The thought cost her dearly.
Suddenly the kishion was moving. Just as the blade swung down, he stepped in on her and grabbed her wrist. It was like trying to touch a puddle of quicksilver – he was impossibly fast. Her arm bent the wrong way, making her gasp. A jerk against her wrist and her fingers opened and the blade dropped with a thump onto the rush matting nearby. The next thing Lia knew, the bathwater rushed up to meet her. The kishion’s fingers clamped around her neck, holding her head under the water. Her arm was still twisted backwards, her shoulder screaming in pain. The waters thudded in her ears and she felt herself dizzy with pain. Drowning – she had never thought she would die that way. She kicked at the kishion, tried to dislodge him, but there was nothing she could do. The air burned in her lungs. She knew if she breathed in the water, she would die. It would end.
She had failed the Aldermaston and Colvin. She had failed the Abbey.
Muirwood.
The thought rushed to her mind. At the head of the tub was a Leering used to summon water. With all her mind, with all her will, she summoned the water and with it, enough fire to make it scald. The Medium roared inside her as she opened herself to it. She felt the Leering seethe awake, responding to her thoughts with outrage and fury. A blast of steam engulfed them both and the kishion screamed.
His grip did not loosen, if anything it tightened.
Lia fed the Leering with her desperate need to breathe. It was no longer scalding water but a blast of steam, like a storm suddenly bursting. The kishion let her go, stumbling backwards against the onslaught. Lia pulled herself up, gulping in air and spluttering. Ellowyn’s face was white with terror at the kishion’s ravaged face. His skin was blistering, his eyes welded shut by the reddening flesh. The Medium surged through her, as if every stone and timber screamed with it. The fire Leering at the fireplace blazed white hot.
The kishion stumbled over a chest and went down, his body twitching with pain. Short, heavy grunts came from his mouth. After clawing back to his feet, he staggered towards the door, avoiding the glare of the firepit as if the waves of heat were excruciating.
Lia blinked the water from her eyes, wiped her mouth and felt the Medium whisper to her.
Redeem the Abbey.
The kishion turned, as if he too had heard the voice. He faced the flames of the fireplace, his hands held up in agony and protection.
Lia stared into the Leering’s eyes and summoned a blast of fire that engulfed the kishion in a sheath of flames. It was so bright that Ellowyn shielded her eyes and slunk on her knees, sobbing. It was so bright that it seemed as if the entire chamber were blazing. Instead of night, it could have been the sun at noonday.
There was a rushing sigh, a brief gust, and the fire tamed and stilled. All that remained of the kishion were ashes.
*
Prestwich choked with his grief, bringing fresh tears to Lia’s eyes. His snowy head heaved, his face a contortion of emotions. Lia had never seen him display more than casual displeasure, not the crushing sorrow of a parent over a dead child. Astrid lay still on the only bed in the chamber. Lia sat on the edge of a chest, still wearing the chemise that was now spotted with her blood, but she wore her hunter leathers as well, gripping the pommel tightly as if it were the only comfort left.
The Aldermaston conversed with Siara Healer at the door. “Some yarrow poultice, please.”
“Can I see the boy?” Siara pleaded. “Is he sleeping? I do not see him breathing.”
“It would be helpful if you would bring some yarrow poultice. And some valerianum for Ellowyn. She is with the earls of Forshee and Norris-York along with Marciana. Thank you.”
“I should be caring for him, Aldermaston. Please, he looks very pale. And the floor rushes are soaked with…”
The Aldermaston’s voice was firm. “Please, do as I say,” he said and shut the door. He lowered the crossbar into place so they would not be disturbed.
Prestwich turned away from the boy’s body, his shoulders quivering in silent sobs.
The Aldermaston approached the bedstead slowly, as if every step caused him pain. He clasped Prestwich’s shoulder. “Do you believe, my old friend?”
Lia wondered what that meant.
“I…I loved that lad. He…he was always so obedient.” His voice choked away. “Should have been I. I am old.”
“Do you believe still?”
Prestwich looked up at the Aldermaston. “Yes. I will always believe. I have seen too much to doubt you.”
The Aldermaston smiled sadly, patting the other’s back and then faced the bed. He approached the soiled blankets where Astrid lay stiff but peaceful.
“Lia, close your eyes,” the Aldermaston said.