The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE:


The Road





They wandered through the Bearden Muir, lost. Even the sun forsook them. Alternately, they walked and rode, giving the stallion as much rest as they could afford. Not that a horse could gallop through a swamp, theirs or the sheriff’s. Obstacles faced them constantly – wide gullies and ditches choked with foul-smelling waters, too broad to cross. Often they had to go east to find a way west. Thirst was a constant tormenter.

All the day long, Colvin spoke to her, instructing her in the ways of the Medium. He did it from memory, quoting from the teachings of the Aldermaston of Billerbeck Abbey and the tomes he had studied there. Lia had many questions, and he answered them – oftentimes impatiently – but he answered. Learners started out acquiring the skill of reading and engraving so they could translate ancient tomes containing the words of Aldermastons of the past as well as their own Family. Only through studying these words, often thick and impenetrable with multiple meanings, could a learner begin to unravel the mysteries of the mastons. Language that was rich with symbols. Reading something again and again, year after year, could bring nuances and understandings that a younger learner could not even grasp. She discovered that all the years of learning at an Abbey as a youth was merely preparation for a life-long journey of self-discipline and improvement. It was clear to Lia that Colvin was exceptional. His memory for detail, for example, the exactness by which he quoted his teacher showed that he had studied hard – the knowledge was written in his heart and not just on his tongue.

“Why is it then,” she asked him as they stopped to rest at mid-day, “that I can use the orb and you cannot? You have studied the tomes all your life. You know the rules of the Medium far better than I. Yet you cannot use it?”

He took a bite from an apple and chewed it slowly. “There are two reasons. Perhaps more.”

“And they are?”

He paused and coughed against his arm. “Strength in the Medium is inherited. It matters not as much as who you are as who your parents were. By this principle, I propose that both of your parents, whoever they were, had great strength in the Medium. If their love was illicit…”

“Which means?”

“Unlawful. It was not sanctioned by propriety. They were probably not wedded. Two learners, perhaps, from strong families. If they were ashamed at what they had done, one or both could have decided to give you up as a wretched to hide that shame. It does happen. Every abbey has wretcheds. Bitter shame and the fear of scorn motivate people to commit acts they would not ordinarily do. That is one theory. You are strong in the Medium because of your parents. Stronger than I, even with my legitimate ancestry. If your parents were nothing more than laborers, you would have no skill in the Medium at all. The other reason I can think of is jealousy.”

“Jealousy? Whose?”

“Mine, naturally. I have struggled with jealousy since I met you, for I have had to work hard to earn my mastery of the Medium. You can do things that I lack even the imagination to try. Mixing fire with water, for example. It never occurred to me to do that. I have focused so much on learning the prohibitions, to maintain my thoughts perfectly within the proper bounds, that it never occurred to me to explore. Hence, my jealousy. The Medium knows our innermost thoughts. We cannot hide them from it. When I saw you use the Cruciger orb, I wanted to believe that I could as well because my lineage was purer than yours. That belief born of jealousy was not enough to coax the orb to obey.”

Sitting on a fallen log, Lia regarded him curiously, then took a bite from her apple. There was so much evidence of the Medium in her life. The ring she wore around her neck. The very apple in her hand – an apple that should not be for it was not even the season. Yet something about the Leering near the tree – something about that Leering kept the fallen apples from decaying. She looked at her torn sleeve. She had never torn a dress before. In her memory, she could not think of a single instance where someone had torn their clothes. New clothes were made for those who grew, their older ones handed down to the younger ones. But repairing garments was foreign to her. She realized, intuitively, that it also had to do with the Medium. There were other Leerings on the abbey grounds that kept shoes from failing, dresses and shirts from being ripped. They preserved things. Being away from Muirwood, she was no longer under their protection. Perhaps that was what she feared the most, the lack of safety.

“You have an enigmatic look,” he said.

Lia eyed him. “My mind is so full, yet I hunger to know more. You have tried to teach me four years of learning and it is barely noonday. I do not know how to think any more. There are so many possibilities.”