The Ciphers of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood #2)(60)
Maia bowed her head and started to cry, feeling the disappointment and despair crushing her so low that she could not contain the tears. She, Maia, who still hardly ever cried! The internal pressure to succeed had created this waterfall of anguished tears, which flowed unrestrained. Sabine wrapped her in her arms, hugging her close. It was the mark on her shoulder, she thought. And the tattoo on her chestbone. It was too soon. She was still vulnerable to the Myriad Ones. The abbey must be condemning her.
“Shhh,” Sabine soothed. “I felt tonight was the right time. The Medium moved me to bring you here. Maybe there is another reason. Do not despair.”
“How can I not?” Maia said miserably. “The abbey was my last comfort. I have given up everything . . . power, jewels, fine gowns . . . friendships. I have abandoned my father. I have lost my husband. Yet it is still not enough. The taint from the Myriad Ones afflicts me still.” She clutched Sabine’s hands. “I am willing to do anything the Medium asks of me. What more must I give?”
Sabine raised her veil and cowl and then lifted Maia’s. She looked into her eyes with compassion and sympathy, which made Maia’s heart burn with shame at the depths of her own despair. No, she had not lost everything. She had gained new friends. She had discovered her grandmother. She was still alive in spite of a myriad of attempts to crush her. As she tried to quiet her emotions, she felt a subtle, gentle soothing from the Medium.
“Walk with me,” Sabine said kindly, hooking arms together. “There is one more thing you can give. Perhaps something we neglected to consider. For such an occasion as this, we should hold vigil. Giving up sleep will help us be more sensitive to the Medium’s will, and it will communicate the urgency of our need for direction. I will hold it with you, beginning tonight, and then tomorrow, and then however long it takes.”
Maia stared at her pleadingly. “But my father is coming.”
“I know,” Sabine said, radiating an inner calm that Maia marveled at.
They walked the grounds together all night, and when morning came, they stood and stared across the moors wreathed in fluffy mists. A vigil was about more than giving up sleep. It was a demonstration of willingness to heed the Medium’s direction, a sacrifice of comfort and rest to request aid for a specific need. Normally it was held alone, but Maia and her grandmother had roamed the grounds from one end to the other, visiting the Cider Orchard, the duck pond, and the laundry. At one point they encountered Argus and Jon Tayt, who had tracked their footprints and complained loudly of being led on a merry chase through the grounds.
Maia was exhausted in the morning, but she was not as depressed in spirits as she had been at nightfall. She still did not have a clear reason why the Medium had forbidden her entrance to the abbey. Sabine had counseled her to not assume, but to use the time and the quiet to ponder and reflect and open herself even wider to knowledge and wisdom from Idumea.
“The sun has come,” Sabine said, patting her arm. “I must prepare for the day. I will change before we meet for breakfast in the Aldermaston’s kitchen.”
Maia gave her a final hug. “I wish to see my mother’s garden and watch the flowers open.”
Sabine smiled and walked with her to the garden. “I am so thankful your mother left this piece of herself for you. Till breakfast, dear one.”
The Leering responded obediently to her thoughts, and Maia sealed the portal shut behind her. The interior was full of shadows, for the sun had not fully risen yet. Maia was a little chilled, but it was a lovely spring morning, and the flower beds gave off delicately sweet aromas.
“You startled me.”
Maia flinched and whirled around to see Collier emerge from behind a tree. He looked haggard and wary, and was rubbing his eyes. He traced a gloved hand along the edge of a branch. “I normally hear the gardener’s clacking cart from a way off first.”
“Have you been in here all night?” Maia asked, her heart pounding a ragged rhythm.
“I could not sleep,” he answered evasively. “I have been mulling over secrets and trying to make sense of them.”
“Have you had any success?”
He shook his head. “Only failure. But I am persistent. It would amaze you how patient I can be,” he said meaningfully.
The words caused a shudder through Maia. “Corriveaux said something like that to me.”
“No doubt he has read my ancestor’s tome,” Collier said flippantly. “Well now . . . this is an unusual schedule for you, Maia. You normally do not visit the gardens until after some of the lessons. Did you have trouble sleeping as well?”
Maia nodded uncomfortably, looking down at her wet slippers. “I am sorry I startled you, but this garden is mine.”
“Are you forbidding—?”
“No,” Maia interrupted, shaking her head. “I was apologizing. You have come here since our last meeting.”
Collier admitted ruefully, “Until the gardener arrives, of course. It is quiet. Out of sight. My mother had a garden like this,” he said, gazing up at the vine-strewn wall. He was closer to her now, approaching slowly and warily, like a cat. “I received your letter of apology,” he said. “I have been pondering how to best answer it.” He scratched the stubble at his throat.
“Do you have any questions?” Maia asked softly, staring at him in spite of herself. His eyes were so blue, they reminded her of the flowers nearby. The forget-me-nots. Collier’s raw attractiveness both pierced and alarmed her. All her life she had distrusted handsome men. A man like him would catch the eye of many ladies . . . would he even be capable of fidelity?