at the brightness. She felt a prickle of discomfort in her hand. The stone was getting hotter.
She realized what was happening. The Medium was starting to retreat, to abandon her. Her thoughts were driving it away. The protection it provided slowly withdrew. She thought a moment, calming her heart and her anger, forcing herself to think. Why would the Aldermaston have sent her if he knew she would fail? She knew him too well. He would not have sent her unless he believed she would succeed. A memory drifted through her mind of when she first held the Cruciger orb and writing had appeared on its smooth surface. Colvin had stared at the writing, but he could not read it because it was written in Pry-rian and he did not know Pry-rian. The marking on the stone was not the same elliptical pattern of the Pry-rian language – what she had seen on the orb. What language was it written in then?
Another memory surfaced. When she and Colvin had fled from the sheriff’s men, they had hidden in the gardens outside the Abbey grounds and met Maderos. He had looked at the orb and understood the writing, even though he had never studied Pry-rian.
Do not doubt. Never doubt. I cannot read Pry-rian. It is a forgotten language now by so many. Though I cannot read the words, I was understanding what it said, little sister. The Medium whispers it to me as it does with many ancient languages.
Then she understood, as if a stroke of lightning came out of the sky and struck her mind. Even a maston would not know the word written on the stone, for it was written in the most ancient of languages – the language of Idumea, the tongue of the race of the Essaios. The test was whether or not one would despair. No matter how many tomes were studied, none of them were written in this language. It was a language that had to be felt, a language only the Medium could teach her.
It begins with a thought. She knew what she wanted. It burned fiercely inside of her. I want to become a maston. I need to pass the Apse Veil. She stared at the stone in her hand. It no longer burned her. She stared at the word patiently, waiting for the Medium to supply the answer to the riddle. She knew it would come. It had always come to her. The name of a spiky weed in the midst of the Bearden Muir. The recipe for tartarelles. The proper way to milk a cow or tether an arrowhead to a shaft. Knowledge had always come to her, whispering to her. She breathed deeply, inhaling the Medium with each sigh. She was patient. She waited, keeping her mind open to thoughts she knew would come.
They came as an image – a Muirwood apple. She saw herself holding it, tasting it, savoring it. Within each apple, a crown of five seeds. Each seed containing within it the potential to become a new apple tree. Each tree containing the possibility of producing thousands of apples, each with the possibility of producing trees, over and over, generation after generation. Never ending. Never beginning.
Fruitful.
The Medium whispered the name to her. What a brief, innocent little word. But the enormity of the thought of it drowned her imagination with its poignancy. She was but a seed right now. In the ossuary, she had been buried below the ground. A future transformation awaited her. A future more impossibly wondrous than she could imagine. A future the Myriad Ones were forever jealous of for they could never enjoy it. They were the very opposite of the word. The white stone blazed violently, stunning her with light and pain. It was so bright it burned her hand like a hot coal, so she set it back on the inlet of stone. She rubbed her palm. The skin was red and flaming. She looked closer. The burn had left a pink mark on her skin in the center of her palm. She stared at the stone, realizing it was no accident.
The billowy Apse Veil beckoned her forward. There were two portals, one on each side of the bearded Leering. She was drawn toward the one on the left.
She approached it, still rubbing her hand and stood before it, waiting. There was a faint shadow behind the cloth – a person.
A man’s voice spoke to her. “Welcome, little sister. What do you seek?”
She knew his tone immediately, the peculiar accent. It was Maderos, the one she and Colvin had met in the gardens with his crooked staff. Had he been there all along? Was there a tunnel beneath the Apse Veil leading to his secret chamber with the tomes? A passageway she had never seen before?
He had asked her a question.
Licking her lips, she answered. “I seek to become a maston.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “What do you desire?”
She wondered a moment, but the thought was quick to her mind this time. Everything she had learned from the Aldermaston’s instruction made the answer clear. “My home. I seek Idumea.”
His voice was thick with emotion. “What is your name?”
She knew the word in her tongue. Fruitful. But as she spoke, she felt the Gift of xenoglossia work her mouth and she said it in Idumean. “Eprayim.”
For a moment, she waited breathlessly. The smudge of shadow moved and through the gossamer veil, she saw Maderos’ hand reach out to pull her through. With excitement flittering inside her, she grabbed his hand. As soon as their skin touched, the world around her lurched dizzingly. She was falling, falling off a cliff. The air rushed through her eyes, her hair, her mouth, a deafening roar. She could not breathe. She could not think. The rush of light and sound was more furious than any midsummer storm. She gripped Maderos’ hand tightly, squeezing it for fear of losing herself into the void.
Then it was over, she was through. The Apse was huge – it was the highest point with a domed ceiling supported by enormous stone struts. There were windows set into the walls, thick with veils, but it seemed as if sunlight shone through them, which was absurd since it was only just night. The room was magnificently decorated with soft couches, tables, vases, fresh flowers, bowls of apples. Around the couches were large lacquered tables. One, near the far wall, had an open tome on it. Above the tome was a curious instrument – silver bows with transparent stones set into them. She knew instinctively that they were positioned over the tome to help in the reading of it.
Maderos was with her, garbed in white as well, a glimmering chaen shirt – like Colvin’s – beneath his. His crooked staff was no where to be seen. He had not changed a bit since she had last seen him. That was a year before, atop the Tor as he pointed her way to Winterrowd.
“Well done, lass,” he said, smiling at her. “You are a maston.”
“I am?”
“Why must I always repeat myself to you? You need to listen. Eh? You were born to be a maston. Or a hetaera. It is your choices which brought you through the Apse veil. It was your thoughts.”
Lia smiled sheepishly. “This is a beautiful chamber. I have never felt such peace.”
Maderos looked at her oddly. “Nor will you, until you visit Idumea.” He looked up at the great dome above. “This is not the finest nor the largest Abbey in this world. But that is not the point of building them. This is a place of refuge. I thought of taking you to Hautland, but that may have confused you.”
Lia looked at him, shocked.
“Oh yes, little sister. Hautland or Dahomey. Or any of the other Abbeys throughout the kingdoms. The Apse is but a gateway between them. When you are stronger, you will be able to cross on your own. But for now, your first time, you needed help.”
“I have so many questions,” Lia said.
He smiled but shook his head. “I may not answer them.”
Lia bit her lip. “I will ask anyway. Is the Queen Dowager a hetaera?”
Maderos looked at her shrewdly. “What do you think, lass?”
“I think that she is, but I am not sure.”
“How did you come by your suspicion then?” He arched a brow at her.
“The Medium.”
He reached and grabbed her chin and pinched it between his fingers, waggling her head. “You think that I would give you any other answer than what the Medium gave y
ou? Think, child! Do not doubt. Do not hesitate. Do not worry yourself over what may or may not be. The Medium always speaks the truth. And what is truth? Eh? What is truth?”
Lia stared at him, uncomfortable. Her chin hurt a little. “Truth is things as they really are. Not what we wish it to be.”
Maderos quit pinching her and patted her cheek. “Truth, sister, is knowledge of things as they really are. As you said. But it is not confined to that. You cannot confine truth to those terms. It is knowledge of things as they are, but it is also knowledge of things as they were. The past. Why did the old king fall at Winterrowd? You can ask any number of men and they will all tell you what they believe to be the truth. But you and I – we know the truth. It is also knowledge of things as they will be. What you will become, for example. Your destiny.”
Lia shivered.
“Give me your hand, child.”
She hesitated, wondering if he would squeeze it too hard, but she extended it to him. He clasped it in between his hands. His skin was warm and calloused, rough as stone. With a piercing gaze, he looked into her eyes.
“I Gift you. With a glimpse at your future. Not to see it clearly, but to see the truth of it when it is time to know the truth of it. There is a Gift that you already possess, child, that you did not name. The Gift of Seering. Your father had it. You have experienced it already if you remember. Inside your mind, you have seen events unfold that happened in the past. Or were happening in that moment. The night before Winterrowd, you saw the king in his tent. That was the Gift of Seering. When the Aldermaston taught you about Idumea here in the Abbey, you saw the past and the fall of Ereshkigal. Use this gift well. Only the Medium can bring it to you. So now I give you a glimpse of the future that your gift may be complete. This hand – will impact the lives of millions of souls. Your name will be had for good as well as for evil. But to those who know the truth, they will always hold you in reverence for what this hand will yet do.”
She licked her lips, not feeling any differently. “What does that mean, Maderos?”
He grinned at her. “You will see when it is time.” He patted her hand. “Let me teach you wisdom, one of the hidden secrets of this second life, just as it was a secret in the first life. Surely you have already learned that men and women differ. Each has strengths and weaknesses. It must be so, for we are incomplete without the other. Here is wisdom, if you will hear it.” His hand squeezed hers gently. “The greatest power over a man is his desire to please a particular woman. This is crucial to understand. So much in this life hangs on it. It is this inherent desire which gives that woman power to make or destroy him. Most men will never confess that they are influenced…easily influenced…by the women they prefer. Wives, lovers, mothers, daughters, or sisters. Many have no idea that they are. This knowledge is the source of the hetaera’s power. It is powerful, child. So subtle and powerful. It can and does influence men to murder. It causes men to forsake their sworn oaths and duties. Even mastons. These feelings can shatter mountains into broken pebbles. They can break down the strongest man. Remember this teaching. It will benefit you in the future as you ponder it.”
Lia shuddered. “Is the Queen Dowager more powerful than the Aldermaston?” she whispered.
“Of course she is,” Maderos answered. “Because he is only a man. She is more powerful than Garen Demont because he is a man. More than your friend, the pethet, because he is a man. More than a dozen mastons together with all their fierce wills combined.”
Lia’s heart froze with fear.
“But,” Maderos said, wagging his finger at her. “Is she more powerful than you? That is the question, is it not?”
“Is she?” Lia pleaded.
“What does the Medium tell you?” Maderos asked pointedly.
In the silence of her mind, the Medium said nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT:
Fall of Muirwood
The Aldermaston looked at Lia’s expression and his eyes wrinkled with worry. “Did you fail?” he asked her, his voice cracking into a hoarse cough.
She realized her expression was alarming him. She shook her head slowly. “I am a maston.”
He shut his eyes in relief. “For a moment, I doubted. I should not have. What troubles you?”
Lia swallowed painfully, her mind swollen with conflicting thoughts. “I…I did not realize it. The danger, Aldermaston. The Abbey is in grave danger. The war with Demont…it is just a disguise. I understand now like I have never understood before. She wants to destroy the Abbey. She wants to destroy you. This is not about Demont. This is not about Ellowyn. This fight is about Muirwood. She will kill you.”
She gazed into his eyes and saw the truth of it there. He knew it as well. She wanted to bury her face in her hands. What if she was not strong enough? What if Pareigis, the Queen Dowager, could breach the Abbey’s defenses? They would all be slaughtered.
The Aldermaston reached out and stroked her cheek, near her eye. “That is my burden, Lia. Not yours. I am touched by your compassion. It warms my heart, truly.” He traced his finger across her cheek. “Do you not think it odd…deliberate…even contrived…that you are here just now? Of all the people in the kingdom who I would want standing by my side, it is you who have not forsaken me. A hunter-maston. A wretched of Pry-Ree. You are here for a reason, Lia. I knew that when I first laid eyes on your tiny body, wrapped in a blanket with a shawl draped over a Cruciger orb.” His voice was thick with emotion, a breathy rasp. “The Medium told me then that you would play a role in Muirwood’s destiny. You are special to me in ways you cannot understand, in ways you cannot yet appreciate. Thank you for being here, Lia, in this hour when I need you most.”
She had never heard more tender words from his mouth in all her life. Instinctively, she reached out and hugged him close. She had never done that before. Never. It surprised him, this stern man who could rebuke with a glance or a scowl, could command and even the skies would obey him. He stood stiffly, awkwardly, and then settled his hand on her head tenderly. She closed her eyes. He was family to her and her feelings were sacred. The closest thing to a father. Pasqua was her mother. Jon Hunter and Astrid Page had always been like brothers. Sowe her sister. Old Martin an irascible uncle. The family of Muirwood.
The Abbey door opened. Lia pulled away from the old man, tears swarming in her eyes. It was Prestwich. His eyes were blazing with anger.
“What is it?” the Aldermaston said.
“I know you warned me not to disturb you,” Prestwich replied, his voice thick with outrage. “But I had to tell you. The Queen…the Dowager…she is dancing at the maypole. Her manner…her form. It is shocking. There are learners who want to come back inside the grounds with their families. Can we let them?”
The Aldermaston’s eyes burned with fury. “No. They made their choice. Do not look at her, Prestwich. Warn them not to look at her as well.” He turned to Lia. “You will change back into the learner robes. The chaen is yours to wear. It will guard you against the Myriad Ones. It will protect you from them so long as you keep the oaths you made. The Queen Dowager will come at dawn.”
* * *
The Aldermaston was right. She came at dawn.
An unusual mid-summer mist cloaked the grounds. It was strange for that time of year, but it was a strange morning. Lia had not slept, keeping a post at the gatehouse. She did not watch the festival through the gate. Only the shadows illuminated by the blazing fires would she look at. It seemed that each dance got more and more wild. Everyone was drinking cider. She could hear the metal cups clanking. The Queen Dowager taught the girls a new dance, a dance without a partner. Some of her men had strange instruments they played. She had never heard such haunting music before. It made her want to look, to see what was happening beyond the gate. Part of her craved to see it, but she held the thoughts at bay with memories of Colvin, Marciana, Ellowyn. Memories from the time they had stayed at the Abbey. The memories helped her ignore the celebration outside. With the memories came the pai
n of losing Colvin again. The subtle throbbing was like an ache that would never fade.
The celebration ended and it was quiet until just before dawn. She was warm enough with a cloak wrapped around her, but the chaen was warm and soft. It reminded her of everything she had learned inside the Abbey. The knowledge twisted and turned, showing new angles and interpretations. Deep in the dawn mist, she heard the horses before she saw them. The clatter and rattle of hooves seemed to fill the air, advancing like an army.
“Get the Aldermaston,” she whispered to Astrid. He nodded and darted through the mist like a shadow.
Lia gripped her bow and tensed the string, bringing the cloak open to reveal the arrow-feathers stuffed in the quiver. She stood near the gate, breathing deeply, trying to calm her nerves.
The white stallion emerged first from the mist, flanked by riders in black. The Queen Dowager was no longer veiled. Her face was beautiful and cold as she gazed down at Lia. Her black cloak was lined with silver fur, open at the throat. Her fingers held the reins tenderly. Gently, she smoothed the dress at her leg.
“Open the gate,” Pareigis said. It was said in a low tone, almost a purr. Behind the words, the force of the Medium struck Lia like a hammer. Her mind recoiled from the surge, but she gritted her teeth.
“I do not have the key,” she answered truthfully.
Pareigis scowled, thwarted and furious. The Earl of Dieyre chuckled wryly, his horse appeared next to the Queen Dowager’s.
“She is wiser than she looks,” he murmured. “You sent for the Aldermaston?”
Lia nodded.
“Well done. Ah, he is coming now.”
Pareigis’ eyes lifted, looking past Lia’s shoulder. There were at least thirty riders, a wall of black behind her. The horse stamped and snorted impatiently. Scowls met her on every face. Lia glanced through the crowd until her eyes met Scarseth’s. He stared at her coldly, his eyes glowing silver.