She stepped closer to the Leering and saw where water had eroded the soil at its base. The ground was still damp. Did the Leering have another purpose as well? Whispers from the Medium came into her mind, and she paused to listen. They had started coming to her after she had first put on the kystrel. The whispers of knowledge were part of its magic. She understood them. The boulder was not just a water Leering but a waymarker—a totem of magic that led to their destination, the lost abbey. There would be other waymarkers along the route. Gingerly, she reached out and touched the boulder. Its surface was rough and cold beneath her skin. The kystrel burned inside her bodice again and she tried to stop it, but could not resist the forceful surge. The strange eyes on the boulder glowed, an effect that soon spread across its seams and the pockmarks in its contorted visage. It glowed like molten ore, as if internal pressure would cause the boulder to shatter.
Water rushed from a small opening on the face of the rock. It fell to the base, gathering and pooling. Maia was dazed, feeling the magic in the Leering respond to her touch and to the kystrel. It was beginning to make sense. The kystrels of the Dochte Mandar were truly an inheritance from the past, a time when mastons had previously ruled the kingdoms. The order had been controlling who learned the use of the magic for centuries, but its beginnings went further back into history. The water flowed gently, cleanly, churning up a small stream in moments. She dipped her hand and drank. The water was clean and wonderful.
Kneeling by the stream, she cupped her hand and drank again. It was only water, not some potion or elixir. She quickly scrubbed the dirt from her arms and face, feeling the wetness sting the spider scabs.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
The kishion’s voice had a barb of anger in it.
Maia looked up and glared at him. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, suppressing her irritation with the kishion and the startled feeling that came because she had not heard him approach. The small stream began soaking her skirt at the knees and so she stood.
He was a rough man. All the kishion were. In the dark, it was almost easy to forget what he looked like during the day. His face was a patchwork of lumps and scars, one a ribbed slash from a dagger that had raked him from eye to lip. Part of one ear was missing. His eyes were full of hate, full of wrath—eyes as grayish blue as the water churning at her feet. His cowl was up, but she could see the coarse brown hair that fell across his forehead. Always in somber grays and browns, he blended with the woodlands as if he were made of nothing but anger and bark.
“I was thirsty.” Her throat was suddenly dry again.
“You were thirsty.” He stepped closer. “If one of them had seen you, what then?”
“I am sorry,” she said. “An ancient magic is in these woods. It speaks to me. It has spoken to me since we came ashore.”
“Quit listening to it,” he tersely responded. “You will get us both killed.”
She chewed her lip and felt her own anger rise up. “My ability to use this magic may be the only thing that saves us all, kishion.” She loaded the term with as much loathing and contempt as she could muster. “It is why we are here.”
His face curved into some sort of sardonic smile. The scar on his lip twitched. “I do not doubt it,” he whispered.
Maia licked her lips and gestured to the stone. “This Leering is a waymarker. There are more along the way. I had not expected a trail to lead to the lost abbey, but after touching this one, I know where to find the next. I do not know what else we may find, but we must go that way.” She pointed.
“More spiders there as well, perhaps?”
She winced and shuddered at the memory. “I pray not. Bring the others this way. We can go through the woods.”
The kishion nodded. “You missed a spot of mud, Lady. Or is that a bruise?” He motioned with his gloved hand. She looked down and saw that her bodice was sagging low. It did not reveal the kystrel, but the shadowed flesh did indeed look like a bruise.
“I struck the rail yesterday,” she lied.
A short cough of a chuckle. “I am sure you did.” The expression on his face told her that he knew she was lying—again. The kishion turned and padded silently into the woods, and then whistled sharply for the soldiers.
Maia turned her back to him, quickly adjusting the loose bodice. She saw the small bronze medallion of the kystrel dangling from its strong chain. The shadowstain on her chest was spreading, crawling beneath her skin. It was like a tattoo of black lines and sigils, a whorl of leaves and vines and seaweed. And it mushroomed on her skin every time she used the magic, adding new rings to the pattern. Maia closed her eyes and fought the feelings of dread in her heart. She knew of Dochte Mandar with painted faces and shoulders. It was the mark of the magic on its user.
She wondered how much longer she would be able to keep hers secret.
*
“Ow! Too hot, that one! Is it squirming loose yet? How many times have you poked it?”