The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 1)

Colvin must have heard them approach, for he appeared out of the gloom, his hair damp with dewdrops. He met them in their approach, his face eager, intense, worried. His arms were folded tightly, as if he were very cold.

“What is that?” he asked Lia, staring at the sphere as the spindles pointed directly at him. He looked at it, his eyes widening with recognition. “I cannot believe it. Where did you get that? From the Aldermaston?”

“Yes,” Lia answered. “You know what it is?”

“I do – but I have never handled one before. They are rare.” He examined it, squinting in the darkness. “I cannot see it well. Bring it to the waymarker.” They did and the eyes suddenly shone more brightly, revealing the surface of the beautiful implement. “I cannot believe it. A Cruciger orb. But then I should not be surprised. Muirwood is the oldest abbey in the realm. May I?”

Lia extended it to him and the spindles spun around once and then stopped.

He held it in his hand and stared at it. Nothing happened.

“You think about where you want to go…” Lia suggested.

“I know that,” he snapped. “It is precisely what I am trying to do.” His brow furrowed. Nothing.

Lia wanted to laugh. A soon-to-be earl from a Family could not work it. But she could. The fiery feeling of triumph blazed inside her. “Like this,” she offered and took it from him. “Show me the way to Winterrowd.” The spindles spun, the inner circle whirring deftly, and the way was made clear – westbound though slightly north. Writing appeared on the lower half of the orb. “What does the writing mean?”

She brought it closer to the light emanating from the waymarker’s eyes, and he squinted again. He stopped, swallowed, and shook his head. “I cannot read it. I do not know this language. It is an older text…an ancient text. It may even be Idumean. I have never seen this style of script before.”

Lia was deeply disappointed. “I thought all mastons knew how to read and scribe. I want to know what it says.”

He shook his head, looking at the curving, elliptical markings. “I cannot make it out without knowing the language. I do not know all languages. I certainly do not know Idumean. I am not even sure my own Aldermaston knows it. Let me hold it again.” He held out his hand.

As she gave it to him the second time, the spindles behaved the same way, returning to their idle state and refused him. The writing vanished as well, as the groove etchings filled in. He paused, he scowled, he waited – nothing happened. “What is wrong with me?” he grumbled.

“Thankfully, this is not the only news we brought,” Lia said. “I should have said it first. The knight-maston who brought you to Muirwood came back. He knocked on the kitchen doors not long ago looking for you.”

He straightened, his expression shocked. “I am all amazement. Did he?”

Lia nodded, giving him a smile. “He eluded the sheriff’s men.”

“Where is he now? At the kitchen?”

“He said he would wait for you in the village. At the Pilgrim inn – it is the biggest one in town, on the main way not far from the abbey walls. He will be watching for you and will take you to Demont.”

Sowe held out the bundle. “We bundled some food for you,” she said in a voice so small a mouse might have whispered it.

Colvin accepted it and smoothed the top of the linen. “There is no doubt you will both earn a scolding for helping me. Were it possible, I would forbid Pasqua to scold either of you ever again. I heard enough of it hiding in the loft. I pity you.” He let out a pent-up breath. “My gratitude though exceeds my words. Think of what reward you desire. If it is within my power, I will grant it. You are both so very young, but before long, you will have repaid your debt to Muirwood. I will and shall honor my debt to you.”

Sowe blushed furiously and looked at her feet. Lia was not so shy.

“I know what I would ask for,” she said, squeezing the orb tightly.

“What is it?”

Lia could not help a blushing smile. “Sowe already knows what I want. Beyond any gift or treasure, I desire to learn to read.” She swallowed, building her courage, nurturing hope like sparks from drowsy ashes. “When I saw you…reading from the tomes…I was so jealous. I am always jealous of that craft. The Aldermaston refuses to let me learn. He has said…he has said more than once, that as long as he is the Aldermaston of Muirwood, he will not let me. Please, sir – I want it more than anything else.”

He studied her, his eyes deep with shadows, his face dispassionate. It was a heavy expression, as if he were weighing in his mind how much it would cost – and whether her service to him truly deserved such a princely sum. She held her breath. She held back her fears. She hoped in her heart, she yearned with her being, she stared at his face, wishing to scald him with her need.