The Banished of Muirwood

by Jeff Wheeler

Maia turned to look at him, feeling alarmed and concerned. “I thought the bond could only legitimately be broken for one reason. I have read the tomes, as you know. You taught me to read them. There is another?”

  He nodded, saying nothing.

  “Please, Chancellor. Tell me.”

  He shrugged. “It does not pertain to this case, as I said.”

  “But what is it? What is the reference?”

  He looked down at her, smiling compassionately. “I do not mean to cause worry, Lady Maia. You would have no cause to know about it because it is not written in the maston tomes . . . only in those kept by the Aldermastons. The provision is mentioned in the tomes of the Dochte Mandar, however, so I knew of it. It is part of the maston lore that is limited to those who have passed the maston test. Which, sadly, may never happen in your case because your father intends for you never to study at an abbey or to marry. If you had any children, you see, they would be rivals to his heirs by Lady Deorwynn. He will not allow it. I am hesitant to say more on this subject because you will likely not be given the chance to learn it through the natural course.”

  Maia swallowed. “Please, Chancellor. I wish to prepare myself. I do intend to take the maston test someday and will try to persuade Father. I started a fire Leering just now. All by myself, with hardly a thought.”

  “You did?” he said, impressed. His smile was beaming. “I can only do that with my kystrel!”

  “I did it on my own,” Maia said, flushing with warmth at his praise.

  “Well, that is certainly an accomplishment. I do not believe you will have any trouble passing the maston test, to be sure. Women are not allowed to read, of course, but as your ancestors discovered, one from the proper Family does not need to be able to read in order to pass the maston test or tame a Leering. So you desire it still?”

  “Yes,” Maia said fiercely. “My mother is one. My father . . .” she swallowed. “What is the reference you mentioned? I will learn it eventually. You must tell me, Chancellor.”

  He smoothed his hand over her scalp tenderly, as if he were an Aldermaston himself, about to bestow a Gifting on her.

  “Well, I do not see the harm. The Medium responds to our strongest thoughts and emotions, so if you feel strongly about it, you will become a maston someday, lass. I do not doubt it, particularly given your talent. Even if you had to sneak away from Pent Tower and visit Claredon Abbey!” He glanced at the door and around the chamber, making sure they were alone. He dropped his voice lower. “As I said, there is knowledge in the Aldermastons’ tomes that is limited to those who have passed the maston test. That is the proper place to learn it. What I will tell you comes from the tomes of the Dochte Mandar. It is scribed in my own tome, in fact. As you know, the irrevocare sigil binds a man and woman together through the power of the Medium. The bond is so permanent that the marriage will last beyond the pale of death. A man—or a woman—may divorce his spouse on grounds of adultery. You already know this. There is another cause. A man may discover that his wife is a hetaera. That is grounds as well.”

  The word sent a shiver through Maia, though she knew not why. “What is that, Chancellor?” She could not even say the word, for she feared it would burn her tongue.

  Walraven shook his head. “That you must learn for yourself when you face the maston test. Hetaera are powerful with the Medium because they use kystrels. They brought the Scourge upon the world, which is why the Dochte Mandar have banned women from using the medallions. But I assure you, child. The argument is useless in this case. There have been no hetaera for ages.”

  Emotions are the most ungovernable of human frailties. How I have learned this to be true! In the tome of Aldermaston Aquinar, he scribed a saying to give himself strength to manage his heart. He wrote, “Give me a waking heart, that no curious thought can withdraw me from the Medium. Let it be so strong that no unworthy affection can draw me backward, so stable that no tribulation can break it, and so free that no election by violence can make any challenge to it.” That is what I have always desired—a waking heart. One that can never be lulled into complacency.

  —Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nightmares

  Lady Maia! Wake up! Wake up!”

  She awoke to the sensation of hands gripping her shoulders, shaking her roughly, and a burning feeling against her chest. The emotions of the dream were so vivid that when her eyes flew open in sudden terror, she could not remember where she was, or even her age. The kystrel seared against her skin, and she felt the power of the Medium flood through her, urgent and panting and swelling like the tide.

  It was Jon Tayt who had grabbed her shoulders, she realized. His face was pressed but a few inches from hers.

  “Stop the magic!” he begged her.

  She saw the kishion kneeling nearby, hand on his dagger hilt—looking for a moment as if he would slit her throat if she did not stop.

  The power and fury of the Medium roared in her ears, irrepressible. She felt the vastness of the world at her fingertips, as if in that moment, she could encircle the entire land, all of the kingdoms, in her arms, as a lavender gathers a heap of laundry.

  “Please!” Jon Tayt’s eyes were desperate. He had a look of awe as well as fear, and in the mirrors of his eyes, she could see that her own eyes were glowing silver.

  For a moment, she could not relinquish the magic, though she tried. The wind howled, blasting her hair and cloak. This squall she had created was as powerful as a sea storm, and it hurled against them violently.

  Enough, Maia thought with a twinge of fear, but a force of command. Be still.

  The kystrel began to cool against her neck. With it, the winds died down. She stared at her surroundings, confused. Three horses were tethered to a fallen log, and they were all rearing and bucking, whinnying in terror.

  Jon Tayt sighed with relief, releasing her shoulders, and then rushed to calm the mounts. Three horses. Three names—Revenge, Chacewater, and Preslee. Not horses from her stables when she was a child, but horses loaned to them by Feint Collier. She blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the turbulent emotions her dream had left with her.

  “They are getting worse,” the kishion said in a low voice.

  “What do you mean?” Maia asked him, drawing her cloak around her bodice. She knew this latest surge of magic would only have enlarged the tattoo. How much longer did she have before she could no longer conceal it?

  “The nightmares.”

  Rather than look at him, she fussed with the edge of her burgundy gown and flicked away bits of debris from the fabric.

  “Tell me.”

  She finally met his eyes. “I am not confessing my dreams to you, kishion.”

  He brooded and shook his head. “My lady, this last one brought a storm down on us so severe it frightened away game in all directions. The horses nearly killed themselves trying to flee from you.”

  “I am sorry,” she said through clenched teeth. “But I cannot control my dreams. None of us can. See? The magic is tamed now. Jon Tayt is soothing the horses. All will be well in a moment.”

  The kishion shook his head. “They are getting worse, though.”

  She struggled to keep her composure. She wanted to yell and scream at him, to unleash the childish emotions awakened by the dream. But she had to keep her feelings under control. She pressed her fingers against her mouth, as if that would stop her from blurting out anything she did not want to reveal.

  All her life, she had bottled up her emotions. That was the way of the mastons, after all. And the Dochte Mandar too. She knew what became of a person who lost control of their wants, emotions, and desires—she needed only to look as far as her father. It was one fate she would not allow herself to suffer. So she could be poked, but she would not flinch. She could be teased, but she would not retaliate. Deep down, though, a well of anger and indignat
ion had built up inside her, and it threatened to break loose. She dared not allow it.

  Maia closed her eyes, burying her turbulent feelings. A shaky breath came from her, followed by another, calmer one. Chancellor Walraven’s warnings were still fresh in her mind. She knew the dangers of her own power. For if she could make rats and mice fling themselves from a tower window, she could also drive a man to kill himself. Such pure power needed to be safeguarded behind iron self-control.

  “I will be all right, kishion,” she said more softly. She looked him in the eye, showing him her calm exterior.

  “What if they continue to grow worse?” he asked her pointedly.

  “Then wake me as Jon Tayt did,” she replied. “They are just bad dreams from my childhood.”

  He snorted dismissively. “You are still a child.”

  “I am eighteen,” she reminded him. “Some of my cousins were married when they were thirteen or fourteen. Most were plight trothed, as I was, as babes. I am not married, but I am not a child.”

  “But are you an innocent?” he said with a strange look on his face. “I will wake you next time. Perhaps a pan of cold water will do.”

  She shook her head and stifled a cough. He was about to rise and leave, but she caught his arm. He stopped and gave her a curious look.

  “The nightmares are from the past,” she whispered. “I do not understand why I am being forced to relive my most painful memories at night, but the Medium must have a reason. I wish I could dream about the years before I was nine. Those are all pleasant memories.”

  He nodded. “Before your father sent you away.”

  “To be honest,” she said, looking around, “I do not even recall falling asleep last night. Where are we?”

  “It was after sunset when we found these ruins,” the kishion said, standing.

  She looked around and saw, through the haze of dawn, the skeletal remains of an abbey around her. Columns of broken stone sat crouchbacked and ominous nearby. The lawns were overgrown, and she thought she spied the charred stump of a maypole fastened in the midst of the green.

  “You were practically asleep in the saddle,” he said, reaching down and grabbing her by the wrist to help her stand. “You just curled up on the turf and bedded down in your cloak. Jon Tayt and I feasted like kings. We saved you a plate, though it grew cold.”

  She shook her head, smiling wistfully. “I do not remember. I was weary from the pace we set yesterday.” Her stomach growled, startling them both, and Maia laughed. “My appetite bears witness to the truth of your story.”

  A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “I searched the grounds this morning for an orchard with fruit. Remember the one we found at the lost abbey? The garden?”

  A mixture of memories flooded her mind. Her time with the kishion had always been fraught with tension. “The maston garden,” she said, brooking a smile. “The fruit was still fresh. Did you find any?”

  He shook his head. “There were some barren trees. All wild, with nothing to eat.”

  “The Leerings have all been stripped away,” Maia said, walking up to one of the towering stone buttresses. She could not sense a single one amidst the rubble as she ran her hand along the rough surface. “The Naestors harvested the Leerings. See the gashes up there? They were chiseled away.”

  “Why would they do that?” he asked.

  Maia stared up at the pocked surface. “They learned to control them after finding so many of these,” she said, patting the kystrel beneath her bodice. “But they lacked the maston lore to build their own Leerings or forge their own medallions. They tried. They carved faces into stones. They mimicked the designs perfectly.” She dropped her hand away and started walking toward Jon Tayt, who was beginning to saddle their mounts. She looked back at the kishion. “They could copy a Leering, but they lacked a maston’s authority to give it power.”

  He walked with her toward the horses. “You are not a maston yourself, are you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I was never permitted to learn. I know I would have passed. I can work a Leering without a kystrel, which most people cannot do, but I can only use the Medium’s stronger powers with it. Strength in the Medium comes from your Family, and all my ancestors were famous mastons. I would like to become one too . . . someday.”

  Jon Tayt yanked hard on one of the girth straps. “Ach,” he said with a huff, catching her last words, “just slip away to Tintern Abbey in Pry-Ree and the Aldermaston will grant your request. If you were a maston, you would have no need to trifle with such jewelry.” He gave her a sidelong look. “Now that these beasts have calmed down a bit, there is a right way to saddle a horse and a wrong way. Collier knew the right way, but if you adjust the harness like so,” he grunted, moving the straps, “it makes it easier on the mount to carry you. We rode them hard yesterday. So we will give them a bit of a rest and walk them this morning, then ride hard later on.”

  Maia walked up to Preslee and stroked her flanks, murmuring softly as she did so. “Did you check the hooves for pebbles?” she asked.

  “I always do that first,” he said with a tight nod. “No sense saddling a lame horse. The hooves are hale and sound. The stables had a dozen other beasts in addition to these. The king likes to have fresh horses for hunting.”

  Maia fetched a bag of provender from the saddle and started to feed her horse, grabbing a hunk of bread for herself. Preslee nuzzled the bag and began nickering with delight. Maia wished she had an apple to give her as well.

  “I can do that, my lady,” Jon Tayt said, giving her a confused smile.

  “I miss having my own horses,” Maia explained, shaking her head. “I always cared for my own. I know the right way to saddle them as well, Master Tayt.”

  “Ah, but do you know the right way to throw an axe, my lady?”

  She looked over her shoulder at the hunter, her lips pursed.

  “I see you do not.” He gave a deep laugh. “You were taught languages, dancing, horsemanship, hawking, diplomacy, and either the lute or the virginal.”

  “The lute, virginal, and the regal,” Maia corrected. “I was also taught Paeizian fencing.”

  Jon Tayt snorted. “You and Collier share that in common then. He is a strong advocate for Paeizian fencing—hence the nickname. However, I can kill any Paeizian fencer with an axe from thirty paces away. Shameful they taught you to play the virginal and not how to throw an axe!” He grinned and then bellowed with laughter.

  “You have convinced me that my education is incomplete,” Maia answered, enjoying the look on his face. “You must teach me.”

  He clapped Chacewater on the flanks and started to give him a brisk rubdown. “Let me finish saddling the horses first. Always best to be prepared to ride and ride quickly. Take a brace of axes to that maypole stump and I will show you there. Hup, easy boy.”

  Maia fetched two axes lying next to his rucksack and she carried them across the green to the charred maypole stump. She noticed the kishion scouting the grounds, looking as sullen and surly as usual. But her feelings about his sternness and solitary ways had evolved considerably over the past weeks. While he was not affable like Jon Tayt, she had found herself admiring his determination, survival instincts, and even his constant closeness. She was grateful to have both men as her protectors.

  Argus trotted up to her as she reached the maypole, and she crouched to greet him. He was guarded with her, not as playful as he was normally, and she realized that the magic of the kystrel had frightened him away.

  “It is well, Argus,” she said coaxingly. “I will not harm you.”

  The boarhound sniffed at the grass near her before shifting his attention to her face. She stroked him, remembering her own spaniels and puppies as a child. She used to have a livery, men who wore her badge and colors—blue and forest green—horses and maidservants and advisors and cooks and hawks and longbows and Pry-rian flet
ched arrows. Everything she could have desired had been hers, and in abundance. All that had been stripped away when she was banished. And she had not even been banished to a distant castle or sent off to an abbey where she might have become a maston. She had been forced to watch as every luxury that had been taken from her was bestowed on Lady Deorwynn’s daughters.

  Argus’s tongue lolled out of his mouth as he panted. She stroked his coat, jealous of the simplicity of Jon Tayt’s life.

  “You are spoiling my hound,” he muttered as he approached. “You should kick him almost as often as you pet him.”

  “You do not do that,” Maia commented wryly, standing.

  There was a smile in his voice. “Of course not, lass. He has saved my life. More than once, truth be told. You do not kick a dog who has saved your life. I want you to kick him so that he stops fawning over you all the time. He seeks to please you. Yes, Argus—do not deny it! I can see it. Shameful.” He tossed the hound a bit of dried meat, and Argus loped away to start gnawing at it.

  “I am more suited for a dog’s company than a person’s,” Jon Tayt admitted, drawing one of the axes from his belt. He flipped it and caught it by the handle. “I like to talk and Argus likes to listen.”

  “A fitting pair you two make,” Maia agreed.

  He smiled at her. “I like you, Lady Maia. Nary a whine or a whimper from you since we left the village named after my dog. Only when you sleep.” He took a step forward and hurled the axe, which spun lethally end over end until it buried itself in the center of the burnt maypole with an ominous thuck.

  “You step forward with the opposite leg as you release. You want to be at least five paces away from your target at first. Work on accuracy at short distances. Then go farther and farther back. You want to cluster them if you can.” He threw the second axe and it bit into the wood right next to the first. He smiled at himself and walked up to the post to yank them both free.

  “The blade should spin twice before striking the post. If you are too close, you will hit with the haft. That could crack a man’s nose, true, but I would prefer to split his head open.”