The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(97)

It struck her as a strange flash of insight.

Perhaps the kishion was doing the Medium’s will after all.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE




Ereshkigal’s Daughter





When they had last journeyed the cursed shores, it had taken a week for them to reach the lost abbey buried deep within the uninhabited terrain. This time they had traveled more quickly, with more confidence. As the morning dawned and they began walking, Maia finally began to speak to the kishion again.

The thought from Ovidius had struck her again. You can learn from anyone—even your enemy.

“Tell me more about the Naestors,” Maia said, huffing a little. The terrain was steeper. There was a haunting beauty about this land that reminded her vaguely of the Bearden Muir and Muirwood.

“What do you wish to know?” he responded, glancing at her with surprise. Their past several days had been spent in silence.

“Tell me about their customs, traditions,” she said. “In Dahomey, they like eating melted cheese and skewered meats. Each kingdom has its own manners. Tell me about Naess.”

The kishion looked at her with a wrinkle of confusion. He had not broached conversation with her, allowing her time to grieve and for her rage to cool. But he was not averse to talking. “They crave treasure,” he said with a snort. “Treasure and fighting. They are fighters, raiders. They love mischief and plunder. There is a story that one of the chieftains went to conquer the shores of eastern Hautland. They were protected by keeps and walls and thought they could withstand a siege for some time. But the Naestors love cunning and trickery. They were not going to throw their lives away battering down walls. Instead, they sent a kishion over the wall to steal pigeons and doves from the dovecotes. When he got back, they tied burning strings to the birds’ legs and released them. They flew right back to the dovecotes, and it set the thatch on fire. Soon the city was blazing and everyone came running out. It was an easy slaughter.”

Maia looked at him. “That kishion . . . was you?”

He gave her a half smile and did not reply.

“So they love trickery and cunning. They prefer to steal their treasures than work for them. What of the dark pools? Tell me of them. Walraven shared some of that lore with me. What do you know?”

The kishion scratched the back of his neck. “That is lore of the Dochte Mandar. I am not sure I believe it.”

“Why not?” Maia asked.

He shrugged. “Because I see how they manipulate the chieftains. When you went to Naess, did you see any of the revels?”

“No,” Maia answered. She had only been there briefly, and all her time had been spent with Corriveaux and Walraven.

“They whip the fighters into a frenzy with the revels,” the kishion went on. “They are plied with drink, pleasures, and violence. Any guilt is purged away with kystrels. The Dochte Mandar teach that this is the second life. That each man . . . or woman . . . will be reborn again. Depending on how courageous and cunning you are, how fearless in battle and how cruel in strategy, you may become a chieftain in the next life. The Dochte Mandar say they speak to the dead in the dark pools and learn who should be the next chieftains. They tell us who has been reborn and what they were in their past life. To me, it is a bunch of nonsense. I think the Dochte Mandar say what they wish us to believe, to keep themselves in power.”

Something nagged at the back of Maia’s mind as she pondered his words. “I have heard about this teaching,” she said. “Not about the chieftains or the rulers of the Naestors. But I know people give great credence to what the Dochte Mandar teach . . . and they believe we will all be reborn.” She considered that for a moment. “It is an interesting thought. But it is not true.”

He glanced at her, his eyebrows furrowing. “What does it matter whether or not it is true?” he said with disdain.

She gave him a pointed look. “It makes all the difference in the world. You know about the Myriad Ones?”

“They are spirit creatures,” he said with a shrug. “The spirits of the dead.”

“No, they are the spirits of the Unborn. They are spirits too wicked and cruel to pass on to the other realm. They tempt us, kishion. They feed on our fears and jealousies. They persuade us to murder and torture. To betray. To lie. And they feed on us, just like the ravens feed on a carcass. The Myriad Ones have dominion in this fallen world, but there is a better world we can reach if we put our trust in the Medium. What the Naestors do not understand is when they die, they will become subject to the Myriad Ones if they do evil. There is no rebirth. They will feel like they feel now in life, only without the ability to sate their cravings or purge their guilt. Imagine the guilt they will feel then, kishion, when there are no longer any kystrels to numb their pain. Think of yourself and what you have done. There is not another chance. There is no glory waiting, only misery. I may suffer here. But I long for a better world.”

The kishion stared at her in suspicion. “And who is to say the mastons are right? The same logic turns against you, Maia. Perhaps nothing happens when we die. Like a fire that burns out, leaving naught behind but ash. We are simply no more. That is what I believe.”

“You may be right of course,” Maia said simply, not wanting to provoke him. “If you are right, then I have lost nothing in being good. I go to my ashes peacefully and am no more. But if we are right, where does it leave the Naestors?” She gave him a piercing look. “Where does it leave you? I know I am only reciting what the mastons have written in their tomes over the centuries. But I have felt the difference between the power of the Medium and how the Myriad Ones subvert it.”