The Wretched of Muirwood (29 page)

His voice was soft, his expression consoling. “If they were alive, they would never have abandoned you. The night I gave you the Gifting, I felt it very strongly. When I touched your head, I sensed that your parents were nearby. I sensed their feelings for you. Through the Medium even the dead are near. They loved you fiercely, Lia. You were not abandoned by them.”

Tears stung her eyes and a sudden swell in her throat, as she tried to swallow. “That is kind of you to say.”

“And I have been unkind to you since I first awoke in the kitchen. It was a struggle learning to trust you. Worse, I have not slept soundly until last night. For the first time in a fortnight, I really slept and rested.” He shook his head, chuckling, and stood. Extending his hand to her, he helped her up as well. His hand was cold from the morning chill.

“Where is your hunter?” he asked, looking around. “I thought he would have found us before now.”

Lia’s stomach lurched, as if Colvin had kicked her.

* * *

With the orb’s help, they found the body discarded in a gulch. It was in an unburned portion of the thicket, with three arrow shafts protruding from his chest. Lia knelt by him, staring in disbelief. It was too awful to be real. The stiff, pallid body was not Jon Hunter. No, he was full of life, energy, exuberance. Not this thing – this cracked shell. Then she cried, great wracking sobs. Colvin knelt next to her, his bloodied face sharing her grief. He put his arm around her.

She loved Jon Hunter. He was part of her earliest memories, especially those of Pasqua’s kitchen. He was one of the Aldermaston’s most trusted servants, trusted enough to be sent into the Bearden Muir to save them. It was not fair. It was not right. Her grief had a sharp edge to it, cutting deeply – so deeply.

She looked at Colvin in desperation. “You are a maston. Bring him back to life!”

Colvin was dumbstruck. “Lia, please.”

She squeezed her hands together as hard as she could. “I know you can do it. It begins with a thought, just like you said. I know the Medium can bring him back.” She frantically pulled the ring out of her dress. “I know it can happen. All those ossuaries were empty. They were empty, Colvin! The Medium can bring him back. He taught you the Gifting. Gift his life back. Please!”

He looked stricken. “Lia, the Medium
is
strong enough to revive the dead. I do not doubt that. It is written of in the tomes, but there is rarely an Aldermaston once in a century strong enough in the Medium to do it. Do you understand me? It requires an Aldermaston, I tell you. Not a maston. Not me.”

“If you believed…”

He shook his head abruptly. “It is not that, Lia. If the Medium constrained me, I could turn rivers into sand. I know I could. But right now, it whispers in my heart that I should not even attempt it. You cannot force the Medium.”

Lia knew he was right, but that did not make the taste any less bitter. The Medium had its own will. She covered her mouth as another round of sobs forced their way to her lips. Jon Hunter was someone who had mattered in her life. She enjoyed teasing him, matching wits with him, trying to outsmart him. But he was gone. His beard and hair, always so disheveled, his clothes mud-spattered and wrinkled. Perhaps it was fitting that he died in the middle of the Bearden Muir.

What would the Aldermaston say? She dreaded having to tell him, that because of her, Jon was dead. How would he react? Would his temper burst into flames or would he be all coldness and regret? He had sent Jon to bring her back. Kneeling by the body, she fidgeted with the end of his leather belt. The Aldermaston would be furious, she decided. He might even banish her from the Abbey permanently.

She did not want to leave the body in the Bearden Muir, but they lacked the means of transporting it. Instead, she chose to bring something of his back to Muirwood. He was a wretched too, yet she wanted others to remember him as she always would.

Reaching out, she began untying his belt.

“What are you doing?” Colvin asked.

“He died saving us,” Lia said, freeing the buckle. “The abbey needs a new hunter now. I want to bring back with me what I can carry. Part of who he was. We never waste things in the abbey.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “The new hunter will need these things. I will never forget him. Never.” She brushed her eyes.

“Nor will I.”

Lia took the parts that made him a hunter in her eyes. The leather girdle and belt he always wore. The gladius and ash bow. A home-made leather quiver stuffed with arrows. Even the shooting glove and bracers that protected his arms from the bowstring. She garbed herself in his implements, for there was no other way to carry the items. It was strange, wearing those things that made him who he was. The gladius had a certain feel in her hand. The leather had a smell. On summer days he had let her and Sowe practice archery in the orchard which resulted in huge purple bruises on their elbows. Tears stung her eyes again. It was too much to bear.

While she dressed, Colvin took his rucksack with the food and then gently removed the arrows sticking into the body and cast them aside. He arranged the body on higher ground, and then knelt by it.

“Close your eyes,” he told Lia.

“What are you going to do?”

Colvin sighed. “I am going to give him a maston’s burial. You should not see the sign.”

Lia approached and stood near him and shut her eyes. A part of her heart burned with pain, as if the thicket from the night before was still blazing inside her. There was so much about mastons and their customs she did not know. As a wretched, she never would. It was unfair, but such was the way of the world. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, because part of her was just rebellious enough to be tempted to peek.

His voice was thick with emotion, but grew stronger. “By Idumea’s hand, I do not know all the words. I am a young maston still. But I kneel and through the Medium dedicate this ground in the Bearden Muir as the final resting place of Jon Hunter. By the Medium I invoke this, that when the time of his reviving has come, at some future dawn, he may be restored, every whit. May we always remember this final spot that others may remember what he did for us. That they may remember him through our words. Make it thus so.”

“Make it so,” Lia whispered. She opened her eyes and stared once again at the ashen face. Tenderly, she knelt and kissed his bearded cheek. Then they began fetching stones to cover him up.

* * *

“One of my favorites passages is found in the Tome of Isius. I encourage all my learners to memorize it, for it holds secrets even I struggle to comprehend: ‘Let a maston be humble before the Medium, without guile, and he will receive of its fullness. Power which shall manifest unto him the truth of all things, and shall give him, in the very hour, what he should say. And these signs shall follow him—he shall heal the sick, banish the Myriad Ones, and be delivered from those who administer deadly poison. He shall be led on paths where serpents cannot sting his heel. And he shall mount up in the imagination of his thoughts as upon eagles’ wings. And if the Medium wills that he should raise the dead, let him not withhold his voice. But only if the Medium wills it.’”

- Cuthbert Renowden of Billerbeck Abbey

* * *

Winterrowd was a ill-looking fishing village surrounded by water on three sides, nestled within the convergence of two strong rivers that emptied into the sea. Lia had never seen the sea before. She had never imagined an expanse of water so vast and blue and never-ending. The harbor was thronged with small vessels.

Haze filled the sky above Winterrowd, and Lia realized it was from a hundred cookfires. Thousands of soldiers swarmed in the town.

“Is it over?” Colvin whispered in shock, turning the horse’s head with a subtle jerk to the reins. “Are we too late?”

“No, I do not think so,” Lia said, training her eye on the road south. From the vantage of the hilltop, they could see south to the town of Bridgewater. A long, coiled snake – the king’s army – still marched on Winterrowd though much of it was penned up outside. “The town is not burning. It must be Demont’s camp in the field there.”

Colvin whistled softly. “Yes, and
that
is the king’s army still advancing. They have camped at the outskirts of the village. Look there – you can see the pickets. That is the vanguard of the king’s army. Each army will break into thirds. One is the vanguard. They lead the battle. Then comes the main, and it is usually the largest. Then comes the rearguard, the reserve. The vanguard has already arrived. Sweet Idumea, they must have marched faster than the wind! Before midnight, the main and the rear will have arrived. There battle will happen on the morrow.”

“So soon?”

“Yes, so soon.” His expression twisted into its familiar scowl. “I had hoped to make it here earlier to warn Demont.” He shook his head, his face flushed with emotions. “Look at the size of Demont’s army. Maderos was right. A tithing…if that. A tenth.” He swallowed.

Lia’s stomach flittered with worry. “Do you remember what else he said?”

“His words are burned in my memory, Lia. He said I must first survive the slaughter at Winterrowd. He called it a slaughter. How can it be otherwise.”

Lia wanted to touch his arm to comfort him, but could not muster the courage. “He said you may survive. If your sister held a vigil for you. I think…Colvin, I think he was talking about me.”

He nodded, his eyes staring blankly ahead. She could feel the fear bubbling inside of him. His face was pale. She could almost see the doubts churning in his mind as he focused on the scene.

“Look at me, Colvin.”

He turned his head, his eyes bloodshot and watery. “I am too late,” he whispered. “I came too late.”

“You are afraid. I can feel it inside of you. Maderos said if I held vigil for you tonight, you may survive. He was right about Almaguer. He was right about the road. He is right about this as well.”

His eyes closed. “
May
survive. May is not very solid. I thought that we would have a chance. I thought if there was enough time, we could rally others. Or move to better ground. This was to be the starting point. Not the finish.” His jaw clenched.

“What must I do?” Lia said, wanting to shake him.
“How do I hold
a vigil? It is going without sleep, I know that much.”

“But what if he was talking about my sister, Marciana? She is finishing her first year at Billerbeck. What if my fate hangs on whether
she
holds a vigil tonight?”

It was ridiculous. She was having to teach
him
about the Medium. “There is no room for doubt, Colvin. Remember what you told me? Doubt is poison. You must fix your thought in your mind. Do not doubt. Believe and then
act
. Fear stops you from acting. The Medium brought us this far for a reason. You cannot stop here.”

He turned away from her. His voice was so soft, she barely heard it. “What if that reason is to die?”

In her mind, she remembered the morning he was to depart from Muirwood. He had just promised her that he would help her learn to read. Even then, he had doubted whether he would survive the battle. Somehow, she had been given a glimpse of his soul and understood his fear. That he would die in battle without anyone to tell his sister what had befallen him. Yet despite his fear, he had driven himself with the determination to reach Winterrowd in time. Here they were – not in time to prevent the battle, but to participate in it. His worst fears were about to be realized.

“Colvin,” she said.

He looked at her, his expression helpless.

“The Medium brought us together. It brought you to the kitchen because I could heal you. It brought you to the kitchen because it knew I could use the Cruciger orb. And it has brought us both here, now, to Winterrowd, for a reason. I still have the orb.” She touched his arm, he flinched, and she pulled away. “If you are among the dead tomorrow, I will find you. I will find your sister and tell her how bravely you fought and where you fell. If you are injured, then I will drag you away and tend you and heal you as I did in the kitchen. If you are well, then I will rejoice with you. Whatever happens, Colvin, know that I will watch over you. I know I am only a wretched, but I will not sleep, until I see you again on the morrow.”

His eyes filled with tears, but he clenched his jaw and held them back. When he had mastered himself, he said, “I do not need to teach you the vigil. You know it already. When you sacrifice for someone else, when you carry another’s burden instead of your own, the Medium senses it keenly. It is more apt to help you when you help others. Thank you, Lia. You give me courage to face my fears. I will face them.”

She smiled, touched by the depth of his gratitude. “I only remind you of what you already know.” She looked down at the valley. “Let us go to Demont.”

He shook his head. “It will be safer for you here in the woods. You can hide easily in these hills. How would I explain your presence in Demont’s camp? What safety would you have? If our army falls, what would the king’s men do to you? No, it is safer here than in the camp. I will rest easier tonight knowing you are sheltered.”