The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #1)

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“Very. I do not care about being tired. You get used to it. But the kitchen was warm. It was always warm.” Again, a stab of pain went through her heart. She leaned forward, hugging her knees.

He snorted. “Given you summon fire so easily, I would not doubt that you were warm enough. It makes sense that the Aldermaston assigned you to the kitchen. It suits your gifts and passionate disposition. But I would fancy a bread oven right now myself. It is wet and cold in the Bearden Muir.” He said it as a truth, not as a complaint.

Lia hugged her knees tighter, grateful she had a cloak, for Colvin lacked one. It was no use asking if he was cold. In the moonlight, she could see his breath.

He turned suddenly and crouched down near her. “I just remembered something my Aldermaston taught. It just came to me. Let me see if I can phrase it properly without my tome.” He paused, thinking, then said, “Inasmuch as you strip yourselves from jealousies and fears, and humble yourselves before the Medium, for you are not sufficiently humble, the veil over your eyes shall be torn and you will see.”

“A clever verse,” Lia said.

“It is a clever verse. It talks about three of the things that keep us from letting the Medium master us. Jealousy, fear, and pride. You do not seem a jealous girl.”

“I am,” Lia said. “Sometimes.”

“No,” he said. “I have not seen even a spark of that in you. Trust me – I have seen jealous girls. They speak with venom. They claw each other over trifles. You are ambitious, to be sure, but not proud. As a wretched, how could you be proud? You are in a forced state of humility. But even so, your attitude rises above it. Your demeanor is confident, not sullen. So it is fear. That is what is holding you back from the Medium. It is your fear.”

At such a moment, she wished she had a sturdy pan she could clench and crack his head with. Rather than screech at him, she kept her voice calm. “Colvin, I am away from my home in the middle of a swamp with the sheriff’s men chasing after us. Yes…I am afraid. I am terrified! I am cold. Above even those, I am thirsty. If it rained, at least I could wring water from my dress and drink. We have eaten nothing but apples. This is by far the most miserable moment of my life. I am afraid. But nothing you taught me today helps me be unafraid.”

“It begins with a thought,” Colvin said. “As I told you…”

“You do not understand!” she said, cutting him off. “I do not want to feel this way. But I do. You taught me that I need to focus my thoughts, that thoughts create feelings. Why can you not understand that all I have are memories of Muirwood? There is nothing else! Being cold reminds me of being warm. Being hungry reminds me of being fed. Being lonely…”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them, for they brought tears gushing. She hated crying, especially in front of him. He crouched near her, helpless as a dolt. He looked pole axed, impotent, and it made her all the angrier. The tears were hot on her lashes. Why could he never see that she needed someone to comfort her, not gawk at her? Sobs shook her for several minutes, but finally she controlled them again. She would not look at him. Burying her wet cheek against her arm, she looked another way, ashamed and hurting, wishing he would curl up against the saddle and just go to sleep.

His voice was soft, almost a whisper. “When I left Forshee for the first time, I was about your age. I left to be a learner. My pride would never admit it, but I did miss home very much. I missed my sister. I missed my father and his wisdom. I even missed my mother, who I scarcely remember now, since she died when my sister was born. I was five, I think. Billerbeck Hundred is lonely country. I felt it keenly.”

Still, she did not look at him or say anything.

“I cannot say the feelings ever left me, but they did diminish over time. That, I can promise you. Muirwood is a beautiful abbey. I went there once with my father when I was very young. I think we went to the Whitsun Fair. I was only a boy, but I remember watching the maypole dance.”