The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(106)
“Mother is there,” Maia replied eagerly, struggling to put aside thoughts of Collier. “I fear she is in danger.” She remembered suddenly her vision of the kishion. She looked at her grandmother. “Is she safe?”
The look in Sabine’s eyes said the words her mouth could not.
To my dear one, Marciana, I give you my love, my high regard for your courage, and my deepest wishes for your happiness. I fear that happiness is an emotion you have felt little during your life thus far. I was raised a wretched in the Aldermaston’s kitchen at Muirwood Abbey instead of as a Princess of Pry-Ree as was my birthright. Yet I knew more happiness in the simplicity of that life than I have found in the burdens and cares of leading others. To be a leader is to be alone. I have counsel for you, great-great-great-granddaughter who was named after my husband’s sister. Choose wise counselors to guide you. Wisdom is the Gift you need most of all, for you will face dilemmas and troubles that I never experienced. You will also endure heartaches unique to yourself. Bear these with patience, Maia. Pain passes in time and forges character. The Dochte Mandar of your day think that by depriving humanity of the awful emotions—grief, suffering, despair—they can prevent the recurrence of the Blight. It is not true. Depriving your father and mother of the chance to let their private grief teach them love and compassion sowed the seeds of their marriage’s failure. If these sad emotions are endured—and accepted—patiently, they teach us wisdom and compassion. You have struggled all your life to contain your tears because your father once praised you that you did not weep as a babe. Maia, there is healing in weeping. There is balm in tears. An Aldermaston once said: Tears at times have the weight of speech. I weep for you as I scribe these words. Though I have never met you, I love you, Maia.
I know you have a brand on your shoulder. You will live with the grief of the consequences of that all your life. But there is a sacred duty you must fulfill. When the abbeys were destroyed in my era, I made a Covenant that Muirwood would be rebuilt, that the gates of Idumea would be opened anew that the dead may pass on from this second life. This is the rite of the Apse Veil. It also allows mastons to travel great distances between abbeys. The longer the Veil remains closed, the more unrest will occur in the kingdoms. The dead wander among us. They grow impatient in their banishment. They speak to the living through the Dark Pools. You must open the Apse Veil. I give you this charge. By Idumea’s hand, make it so. Remember—sometimes even to live is an act of courage.
—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Muirwood
Maia’s eyes were wet with tears and she wiped them on her gown sleeve, then ran her palm over the smooth aurichalcum page. The Holk swayed, its mighty beams creaking and groaning like an ancient man feeling his age. The tome was heavy in her lap, the words illuminated by light streaming in from the round window of the cabin.
“There is no shame in tears,” Sabine Demont said softly, reaching out and caressing Maia’s hand.
Maia felt the little tremors bubbling up inside her. “How well she knew me,” Maia said faintly, her eyes swimming. “As if she had walked alongside me in silence all these years.” She swallowed. “Lia had the Gift of Seering. It amazes me.”
Sabine stroked her arm. “Her father had it. It does not always pass from one generation to the next. Without the full powers of the abbeys, it is an increasingly rare Gift. So many powers of the Medium have not been manifested since her generation.”
“Why is that?” Maia asked, dabbing away the moisture from her eyes.
“I do not know,” Sabine said, her voice fading. “When you read the tomes, you will discern that some generations are more flush with the Medium than others. There are individuals, like Lia Demont, who rise up to do great things. Then several generations pass with little notice. Occasionally a generation comes that burdens the world with evil. History is like a river, I think. There are seasons that occur over and over. Sometimes the waters are swollen and violent. Sometimes placid.” She smiled at Maia and hugged her. “We live in turbulent waters, Maia. When your father abandoned his oaths, he issued a new season. We must all endure the rapids now.”
Maia looked down at her hands. “Are you . . . disappointed in me, Grandmother?”
There was silence, and Maia felt her cheeks begin to burn with shame.
“Do not mistake my quiet, Maia,” Sabine said, her voice choked with emotion. Tenderly, she traced her fingers through Maia’s long hair. “You have never had children, so you cannot understand. Someday you will. There is nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you. I wish with all my heart that every parent felt this way. Unfortunately, you had a father whose love was conditional on obedience. I think he inherited that from his father. So many choose to bind themselves to the traditions of their fathers. Even if those traditions are wrong and harmful. But I know . . .” Her voice broke with emotion. “I know how your mother felt about you. There is no stronger love than a mother’s love. Except perhaps a grandmother’s.” She smiled and hugged Maia again, who hugged her fiercely in return. Tears spilled down both their cheeks.
Maia swallowed, feeling the anxious churn of her emotions. She knew her mother was dead, that they had parted until the second life was over. She wept with that knowledge, wishing she could have at least said good-bye. Thanked her for sending her a message through the wanderer Maderos. She let herself feel the emotions, even though they were painful. She let herself cry.