The Scourge of Muirwood (29 page)

She could see why a girl would be tempted to follow the trail. The fear of growing old and decrepid. Could the kystrel keep her forever young? She felt the surge of the Medium and the horrible truth it showed her. The kystrel could create the illusion of youth. It could make someone feel young, even if they were not. It was a deception of the cruelest kind. By being a maston, by learning the full depths of the Medium, she could forge a new body that would be forever young. A kystrel could not offer her that – only the illusion of it.

Ugly. Hideous. Revolting. Lia was stuck in her mind, trapped by the doubts of what she should surrender. A hetaera would find it easy to surrender. For them, the fear of ugliness was worse than the fear of hunger or the fear of shame, or even the fear of sickness. They would give up what was asked and if they did, would find the next surrender even easier.

Lia understood. The hetaera test was robbing her of all her outward things. It was taking away everything external so that it could mold her into a new creature. It would take away her rags and replace them with silks and velvets. It would take away her chains and replace them with bracelets and necklaces and ropes of jewels. And it would eventually take away her chaen, the only thing left that would protect her.

But the Leerings were not evil. Why then was she being tempted to give up her possessions? Why was the hetaera’s path the only path? The mewling sound coiled around her. She felt the snakes weaving around her legs.

It was the Myriad Ones influencing her thoughts, she realized. Surrounded by them, deep within their lair, she was hearing them more clearly. They were luring her down the path, but it was not the only path. It was not the only way to be free of the Leerings. She must surrender something. She must surrender a part of herself.

If everything she had learned at Muirwood was true – if the maston oaths she had taken would one day entitle her to receive a new body that never aged or died, that allowed her to cross the Apse Veil and return to Idumea, why should she fear old age? If joining with another maston, bound by irrevocare sigil, would eventually produce children so strong in the Medium that they could raise her dusty bones and give her back her life – was there any reason to fear growing old or losing her youth?

No.

She remembered what she had seen when she had died, how the Apse Veil had drawn her towards it, summoning her back home to Idumea. It was real. The Medium was real. That fate…that future – was real. What she needed to surrender were her fears.

It came as a blaze of light to her mind. She had gone hungry, but she had never starved. The Medium had always provided her with food – thimbleberries in the woods or the flesh of a quail. It would never let her starve to death, even it required food to appear with the dew of the grass in the morning. Why should she ever fear it? And what of shame? What did it matter that Pareigis wore gowns and jewels? She had never sought nor cared about having Reome’s good opinion while so many others did. What for? She was a silly girl who had been seduced by a powerful man. What did her scorn mean? Nothing! What power did disease have against the power of the Medium? It could heal any wound, recover any illness. Why be afraid of sickness when the Medium could overcome it?

That was what she needed to do. She realized that the Leerings could be crossed if she surrendered her fears. The Leerings were not trying to subvert her. It was the Myriad Ones that were trying to subvert her, to tempt her to put on the kystrel in the promise that it would banish her fears. She did not need a kystrel to accomplish that.

In her mind, she made promises to herself. I will never fear hunger. I will never fear shame. I will never fear sickness. I will never fear age.

The grip of the Leering ended. A small gleam of light came from the flickering torch. She stared at it, knowing it was almost out. The serpents coiled around her body. Carefully, she lowered the torch until its light touched their black scales. The serpents hissed and withdrew from her. Lia lowered herself down and crawled to the next Leering, using the torch to clear the path. The kystrel burned hideously, the metal bubbling with anger and frustration. The keening in her ears warned her of the anger of the Myriad Ones. Reaching out, Lia touched the next Leering. It was in the shape of a corpse, eyes closed. She knew it already. The fear of death.

As Lia touched it, she saw in her mind the vision she had seen before. She was dead and being buried beneath a mound of stones. Colvin and Hillel were there, placing the rocks that became her bier. It was a vision of the future. She had seen it before. Dread swelled inside her.

Learn of us, sister.

Join us, daughter of Ereshkigal.

Or you will die.

She knew that if she did not join the hetaera, she would not leave the ordeal alive. Those who did not pass the test were killed. Was she prepared for that? Was she prepared to fail in her charge? Twelfth Night was in two days. It was early still. Was there a final warning to give? Was there something else she must do?

Was her life required by the Medium? She had given the message. She had warned the people of the coming of the Blight. Would her death trigger the Blight? Was that what the Medium wanted of her?

In her mind, she saw Hillel sidle up to Colvin, comforting him, stroking his arm as they stared at the mound of stones. Colvin’s face was ravaged with grief. Lia saw the look in Hillel’s eyes, the gleam of triumph. Her blood boiled with fury.

Take the kystrel. You are stronger than her. Your feelings are stronger than hers.

Take the kystrel. He will be yours. If you join us, he will be yours.

If you scorn us, he will be hers. Give yourself to us. Know our ways.

The light of the torch was nearly gone. Lia hesitated, her soul wrenching with pain. But she would not surrender to it. Even if it cost her life. The Medium had whispered to Colvin that he needed to marry Ellowyn Demont by irrevocare sigil. If he took Hillel to Billerbeck, he would marry the wrong girl – but perhaps the Medium would bind him to Lia regardless, because of who she really was. Could she give up having Colvin in this life in the hope of having him forever?

The pain of the decision was excruciating. Jealousy, greed, hatred, and worst of all fear – all of the negative feelings swarmed her. She crushed them beneath the heel of her mind. No, she would not give in. With her hand still on the Leering, she set the torch down on the ground and stretched to reach to the final Leering. Its crushing weight slammed upon her.

The fear of betrayal.

Oh yes, she was expecting it. She saw Hillel for who she was. She saw that she had visited the hetaera garden already. Each visit, she had slowly given away her fears, one at a time. Her last act was betraying someone. She had chosen to betray Lia.

Caught in the crushing grip of two ancient Leerings, Lia experienced the salty sweat streaking down her body. The agony was unbearable. Fear of betrayal was worse than the fear of death. Colvin would succumb to Hillel. After all, he was only a man. The Aldermaston had taught her that women were more powerful. It would take time to wear him down. But if Lia died in the pit, would he keep faith to her memory?

The choice is yours. Join us, and you can avert this fate. Join us, and live forever!

You are a daughter of Ereshkigal.

When the mastons are dead, the hetaera will rule the kingdoms.

Lia bowed her head, knowing what would happen.

I will not fear death. I will not fear betrayal. I will do the Medium’s will.

The two Leerings released her. The serpents surrounded her, eyes and forked tongues probing her. There was only one more Leering, the one she could not see. The one beyond the wall. Lia stood, heart heavy but feelings firm.

She left the small cone of light and wandered into the dark, no longer caring what the serpents did. The Leering pulled her forward, beckoning her with its power.

The stone wall blocked the way. She reached out and touched it. Immediately she was overwhelmed by a force so powerful it dropped her to her knees. There was a rush of pain and pleasure, a jolt so violent and heavy that she was overwhelmed by its power.

A voice thundered in the stillness of her mind. She recognized the voice from the night before the battle of Winterrowd.

Speak your true name and enter. Give me power over you. Speak your true name!

Lia stared, dumbfounded, paralyzed by the weight and ferocity. She tried to open her mouth, but the binding sigil prevented her. She could not say it. She would have. Her will was so small and frail next to the strength she faced. It was Ereshkigal’s voice. She had never experienced something so powerful before, something that was ancient beyond anything. A presence stirred in the room.

Speak your true name!

But Lia could not. Of course it would be this way. The hetaera would never risk their lair to any maston. They would not risk it without the assurety that any who entered would fail.

Lia’s mind burned. She could not let go of the stone. She saw the burning image of the twin serpents, just beyond the wall, mocking her.

You thought to tame me? I, the mother of hetaera? You are nothing compared to my power. You will give your body to my minions. You will surrender who you are to me. You will surrender your will to mine. Speak your true name!

Lia could not.

The fire from the torch guttered out.

The first fangs bit the flesh of her legs as she knelt near the stone. Then another bite. Then another. The poison rushed through her, burning from her legs up to her waist. It was quick and painful. Then there was blackness.

The horse was lathered in sweat and foam as Prince Alluwyn crossed the threshold of his ridgetop palace. He had not slept since learning that Elle was laboring with the child, too early. They were not expecting the babe to be full term for another cycle of the moon and the news had shocked him. As someone with the Gift of Seering, he knew that he would die shortly after the babe’s birth. He had hoped for another fortnight or more. Clutching the leather reins, he swiveled off the saddle as his steward, Davtian, approached.

“Where is your escort?” Davtian said, his eyes wide with outrage. “Did you leave the Evnissyen behind?”

“They are not far behind,” the Prince said, tossing the reins to a stableboy. “How fares my lady?”

“My lord, there are traitors to Pry-Ree lurking everywhere, some even in your own household. You should not have risked riding alone, even a short distance. Your enemies seek to ambush you.”

“How fares my lady?” the Prince repeated, striding towards the keep.

“My lord, a moment first.” There was a firm tug at his sleeve.

“What is it?”

“My lord,” the voice was full of pain. “The birthing was early, but she did well. She was healthy yesterday. Her cheeks full of color. She was anxious to greet you with your daughter. But my lord, during the night, she fell sick. A raving fever has taken her. The milk fever. The Aldermaston has laid hand on her, but she will not recover. There is no Gift of Healing to be given. She is so weak, my lord. Every moment we fear is her last, but she strains to stay alive. To see you.” The steward’s lip quivered. “My lord, I am so sorry. She awaits you in your bedchamber.”

The Prince had prepared his heart for this. But even then, when the hour was come, he shrank from it. The pain of losing her sent shards of agony piercing him like arrows. His vision blurred with the rush of tears, but he shook his head and stumbled forward, dizzy with the news. His temples throbbed with thunder. A cleft had opened up inside him, gaping and savage. Nothing could have prepared him for that moment. The weight of it amazed him.

He took the tower stairs, rushing past servants until he shoved his way into the bedchamber, dark with shutters and curtains, only sputtering torchlight to see. The smell of the room was death and blood. The midwife was there, her face ashen when the Prince entered. She fell to her knees, sobbing.

The Prince walked past her, touching the crown of her head tenderly, patting her hair. Then he knelt by the bedside and gazed at the colorless face of his wife, her skin glistening with sweat. Her fevered lips were panting.

The urge to heal her was so strong, he nearly could not control himself. She was alive, barely. She clung to the threads. Beneath the coverlets, she only wore her chaen. Her sweat-soaked chaen. It was torture seeing her ravaged by the fever. A word of rebuke and the fever would depart. By raising his hand to the maston sign, he could preserve her life.

But the Medium forbade it. He knew what he wanted to do, yet he also knew what he was meant to do. He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

Elle’s eyes fluttered open. “You…came.”

His throat was too tight to speak. Her hair was listless, the color draining from it. He took her frail hand in his and kissed it. “I will not leave you,” he whispered huskily.

“She is…so beautiful. Our child.”

“From her mother,” the Prince said. He smoothed the clumps of hair from her forehead.