The Void of Muirwood

by Jeff Wheeler

  Maia pushed him away. A mingled sense of confidence and determination filled her body. She took a deep breath and then started down the little hillock toward the encampment. The kishion swore under his breath and followed in her wake.

  The voices down below were speaking in Dahomeyjan. These were Corriveaux’s servants, Maia deduced. She strode quickly, as if a current of water were under her feet, carrying her forward. The sun was just overhead, a stab of light that pierced through the skeletal trees. Huge stone ruins and boulders crowded around, painted green and black with moss and lichen. She felt the Leerings of the area respond as she approached, and the sound of gushing water hit her ears.

  “Who is that?” someone shouted. “From the woods!”

  Maia heard the twang of a crossbow, and a bolt sliced through the air. As it approached her, the shaft veered wide and shattered against a boulder. She walked with confidence, unafraid of the Dochte Mandar foot soldiers—unafraid of anything. She felt a purpose, a firm purpose inside her. It was noonday. It was the moment of the Medium’s greatest strength.

  She felt its power flow through her. The two Dochte Mandar by the campfire had risen and dusted off their black robes. They came at her, their eyes glowing silver.

  “Why are you here?” one of them demanded. He had a short beard and a look of rage on his face. The two joined their wills together and hammered at her with a wall of fear. It felt like a small trickle compared to the avalanche inside her. Maia looked at one of them, and suddenly a nearby Leering crackled with energy and a blast of white blinded everyone, followed by a huge clap of thunder.

  The two men lay on the ground, their robes smoking. One of them groaned in pain, the other was listless.

  Maia continued toward the ruins. Black robes fluttered between the columns of boulders and crumbled supports. She ignored them, focusing on reaching the entrance to the lost abbey. Followed by the kishion, she climbed up the wreckage, recognizing the hidden entrance to the abbey since they had found it once before. Maia scrabbled up the rocks, feeling the winds blow behind and around her. The sky rumbled, and lightning began to streak through the sudden clouds that converged on the hilltop of the lost abbey.

  The sun was directly overhead, making Maia’s shadow just a small patch on the ground. She sensed a Leering that could control the wind, and summoned its power, bringing another force to bear against those that the Dochte Mandar were harnessing. The Leerings of the abbey hummed with power. She felt the defenses begin to activate. Light began to shine around them.

  She watched as one of the Dochte Mandar tugged the kystrel off his neck, tossed it away, and fled into the woods. As Maia and the kishion turned the corner, they saw the black gap descending into the depths of the hetaera’s tunnel. There awaited the guardian, the defender—the other kishion.

  “He is mine,” said her companion, his knives held up.

  The other man produced blades of his own, and the two saluted each other.

  Her kishion vaulted himself at the other man, his face a rictus of fury. The two lunged and feinted at each other, grunting and stabbing at each other’s bodies. Maia slipped around them to enter the blackness of the tunnel unobstructed. She did not have a kystrel this time, but the walls were still glowing, a mossy green light emanating from the spiderweb sigils carved into the stone. She moved cautiously down the tunnel—dreading the confrontation with Murer, but determined to follow the Medium’s guidance. As she walked, she found a junction she remembered from her first journey to this place, one with an archway that went up instead of down. From that archway, a breeze carrying the scent of flowers and pine trees wafted against her face. She remembered it vividly. When she had last come there, whispers had warned her against taking that path. Those whispers, she now realized, had come from Ereshkigal. There was something important down there, but she felt the Medium tug her back down the other path toward the hetaera’s lair.

  She reached a set of stone steps carved into the rock and headed down them, descending deeper into the gloom. It ended at the stone doors carved with the shape of the kystrel. She paused, panting for breath, flooded with memories. This was where she had received the brand on her shoulder. This was where she had been deceived. Her thoughts prickled with apprehension.

  The doors were shut.

  As Maia approached, she felt a wall of blackness slam into her. Even with the massive power of the Medium surging inside her, the blow was almost forceful enough to knock her to her knees. She was surrounded by a miasma of doubt, despair, fear, and self-loathing. The mark on her shoulder began to burn.

  You challenge me in my dominion? You foolish, insolent child! I am the Queen of the Unborn. I am the Goddess of this world. Kneel before me!

  The compulsion was so powerful that Maia staggered. She felt the stones shuddering around her, trembling under the weight of the force being expelled.

  You have no power here! the voice screamed at her.

  But Maia felt something build within her, filling her with strength. She lifted herself and staggered forward. The doors were so close . . .

  You cannot defeat a hetaera, said Ereshkigal vengefully. She is mine! She is my pawn!

  Maia felt dizziness and sickness roar inside her. The sensation of her shoulder burning was painfully hot, but she forced herself to reach out and shove the doors with her hands.

  The Leerings tried to resist her, but she forced them to obey with her will. The doors slid open smoothly, grating on the stone floor. Immediately a haze of steam and vapor rushed out.

  She saw the hetaera Leering in the midst of the churning pool down below. Standing there, gown pulled low off her shoulder, was Murer, her eyes glowing silver. The serpent Leering glared red with heat, the light glowing off Murer’s still-untouched skin. She stared at Maia with hate and loathing, her painted lips pulled back into a snarl.

  “No, Murer!” Maia called out in warning.

  They have huddled together like frightened children, believing themselves safe behind walls of stone. There are Pry-rian crows pecking at our flanks. Even with the army of Paeiz and Dahomey joining them, we outnumber their mass at least three to one. The odds are closer than I would have preferred, but I am near enough to see their detestable Muirwood Abbey. I will break it down. We have over four hundred and fifty Dochte Mandar gathered here and another four hundred novices with kystrels. The abbey will burn tonight.

  —Corriveaux Tenir, Victus of Dahomey

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Murer’s Truth

  The expression of hate on Murer’s face sent shards of blackness into Maia’s soul. Her silver eyes were fierce and wild, like a lioness guarding its prey. The waters by the Leering churned, and the pool swirled as if circling a drain. The edges of Murer’s skirts were damp.

  “You came here to stop me?” Maia’s stepsister challenged. “You were a fool to walk away from so much power. I will be the empress, Maia! I will rule them all.”

  Maia walked into the humid chamber, feeling sweat immediately gather along her brow. She passed the broken skeletons huddled near the door, victims who had doomed themselves in an effort to learn the hetaera’s secrets, and started down the ledge along the perimeter, confident of her footing since she had crossed it before.

  “You would rule over a graveyard,” Maia said firmly. “You saw the Leering amidst the bones, did you not? That is the destiny that awaits you. Ereshkigal only destroys. She cannot create.”

  “You dare speak her name!” Murer shrieked. “She is the Queen of Storms. She is the Mother of Kings. This is her domain, maston. You have no authority here!”

  “Murer, step away from the Leering,” Maia pleaded, trying to close the distance between them quickly. She heard the stone doors slide shut above her, trapping her inside. She stared at the flaming brand of the entwined serpents in the livid rock, so near Murer’s exposed skin.

  “You would deny me another throne?” Murer said with venom in her voice. “You already stole mine from me.”

&nbs
p; “It was never yours by right. Please, Sister! I know what it is to bear that brand. It is a torture and an agony I would wish on no person. Even you.”

  “Was I ever your enemy, Maia? Was I as cruel to you as Mother? Did I afflict you as Lady Shilton did? I left you alone. And you repaid me by having your husband humiliate me in front of everyone!”

  Maia had reached the lowest level of the chamber and lowered her gaze. “I did not,” she answered, shaking her head. She approached the edge of the waters, which seemed to be boiling. The Myriad Ones surrounded her, drawn to the vortex of their mistress. “And yet you have had your revenge.”

  A flicker of mirth crossed the angry countenance. “Men are so easy to deceive. They want to believe they are loved . . . adored. They want to be strong, but they are weak. They want to be seduced. I have used your emotions to twist men’s hearts. If only I had been a true hetaera then. Soon, mastons will fall before me.” She nearly purred as she spoke, and Maia felt her blood grow hot with rage. “They will always fall to us. When I have the true power of this brand, even the king will be forced to worship me.”

  Maia felt a stab of hope at the words. “So you did not seduce my husband?”

  Murer’s face twisted with contempt. “It was his younger brother, his duplicate. He was not there. But rest assured, Maia. He will succumb once I have achieved my full powers.”

  Maia shook her head, feeling her love for Collier grow. “He is beyond your power now, Murer. He is dead. And he died a true maston.” She glowered at Murer. “He is beyond your reach, Queen of the Grave.” Maia lifted her hand in the maston sign. “I call you by your true name. You are Ereshkigal, the Unborn, and you will depart!”

  With those words, the Medium surged inside her, a flaming torch against a windstorm.

  Murer’s lips pulled back as if the command burned. Then she pressed her shoulder against the burning Leering. There was a sizzle of smoke, and purple light spilled from the Leering. Something in the dark recesses of Maia’s memory emerged. She had seen that light. She had experienced this moment—the fusing of Myriad One to host. The silver in the girl’s eyes darkened to hard round rings. Hatred filled the air, hatred so fierce and feral it was like a rabid dog.

  “I name you!” Maia shouted. “You are Ereshkigal, the Unborn, and you will depart!”

  Murer pulled away from the stone, the dress still sagging. There it was, burned into her skin, the black mark of the entwined serpents. Maia watched as the other girl slid a dagger from a sheath fixed to her girdle and started across the water toward her, her feet gliding over the surface of the water as if it were paved.

  “You would cast me out of this body?” Murer said with chilling fury. “In my own domain? In the heart of my temple? You cannot speak the words if you cannot breathe!”

  Murer raised her hands, and a curtain of steaming water bucked from the pool, drenching Maia in scalding, salty water. The wave pummeled her and knocked her to the ground before crashing into the far wall of the chamber. There was water in Maia’s ears, up her nose, and in her mouth as she gagged and spluttered, confused.

  Turning on her back, choking, she saw the wave had parted and receded back into the pool. The dagger was poised in Murer’s hand, and she lunged forward to stab her.

  Twisting to roll away, Maia raised her arms to defend herself and pain slit down her forearm as the dagger shredded her gown. Murer jerked her hand back and came down again, slicing Maia’s elbow next, each blow trying to find her heart.

  On the ground, Maia felt the horror of a desperate situation growing steadily worse. She knocked Murer back with a kick to the stomach and scrambled to her feet, her gown sopping wet and heavy. Her arms were on fire, and blood dripped from her hands, mixing with the puddle on the floor.

  Murer swung the dagger purposefully and jabbed it forward again, cutting at Maia’s ribs. Grabbing the girl’s wrists with both hands, Maia tried to use her weight to throw Murer off balance. Fingernails clawed at her.

  Letting go with one hand, Maia grabbed at Murer’s bodice and felt the hard edges of the kystrel—her kystrel. Walraven had given it to her, and she recognized the particular feel of its power. She gripped the edges of the medallion and then tore the chain free.

  Murer kneed Maia in the back, making her arch with pain, and wrestled her arms free again. But Maia had the kystrel, and she held it tight in her fist as she backed away.

  “I do not need that to destroy you!” Murer hissed. Her eyes still glowed silver, and the waves from the pool were bobbing again, threatening to smash into Maia once more. The Leerings in the walls gushed out more water, and the whorl-shaped pool was no longer draining. The chamber was filling with seawater.

  Maia silenced the Leerings with her mind, commanding them to end the onslaught of water. They obeyed her.

  Murer bared her teeth and rushed forward again, slashing down at Maia, who turned and caught the dagger’s edge on her shoulder blade. Though blood dripped down her arm, she could not feel pain anymore. She felt power well up inside of her as she fought. The next time Murer rushed her, she caught the other girl’s wrist and grappled with her for the dagger.

  “I will kill you!” Murer screamed into her face, her teeth gnashing.

  Maia held the other girl back and turned her around slowly, their muscles straining against each other. There was power in Maia’s legs, from her long journeys across the lands. Her wrists and arms were stronger too, from hours of scrubbing clothes and polished brass. Murer had been raised in privilege, and had never done hard work before in her life. Maia saw the energy drain from the girl’s eyes, saw her jaw quiver as her muscles began to tire.

  “Stop,” Maia ordered sharply, squeezing the girl’s wrist hard. Murer’s entire arm trembled with tension.

  The waters bucked again, dousing both girls in a stinging flood, but Maia kept her feet, planting her legs wide to hold herself up. Still, she felt Murer slipping, and she knew that if the other girl fell, she would be dragged down on top of her as the waters receded back into the pool. The knife was twisted toward Maia’s heart, so the blow would be a killing one.

  She released Murer to keep from falling on top of her and retreated, ready to ward off another attack from the razor-sharp knife. Murer’s legs were tangled in her drenched skirts, and she suddenly slipped, crashing to the stone floor.

  She shrieked in pain.

  Maia saw her stepsister’s eyes go wide with surprise as she pulled herself up onto her knees. The dagger protruded from her ribs. Her complexion drained of all color as a bloom of blood stained her bodice.

  Rushing to Murer’s side as she collapsed, Maia caught her and held her face above the swirling waters. The eyes blinked, stupefied at what had happened. She had managed, somehow, to stab herself. Her limbs began to seize with the pain, and she shuddered violently.

  “Murer!” Maia groaned, pulling her stepsister onto her lap.

  Murer’s eyes, drained of silver now, gazed down at the hilt, looking at it as if she could not comprehend what it was. She took a breath and flinched with pain.

  “Ah!” Murer gasped, wincing. Her face crumpled and tears leaked from her eyes. She gazed up at Maia, her expression beginning to soften from hatred to sorrow. “Maia,” she whispered. Maia gripped her hand tightly as she stared down into her face.

  “Sshhh!” Maia soothed.

  “I still feel her . . . squirming inside me,” Murer mumbled in confusion. “Leaving me . . . why is she . . . leaving me? I am broken.”

  Maia blinked with sorrow. “You are no longer any use to her,” she whispered, reaching down and stroking the bridge of her nose. She was sorry to see Murer in such pain.

  Murer’s convulsions grew steadily worse, and a look of panic filled her eyes as she realized she was dying. “The kystrel . . . showed me how much . . . how much Gideon truly loved . . . you. He wore it . . . while they kept him in prison.” She closed her eyes, squeezing tears from her lashes. “So jealous of you . . . how he felt . . . about you. So j
ealous . . . Maia. How I . . . hated you. He did not betray you. He was not . . . even there.”

  “I forgive you,” Maia whispered, weeping softly.

  “You are . . . wrong . . . though.” Her voice was so tiny, Maia barely heard it. “I know . . . he is . . . not dead.”

  Maia stared at Murer, not certain she had heard the words correctly.

  “Murer?” she pleaded, bending closer. “He . . . he lives?”

  “I saw her thoughts. What she knew. His Family . . .” Murer paused, swallowing. “They . . . are immune . . . to the kiss. Cursed . . . to . . . survive. They cannot . . . be . . . slain in war.”

  Maia stared at Murer, the flickering of hope in her heart now starting to fan into vivid flames. She stared away, her mind conjuring the sight of Collier lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

  “His father died,” Maia said, her thoughts seething. “Dieyre is dead. He is . . .”

  He is alive, the whisper in her heart told her.

  The knowledge came open in layers, like flower petals bending to kiss the sunlight at dawn. Lia Demont had cursed the Earl of Dieyre before the Scourge. She had cursed him to live. That he would be the last man standing, a witness to the destruction she had prophesied would happen. He had not been killed at the last battle, the place where all the bones moldered near a Leering. He had lived through the wars that had decimated the kingdoms. He had survived the plague invoked by the hetaera’s Leering. He would die of old age. But Collier could not be killed in a fight, which meant he had survived the death wound from the kishion.

  Maia’s kiss could not harm him.

  She gazed down at Murer’s face, which was now chalk white. There was just a little bit of light in her glassy eyes.

  “Alive,” Murer whispered. Her eyes looked haunted. “What have I done? What have I done? I feel them around me. They are dragging me away. Maia!”

  Maia felt joy and hope shoot through her body as she bent to kiss Murer’s forehead. “I name you. Ereshkigal, Queen of the Unborn. Depart from her . . . forevermore.”