The Blight of Muirwood

Lia fed the Leering with her desperate need to breathe. It was no longer scalding water but a blast of steam, like a storm suddenly bursting. The kishion let her go, stumbling backwards against the onslaught. Lia pulled herself up, gulping in air and spluttering. Ellowyn’s face was white with terror at the kishion’s ravaged face. His skin was blistering, his eyes welded shut by the reddening flesh. The Medium surged through her, as if every stone and timber screamed with it. The fire Leering at the fireplace blazed white hot.

The kishion stumbled over a chest and went down, his body twitching with pain. Short, heavy grunts came from his mouth. After clawing back to his feet, he staggered towards the door, avoiding the glare of the firepit as if the waves of heat were excruciating.

Lia blinked the water from her eyes, wiped her mouth and felt the Medium whisper to her.

Redeem the Abbey.

The kishion turned, as if he too had heard the voice. He faced the flames of the fireplace, his hands held up in agony and protection.

Lia stared into the Leering’s eyes and summoned a blast of fire that engulfed the kishion in a sheath of flames. It was so bright that Ellowyn shielded her eyes and slunk on her knees, sobbing. It was so bright that it seemed as if the entire chamber were blazing. Instead of night, it could have been the sun at noonday.

There was a rushing sigh, a brief gust, and the fire tamed and stilled. All that remained of the kishion were ashes.

* * *

Prestwich choked with his grief, bringing fresh tears to Lia’s eyes. His snowy head heaved, his face a contortion of emotions. Lia had never seen him display more than casual displeasure, not the crushing sorrow of a parent over a dead child. Astrid lay still on the only bed in the chamber. Lia sat on the edge of a chest, still wearing the chemise that was now spotted with her blood, but she wore her hunter leathers as well, gripping the pommel tightly as if it were the only comfort left.

The Aldermaston conversed with Siara Healer at the door. “Some yarrow poultice, please.”

“Can I see the boy?” Siara pleaded. “Is he sleeping? I do not see him breathing.”

“It would be helpful if you would bring some yarrow poultice. And some valerianum for Ellowyn. She is with the earls of Forshee and Norris-York along with Marciana. Thank you.”

“I should be caring for him, Aldermaston. Please, he looks very pale. And the floor rushes are soaked with…”

The Aldermaston’s voice was firm. “Please, do as I say,” he said and shut the door. He lowered the crossbar into place so they would not be disturbed.

Prestwich turned away from the boy’s body, his shoulders quivering in silent sobs.

The Aldermaston approached the bedstead slowly, as if every step caused him pain. He clasped Prestwich’s shoulder. “Do you believe, my old friend?”

Lia wondered what that meant.

“I…I loved that lad. He…he was always so obedient.” His voice choked away. “Should have been I. I am old.”

“Do you believe still?”

Prestwich looked up at the Aldermaston. “Yes. I will always believe. I have seen too much to doubt you.”

The Aldermaston smiled sadly, patting the other’s back and then faced the bed. He approached the soiled blankets where Astrid lay stiff but peaceful.

“Lia, close your eyes,” the Aldermaston said.

Surprised, she obeyed, bowing her head as well. She heard the Aldermaston gasp shortly as he reached towards the boy’s head.

“Astrid Page,” he said in a pained voice. He said nothing after that. Lia felt the Medium in the room, it was so full. She clenched her eyes shut, believing the Medium could heal the boy. He was like a little brother to her. But there was something wrong with the Medium. Some hesitance to it.

“Astrid Page,” the Aldermaston said again, as if his voice were choked with an unspent cough.

Lia added her will to his. Let the boy be saved and recovered. Let him live! She burrowed deep within herself. She was dizzy with the lack of sleep and the terrible emotions of the day. Never had she felt so spent, so drained. Yet she shoved the despair and discouragement aside, reaching deep inside herself for hidden wells of strength.

The Aldermaston’s voice interrupted her. “Lia?”

She opened her eyes and saw the Aldermaston looking at her, a peculiar expression on his face. His right hand was resting on the crown of Astrid’s hair. The other hand was lifted skyward, as if pointing to the stars nearest to Idumea.

“Join your hand to mine,” he whispered hoarsely. “It must be so.”

Lia stared at him, then nodded in obedience and approached the bed from the other side. She looked at him curiously, then reached her hand over to Astrid’s head. The Aldermaston’s was knobbed and warm, his veins protruding like old worms. “Make the sign,” he said and she copied him.