Maia rose and hefted her rucksack onto her shoulder. She bit her lip. “I will not venture near any abbeys on my journey,” she said. “I did not know . . . what would happen. I am sorry.”
He stuffed his tome in his leather bag and grabbed a gnarled walking staff, using it to rise. The staff was misshapen with a knobby end. It looked like the twisting root of a hulking tree.
“As I told you, sister. You are condemned for your choices. Just as the Myriad Ones were condemned for theirs.”
“How far am I from Naess?” she asked. “It is noon, so I cannot determine which way is north.”
He lifted his crooked staff and pointed toward a tall, craggy mountain wreathed in snow. “Across the Watzholt, you will find the kingdom of Hautland. You must cross it to reach the port cities, like Rostick. There you can find a ship. Be wary, sister. The Hautlanders help lead the Dochte Mandar’s hunt against women who break their laws. They are the closest kingdom to Naess, so they are the most influenced by them. And beware the Victus. They hunt you still.”
“Who are they?”
He smiled knowingly. “You will see, little sister. You will see.”
“Will you walk with me, Maderos?” she asked. “I feel safe with you. I do not have any companions now.” She thought tenderly on the wounded kishion, knowing he would need to rest before moving. But Jon Tayt and Argus might follow her, and though she desperately wanted to see them, she could not risk their lives with the evil inside her.
A crinkled smile. “No, sister. I delivered the message as I promised. We cannot control the storms or the rain. We cannot prevent the wind from howling. But you can choose to whistle, eh sister?” He began to whistle, and started off to the east. She watched him go, amazed at the speed of his stride. Soon he vanished into the woods, leaving her alone.
Maia reached the base of the Watzholt before nightfall. She knew it would be too treacherous to attempt the crossing by moonlight, so she made a small camp for herself in the trees. After living off the land for as long as she had, she knew which herbs were edible, so though she was hungry, she was not starving. A small creek trickled past, providing icy waters to refresh her thirst. Though she was heavyhearted, she did not despair.
Maderos’s words repeated over and over in her mind. She had felt such peace when he recited the words from the Aldermastons’ tomes, as if those words held the power of the Medium. Was that why learners spent so much time reading and engraving? Could the words themselves be instruments of power? It was an idea she had never considered.
A frosty wind from the Watzholt came rushing down the mountain and ruffled the trees, making her shiver. It would be a difficult climb, she knew, but she had endured many hardships on her journey. She pulled her fraying cloak tighter around her shoulders, huddling in the small shelter she had created. She dared not build a fire for risk of being seen. She did not want anyone to find her, for fear of hurting them at night.
As night fell, she stayed awake, watching the pale moon rising. Although she still feared sleep, she knew she was safer when she was far from some bastion of civilization. She wondered what sort of people the Hautlanders were and when they would learn about the burning of Cruix Abbey. Otherwise she might be recognized by description. If she moved quickly enough, she hoped she could make it to the port city and slip away without being discovered.
Perhaps it was too much to hope for.
Maia heard something.
She lowered her cowl and heard grunts and heavy breathing. A prickle of fear filled her heart. Was some bear or wolf pack hunting her scent? It was coming fast, snuffling through the brush.
She grabbed the strap of her rucksack and was preparing to flee when she heard a distinctive howl and bark. Then Argus barreled into her makeshift camp, licking her face with wild joy.
“You found me,” she said, feeling guilt and pleasure simultaneously. “You found me, Argus.” She hugged him fiercely, burying her face into his fur. She heard the clomping of boots following the boarhound.
I have learned, mostly through painful experience, never to be dismissive of a friend’s accusation, even if it seems unreasonable. More often than not, it is well-meant, the truth, and something I have needed to hear but did not want to. It is an easy thing to be offended. It is difficult to learn something new about ourselves.
—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Hunted
Jon Tayt sat in the shadows of the tree, but his eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he stroked Argus’s flanks. He had confirmed what she already knew—there were enemies on their trail. Corriveaux had discovered she was not with the king and had crossed into Mon with a retinue of Dochte Mandar, arriving at Cruix Abbey the morning after it burned.
Maia stared at the sky, sickened by the knowledge of what she had done.
“Did they harm the kishion?” she asked him worriedly.