Maia sensed the Leering at the perimeter of the enclosure. Then another one. Then a third. They were all summoning the mist. Through her Gift of Invocation, she realized that the Leerings were activated by the arrival of trespassers. In turn, the cover of the mist allowed the Fear Liath to emerge from its lair. Its only vulnerability was sunlight.
Maia silenced the Leerings with her mind, and their power immediately yielded to her request. The mist dispersed, and golden rays of sunlight showered down, streaming in slanting angles through the trees. The kishion stared in amazement.
“You did that?” he asked in confusion.
She nodded and then stared at the field of the dead. This was the final battleground of the Scourge. This was the place where thousands had been slaughtered. She stared at the moldering bones and armor, the rusted swords and spearheads. Sunlight glimmered on the pitted, rusty decay. The air had a metallic smell to it. She stared at the Leering in the center, the waymarker that had guided her to the lost abbey. But she already knew where it was. The trail was invisible, but it was clear in her mind, as if a blacksmith had forged a metal railing in the woods, leading the way.
The Fear Liath would not trouble them this time.
Maia offered a subtle thought, thanking the Medium for its assistance.
In reply, she felt a gentle murmur . . . so small and slight it was barely noticeable. The Medium was with her. She wanted to demand answers of it. She wanted to accuse and rage against it. She had been its loyal servant ever since her escape from Naess. It had rewarded her loyalty with the deaths of her parents, her true love. Feeling the Medium retreat from her, she crushed the negative thoughts with force of will.
No, she would have to continue to be patient. She would follow the trail through the woods. She would go to the lost abbey.
It struck her as a strange flash of insight.
Perhaps the kishion was doing the Medium’s will after all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ereshkigal’s Daughter
When they had last journeyed the cursed shores, it had taken a week for them to reach the lost abbey buried deep within the uninhabited terrain. This time they had traveled more quickly, with more confidence. As the morning dawned and they began walking, Maia finally began to speak to the kishion again.
The thought from Ovidius had struck her again. You can learn from anyone—even your enemy.
“Tell me more about the Naestors,” Maia said, huffing a little. The terrain was steeper. There was a haunting beauty about this land that reminded her vaguely of the Bearden Muir and Muirwood.
“What do you wish to know?” he responded, glancing at her with surprise. Their past several days had been spent in silence.
“Tell me about their customs, traditions,” she said. “In Dahomey, they like eating melted cheese and skewered meats. Each kingdom has its own manners. Tell me about Naess.”
The kishion looked at her with a wrinkle of confusion. He had not broached conversation with her, allowing her time to grieve and for her rage to cool. But he was not averse to talking. “They crave treasure,” he said with a snort. “Treasure and fighting. They are fighters, raiders. They love mischief and plunder. There is a story that one of the chieftains went to conquer the shores of eastern Hautland. They were protected by keeps and walls and thought they could withstand a siege for some time. But the Naestors love cunning and trickery. They were not going to throw their lives away battering down walls. Instead, they sent a kishion over the wall to steal pigeons and doves from the dovecotes. When he got back, they tied burning strings to the birds’ legs and released them. They flew right back to the dovecotes, and it set the thatch on fire. Soon the city was blazing and everyone came running out. It was an easy slaughter.”
Maia looked at him. “That kishion . . . was you?”
He gave her a half smile and did not reply.
“So they love trickery and cunning. They prefer to steal their treasures than work for them. What of the dark pools? Tell me of them. Walraven shared some of that lore with me. What do you know?”
The kishion scratched the back of his neck. “That is lore of the Dochte Mandar. I am not sure I believe it.”
“Why not?” Maia asked.
He shrugged. “Because I see how they manipulate the chieftains. When you went to Naess, did you see any of the revels?”
“No,” Maia answered. She had only been there briefly, and all her time had been spent with Corriveaux and Walraven.