The Scourge of Muirwood (32 page)

There was the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Dieyre glanced towards the open door and then back at her. “What say you? Will we help each other?”

Lia pushed herself up and glared at him defiantly. “I can never trust you, Dieyre. I will get free without your help.”

“I highly doubt it, Lia,” Dieyre said, glancing again at the door. “I know what they will do to those who will not take the water rite. They will kill you tonight. Right now in fact. Let me help you.”

Lia shook her head. “If my work is finished, then it does not matter if I die.”

His face twisted with frustration. “You are too stubborn, girl.”

“I know who you serve,” Lia said tautly. “I know who she really is. You are a puppet.”

Dieyre’s eyes blazed with anger and his face flushed with emotion. He grabbed her arm and hoisted her off the bed. His gaze was like fire. “But you resisted her!” he hissed in a whisper. “Show me how! I did not believe it could be done, not after you have first surrendered. You broke her spell on that mute slave. Break her chains on me!”

Lia saw the panic in his eyes. It was the look of a drowning man who had long abandoned flailing in the water. “I cannot break the chains you forged against yourself,” she answered. “She snared you long ago in the form of a girl you desired. She lulled you with false promises. But in the end, she betrays us all. As she will betray you. I cannot stop that, Dieyre. And I cannot break your chains any more than I can make you an honorable man. I cannot undo all of the choices you have made.”

His jaw clenched with frustration as the Aldermaston returned, his nose purple and his face still sticky with blood. His eyes were murderous as he pointed to Lia.

“Take her above and let her join the others doomed to die.”

Dieyre’s expression hardened. “What if she submits to the water rite?” he asked.

The Aldermaston’s expression was mottled with hatred. “She had her chance already. Take her.”

* * *

Lia’s wrists were chained again in irons and she was dragged up the steps, exhausted. When she reached the outer doors, she felt the cool breeze but the air was sharp with a burning smell. Even though the sun had set, the sky was illuminated by fire. As Lia struggled to see, she saw a crowd of fifty or more, forced to kneel in the turf. They were surrounded by Dochte Mandar who wore the kystrels openly on top of their cassocks. Their faces were striped with the twists and insignias of tattoos. Some of the prisoners were children.

Lia was forced to kneel amidst the other prisoners. The faces around her were drawn and pinched with fear and dread. Many were whimpering. Some were crazed with the anticipation of death. The firelight was coming from the wall of the Abbey. It was not a bonfire, but a furnace-like opening that gushed with violent flames – like a giant hearth large and wide enough to fit twelve people. She sensed the Leering in the back of it, summoning fire from some nether world in a roar and rush that made it seem like a living thing.

The Aldermaston’s voice rose over the noise. “You are condemned to die this night because you have refused to submit to the water rite. You have been warned and forewarned that this would happen. Some of you cling to the mistaken belief that the Medium will save you. It will not. There is a new order for worshipping the Medium now. The order of the mastons has ended. In every realm, in every kingdom, across every land the Abbeys will burn this night.”

Lia stared at the flames, mesmerized by their ferocity. She breathed deeply, knowing that she would not be harmed. But those around her did not share her Gift. She glanced from face to face, her heart panging with sadness. As she looked at each one, she saw that they had been warned, at one time or another, to flee. They were stubborn, refusing to heed the warning that had been given to them. In her mind’s eye, she saw them clinging to that stubbornness, not to their belief in the Medium. Now it was too late. She saw a boy and craned her neck, but it was not the boy Jouvent. The mother near him was not Huette from Vezins. She had warned them both to go to the Holk. She hoped they had listened to her. One by one, face by face, she looked at them, feeling dread and sadness at what would happen to them. The warning had been given. Now it was too late.

Lia sighed deeply, preparing to be ushered into the flames. Deep inside, she knew her work was not finished. There was something remaining for her to do.

Lia felt someone’s eyes on her. She looked up and noticed the man near her. His face was familiar – she had seen him on the Holk, one of the crew. His gray eyes were staring intently at her face. Her mind rushed furiously for a moment, and then she remembered his name. Malcolm. His hands were bound behind his back as well.

Slowly, deliberately, he nodded to her.

The Aldermaston’s voice rose in a shriek. “The moment has come! The stars are in alignment to our cause. The silver moon smiles upon us. The sun has set in the ebony sky, hiding his face in shame. Throw them into the Gargouelle! May all who defy us be burned with fire.”

* * *

“We were married this evening at dusk, bound to each other by irrevocare sigil by the Aldermaston. Bound to each other forever. He is mine. At long last, he is mine. Colvin says the last loyal men to my uncle and myself will gather and fight in the Demont name. We ride on the morrow for Bosworth town to rally them. The orb will guide us there as it has guided us here. The guest quarters are beautifully furnished, though not as richly as Dochte. I must douse the lamps before he returns. He cannot see my shoulder. I have commanded the Leerings to burn when we leave. ”

- Ellowyn Demont at Billerbeck Abbey

* * *

Screams filled the night sky in a terrible melody. It was an unearthly sound, of fear and terror and pleading all mixing together into an agonizing chorus as, by two’s and three’s, the prisoners were clutched, dragged, and then shoved into the flaming maw of the Leering furnace. Lia stared at the bright flames, made even brighter somehow as the night deepened. She watched children, mothers, fathers, the aged – all corralled by the Dochte Mandar and thrust to their deaths. Some tried to recant, swearing they would accept the water rite, but there was no compassion. One after another were sent to the flames, the crowd of prisoners thinning moment after moment. The silver eyes of the Dochte Mandar gleamed, their power driving away any feeling of resistance or anger. Lia’s heart panged seeing the destruction and realized that on many nights to come, such a scene would be repeated.

The Aldermaston of Dochte strode towards her, his face flushed and gleaming with sweat. His look was exultant. “Behold your Blight,” he sneered at her. “Where is your power now, child? Where is your faith? It is nothing but ashes.” The look he gave her was savage and full of delight. “Send her next.”

Lia rose without being yanked to her feet as the others. She noticed, from the corner of her eye, that Malcolm rose just a shadow behind her. She grit her teeth, trying to summon the power of the Medium. She remembered the fire that consumed Almaguer’s men in the Bearden Muir. More than anything, she wanted to unleash it on the Aldermaston and those who served him. But it did not heed her plea. It was a selfish desire, she realized. Forcing down her hatred, she marched towards the Leering.

“Make sure she goes in,” the Aldermaston warned.

Malcolm strode next to her, his wrists in chains as well. The grass crumpled under her feet. Strange that her thoughts strayed to the feel of the grass. She felt no fear. The air was acrid, the smell sending a revolting lurch into her stomach. Soon the roar of the fires began to drown the shrieks of fear coming from those few remaining. Glancing down and to the side, she saw Malcolm walking step in step with her, shuffling forward towards the doom of the furnace.

“Stay with me,” she whispered to him. “I will try and save you.”

“Aye,” he replied gruffly, closing the gap.

The light from the furnace was blindingly bright. Lia strode forward, ignoring the wave of heat and tongues of whipping flames that sought her. She clenched her teeth, sinking inside herself, dropping into the calm memories of Muirwood. Even in death’s maw, she felt it – the peace and reassurance that she had grown up experiencing. Her love and admiration for the Aldermaston throbbed in her heart. She wondered where he was at that moment and if he was aware of her somehow. She had the deep impression that he knew much that he had not told her.

Malcolm sidled up next to her as they stepped into the jaws of flame together. There was heat and wind and jets of molten stone – and behind them all, an enormous Leering, blackened and ravaged by the forces compelling it to destroy the innocent. The chains that clutched her wrists and ankles melted in the heat. But no part of her was burned or even blackened with soot. She willed the protection to envelope Malcolm as well. She walked deeper into the throat, seeking the face carved in the rock. It was corrupted, of course. It would not obey her willingly. She prepared for the fight and walked closer, reaching out with her hand to touch it, to tame it, to crush its will with hers.

A hand closed on top of hers and brought her arm down. Lia turned, surprised. She did not know if Malcolm would survive the blaze. She had not dared to look at him, fearing any sliver of doubt. As she turned, she saw that he was no longer next to her. In his place, there was another man, his face she had not seen since she had sworn the maston oaths at Muirwood.

Maderos.

He shook his head slightly. “This way, sister,” he beckoned, drawing her towards the side of the vaulted furnace. Her heart thrilled to see him. As they stood near the side, he waved his hand over the rock and the stone beneath them began to sink and shudder, descending gradually down a well shaft that brought them lower and lower beneath the ground. The shaft opened below into a stone chamber, black and carved of sculpted rock. They were deep beneath the Abbey. After the stone settled, they stepped off it and it quickly ascended back up the shaft, floating alone until it plugged the hole and muted the furnace’s roar.

Maderos nodded to her to follow and and several Leerings erupted with a soft, tranquil light along the walls. The tunnel had been abandoned long ago, but it was not like Muirwood’s, carved out of dirt and earth and braced with timbers and stones. The whole tunnel was carved from stone and the sound of their boots clipped as they walked. It was musty and stale, but firm.

The light preceded them and opened to a large circular chamber. A stone railing blocked the way forward, which prevented a fall into a deep pit. The lights continued to wink as they circled the chamber from both sides, revealing other corridors leading out of the circular room. As Lia looked down past the rail, she saw a huge basin, an enormous basin, perched on the backs of Leerings in the shape of oxen. A small stone bridge led to the lip of the basin, which was empty.

“What is this place?” Lia asked, marveling.

“We are in the depths,” he answered, his voice heavily accented. “It was shut away long ago when the grounds were enlarged. Hmph,” he snorted. “Always getting bigger. But bigger does not mean worth. Bigger does not mean useful. It does not even mean respect. It is a sign of corruption.”

Lia stared at the vast chamber, feeling the Medium coming strongly from one of the tunnels.

He saw her gaze and nodded. “That is where you go, but not yet, sister. You are not ready.”

“It was you on the Holk,” she said.

He nodded somberly. “I have always been nearby, child. A servant. A sailor. A gardener. But my calling is to write your story. The story of your Family. A story that has spanned a thousand years and will span another thousand years. I engrave it, tome by tome.”

Lia’s eyes filled with tears. She was so relieved, so grateful to see him, that she grabbed his neck and sobbed against his chest. The horrors she had faced overwhelmed her. Trembling, she clutched him and felt a comforting pat on her back, a gentle sigh in her ear that all would be well.

“You have done well, child. A little further. Your work is not done. Courage.”

Mopping her eyes, she nodded and backed away, looking at him piercingly. “What must I do, Maderos?”

“You must bring the Blight,” he answered. “You must fulfill the warning. But before you enter that passageway, you must be an Aldermaston and you must know the irrevocare sigil. I am here for that purpose. Kneel.”

Lia slowly dropped to her knees as Maderos reached inside his gardener’s robes and withdrew an ancient jeweled vial. The vial had a gold stopper and had several gemstones encrusted on the ridge. Its craftsmanship was beyond description, with tiny elegant symbols etched into the surface. Maderos removed the stopper and gently tipped the vial over her head.

“Patience,” he said.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It is oil pressed from fruit in a certain garden in Idumea. The garden is called Semani. The Garden of Semani. It does not sound as grand in your language, but it has deep meanings. It is the anointing oil.”

Lia felt wetness on her head as the oil seeped into her wild hair. Maderos stoppered the vial and set it back within his robes. Then he placed a hand on her head and made the maston sign.