The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 1)

“I would gladly dance with anyone who asks me,” Lia said with a yawn. “Duerden is generous. I should not be ashamed to dance with a learner.” She secretly hoped that Reome would not pull out the shirt, for she would learn very quickly that it was too large for the one she suspected to be its owner.

“Yes, but he is a boy. A very small boy. It makes me laugh. The two of you. He, in his noble shortness, standing near you, all stick and height. You are too tall, Lia. Boys do not like girls who are taller than them. Are you as tall as the Aldermaston yet? I should think so.”

Lia wrung out the dress again and scrubbed a little harder. “If you know a good cure for being tall, I am glad to hear it.”

“Since you are so tall, maybe one or two of the older boys will take pity on you. But they do not care to dance. The teachers force them to ask us. You could pass for sixteen if you were not so skinny. Does Pasqua feed you Gooseberry Fool every night? It must be hideous working for her.”

“Pasqua is very patient with me.” Please go away, Reome. You are finished. Just go!

“She scolds whenever she opens her mouth, which I do not need to say is often enough. Has she prepared you to dance at the maypole this year? Or has she been too busy plotting what to sell to teach you anything else?”

“I already know the maypole dance, Reome,” Lia said, bristling, squeezing the water from her dress and wishing she was back in the kitchen.

“Really? Who taught you? Have you learned watching it while selling cakes? Did graceful Pasqua take your hand and teach you? I should love to see that.”

Lia looked over her shoulder. She was furious inside. It was like being pecked at by a crow. Reome had a gift for making people feel clumsy and foolish. Lia did not say that Jon Hunter taught her the maypole dance when she was ten. Or that he had also taught her to string his bow and hit apples from targets in the orchard. Or that she could make Gooseberry Fool every bit as well as Pasqua could.

“Who taught you the maypole dance?” Lia asked, trying to divert the conversation.

Reome hugged the basket to her stomach. “Before Getmin was learning to be a smith, there was a boy. He is a smith in the village now. He taught me the dance.” There was something in her look, some memory that she savored like treacle sugar. Then the sweetness was gone and she gave Lia a naughty look. “Since you said you would dance with anyone, shall I ask Getmin to dance with you?”

It was a question meant to provoke her even more, for the whole abbey knew how much she and Getmin hated each other.

“You had better not. I do not believe he has forgiven me for not being afraid of him.” In her heart she thought, And I will never forgive him for how he bullies everyone.

Reome started to leave, but stopped again. She reached into her basket and plopped a bunch of purple mint into Lia’s. “You smell strange. Like cardamom or vinegar mixed with smoke. Fold this with the shirt before you dry it, or hang it while you dry it. He may thank you for it. You may or may not want him to.” A sly smile followed, and then she left into the rain.

After Reome was gone and Lia was alone, she reached in and withdrew the fragrant, purple flowers. She would have to warn Duerden in case Reome teased him. That meant she would need to tell another lie before the day was through. For a moment of embarrassed, frustrating rage, she nearly crumpled the flowers in her fist and cast them away. Instead, she placed them gently at the bottom of the basket and took her washed gown to the Leering.

Leering stones could do many things, depending on how they were carved. The ones in the kitchen summoned fire from their mouths. This one by the laundry could summon water while others summoned light. Though they were carved differently – some with faces of lions or horses, men or women, even suns or moons – they all had faces and expressions. Some ferocious, others timid. Some were meek, joyful, or tormented – each showed an emotion.

She looked into the Leering’s eyes, into the curiously bland expression carved into a woman’s face in the stone. She never used them unless she was totally alone or with Sowe. Only learners or mastons could use the Medium to invoke their power. Staring at the eyes, she reached out to it with her mind. The eyes of the Leering flared red and water began gushing from its mouth. The water was scalding hot and steam rose up from the laundry like morning fog in the spring. It burned her hands as she scrubbed, but it cleaned the filthy clothes better and faster than the cold, sour-smelling water.

Only mastons and some learners could coax the Leerings of the abbey to obey them.

And Lia.

CHAPTER SIX:

Leering Stones