The Blight of Muirwood

Lia took a deep breath, trying to keep it calm and even. So much had happened in so short a time. Of all her feelings, it was jealousy that tormented her. She was jealous that the other girl, who had once been a wretched, had been found. She had been allowed the privilege of enjoying Colvin’s company for a year. The privilege of learning to read three languages and practice the Medium openly. What Lia would not have given to have had that opportunity! It was a petty feeling, and she crushed it in her mind, unwilling to let it fester or take root.

“What about your other promise?” she asked, glancing down as she twisted the apple stem and plucked it out.

“The other promise?”

“The one you whispered in my ear when you left?” She glanced up at him.

A knowing smile crossed his mouth. He rose and wandered a few steps, leaned back against the trunk of a tree, and folded his arms. “Well, I never said which Whitsunday I would ask you to dance.”

“So you were going to ask me to dance? That was your intention?”

“You had said it was to be your first year to dance around the maypole. It was also an opportunity to meet you. It did not come to pass as I wished. But patience is the companion of wisdom. It is also a trait you need to practice, Lia.”

“If I were not so patient,” she said, tearing another bite from her apple with her teeth. “I would have broken your foot when you surprised me last night.”

“Break my foot? Ample reason to avoid dancing with you this year.”

“You were very kind a moment ago, Colvin,” she said, pleased he was teasing her. “A year past, you could scarcely speak ten words without insulting me. But it did not take you long to fall back to your bad ways.”

He gave her a self-mocking smile. “Much has changed in a year. Including yourself. But I have been working on my manners. My sister is in charge of improving me. She will undoubtedly solicit your help. She would like to meet you tonight.”

Lia shrugged. “It is probably a hopeless quest, but we must try. I have not changed that much, really. I am still as filthy as when we left the Bearden Muir. My dress was in tatters from wandering the hills so I wear these clothes now. My skin is falling off like a leper because of a dangerous plant sap I stumbled into a few days ago. My clothes were blotched with it, which is why I screamed at you last night. I am even taller now, if that is possible, and it can hardly be called an improvement.” She licked her lips, trying to match his self-mocking smile. “If you were too ashamed to dance with me, I would understand. You are a knight-maston from Winterrowd and an earl no less.”

His smile faded. “I have three earldoms now, actually. But I do not care what anyone else thinks, Lia. I had not even noticed any of those things. To me, you could never be ugly.”

* * *

“Imagine, if you will, that the sum of all human thoughts could be represented on a measuring scale. The thoughts of a powerful maston, one enabled by the Medium to his fullest potential, could each be represented by a gold coin on one side. Imagine then that all of the evil, uncontrolled, vengeful thoughts have the weight of chaff and try to tip the scales. The world is a granary of ill-bred thoughts. There is enough to weigh down the world, to bury each one of us alive. Yet if we have enough of the good, it balances it out or keeps it firmly in the cause of right. Imagine then, scales the size of a kingdom. How many gold coins are there compared with chaff? Enough – just enough. There is enough weight and enough strength to keep the scales balanced. But if you begin to remove the gold coins, one by one? Then every seed of evil matters. Every little seed begins to tip the scales. As long as the scales are balanced to the side of the mastons, the Medium blesses everyone – both the evil and the good. But if the balance is altered, if the weight of the wrong begins to exceed the weight of the right, it triggers the Blight to purge the chaff. It is a warning from the Medium. There are curses that follow.”

- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN:

Marciana Price

Lia’s curiosity about Colvin’s sister was intense. Since he had told Lia that she would meet her that night in the Aldermaston’s kitchen, as she went about her duties that day, she wondered what Marciana would be like. Wondering made her worry. Most learners were wealthy and spoiled, and only the rare ones like Duerden treated wretcheds with any respect. Each year, only a dozen or so new learners joined the Abbey and even fewer who fully completed the training. Fewer still who earned the rank of maston. Was Marciana selfish and spiteful, like Reome? Was she timid like Sowe? Was she like Colvin when she had first met him, always on the verge of anger and never bothering to mask his contempt? She hoped not. But still, she worried.