The Ciphers of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood #2)(83)

Maia felt a spasm of doubt . . . just a tiny seed of one, like the fluff from a dandelion. She easily crushed it under her resolve.

She turned to Collier. “Come with me,” she begged him.

His look changed from surprise to horror in an instant. He shook his head. “I cannot,” he said in a choking voice. “With all my heart I wish I could. I dare not.” He stood, his cheeks flushed with emotion. “I did feel the Medium tonight,” he whispered. “I cannot deny it. When Carew was leading me away . . . while we were walking, I heard a voice in my head. I heard the Medium whisper to me what Carew was going to say next. And then he did. Every word he said as we walked, I was told in advance. And then it warned me that Crabwell was going to trick me, that they were coming after you.” He nearly choked, his voice thick with tears. “I knew it was the Medium.” His hand rested on Maia’s back. “You must go. I am not ready yet.” He stared into her eyes. “But I will be. Someday. I promise you.”

A spasm of hope filled Maia’s chest, and she released the Aldermaston’s hands so she could hug Collier. She buried her face in his chest, and he embraced her just as fiercely in return. They clung to each other, lost in a moment of time that was fleeting yet seemed to last an eternity. She felt him press his mouth against her hair as he squeezed her hard, crushing her to him. His arms were trembling, and her heart burned with searing heat. She could hear the whispers now, growing louder, calling for her to come.

Like Sabine, she also did not know what it was that had loosened the restraints on the abbey. Perhaps it was Collier’s fledgling faith? She was no longer tired, even though she had not slept. Her muscles and joints filled with resolve and courage. She would face the maston test. She would summon all her will, and she would submit to the Medium, giving whatever was required of her.

When Maia finally pulled away from her husband’s embrace, she saw tears in Collier’s eyes. He seemed embarrassed by them and suddenly looked much younger to her. She took his hand in hers, holding it, feeling its warmth, determined to take part of him with her into the abbey.

“Wait for me,” she whispered, clinging to his hand and pressing his fingers with her thumb.

“I promise,” he told her. How odd that now, of all times, she wanted to kiss his cheek . . . or his mouth. She could feel the tension between them, the desire to seal the rush of feelings with a kiss. The finality of the curse tormented her: to never kiss him, or their children. She would always suffer for the mistake she had made, even though it had been made out of ignorance.

It was not fair, but she realized that most creatures suffered for mistakes not their own. Argus had suffered from his own instincts. He had been seeking Maia and trying to save her. He could not stop himself from growling and attacking a threat. She did not believe the kishion had maliciously killed the hound. It was his own instinct for self-preservation that had moved his dagger. Just as it was her own instinct to try and save people, even when others thought she was foolish.

Almost imperceptibly, Collier dipped his mouth toward hers. She shook her head, backing away, her heart nearly bursting again with pain.

“No,” she mouthed to him, then bit her lip.

His eyes mirrored her suffering, but he nodded obediently and stepped away.

As she let go of his hand, she turned and let her grandmother lead her out of the room to prepare her once again for the maston rites.





There are three things that a maston must do. By these three can one learn to govern oneself and ultimately the Medium. Speak the truth. Do not yield to anger. Give much when you are asked for little. By these three steps will one walk the path leading back to Idumea.

—Richard Syon, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE




Victus



Even though the night was dark and the fog was oppressive and thick, the abbey shone with light. Maia stared at it through the gossamer veil she wore, amazed by the brightness. In the distance a cock crowed, the creature probably startled by the deceptive glare emanating from Muirwood.

The Aldermaston’s steward chuckled and patted her arm. “Poor rooster is going to be surprised when the sun rises later,” he said. She could see his dimples flashing. He was much taller than her, and it felt comforting to have him at her side as they approached the doors.

This time she felt only a warm welcome as she advanced.

“Have you ever seen the abbey glow like this?” Maia inquired.

“Not in the twenty years I have lived here,” he replied simply. “I do not know what to make of it. This is as far as I bring you. Good luck, Maia. I will continue holding vigil for you. I think everyone is doing the same.”

Maia grasped his big hand and squeezed it, then approached the abbey through the fog-kissed grass. She felt peaceful, solemn, and nervous about the duty before her. Strangely, she did not feel any fear. After weeping so heavily for Argus’s death, her emotions had calmed, and she could almost swear she felt him padding alongside her in the stillness—a smokeshape in the mist.

As Maia walked, she sensed beings gliding in the stillness all around her. Through the roiling mists, she discerned the peaceful shapes of men and women, fading in and out of view. The dead were congregating at the abbey. She could feel their thoughts brushing against hers. This was the moment they had waited a century for. The opening of the Apse Veil would finally bring freedom. Her heart was struck with the uniqueness of the moment, the whisper of breath before speech.