by Jeff Wheeler
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO:
The Secret Veil
The hetaera gardens were empty, of course. The populace of the Abbey still thronged the furnace Leering as the last remnants were thrown to their deaths. The night was calm and the air smelled of jasmine. Lia entered the hedge maze, walking quickly until she reached the round stone lid that covered the lair. Staring at the stone, she knew in her mind the password that opened it and spoke the word aloud. The stone began to slide downward, sinking into the pit. Lia stepped on it quickly and descended into the black chasm. The previous time she had been terrified. There was no fear this time. Lia walked forward quickly, past the black gaps where the serpents waited for their victims. Her hand glowed more brightly now, the light keeping the snakes at bay.
Lia entered the chamber with the oath Leerings. They did not speak to her, for she had already made her oaths. In the center of the room, still in the floor, was the half-made kystrel. It was shallow in the grooves. The Medium commanded her to pick it up with her other hand, which she did after stooping. The kystrel was cold, lifeless. It was not a threat to her.
Walking forward, she met the barrier that had thwarted her before. Behind it, she sensed the Leering she had seen so often in her mind. The Leering with the twin snakes twisting into a circle. She felt its power throbbing, but it was pale compared to the Blight Leering she had just traveled from. She stared at the stone barrier. There was a dirge that would open the door – a command spoken by a Myriad One. But she was not controlled by a Myriad One.
“Open,” she commanded, drawing on the full power of the Medium.
The stone groaned in rebellion, but it could not defy an Aldermaston. It swiveled open silently, opening to the sound of rushing water and mist. The room beyond contained a giant pool, crafted from stones and tile and filled with overflowing water. There were three Leerings carved into pillars high on the wall and the rushing waterfalls came from them. The center of the pool contained a whirlpool. The waters swirled and churned in a spiral around the whorl. A single Leering rose from the edge of the water in front of her, the stone with the burning snake insignia.
The tiles and stone leading up to the Leering were beneath a shallow layer of water. Lia looked at the water and felt the thundering mewling of Myriad Ones within the pool. There were millions of them.
Lia raised her glowing hand into the maston sign. The waters parted away from her, leaving a path of dry stone to the Leering. She approached the serpent Leering, listening to the churn and foam of the waterfall, feeling the mist on her face as she approached. The room was dark, except for the light coming from her hand and the burning snakes carved into the Leering. This was the final place. This was where a girl became a hetaera after making the oaths and forging her kystrel. She stared at the Leering and experienced a rush of blackness inside her soul just looking at it. The water bubbled and hissed as if flames from beneath the pool were beginning to ravage the waters. The mist turned into steam. It burned hotter and hotter as she approached. The entire stone shuddered with power, trying to blast her away from it. But Lia pressed on, approaching the stone, her hand in the maston sign as she walked.
The Leering began to crack with power, the stone vibrating and humming as it tried to force her away.
Lia reached the Leering, barely able to see it from the haze of steam. The waters bubbled like a livid cauldron. Reaching out, Lia touched the image of the serpent with her glowing hand.
As Lia closed her eyes, she saw in her mind every girl and every woman who had ever stood before the awful Leering. In her minds eye, she watched them press their naked shoulder against the burning image and watched it sear their flesh with a brand they would wear the rest of their days. The kystrel was a token of their power, but their power came from the binding they received by touching the stone – a binding of a Myriad One inside their body. The Myriad Ones were given complete control over the hetaera, to use them as they wished until they were finally persuaded to kill themselves, thus releasing the Myriad One and making them available to join with another hetaera. The cycle had been repeated over and over for centuries. Young girls, inexperienced in the ways of power and manipulation, were suddenly wiser than their limited years, able to seduce and influence even the strongest minds. She saw Pareigis, a shivering little girl barely thirteen at the time of her binding. She saw countless others. The final girl, the one who had made the final oaths and promises was Hillel.
Lia felt the power of the Medium thrust through her hand as it touched the stone. The Blight began its work. Every hetaera had a brand on her shoulder, the brand of the twin serpents. The Blight infected the Leering and every woman who had the brand in her skin. Lia shuddered, realizing what she was doing. The Blight would take the form of a disease, a sickness, a plague that would ravage the land. The disease would be transmitted to its victims through a kiss. Lia’s mind opened up and she saw the devastation that was coming. It would come slowly, creeping stealthily. Every kiss from a hetaera would transmit the plague. Every victim would die an agonizing and slow death. It would take time, weeks and months, even years before the survivors began to understand who was causing the plague. Then every hetaera would be hunted and killed. Women would be forbidden to read or study from tomes. The deaths would still continue, plague after plague, secret after secret, until everyone in every kingdom had been destroyed. The last man alive would be the Earl of Dieyre. She saw him in her mind, alone in the world.
The glow disappeared from her hand. The curse had been invoked.
The Medium whispered to her. Bind it with the irrevocare sigil.
Lia wept at what she had seen. She sobbed as she realized that she was causing the death of untold thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Her hand had brought the plague that would destroy the world, save those who escaped on the ships. She remembered the Aldermaston of Tintern, how he said that the name of Ellowyn Demont would be spoken of good and evil by many. She remembered Maderos at Muirwood Abbey after she had passed the maston trial.
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.
With tears streaming down her cheeks, she raised her hand and made the sign of the eight-pointed star. The irrevocare sigil bound the curse to the Leering forever.
It was done.
Lia knelt at the foot of the Leering and sobbed, wracked with emotions too vast to control or even understand. A single thought burned through the storm of feelings. Colvin was with Hillel. Somewhere, the man she loved was with a woman she hated. A woman who Colvin believed was Ellowyn Demont. And one kiss from her would kill him.
* * *
Maderos had taught her the password to open the slit in the outer wall of the Abbey. Her feelings oppressed her with crushing weight. Colvin was in danger – immediate danger. Muirwood was also facing a threat. She could feel both looming in front of her eyes, a shadow that blinded her to all other thoughts. Thrusting through the dark shaft of stone, she entered the room with the strange basin and oxen and found Maderos standing by the shaft leading to the Blight Leering. The shaft was covered by a length of silk cloth, a narrow sheet that rustled as she disturbed the air with her presence. The shimmering sheet looked like an Apse Veil.
“Maderos!” she cried, joining him around the walkway. “Maderos, where is Colvin?”
The look he gave her was stern. He turned away and smoothed the fabric, letting it settle once again. “Billerbeck Abbey.” He stared up at the length of sheet and stepped back from it. “Yes, your pethet is there.”
“Maderos, please tell me. Has he…has he fallen? I know he is with her…”
Maderos waved his hand impatiently. “Do not ask me, little sister. Do not ask me about the pethet. What if he has fallen, eh? What if he has kissed the hetaera? Does that alter what you must do now?”
“Maderos, please!”
His expression was as
solemn as stone. “I will not influence you, child. I will not give you the answer you seek. It is your choice.” He gestured towards the shroud. “This is a Veil. An Apse Veil. There are only two Abbeys standing still. You must choose where to go. Both choices have consequences. But I cannot choose for you. It is yours to make.”
Lia stared at the Apse Veil in agony. She knew that Muirwood was threatened. She could feel it deep in her bones. She longed to go back there, even knowing that the Queen Dowager was there. Yet there was also the Abbey at Billerbeck. There was Colvin and Hillel. If she went there first, could she warn Colvin in time and then travel to Muirwood? Was there time to do both?
Maderos’ eyes were fixed on hers.
Colvin thought she was dead. Hillel believed she was dead. Was it already too late to save him? Had he, by error, bound himself to Hillel by irrevocare sigil? Even if he had unwittingly bound himself to the wrong person, would it matter? Was it the name that mattered or the person he had clasped hands with? Would he kiss her, believing her to be his wife, and receive the curse of the Blight as a result?
It was pure agony. Was she already too late?
She could not know the answer to that. In the end, it did not matter. As much as she wanted to save Colvin, it was her duty to save Muirwood. Even though the thought of losing Colvin forever tortured her, she knew she had to do her duty. She could not force the Medium to do her will. She could only submit herself to the Medium’s will.
Tears had pooled again in her eyes, but she brushed them away harshly. “I will obey,” she whispered. She gripped Maderos by the arm. “If I understood the Aldermaston of Tintern properly, once I go to Muirwood, I will not be allowed to leave. I must remain there and help direct others to the safe haven. The Blight will afflict slowly at first. Then it will increase, faster and faster, as more fall to the curse.”
In her mind, she remembered the stories about the maypole dance in Dahomey, how Pareigis had taught the youth to be bound to the pole and then steal kisses when the boys were free. She shuddered, realizing how quickly the traditions would cause the fall.
Maderos eyed her somberly. His cheek muscle twitched.
Lia swallowed and nodded, firming her resolve and her courage. Then with a glint of determination in her eye, she approached the Apse Veil and passed through it to Muirwood.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE:
The Prince’s Death
Prince Alluwyn Lleu-Iselin stroked the baby’s cheek with his finger. Tears welled in his eyes and blurred the image of the child, his daughter. She was asleep, her little mouth puckered and at rest. Little tufts of golden hair crowned her fragile head. Bending low over the basket, he kissed those curls.
“Hold it steady,” he asked. The Evnissyen’s name was Nuric. He was young but he had proven himself trustworthy. He was fluent in three languages and looked like someone from Comoros with his straight dark hair. He would blend in better than the fair-haired Pry-rians. Nuric clenched the basket to his chest and held it still as the Prince placed two fingers on the babe’s head. “Close your eyes, Nuric.”
He obeyed and the Prince made the maston sign.
“I cannot speak your name, child. My tome is sealed. I cannot claim you as kin in words, but my heart is full. From this moment, you are a wretched. I Gift you that you may accomplish the work the Medium plans for you. This little hand, this tiny little hand will change the world. It will destroy. It will also build. You are dear to me, little one. I face my fate with courage that you may face yours. I Gift you with courage. I Gift you with faith. You will be strong in the Medium, child. Stronger than I. Until we rejoin at that day to come in Idumea, I give you all that I have and all that I am. My life for yours, dearest one. I die that you may live. Be it thus so.”
As the Prince lowered his hand, he saw wetness in Nuric’s eyes. The Medium was strong in the room. The Prince had not felt it very much of late. His heart was heavy with sorrow at the death of Elle and the devastation throughout Pry-Ree. Reaching out, he clasped Nuric’s shoulder. “Guard her, Nuric. Bear her safely to Muirwood.”
“I do not know the way,” he whispered hoarsely. “But I will find it.”
The Prince opened the pouch dangling from his belt and withdrew the Cruciger orb. “The Abbey is surrounded by marshland. It is desolate country, but it has its own beauty. When you are lost, and you will be, put the babe’s hand on the orb and the spindles will point the way for you.”
Nuric nodded and watched as the Prince tucked the orb within the blankets in the basket. Afterwards, he clenched the rim of the basket.
“It is crucial that she has the orb when she is older,” the Prince said, looking deep in his eyes. “She must have the orb. Only an Aldermaston can command it, or one of my blood. She will need it to find her way to safety. Without it, she will fail in her mission. I trust you, Nuric. I trust you to deliver her and the orb safely to Muirwood.”
“I will, my lord,” he promised. “I will do as you have commanded me.”
The Prince’s hand was still clenched around the basket. “Be faithful to me, Nuric. You must do all that I commanded you. If you fail, then we have no hope.”
“I will not fail you, my Prince,” he promised soberly.
“Go then. Take the secret tunnel so that no one sees you. The household is moving to Dungeurth castle for protection. The king’s army is nearing the river crossing. There is little time remaining. The orb will guide you past the army safely.”
With a nod, Nuric hugged the basket tightly against his chest. The Prince reached down and hoisted the trapdoor, exposing the ladder below. With a cautious step, Nuric managed his way down into the darkness. He looked up once, his eyes meeting the Prince’s. He nodded firmly. The Prince closed it and kicked the rushes back into place.
The ache in his heart deepened. A wretched – his daughter, the princess of Pry-Ree, soon to be the only heir of the kingdom – she was only a wretched now.
* * *
Prince Alluwyn reined in his stallion as they approached the turn that would lead to the river shallows. The path was obscured by enormous trees, towering redwoods that were wreathed in mist. The ferns swayed in the gentle breeze and the buzzing and cackle of birds and insects filled the air with chatter. Four Evnissyen flanked him, also mounted, each peering keenly into the mist.
“Do you hear the river?” said Braide. “We should hear it by now.”
“Too far,” muttered Tethys. He glanced back into the woods the way they had come. He seemed to be looking for something.
The Prince noticed the tightness of his jaw. The brooding expression. He had the sullen look of a guilty man. He would not meet the Prince’s eyes.
“After they cross the river,” the Prince asked, “How long can we hold them in these woods?”
Braide sniffed the air. “Two days at most, my lord.”
“Two days!” argued Kent. “We could hold them here a fortnight if we had a mind to do so. You speak rubbish, Braide.”
Braide shrugged, but did not change his answer.
“A fortnight,” Kent continued. “This is unfamiliar ground. They will move warily, expecting us to strike their flanks, which we shall. If we harass them, striking and fleeing, striking and fleeing, we can twist and pull their army in several directions. A smaller force, striking hard and fast, can convince an enemy it is larger than it is.”
“But you forget,” said the Prince, “that our enemies have joined forces. They have Pry-rian hunters among them. They know our tricks. They know our tactics. In a matter of force, we cannot prevail. We can only forstall them.”
Kent angrily scowled, not willing to concede the point. “Where is Campion? It is nearly dusk. The river is not far.”
“Coming,” Braide said, tightening his grip on the reins and nudging his stallion forward.
The sound of galloping was heard a moment later, piercing the cluck of birds and sending several keening into the wind as they flew away. Around the bend came an Evnissyen, hunched low over the
saddle. His face was streaked with sweat, his eyes wide with terror.
“Ambush!” he shouted when he saw them.
The Prince saw the arrow protruding from the meat of his massive arm as he reined in next to them.
“Ride, my lord!” Campion gasped. “They have already crossed the river. They were waiting for me in the woods, silent and still. Two hundred knights, if not more. They tried to shake me from the saddle, but I fought my way through.”
His hands were bloody. Campion looked backwards at the road. “They ride hard behind me. We will be hard pressed to make it back to the castle. Ride, my lord!”
“Crossed the river!” Kent seethed. “No one knows of the shallows here. No one save one of us. How could they have found it?”
“Ride to the castle,” the Prince ordered, his heart beginning to shudder with anticipation. His breath came in little gulps. “Ride hard while you can. They will be without the walls by morning. The women and children, make sure they are…”
The arrow struck him in the center of his back. The pain was excruciating, a hot fire that stole his breath and made him gasp. Already his fingers and legs were useless, seized up in a fit of agony. They would not respond.
“By Cheshu!” Kent roared. The Prince was facing the river. The arrow had come from behind.
“In the trees!” Tethys shouted, pointing. “I saw a man! Over there!”
The Prince fell from the saddle and struck the ground with a jolt that smashed his arm and stunned him. The pain in his back burned hotter and hotter. Spots danced in front of his eyes. He could not move. He could not scratch an itch on his nose.
“My lord!” Braide was off his saddle in an instant, gladius in hand.
