You are my daughter. I am your mistress. I am Ereshkigal, mother of the Unborn. Serve me.
“I will not,” Lia said, trembling with dread.
The white-silver eyes flashed with anger. Gracefully, she lifted the cup and swallowed some of its misty contents. The drink smelled inviting, like cider and sugar and sent pangs of cravings inside Lia.
You will serve me, daughter. All who enter this sanctuary serve me or perish.
“Then I perish,” Lia said.
The woman’s will lashed against Lia’s, so strong and vicious it seemed to pluck her by the head and wag her against the walls of her own mind. She remembered the feeling, the night before Winterrowd, when she had stumbled against the king’s thoughts. She was insignificant next to this power. It could crush her mind with a simple flex of thought. It could reduce her to a gibbering mass of flesh.
Behold!
The scene changed and Lia was suddenly back at Muirwood, within the cloisters. It was night time and the two of them were alone. Row after row of shelves, mound after mound of tomes. The wisdom of the ages, compiled in a single Abbey. They were written in different languages, from hundreds of Aldermastons. Each one contained specks of wisdom and the knowledge of how to interact with the Medium.
All these are yours, if you join me. My daughters speak every language. They read and engrave. It would take a lifetime to master all of the knowledge amassed here. But as my daughter, you would be able to read them all. My gift to you, child. I give you this. Serve me.
Lia hungered when she saw the stacks of tomes. All her life she had wanted to study at Muirwood. She had wished to learn its many secrets. All were laid before her. The entire collection would be hers.
“It is a lie,” Lia said, shaking her head. “You offer what is not yours to give. What use would the tomes be without the Abbeys?”
Again, she saw the woman’s eyes flash with anger.
The power of life and death is in my hands, child. Would you have your precious Abbey survive?
Immediately she was drawn back, swept away in another vision. This time, they stood together on the Tor, overlooking Muirwood Abbey in the valley below. The Abbey was burning. Lia gasped as she saw the flames searing the sky. The stones were burning. Burning! She could hear screams coming from the Abbey, even that far away. Lia’s heart wrenched with pain and sorrow. No! Not her Abbey. Not Muirwood!
Every one you have ever loved in your childhood is trapped inside. We have barred the doors. Will you listen to them burn, child? Know that you can save them. You alone have the power to save them. Join with me, or they die. Surrender your true name. Your earthly tongue cannot speak it, but your mind can. Think the name and you give it to me. Give it to me and I give the Abbey to you. The only one that will not be destroyed by fire. The lives of your friends, in return for your allegiance. Serve me!
Lia heard the shrieks and hugged herself in agony. She could not bear it. Was Pasqua down there? Sowe? Brynn? Was Edmon there? The Aldermaston? They were her family. What about Reome and her unborn child? Had she sent them both to their deaths? Lia struggled with despair. A thought. It begins with a thought. If she only thought the name, surrendered it to Ereshkigal, she would have power to save her friends and those she loved.
Lia trembled with purpose. “I will not,” she answered. “Though you kill everyone dearest to me, I will not serve you.” Lia glared at the woman, seeing the anger flare even brighter in her eyes.
The scene changed again.
She had seen this vision before. Colvin and Hillel were placing rocks on her body in the hetaera gardens at Dochte Abbey. The look of grief on Colvin’s face made her long to reach out to him. He knelt by the column of stones, his eyes wet with tears, and he gently lay his hand on her head. No prayer came from his mouth. There was nothing there – only deadness. Slowly, he stood. Hillel leaned against him, her face pinched with sadness and a concealed smile. Lia watched as Hillel received the Cruciger orb from the Aldermaston. She used to it direct Colvin to the dungeons. There was a short fight between Colvin and the kishion, who drove the man backwards into the bars and then Martin strangled him mercilessly. The cage was opened and Martin nodded in sadness as he was told of Lia’s death. The image flashed to a ship, the Holk, crashing through the waves as it struggled to reach Comoros before Twelfth Night. The wind lashed at it, heaving on the water. The storm threatened them, but it was Hillel controlling the skies with Ereshkigal’s power. The wind blew them home. Another change and there were horses riding hard for Billerbeck Abbey. It was dusk, the eve of Twelfth Night.
You cannot stop them, the woman whispered. He is under my thrall. All men succumb to me, child. No one can resist the power of desire. I can stop the ceremony. I can prevent the binding of their union. Or he will be hers forever. He will be banished here, as I was. Forever. When he dies, he will become a Myriad One. Is that what you wish, child? When the Abbeys are all burned, there will be no gates back to Idumea. The dead will be trapped here forever. Join me, and one Abbey remains. One gateway will be left open for the dead to return. This is your gift to the world, child. Join me, and you save him and yourself. He will be yours and not hers.