It was his turn to be silent. She let it flow past them, like a brook of sweet water.
Another voice broke the stillness. “Is it almost dawn?” Dieyre asked. “With all your whispering, we may as well saddle the mounts and ride. I swear, you two are the kingdom’s greatest fools.” He rolled over and glared at them, his eyes digging like knives. “How can anyone sleep with all that whispering?”
Lia glanced at Colvin, saw the anger flaring in his eyes. She did not know how much he had overheard.
“If anyone deserves to be scolded, it is you,” she said, rising to her feet. “You slept through your watch. In a war, you would be flogged, I believe. Instead, I will withhold your rations. Enjoy the shrewberries, my lord. When you have a duty, you must fulfill it. Or you will ride alone after this.”
She said it pointedly, wanting him to question whether or not she was sincere, but inside she did worry how much Dieyre had overheard.
* * *
“The Blight is not to be feared. It is only a manifestation of the thoughts prevailing in the world. Where weeds are sown, weeds grow. We are more wicked together than separately. If you are forced to be in a crowd, then most of all you should withdraw into yourself.”
- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey
* * *
There was no way around the bog, so they went through it. The horses struggled against the mire, straining to pull their burdens through the fetid waters rising up to their flanks. Swarms of gnats and mosquitoes tormented them and she could hear Dieyre and Colvin bickering in low tones behind her. The oak trees were sickly and stunted, the branches black instead of brown. There was a new smell in the air, heavy and spoiled and vaguely familiar. The further they went, the more it became distinct – pungent – and then it revealed itself. They were near the sea.
Dieyre’s voice rose in tone. “But you are a
man
as well as a maston. Best if you realize that someday.”
Colvin’s horse suddenly plunged faster, churning through the mud as he caught up with Lia. Her eyes were trained on the expanse ahead of them, a building knot of oaks so thick that rose on some chain of hillocks that would hopefully lift them out of the deep wetlands.
His voice was thick with suppressed anger. “If I asked you, would you shoot him with your bow? The man is insufferable.”
Lia glanced over her shoulder, smirking. “Are we that close to murder? Maybe I could shoot his horse instead. What is he troubling you about now?”
Colvin’s eyes flashed darkly. “It is of no concern. He merely presumes every man is like himself and it is his sworn duty to help them realize it. His conscience must be searing him again – if he has one.”
She nodded and kept prodding her beast forward. “Do you smell it?”
“We are near the waters separating us from Pry-Ree. Do you think we are far from Bridgestow?”
“I do not know,” Lia replied. “I was hoping the hills ahead of us would offer a view, but they seem rather crowded with trees. We are going east, that is all I know, and Bridgestow is east.”
“Damnable flies!” Dieyre roared behind them. “This is the most loathsome place in the kingdom.”
Lia glanced at Colvin and shook her head. “There is a certain beauty to this wilderness that I had not recognized until Martin trained me. Ah, the ground is firmer.”
With solid earth beneath them, Lia dismounted to rest the weary animal and led by the bridle. She withdrew the orb and summoned it again, watching the spindles whir and point. In a moment, she was surrounded by the Myriad ones. They engulfed her, drawn to her thoughts or to the orb, and began snuffling and mewling around her. The orb flashed once and writing appeared on the smooth surface, thin filigree letters that had always haunted her. She stiffened with panic.
“Do you feel it?” Colvin whispered, pulling his horse next to her. His eyes met hers.
She nodded. “They are thick. I am…not sure if the orb summoned them or we did.”
“Put it away,” Colvin instructed. He calmed his horse which turned fractious the moment the Myriad Ones swarmed them.
Lia did and withdrew her bow, getting an arrow ready.
“What is it?” Dieyre said, riding up behind them. He scanned the woods, his eyes suddenly wary.
“I must scout ahead,” Lia said, handing her reins to Colvin.
“No, let me,” he returned, but she shook her head.
“I am better at this work than you,” she said. “You two are not very quiet.”
Colvin frowned, hesitating a moment, but he took her reins and nodded mutely. With her bow ready, she continued up the hill, amazed at the thronging smoke shapes around her, the Unborn. It felt unclean when they sniffed at her, hissing in the invisible realm they came from. She realized something as she walked. Until that moment, she had felt the comforting presence of Muirwood all around her. There was something about wearing the chaen that had captured its essence. Every other time she had wandered the Bearden Muir with Martin or by herself, the moors had felt dangerous and unruly. Since becoming a maston, it was different. Regardless of where she went, its peace was with her. Until now – until the Myriad Ones had found her.
The oaks were overrun with scraggly vines with bronze-colored leaves. The brush around her was thick with it when she noticed it. The vines were everywhere, dozens and dozens of leagues from where she had last encountered them, near Jon Hunter’s grave. Every direction she looked, except where she had come from, the poisonous growth choked the oaks. She was careful – very careful – not to touch it. But it covered the ground as well. With cautious steps, she bounded this way and that, until she felt the burning Leering ahead on the hilltop. She sensed it before she saw it.
Crowning the hilltop was a stone boulder, enormous in size, like that of a mountain where the earth had worn away from it. The Leering was carved into its eastward side, but it was so blackened and crumbled that she could not tell whether the image was of a man or beast. The eyes were pock-marks of molten stone, blazing red with furious flames. The growth of the poisonous leaves smothered it. Every nearby tree had succumbed to the tangled vines. The Leering drew her nearer, whispering for her to touch it. Lia approached carefully, listening for sounds – searching for the trample marks of men. There was nothing but the primeval woods. The rock shimmered with heat.
Every sound in the forest stilled except the beckoning whisper from the Leering. She fought down an urge to be sick. The Myriad Ones crooned at her in delight. Slowly, she approached the ragged scorched face.
The urge to touch it became desperate.
She stared into the blazing eyes, into the depths of an excruciating agony, a torture beyond anything she could imagine. The Leering was pleading with her to end it. To heal the burning. The Aldermaston’s words drifted through her thoughts, reminding her of the maston training, of her gifts. Firetaming.
Reaching out, she pressed her palm against the stub-nose of the Leering, confident it would not scald her hand. There was heat and warmth, but nothing that scorched her. In fact, in all her years in the Aldermaston’s kitchen, she could not remember a single time she had ever burned herself. The stone was rough and scarred.
“I release you,” she whispered, invoking the Medium.
In her mind’s eye, she saw Scarseth turn and look at her. She could see him clearly in her mind, hunched over one of the Leerings that protected the Abbey grounds. He stared at her, knowing where she was as she knew where he was. For a moment, they were connected within each other’s mind. His thoughts thrusted against her violently.
There you are!
Even with all the distance between them, he used the Leering as a sort of bridge to connect with her. To push all of his deep, filthy thoughts into her mind, to surround her with fear and despair, and hopelessness. To force her to do his will. But he had not counted on something. She was a maston now.
“I release you,” she whispered again, more forcefully, quenching the fire that raged in the Leering.
The cracked and pitted stone began to cool as the fire guttered out, obeying her. There was no rigid defiance, no angry throb of regret. With a sharp crack, the stone split apart, sheared into huge slabs and slices. With it went the bond with Scarseth. She took a breath of relief, grateful that the Leering had not defied her as the other one had. There were no blisters on her palm or fingers. She turned and looked down the other side of the hill. The woods were thicker, rich and green with ferns and catmint.
A sick worry bloomed in her stomach. Scarseth was still in the woods outside Muirwood, and now he knew that she was gone.
* * *
After warning Dieyre and Colvin about touching the poisonous plant sap, she led them over the ridge and into the lush lowlands on the other side. The rich and fertile land was a stark contrast and she knew they had exited the Bearden Muir. They rode forward hastily, knowing it would be a hard ride to reach the town before twilight. A hard ride perhaps, but possible.
The orb led them through the tangled woods north instead of east, which surprised Lia. Low-hanging branches clawed at them, the growth so heavy in places it was difficult to see far. Treacherous ravines were abundant, but the orb guided them to narrow crossings or makeshift bridges constructed by local woodsmen.
In the deep woods ahead, a woman’s scream rang out.
Lia started. The scream was followed by the shouts of men’s voices. Sharp commands, barked orders. She held up her hand, motioning the other two to stop. Slipping off the saddle, she threaded an arrow in the string. Whose voice was it? Ellowyn’s? Marciana’s? There was no way to tell, but the orb was pointing in the direction of the sound.
“Have we caught up with them?” Dieyre marveled, as if truly surprised.
Colvin grabbed her arm. “The Queen’s men? Or the Pry-rians?”
“I need to get closer to tell,” she said. “Wait for me here.”
His grip tightened. “Not this time. We go together. All of us,” he added before Dieyre could snort his objection.
She sighed. “You can follow me, but let me go on ahead of you in case there is a trap. We do not know how many there are and do not want to stumble in the midst of a fight.”
“Actually.” Dieyre said with a wicked grin. “I do. Let me go on ahead. If they are the Queen’s men looking for the girl, they would listen to me.”
“Which is why I will not let you do that,” Colvin rebuffed. “I am sworn to protect her.”
“That scream may have been your sister, Forshee. I am not going to stand around here arguing with you. My interest is Ciana’s safety. Ellowyn can be hanged for all I care. You have not trusted me this entire trip. It is time I earned it.”
“Lia goes first,” Colvin demanded.
“Very well, but she cannot have all the fun. Go, girl. Save some of them for me.” He jerked his sword loose in the scabbard, his face dotted with mosquito welts.
Lia darted ahead and they began to follow after securing the horses to some branches. She moved swiftly, low to the ground. There was a screen of bushy ferns everywhere, providing good concealment for her movements. She held her bow in front, ready to be used. The sound of voices grew louder and she could make out the Dahomeyjan accent.
“Search the house! Up in the rafters as well. Quit wailing, woman, or I will strike you! Move on. Go on then. Inside.”
The woods began to thin and Lia saw the first sentries, set back into the woods closer to her, watching. They were garbed in the black and silver tunics of the Queen Dowager. The two directly in front of her were looking at the scene with interest. Beyond them, she saw a small clearing and a thatch-roofed dwelling. There were at least a dozen or more soldiers tramping the grounds surrounding the wattle-and-daub abode. It had a single door and no windows. Beyond it, she saw the sun glimmering off the waters of the sea, interspersed with thick pine.
Not wanting to be heard, Lia went away from the sentries, moving towards the rear of the house. The fern was even thicker there, and taller, which made it easier to hide as she hunched low. There was enough of a breeze to sway the leafy boughs, helping to conceal her.
To her left, she heard a soft whimper, a child’s and then it was stifled. Changing her course, she headed towards the sound, gliding through the mess of fern towards a copse of witch hazel.
A gentle hushing sound.
“I hear them,” another girl’s voice murmured, throbbing with worry.
“Sshhh, it will be all right,” soothed another voice which Lia recognized at once.
She parted the first bough of green hazel leaves and found Marciana crouched with three small children, huddled tight together. She realized that the children had been speaking Pry-rian.
Marciana started when Lia appeared, her eyes wide with fear and then gaped with recognition. “You found us!” she gasped.
“The bad men!” one of the little children said, a girl, tugging at Marciana’s gown and pointing back towards the house. “The bad men are coming!”