The Wretched of Muirwood (24 page)

“Jealousy? Whose?”

“Mine, naturally. I have struggled with jealousy since I met you, for I have had to work hard to earn my mastery of the Medium. You can do things that I lack even the imagination to try. Mixing fire with water, for example. It never occurred to me to do that. I have focused so much on learning the prohibitions, to maintain my thoughts perfectly within the proper bounds, that it never occurred to me to explore. Hence, my jealousy. The Medium knows our innermost thoughts. We cannot hide them from it. When I saw you use the Cruciger orb, I wanted to believe that I could as well because my lineage was purer than yours. That belief born of jealousy was not enough to coax the orb to obey.”

Sitting on a fallen log, Lia regarded him curiously, then took a bite from her apple. There was so much evidence of the Medium in her life. The ring she wore around her neck. The very apple in her hand – an apple that should not be for it was not even the season. Yet something about the Leering near the tree – something about that Leering kept the fallen apples from decaying. She looked at her torn sleeve. She had never torn a dress before. In her memory, she could not think of a single instance where someone had torn their clothes. New clothes were made for those who grew, their older ones handed down to the younger ones. But repairing garments was foreign to her. She realized, intuitively, that it also had to do with the Medium. There were other Leerings on the abbey grounds that kept shoes from failing, dresses and shirts from being ripped. They
preserved
things. Being away from Muirwood, she was no longer under their protection. Perhaps that was what she feared the most, the lack of safety.

“You have an enigmatic look,” he said.

Lia eyed him. “My mind is so full, yet I hunger to know more. You have tried to teach me four years of learning and it is barely noonday. I do not know how to think any more. There are so many possibilities.”

“Then let me test you,” he answered. “How did you and I come to meet?”

“Our first meeting? The night of the storm?”

“The night of the storm. Examine the principles. Let them guide you to the answer.” He took another bite from his apple and stared at her while he chewed.

“I will…try,” she said, wincing. Her mind was jumbled with thoughts. “You are looking for an answer more subtle than Scarseth dragging you there and dumping you at the door. Let me think. You gain what you desire the most. Or should I say, you gain the results of your thoughts. You must desire something, then think on it. Determine to have it. You left your home because you desired to unite with Garen Demont’s rebellion. You had to sacrifice something to get it – you sacrificed telling your family. The Medium did the rest. It even intervened when you were betrayed by Scarseth. It led you to Muirwood. It led you to the kitchen because it knew I could help you.”

He nodded slowly, a smug smile creasing his mouth. “Go on.”

“I desire to read. More than anything else. My desire also brought you to me. Just as I could use the Cruciger orb to help you find Winterrowd, so you could use your wealth and knowledge to help me learn to read. So both of us were harnessing the Medium to achieve our desires. For you, a way to find Demont. For me, the promise to read someday.”

He smiled. “Well said.”

Lia bit her lip, flushing with pleasure at the compliment, and looked down. “It could have happened a thousand other ways! Why did the Medium not lead you to Maderos? He could have shown you the way or he could have taught me to…”

“No!” Colvin said, his eyes flashing with anger. “Do not tangle it into knots! You had the right answer, but then you doubted. You must never,
never
leave room in your mind for doubt. It chokes the Medium. It starves it. It drowns it. All you must do is believe in those small insights – those little bursts of wisdom that bloom in your mind when your heart is calm, controlled, peaceful. The Medium brought us together, for those very reasons you mentioned. Years from now, we may look back on this moment and realize there were other reasons still that we have not yet discovered. It is enough though, for now. You wanted to read. And yes, even Maderos could feel that burning in you. The Medium cannot help but respond to your desire.”

Lia was not sure, but he seemed convinced. “Should I try the orb again?”

He shook his head. “You are not ready yet.”

“Why not?”

His look was intensely serious. “Because each time you fail will make it that much harder to succeed. Do not pull it out of the pouch until you
know
you will use it and that it
will
work. Leave it, until then.”

The sudden sound of mourning doves flapping their wings and shrieking startled them as the birds took flight somewhere behind them. Birds usually acted like that when they sensed a threat.

“We go,” Colvin said, his eyes blazing with worry. “Something startled the birds. Quickly!”

* * *

Hours later, Lia and Colvin reached a sliver of road. The brush and trees had been cleared, the moors drained sufficiently. It was a narrow neck, wide enough for a single wagons or five soldiers to march abreast. By the freshly churned ruts and mashed boot-prints, it was clear that soldiers and wagons had, and recently too.

Colvin’s voice was a dark murmur. “We are behind,” he said, sliding off the saddle. Pulling the reins, he tugged the stallion after him.

“Maderos warned us to shun the road,” Lia said. The trees were skeletal and sickly. The air was oppressed with the stench of sweat and other vicious odors.

Colvin knelt by the edge of the road, looking at the rut-marks. His hand clenched into a fist. “The tracks are fresh. Made earlier today.”

“Someone may see us,” Lia said worriedly.

“Going back is not a good suggestion either,” he said, looking angrier than ever. “We can cover more distance this way, then veer back into the marsh.”

“I think we should go back into the marsh now.”

“The sheriff’s men are behind us, who knows how close. This gives us a chance to outride them a bit.” He came back to the stallion and swung up on the saddle. He held out his hand to her to climb up behind him.

She shook her head. “We should not take the road.”

His hand hung in the hair, fingers hooking. “If the sheriff thinks we took the road, they will ride hard after us. They may not see our tracks shrink back into the Bearden Muir. I know what Maderos said. Trust me.”

Part of her was sick inside. Part of it made sense. Maderos’ warning haunted her. She did not want to see Almaguer again. The very thought of him made her insides twist and revolt, made her skin tingle with dread. It was as if the smoke-shapes were still sniffing at her clothes. Her dream whispered to her and she felt the thrust of steel in her heart.

He leaned closer, his eyes bleary and cragged with veins. “Trust me.”

Reaching up with her shaky hand, she took his. The force in his hand, his arm, was powerful as he pulled her up behind him. She clung to him as he kicked the stallion’s flanks and started at full gallop down the road into the twisty maze of trees, reeds, and brush. She saw dirt and sweat on the flesh of his neck. The scenery was a blur of speed. The stallion chuffed and snorted, shaking its wavy wane as it churned the mud and roared ahead. Too far! They were going too far!

Lia wanted to shriek in his ear. Something was wrong. Something was going to happen to them. Get off the road, it warned. Get off the road. In her mind, Maderos’ voice was scolding.
The orb tells many things. If you take the road, you will be captured. And the girl. The road is not safe.

Somehow Maderos knew. Somehow he had known. All along, he had known what they would face in the Bearden Muir. They were flouting his advice.

The road is not safe. The road is dangerous.

Each moment made her heart quaver. Each instant was a torment. They had to leave the road. The moors would be safer, even without the orb.

“Colvin,” she said in his ear. “Please!”

“Not yet,” he shouted.

“Please! Leave the road. Before it is too late.”

“A little further.”

“Please! I feel it. Can you? Can you feel the warning?”

“A little further!”

“We were warned! We do not know how far…”

He looked back, his face a scowl of anger. “Enough! I have heard you. You are nearly blinding me with your thoughts, your fear. Master them! They are not coming from you. These fears come from the sheriff. He is close. He is very close. Somehow he put them inside you. He is plaguing you with them, even now. I will not let him hurt you. Now have faith in me. I know what I am doing. There is a safe path, just ahead. Trust me.”

Again the thought of Almaguer struck her mind. His sword plunging into her chest. Glowing silver eyes. Was it just a dream? A dream, not a vision? Or was it? Should she tell him? Would her mock her again? She squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face in the back of his shirt, clutching him so hard she hoped he would scream. If only she were back at Muirwood, safe in Pasqua’s kitchen. She needed someone to hold her, to soothe her, to tell her it would be all right. When she had terrible nightmares, she always knew that Pasqua would come in the morning, and that it would be all right again. Even Sowe’s presence was a comfort. No matter how a midwinter storm howled, it would be all right.

In her mind, she thought,
Dear Pasqua, I never told you how much I needed you. How safe you made me feel as a child.
There was her scolding, her pinching, her exasperated airs. But more than anyone else, Lia needed her. Someone who would comfort her and kiss her forehead and speak in whispers.

Somehow she knew that she could never get that from Colvin.

It was a high-pitched yowling sound, like the rusty hinges of a gate closing. It came from the night, from the unseen expanse of gullies and ravines, and it went right up Lia’s spine.

“What was that?” she whispered, clutching her knees.

“I have no idea,” Colvin answered, nestling back against the saddle in exhaustion. He hung his head with fatigue, rubbing his eyes on the back of his arm.

“A wolf?” she asked.

He sighed. “If I thought it was a wolf, I would have said that it sounded like a wolf.” His voice was straining with impatience.

“What if it comes here? What if it stumbles on us during the night and decides to eat us?” She hated herself for asking the question. It sounded like something Sowe would whimper.

He rubbed his leg. “It may be a bird. A marsh owl of some sort. I am more worried about being devoured by bats.”

“Bats?”

“Have you not seen them flitting about at night? There are so many insects here, they must feast like kings.” He rose ponderously after a brief rest and then withdrew his sword. After flexing his arms and loosening his neck, he proceeded with drills with the blade, slicing through the air with a whisper of steel and a hiss of breath. She watched him practice, not secretly as she had when spying him with the broom in the kitchen. The memory alone caused another pang of regret. She watched him, quietly, patiently. Not disturbing him until he was finished.

“You practice for Winterrowd,” Lia said, watching the blade seat snugly into the sheath fastened to his belt.

“I must,” he answered, mopping sweat from his face on his tunic sleeve.

“Why?”

“Because mastery of any skill comes that way. If I hope to defeat a man who has more training and experience than me, then I best drill and drill and drill harder than that man.” He paced restlessly, chafing his hands together. “It also helps me stay awake. I have never felt this tired in my life. My patience is little more than dust when I am tired.”

“I will take the first watch,” she offered. “I am not that tired.”

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“Very. I do not care about being tired. You get used to it. But the kitchen was warm. It was always warm.” Again, a stab of pain went through her heart. She leaned forward, hugging her knees.

He snorted. “Given you summon fire so easily, I would not doubt that you were warm enough. It makes sense that the Aldermaston assigned you to the kitchen. It suits your gifts and passionate disposition. But I would fancy a bread oven right now myself. It is wet and cold in the Bearden Muir.” He said it as a truth, not as a complaint.

Lia hugged her knees tighter, grateful she had a cloak, for Colvin lacked one. It was no use asking if he was cold. In the moonlight, she could see his breath.

He turned suddenly and crouched down near her. “I just remembered something my Aldermaston taught. It just came to me. Let me see if I can phrase it properly without my tome.” He paused, thinking, then said, “
Inasmuch as you strip yourselves from jealousies and fears, and humble yourselves before the Medium, for you are not sufficiently humble, the veil over your eyes shall be torn and you will see.
”

“A clever verse,” Lia said.

“It is a clever verse. It talks about three of the things that keep us from letting the Medium master us. Jealousy, fear, and pride. You do not seem a jealous girl.”