The Ciphers of Muirwood (27 page)

Collier escorted Maia to a chair and then turned around to face the others. “And
that
madman is your father,” he said flatly. He shook his head and chuckled darkly. “If I tried that in Dahomey, the entire populace would revolt. Power must be balanced, at least slightly. See what it has done to his wits? He rules out of fear and intimidation, not loyalty.”

Collier’s words stung Maia, making her flinch. She felt tears pressing in her eyes.

“Are you leaving, madame?” Collier asked Sabine. “I know your ship is waiting at the river, so we could all—”

“No,” Sabine answered, interrupting him. Her eyes were thick with tears. “No, Gideon. We will stay.”

“But you heard him! I tell you, his heart will not be softened in the morning. We must go to another abbey. One in my kingdom . . . or Pry-Ree is closer. Let Maia open the Apse Veil from another abbey.”

Sabine shook her head. “No, Gideon. The Covenant must be fulfilled here at Muirwood. That is what Lia foresaw.”

Collier looked perplexed. “But did she say what would happen? If she could see the future, as you say, did she not write a warning about what we would face and how we might avoid it?”

Sabine shook her head. “She did not. There were no instructions, no advice about Maia’s father or his threats.”

“But what are we to do? Surely waiting to die is not the Medium’s will?”

Sabine walked up to Collier and put her hand on his wrist. “Sometimes it is.”

He recoiled from her words. “How can that be?”

Sabine shook her head. “Do you not understand, Gideon? When the abbeys fell and burned, the dead were trapped in this world. My Gift of Seering is of the past, not the future. Each day I walk these grounds, I see glimpses of their lives. The Aldermastons of the past. The learners. The wretcheds. They were all people, like us. They had hopes and dreams. Now their bodies molder in ossuaries and their spirits long to be given life again. The dead have been waiting for this moment for centuries. Can you not feel them brooding over these grounds? This is not just about Assinica and saving the innocent there. We must save those who have been waiting in death.” She turned and looked at Maia. “Waiting for you.”

Maia’s heart shivered. The room seemed thick and heavy, as if the hearth had wreathed it in smoke, except there were no fumes. She could feel the writhing despair of the dead.

Collier’s eyes bulged. He shook his head with disbelief. “So you are saying . . . so you are saying, Sabine, that we must
trust
the Medium? Without knowing what will happen? Even if we become corpses ourselves?”

She nodded at him. “When Lia was alive, she did not know her fate. She did not know the part she would play in bringing about the great Scourge. If she had, back when she was a child in the kitchen, she may never have had the courage to leave the abbey grounds. In our predicament, we must have courage
not
to leave the abbey grounds.” She sighed and looked at Maia. “I do not feel that we should bring you to the abbey tonight, my dear. I think your father has made his decision. I mourn at what that means for him.” She swallowed. “In the past, the Medium has removed kings from power.”

Maia squeezed her eyes shut and wept silently. The hope she had felt for her father was finally leaving her.

Wars spring from unseen and generally insignificant causes, the first outbreak being often but an explosion of anger.

—Richard Syon, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Fog of the Myriad Ones

M
aia stood behind Suzenne, combing through the final bits of supple hair. Staring at the reflection of her friend in the mirror, Maia felt a small pang of jealousy. Suzenne wore the supplicant robes again, just as she had the night of her maston test. She looked sweetly nervous, biting her lower lip as she gazed up at Maia’s face.

“I am more anxious than I expected to be,” Suzenne whispered softly. “My fingers are shaking. Can you help me with the veil?”

“Gladly,” Maia answered, walking over to the gossamer veil nestled in a box the Aldermaston’s wife had provided earlier. It was just past sunset. Suzenne’s parents awaited her inside the abbey, as did the Aldermaston and his wife. Sabine had decided to spend the night in the abbey in the hopes it would help her understand the Medium’s will as she wrestled with the monumental doom facing the realm.

Maia removed the veil carefully, and carried the pretty confection over to her friend. She grasped Suzenne’s shoulder tenderly. “You look beautiful, Suzenne. Dodd will be so pleased.”

Suzenne flushed, unable to conceal a nervous smile. “What a foreboding wedding night,” she murmured. “My parents are not exactly rejoicing over our decision, but your husband’s promise to bring us to Dahomey with you was received with pleasure. They did nothing more than offer their concerns. I am grateful for that.”

Maia smiled and was about the settle the veil over Suzenne’s head when her friend stopped her. “Maia?”

“Yes?”

Suzenne began to stammer timidly. “You said . . . you were married in Dahomey . . . in the middle of your husband’s army, if I recall. Did you . . . um . . . consummate . . . the marriage later since you did not that night?” She could not look at Maia, as if hoping she had not trodden on an unsafe topic.

Maia bit her lip and blushed. “We have not, Suzenne. I can be of no help to you in that.” Her cheeks flamed despite her best attempts to appear unaffected.

Suzenne nodded in understanding and wrung her hands as Maia fixed the veil over her golden hair. Once it was in place, Suzenne’s face could barely be seen beneath the gauzy veil.

A knock sounded at their door, and Maia hurried to answer it. She saw the Aldermaston’s steward there, and behind him, Collier.

“A mist has settled over the abbey this evening,” Tomas said, his cheeks dimpling. “The Aldermaston sent me to bring Suzenne to the abbey for the ceremony. Everyone is already assembled.”

Suzenne rose from the chair and joined them at the door. Maia hugged her and touched her cheek through the veil, feeling love for her friend and sadness for herself. She wondered what the morrow would bring for them all.

“And I am here,” Collier interrupted, offering his arm to Maia, “because I understand you are still holding vigil. With your grandmother and friends otherwise occupied tonight, I thought I might keep you company?” He offered her a charming smile, which made her flush. She wanted his company, but had been too ashamed to ask for it.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully.

They walked together, following Tomas and Suzenne to the doors of the manor house. The grounds were indeed wreathed in damp mists, which was peculiar since the mists normally came at dawn. The air was thick and cool and wet and had a sharp, metallic taste. Dewdrops gathered on her face the moment they emerged into the night air. They could not see the abbey through the fog, even though it was very close.

They walked together until they reached the outer doors of the abbey, and again Maia felt an oppressive feeling warning her not to go farther. She stopped, clinging to Collier’s arm, and watched until Suzenne disappeared behind the pewter doors of the abbey. The walls loomed above her in the mist, and although they were invisible in the mist, she had walked the grounds enough times to visualize what they looked like.

“Would you like to walk in the garden?” Collier asked.

“That would be nice,” Maia replied, feeling awkward with him so soon after Suzenne’s wedding preparations. Much had changed between them since his humiliation of Deorwynn and Murer in the morning. It felt as if the day was a hinge on which the world was turning, and she could hear the groaning creak of a door about to close. “I would like my cloak, though. It is so unusual, this cold and damp.”

“Certainly.” They started walking back the short distance to the manor. “You are quiet this evening. Are your thoughts as intense as mine after such a day?”

“Yes . . . and I am also tired,” Maia said, feeling a fog of sorts inside her head. “I have not slept in quite some time. The abbey has a strange feeling to it tonight.” She gazed back at it and saw that even the pewter doors had vanished in the mist. A fleeting fancy slipped into her mind, and she wondered if the abbey would disappear when the mists left in the morning. She could hear different sounds—it was only just after sunset, and learners were walking the grounds preparing to celebrate Whitsunday the next day. The maypole had been erected and the colored streamers affixed. The kitchen overflowed with treats. Yet despite the symbols of festivity, the fate of Muirwood was oppressive and dark. A new Aldermaston would take charge the next day if the Medium allowed it to happen.

“It does feel strange,” Collier said, scratching his throat. He glanced around uncomfortably. “I feel as if we are not alone. It is a little unsettling.”

They reached the door to the manor and walked down the hall back to her room, both walking faster than necessary as if by silent agreement. Maia opened the door and hurried to fetch her cloak, her arms trembling. She had never felt so dark and gloomy as she did at that moment. Collier stood by the open door, his expression pensive.

The sounds of boots came clipping down the hall. Collier turned and looked, his expression immediately going sour. “What is it, Carew?” he asked, frowning slightly. Maia fastened the cloak around her neck, and when she reached the doorway, Captain Carew had reached them.

“Crabwell wants to talk to you,” the captain told Collier. He gave Maia a nod, but otherwise ignored her.

“I am not leaving the abbey grounds tonight,” Collier said with a snort.

“He has not left either,” Carew explained. “Kranmir has been talking to the king, warning him not to do anything rash. It seems the little man has a spark of conscience left. The High Seer’s warning rattled him, I think. Crabwell wants to use the moment to settle him down. A truce or treaty with you might do the trick.” He directed his gaze at Maia. “It will not take long, if Gideon is reasonable.”

Collier scowled. “A treaty? On Whitsunday eve? Does Crabwell never stop plotting?”

“Does a spider stop weaving webs?” Carew said with a smirk. “A treaty and your dowry negotiations. That is all he asks of you. Then he can work on getting the king a little drunk and hopefully fix his seal to it before morning. Trust me, Gideon, we all want to avoid an open conflict tomorrow.”

Collier tapped his chin. “Where is Maia’s father now? Is he still at the abbey?”

Carew rolled his eyes. “He left hours ago. He’s back at the Pilgrim making eyes at the Sexton girl. Crabwell expects a marriage soon.”

Collier grunted in disgust. “Now that he has Kranmir in his pocket, there is no doubt he can arrange the divorce. Your kingdom is a cesspit, Carew. You realize that?”

Carew nodded and grinned. “Our spies in Dahomey say yours is not much better . . . maybe a garderobe if not an actual cesspit. Come, man! I am tired of walking hither and yon. Talk to Crabwell.”

A look of frustration crossed Collier’s face, but she gave him permission to leave her with a curt nod. He smiled his thanks, cupped her cheek with his warm hand, and stared at her with his piercing blue eyes. “I will be back shortly. Bolt the door, Wife.”

“I will,” Maia said, squeezing his hand before he left and followed Carew. The two bickered and taunted each other as they walked down the hall. The rest of the corridor was empty, only a few Leerings to illuminate it. The floor rushes looked excessively trampled.

Maia used her thoughts to light the fire Leering in her room and then shut the door, dragging the bolt into place to secure it.

There was a little scuff behind her.

She whirled, heart in her throat, and caught a glimpse of the sheriff of Mendenhall before a black sack was plunged over her head.

Maia was trussed up—ankles, knees, wrists, and arms—and a gag covered her mouth. She was wrapped up in smothering sackcloth, the smell of it blocking her other senses. She was being carried by several men who walked briskly and noiselessly. The coolness of the outdoors penetrated the cloth as they carried her outside, and her heart quailed in panic. She tried to scream, but the thick gag in her mouth prevented any noise from escaping her except for small groans. Thrashing in the bonds, she tried to free herself and felt the bands around her wrists begin to wriggle loose. She bunched her legs to kick, but there were easily four or more men holding her captive, and she was no match for their combined strength. The exertions tired her quickly, and the gag made breathing difficult; for a moment she was afraid she would suffocate.

They were walking on soft ground, the boots muffled by the grass. She could hear voices, but it was difficult to make out the words because of the material shrouding her.

“By the Blood, what a night for fog!”

“Darker than usual. We should have brought torches.”

“No torches, fool. Easier to slip out this way.”

Rage and terror wriggled inside Maia with savage intensity. She had no doubt these men had abducted her to take her to her father, outside the abbey grounds. Even more than confronting her father again, she feared that leaving the abbey’s protection would make her vulnerable to the Myriad Ones. She had not passed the maston test yet, so she had no chaen under her dress to guard her from the beings. No kystrel either, not that she would have used one. Feeling a spasm of fear, she wriggled again, trying to buck herself loose.

“She is feisty,” one of them grunted disapprovingly.

“You did not expect her to come willingly, surely?” It was the sheriff’s voice. “Be still, Lady Maia. We are not sent to harm you, if that is what you fear.”

She could not tell them what she feared. She could not utter the loathsome truth to anyone living. Even the thought of doing so flooded her with guilt and shame. She was a hetaera. Even without a kystrel, she was dangerous. And outside the abbey grounds, she could be lethal. Maia shivered with dread anticipation, fearing what would happen next.

“The mist is so thick! Are we going the right way?”

“We are,” the sheriff said self-assuredly. “I have trodden these grounds all winter. I can find my way blindfolded.”

“The fog is worse than a blindfold. Will the Aldermaston curse us for doing this?”

“Shut it,” said another man. “Be quiet for once in your life. See the trees?”

“It’s the Cider Orchard,” the sheriff explained. “The smells should hide the trail from the hunter’s dog. The onion sack she is in will help as well.”

So that explained the stench. She bobbed and swayed to the rhythm of their pace, each rut and stumble shaking her bones. She was panting beneath the hood, sweaty and queasy and near to retching.

“The orchard is thick. Almost through. The wall ends just past it, by the hillside. Men will be waiting for us there with lanterns.”

The steel hand of fear gripped Maia’s heart. She knew struggling was useless, and it was only tiring her more quickly. How could she hope to stop these men?

It begins with a thought.

The jumbling and swaying was dizzying, but she tried to center herself and clear her thoughts. Fear was her enemy. She had to calm down in order to think clearly.
Focus on what you want, burn it to life with your will, and the Medium would help it happen.
As her emotions began to cool, new thoughts awakened in her mind. This was her father’s design. He did not want to risk the outcome on the morrow. He did not want to alienate his people by staging a confrontation between himself and his daughter. If she was on his side, if only physically, it would make it easier for him to topple the abbeys of the realm.