The Blight of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 2)

The oaks were overrun with scraggly vines with bronze-colored leaves. The brush around her was thick with it when she noticed it. The vines were everywhere, dozens and dozens of leagues from where she had last encountered them, near Jon Hunter’s grave. Every direction she looked, except where she had come from, the poisonous growth choked the oaks. She was careful – very careful – not to touch it. But it covered the ground as well. With cautious steps, she bounded this way and that, until she felt the burning Leering ahead on the hilltop. She sensed it before she saw it.

Crowning the hilltop was a stone boulder, enormous in size, like that of a mountain where the earth had worn away from it. The Leering was carved into its eastward side, but it was so blackened and crumbled that she could not tell whether the image was of a man or beast. The eyes were pock-marks of molten stone, blazing red with furious flames. The growth of the poisonous leaves smothered it. Every nearby tree had succumbed to the tangled vines. The Leering drew her nearer, whispering for her to touch it. Lia approached carefully, listening for sounds – searching for the trample marks of men. There was nothing but the primeval woods. The rock shimmered with heat.

Every sound in the forest stilled except the beckoning whisper from the Leering. She fought down an urge to be sick. The Myriad Ones crooned at her in delight. Slowly, she approached the ragged scorched face.

The urge to touch it became desperate.

She stared into the blazing eyes, into the depths of an excruciating agony, a torture beyond anything she could imagine. The Leering was pleading with her to end it. To heal the burning. The Aldermaston’s words drifted through her thoughts, reminding her of the maston training, of her gifts. Firetaming.

Reaching out, she pressed her palm against the stub-nose of the Leering, confident it would not scald her hand. There was heat and warmth, but nothing that scorched her. In fact, in all her years in the Aldermaston’s kitchen, she could not remember a single time she had ever burned herself. The stone was rough and scarred.

“I release you,” she whispered, invoking the Medium.

In her mind’s eye, she saw Scarseth turn and look at her. She could see him clearly in her mind, hunched over one of the Leerings that protected the Abbey grounds. He stared at her, knowing where she was as she knew where he was. For a moment, they were connected within each other’s mind. His thoughts thrusted against her violently.

There you are!

Even with all the distance between them, he used the Leering as a sort of bridge to connect with her. To push all of his deep, filthy thoughts into her mind, to surround her with fear and despair, and hopelessness. To force her to do his will. But he had not counted on something. She was a maston now.

“I release you,” she whispered again, more forcefully, quenching the fire that raged in the Leering.

The cracked and pitted stone began to cool as the fire guttered out, obeying her. There was no rigid defiance, no angry throb of regret. With a sharp crack, the stone split apart, sheared into huge slabs and slices. With it went the bond with Scarseth. She took a breath of relief, grateful that the Leering had not defied her as the other one had. There were no blisters on her palm or fingers. She turned and looked down the other side of the hill. The woods were thicker, rich and green with ferns and catmint.

A sick worry bloomed in her stomach. Scarseth was still in the woods outside Muirwood, and now he knew that she was gone.

* * *

After warning Dieyre and Colvin about touching the poisonous plant sap, she led them over the ridge and into the lush lowlands on the other side. The rich and fertile land was a stark contrast and she knew they had exited the Bearden Muir. They rode forward hastily, knowing it would be a hard ride to reach the town before twilight. A hard ride perhaps, but possible.

The orb led them through the tangled woods north instead of east, which surprised Lia. Low-hanging branches clawed at them, the growth so heavy in places it was difficult to see far. Treacherous ravines were abundant, but the orb guided them to narrow crossings or makeshift bridges constructed by local woodsmen.

In the deep woods ahead, a woman’s scream rang out.

Lia started. The scream was followed by the shouts of men’s voices. Sharp commands, barked orders. She held up her hand, motioning the other two to stop. Slipping off the saddle, she threaded an arrow in the string. Whose voice was it? Ellowyn’s? Marciana’s? There was no way to tell, but the orb was pointing in the direction of the sound.

“Have we caught up with them?” Dieyre marveled, as if truly surprised.

Colvin grabbed her arm. “The Queen’s men? Or the Pry-rians?”