The Wretched of Muirwood

by Jeff Wheeler

  He slipped the amulet into a secret pocket and patted it lightly.

  He wondered how much the Aldermaston’s good name would be tarnished. Would Muirwood Abbey be shamed with the unraveling of the Winterrowd plot? If that happened, it was worth all the treasure in his bag. Unable to help it, he started to chuckle. It had the makings of a merry day.

  * * *

  It was hard for Lia to breathe. The feelings that smote inside her were too much to bear. Guilt – a horrible guilt for her unwitting betrayal. Fury – searing, scalding, ravaging fury at the thief who deceived her. How glibly he had done it. His words had achieved their every intention. By making her think that he was trusting her, she had unknowingly trusted him all the more. It was all so very clear. She hated herself for being fooled so easily. She was a fool. No matter that the thief was older than her and cunning as a serpent. Her own cunning had probably surprised him. He was the one who sent the sheriff to the Muirwood kitchens and only blind luck had prevented Almaguer from reaching the Aldermaston’s kitchen first instead of the learner kitchen. If that had happened, Colvin would have been caught in their midst – and she an accomplice.

  She had been so sure of herself, so sure that she would be able to outwit them all. With trembling hands and tears dangling from her lashes, she whisked the dirt and spilled seeds into a pile. Truth was painful. Her own greed had hastened the deception. The desire to read had driven her for as long as she could remember. She stopped, seeing the look in Colvin’s eyes as he promised to help her achieve that dream. The memory caused so much pain, she had to stop and cough loudly to keep Pasqua ignorant of the sobs that threatened to completely break open. How could she have been so blind? What was there to do? Colvin was on horseback. The village lay beyond the abbey walls. He was probably at the inn already.

  The kitchen door burst open and Astrid Page ran in. His tousled black hair settled as he came in breathlessly. He went to Pasqua. “The Aldermaston…desires to see Lia. He says she must come straightaway.”

  Pasqua scowled at the boy. “What is this nonsense? We have much work to do. There are other helpers he can call on.”

  “No, Pasqua, he requested her. She must come right now.”

  Lia’s heart shuddered in her chest and she clenched the broom handle until her arms trembled. Looking about, she noticed that Sowe had not returned yet from bringing the Aldermaston’s meal. Oh, no. For the second time that morning, she understood the complicated and vicious feelings of betrayal. As clear as the noonday sun, she knew Sowe had told all. Gripping the broom handle angrily, she nearly snapped it over her knee.

  Everything in her life was unraveling around her, but she was determined to stop it and mend it. There was little time to think – she needed to act rather than be acted upon.

  “Let me fetch my cloak first,” she said impatiently, walking to the pegs, drying her eyes.

  “You hardly need a cloak,” Pasqua scolded. “If the Aldermaston begs for your audience, then you move. No trifling here. You obey. That is always what is best where he is concerned. Did Sowe spill something? What is this about?”

  “I do not know, mum. She was there in his chamber, crying. There were no spills that I could tell.”

  Lia fastened the cloak and walked to the loft ladder, ducking quickly behind a barrel and grasped the Cruciger orb. She licked her lips, giving less than a second thought to what she was about to do. If she thought about it much, she would lose her courage. Her choices were dwindling like water through her fingers.

  “What are you fiddling with, child?” Pasqua demanded, hand on her hip, bowl in the other. “What have you there? In your hand?”

  “I know what the Aldermaston wants. It will not take long. Go on, Astrid. I will be right there,” she lied.

  “What is that in your hand, child?”

  Lia rushed past her, where the page boy was already pulling open the door. As soon as she felt the cold misty air on her face, she took a deep final breath. The smell of the kitchen, the luxurious scent of breads, cheeses, roasting meat – she breathed it in one last time.

  “Lia!” Pasqua called after her. “You come back here! When I call you, you come! Lia!”

  Lia started to run, away from the manor house. In her mind she said the words, find the Pilgrim Inn. The spindles within the orb began to whirl.

  * * *

  “Those who have not been initiated into the order of the mastons may wonder why these beautiful Abbeys are built. The fact that each one takes nearly a generation to construct is a reminder of their great importance and sense of permanence. They are built from stone that may endure through the ages like the mountains. The walls, joints, arches, the trim, the flowerbeds, even the unspoiled trees nearby are rich with meaning and symbolism. I shall not divulge the rites that take place inside, but instead, draw your mind to the fact that learners must study for years before they are allowed within the precincts. Within – each dungeon, room, screen, and veil speaks of our progression in this life as we toil to draw ever closer in unity with the Medium. There are some whispers now and then, spoken in hushed tones when they do not think they are heard, that these grand Abbeys are not just buildings of learning and reflection. Rather, they are gateways to other worlds, that when those living who listen for the utterances of the Medium truly hearken, in all ages and across all time, they will build themselves structures of chiseled stone and polished pewter. Then they can travel beyond to other worlds – even to Idumea itself. I will not say whether or not these rumors are true. Only this – that the reverence and humility given to these magnificent structures are unequivocally deserved.”

  - Cuthbert Renowden of Billerbeck Abbey

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

  The Pilgrim

  The days of the Whitsun Fair were the only times Lia ever walked beyond the walls of the abbey. Those who lived within, especially the wretcheds, never left until their time of service was complete. If something was needed from the village, then it was brought to the abbey and handed through the gate. For the most part, both worlds existed as separately as possible. Lia had an idea where the Pilgrim was, on High Street just beyond the northernmost walls of the Abbey grounds, and that was the direction the pointers of the Cruciger orb led as she ran through the mist.

  But as she drew closer to the enormous sanctuary, the pointers swung directly at it instead of where she expected. Her shoes squished in the grass and her breath came in quick gasps as she stopped running. Behind her, in the mist, lay the manor where the Aldermaston waited for her. She stared at the orb, confused. The walls of the grounds were somewhere in front of her, but the pointers were fixed on the Abbey itself. She started walking again, and the pointers swung even more prominently back, directing her towards the abbey. Strange writing appeared on the lower half of the orb, but there was no way of understanding what it meant.

  She stopped again, wondering what to do. In her mind, she thought the words, Find the Pilgrim Inn. The spindles did not move. The pointers did not waver. She thought again. Take me to Colvin. More engraving appeared, its beautiful curving text shimmering against the surface of the orb. The pointers did not change. Though confused, she decided to trust it. Was Colvin at the Abbey? Had he managed to escape the sheriff somehow?

  As she looked up at the abbey, fear began to churn inside her. It was not built like a fortress, with battlement walls and looming parapets with drapes dangling from poles. Its looming presence was a sight she had witnessed all of her life, yet she looked at it afresh with new eyes. The stone structure was enormous, rising well above the heights of the towering oaks. The windows were all veiled with mottled glass, so thick that it was impossible to see inside, and even if that were not so, there were heavy curtains within.

  Wretcheds never went inside. Only learners who had completed their studies and the rites would emerge wearing a shirt of chaen beneath their clothes. She had no idea what happened, how it happened, or what mysterious things the learners were taught inside.
It was whispered that those who entered had to demonstrate their mastery of the Medium in order to receive their chaen shirt. Since it took four years of intense learning to acquire the skills necessary even to enter, the trials experienced within must be beyond comprehension.

  Lia had walked the grounds since she was old enough to get into mischief. She had run her hand across each surface and crevice around the entire structure. Sometimes she and Sowe had lain in the grass and imagined what it looked like inside. What gruesome Leerings were there? Scrollwork and carvings decorated the entire façade, with repeating themes like arches that overlapped. The front end of the Abbey was shorter than the rear side, two levels high compared to three and four further back as it rose like a mountain. Lia had already passed the main doors, which were always locked. No one ever entered through the main doors. But along the lower levels, there were several other entry points that had been carved into the design.

  The pointers of the orb shifted as she approached, directing her along the north face of the Abbey. In fact, the orb directed her to a beautifully crafted doorway. It was made of three connected archways, each one fit within the one before it, shrinking slowly to the door itself which was made of solid wood and gleaming with pewter. The sinking feeling in her stomach grew more intense. Foreboding seethed inside her soul. Wretcheds were not allowed in the sanctuary. It was totally, absolutely, strictly forbidden. Why was the orb showing her the door?

  She stopped at the threshold, shivering. Sweat popped up on her forehead. The pointers on the orb did not change – it pointed directly to the doors. What if she were caught? What if the Aldermaston found out? Did that really matter any more? Had she sinned enough by stealing the orb that he would cast her out of the abbey forever anyway? If that was so, then this would be her last chance to see the inside. Maybe her only chance.

  She took a step forward and the foreboding darkened her thoughts even more, nearly making her cry. It was so big, so vast, so hugely important – and she, a wretched, was nothing. Then she noticed them. Her eyes were drawn to them, their subtly glowing eyes staring at her. There were small Leerings carved into base of the arches. One a man. One a woman. One a lion. One a sun. She realized that they were all exuding their power, warning her to back away. If they were Leerings, she might be able to control them. With a thought, she silenced them, and the sense of foreboding vanished. The oppression and heavy feeling fled, leaving her gasping with relief. Somewhere in the mist, a bird whistled its song, startling her.

  It was only the Medium. The feelings were not real.

  Lia mounted the steps and approached the pewter doors. Reaching out, she gripped the huge door-pull and tugged. It opened smoothly with the sound of a breathless sigh as the outside air was sucked in.

  Holding her breath, she entered.

  When the door shut behind her, all was dark until the Cruciger orb flared alive, shining like a lamp as it had for the Aldermaston in the night. The scene took her breath away. A sharp ceiling rose up, supporting by giant stone buttresses. The walls were adorned with colorful tapestries. Small tables stood here and there, the bases of solid onyx or marble carved into Leerings, and on the tabletops were pots of flowers in bloom, rich and vibrant, as if fresh sunlight fed them daily. Blooming flowers – in the dark!

  Taking a step in wonderment, she stopped as soon as her toe left the woven mat and touched the polished, perfect, square tiles. Her shoes were dirty and wet, and not only would they leave marks on the polished floors, it did not feel right to be wearing them. Kneeling, she removed her shoes and wiped her feet on the hem of her cloak. Clutching the shoes, she stepped onto the cool tiles and followed the direction the pointers led her.

  The hall was vast, the illumination of the orb chasing the shadows only so far. Each step she took sounded in her ears, her bare feet padding over the smooth stone. Sowe would never have gone this far, she thought with a little throb of smugness.

  The pointers turned sharply, and she noticed that she’d nearly passed an interior doorway. After crossing to it, she pulled on the handle and saw a set of stairs leading down into the gloom. The tunnel was dark, but there was no dirt nor did she see a single insect hiding in the corners. The steps curved down and around, depositing her in another room.

  She was below ground level in a room where the roof was supported by many thick arches. The floor tiles were a different color than the ones above. These were slate gray, in thick squares that tiled the entire area. Rows of wooden benches were arranged facing the head of the room, with an aisle separating them. The benches were waxed and polished, made from dark-stained oak that could seat several people across. She walked down the center aisle, stopping to feel the wood as she passed each one, and the light from the orb illuminated the head of the room.

  In the center of a small cove at the head of the room stood a stone table, with a flat squarish surface. It was built atop of several layers of stone blocks. It was long enough that a single body could lay atop the surface, and the sight of it transfixed her. A rushing, soothing, excited feeling came over her when she saw it. What was this strange table? What did it mean?

  Reverently, she approached it, running her hand along the edge, careful not to let her muddy shoes touch it. There was something familiar about it, something that whispered inside her heart, calling to her. She glanced down at the orb and saw the pointers aiming to an alcove to the right.

  Lia hesitated, not wanting to leave the peculiar room and its enigmatic stone table. Biting her lip, she rested the heel of her hand against the table one more time, trying to understand the source of the feelings inside her. Then she followed the pointers into the alcove that appeared to go nowhere. The alcove was raised slightly up a thin stone step. There was no other way to go.

  What was wrong? The alcove led nowhere. Confused, she stepped back off and looked at the pointers again, but they were still pointing into the dead space. New writing appeared in the lower half of the orb, but it was not helpful to her. Going back to the table, the pointers directed her back again to the alcove.

  At the alcove, she looked for carvings or Leerings that might give her a clue what she was to do next. The walls were polished stone, like the rest of the room. The workmanship exquisite – no, dazzling. She touched the walls and pushed, but they were firm. Then she stepped back off into the room and looked down at the lip of the step. It had a small gap between it and the floor. She knelt and ran her finger along the edge, and it was cold to the touch. After setting down the orb and her shoes, she pried her fingers beneath it and lifted.

  The entire floor of the alcove, stone and all, raised effortlessly, exposing steep stairs down. Breathless with excitement, Lia descended carefully and the lid of the alcove floor swung down above her. With the orb as her only light, her toes scraping against rough stone, she made her way into the bowels of the shaft until it ended in a jagged room that was not pristine or sculptured or scented with fresh flowers. The den was harsh and gloomy and smelled of earth, moisture, and worms. Beneath her feet, the ground was hard and cobbled, and she slipped her shoes back on. Three tunnels diverted in three different directions. Each one was low enough that Lia had to stoop. Without the orb, she never would have known which one to take. It pointed clearly to one of them.

  An ancient feeling stifled the air. Above her the full weight of the abbey oppressed her, and the wonder of it startled her and made her a little fearful. Until Colvin had come to Muirwood, she had no idea there were secret rooms beneath the grounds. Perhaps one of the tunnels led to the room where he had discovered the tomes? How many more tunnels were there? What other secrets did the Aldermaston guard so silently?

  Clutching the orb, Lia ducked low and started down the tunnel.

  * * *

  The Leering blocking the way was carved into the likeness of a man with a sad face. It was fixed inside a stone wall that completely blocked the tunnel. The journey through the tunnel felt as if she had walked at least a league, but it could not have been that far
for the Pilgrim was just beyond the outer walls of the Abbey grounds, across High Street. Walking with a crouched back and a halting pace did not lend itself well for speed. The Leering seemed subdued, and she looked at it, wondering what kind of power it held. In her mind, she invoked it. Nothing happened. No fire or water or any other such manifestation responded to her. The orb, glowing as brightly and smokeless as it had, continued to point to the wall.

  Reaching out, Lia pushed against it, but it did not budge. Then she pulled at it, but could not work it loose. The ground was soft and made entirely of dirt, the air stale and putrid. She worked at it for a while, trying to find a way beyond the barrier.

  A sound behind the stone wall startled her. A voice, muffled by the stone, was speaking. Then the stone began to open.

  “Sorry it took a while, but I am here. So much commotion upstairs. One of the children had to tell me you arrived. There we are, and you already have a lamp I see and…and who are you?”

  As the wall swung open towards her, spilling light and smells, it also revealed the face of a middling man with pasty skin, reddish-brown thinning hair, staring at her in surprise. The smells that struck her were familiar to one who had been raised in the kitchen. Sacks and kegs and milled grain, the sweetly sour smell of a cellar.

  “Who are you?” he repeated, looking at her crossly. He had a lamp in his other hand. The doorway beyond opened into a cellar – the cellar of the Pilgrim, if she was guessing right – and there was a boy and a girl, about her own age, staring at her with interest, and another little girl, not older than eight, looking at her with wonder and licking dough off a wooden spoon.