The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 1)

He nodded. “I will not risk your safety. How do I get there?”

“You would never find it in the fog. I will take you.”

Sowe’s fingers clenched around Lia’s arm. “You cannot leave me here!”

Lia looked at her panic-stricken face. She only had an instant to decide. Sowe had to come with them. If the king’s men came, she would never be able to keep a secret. One hard look, and she would confess it all.

“You are coming too. Grab your cloak.”

While Sowe rushed to get it, Lia crossed the kitchen to the rear doors and raised the crossbar. They did not open those doors as often, so she had to tug on them handles hard to get it moving and they groaned from lack of use. Glancing outside, she spied no one else. Thank Idumea for the fog.

“Hurry, Sowe!”

She joined them, and the three left out the rear of the Abbey kitchen. Sowe wrung her hands, whimpering. The armiger looked each way, his neck muscles tense, his jaw muscles clenched, his hands opening and tightening again and again as if craving a sword. But one man against twenty was madness even with a weapon. Lia led them across a soft patch of grass. The fog concealed everything except the squishy sound their shoes made and the swish of their cloaks against the green. There was noise and commotion on the grounds. Horses stamped and huffed. The noise of blades drawing from sheaths made Lia shiver. Voices rang out.

“Spread out. Surround all the doors. Don’t be a fool, Brickolm – you two go the other way!”

Lia started to run and the others followed her example. From the swirl of fog appeared looming shapes, but Lia was expecting the quarter circle of oak trees ahead of them. The crooked limbs and stout trunks rose up like giants, but they would also provide cover. Would someone see them? Anxiously, she expected a cry of alarm. A warning to stop. They went past the oaks and into the Cider Orchard. It was not the season for fruit, or else she would have gathered a few apples that dropped during the night. The trees were low and squat which gave them excellent cover as they ran.

The Cider Orchard was a maze of apple trees. The branches were slender, the bark grayish and smooth compared with the scraggy oaks surrounding it. The apples were different in Muirwood than in other Hundreds. They were famous for their cider. Lia led them through the willowy shapes, hearing Sowe gasp as she tripped, but the armiger caught her and kept her from sprawling face down in the dirt. Threading through the trees, her heart racing as fast as her feet, Lia began to hope.

The orchard seemed as wide as the world that morning. In the spring, when the wind blew white blossoms from the branches, it looked like winter snow, only the smell was fragrant, the petals softer than roses. Each step brought them deeper into its domain. Ahead, the fog grew thicker, the air more moist and moldy. A smell rose before them, of bracken, scum, and fish, and she realized they had wandered astray and were approaching the fish pond.

“This way,” she said, changing direction. They continued to cross the orchard, heading deeper once more. Past the orchard, a thick mass of oaks crowded around, and Lia knew they were near.

She slowed from a run to a walk because the ground became treacherous and would drop suddenly off the hillside if they went too fast. Sowe panted, and even the armiger breathed heavily. Lia could hear them both behind her as she led through the expanse of trees. Then the ground changed, becoming sturdy and hard as she stopped.

Turning around, she faced her friend and the young man. She stamped her foot on the ground. “Do you feel the stone beneath? It is a footpath, but grown over. No one in the abbey is allowed here.”

“Why?” he asked.

“This is the secret I told you about. Follow me.” She led them down the crooked path between the oak trees. It was narrow enough that it did not really seem like a path at all. Claw-like branches grasped at her, forcing Lia and the others to duck and dart as they crossed. At last, the path ended at a startling drop. A Leering had been set at the end of the trail, its stern expression a warning to anyone not to wander further. The eyes glowed a dull red. This was not an ancient stone – the carving was done by the Aldermaston himself. As a child, she had seen him work on it for months.

“When you climb down, use the roots as hand-holds,” Lia said. “Sowe, stay up here and listen for the king’s men. I will show him the cave.”

Sowe nodded, hugging herself, and looked back the way they came. She shifted from foot to foot, shivering.

Lia led the way. The earth pitched forward suddenly, but she supported herself with exposed roots from the mighty oaks. The loamy smell of earth and trees was pleasant. She had never minded dirty hands. Positioning herself to a crouch, she gently lowered herself down and extended a foot first until she felt the firm stone.