The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(97)

They started walking down the pier toward the castle.

Again, Maia’s vision blurred. Now, she saw that she was on a different dock. It appeared to be morning, yet there was no sun. The sky was a pall of shadows and low-hanging clouds. The city that lay before her was small and squat, a fishing village. The dwellings were all made of timber, not stone. But what caught her gaze was the monolithic mountain that rose like a king behind the city, with cliffs so high that the clouds scudded against them. Only a small flat reef and a few rolling hills were lower down—the cliffs were massive and jagged and they reminded her of a giant, forbidding Leering. A Leering bigger than a city.

She was under the sway of the Myriad One and only barely conscious of her reality, but she knew this was Naess, where the Dochte Mandar ruled omnipotently. She knew it deep down, beneath the webs that confounded and confused her. The craggy mountain loomed over the city, a bier stone. It made her cower with fear to see how tiny the homes and fortresses were beneath it.

Then she noticed the light. She wondered how she could see the city so well with the sun hidden away. As the Dochte Mandar escorted her off the boat and led her down the pier, she noticed that the streets were full of cracked Leerings, giving off the colors of dawn. It was only the light from the Leerings that made it seem like daytime. The differences of this place fascinated her, even through the thrall of the Myriad One. The air was cool and frosty and the people were bundled up for it in fur-lined vests and fur caps. The men wore boots with pointed toes that curled up. The women’s hair was braided on each side, and they were only seen accompanied by men. There were carts and stands, trading and selling. The Dochte Mandar guided her past it all.

Maia blinked and found herself in the dream again. A soldier led her through the postern door of Pent Tower. The halls were illuminated with torches, and rushes crackled under her feet as she trod on them. The memory was sticky and clinging, and it masked the sights and sounds of Naess. She struggled to free herself. Wake up! Wake up! The current bubbled and crested, carrying her along effortlessly. She struggled to swim against the current of memory, to break loose of the clinging webs.

I am myself! I am me! Let me go!

Part of her vision wavered, and she could feel a sense of annoyance. But she was not strong enough to burst the bonds that entrapped her mind. They were walking toward the solar, her father’s favorite chamber. For her, it had become a room of painful memories. She squeezed her hands into fists and glanced back. The kishion was shadowing the soldiers who escorted her, and his icy-cold gray-blue eyes gazed at her with ruthless intensity.

“Here we are,” Rawlt said, stopping in front of the solar door. He bowed to her. “Your father waits for you within.”

She did not want to see her father. He had caused so much suffering in her life, so much anguish. Yet her heart still hoped that he would soften toward her.

She remembered what happened next all too well, but she watched it unfold in the queer way of dreams. He was pacing in the solar when she arrived, agitated.

“Maia,” he breathed with true warmth, and opened his arms to her. She ran to him, overjoyed by his embrace, by the still-familiar smell of him. She had been unprepared for the damage the years of absence had done to him. He was thicker around the middle, his hair more silver, his gaze more careworn and concerned. His left eye twitched uncontrollably. He kissed her head and squeezed her hard, crushing her ribs. “Look at you. Look at you!” He held her apart, holding her by the shoulders.

Her left shoulder.

The mark was not there yet.

She felt a burning sensation on her skin. This is not real! She had to wake herself before it was too late. She heard a muffled voice in her ears, but the speaker was not her father. Her hazy senses recognized Corriveaux.

“. . . arrangements are nearly finished, my lady. There will be a feast on the morrow, after the coronation. Then a celebration. A celebration unlike any before. You are most welcome here. You are to be the first Empress of Naess since the days of our ancestors. The people are superstitious by nature. They will worship you truly . . .”

Though she heard Corriveaux’s voice, Maia still saw her father’s face, sensed his deep worry and concern. His hand gripped her shoulder. “You would not believe what has happened since the Dochte Mandar were expelled. The people are murdering each other, Maia! Every day there are new reports of some atrocity. The Dochte Mandar unleashed something in this kingdom before they left. Walraven did, I know it! We never found his kystrel after he died. I think he gave it to someone. Maia, did he . . . give it to you?”

Maia’s throat was dry. She stared at her father. He knew. Somehow he knew. Yet he was not angry. He was . . . hopeful. His eyes were bright with intensity.

“You have it,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes blinding with joy. “The chain you wear around your neck, I can see it. The chain. You wear it?”

Maia nodded, terrified. Her emotions wavered between exaltation and sorrow and terror. She had never told anyone her secret. Now her father knew. He could execute her. He could destroy her without trial or witnesses . . . the shadowstain on her chest was all the proof he would need.

He gripped her shoulders, his voice low and cautious. “I will not tell anyone, Maia. No one need know. In Walraven’s tome, there is mention of an abbey. A lost abbey. It was in Dahomey. Not Dochte . . . not the one the Blight destroyed. There was another abbey. It has been lost in the cursed lands for generations, but the Dochte Mandar know where it is and how to find it. Only someone equipped with a kystrel can follow the waymarkers to it. There is knowledge there, Maia, knowledge that I seek. The Dochte Mandar say the abbey is protected by Leerings that only a woman can pass. Yet they do not allow women to study, do they? There is knowledge there that will destroy the Dochte Mandar. Maia, it will save our kingdom. It is the only way.” His look was frantic, his voice quivering with intensity. “My spies tell me things. They whisper warnings of invasion. All the other kingdoms have fallen under the sway of the Dochte Mandar and cannot be trusted. The Dochte Mandar are a cult, Maia, with ways of divining the future. When they left, our kingdom began to suffer gross tortures, and they will not relent until we are all under their thrall. You must go to Dahomey. You speak their language fluently, and can speak many more tongues besides. I know Walraven trained you to write as well. I permitted it, Maia. I knew that someday I would need you for an errand like this one. I will send protectors with you. Trusted men who will guard you and protect you at the cost of their own lives. Will you do this for me, Maia? Will you leave aboard a ship and sail to the cursed shores? Will you do it? Will you obey your king? Will you honor your father’s wishes?”