The Ciphers of Muirwood (2 page)

Sanford recognized the captain. His name was Trefew. He was one of the king’s new sworn men. Descended from the Naestors, he was a brutal man rumored to have no conscience at all.

“Well, then,” said Morton, his voice quavering. “I make no speeches. I am a humble servant of the king’s will. I did refuse to sign. That is true. I am a man, Captain Trefew. And I die a maston of the chaen, a faithful servant both to the Medium and to the king.” He carefully knelt in front of the block.

The man with the hood stepped behind him and loosened his tunic collar, exposing the bare flesh of his neck and the silver chaen. Sanford stopped breathing.

No, no, no!

Morton laid his head down on the block, but then held up one hand, staying the executioner as a soldier handed him an axe.

“A moment, let me put my beard aside. It committed no treason. There we are. Do your office, Master Headsman. I forgive you.”

The four sons watched in horror as the headsman lifted the axe.

There was an audible gasp from the crowd.

When it was done, Sanford pulled the window handle and shut the glass, blocking out the grim sight with his body. His sons’ eyes were wide, their cheeks pale. Mennion scurried over to a privy bucket and vomited up his breakfast.

A maston murdered in daylight before a crowd under the pretense of law. Not even in Colvin Price’s day had a king committed such an egregious act against an innocent man.

Sanford turned to his sons. “We must find a way to escape,” he said in a low, urgent voice. “Captain Trefew looked up at our window. He wanted to be sure we were watching.”

CHAPTER TWO

Binding Sigil

T
he dinghy glided down the river, cutting through the waters like a slick fish. The air was thick with strange smells and gnats that shimmered and glided in the waning afternoon sun. Maia felt a sheen of sweat on her brow, and her heart bubbled with anticipation as the docks loomed closer. The
Holk
waited back in the estuary, a massive black shadow moored alongside a wharf built against the fenlands, near a cabin made of stone blocks.

Maia hunched on the small bench, feeling anxious and excited. For so long, she had wished to go to Muirwood Abbey and become a maston. The faint buddings of hope inside her heart were so delicate and fragile, she was frightened even to breathe on them lest they be snatched away.

Jon Tayt worked the oars tirelessly. His boarhound, Argus, had settled along the bench near Maia, his muzzle resting on her lap. Next to her, clutching her arm, was her grandmother Sabine Demont, the High Seer of Pry-Ree, who gazed up at the abbey grounds with a curious smile, as if she were seeing something that Maia could not.

Muirwood was beautiful. The abbey rose above them, its steep gray walls covered in a web of scaffolding, and even from the river Maia could hear the sound of hammers striking chisels and see the ropes and pulleys strain as stones were added to the structure. There were dozens of workers around and on the abbey.

Maia squeezed Sabine’s arm. “I thought construction had been halted,” she said, her mouth widening in amazement. “I heard my father order it.”

Sabine grabbed her hand to squeeze it. “He did, Maia. But we answer to the Medium’s will. Can you feel it here?”

Maia nodded humbly. “From the
Holk
as we approached. I have never felt so calm and peaceful. I could feel the abbey . . .
welcoming
me.”

“When Lia drove out the Queen Dowager and her people after Muirwood was burned, she set protections on these grounds and fixed them by irrevocare sigil. The Myriad Ones cannot dwell here, and neither can any who serve them. You will be safe here, Maia. You must prepare yourself to take the maston test so you can fulfill Lia’s prophecy and open the Apse Veil again, restoring the abbey’s full rites. The dead must be freed from this world, and the mastons who are still in Assinica need to escape. It is the only way.” She pointed to the scaffolding. “The interior work is already finished. The exterior is nearly done as well. The scaffolding is a disguise to make others believe the abbey is still far from completion. We should never judge by what we see on the outside.”

“I was wondering what was left to do on it,” Jon Tayt said gruffly. “It looks nigh well finished to my eyes.”

“It will be done by Whitsunday,” Sabine said. “It has taken many years to co
mplete, but it was built faithfully in the style of its predecessor. I can see the old abbey in my mind, Maia.”

Jon Tayt pulled one of the oars in and began maneuvering the skiff to the dock post. There was a man there with a pole and hook, waiting for them. As they came nearer, Jon Tayt fetched a coiled rope and flung the bulk to the man on the dock, keeping hold of one end. He quickly tied a knot to secure it to the bollard and then stepped onto the dock to confront the man who was fastening the other end.

“You are doing it wrong,” Jon Tayt said angrily, shooing him away. “Let me.”

Maia smiled. Jon Tayt was very particular about how things ought to be done. He was short and squat, with wavy copper curls covering part of his balding head and a bushy pointed beard that held on to the crumbs of his various meals. Argus bounded from the dinghy onto the dock, and the boat rocked slightly, earning the dog a curt whistle from his master.

“Welcome back to Muirwood, my lady,” said the dockman to Sabine. “I sent the page running to the Aldermaston as soon as we spied the
Holk
upriver. He wishes to see you right away.”

“Thank you,” she replied. Maia went to cross to the dock on her own, but Jon Tayt finished with the rope and reached out a meaty hand to pull her across. She wore a pale blue gown that marked her as a wretched. Not that the dress would actually disguise her, but it would offer her more anonymity, making it easier for her to blend in with those living at the abbey. Her stomach trembled with nerves as she thanked Jon Tayt and waited for Sabine to be helped onto the dock.

Her grandmother was sprightly in her movements, considering her age. Her long hair had gray streaks through it, but the natural buttery color was still evident, and her wise eyes and lovely smile commanded more attention than her wrinkles and crags.

“This is your new home as well,” Sabine said, turning back to the hunter. “The hunter’s lodging is ready for you. But please come with us to meet the Aldermaston.”

Jon Tayt sighed. “I would rather walk the grounds and get a feel for this bog. The Bearden Muir, you called it? By Cheshu, I miss Pry-Ree! I do see a lot of oak trees, though. Will be good for throwing my axes. They look hardy enough.”

Taking Maia’s arm, Sabine led her down the dock to a series of stone steps that led them up the hill. Jon Tayt followed behind, carrying their gear like a pack horse, and Argus padded next to him.

As they mounted the steps, the grounds became suddenly visible, and Maia smiled to see so many people about. Sabine walked close to her, pointing out the various sights. “There is much to see, but let me quickly explain what I can. The cloisters are over there, the lower wall next to the abbey. That is where the learners study reading and engraving. The boys study there during the day, but after the gates are locked at night, the Aldermaston’s wife brings the Ciphers there to study.”

“Do the boys know? Surely someone must see them?”

“There are tunnels beneath the abbey grounds, Maia. The Ciphers enter the cloisters from the tunnels. Not even the gate porter knows what goes on after he locks up each night. The tunnels connect the Aldermaston’s manor to the abbey, as well as to several other locations, including one in the village beyond the walls. Leerings protect the passageways. Over there, that is the laundry where lavenders scrub the clothes. And there is the duck pond. One of my favorite places is the Cider Orchard, where the Muirwood apples grow. It is lovely in the spring.” Maia’s heart thrilled at the sight of it. She had heard dozens of stories about her ancestors Lia and Colvin and how special the Cider Orchard had been to them. How she longed to visit it.

“Are there any apples?” Maia asked.

Sabine shook her head. “It is not the season yet. Wait until spring. The Aldermaston’s kitchen. Do you see it over there with the steep roof and the cupola? That is where you will eat, Maia. It is the same as when my great-grandmother lived there many years ago. When my mother returned on the ships, it was still standing. So was the orchard, though it had grown rather wild! After many years of taming and tending, it was restored. The Aldermaston’s manor is next to the kitchen. The learner quarters are over there, but you will not be staying there.”

Maia looked at her in concern. “Where then?”

“You will stay in the Aldermaston’s manor, Maia. Your father may have disinherited you, but you are still a king’s daughter. I have asked the Aldermaston to choose one of the Ciphers to be your companion. She will stay at the manor with you.”

Maia nodded, biting her lip. Her emotions continued to bubble inside her—a strange brew of nervousness and anticipation. This was really happening. For years she had longed to come to Muirwood and see her mother. A pang of sadness stabbed her heart, which she concealed from the others.

As she gazed at those wandering the grounds, she could easily discern the difference between the wretcheds and the learners by the style of their clothing and bearing. Young men and young women walked the grounds, some wearing the finery of nobility, others wearing pale blue gowns and girdles or blue tunics and belts. She saw several—of both classes—look her way curiously. Some began whispering and pointing. Some looked very young.

“How many learners are here?” Maia asked, keeping her voice low.

“Forty or so. Many start when they are twelve or thirteen, but few make it to their fourth or fifth year. If someone has not passed the maston test by the end of their sixth year, they are sent away.”

“I am nearly nineteen,” Maia said, feeling the twist of anxiety in her stomach. “I have not had enough time to prepare.”

“Lia passed the maston test when she was younger than you, and she had never studied a tome in her life. Strength in the Medium comes from your Family. You already know how to read, and you speak multiple languages, which gives you an advantage over many of these learners. Some struggle to speak a sentence of Dahomeyjan, yet you are fluent. You have had
more
training than most of the learners. And your experience in the world . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Following her gaze, Maia saw a man and woman were approaching them from the Aldermaston’s manor. Then she recognized the pair’s gray ceremonial robes and realized it was the Aldermaston and his wife. She was not certain what she had been expecting, but she had not imagined that she would be
taller
than the Aldermaston. He was short and stocky, with wispy gray hair that receded far up his scalp. His ears were large and pronounced and his jowls slightly drooping. She had expected a beard, but he was clean-shaven. He did not look imposing, the kind of man who could call thunder out of the sky. His wife was bird-thin and frail, with silver hair that was short and bobbed.

As the distance separating them closed, what struck her next about the Aldermaston were his eyes. They were light brown in color, yet they were the most piercing, intense eyes she had ever encountered. As his gaze shifted from Sabine to her, she felt as if he was reaching inside her soul and examining her deepest secrets, her hidden shame. The eyes were full of wisdom. They were compassionate. They were deeper than the depths of the sea. She felt stripped of all concealment by the time he came to a stop in front of her.

The Aldermaston’s warm hand reached forward and found hers. He clasped her hands within his and brought her closer. “Welcome,” he said in a sincere, ponderous way. “Welcome to Muirwood. We are so pleased you have come. You are the daughter of mastons, and now you will become one yourself. You are most welcome, Marciana.”

“Thank you, Aldermaston,” Maia said, her voice trembling with emotion from the tenderness of his greeting. He looked at her as if she were his own daughter. She could feel the power of the Medium radiating from him like ripples of steam off a hot kettle.

As soon as the Aldermaston released her hands, his wife pulled her into a hug. Maia could feel the bones of the woman’s shoulder blades through the fabric of her cassock, and her nose was flooded with the welcome scent of purple mint. When the woman pulled away, she gazed at Maia with unmistakable warmth. “Hello, Maia,” she whispered. Then she patted her cheek.

“Come with us to the house,” the Aldermaston said, and then gestured to Jon Tayt to approach. “There is much we must discuss. You are Jon Tayt, our new hunter? Welcome, sir. Come with us.”

Maia did not understand the whirlwind of emotions inside her, but she nearly started weeping. There was a feeling in the air, something thick and tremulous and unidentifiable. It weighed almost painfully on her heart.

They reached the manor house and entered it, drawing the gaze and whispers of the learners and helpers all around the abbey grounds.

There was a very tall man with thick graying hair waiting for them in the Aldermaston’s private chamber. He wore simple yet dignified robes of office, and he greeted the Aldermaston as soon as they entered.

“I brought her, Aldermaston,” the man said, bowing respectfully. The difference in their heights was almost startling. “She awaits in the anteroom.”

“Thank you.” He motioned toward the man. “This is Tomas, my steward. We have served together for many years. He is a faithful counselor and taught engraving in the cloisters for many years. And Tomas”—this time he flourished an arm toward Maia—“this is our new guest.”

“Welcome, Lady Marciana,” Tomas said with a smile that flashed two large dimples in his cheeks. He had a large graying mustache to match his thick hair, and he stroked it absently. “Would you like anyone else to be here, Aldermaston? I can send for the healer?”

The Aldermaston gave a subtle shake of his head and only lifted his palm slightly. “No, Tomas. Thank you. We are enough.”

As soon as Tomas shut the door, enclosing them all in the room, the Aldermaston turned to look at Maia, his face serious and sad. “Marciana, I have grievous news.”

She swallowed, feeling her insides ripping. “My mother is dead,” she said softly, the words thick in her throat.

The Aldermaston nodded heavily and Sabine put her arm around Maia’s shoulders.

Grief sent cracks through Maia’s heart. The truth had come to her in a dream, so it was no surprise, yet the announcement still felt like a blade stabbed between her ribs. She flinched, trying to master herself.