The Blight of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 2)

She looked at the Aldermaston again who slowly sunk into his chair, his face a mask of twisted pain. She had noticed it growing more severe. “You are sick,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes tightly, fighting against a hidden pain. “Not sick, Lia. I am dying. That is why I need you to stay.”

It was as if he had slapped her hard across the face. “But you cannot be,” she murmured.

“Oh, I am old enough to recognize the limits of my humanity. It may not happen for a while yet. But it will certainly happen. Maybe even tomorrow,” he added with a hushed voice.

Lia left Martin’s side and approached the Aldermaston. “What is it that ails you?”

“I am old, Lia,” he replied with a wincing smile. “I knew this time would come. My keenest desire is the protection of Muirwood, the records guarded in the cloister, and everyone who shelters here. While I am within the boundaries of the Abbey, the defenses will work. It takes great desire and concentration to maintain them. I need…your strength. Especially if the Queen Dowager storms the gates on the morrow. Your strength, coupled with mine, should be enough. If it is not, then I need you to lead the others to safety. Will you do that for me?”

Tears stung her eyes.

“Do not cry, Lia. I knew this day would come. It may not be tomorrow. But it is helpful to be prepared regardless. As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.”

The hot tears trickled down her cheeks. All her life, she had known the Aldermaston. She had not even known his real name until Pareigis spoke it that morning. In his gray cassock and robes, he seemed the embodiment of Muirwood itself – built from stone, permanent. His cropped beard and thinning hair were white still, but his brows had always been dark, his eyes even darker and full of strength and will. Even now as he struggled without complaining against the pain that caused him much sufferering, his eyes were fierce and determined, his mouth pressed firmly into a perpetual scowl. Much like Martin’s.

“What can I do?” Lia whispered.

He looked at her seriously. “You must pass the maston test. Tonight.”

Again it felt as if he had struck her. She looked at him in shock, almost unable to speak. “Why do you think I will be able to pass it when others more learned than me have not?”

His frown was pinched for a moment into a smile. “Because your thoughts are stronger. I know that you have long suspected your ancestry, at least on one side, is Pry-rian. I have been an Aldermaston for many years and have hosted many visitors from different kingdoms. I once met one of the rulers of Pry-Ree, back when a truce had been declared between our realms. This was before your birth. He was a king-maston and honored Muirwood with a visit during his journey to Comoros to treat with our lords. I asked him how long he had worn the chaen and he surprised me with his answer. It was a tradition of his Family, he said, to wear it by the age of fifteen. His own grandfather had passed the maston test at fourteen. His grandfather was a great leader and unified some of the warring factions within his realm and became the high king of Pry-Ree. He was exceptionally gifted in the Medium. His grandson, the one I had the pleasure of meeting, had passed the test himself at a young age.”

Lia’s heart buzzed with desire. “This king-maston that you met. Was he related to Ellowyn’s family?”

The Aldermaston nodded, his expression curiously vague. “Very much. He married Ellowyn’s mother while she was in exile in Dahomey because of a truce he had made with Sevrin Demont years before. A truce which he honored, even though Demont was murdered, his lands forfeited, and his body brutally mutilated. Those were dark days. The daughter became a woman and he honored his promise to her father, even though she brought him nothing by means of wealth and certainly nothing by reputation. Ellowyn was the result of their marriage. The mother died during the birthing. This noble prince was so bereft, though he loved the child.”

Lia had heard this story before. “Do you think...?” She paused, collecting her thoughts. “Do you think I am from that family somehow?” She was desperate to believe it.

“It is possible,” he replied. “I have wondered what signs of your heritage would emerge as you got older. It was last year when the Medium opened up in you as it never had before. Back when you left Muirwood. The old king, you remember, was the one who crushed Pry-Ree. It was no accident that you were at Winterrowd. I feel that strongly.” He flinched again, biting back his words from the pain. “It is no accident that you are here now to protect an heir of Pry-Ree.”