The Wretched of Muirwood

by Jeff Wheeler

  Lia bit her lip, thinking quickly. Then she remembered something – the orb in the Aldermaston’s study. The one she had seen him holding in the night that shone like a lamp. “I can lead you to your horse. Maybe I can also help you find the way to Winterrowd.”

  “But you said you did not…”

  “I do not know where it is. But the day is not done yet. I may be able to discover it.”

  He leaned forward. “Can you? How?”

  “If I can, I will find the way. Here, some food for your supper.” She handed him the linen, remembering she had been holding it the whole time. “And where did you get those apples? It is not even the season for Muirwood apples.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “They were already there. Same with the grain.”

  “Out of season?”

  He shrugged. “Season or not, the apples are good.”

  Lia went to the basket and knelt. The fruit was round and firm, the skin pinkish, red, and yellow. Just like the Cider Orchard. Muirwood apples were famous throughout the kingdom.

  “I doubt you know this, but there is a secret to finding the best ones,” she said. “Look at the skin. If it looks a bit rough, a little worn, with little splotches – those have the sweetest flavor. The ones that are perfect on the outside tend to be a bit more bland. That is true about many things in life. I always hunt for the best one before I take the first bite.”

  Gingerly, she lifted one out that had the telltale signs around the stem, and brought it up to her nose and smelled it. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the scent. Most apples just smelled like wood. But a ripe Muirwood apple had a subtle scent. She cherished the time when the harvest was done, when bushels were stored up in the loft and she could sleep amidst the tender smell.

  “Whatever are you doing?” he asked her, his voice a bit amused.

  “You never just eat a Muirwood apple, Colvin. You must always smell it first.”

  “It is fruit. The coloring is a bit odd – at first I thought they weren’t ripe until I tasted one.”

  She gave him a mockingly stern look. “Never just eat them. Smell them. Savor it first.” She closed her eyes and let its glorious scent fill her again. “Then you can eat it.” She took a bite and it was tart and sweet at the same time, juicy and crisp. “There are many ways to bake, boil, mash, spice, and fry them – but they are perfect alone.” She relished the flavor, the texture in her mouth. After swallowing, she looked up at him. “It was a Muirwood apple that tempted the first Parents you know.”

  He gave her an exasperated look, but did not reply. His expression indicated that she was being discourteous again to the dead.

  She straightened and brushed some dirt off her dress while she enjoyed the fruit. “I will see if I can learn the way to Winterrowd. Watch for Sowe and I at sunrise at the waymarker.” She took another bite. “Leaving tonight would be dangerous anyway. Dawn will give you a full day to ride tomorrow.”

  He nodded, said nothing in farewell as he was eating ravenously from the food she brought. She finished the apple after climbing back up the ancient steps. To get back to the kitchen, she crossed the orchard. It would be a while before the orchard filled with blossoms and heavy fruit. Having been raised at the Abbey, she knew everything about them. That apples each had five seeds, and if cut a certain way, they were shaped like a star. They were useful in many dishes, including soup. Lia knew dozens of ways of preparing them.

  “Where have you been hiding, Lia?” came a voice behind her as she crossed the ring of oaks bordering the kitchen.

  She glanced back at Getman Smith with annoyance and kept walking. “I have not been hiding anywhere.”

  He caught up with her and grabbed her arm. “Hold a moment. Where were you?”

  She tried to yank her arm free, but his grip was strong. Some of the boys said he was stronger than Jon Hunter, though she doubted it.

  “You are hurting my arm.” She gritted her teeth to keep back the pain.

  “Tell me where you were.”

  “Why does it matter where I was?”

  He squeezed even harder which nearly made her cry, but she sucked it down and glared at him. “Because they say you know where the wounded soldier is. Is it true? Do you, Lia? The one the sheriff was looking for?”

  She wanted to slap him across the face, but she dared not. She had seen him thrash someone for daring to scowl at him. “Do not be a fool, Getman. They already searched the kitchens. Both of them. You are wrong…” His fingers dug into her arm even worse and she nearly went wild with pain. “Stop it, Getman!”

  “If they had found him, we all would have known. Do not be a fool, Lia. Do not think I am a fool. The Aldermaston visits your kitchen all the time. You hear things that none of us do. Is the Aldermaston hiding him?”

  “You are daft!” Lia shouted at him. “The old man does not tell us anything interesting.” She finally managed to jerk her arm free.

  His face scrunched up with anger. “If you have lied to me again, I swear by Idumea you will regret it. The sheriff’s men offered a reward to the one who finds the soldier. I am getting that reward. You remember that. The Aldermaston is a fool if he is risking hiding him. A true fool.”

  Lia held the tears back until she made it inside the kitchen.

  CHAPTER TWELVE:

  Winterrowd

  Pasqua ground some peppers in the pestle with vigorous strokes. “Carry the meal to the Aldermaston, Sowe, before the old niffler starts grumbling again. He has been in high dudgeon since that sheriff left.”

  “I will do it,” Lia offered. Sowe pouted, and Pasqua noticed her frown.

  “Both of you go then. The looks you give each other lately are wont to bring an early winter. Quickly now. Do not dawdle at the manor. Whitsunday is near enough. There is much to prepare, and we need to count the stores to be sure there is enough. Laziness from either of you and I will be tempted to bring back the switch.”

  “We are not lazy,” Lia said under her breath as she hefted the tray. Sowe opened the door for her and followed her out.

  “You never like carrying food to the Aldermaston,” Lia said to Sowe. “Why do you care if I should do it twice?”

  “We should tell the Aldermaston,” Sowe said softly.

  “You are thinking like a goose. The king is coming. The Aldermaston would be in trouble if he knew.”

  “Then why are we helping him get in trouble by hiding…him?”

  “He has a name,” Lia said with a smug feeling.

  “Which he has only shared with you.”

  “And you are jealous that he did?”

  “I am not jealous. I am worried.”

  “You are always worried, Sowe.”

  “You should be worried too! The trouble is that you are not worried enough. If the Aldermaston finds out that we lied to him, he will punish us. I do not want to be sent to the village.”

  “He will not send us away,” Lia said, though not totally sure of herself. She was about to tell Sowe to open the door to the manor, but she did it on her own. They walked in uncomfortable silence to the Aldermaston’s chamber and Sowe knocked timidly.

  “Knock harder,” Lia said with frustration. “You knock too softly.”

  Sowe knocked a little harder then pulled the handle and opened it, and Lia entered first.

  “Thank you both,” the Aldermaston said. “It has been a calmer day for all of us. Ah, the soup smells wonderful. Very fragrant. Give my compliments to Pasqua.”

  “We will,” Lia said and Sowe turned to go, but Lia lingered.

  The Aldermaston paused before the steamy bowl and gave Lia a quizzical look. “Yes?”

  Lia swallowed. “They say that the king’s army is coming. That there may be war.”

  “There may be. Do not be concerned about it.” He raised his spoon to sip.

  “But if there are soldiers, they may come to the abbey. The sheriff said…”

  The Aldermaston interrupted, “I would not regard anything the sheriff told you
.”

  Lia clenched her teeth, tried not to frown, and glanced at the chimneypiece on the side wall. It was a quick look, the slightest glance, just to be sure it was still on the mantle. It was.

  * * *

  Lia, with Sowe fidgeting alongside her, returned for the tray and dishes after sunset. She knew the Aldermaston would be discussing the events of the day with the teachers. His personal chamber was usually empty at that time.

  “What are you doing?” Sowe asked as Lia approached the chimneypiece. “You are not supposed to touch…Lia, what are you…Lia!”

  On the mantle, beneath a leather wrap, there was a shiny metal orb, its rim decorated with intricate markings. The bottom half was made out of solid gold or aurichalcum. Two spindles suspended on a round inset. The top half of the sphere was made from gold stays that joined at the top to a sculpted design. It reminded Lia of the kitchen roof and how the beams arched upwards and supported the weight of bricks and shingles. The orb was heavy, but not unexpectedly so, about the size of a large apple.

  “Put that away!” Sowe whispered, looking back at the door. “If the Aldermaston saw you…”

  “If you are so nervous, then listen at the door instead of whining at me. I need to see if it will work for me.”

  “Work for you? That is more valuable than the ring you stole, Lia. Do not tell me you are going to steal it. Put it down, please!”

  Lia held the orb in her hand and looked at the spindles, at the rim. Years before, a child had wandered from the nursery and was lost in the swampland surrounding the rear of the abbey. Every helper spent hours trying to find the little boy, and since Jon Hunter had not returned from a neighboring abbey, no one could locate the missing boy. As sunset threatened nightfall, the Aldermaston used the orb. The spindles had spun dizzyingly and then directed them on the right course. He was found just after sunset in the woods surrounding the grounds.

  The weight of the orb against her palm was reassuring and warm. In her heart, she believed it would work. If the Leerings obeyed her, she knew this would too. Taking a deep breath, she sent her thoughts inside it – show me the way to Winterrowd.

  “Lia, please…oh!”

  The orb came to life, the inner ring whirring faster than a waterwheel. The spindles on the top joined together and pointed west. Writing appeared on the lower half the orb, as if an invisible hand with a stylus etched them there in the blink of an eye.

  “Lia…how did you do that?” Sowe whispered in awe.

  Lia stared at it, a broad smile on her face. She was very pleased with herself. “I just asked it to show me the direction of Winterrowd. Let me try it again. Show me the Aldermaston.”

  The spindles whirred again, the points going apart before coming together again, pointing in the direction of the cloister.

  “Where is Pasqua?” Lia said again, and again the spindles parted and then joined, pointing exactly in the direction of the Abbey kitchen. She looked into Sowe’s eyes and saw fear and respect blazing there.

  “Bring me the mug from the tray.”

  Sowe shook her head no. “You cannot steal this, Lia. If you are caught…”

  “I am not going to steal it. I just need to borrow it. If it will point the way to Winterrowd, then all is done. We can send our friend on his way and I can return it tomorrow.”

  “But the Aldermaston…what if he…?”

  Lia wanted to shake her. “Yes, if he misses it, he will be furious. There is a life at risk. Do not be so heartless. We have helped him this far. We cannot abandon him to the sheriff to be murdered.”

  “No, Lia. You are stealing from the Aldermaston’s private chamber. This is worse than the ring, for those did not truly belong to him anyway. If he finds out…do you understand the risk? If he finds out you did this…”

  Lia stamped her foot. “What is the likelihood that tonight, of all nights, a disaster will happen that will require him to use it? We can sneak it back tomorrow the same way we are taking it tonight. He will not even know we touched it.”

  “But if something was going to happen, he would know. Who else would he blame? Astrid?”

  “Sowe, you are acting like you are six again.”

  “Where would we hide it? How would we sneak it past Pasqua?”

  Lia grinned, glad she had convinced Sowe at last. “Those questions are better, and I have already figured them out. No, you will not get blamed for it as you fear. Bring me the mug to take its place on the chimneypiece. Hurry!”

  And so, despite Sowe’s protests and hand-wringing, Lia stole the orb. For even though she had said it was borrowing, in the deeper part of her feelings, she knew the truth.

  * * *

  His name was Colvin Price and he would become the Earl of Forshee. Lia nestled against the wall near the low-burning flames from the bread ovens. The Leering eyes were dull. The bricks smelled of yeast and milled flour. She thought about Colvin and the first night he had ended up in the kitchen, bewildered, sick, and wounded. His distrust was understandable now. His very life depended on people not knowing who he truly was. The king did not suffer traitors to live. In fact, the penalty for treason was a harsh death. It made her sick inside thinking what the king’s men would do to him before killing him. Only the bravest of knight-mastons would risk that fate. And Colvin was not even a knight yet.

  She looked up at the loft. Even down by the fire, she could hear Sowe breathing. It amazed her how long Sowe could sleep. She prized it greater than snitches of treacle or stolen edges of crust. Lia could not sleep. She was too excited about the dawn and what the daylight would bring. And she was conflicted – especially by the thought that she might never see Colvin again.

  The thought caused a little pinprick of regret which she tried to squash, but it still poked her.

  Lia stood, setting the orb down near the flagstones and then tied up the linen stuffed with food. Stolen cuts of meat stuffed into husks of bread, along with carrots, turnips, two kinds of cheeses, nuts, and a flask. They had wrapped it in several sheets of linen to preserve it and would carry it down to the waymarker before dawn.

  A firm knock sounded on the rear kitchen door, making Lia jump with fright. She rushed to the door, expecting to see Colvin. Hurryingly, she raised the crossbar and pulled the door handle.

  But it was not the armiger. It was not the sheriff.

  It was the knight-maston who had brought Colvin to the Abbey days ago, still haggard and mud-splattered and wearing the magnificent sword belted to his waist.

  “Look at you, lass. You seem surprised I came back. Why is that?”

  “You came,” Lia nearly gasped. “I did not think…the sheriff’s men…I thought they had captured you.”

  “The sheriff’s men? Unimaginable. They do not have enough brains between them to fill the husk of a nut, but that is neither here nor there. From what I heard in the village yesterday, you have done your part with great cleverness. He is safe?”

  Lia nodded triumphantly.

  He smiled broadly at her. “There is a good lass. I knew you were a clever girl. So young to be so clever.” He nudged the door with the tip of his boot. “He is not hiding in here, is he?”

  “No, the sheriff ransacked the place looking for him. Sowe and I – she is my companion you know – we took him to a safe place.”

  “Is he far?”

  “Not very. I was going to fetch him at dawn and steal his horse back and…”

  “His horse? It wandered here too?”

  “Yes, days ago. We are trying to help him find Winterrowd. But now that you are here, you can take him with you and…”

  He shook his head, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow. “No, it is nearly dawn. I must flee before the other helpers awaken. Tell him to meet me at the Pilgrim Inn. I will be waiting for him. The sheriff’s men are leagues from here by now.”

  “The Pilgrim,” Lia echoed. “It is nearby. I will tell him. You are a brave knight. Garen Demont is lucky to have you. Do you suspect the sheriff is watchi
ng the road?”

  He smiled, appearing flattered. “It is you who are brave. Oh, I am sure the road is being watched. Sheriff Almaguer is not as clever as you, but he is still a fearful man. Did you see him when he came to the abbey?”

  “He came to the kitchen looking for…” She almost said his name and stopped herself, not knowing if the knight maston already knew who he was escorting. “For him.”

  “That must have frightened you.”

  “He is a frightful man. But the Aldermaston sent him away.”

  “Brave lass. I am proud of you. Here – for your bravery and for the risks you have taken.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a coin pouch that jingled when he shook it. “I would do more, and I will after he is delivered safely to the Pilgrim. Perhaps it will be of use to you when you are eighteen and ready to make your way in this harsh world. Hide it where you put you other treasures.” He handed it to her. As she tentatively took it, his other hand clasped on top of hers, warm and rough – a soldier’s hand. “I will not forget. Thank you, lass. Now hurry, hide it before the cook comes and ruins our plan. You remember the name of the inn?”

  “The Pilgrim,” Lia said, bursting with pleasure inside.

  He let her hand go after a gentle pat. “First the Pilgrim. Then to Winterrowd. We may have a chance yet, with him on our side.”

  * * *

  “Learners question why faces are carved into stone as a means of preserving the magic of the Medium. There are many levels of symbolism involved that can be shared openly. Stone symbolizes permanence. The faces represent mankind’s ultimate and eventual dominion over the elements of nature and even time itself. Nature continues on its course, a continuing cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. But one, acting under the proper authority of the Medium, can alter that course. The likeness of the sun, moon, and stars symbolizes that great power exists beyond this world that can control this one. We are, after all, living on only one of the worlds inhabited by the Family. Any deeper meaning of the symbolism, along with instruction for creating them – the uninitiated mockingly call them ‘leering stones’ – can only be had through the rites of the Abbey. All mastons know this, and they do not share it outside their order.”