The Blight of Muirwood (2 page)

Lia swallowed. “I do not understand.”

“The Medium weighs heavily on me tonight, child. Concerning you. The feelings have persisted and I am too old to bother ignoring them. These are yours now. Tomorrow, after Whitsunday, you are the new hunter of Muirwood. I sent for Martin to train you. He is not pleased with the choice, as you could tell, but he will obey. There is no one better than he that I could trust to train you. He is Pry-rian, actually, which makes it all the more interesting considering our discussions since the death of the old king at Winterrowd. Your training begins tomorrow, as I said.”

Years before, Lia had stumbled off the ladder steps carrying a heavy sack of flour, had fallen on her back, the sack spewing flour dust all over her, nearly choking her to death. She felt like that now, her world turned upside down, her head aching and mouth too full of questions to even know how to start speaking.

The Aldermaston slowly stood and walked to another chest. He gently opened it. “You say nothing?” he asked.

“I am too…I am too startled to speak. What about my duties in the kitchen?”

He looked closely at her, squinting. “You will be replaced with another helper. It happens often enough. It would not be possible for you to do both duties, Lia. You must learn to fight, to hunt, to handle animals.” His gaze penetrated her soul. “You will memorize the secret tunnels beneath the grounds for errands that I will send you on. Be one of my advisors, like Prestwich and Pasqua. And Martin. You are to be one of the Abbey’s defenders now. Since you are so talented with the Medium already, you will even handle some of the outer defenses, the stones that warn us of danger. The stones that defend us. That is a duty that Jon could never fulfil because the Medium never heeded him. You are different.”

Become a hunter? Her? The thought of leaving the kitchen made her ill. Leave Pasqua and Sowe again so soon? Her experience with Colvin in the Bearden Muir and Winterrowd was hardly a fortnight ago and she finally felt safe again. Now the Aldermaston ruined it with his words. Yet at the same time, she was excited, thrilled, that he trusted her despite her youth. That he needed her. That the Medium needed her.

Her mind was so full, her question came out a little foolishly. “Has there ever been a girl before?”

“Pardon me, Lia?”

“As your hunter – I mean, as the Aldermaston’s hunter. Has it always been a boy?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Does that matter?”

It was difficult to explain her feelings. “What will everyone say? They will wonder why you chose me and not someone strong like Getman Smith, or some other wretched like Asdin who you trust with messages.”
They will mock me
, she thought, her eyes boring into his.

He was quiet a moment, his expression beginning to twist into annoyance.

“Fools mock,” he answered gruffly. “Tongues wag. Babies cry. And goats bleat.” He reached down into the chest he hovered near and pulled out a bundle of soft blue fabric. “They would fuss and fret no matter who I set in that position. Many did the same when Jon became the Abbey’s hunter. But only because they do not understand that I did not choose him. Neither did I choose you. Muirwood is guided by the Medium, not by me.” He paused and studied her face. “Tomorrow, the training begins. Tonight though, you must dance.” He approached and handed her the bundle, which she discovered to be a new cloak and dress.

His voice was thick with emotion. “I cannot believe you are old enough for the Whitsunday festival. I knew this time would come. I always knew it. The night of the storm when you stole the ring. I was so angry with you, that you stole something valuable from my chamber. A gold ring. Yet the Medium forbid me to reclaim it from you or to chastise you. You still wear it around your neck. The Medium was aware that you would need it. And you did, in the Bearden Muir. Just as it is aware that you need this experience now. Here, take these. Your old cloak and dress are fit for rags now. Pasqua has been telling me for some time that you are still growing. And since tonight is the maypole dance, we thought it best if you and Sowe had new dresses and girdles. Go child. Return in the morning for the sword and the rest instead of bringing me my breakfast.”

Lia bit her lip. “Does Pasqua know?”

The Aldermaston shook his head. “Not yet. She will know tonight, and I will tell her.”

Lia took the soft bundle and hugged it to her chest. Her feelings swarmed, threatening her with tears, but she clenched them back, refusing to cry in front of him. For a moment, for an instant, she had hoped he was going to tell her that she could become a learner at the Abbey. Colvin had promised her that. Would he not have made the arrangements for her to start when the new first years arrived? More than anything, she wanted a tome of her own and the implements of scriving. She wanted to read about the mastons of the past and how they had learned to tame and be tamed by the Medium. That was what she wanted, not becoming a hunter. The experience in the Bearden Muir still haunted her dreams at night. She never wanted to go back there.

Closing her eyes, Lia nodded and turned away from the Aldermaston, uncertain what she should be feeling towards him. Gratitude? Dismay? Trust? Betrayal? Why were her feelings always so tangled and confusing with him?

She hurried out of the manor house to the kitchen. The sun was low in the sky and sinking fast. The festival would begin soon. Everything in her world was about to change.

Desperately, she wanted to talk to someone, to spill her feelings and know she would be listened to. Someone who knew about facing their fears and rising above them. Her heart wrenched with confusion. It was not Sowe she wanted to tell. It was Colvin. She was grateful that she would see him soon. For word had spread all day that many knight-mastons who had received their collars and spurs at Winterrowd had come to celebrate Whitsunday at Muirwood.

* * *

Sowe clenched Lia’s arm, walking so close their feet almost tangled. Her voice was soft and frantic, her breath fragrant from the mint leaves Pasqua had given them. She had also tried to tame Lia’s curly hair, but that was always its own challenge. “Tomorrow? You are leaving tomorrow? That is not fair, Lia. You are my sister, not just my friend. How can he separate sisters?”

Lia kept her voice low since there were so many others crowding through the gate, trying to leave the grounds for the village beyond.

“The Aldermaston said he would tell Pasqua tonight. But what can she do, Sowe? He is committed to doing this. When has she ever been able to change his mind? Look, do you see Reome over there? Look how she has braided her hair. She is too beautiful. It makes me ill.”

Sowe squeezed her arm even tighter when the maypole came into view, illuminated by torches and rushlights. “I have never been so nervous. We should have practiced more. What if I stumble?”

“You will not stumble, Sowe.”

“What if I do?”

“If you keep thinking about that, it is bound to happen! Just breathe deeply. This is our first year – no one is expecting us to dance all that well.”

“Who is that young man who just asked Reome?” Sowe whispered. “His arms are enormous!”

“The local blacksmith, I think,” muttered Lia jealously. He was a head taller than the other boys. “Ugh, there is Getman. Pray he does not see us.”

“He is coming our way, Lia!”

In an awful moment, she realized Sowe was right. They had just exited the gates with the flow of the crowd and Getman appeared from their left and cut a course directly barring their way to the maypole. Lia’s stomach shriveled and she searched the crowd for a sign of Colvin. Where was he?

“Will you dance with me?”

Lia looked at him scornfully, hating even the thought of touching his sooty hand. But she realized with some surprise that he was not even looking at her, but at Sowe, who squeezed her arm so tightly it hurt.

Sowe mumbled an answer, but the crowd was so boisterous that Lia knew he had not heard her.

“Will you?” he repeated, his eyes blazing, daring her to humiliate him with a rejection.

Sowe released Lia’s arm and extended her hand. A look of victory filled Getman’s eyes and he snatched her hand and tugged her after him, for the first circle was forming around the maypole already. Looking back, Sowe met Lia’s gaze, pleading with her for rescue, but there was nothing Lia could do but watch them. Watch them twirl and dance. Watch the torchlight glisten on Sowe’s dark hair as they circled around the pole, back again, swirling, dancing.

Everything seemed to slow like thick honey. It was as if Lia saw her friend for the first time – even though she knew Sowe’s face better than anyone’s. But it was the unforgiving look in Reome’s eyes that spoke the truth. Reome also watched Sowe as she danced – and it was the look of utter jealousy. The look that sprouts from a proud woman’s heart when it realizes someone else is more beautiful. Sowe was completely ignorant of the scathing stare. She was shy with Getman, but that only added to her appealing qualities. They twirled and they danced the other direction. Around the pole and back, weaving the ribbons until the entire maypole was sheathed in silk. Lia stood aloof, with some other girls who did not have partners.

When the song was finished, the dancers were given a reprieve while the coiled ribbons were untangled. Sowe left Getman graciously and started away when another young man, the Tanner boy, appeared breathlessly at her side and asked for the next dance. He claimed her hand and tugged her back towards the newly gathering circle. Sowe looked over her shoulder, searching, but their eyes did not meet.

Lia stood there, her stomach twisting into knots. There were learners dancing with learners, their fine cut gowns and gold-threaded tunics dazzling with jewelry, their skin spicy with the scent of costly perfumes. But on Whitsunday, even the wretcheds were their equals. No one was forbidden to dance around the maypole.

A band of knights emerged from around the almonry and Lia’s heart nearly burst with relief. They were dressed in the same uniform, each wearing a gleaming collar and chain, the same she had seen around Colvin’s neck. She bit her lip, searching their faces. They were young, all of them, and quite sure of themselves. But none of them were familiar to her. They approached a gaggle of beautiful learners who Lia had known and served dinner to and then escorted them to the circle. Lia watched them dance, again on the sidelines. As soon as the round was finished, Sowe was beset again by another youth – this time, a learner in fine clothes who had been watching her. An ugly feeling began to bloom in Lia’s stomach. She crushed it down, unwilling to let the feeling coalesce into an envious thought. It was her third dance already.

Where was Colvin? He had promised he would dance with her. Where was he?

“Lia?”

She turned, expecting to see him, but it was Duerden. He coughed, trying to work up his courage. He looked so young and small, even though they were the same age, for she was much taller than him. “Lia, would you…would you do me the honor and dance with me?”

Anything was better than the agony of standing alone for the third dance. She looked down at him. In the back of her mind, she remembered being teased about his height.

“Yes, Duerden. Of course I will. I would be pleased to.”

His hand was sweaty. He led her awkwardly to the maypole ring. Reome saw them, sizing them both up, and could not be bothered to conceal a smirk. Sowe stood across the ring from them, holding hands with the learner who had claimed her.

“It is lovely this evening…you look…lovely this evening.” It was a gallant attempt, but it felt forced. Everyone in the outer circle held hands, the girls on the left of each boy.

“You do not need to praise me, Duerden,” Lia said. “We have been friends for a year now. Are you excited to see your family before starting the second year? Are they staying in the village?”

“Yes, at the Swan. They are over there, actually, by the booth where Pasqua is selling her treats. My father is the one stuffing his face with a tart.” She saw him. He was short as well. His mother was taller, more Lia’s height. She cringed inside.

“Will he mind seeing you dance with me?” Lia asked in a low voice as the circle began skipping around the maypole.

“No, Lia. It is not your fault you are a wretched, after all. I have never looked at you that way. I would like…you to meet them. My parents. After the circle is done.”

Lia closed her eyes, grateful to be dancing, but uncomfortable. Duerden was a good-natured boy. He had always been friendly to her, but she had no other feelings for him.

“I would like that,” she said, but it felt like a lie on her tongue. She glanced back at Pasqua’s booth which was brisk with business as it was each year. A year ago she had watched the maypole dance with hungry eyes. So much had changed.

“Have you heard the latest news about Winterrowd?” Duerden asked as the circle stopped and began rotating the other direction. “The old king was killed by hired archers, they say. Pry-rian archers. Do you know about Pry-Ree, Lia? About their mercenaries?”

Her stomach did flip-flops as it had every time he mentioned the battle of Winterrowd. So much of what he told her about it was untrue, nothing more than gossip. She knew the truth for certain, because she was the one who the Medium had used to loose the shaft that killed the king. She had only told the Aldermaston what she had done – no one else – and how the Medium had commanded her to do it. No one else knew. Not even Sowe.