The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #3)

Her hold on the Leerings failed. She felt the blast of fire already sucking through the shafts as she slammed the stone lid down and whirled. The torrent of flames came jetting at her from all sides.

Lia walked through the shroud of flames as if they were a gentle breeze. She went back up the stairs as huge chunks of burning rock hurtled from the weakened beams. They exploded around her, sparks and whorls of flame. She walked without thinking, without wondering whether a stone would strike her. She had no fear. Somehow, it was lost during the hetaera test. Remembering the kystrel she had taken from the lair, she removed it from her tunic and tossed it into the flames, watching the metal turn bright orange before becoming a puddle of sizzling dross. In her mind, she saw the Abbey consumed, the Apse Veil vanishing in the conflagration. The Rood Screen turned to ash. The floor tiles were all cracked and black with soot, the pewter and silver vases and stands warped. Her soul grieved seeing the ravaged insides of her precious Abbey. For moments, she stared at the devastation, tears streaming down her cheeks only to hiss and vanish when they struck the floor. It was midnight, she realized. The darkest hour. And somehow, deep inside, she realized with shock and sadness that there were no Abbeys left in all the world.

She felt a presence and turned, startled, seeing the Aldermaston walking towards her.

He walked through the flames in his golden robes, approaching down the long aisle. She knew it was him, even through the billows of smoke and flame. Yet she felt his presence more strongly than what her eyes beheld. She squinted, not sure what she saw in the smoke.

“Aldermaston?” she breathed in surprise.

There he was, a wraith, a shadow that was visible one moment, vanished the next. A glimmer of his former self. But she recognized who it was, she recognized his presence. She felt him looking at her.

She reached out, but her hand passed through the haze and smoke, touching nothing. He was there, right beside her.

Aldermaston? She thought the word.

Redeem the Abbey. You are the Aldermaston of Muirwood now.

It was as if he had spoken the thought aloud.

Her throat clenched shut with horror. You are dead? I am too late?

Redeem the Abbey. Your posterity will build it anew.

She wondered how he was in front of her. When she had died, the part of her existence that remained had drifted towards the Apse Veil. But there were no Apse Veils left! With sickening realization, she understood what she had not even conceived of before. The Abbeys were the gateways back to Idumea. They were the gateways for the living and the dead. With no Abbeys left standing, the dead souls would be stranded, unable to return back to the city-gardens.

She saw his eyes, his angry, brooding eyes. He had known all along. Her father had told him, before she was even born, what would happen to him when the Blight came. That his Abbey would be the last to fall and that he would be tortured to death after its fall, unable to return back to Idumea.

Redeem the Abbey and build it again. Build them so the dead can be set free. You are our hope, child. You are our last hope.

He had always known, but the binding sigil prevented him from ever speaking it. He had known that his death would be followed by other deaths. Millions of deaths as the Blight swept across the land. Millions who would not be able to return to Idumea.

Lia’s eyes were wet with tears of sorrow and hatred. This was the work of the hetaera and they had succeeded in destroying all the Abbeys. Their dominion would be short-lived, Lia vowed. Raising her head, she walked towards the burning walls and summoned the power of the Medium to aid her.





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“It is midnight. Twelfth Night. The world is ours.”





- Ellowyn Demont at Billerbeck Abbey





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CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE:


Rage of the Myriad Ones





Lia passed through the burning rubble of Muirwood, immune to the heat and tongues of flame. The fire consumed the stones, leaving stumps and stubble. The Abbey would burn until dawn and there would be nothing left. Unless she stopped it at the source.

She left near the pond, the waters befouled with chunks of ash and floating debris. As she crossed, she saw a huge ring of Dahomeyjan knights inside the cloister. The cloister walls and gates were down and tossed aside. The Leering in the middle of the fountain was in flames, shooting blasts of fire into the night sky. The knights carried tomes to the Leering and heaved them into the fountain, which was now full of molten aurichalcum. Lia gazed in shock as she saw the Leering consuming tome after tome, each one having spent a lifetime engraving. Crouched nearby were goldsmiths, dozens of them, scooping up the molten stream and fashioning them into rings and bracelets and tiaras. The smell of cider was strong in the air. Knights staggered and laughed, clapping each other on the back as they continued the work of destruction.