by Jeff Wheeler
Sabine cupped it in her hands, staring at it thoughtfully. “Is there a safe way to rescue King Gideon from the Victus?”
The spindle on the orb did not turn, but writing appeared on the lower half of the orb. It was Pry-rian script, elegant and slanting.
The king’s collier must be ransomed.
Maia stared at the writing, unveiled in golden aurichalcum. Her pulse quickened. The Medium knew his name.
Sabine stared at the words, then glanced at Maia.
“I understand it,” Maia said, touching her arm. Her heart trembled with sadness. Forgive me, Collier. Forgive me.
She did not hear any echo in her mind. His thoughts were silent, which made her feel sadness and guilt. The emotions wrestled mercilessly inside her.
“Come,” Sabine said. She hugged Maia again, and then the orb guided them into the thick gorse of the gardens and the hedge mazes beyond. They continued walking until a bark sounded and Argus came padding up, wagging his tail frantically.
“Oh, Argus,” Maia said, dropping to her knees and letting the boarhound lick her face. She nuzzled his fur, stifling her tears of joy and regret. Stomping through the grass after the dog came Jon Tayt, who looked at her with a wise, knowing smile.
“By Cheshu, you do look like a queen,” he said, coming up and mussing her hair. He turned to Sabine and bowed. “I brought her here as best I could, Aldermaston. Down, Argus, stop licking the lass’s face.” He shook his head, then gave a meaningful look to Sabine Demont. “Is my banishment over?”
“Not yet, Jon Tayt Evnissyen,” Sabine said. She looked at Maia. “The Evnissyen are the protectors and advisers of the royal Family of Pry-Ree.”
“I know of the Evnissyen,” Maia said. “I met them myself when I was in Pry-Ree. I did not know you were one of them.”
“That is when I asked Jon Tayt to protect you. I sent him far away, very far away, to wait in the mountains of Dahomey until you emerged. He has been patient and faithful. Jon, your duty is not fulfilled. You must protect her in an ancient land where she will study to take the maston test. There is much we must speak on, but not amidst so many Leerings. They have eyes and faces, yes, but they also have ears. Did you bring the gown from the ship?”
Jon Tayt nodded and unslung his pack. “Yes, the captain bade me to bring it,” he said, rummaging through to the bottom. There were small pots, sieves, knives, spoons—a veritable kitchen crammed inside. Sabine began to help Maia unfasten her kirtle. The rich golden fabric peeled away and Maia felt her heart sadden. She wanted to rip away everything that reminded her of what she had unwittingly become. How curious then, that she would be loath to give up the splendid gown and the jewels Collier had put on her. But she kept the earrings in her ears, wanting them as a keepsake to remind her of her husband. Her arms shivered in the cold air as the dress slumped to her ankles. She wore only her shift, and her teeth began chattering.
Maia noticed her grandmother staring at her shoulder, an inscrutable look on her face. Her skin was wrinkled and aged, her beauty faded but not lost. There was something almost angelic about her, an inner peace and calmness that made her lovely to Maia’s eyes. Though Sabine’s eyes were narrow, they did not judge. Her small hand rested near the brand on Maia’s shoulder blade, warm against her frigid skin.
“I am sorry, Grandmother,” Maia whispered, feeling the shame like a yawning chasm.
Sabine shook her head slowly. “You did not do it willingly, I know that. But you did it nonetheless. We often suffer the consequences of the choices of others. But our own are the most painful.” The fingers gripped her skin tightly. “There is a tome I must show you. The tome of my great-grandmother, Lia Demont. She is the one who cursed the Leering that branded your shoulder. The curse she laid on it was done by irrevocare sigil. It cannot be undone.” The grip firmed even more, Sabine’s eyes were deadly earnest. “Maia, because of the curse, you cannot kiss anyone. Ever. Not your husband. Not your children, if the Medium blesses you with them someday. This you must never do. The plague it can unleash is terrible. The Medium is strong with our Family. You must find a husband and pass along our connection with the Medium, just as you were born with it. That husband must be a maston. He must know the truth about you. But no one else can know. Only we few.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “Ereshkigal will not cease trying to destroy you. She wants revenge because of what Lia Demont did to the hetaera. You will always be hunted. You will always be persecuted. But you will be strong enough not to succumb. Your great-great-great-grandmother Lia saw you in visions, Maia. She told me about you in her tome. There is something you must do, something only a maston can do. Do you have it, Jon Tayt?”
Jon Tayt withdrew an oilskin bundle from his pack and began untying it. He loosed the strands and unrolled it. Maia caught the glimpse of pale fabric. It was a peasant’s gown and girdle, pale in color—she could not tell if it was blue or green in the dim light of the stars.
“It is a wretched’s gown,” Sabine Demont said, stroking the fabric. “A gown much like Lia wore growing up. Being a wretched taught her humility and meekness. Your experiences have taught you similar lessons. I think the Medium tests us. It tries our patience. You were not swayed by jewels or riches or any of the promises of vanity. Wear this as your disguise for now, Maia. Where we are going, girls are taught to read and scribe. Even the wretcheds. This is done in secret, at night, to protect them from the Dochte Mandar. These girls are called the Ciphers. You will become one of them.”
Her stomach thrilled. She would be among other girls who knew how to read? “Thank you, Grandmother,” Maia said. She took the simple gown and hurriedly put it on and then tied the girdle around her waist. The fabric was wool and it was warm. The sleeves were long and drooping.
Argus’s ears pointed up and he snuffled a growl.
“Best we leave,” Jon Tayt said. “We have a mountain to cross before we reach the Holk.”
The dinghy bobbed and pitched in the turbulent waters. Maia was soaked through from the spume and spray, and she huddled alongside Argus, who growled at the bucking sensation. It was morning, but there was no sun, only a pale sky—like the promise of sunrise except without the glorious rays of light and striations of color. The rocks were jagged like decaying teeth and the oarsmen pulled hard to crest the swells. She clung to the gunwale, watching as the oarsmen fought the pounding surf.
“Row man! Row!” the man at the helm barked in Pry-rian. “Pull hard, lads, it is a way off yet. Row man, row!”
Maia stared back at the craggy alcove, the enormous black basalt cliffs that rose from the churning foam and spray like a decaying monster. Sea creatures speckled the rock with a variety of muted colors, creating a queer beauty that thrilled her heart.
You cannot escape me, daughter of Ereshkigal. The voice sneered in her mind. I am the Queen of Storms.
Maia gritted her teeth, afraid of the voices in her mind.
You will all drown. If you will not serve me, you will drown.
“Maia?” Sabine’s hand touched her arm. The fabric of her sleeve was soaked and her grandmother was equally drenched. “You look fearful. Do you hear her again?”
Maia nodded, shivering and shuddering. The brand on her shoulder was hot.
Another huge wave picked up the dinghy, and for a moment, Maia feared it would capsize. She clung to the hull, terrified.
“She cannot harm you,” Sabine said soothingly. “You hear her many voices because you trained yourself to listen for them. Now you must learn to ignore her thoughts and begin coaxing the Medium to speak with you. It begins with a thought, Maia.” Another swell made Sabine totter a bit. “That was thrilling!” she said, beaming. “It begins with a thought. Think of a safe place, of a time when you were happy. With the memory will come the feeling. You can choose what you remember, and thus the feelings those memories instill. You must choose wisely. Everything hinges on our though
ts.”
Maia frowned as she realized something. The dreams she had experienced since her visit to the lost abbey had returned her to her most haunting memories, summoning all the dark emotions she had buried deep within her. Ereshkigal had not just devised the dreams as an empty distraction—the Myriad One had feasted on her hatred, her fear, and her resentment.
“I do not have many memories of peaceful times,” she said, her voice rising in pitch as the next swell hit them. Her stomach bubbled and seethed. It was exhilarating, but terrifying.
She remembered the dinghy that had brought her to the shores of Dahomey. Faces and images flashed through her mind. The ruins of Dochte Abbey, a blackened skeleton of rubble that would never rise again. The kishion gripping her hand, helping her climb down a rope despite the bob of the waves. Leerings. Blinding lightning. So many of the memories were tainted. Maia had known such little peace in her life, and anxiety flooded her heart at the reminder.
Then a memory struck her like a hammer blow. It was a small inn in the hinterlands of Dahomey. There was pretty music, clapping, and dancing. As she closed her eyes, she could hear the stamp of boots, the cheers, the thrill of the various instruments. She longed to make music again, to strum a lute with her fingers.
In her mind, she saw Collier approaching her.
“A dance,” he said, extending his hand to her. “If you must go tonight, then give me this memory to take with me. Please, my lady. Dance with me.”
Her raging heart began to quell as she lived again in the memory. Before she knew who he truly was. Before the illusions of her life were shattered. She could still hear the labored breathing of the sailors as they rowed, but their words were slurred, as if heard from beneath water. She felt one of Sabine’s hands gripping hers, her other arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders as she stroked Maia’s damp hair. But in her mind, she was in that small village as she and Collier began to dance. He had taught her a new dance, the Volta, and she remembered how it had felt when his strong arms lifted her high and twirled her around. The simple, pure joy of it.
So much had happened since then. So many surprises. So many disappointments. But Maia savored the memory, the feel of his hand in hers. She had not kept anything of his except for the single pair of earrings. She wished she still had the crumpled lily he had left in her saddlebag. She thought of his eyes, his handsome smile that had a certain cocksureness to it. She admired his thick dark hair and wondered at the little scar on his cheek. She sank deep into the memory, reveling in every detail.
Her heart ached for what would happen to him. After being held hostage in Paeiz as a child, he valued freedom above all things. Now, because of her, he was a prisoner once more. How cruel was the past. How painful. She heard his laughter in her mind and squeezed it tightly to her bosom.
Maia—are you there?
Her heart shuddered. She could almost feel him. There was darkness and cold. It was an unlit cell. She could hear the wind whistling through the eaves. Through the bond they shared, she could feel his anguish, his misery. His accusation.
Maia, why? Why?
The dinghy butted into the hull of the Holk. She opened her eyes, wiped a trickle of saltwater from her cheek, and craned her neck. The ship was enormous, the wood slimed and crusted with barnacles.
“Hoy! Hoy! Up! Hoy! Hoy! Up!”
Hooks were fixed to the front and rear and suddenly the dinghy broke free of the waves’ clutches. It rocked and reeled and Maia feared the winds would spill her into the deadly surf below.
“Are you all right, my child?” Sabine asked in her ear. “You look forlorn.”
She turned to her grandmother and embraced her. “I hear him in my mind too,” she said miserably. “I hear my husband’s thoughts. I want to answer him . . . if only to tell him I am sorry.”
Sabine smiled sadly. “Every choice we make that brings us closer to the Myriad Ones is a choice that alters our course. But it is your decision, Maia. I cannot make it for you.”
Maia wanted desperately to respond to him. It tortured her to let him think the worst of her. But she had given herself completely to the Medium, and it had rescued her from Ereshkigal. Could she renege on her commitment so soon? The feelings nearly strangled her. Slowly and sadly, she shook her head no. “I will not,” she whispered.
Sabine gave her an understanding look—one that showed she had carried heavy secrets herself. “The voices will fade in time. At Muirwood, you will not hear the whispers of the Myriad Ones or your kystrel. Ereshkigal has no dominion there. It was sealed up as a safe haven for you, as a place for refuge and peace.”
“Mother is there,” Maia replied eagerly, struggling to put aside thoughts of Collier. “I fear she is in danger.” She remembered suddenly her vision of the kishion. She looked at her grandmother. “Is she safe?”
The look in Sabine’s eyes said the words her mouth could not.
To my dear one, Marciana, I give you my love, my high regard for your courage, and my deepest wishes for your happiness. I fear that happiness is an emotion you have felt little during your life thus far. I was raised a wretched in the Aldermaston’s kitchen at Muirwood Abbey instead of as a Princess of Pry-Ree as was my birthright. Yet I knew more happiness in the simplicity of that life than I have found in the burdens and cares of leading others. To be a leader is to be alone. I have counsel for you, great-great-great-granddaughter who was named after my husband’s sister. Choose wise counselors to guide you. Wisdom is the Gift you need most of all, for you will face dilemmas and troubles that I never experienced. You will also endure heartaches unique to yourself. Bear these with patience, Maia. Pain passes in time and forges character. The Dochte Mandar of your day think that by depriving humanity of the awful emotions—grief, suffering, despair—they can prevent the recurrence of the Blight. It is not true. Depriving your father and mother of the chance to let their private grief teach them love and compassion sowed the seeds of their marriage’s failure. If these sad emotions are endured—and accepted—patiently, they teach us wisdom and compassion. You have struggled all your life to contain your tears because your father once praised you that you did not weep as a babe. Maia, there is healing in weeping. There is balm in tears. An Aldermaston once said: Tears at times have the weight of speech. I weep for you as I scribe these words. Though I have never met you, I love you, Maia.
I know you have a brand on your shoulder. You will live with the grief of the consequences of that all your life. But there is a sacred duty you must fulfill. When the abbeys were destroyed in my era, I made a Covenant that Muirwood would be rebuilt, that the gates of Idumea would be opened anew that the dead may pass on from this second life. This is the rite of the Apse Veil. It also allows mastons to travel great distances between abbeys. The longer the Veil remains closed, the more unrest will occur in the kingdoms. The dead wander among us. They grow impatient in their banishment. They speak to the living through the Dark Pools. You must open the Apse Veil. I give you this charge. By Idumea’s hand, make it so. Remember—sometimes even to live is an act of courage.
—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Muirwood
Maia’s eyes were wet with tears and she wiped them on her gown sleeve, then ran her palm over the smooth aurichalcum page. The Holk swayed, its mighty beams creaking and groaning like an ancient man feeling his age. The tome was heavy in her lap, the words illuminated by light streaming in from the round window of the cabin.
“There is no shame in tears,” Sabine Demont said softly, reaching out and caressing Maia’s hand.
Maia felt the little tremors bubbling up inside her. “How well she knew me,” Maia said faintly, her eyes swimming. “As if she had walked alongside me in silence all these years.” She swallowed. “Lia had the Gift of Seering. It amazes me.”
Sabine stroked her arm. “Her father had it. It does not always pass from o
ne generation to the next. Without the full powers of the abbeys, it is an increasingly rare Gift. So many powers of the Medium have not been manifested since her generation.”
“Why is that?” Maia asked, dabbing away the moisture from her eyes.
“I do not know,” Sabine said, her voice fading. “When you read the tomes, you will discern that some generations are more flush with the Medium than others. There are individuals, like Lia Demont, who rise up to do great things. Then several generations pass with little notice. Occasionally a generation comes that burdens the world with evil. History is like a river, I think. There are seasons that occur over and over. Sometimes the waters are swollen and violent. Sometimes placid.” She smiled at Maia and hugged her. “We live in turbulent waters, Maia. When your father abandoned his oaths, he issued a new season. We must all endure the rapids now.”
Maia looked down at her hands. “Are you . . . disappointed in me, Grandmother?”
There was silence, and Maia felt her cheeks begin to burn with shame.
“Do not mistake my quiet, Maia,” Sabine said, her voice choked with emotion. Tenderly, she traced her fingers through Maia’s long hair. “You have never had children, so you cannot understand. Someday you will. There is nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you. I wish with all my heart that every parent felt this way. Unfortunately, you had a father whose love was conditional on obedience. I think he inherited that from his father. So many choose to bind themselves to the traditions of their fathers. Even if those traditions are wrong and harmful. But I know . . .” Her voice broke with emotion. “I know how your mother felt about you. There is no stronger love than a mother’s love. Except perhaps a grandmother’s.” She smiled and hugged Maia again, who hugged her fiercely in return. Tears spilled down both their cheeks.
