The Banished of Muirwood (35 page)

“Find Jon Tayt Evnissyen,” Sabine said.

The spindles began to whirl.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Ransom

T
he gardens were dark, the Leerings tamed to provide shadows and concealment. Maia heard the rustle of her own skirts, felt the cool touch of the wind through her hair as they passed the Leerings, one by one, a maze of tortured faces depicting every emotion known.
The Garden of Leerings.
The thought flitted through her mind and then fled.

“Grandmother,” Maia said, suddenly clutching her companion’s arm. Her heart thudded in her chest. “There is someone else here, someone I cannot leave behind. The King of Dahomey . . . it was his ship that brought me here.” What would the Dochte Mandar do to him if Maia fled? She knew it instantly. He would be held hostage once again, kept prisoner until they had bled his kingdom of coin to punish him for Maia’s betrayal. The money Collier had gathered to fund his invasion would be stripped away. She pressed her temples, remembering his last words to her.

“We cannot go back,” Sabine said, her look clouding with sadness. “Maia, he is not a maston. You cannot marry him.”

Her heart shuddered with pain. The truth came bubbling from her lips. “I already have. We were”—she gulped, swallowed—“wed in Dahomey a fortnight ago. I was his prisoner.”

The look her grandmother gave her was full of pity. She could still see the strong resemblance to her mother, but now it was more obvious they were different people. Sabine had gray-blond hair that was crinkled slightly, whereas her mother’s was more straight. Their smiles were similar. She cupped Maia’s cheek. “You were not yourself, were you?”

Maia shook her head, ashamed. “I wanted to tell him. Grandmother, he wears my kystrel. I am such a fool. I have been deceived all the while.”

“Shush, child,” Sabine said. “The Myriad Ones are cunning. Their queen is known as Ereshkigal. You will learn all of this when you take your maston vows. You could not have known, Maia, because you were not permitted to study. Let us keep walking, the orb bids us onward.”

“I cannot leave him behind!” Maia pleaded into her ear. “He will think I betrayed him. He is just as deceived as I was.”

Maia’s grandmother gently squeezed Maia’s neck. “He had more choice in the matter than you did. The two of you were promised when you were both very little.” She released Maia from the hug and pulled back to stroke her cheek. “The Dahomeyjan are known for their craftiness and subtlety. It is no coincidence that the hetaera spawn from their kingdom.” She sighed sympathetically. “Let me consult the orb.”

Sabine cupped it in her hands, staring at it thoughtfully. “Is there a safe way to rescue King Gideon from the Victus?”

The spindle on the orb did not turn, but writing appeared on the lower half of the orb. It was Pry-rian script, elegant and slanting.

The king’s collier must be ransomed.

Maia stared at the writing, unveiled in golden aurichalcum. Her pulse quickened. The Medium knew his name.

Sabine stared at the words, then glanced at Maia.

“I understand it,” Maia said, touching her arm. Her heart trembled with sadness.
Forgive me, Collier. Forgive me.

She did not hear any echo in her mind. His thoughts were silent, which made her feel sadness and guilt. The emotions wrestled mercilessly inside her.

“Come,” Sabine said. She hugged Maia again, and then the orb guided them into the thick gorse of the gardens and the hedge mazes beyond. They continued walking until a bark sounded and Argus came padding up, wagging his tail frantically.

“Oh, Argus,” Maia said, dropping to her knees and letting the boarhound lick her face. She nuzzled his fur, stifling her tears of joy and regret. Stomping through the grass after the dog came Jon Tayt, who looked at her with a wise, knowing smile.

“By Cheshu, you do look like a queen,” he said, coming up and mussing her hair. He turned to Sabine and bowed. “I brought her here as best I could, Aldermaston. Down, Argus, stop licking the lass’s face.” He shook his head, then gave a meaningful look to Sabine Demont. “Is my banishment over?”

“Not yet, Jon Tayt Evnissyen,” Sabine said. She looked at Maia. “The Evnissyen are the protectors and advisers of the royal Family of Pry-Ree.”

“I know of the Evnissyen,” Maia said. “I met them myself when I was in Pry-Ree. I did not know you were one of them.”

“That is when I asked Jon Tayt to protect you. I sent him far away, very far away, to wait in the mountains of Dahomey until you emerged. He has been patient and faithful. Jon, your duty is not fulfilled. You must protect her in an ancient land where she will study to take the maston test. There is much we must speak on, but not amidst so many Leerings. They have eyes and faces, yes, but they also have ears. Did you bring the gown from the ship?”

Jon Tayt nodded and unslung his pack. “Yes, the captain bade me to bring it,” he said, rummaging through to the bottom. There were small pots, sieves, knives, spoons—a veritable kitchen crammed inside. Sabine began to help Maia unfasten her kirtle. The rich golden fabric peeled away and Maia felt her heart sadden. She wanted to rip away everything that reminded her of what she had unwittingly become. How curious then, that she would be loath to give up the splendid gown and the jewels Collier had put on her. But she kept the earrings in her ears, wanting them as a keepsake to remind her of her husband. Her arms shivered in the cold air as the dress slumped to her ankles. She wore only her shift, and her teeth began chattering.

Maia noticed her grandmother staring at her shoulder, an inscrutable look on her face. Her skin was wrinkled and aged, her beauty faded but not lost. There was something almost angelic about her, an inner peace and calmness that made her lovely to Maia’s eyes. Though Sabine’s eyes were narrow, they did not judge. Her small hand rested near the brand on Maia’s shoulder blade, warm against her frigid skin.

“I am sorry, Grandmother,” Maia whispered, feeling the shame like a yawning chasm.

Sabine shook her head slowly. “You did not do it willingly, I know that. But you did it nonetheless. We often suffer the consequences of the choices of others. But our own are the most painful.” The fingers gripped her skin tightly. “There is a tome I must show you. The tome of my great-grandmother, Lia Demont. She is the one who cursed the Leering that branded your shoulder. The curse she laid on it was done by irrevocare sigil. It
cannot
be undone.” The grip firmed even more, Sabine’s eyes were deadly earnest. “Maia, because of the curse, you cannot kiss anyone. Ever. Not your husband. Not your child
ren, if the Medium blesses you with them someday. This you must
never
do. The plague it can unleash is terrible. The Medium is strong with our Family. You must find a husband and pass along our connection with the Medium, just as you were born with it. That husband must be a maston. He must know the truth about you. But no one else can know. Only we few.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “Ereshkigal will not cease trying to destroy you. She wants revenge because of what Lia Demont did to the hetaera. You will always be hunted. You will always be persecuted. But you will be strong enough not to succumb. Your great-great-great-grandmother Lia saw you in visions, Maia. She told me about you in her tome. There is something you must do, something only a maston can do. Do you have it, Jon Tayt?”

Jon Tayt withdrew an oilskin bundle from his pack and began untying it. He loosed the strands and unrolled it. Maia caught the glimpse of pale fabric. It was a peasant’s gown and girdle, pale in color—she could not tell if it was blue or green in the dim light of the stars.

“It is a wretched’s gown,” Sabine Demont said, stroking the fabric. “A gown much like Lia wore growing up. Being a wretched taught her humility and meekness. Your experiences have taught you similar lessons. I think the Medium tests us. It tries our patience. You were not swayed by jewels or riches or any of the promises of vanity. Wear this as your disguise for now, Maia. Where we are going, girls are taught to read and scribe. Even the wretcheds. This is done in secret, at night, to protect them from the Dochte Mandar. These girls are called the Ciphers. You will become one of them.”

Her stomach thrilled. She would be among other girls who knew how to read? “Thank you, Grandmother,” Maia said. She took the simple gown and hurriedly put it on and then tied the girdle around her waist. The fabric was wool and it was warm. The sleeves were long and drooping.

Argus’s ears pointed up and he snuffled a growl.

“Best we leave,” Jon Tayt said. “We have a mountain to cross before we reach the
Holk
.”

The dinghy bobbed and pitched in the turbulent waters. Maia was soaked through from the spume and spray, and she huddled alongside Argus, who growled at the bucking sensation. It was morning, but there was no sun, only a pale sky—like the promise of sunrise except without the glorious rays of light and striations of color. The rocks were jagged like decaying teeth and the oarsmen pulled hard to crest the swells. She clung to the gunwale, watching as the oarsmen fought the pounding surf.

“Row man! Row!” the man at the helm barked in Pry-rian. “Pull hard, lads, it is a way off yet. Row man, row!”

Maia stared back at the craggy alcove, the enormous black basalt cliffs that rose from the churning foam and spray like a decaying monster. Sea creatures speckled the rock with a variety of muted colors, creating a queer beauty that thrilled her heart.

You cannot escape me, daughter of Ereshkigal.
The voice sneered in her mind.
I am the Queen of Storms.

Maia gritted her teeth, afraid of the voices in her mind.

You will all drown. If you will not serve me, you will drown.

“Maia?” Sabine’s hand touched her arm. The fabric of her sleeve was soaked and her grandmother was equally drenched. “You look fearful. Do you hear her again?”

Maia nodded, shivering and shuddering. The brand on her shoulder was hot.

Another huge wave picked up the dinghy, and for a moment, Maia feared it would capsize. She clung to the hull, terrified.

“She cannot harm you,” Sabine said soothingly. “You hear her many voices because you trained yourself to listen for them. Now you must learn to ignore her thoughts and begin coaxing the Medium to speak with you. It begins with a thought, Maia.” Another swell made Sabine totter a bit. “That was thrilling!” she said, beaming. “It begins with a thought. Think of a safe place, of a time when you were happy. With the memory will come the feeling. You can choose what you remember, and thus the feelings those memories instill. You
must
choose wisely. Everything hinges on our thoughts.”

Maia frowned as she realized something. The dreams she had experienced since her visit to the lost abbey had returned her to her most haunting memories, summoning all the dark emotions she had buried deep within her. Ereshkigal had not just devised the dreams as an empty distraction—the Myriad One had feasted on her hatred, her fear, and her resentment.

“I do not have many
memories
of peaceful times,” she said, her voice rising in pitch as the next swell hit them. Her stomach bubbled and seethed. It was exhilarating, but terrifying.

She remembered the dinghy that had brought her to the shores of Dahomey. Faces and images flashed through her mind. The ruins of Dochte Abbey, a blackened skeleton of rubble that would never rise again. The kishion gripping her hand, helping her climb down a rope despite the bob of the waves. Leerings. Blinding lightning. So many of the memories were tainted. Maia had known such little peace in her life, and anxiety flooded her heart at the reminder.

Then a memory struck her like a hammer blow. It was a small inn in the hinterlands of Dahomey. There was pretty music, clapping, and dancing. As she closed her eyes, she could hear the stamp of boots, the cheers, the thrill of the various instruments. She longed to make music again, to strum a lute with her fingers.

In her mind, she saw Collier approaching her.

“A dance,” he said, extending his hand to her. “If you must go tonight, then give me this memory to take with me. Please, my lady. Dance with me.”