The Ciphers of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood #2)(81)

“You saved me,” Maia whispered, her voice trembling. She was waiting for him to speak, dreading to know his intentions for her. He had poisoned her mother. She could not forget that, nor could she trust him.

“As you saved me,” he said with a thick, almost raspy voice. She had not heard him speak in some time and had almost forgotten the harsh timbre of his voice. “On another night . . . in another mist. Do you remember?”

“Of course,” Maia answered, struggling to her feet. He lurched toward her, and she flinched from the bloodied knife in his hand, her abdomen still bearing a scar from a wound he had given her as a warning in the cursed woods of Dahomey.

He chuckled derisively and grabbed her arm to help her stand. “I am not here to hurt you, Maia. You need not fear me.” There was something in his voice, some strange feeling she could not understand. He wiped his blade on his hip, then sheathed it, still clutching her arm.

The Myriad Ones mewled in the fog, prodding and sniffing at her, enveloping her in determined thoughts, and she felt herself almost faint. Her knees buckled as the blackness threatened to overwhelm her again.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, holding out his other arm to stop her from falling.

“The abbey,” she whispered desperately, feeling the multiple wills crushing against hers. They weighed her down like stones.

The kishion gripped her forearm and circled his other arm around her back, then helped her move toward the edge of the wall, toward the thick mass of oak trees and their clawing branches. She felt her left shoulder burn with heat, but somehow, the Myriad Ones could not sink inside her, and she felt them rage in frustration.

The vigil! she realized thankfully. She had been holding vigil for two days, and though she lacked the protection of the abbey, the Medium was still shielding her. As she stumbled forward, she felt the shrieks of the Myriad Ones against her mind, their howls of fury and impotence. Again her thoughts wavered, her vision blackening as if a swarm of dark leaves were spinning in front of her eyes.

“A little farther,” the kishion said, his teeth gritted. Could he feel the madness fluttering around them as well? She hunched over, weak, and pressed against him to keep herself upright. Her knees shook with the pressure, and each step became more arduous. It was worse than climbing mountains.

The wall was just ahead. She could sense a change in the Myriad Ones. The sheriff and his men were now dead, and there were no emotions left to suck on. They crowded her again, vengeful and filled with hatred, their thoughts hissing like steam. Maia stumbled, racked with dread and despair. She felt them take control of her arms and legs, turning them into lead.

“Hurry!” she pleaded to the kishion, her mouth starting to lose itself.

Sensing her panic, the kishion hoisted her in his arms and lunged the final steps into the protection of the abbey grounds. It was like coming up for air after being submerged. The blackness of the Myriad Ones was instantly dispelled. They keened with rage at her, furious that their victim had been snatched from their grasp. The walls of the abbey shook with the tremors of their anger, their revenge, their twisted desires. Maia glanced back, feeling unseen sentinels standing there, the ghosts of the dead protecting the hallowed grounds. She breathed deep, almost weeping with relief. The feeling of peace that flooded her heart was such a comfort. She rested her head against the kishion’s chest, panting.

“Thank you,” she whispered brokenly. “Thank you!”

The kishion carried her, held tight in his arms, and moved through the thick groves of oak trees, ducking occasionally to stay away from the reaching branches. His breath was heavy in her ear, and she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he labored to carry her through the trees. The fog shrouded the way, but she knew the grounds intimately now. She thought they were nearer to the kitchen than the manor when the veil of trees parted and they reached an expanse of lawn.

“Set me down, I can walk now,” she said, her ebbed strength returning. The weariness threatened to make her doze.

He obeyed and shifted her in his arms, setting her down just past the small twigs and scrub of the grove. The grass was cool and wet against her shoes.

She reached out to touch his arm. “Why are you here?” she asked suddenly.

There was a little more light, diffused from various sources on the grounds. His face was still partially smothered in shadow, but she saw his amused smile. “I have my business, Maia,” he said cryptically. “Do not ask what it is. I heard them plotting to abduct you tonight and waited for the sheriff to drag you out. I followed them into the mist. They did not heed my warning.”

Her heart filled with wariness and fear. “Did you follow me from Dahomey?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I had to heal from my injury.” His hand went down to his waist, pressing his healed wound, and he winced, his lips curling with pain. “The injury still afflicts me. But you saved me, Maia. As I have saved you. We are bound, you and I.” His voice dropped lower. “Do not trust your father. He means you harm.”

Maia’s voice quavered. “I know.”

“Then fight him,” the kishion said, his voice rising with anger.

Maia shook her head wearily. “I cannot. He is my father.”

He chuckled coldly. “He hired me to kill you. I told you that.”

“Even so, I will not harm him. I wish you had not killed the sheriff’s men.”