“Not a soul. But someone touched it in the winter. I saw it in my mind.”
“Was the stone itself pocked? Was it discolored?”
“Yes. The stone was sick. The Leering’s face was nearly burned all the way off. Only slits for eyes.”
He looked shocked and concerned, and his expression sent chills through her. He was worried. He was deathly worried.
“Am I going to die, Aldermaston?” she asked.
“The Blight,” he whispered. Then seizing control of himself, he faced her. “Put that weed away, Lia. Kneel. Shut your eyes.”
Lia obeyed and dropped to her knees and he placed his heavy hand on top of her head. The fiery itches made her tremble, but the weight of his hand brought a trickle of comfort. She felt the Medium strongly within him, a lake of power lapping at the banks. He was full of it – so full of its strength.
“The poison is not mortal. I rebuke it within your body. Be comforted. Be still.” The itching flared up even worse, a spasm that made her gasp. The Aldermaston’s voice grew firmer. “Be comforted. Be at peace. I rebuke the poison. It will not afflict you.” The words no sooner left his mouth when the itching became even worse. Her skin burned as if afire. Tears came down her cheeks and she started to sob and tremble. She clenched her eyes, clenched her jaw again to quell it. His other hand came down on her head. “By Idumea’s Gift, be comforted. Be still. Be cleansed from this affliction.”
A rushing sound filled her ears as the Medium jolted through his hands into her. The pain and itching vanished away, leaving her gasping for breath and weeping with relief. The feeling of well-being, safety, and comfort returned. Slowly, shakily, she drew in a fresh breath and was not tortured by it.
Lia opened her eyes as the Aldermaston stepped away from her and noticed Martin in the doorway, his eyes wide with wonder. Her nose was running, and embarrassed, she covered it with her sleeve.
Martin’s voice was thick with accent and emotion. “I warned you about the calling. I told you the work was too dangerous, by Cheshu!” His eyes glittered with anger. “How is she?”
The Aldermaston walked slowly to his chair and settled in it wearily. He looked aged by the ordeal. “The poison will not kill her. Considering her penchant for dangerous circumstances, is it not wise to train her the best we can?” He looked to Lia. “Be wary not to burn the plant,” he said hoarsely. “The smoke can carry the oils into the air. It would be harmful to breathe those vapors. It has no roots, so bury it outside the Abbey grounds tomorrow. Touch it not, for even the stems are poisoned.”
Martin shut the door and came inside. He went to help Lia stand, but the Aldermaston held out his hand.
“Do not touch her, Martin. Her clothes are soiled with it. You may need to bury them as well if they cannot be cleansed at the laundry. Some strong soap. Wood ash lye should do, you can get it from the lavenders. Bathe everything, including yourself.”
Martin hovered near her. His voice was low and tender. “I worried for you, lass. More so than I declared. That plant, Aldermaston. I have not seen its breed before. I have not seen it in any of the woods I have travelled. Not here or in Pry-Ree.”
The Aldermaston massaged his temples, his eyes squeezed shut. “No, you would not have seen it before. It did not originate from this land.”
Lia looked down at her hands. The rash and sores were still there, but they were no longer itching.
As if reading her thoughts, the Aldermaston said, “Your body will heal now. In a few days, the remnant of the poison will be gone. Siara Healer can give you a salve to aid the blisters in healing.”
“Is it the Blight then?” Lia asked. “This plant?”
“No, the Blight is not a plant or a plague, but it can bring either. We will speak of it tomorrow. You are both wearied from your journey. Eat and rest and see me at first light. We had visitors while you were gone and expect more before Whitsunday this fortnight. The Queen Dowager is coming to Muirwood.”
The Aldermaston and Martin exchanged a look – a look full of dread.
*