The Scourge of Muirwood
Page 88

Malcolm sidled up next to her as they stepped into the jaws of flame together. There was heat and wind and jets of molten stone – and behind them all, an enormous Leering, blackened and ravaged by the forces compelling it to destroy the innocent. The chains that clutched her wrists and ankles melted in the heat. But no part of her was burned or even blackened with soot. She willed the protection to envelope Malcolm as well. She walked deeper into the throat, seeking the face carved in the rock. It was corrupted, of course. It would not obey her willingly. She prepared for the fight and walked closer, reaching out with her hand to touch it, to tame it, to crush its will with hers.
A hand closed on top of hers and brought her arm down. Lia turned, surprised. She did not know if Malcolm would survive the blaze. She had not dared to look at him, fearing any sliver of doubt. As she turned, she saw that he was no longer next to her. In his place, there was another man, his face she had not seen since she had sworn the maston oaths at Muirwood.
Maderos.
He shook his head slightly. “This way, sister,” he beckoned, drawing her towards the side of the vaulted furnace. Her heart thrilled to see him. As they stood near the side, he waved his hand over the rock and the stone beneath them began to sink and shudder, descending gradually down a well shaft that brought them lower and lower beneath the ground. The shaft opened below into a stone chamber, black and carved of sculpted rock. They were deep beneath the Abbey. After the stone settled, they stepped off it and it quickly ascended back up the shaft, floating alone until it plugged the hole and muted the furnace’s roar.
Maderos nodded to her to follow and and several Leerings erupted with a soft, tranquil light along the walls. The tunnel had been abandoned long ago, but it was not like Muirwood’s, carved out of dirt and earth and braced with timbers and stones. The whole tunnel was carved from stone and the sound of their boots clipped as they walked. It was musty and stale, but firm.
The light preceded them and opened to a large circular chamber. A stone railing blocked the way forward, which prevented a fall into a deep pit. The lights continued to wink as they circled the chamber from both sides, revealing other corridors leading out of the circular room. As Lia looked down past the rail, she saw a huge basin, an enormous basin, perched on the backs of Leerings in the shape of oxen. A small stone bridge led to the lip of the basin, which was empty.
“What is this place?” Lia asked, marveling.
“We are in the depths,” he answered, his voice heavily accented. “It was shut away long ago when the grounds were enlarged. Hmph,” he snorted. “Always getting bigger. But bigger does not mean worth. Bigger does not mean useful. It does not even mean respect. It is a sign of corruption.”
Lia stared at the vast chamber, feeling the Medium coming strongly from one of the tunnels.
He saw her gaze and nodded. “That is where you go, but not yet, sister. You are not ready.”
“It was you on the Holk,” she said.
He nodded somberly. “I have always been nearby, child. A servant. A sailor. A gardener. But my calling is to write your story. The story of your Family. A story that has spanned a thousand years and will span another thousand years. I engrave it, tome by tome.”
Lia’s eyes filled with tears. She was so relieved, so grateful to see him, that she grabbed his neck and sobbed against his chest. The horrors she had faced overwhelmed her. Trembling, she clutched him and felt a comforting pat on her back, a gentle sigh in her ear that all would be well.
“You have done well, child. A little further. Your work is not done. Courage.”
Mopping her eyes, she nodded and backed away, looking at him piercingly. “What must I do, Maderos?”
“You must bring the Blight,” he answered. “You must fulfill the warning. But before you enter that passageway, you must be an Aldermaston and you must know the irrevocare sigil. I am here for that purpose. Kneel.”
Lia slowly dropped to her knees as Maderos reached inside his gardener’s robes and withdrew an ancient jeweled vial. The vial had a gold stopper and had several gemstones encrusted on the ridge. Its craftsmanship was beyond description, with tiny elegant symbols etched into the surface. Maderos removed the stopper and gently tipped the vial over her head.
“Patience,” he said.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It is oil pressed from fruit in a certain garden in Idumea. The garden is called Semani. The Garden of Semani. It does not sound as grand in your language, but it has deep meanings. It is the anointing oil.”
Lia felt wetness on her head as the oil seeped into her wild hair. Maderos stoppered the vial and set it back within his robes. Then he placed a hand on her head and made the maston sign.