The Blight of Muirwood (23 page)

Ellowyn laughed. “What do you think he is telling them?”

“I suppose we will have to wait until he finishes before we will know.” There was a gentle knock on the door. They both looked at each other in surprise. “That was a hasty conversation,” Lia said, rising and going to the door. “Marciana?” she asked through the crack.

“Astrid,” replied the lad. “M…message from the Aldermaston.”

Lia lifted the crossbar, sorry for the boy since it was so late. She saw his eyes first, quailing with fear.

“What is wrong?” Lia asked. The boy slipped inside the room, his entire body trembling. He walked past her, turned and looked at her, his face white.

“Lia, behind…!” Ellowyn shrieked in warning.

She heard the footfall, so soft it could have been the scuffing of a pillow. A strong arm enclosed around her neck, pressing against her throat. She could not breathe as she realized that the kishion had found them.

* * *

“A desire to be observed, considered, esteemed, praised, beloved, and admired by his fellows is one of the earliest as well as the keenest dispositions discovered in the heart of any maston. These dispositions must all be repressed. In play acting, as in the ancient days of Idumea, the applause of the audience is of more importance to the
jongleur
than their own approbation. But upon the shabby stage of this life, while conscience claps, let the world hiss.”

- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey

* * *

There is nothing more sacred than air to someone dying. How many times had Martin practiced with her. How many times had he said that protecting her breath would save her life. A year earlier, she would have had no thought how to free herself. There was no time to think, no time when each thudding pulse of her heatbeat would bring her to oblivion.

Lia grasped the kishion’s arm with both hands and tugged down. As she did, she twisted and stepped backwards, bringing her leg behind his. The motion brought her entire weight against the pressure of his arm and it was enough to force open an airway, to breathe again. Twisting out of the noose, she kicked at the back of his knee, meeting the hard muscle but bending it. If she moved quickly, she could get his hand and twist it the right way to subdue him. She did not see his other elbow whipping around until it struck her cheekbone.

Pain blinded her. The blow was so sudden, so fast, she had not prepared herself for it. Ellowyn shrieked in warning. Lia backstepped quickly, trying to find her vision again. She staggered back into the far wall, realizing there was no where to run.

Her vision cleared as a forearm rammed at her throat. Lia ducked the blow and the kishion’s arm struck the wall with a shudder. She was frantic. With one hand, she clawed at his eyes and felt skin rip beneath her fingers. She brought up her knee but he was moving again, her fingers suddenly tangled and he threw her to the ground.

She knew at once that she could not stop the kishion. He was trained every bit as a hunter, even more so and more deadly. It would have been easier to fight off Martin, and she knew that his experience dwarfed hers. As she gazed up at him, she was amazed by what she saw. The strength of his hands belied his size, for he was shorter than her. Wiry and thin, like a page boy. Had she seen him in a crowd, she would not have looked twice – except his eyes. They were a muddy brown color and devoid of any spark of compassion. It was like staring into a spider’s soul. He had killed countless men, dispatched them with brutal efficiency. He had no care that he was killing a girl. Only his assignment mattered to him.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Astrid rush for the door and enjoyed a surge of relief. If she could delay the kishion for a few moments, it would be enough to bring Colvin and Edmon and even the Aldermaston. She kicked up at the kishion, but he caught her foot and buried his elbow against the side of her knee. He kept his grip on her ankle and twisted it, spinning her effortlessly onto her stomach. Astrid seized the door handle and pulled.

Lia did not see the dagger appear in the kishion’s hand. She only saw it stick in Astrid’s back and watched his legs gave way. Leaving Lia on the ground, he rose and walked to the door, shutting it quietly and then dropping the crossbar in place. Astrid twitched on the ground, gasping in pain. Ellowyn let out a hiss of fear and shrank against the wall, cowering.

By the bathing tub on the stone tile, Lia saw her gladius still in its freshly cleaned sheath. The room was not large, but it seemed as if a chasm separated her from it. She pushed herself to her feet, wishing she had even the feeble protection of her hunter leathers instead of the thin chemise.

The kishion approached her without a word. There was no worry in his expression. He knew how it would end, with her dead on the ground and Ellowyn his prisoner – or also killed. Lia looked into his eyes, his dead eyes. His hair was cropped, not much to grab at. A short beard covered his sour mouth. He could be no older than Jon Hunter when he died, though gaunt as a starving man. Lia wished she had her bow at hand, but wishes were for fools. As he approached her, Lia moved away from Ellowyn, towards the large bed, concealing her true aim. She snatched a blanket from the bed top and hurled it him, but the kishion only stopped a moment and let it flutter to the ground. A small smirk tugged one corner of his mouth. Just a twitch, as if a fish hook snagged him.

“Lia,” Ellowyn whimpered, biting her hands. She was terror-stricken.

The kishion came forward again, closing the distance more quickly, backing Lia towards the tub. Her cheek throbbed, her knee ached, but she was not afraid. Seeing Astrid laying there, a dagger in his back, made her furious. The hunter was patient. The prey was careless. Lia saw the tremor of the bathwater from the corner of her eye and realized her blade was somewhere on the floor near her and knew her back would collide with the wall if she kept retreating. She did not look away from the kishion’s eyes.

Astrid gurgled, spasmed, and then stopped twitching. Somewhere deep in her mind, it was as if she should hear Astrid screaming, though no more than whispers. She knew at once he was dead.

Hate, a searing bitter hate, filled Lia’s heart. She glanced quickly, saw the weapon and lunged for it as the kishion lunged for her. There was no time to draw it from its sheath yet. After she closed her hand around the hilt, she swung it, scabbard and all, at the kishion’s head. He dodged the blow and sidestepped her. Lia sidestepped the other direction to increase the space between them, putting herself closer to Ellowyn. She cleared the gladius from its sheath, throwing the empty leather scabbard at him, but again, he flinched slightly and it sailed past his ear. It was the only moment she had left.

Lia twirled the blade in front of her, whipping it in large circles and lunged straight at him. His eyes watched the blade’s dance as he back stepped in time with her advance. If she could drive him into the corner, it would reduce his movement.

The thought cost her dearly.

Suddenly the kishion was moving. Just as the blade swung down, he stepped in on her and grabbed her wrist. It was like trying to touch a puddle of quicksilver – he was impossibly fast. Her arm bent the wrong way, making her gasp. A jerk against her wrist and her fingers opened and the blade dropped with a thump onto the rush matting nearby. The next thing Lia knew, the bathwater rushed up to meet her. The kishion’s fingers clamped around her neck, holding her head under the water. Her arm was still twisted backwards, her shoulder screaming in pain. The waters thudded in her ears and she felt herself dizzy with pain. Drowning – she had never thought she would die that way. She kicked at the kishion, tried to dislodge him, but there was nothing she could do. The air burned in her lungs. She knew if she breathed in the water, she would die. It would end.

She had failed the Aldermaston and Colvin. She had failed the Abbey.

Muirwood.

The thought rushed to her mind. At the head of the tub was a Leering used to summon water. With all her mind, with all her will, she summoned the water and with it, enough fire to make it scald. The Medium roared inside her as she opened herself to it. She felt the Leering seethe awake, responding to her thoughts with outrage and fury. A blast of steam engulfed them both and the kishion screamed.

His grip did not loosen, if anything it tightened.

Lia fed the Leering with her desperate need to breathe. It was no longer scalding water but a blast of steam, like a storm suddenly bursting. The kishion let her go, stumbling backwards against the onslaught. Lia pulled herself up, gulping in air and spluttering. Ellowyn’s face was white with terror at the kishion’s ravaged face. His skin was blistering, his eyes welded shut by the reddening flesh. The Medium surged through her, as if every stone and timber screamed with it. The fire Leering at the fireplace blazed white hot.

The kishion stumbled over a chest and went down, his body twitching with pain. Short, heavy grunts came from his mouth. After clawing back to his feet, he staggered towards the door, avoiding the glare of the firepit as if the waves of heat were excruciating.

Lia blinked the water from her eyes, wiped her mouth and felt the Medium whisper to her.

Redeem the Abbey.

The kishion turned, as if he too had heard the voice. He faced the flames of the fireplace, his hands held up in agony and protection.

Lia stared into the Leering’s eyes and summoned a blast of fire that engulfed the kishion in a sheath of flames. It was so bright that Ellowyn shielded her eyes and slunk on her knees, sobbing. It was so bright that it seemed as if the entire chamber were blazing. Instead of night, it could have been the sun at noonday.

There was a rushing sigh, a brief gust, and the fire tamed and stilled. All that remained of the kishion were ashes.

* * *

Prestwich choked with his grief, bringing fresh tears to Lia’s eyes. His snowy head heaved, his face a contortion of emotions. Lia had never seen him display more than casual displeasure, not the crushing sorrow of a parent over a dead child. Astrid lay still on the only bed in the chamber. Lia sat on the edge of a chest, still wearing the chemise that was now spotted with her blood, but she wore her hunter leathers as well, gripping the pommel tightly as if it were the only comfort left.

The Aldermaston conversed with Siara Healer at the door. “Some yarrow poultice, please.”

“Can I see the boy?” Siara pleaded. “Is he sleeping? I do not see him breathing.”

“It would be helpful if you would bring some yarrow poultice. And some valerianum for Ellowyn. She is with the earls of Forshee and Norris-York along with Marciana. Thank you.”

“I should be caring for him, Aldermaston. Please, he looks very pale. And the floor rushes are soaked with…”

The Aldermaston’s voice was firm. “Please, do as I say,” he said and shut the door. He lowered the crossbar into place so they would not be disturbed.

Prestwich turned away from the boy’s body, his shoulders quivering in silent sobs.

The Aldermaston approached the bedstead slowly, as if every step caused him pain. He clasped Prestwich’s shoulder. “Do you believe, my old friend?”

Lia wondered what that meant.

“I…I loved that lad. He…he was always so obedient.” His voice choked away. “Should have been I. I am old.”

“Do you believe still?”

Prestwich looked up at the Aldermaston. “Yes. I will always believe. I have seen too much to doubt you.”

The Aldermaston smiled sadly, patting the other’s back and then faced the bed. He approached the soiled blankets where Astrid lay stiff but peaceful.

“Lia, close your eyes,” the Aldermaston said.

Surprised, she obeyed, bowing her head as well. She heard the Aldermaston gasp shortly as he reached towards the boy’s head.

“Astrid Page,” he said in a pained voice. He said nothing after that. Lia felt the Medium in the room, it was so full. She clenched her eyes shut, believing the Medium could heal the boy. He was like a little brother to her. But there was something wrong with the Medium. Some hesitance to it.

“Astrid Page,” the Aldermaston said again, as if his voice were choked with an unspent cough.

Lia added her will to his. Let the boy be saved and recovered. Let him live! She burrowed deep within herself. She was dizzy with the lack of sleep and the terrible emotions of the day. Never had she felt so spent, so drained. Yet she shoved the despair and discouragement aside, reaching deep inside herself for hidden wells of strength.

The Aldermaston’s voice interrupted her. “Lia?”

She opened her eyes and saw the Aldermaston looking at her, a peculiar expression on his face. His right hand was resting on the crown of Astrid’s hair. The other hand was lifted skyward, as if pointing to the stars nearest to Idumea.

“Join your hand to mine,” he whispered hoarsely. “It must be so.”

Lia stared at him, then nodded in obedience and approached the bed from the other side. She looked at him curiously, then reached her hand over to Astrid’s head. The Aldermaston’s was knobbed and warm, his veins protruding like old worms. “Make the sign,” he said and she copied him.