The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 3)

“Thou art never to met their gaze,” Jouvent warned, staring down at the sheen on the water. “’Tis disrespectful.”

“Thank you,” Lia answered and followed his example. The horses snorted as they approached and Jouvent stopped, his head bowed meekly.

“Another set of pilgrims,” said one in strong Dahomeyjan. It was the formal speech she was used to, not the port speech. “They throng like locusts.”

Lia was not sure if she was supposed to respond or not, so she said nothing. Another answered instead. “Each soul must be saved. Regardless of how petty.”

The first stopped his horse in front of them imperiously. “Well met, travelers. What village do you hail from?”

Jouvent took his cap and wrung it in his hands. “Vezins, masters.”

“Ah, a lad from the port. Can you tell me, child, if the Earl of Dieyre arrived? The foreign lord?”

Jouvent nodded vigorously. “Aye, he be there.”

“Excellent, excellent. Thank you, child. The Medium’s blessing be on you.”

“He does not have the mark,” one of them murmured softly, but Lia heard it.

“Indeed, he does not. Boy, have you received the water rite?”

“No, masters,” Jouvent said, his face twisting with discomfort. “Not yet.”

There was a snort of dissatisfaction. “Why not? Why do you delay it?”

Jouvent wrung his cap more fiercely. “Mother. I am her only child. Her only help. She cannot spare me yet. But soon.”

“Look at me.”

Jouvent shook his head, his body quaking with fear.

“Look at me,” repeated the command. Lia could sense the churn of the Medium in the air. She could feel it swallow her whole, as if some great glass jar had clamped down on them both. She risked a glance and saw the one speaking, his eyes glowing silver.

Jouvent looked up at him, his face pale.

“You must understand it is important. Believe me when I tell you that you must disobey your mother if necessary to receive the water rite. You have until Twelfth Night, child. Remember that. If you do not receive it by then…” He paused, his voice so somber it chilled Lia’s heart. “Your mother will regret it with great pain. Twelfth Night, child. Do not delay.”

Jouvent was trembling. “Yes, masters,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Have you seen any mastons?” he asked next, his voice supple and inviting.

The coils of the Medium wrapped around Jouvent. She could see him struggling against it, fighting against it, but it was too powerful.

Lia pushed against their thoughts with her own. Do not fear them, she thought to the boy. Do not fear them, Jouvent. They cannot hurt you with me here. I will protect you.

The Dochte Mandar who had asked the question suddenly turned on her, as if he had heard the thought. “What village do you hail from, lass?”

The full weight of the Medium slammed into her, nearly making her mind go black. There were three of them pushing against her, using their kystrels to swarm her feelings with the sensations of worthlessness, shame, humiliation, foreboding. It struck her so forcefully that she lost thought of who she was for a moment and could only stand there blinking, trying to remember her own name.

She almost said Muirwood. The compulsion to say it was so strong, the word nearly slipped out of her mouth. They would know of her Abbey, she realized. Yet she also realized she had to speak truthfully.

“I hail from Pry-Ree. I seek work as a cook at Dochte Abbey,” she said, fighting against the surging feelings.

“You hail from Pry-Ree?” came a startled response.

“It is true,” answered another. “She speaks the truth. She is from Pry-Ree.”

Lia swallowed, struggling against the feelings of unworthiness.

“We have enough scum from Pry-Ree as it is,” said the third. “Go your way then. You are a foreigner, child. I can hear it in your accent. But if you would stay in Dahomey, you must also accept the water rite. Do it, while you are here. It will protect you from the Blight.”

“Thank you, masters,” Lia said respectfully.

“Have you encountered any mastons in your journeys?” he asked her.

Lia nodded. “Several. There are a few left in Pry-Ree. Most are in hiding.”

“The mastons are the source of the Blight that comes,” he responded. “They must be sought after and found. If you find a maston, you must tell one of us. Do you understand, child?”

The Medium crushed against her will. She resisted it, but the weight of it was so strong she nearly revealed that she was one. “Yes, masters.”