“It is nearly dusk,” one of the soldiers said.
“Past dusk,” another growled.
“Almost,” Almaguer said. “Feed the fires.”
Lia knew somehow that she did not have long. Whatever they were going to do, they were waiting until the sun had set. She leaned her head back against the stone and shut her eyes, not wanting to see anything. Her wrists were heavy, the weight of the irons pressing against her lap.
It begins with a thought.
Those were Colvin’s words. The words his Aldermaston had taught him. What then to think of? As the soldiers bustled about the camp, anxious for the dark of night, Lia drifted inside herself. Muirwood. She focused her mind on the sights and sounds of Muirwood. The cloisters where the learners studied from golden tomes. The manor where she served the Aldermaston his dinner. A bowl of soup – a heel of bread. The fish pond and its oily smell. One of her favorite places - the Cider Orchard. Yes, the Cider Orchard in bloom in the spring, when a hundred thousand apple blossoms danced in the air like snowflakes. She felt the corner of her mouth twitch, as if it wanted to smile through the misery. There were the cemetery ruins where she and Sowe ate shrewberries and teased and talked. Another image - a giant mound of ossuaries left to molder in the woods. Laughter filled her ears as she remembered playing there, knowing that she held a secret other wretcheds did not know. And what of the tunnels beneath the abbey? A maze of tunnels that the Aldermaston used to keep his secrets. She could not wait to explore them, to study the mazes until she knew them by heart.
“It is time, child,” Almaguer said near her ear.
His words jolted her, turning the skies of her imagination black.
Do not fear him. Lia – do not fear him! The Medium will not abandon you, unless you abandon it.
The thoughts sounded like Colvin’s. Was he trying to speak to her?
She focused her thoughts on Muirwood, just as he had told her. She brought the Aldermaston his supper. A crock full of salty soup. He loved Pasqua’s soups, especially the warm broth with melted cheese and diced onions and apples.
“You took something from me,” Almaguer said. “You have been using it. I sense its power coming from you. Have you noticed the shadows it paints on your flesh? It leaves its mark on your breast. Water will not purge it. The stain spreads with time.”
Lia kept her eyes closed, even though his breath gusted on her cheek. The Medium was real. She knew it was. Her memories went further back – to the night of the storm. There was Jon Hunter, dripping wet, muddy from his fall. Pasqua being scolded by the Aldermaston. And there was the Aldermaston, his beard damp from the rain. His will had quenched the storm. How had he done it?
It begins with a thought.
No, it was not the Aldermaston’s will that had done it. You cannot force the Medium, Colvin said. If you try and force it, it flees. Instead, you open yourself to the Medium. You seek its will. To understand its purposes.
But why would it have sent her this far to fail? Why would the Cruciger orb lead her to a Leering in the middle of the Bearden Muir and not show a way to escape? Surely there was one path of safety that would have led from the thicket. Surely…
Do not doubt! Do not doubt, Lia!
Almaguer’s voice was cold, yet throbbing. “Once you have tasted this power, it grows like a hunger. Do you feel that hunger, child? Whatever you desire, you can achieve. Anything. Anything you desire. I must have it back.” She felt his fingers graze her skin, by her throat. But she did not feel afraid. The thoughts of Muirwood lingered. His hands were trembling, his fingers trembling. As if some power shook him. He was trying to pull out the ring from her bodice.
“Give it to me!”
Lia kept her eyes shut, thinking on that night the Aldermaston had calmed the storm. She remembered understanding his thoughts, that he dreaded she would learn to use the Medium. That she would gain access to its powers.
What would you have me do?
Lia whispered in her mind.
I will do it. I will do anything asked of me.
It was as if a key turned inside her thoughts and a new door opened to her. That was the only way to describe it. The door was possibilities. Connections, thoughts, insights, wisdom – a thousand intersecting strands, like a cobweb. It was a moment of clarity. She understood now. It came as a rush.
The Medium had not abandoned her to the sheriff and his men. It had delivered them into
her
hands.
Suddenly, from the silence of her thoughts, she heard screaming –
all
the screaming like a chanting sound rich with horror and vengeance. The blood of the dead mastons they had slain was screaming to her. Instead of being surrounded by smoke shapes, she felt the blood singing to her. Begging her to act. Pleading with her for justice.
It was time.
Another memory came – of a moment she and Colvin shared in the kitchen. Something in his words had caused a rush and heat through her.
Leering stones help bring the power out of yourself
.
The stones represent us.
They were exciting words – thrilling words. A great deep thought had brushed against her mind, so large she could not feel the edges of it. After the last few days, she knew more – she could feel the edges now. That somehow, the ability to cause fire, or water, or plague, or life slept inside of
her
, not the stone.
Her back pressed against a Leering boulder with
her
own face carved into it. The Medium had known this time would come to
her
. It had inspired the Aldermaston to carve what he did years in advance not because the Aldermaston had known it would happen. But because the Medium had brought all the events together for
her
to act on it.
Lia opened her eyes as the sheriff fished the ring out.
There it was, a gleaming gold wedding band, dangling on a string that she had worn since she was nine. Her evidence that the Medium was real.
Almaguer looked at it, confused, his face twisting with shock and surprise. Then he looked at her.
I do not even need a Leering to make fire,
she thought.
Flames engulfed her body. The door in her mind was still open. The power of the Medium surged through her, filling the grove with a towering wall of fire. It swept from her like a flood, charring oak, grass, and everything in its path into ash. It burned hotter and hotter – more than any fire she had ever summoned in the ovens of the abbey kitchen. The iron bands around her wrists melted away, her skin and clothes unharmed. There were no screams as the sheriff and his men died. They were just snuffed out by the Medium’s vengeance. It was over in an instant, their intentions spoiled. All along they had believed themselves the master of the moment. Even at the end, Almaguer had been sure she wore his medallion. Flames raged like a storm, filling the starry night sky. Trees were afire, sending columns of smoke into the air. The ground shook from the intensity. The screams of dead mastons fell silent at her triumph – submitting to the roar of the fire. Behind her, even the boulder cracked with the constant blast of heat.
Lia stood slowly, unharmed by the inferno. Her head was dizzy with the feeling of power. She knew that if the Medium asked her to, she could raise a mountain by lifting her hand. Looking down at her front, she saw the golden ring over her dress and was grateful to the Medium for protecting it. She untied the pouch at her waist and withdrew the Cruciger orb. It shone with radiant light, glowing fiercely with the power of Medium. It was almost too bright to look at.
Bring me to Colvin
, she asked it, squinting, and the orb began whirring. It pointed the way.
As Lia walked through the blazing hive of fire, she heard her name shouted. The roar was so loud, it took a moment before realizing it was Colvin screaming it. The door in her mind slammed shut and the power of the Medium rushed back into the void behind her, vanishing into the cracked remains of the hissing boulder. As soon as the power of the Medium fled, all her strength was gone. She stumbled, trying to keep upright. Her hand bit into the charred earth, but it did not burn her.
Colvin was there, catching her. He cradled her and walked away from the crackling flames of still-burning trees. She looked up at him, amazed to see him. She tried to smile, but there was not enough strength in her mouth to twitch.
“I have you,” he said, huffing. Sweat dripped down his face, which was pink from the heat. “A little further.”
Her head dipped against his chest and she slept, still clutching the orb in her hand.
When she awoke later, still tired, the pattern of the stars revealed it was past midnight and the world was still and cold. Mist came from her mouth as she breathed. A calmness settled deep in her bones. Her arms and legs were frigid, but there was no worry at the night noises. All the world seemed contented. Turning her head, she found Colvin asleep near her, his arm pillowing his neck. His mouth was open a little, his face spattered and bruised, lips brittle with scabs. She was still exhausted, but she managed to rise and cover his body with her cloak. He had slept every night without a blanket. Though she had seen him shiver, he never complained of being cold. Nestling closer to him, but not touching him, she shut her eyes again and fell asleep with hardly a thought.
When she awoke again, it was day. Her strength had returned, so she pushed herself up on her elbow. During the night, he had returned her cloak and it was warm against her body.
Colvin was nearby, eyes open, propping his head up with one arm, studying her. His face was a mess of dried blood and purple bruises.
“Are you well, Lia?”
She nodded, swallowing. The look he gave her was tender.
“I thought the fire was the sheriff’s doing. I was so afraid I had failed you, that you had perished in those flames. But I knew it was the Medium. It felt like the Medium. You have always been strong with fire, I just did not realize you were
that
strong.”
Lia smiled. “Neither did I.”
“Thank you for sharing your cloak. When I woke this morning, you looked cold. You need it more than I do. I do not mind the cold.”
“Well, you shiver too,” she said, looking down.
“Strange though,” he said, rumpling a bit of her cloak that was near his hand. He took a fistful of it and smelled it. “When you emerged from the fire, there was not even the scent of smoke on you or your clothes. I still cannot smell it.”
Lia sat up, feeling awkward. From their vantage, she could see the nearby thicket. Part of it lay smoldering. “It could not harm me,” she said, looking at his hand so near that it nearly brushed her arm. She wanted to touch his hand, to squeeze it and thank him, but she dared not. “Thank you for teaching me of the Medium, Colvin. Your words saved my life last night.”
“I do not deserve any praise,” he replied, fidgeting with tufts of swamp grass. “I arrived too late to save you. You saved yourself.”
“How did you escape the sheriff’s men?”
“The same way you did. Through the Medium. I awoke after they dumped me on the stallion, trussed up. I knew you were alone and afraid. I had to go back for you. The Medium gave me strength to burst my bonds. The strength I felt, Lia. I have never felt that before, like I could crush a stone in my hand. I slew the sheriff’s men and rode back until I saw the blaze and nearly lost hope.”
She smiled shyly at him. “Not you. You never lose hope.”
“Almost,” he said.
Lia folded her arms, trying to keep from shivering. “I know why the Medium saved us. I understood it last night. It delivered the sheriff into my hands for all the mastons he and his men have murdered. The Medium demanded vengeance for their blood.”
“It does that. I have studied accounts of it before. It is not chance that it delivered them to you. Your family was probably killed by them. Remember what I taught you about the Medium, Lia. Your strength is not about who
you
are. Whoever your parents were, they were strong. I think they are dead. Have you asked the orb yet, to confirm it?”
“No,” she said. “I had not thought of that. Should I?”
“I do.”
“Where did I put the orb?” she asked, looking around the folds of the cloak.
“I put it back in your pouch while you slept. It still does not work for me.” He shrugged and grimaced which made her smile.
She untied the strings and pulled it out. In the daylight, she could look at it without squinting. It rested in her palm, the intricate carvings a little ticklish against her skin.
If my father is living, show me the way to him,
she thought. Writing appeared on the lower half of the orb. She knew the answer, even though she could not understand the writing.
My mother?
she thought, wondering if she should even hope. The reply was the same. The spindles did not move.
“I am not surprised,” Colvin said, his expression thoughtful.
“Why?” Lia asked, disappointed. She had never known her parents, so she did not know whether to assume they were dead or not. She hugged her knees, staring at the writing. Maderos had said the writing was Pry-rian.