by Jeff Wheeler
Lia’s heart lurched with dread. No!
The Aldermaston of Dochte had a look of sympathy on his face, as if he understood the deep pain that the young king had felt losing his father early to a murderer’s arrow. Lia clenched the bars tightly, watching with growing horror.
“Hanging is not the punishment of death within Dahomey,” he said. “In our kingdom, the guilty are burned. We do not shed blood.”
The young king’s expression was cruel. “Even better,” he said. “Dieyre, see it done. Fetch me to watch the execution. Thus will all traitors in my realm be punished.”
“As you command,” Dieyre said with a flourish.
It was that moment when the Medium whispered to Lia. It was in that moment of terror that she knew what to say.
“My lord king,” she said, speaking boldly, pressing her face against the bars.
Their eyes turned to hers, even Colvin’s. She saw his expression of shock and then immediate torment. His focus had been on Martin. He had not seen her in the shadows of her cell until she had spoken. The look of anguish on his face tortured her.
The young king turned curiously at being addressed by a prisoner.
“Who is that?” he whispered to the Aldermaston.
Before he could reply, Lia spoke out boldly. “I am Lia of Muirwood. My lord king, you cannot punish this man for murder.” Her heart was wild with emotions. She kept speaking, looking into his eyes. She licked her dry lips. “You cannot punish him for that crime, because he did not commit it. My lord king, it was I who killed your father. It was with a hunter’s bow and a Pry-rian arrow. I was at the battle of Winterrowd, my lord king. I was there, near the hillock where he fell. I confess it, my lord king. The truth of my words can be established by Lord Price, the Earl of Forshee. He knew I was there. And I told him what I had done. He is a maston, my lord king. He cannot speak a falsehood. Ask him, if you doubt my word. Ask him.”
She could not bear to look at Colvin’s face. She held the king’s gaze, stared at him with intensity.
The young king was astonished. He looked at her in the dim torchlight. He walked closer, examining her face, her hair. “Colvin?” he asked over his shoulder. “This cannot be true.”
Lia stared down at the floor, unable to meet Colvin’s eyes. She did not want to see the look on his face. The only sound was the sharp hissing of the torches.
“Colvin?” the young king repeated.
“It is true,” came the hoarse whisper, full of pain.
“My lord king,” Lia said, forcefully and clearly. “I did not act under the orders of the Aldermaston of Muirwood. When I helped Lord Price reach Winterrowd, I did not know myself what would happen. My lord king, the Medium commanded me to kill your father. If I speak truly, then the Medium will not allow the fire to harm me. It commanded me, my lord king. It was the Medium’s will because of the many murders your father committed and allowed to be committed in his name. The mastons have been persecuted and murdered throughout your realm…” Lia’s voice cracked and she began to choke. She needed a drink desperately. Squeezing the bars harder, she swallowed and continued. “I submit myself to your judgment. If the Medium spares my life, you will know that I have spoken the truth. This man who has been tortured did nothing. He was not even at Muirwood when Winterrowd happened. He arrived a fortnight after.”
The young king stared at her. Hillel stared at her. Lia lifted herself up and dipped her head deferentially to him.
“You serve the Aldermaston of Muirwood?” the young king said, his voice thick with scorn. “I should have known. She has confessed her crime in the presence of two earls of the realm. There is no other need for witnesses.”
“Indeed,” the Aldermaston said. “May I propose, your grace, that we accept her confession as fact? All that remains is whether the Medium sanctioned the act. There is in the gardens on the grounds, a Leering that tests the truthfulness of someone falsely accused. In Dahomey, it is called a trial by ordeal. Beneath the Leering there is a cave full of poisonous snakes. If the Medium is truly with her, the snakes will not harm her, as she said. If she is guilty, the venom will kill her.”
In Lia’s mind, she saw the stone with the serpent image burning. She had visited it with Martin earlier. As she struggled with her fear, she realized that she was going to that Leering. She also realized that it had nothing to do with establishing her innocence.
“A pit of snakes,” the young king said, his voice sounding almost amused.
“I submit myself to the ordeal,” Lia whispered, shuddering with dread.
“Very well,” the Aldermaston said, sounding pleased. “You will face the ordeal at sunset. If you survive at dawn, your innocence will be established. Let us depart and make the preparations. It will be nightfall soon.”
Those in the room were compelled to leave and the kishion dragged Martin back to his cell and locked the door behind him. The Aldermaston let everyone else leave the room first and then motioned for the kishion to approach. He whispered something to his ear and then left the dungeon as well.
Lia’s skin crawled as the kishion appeared at the bars, his eyes gleaming with delight. He looked down at the goblet, untouched, on the floor near her. The amber liquid made her thirsty, but she kept her eyes on the kishion.
He took the ring of keys and unlocked her door.
“You look thirsty,” he said, bending low and lifting the goblet. “The Aldermaston said you looked very thirsty.”
Lia scooted away from him. “I will not drink it,” she warned him, tensing her body to fight.
“I think you will,” he replied with equal tenacity.
With reflexes faster than she expected, his hand was tangled in her hair and he jerked her head backwards. The goblet lip smashed against her mouth.
She knew at once it was a fight she could not win.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
The Ring
The cider sloshed against Lia’s sealed mouth, entering her nose and she started to choke. By yanking her hair, the kishion would try and make her cry out in pain and allow him to force the liquid into her mouth. There would be no victory wearing chains on her wrists and ankles. Yet she had other gifts which might aid her. Be quick and unpredictable. Force the enemy to react to her.
Knowing he would anticipate her shoving the cup away, she used the chains at her wrists to her advantage. She grabbed the base of the cup and tilted it too fast, splashing her face and front with the amber drink. It drenched her, but now the cup was empty.
The kishion hissed out a curse. She anticipated the boot strike at her ribs and managed to tuck her arms just in time as it landed, but it hurt ferociously and she jerked with pain but did not cry out. Her arm throbbed, but it brought her a moment to collect herself as the kishion skulked out of the cell to refill the cup.
She stank like the cider – it was in her hair, her face, her clothes. She pushed backwards until she felt the wall and then climbed to her feet. The cell was small and humid, the Leering in the outer room blazing still. Again she tried to tame it, but it would not obey her. Sweat mingled with the sticky drops of cider. She breathed deeply, fully, preparing for the next confrontation.
The kishion returned with another cup, so full it sloshed on his wrist. His face was twisted with anger and purpose.
“You will drink this,” he said savagely. “If I must, I will dunk your head in the barrel and drown you in it.” His teeth were crooked. The look on his mouth was horrifying.
“Why must I drink it?” Lia challenged, meeting his gaze with her own.
“Because the Aldermaston commands it,” he replied, walking closer. “Before you face the ordeal, you must drink the cider.”
He was closer now and Lia’s mind whirled furiously. Even without chains, she was still no match for a kishion. He closed the distance.
“I will do it!” Lia said, shoving at him with her mind. She willed all the force she could muster to keep him away from her. He seemed to stagger a moment, blinded by the
intensity of the thoughts she hurled at him. “Do not force me! Give me the cup and I will drink it.”
The kishion looked at her warily, confused.
“Give me the cup,” she said, holding out her hands.
He looked skittish for a moment, unnerved by her change of heart. She focused on his eyes, pushing her thoughts at him savagely. “Give it to me,” she ordered.
He scowled, still looking confused. “If you splash it at me, I swear you will suffer. If you dump it on the ground, I will dunk your head in the barrel.”
“I understand. Give me the cup.” She shook her hands at him impatiently.
The kishion reached out and extended it, watching her carefully.
Lia grasped the cup between her palms and stared at the sweet cider. She stared at it hard, smelling it. The idea came to her in a whisper. It always did.
Closing her eyes, she focused on the thought. The Medium began to swell inside her. She did not look at the cider, she ignored the smell of it. In her mind, she pictured the Leering at the laundry in Muirwood. She remembered its face, the curve of the profile, the mouth that spewed water. When the trough was empty, it was used to summon water to wash the clothes. Water was what she needed. Clean, cool, refreshing water. The Medium throbbed in her heart, hungering for the safety and shelter of Muirwood. She experienced it again, the longing and peace of her home. There were birds chirping in the branches of the sprawling oaks. The grass and flowers tended throughout the grounds gave the air the scent of autumn. The kitchen, with Pasqua and Sowe. In her mind, she could almost see them, hear the cackle of voices, smell the baking bread. She thought of the Aldermaston, his flowing beard and dark eyes, the brooding look on his face. In that moment, her heart panged with regret at all the naughty things she had done as a child in his service. He had been so patient with her. Truly, he had been a father to her. Her belief in the Medium came from him. Even as a small child, she had experienced its power first from her exposure to him, emanating from him as he performed his duties. She longed to see him again, to thank him for all he had done for her.
With the chains on her wrists, she could not make the maston sign. But she did it in her mind as she held the cup. Make this water.
She did not open her eyes. She did not want to risk doubt or the fear of failing. She experienced the confidence of the Medium, could tell it was engulfing her like a flood. Lia raised the cup to her mouth and drank deeply, not holding back.
It was water, precious water. She gulped down the entire cup, slaking her thirst. When it was gone, she opened her eyes and saw the kishion squinting at her, as if she were too bright to look at. She set the cup down and then knelt on the hard warm stones, thanking the Medium silently for intervening. Without another word, the kishion locked the cell door and vanished into the other room.
* * *
Lia had dozed on her knees and awakened with the sound of keys in the lock. Her knees were cramped and sore from her posture and she found herself leaning against the wall, her chin touching her chest. Her toes had lost all feeling and tiny pinpricks of pain flooded her feet and legs as she struggled to stand.
“Lia,” Colvin said huskily.
She blinked and rushed to the bars separating them, her heart surging with fire to see him again. Glancing over his shoulder, she saw Dieyre, hand on his hilt. He had a smirk on his face that was infuriating.
Colvin clasped his hands around the bars. “Why did you tell them?” he said sharply, his face flushed with emotions. “Why?”
“Because she is a fool,” Dieyre answered, pacing the room languidly. “We already knew it was her at Winterrowd. The cloak and hood were a disguise, but the hair is remarkable. Many saw it. Old villagers saw her roaming the battlefield afterwards. Even some children. It was a girl they had seen.”
Colvin’s hands clenched tightly around the bars, his head bowing slightly. “Why, Lia?” he begged her. His hands slid down the bars until they rested on hers.
I cannot tell you why, she answered with her eyes. She longed to stroke his hair and whisper that it would be all right. To trust her. She was following the Medium’s will. She knew her path had destined her to the serpent Leering.
Her voice was firm and purposeful. “You cannot stay,” she said. “The Blight is coming by Twelfth Night. You must go from here. You must all leave Dochte Abbey before Twelfth Night.”
Colvin raised his head. “I cannot leave you here,” he said in a strangled voice. “Do not ask that of me.”
“Oh please,” Dieyre said plaintively. “Just kiss the girl and be done with it, Forshee!”
Something was pressed into her hand just an instant before Colvin shoved away from the bars and whirled to face Dieyre. Lia nearly dropped it, but she saw the glint of metal and snatched it before Dieyre could see.
Dieyre gazed at Colvin with contempt. “Ah, the fury awakens! You are so easy to goad, Forshee. I have the weapon here, not you. What do you intend to do, glower me to death?”
“You will be silent,” Colvin said tightly.
“For the love of beauty, man, act like one! I despise you for your timidity.” Dieyre chuckled mercilessly. “What good is your vaunted self control? When there is something I fancy, I take it. No harm has ever come to me. No black cloud or rain shadow. You are a fool. You crave this girl. Why not take her? I will not stop you.”
“If you utter another word,” Colvin said with raw fury, “You will regret it. Do you understand me, Dieyre? By the Medium’s power, say nothing more or you will be cursed.” Colvin’s hand lifted to the maston sign. “Another word while in this cell, and you will never speak again. Do you doubt the Medium’s power? Then test it. Utter a word and you will see that you cannot.” There was a blinding intensity that seemed to shake Dieyre to the core of his soul. He stared at Colvin sharply, his eyes mocking. But would he speak? Would he test Colvin’s power?
The two men stared at each other balefully. Colvin waited for the other to speak, to challenge his claim. But Dieyre said nothing. He looked at Colvin and then at Lia. A little curl came to his lip, part sneer, part snarl.
Colvin turned around then came back to Lia’s cell door. He gripped her hands through the bars. “I will hold vigil for you tonight.” His hands were trembling. “I will hold vigil and I will be there when the ordeal is over. I will not leave while you are down there. You can do it, Lia. I know you can.” He reached through the bars and cupped the side of her face, his fingers meeting strands of her hair. His face blanched.
“You smell of cider,” he whispered, his eyes widening in alarm. He seemed to notice the splotches on her skin, the stiffness in her hair as the cider dried. His expression turned to horror.
Lia looked into his eyes. “I will be all right,” she whispered. “Trust the Medium. Trust what it tells you to do.”
“Lia…” he gasped, his face twisting with conflict.
A new voice entered the dungeon. “It is time for the ordeal,” the Aldermaston said. “I would have the two of you leave. I must speak with the accused and make her ready.”
Lia looked over Colvin’s shoulder and saw the Aldermaston wearing ceremonial robes. She clutched something metal in her hand, hidden. Colvin stared at her, his eyes piercing her with his worry.
“I will not fail,” she promised him.
Colvin and Dieyre left the sweltering room. Lia faced the Aldermaston as he approached, watching as the Dochte Mandar filled the room behind him. There were so many, her heart throbbed with despair.
The eyes of the Dochte Mandar began to glow. Instantly Lia was seized by doubts and fears, whispers of worry and shudderings deep within her soul. The Aldermaston stared at her, cunningly, appraising her appearance.
“When did the Aldermaston of Muirwood first corrupt you with the Medium?” he asked.
“He did not corrupt me,” Lia answered steadily, trying to keep the tremble from her voice.
“How old were you? Eight or so? The roots are deep inside of you. It will be difficult to pluc
k the weeds out. He should not have permitted you to learn. I can sense your strength, child. You are powerful. You will become an even stronger hetaera.”
Lia clenched her teeth. “I will not.”
He smiled smugly, approaching the bars. His finger grazed one, stroking the iron tenderly. “No man can enter the lair and survive. The gargouelle will destroy any man with madness. Only a girl can enter. It is the hetaera’s test. Like the maston test, there are oaths. If you do not make the oaths, you will die. You will die to be reborn. When we next speak, child, you will be one of us.”
The feelings in her heart made her tremble with dread. She had never felt so terrified, so alone, so abandoned. They were feelings, but they were not real. Yet they were real. They slithered through her defenses.
Lia stared at him. “I am already reborn. I died at Muirwood. You cannot kill me.”
There was delight in his smile. “Remember, child. To surive the ordeal you must forge a kystrel. It is the only thing that will save you when the light of the torch burns out. The light is the only thing that will keep the serpents from biting you. If they bite you, you will die. Take her to the garden.”
As the Aldermaston turned away from her to walk away, Lia glanced down at the thing Colvin had pressed into her hand. It was the cemetery ring she had given him to wear. The ring she had worn as a child since the storm. Even amidst the despair, fear, and doubt, she clung to the thread of knowledge that the ring represented.
* * *
“They brought Lia to the Leering stone at dusk tonight. We could see it from the balcony as they marched her through the hedge maze. I remember how it felt. The anticipation and dread. Colvin was upset but I soothed him. He watched as the Aldermaston handed her a torch and she was lowered into the pit. The stone was pushed to cover the opening. She will be there all night. Colvin says he will hold vigil instead of dancing. I will keep him company and soothe his fears. I will stay in his room all night. He does not understand where we are or what is happening. I whispered in his ear that I wanted to leave Dochte Abbey. I whispered that we needed to find a way to escape. He believes me. He believes everything I tell him. It will all be worth it, when he is mine.”
