by Jeff Wheeler
Lia grabbed his arm, heart surging with hope. She had not brought herself to ask the question fearing what the answer would be. “What? The Aldermaston…he lives?”
Colvin smiled and patted her hand. “His heart did fail him and he collapsed at the gate, but he is still alive. And unconscious. Every time we try to Gift him with healing, the Medium forbids us to utter the words. His steward has not left his side.”
Lia was filled with relief and gratitude. “In my mind, I saw him fall. I am so pleased…so pleased we came in time.”
“Barely in time, Lia. Only barely. If Scarseth had not carried you to the Leering when he did, then the Queen Dowager would have won. For that reason alone I did not kill him, even though he stabbed you. But we do not know what to do with him. He does not want to be with the few survivors of the flood but we have no other confinement available. Nor do I trust giving him back his power of speech. He knows too much…especially about you. He was under the Queen Dowager’s thrall, there is no mistaking it. Demont thinks the Aldermaston should decide what to do with him after he awakens.”
Lia nodded. She felt a mixture of revulsion and compassion for the man who had killed her. What a contradiction. He stabbed her and then carried her to the Leering. She would not have been able to summon the defenses without his help. And she remembered his thoughts – his wild and pleading thoughts to help free him from the Queen’s grasp.
There was a gentle knock on the door. Colvin rose and went to it and unlocked the crossbar. In walked Pasqua with a tray of food as well as Siara, carrying a bundle of fresh linen bandages and a dish of powdered woad.
“She is awake?” Pasqua said suddenly, her voice rising. “And why did not you bother to tell us, you unthinking clod? She must be famished. Famished! I brought some broth for her and something for you to eat, but now I think I will not let you have a bite of it since you did not come and get me right away. Do not just stand there, young man, take the tray! I hope the soup sloshes on you.” She shoved it into Colvin’s hand and hobbled over to the bed where Lia winced with pain, expecting a hug that would hurt.
“Be gentle,” Colvin warned, carrying the tray over.
Pasqua took Lia’s good hand with both of hers. “Look at you, child.” She swept part of her hair back and caressed her cheek. “When that filthy man carried you up the hill, you looked a corpse though you were breathing. So much blood and injury. I do not think I can bear to let you out of my sight again, hunter or no. Are you hungry? Can I feed you?”
“Just the broth,” Siara said. “Anything stronger she may not be able to handle. Broth first. How is your pain, Lia? Do you need more valerianum to help you sleep?”
Lia shook her head violently. “No, I do not want to sleep.” She looked at Colvin, her heart aching with the thought of him leaving with Ellowyn in the morning.
“You need rest,” Siara said. “But even more, you need friends with you. Should we move you to the kitchen? There are many who want to see you.”
Lia wanted to see everyone, but she also wanted to be alone with Colvin. Maybe her conflict showed on her face, for she saw him approach with the tray and set it down. “I am not leaving your side until dawn.” He touched Pasqua’s shoulder deferentially. “With your permission of course.”
Pasqua looked up at him grudgingly and then nodded.
Lia sighed, her thoughts painful. She nodded at him as well.
Colvin pulled away the coverlet and gently scooped Lia into his arms. Even the slow and tender motion made her wince with pain, but she clenched her jaw to keep from crying out and tried to breathe through her nose as he started to walk. The kitchen was a short distance and Siara Healer led the way to pull open the doors while Pasqua followed with the tray. Lia rested her head against Colvin’s cheek as he tried not to jostle her. The pale sky was turning black outside, the smell of the sea hinted in the air. There were knight-mastons walking the grounds with torches, patrolling the borders, keeping them safe. A feeling of protection had settled over the Abbey. All was calm and quiet.
The smell of the kitchen greeted her and she blinked with the light and the rush of voices and sounds. Pasqua’s bed had been installed beneath the awning of the loft and barrels and chests and baskets had been relocated elsewhere in the room. She saw Pen-Ilyn sitting on a bucket with a tray of sambocade in one hand, shoveling the dessert into his mouth like a starving soul. He smiled and nodded at her, hurrying even faster now that Pasqua had returned. Colvin crossed the tiles to the bed and helped set her down after Sowe turned the sheet and stacked up the pillows.
Sowe took her hand, smiling warmly and then kissed her. Edmon was her shadow. His face was drawn and pale. He had the look of a slight fever about him and he moved with a visible wince.
“I am surprised to see you on your feet so soon, Edmon,” Lia told him, giving him a look of compassion.
“Not as surprised as I am. Sowe could have been a healer instead of a cook. Blue woad is an amazing plant though the skin around the wound is a little blue, but the bleeding stopped at least. And I will have a lovely scar where Dieyre stabbed me. I am sure I will never tire of telling the story of how I got it.”
Lia sighed, seeing the flash of old humor in his eyes. “You are lucky to be alive.”
His eyes became serious. “I do owe that to you in a way, Lia. Forgive me, but my emotions are a bit close to the surface, seeing you like this. Seeing what you have suffered. I can bear my lot. But it grieves me to see you in such pain. I lost what I was going to say…”
Sowe gave him a bashful look and prompted him, “How you survived. How Marciana saved you.”
“Ah, there it is. It is a short story. Do not worry – I will not make it longer in the telling, but I wanted you to know. When you and Colvin left on the boat, Dieyre wasted no time and drew his sword and said he would take Ciana with him. I was shocked and angry, though I should not have been. I was a fool thinking I could stop him and Ciana for trying to stop me, but I am rash, as you know. He disarmed me with hardly any effort, a fact which still wounds my pride. He cut me here,” he gestured to his torso with a wince, “and then smashed his fist into my face to knock me down and I am certain he was going to run me through and murder me. Colvin had told me that in the Bearden Muir when the sheriff’s men attacked him, that you stood in the way. Well, Marciana protected me with her own body and spoke so earnestly with Dieyre that she talked his temper down. He made her swear she would go with him peacefully if he did not slay me. I could see he was tempted. His eyes told me that he wanted me dead. But I was bleeding and maybe it was good enough. Maybe he thought I would just bleed to death. Ciana honored her part and rode off with Dieyre. I managed to stuff a rag into my wound and lurch on the road. The Medium saved me then, for I found a horse – one of the strays from the Dahomeyjans and rode to Muirwood. A great big black. Beautiful animal. I do not know how I made it on the saddle, but I did and collapsed outside the gate and was carried here.” He reached out and stroked Sowe’s hair absently.
“You should be resting,” Sowe said timidly and he nodded his surrender and hobbled back to a floor pallet where she helped him lie down.
Lia watched them for a moment and then gratefully took the tureen of soup from Pasqua, who clenched back her tears and stared at her injured girl with all the protective looks of a mother.
* * *
Dawn came too quickly, its arrival a torture Lia had been dreading. Colvin had waited vigil all night long and they spoke softly to each other, talking of their lives, sharing little stories that they had not told each other before. Sowe and Bryn were asleep in the loft above. Edmon lay still on a pallet near the bread oven. Pasqua entered quietly before the first cock crowed and stoked the fire in the hearth, pinched some salt into a cauldron after tasting the broth, and brought another bowl to Lia. She set some loaves near the oven to warm and gathered some fruits and nuts for the journey.
Colvin sat at the edge of Lia’s bed still, studying her face, his expression unreadable. �
��When we returned to Muirwood, I had been looking for a gift or reward for Sowe for her help when I was injured. I think I know what to give her now.”
Lia smiled, pleased that he remembered. “What then?”
“You saw the way they look at each other. Edmon is bedazzled by the girl. I cannot blame him. He told me yesterday he plans to stay at Muirwood and pass the maston test when he has recovered from his injury. When I am gone, I would like you to tell her that I plan to adopt her as my sister. The same offer I came here to make to you. She will have a marriage portion to bring. With all her years serving at the Aldermaston’s table, I think she would come to understand her new station. Would you present my offer to Sowe?”
Lia’s throat constricted with joy and she nodded, blinking back tears. “That is generous, Colvin.”
“She is your friend. I do this regardless of Edmon. If he changes his mind, which I do not expect that he will, she will still have rank and position. She is a good girl and I admire her. So does Ciana.”
A knock came to the kitchen door and Pen-Ilyn entered, but held it wide to admit Ellowyn and an older man. The last time Lia had seen him, it had been on the battlefield of Winterrowd, blood-spattered and leaning wearily against a wagon as he spoke to the survivors. She could hardly tell his face through the grime that day. But she knew him at once. Garen Demont. Something burned inside her heart seeing him, something fierce and tugging. It made her eyes brim with tears. Demont was probably fifty, but he looked younger, with a boyish face – cleanshaven, like Colvin’s – and a mess of untidy dark hair streaked with gray. He wore a chain hauberk and splotched tunic with all the comfortable grace of an experienced soldier and had his maston-sword buckled at his hip, his gloved hand resting on the pommel. Colvin’s hand was on the edge of her bed. Her fingers itched to snake out and snare his, to keep him from going. She knew the moment was coming but it still hurt.
“Are you ready, my lord of Forshee?” Demont asked Colvin sympathetically. “Though I myself loathe parting with you. If you leave now you will reach Bridgestow before dark. There are many ships that anchor there bound for Dahomey. You can make it to the island Abbey by the time we arrive in Comoros with the prisoners, I should think. Dochte Abbey is on the northern coast if you recall. It will only take you and Ellowyn a few days under sail if the weather is fine, I am certain of it.”
Colvin gave her a mournful look, his eyes dark and sad. He stood slowly, as if some heavy burden were fastened to his shoulders. He gave her one final look and then started towards the doorway. “I am ready.”
There was creaking in the loft above and Sowe and Bryn hurried down the ladder. Edmon was awake as well and rose, wincing with pain, clutching his wounded side. Pasqua stuffed the food in a new rucksack and handed it to Colvin at the door.
“Be you safe,” she said gruffly. “Come back to us when your duty is finished.”
Lia ached. She felt the tears sting her eyes as she saw her friends smothering him with attention. It was painful beyond enduring. Who would protect him if not her? Who would guide him when the way was lost? It was agony thinking about being in Muirwood without him. No more walks in the Cider Orchard. Not to see him at the laundry while she scrubbed clothes. His fierce gaze turned back to look at her, his jaw clenched with visible pain.
Edmon saw the look between them. He whispered something in Sowe’s ear and she nodded, wiping tears from her eyes and taking Pasqua by the arm and she and Bryn pulled her outside the kitchen into the fresh morning air just as the sky began to shine. Edmon said something to Demont and Ellowyn and escorted them outside as well, leaving Colvin alone on the threshold. Edmon glanced back and shut the door after himself.
Colvin stood rooted in place for a moment, rucksack dangling from his shoulder. Then he let it fall with a thump and he marched across the room and pulled Lia into a fierce hug. Lia swallowed with pain and pleasure, ignoring the little jolts of agony that came and hugged him back, sorrowing that she was losing him again. She smelled his hair, his leather jerkin, the scent of his skin – inhaled him all in one final memory, squeezing him until her hand throbbed and her side ached and her leg moaned with the motion.
“How I love you,” she whispered to him, feeling him tense at the words. “Please come back to me. Please take care of yourself. Every day you will be in my thoughts and I will be pleading for your safety. The Medium will protect you both. I have faith in that.”
She felt his sigh, his body tremble. Then pulling away slightly, he looked at her with inexpressible pain and longing in his eyes. It was the look of a man being tortured. “This is a hard thing,” he whispered. “Leaving you like this. I can hardly bear it. Will you help me? Will you…Gift me, Lia?”
A smile creased her mouth. “If you want me to.”
He knelt at the edge of the bed and bowed his head so she could reach it. She made the maston sign while she touched his hair. What could she say? It was her first time pronouncing one herself. What would the Medium require of him? Her thoughts were a jumble, all confused. She knew what she wanted to say, but she knew it had to come from the Medium and not her. “Colvin Price,” she said in a tremulous voice. “I gift you with…I gift you with…” She paused, searching through her contorting feelings for the right words. Then she felt it – a spark of warmth and assurance. An insight into his needs. “I gift you with wisdom and knowledge. That you may discern through the illusions and see things as they really are. As they really must be. By Idumea’s hand, make it so.”
The Medium was a warm blanket that fell around their shoulders. It was comforting and peaceful. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the sobs that would come later. He raised his head and stared in her eyes. His iron will had asserted itself again. He rose slowly from the bed and stared down at her. “I will come back to you. That is my promise. I will not break it this time.”
She smiled at him, feeling the tears burn in her eyes as she watched him leave again.
* * *
“While the Medium reveals itself in many forms and can come as a dramatic manifestation, it usually does not. Some mastons think they need to experience the full, raw power of the Medium before they are convinced of its possibilities. If we have unrealistic notions of how, when, or where the Medium reveals itself, we risk missing the tokens which come as quiet, reassuring feelings and thoughts while we are doing something else. These simple manifestations of the Medium can be equally convincing and powerful as the dramatic ones. Over time we learn how this works. It is something each maston learns for himself.”
- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey
* * *
CHAPTER FORTY SIX:
Scarseth’s Voice
The Aldermaston revived after three days. Word traveled through Muirwood as fast the birds in springtime. Pasqua rallied the kitchen to begin its work of feeding him and Lia was secretly relieved for the news. The kitchen began to hum and thrive, with Sowe and Bryn bending over balls of dough or brushing butter around the edge of a crust. Lia watched with jealousy, wishing she was active again. Each day was less painful than the one before it, though her heart was heavy. Word had come that Colvin and Ellowyn were bound on a ship for Dahomey out of Bridgestow. Garen Demont was still a guest at the Abbey and he treated his stay there as such, asking for permission from Prestwich instead of giving orders as if it were his own earldom. He deferred to the Abbey’s authority in all things.
“Sowe, can you slice the apples? He likes it in chunks. Bryn, up the ladder with you. Fetch a pumpkin. Go on, girl. Make haste! I am sure the Aldermaston is very hungry. I would like to have something ready quickly. Oh, that I had a spare shank to roast. Maybe I should send for the butcher.”
The kitchen door opened, letting in the blinding sunlight. Pasqua turned to bark in annoyance and stopped when she recognized the Aldermaston. Prestwich was there, gripping the old man’s arm to help keep him up.
“Aldermaston, we will bring the food to you,” Pasqua said, looking rattled at seeing him to soon. “We
are working as fast as we can. Sowe, Sowe..!”
“I am not hungry,” the Aldermaston said, his voice choked and low. He coughed into his fist, his whole body wracked with spasms. Prestwich clutched him to keep him on his feet, whispering soothingly to him. “Please…I must speak with Lia. If you would all leave us for a moment. I must consult with her.”
Lia stared at him. He looked even older and his eyes burned as if he had a fever. Prestwich helped walk him towards the bed.
“But…” Pasqua hedged, obviously distressed about being dismissed from her own kitchen.
But the Aldermaston did not speak further. Slowly, step by step, he approached, his eyes fixed on Lia’s. Prestwich helped him sit and then stood away.
“Even you, old friend,” the Aldermaston whispered. Prestwich nodded with a surly look and left the kitchen, as did the others. Pasqua grumbled indignantly but soon the door was shut and a hush fell over the kitchen, except for the snap and crack of the fire.
Lia reached out and took the old man’s hand with hers. She squeezed it, giving him a look of warmth and respect. Her throat choked with tears. It was such a relief to see him awake, his dark eyebrows arched over his fiery eyes. “What is it you would tell me?” she asked hoarsely.
He looked at her intently. “I have learned what happened three days ago. I have learned of your injuries. I know that Colvin has taken…her…to Dahomey because of the writing on the Cruciger orb. How were you able to read it, child? What did it say?”
