Lia stared at the bowl and noticed a Leering carved into the bottom. She knelt in front of it, looking at the simple face carved there. With a thought, she summoned its power and it filled with clear, cool water. In her mind, she heard it speak – a woman’s voice.
Bathe your hands, arms, and face.
Lia obeyed, cupping the cool water in her hands, washing them and then her arms. She cupped water in her hands and lifted it towards her face, but it felt…wrong. That was not the way to do it. She gripped the edges of the bowl and then pushed her face into the water.
The Leering’s eyes flashed with light and she felt a calm, peaceful feeling. Its words were barely a whisper.
Lay on the bier.
Lia rose from the bowl, her face dripping and she felt clean, refreshed. Gazing down into the ossuary, her heart spasmed with fear. It was not deep. It was not menacing. Yet there was something about it that terrified her. She gazed at the bowl’s edge, wondering what to do. Would the lid close on her, trapping her beneath the Abbey? What would happen? The fear was so strong, she felt helpless as she stared at it. But a thought murmured through the blackness, reminding her of where she was. Feelings were caused by the Leerings themselves. Gazing into the hole, she saw them, engraved into the walls surrounding it. Fear, uncertainty, strangeness, anticipation – all these emotions blurted out from the Leerings, warning her to go back. They were strong Leerings, but no stronger than any other she had faced. With a thought, she silenced them. The peaceful feeling returned.
Lia approached the edge of the ossuary, staring down at it curiously and then descended onto the stone slab set in the middle. She lay down, crossing her arms over her chest and waited. The Leerings were tamed. An insight struck her. The ossuary represented death. So many fears shrouded it because there was no telling what would happen next. It was the uncertainty of it, the anticipation, that made it torturous to ponder. Yet as she lay there, she realized it was but another step in her progress. And not even the most important one. As she lay still, pondering, she heard the seven Leerings carved into the pillars awaken and begin to speak to her. They each had a different voice, but they blurred together as they asked her questions, repeating them over and over, until it was nearly a babble. The images of their thoughts flooded her and she struggled against the feeling of drowning. There was no way to untangle them as they rushed her.
Will you live in piety towards the Essaios? Will you observe justice towards all men? Will you do no harm to any one unless the Medium commands you? Will you always hate the Myriad Ones, oppose them in all things, and assist the righteous causes? Will you live a life of purity and forsake every pleasure except with your husband? Will you show fidelity to all mastons, and especially Aldermastons in authority? If you become an Aldermaston, will you at no time whatsoever abuse your authority, nor endeavor to outshine the learners either in your garments, your speech, or any other finery? Will you be perpetually a lover and speaker of truth and reprove those that speak falsehoods? Will you will keep your hands clear from theft, and your soul from unlawful gains? Will you never discover any of these doctrines to others, even should anyone should compel you so to do at the hazard of your life? Will you preserve the tomes belonging to the mastons? Will you safeguard the names of the Essaios and those who visit your world from Idumea? Will you shun the enticings of Ereshkigal and her hetaera and qualify yourself to receive a new body and return to the world of Idumea?
There were so many pleadings, so many questions, she was frightened by them. Yet as she listened, she began to recognize the pattern of the oaths. She comprehended that each of the pillars was asking her two. As she listened, she could discern their voices through the maelstrom of thoughts. She realized that in order to silence them, she had to agree to the conditions each imposed on her. She started with the vine-shaped Leering.
Yes,
she thought in her mind. The Leering fell silent.
One by one, she listened for the thoughts, understood the oath she was making and then silenced it with a thought of assent. After each one, she felt the Medium more strongly. It blazed inside of her, building her confidence. At last she faced the final Leering, the bearded one.
Will you safeguard the names of the Essaios and those who visit your world from Idumea? Will you shun the enticings of Ereshkigal and her hetaera and qualify yourself to receive a new body and return to the world of Idumea?
It was an invitation. A trust. She felt the pleading words mingle with her emotions. How could she describe it otherwise? A pleading with her to return to them. To recognize the evil of the Myriad Ones for what they really were and to scorn them. To let nothing distract her from her goal of returning to Idumea.
Yes!
The final Leering fell silent for a moment.
Touch the white stone
, it whispered.
Lia sat up in the ossuary, staring at the billowy curtains of the Apse Veil. The white stones shone like noonday sun, almost blinding her with the intensity. She approached one of the inlets and reached out her hand. It was glowing white-hot, but she did not fear it. Reaching out, she cupped it in her hand and peered at it.
In the midst of the blaze a light and fire, a single word appeared on the stone.
A word she could not read.
* * *
“There is no anger above the anger of a woman. For her thoughts are more vast than the sea, and her counsels more deep than the great ocean.”
- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey
* * *
As Lia stared at the single word, she trembled with panic. She could not read it. She could not read anything. Why had the Aldermaston thought she could pass the maston test? She had come so far, taken so many oaths only to stumble now at the end. The Leerings she quelled. The white veils of the order covered her. How could she stop when it was so close? A few squiggly lines in a burning stone halting her purpose. She stared at them, amazed and defeated. To have come so far.
Anger and frustration boiled inside of her. This was not fair! She was a wretched. How could she be expected to pass a test that required reading? She stared at the word again, intently, the light burning her eyes. She winced at the brightness. She felt a prickle of discomfort in her hand. The stone was getting hotter.
She realized what was happening. The Medium was starting to retreat, to abandon her. Her thoughts were driving it away. The protection it provided slowly withdrew. She thought a moment, calming her heart and her anger, forcing herself to think. Why would the Aldermaston have sent her if he knew she would fail? She knew him too well. He would not have sent her unless he believed she would succeed. A memory drifted through her mind of when she first held the Cruciger orb and writing had appeared on its smooth surface. Colvin had stared at the writing, but he could not read it because it was written in Pry-rian and he did not know Pry-rian. The marking on the stone was not the same elliptical pattern of the Pry-rian language – what she had seen on the orb. What language was it written in then?
Another memory surfaced. When she and Colvin had fled from the sheriff’s men, they had hidden in the gardens outside the Abbey grounds and met Maderos. He had looked at the orb and understood the writing, even though he had never studied Pry-rian.
Do not doubt. Never doubt. I cannot read Pry-rian. It is a forgotten language now by so many. Though I cannot read the words, I was understanding what it said, little sister. The Medium whispers it to me as it does with many ancient languages.
Then she understood, as if a stroke of lightning came out of the sky and struck her mind. Even a maston would not know the word written on the stone, for it was written in the most ancient of languages – the language of Idumea, the tongue of the race of the Essaios. The test was whether or not one would despair. No matter how many tomes were studied, none of them were written in this language. It was a language that had to be felt, a language only the Medium could teach her.
It begins with a thought. She knew what she wanted. It burned fiercely inside of her.
I want to become a maston
.
I need to pass the Apse Veil
. She stared at the stone in her hand. It no longer burned her. She stared at the word patiently, waiting for the Medium to supply the answer to the riddle. She knew it would come. It had always come to her. The name of a spiky weed in the midst of the Bearden Muir. The recipe for tartarelles. The proper way to milk a cow or tether an arrowhead to a shaft. Knowledge had always come to her, whispering to her. She breathed deeply, inhaling the Medium with each sigh. She was patient. She waited, keeping her mind open to thoughts she knew would come.
They came as an image – a Muirwood apple. She saw herself holding it, tasting it, savoring it. Within each apple, a crown of five seeds. Each seed containing within it the potential to become a new apple tree. Each tree containing the possibility of producing thousands of apples, each with the possibility of producing trees, over and over, generation after generation. Never ending. Never beginning.
Fruitful.
The Medium whispered the name to her. What a brief, innocent little word. But the enormity of the thought of it drowned her imagination with its poignancy. She was but a seed right now. In the ossuary, she had been buried below the ground. A future transformation awaited her. A future more impossibly wondrous than she could imagine. A future the Myriad Ones were forever jealous of for they could never enjoy it. They were the very opposite of the word. The white stone blazed violently, stunning her with light and pain. It was so bright it burned her hand like a hot coal, so she set it back on the inlet of stone. She rubbed her palm. The skin was red and flaming. She looked closer. The burn had left a pink mark on her skin in the center of her palm. She stared at the stone, realizing it was no accident.
The billowy Apse Veil beckoned her forward. There were two portals, one on each side of the bearded Leering. She was drawn toward the one on the left.
She approached it, still rubbing her hand and stood before it, waiting. There was a faint shadow behind the cloth – a person.
A man’s voice spoke to her. “Welcome, little sister. What do you seek?”
She knew his tone immediately, the peculiar accent. It was Maderos, the one she and Colvin had met in the gardens with his crooked staff. Had he been there all along? Was there a tunnel beneath the Apse Veil leading to his secret chamber with the tomes? A passageway she had never seen before?
He had asked her a question.
Licking her lips, she answered. “I seek to become a maston.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “What do you desire?”
She wondered a moment, but the thought was quick to her mind this time. Everything she had learned from the Aldermaston’s instruction made the answer clear. “My home. I seek Idumea.”
His voice was thick with emotion. “What is your name?”
She knew the word in her tongue.
Fruitful.
But as she spoke, she felt the Gift of xenoglossia work her mouth and she said it in Idumean. “
Eprayim.
”
For a moment, she waited breathlessly. The smudge of shadow moved and through the gossamer veil, she saw Maderos’ hand reach out to pull her through. With excitement flittering inside her, she grabbed his hand. As soon as their skin touched, the world around her lurched dizzingly. She was falling, falling off a cliff. The air rushed through her eyes, her hair, her mouth, a deafening roar. She could not breathe. She could not think. The rush of light and sound was more furious than any midsummer storm. She gripped Maderos’ hand tightly, squeezing it for fear of losing herself into the void.
Then it was over, she was through. The Apse was huge – it was the highest point with a domed ceiling supported by enormous stone struts. There were windows set into the walls, thick with veils, but it seemed as if sunlight shone through them, which was absurd since it was only just night. The room was magnificently decorated with soft couches, tables, vases, fresh flowers, bowls of apples. Around the couches were large lacquered tables. One, near the far wall, had an open tome on it. Above the tome was a curious instrument – silver bows with transparent stones set into them. She knew instinctively that they were positioned over the tome to help in the reading of it.
Maderos was with her, garbed in white as well, a glimmering chaen shirt – like Colvin’s – beneath his. His crooked staff was no where to be seen. He had not changed a bit since she had last seen him. That was a year before, atop the Tor as he pointed her way to Winterrowd.
“Well done, lass,” he said, smiling at her. “You are a maston.”
“I am?”
“Why must I always repeat myself to you? You need to listen. Eh? You were born to be a maston. Or a hetaera. It is your choices which brought you through the Apse veil. It was your thoughts.”
Lia smiled sheepishly. “This is a beautiful chamber. I have never felt such peace.”
Maderos looked at her oddly. “Nor will you, until you visit Idumea.” He looked up at the great dome above. “This is not the finest nor the largest Abbey in this world. But that is not the point of building them. This is a place of refuge. I thought of taking you to Hautland, but that may have confused you.”