“Come, sister. Up the Tor. To the crest! Come!”
* * *
Lia did not know how Maderos could speak while climbing so fast, but he did. Her chest was burning, her legs were burning, and without gripping the saddle stirrup, she was sure she would have stumbled with exhaustion already. Colvin’s tattered tunic was soaked with sweat, but he kept up without murmuring.
“Do you want to ride?” he asked her in a low tone, seeing her face.
She shook her head no, for she could not speak. Holding the saddle was enough. As long as the horse kept chuffing along, she would make it.
“You can see the Tor from Kennot Knoll. You can even see it from Haunton – on a clear day. Notice the trees lower down, but not higher up. It is bald. A bald hill. That is because this hill is new. It is new, I tell you! Have you heard how the Tor came to be here? Eh? Have you heard? You cannot speak, so I will speak. This was after the first abbey was built, many years ago. Hundreds of years ago. When all the land you can see there was flooded.” He waved his free arm expansively. “Some soldiers in longboats came. They were from another land, ready to pillage. They had their own tongue, but greed is the language common to all men. When they saw Muirwood, their hearts were full of greed. The long boats came up the river. They destroyed the village folk in the lake. Murdered them. Their blood did sing to the Aldermaston of the abbey. He heard their deaths.” He looked back at them, his eyes gleaming. “Do you know what the Aldermaston did? Can you guess, pethet? No?”
Maderos stopped talking, for they crested the summit at last. Lia would have sagged to her knees, but she held herself up, gulping air. Her heartbeat was thunder in her ears. Even Colvin looked winded, and he stopped, bending over to struggle for breath.
“Bah! You are young. Young legs. Young feet. You have no stamina. I have no horse. I must walk where the Medium takes me. Across this country. Across that country. Look at the horizon! Do you see it! Ah, the glory! I never tire of it.”
Sweat dripped from the tip of Lia’s nose. Her strength began to return.
“What did…what did the Aldermaston do?” she panted.
“Eh? What do you say, little sister?”
“When the soldiers came,” she said.
“The rest of the tale? It is a grand story. The longboats came, the soldiers charged towards the abbey. Easy prey, just like the villagers.” He snapped his fingers, then held one up to his lips. “But they did not know of the Medium. No, they could not guess at its power. How strong the Aldermaston was. He looked east and saw hills. He looked west and saw hills.” His arms gestured broadly, mimicking the action of his words. “So with the Medium compelling him, he raised his arms high into the air. He had kept the trust to invoke its power thus. A hill from away rose with his hands. Yes! A hill far away rose with his hands. It came. And it crushed the soldiers and their boats.” He slammed a fist down into his palm. “Now the hill is called the Tor. When you are away from here, when you look back at the Tor, you will see that I speak truth. It does not belong here. One day, another Aldermaston will set it back where it came from. We do not live in such times now. Long ago. So very long ago.” His gaze sharpened. “Show us the Cruciger orb, child. Show us where you would go.”
Lia straightened. She believed every word he had said. The story was fantastic, but no more than a storm causing a landslide, exposing stone ossuaries that were empty save of grave clothes and wedding bands or stones that hung suspended in the air.
Reaching into her pouch, she withdrew the orb and brought it to Maderos. His eyes narrowed as he looked at it.
“Believe,” he whispered. “Believe and it will show you the way you seek. Always.”
In her mind, she thought the words, Show us the safe road to Winterrowd.
The spindles spun, the inside of the orb whirred to life and it pointed again, away from the Tor – towards the western horizon.
She looked up to where it was pointing and her heart leapt with what she saw. From the summit, she could see for leagues in every direction. The sight was breathtaking. Groves and glens, mirrored pools and distant hills. Looking down, she saw the abbey and it filled her eyes with tears at how small it was. There was the kitchen cupola rising above a ring of oaks. She thought of Pasqua and it went straight to her heart and brought a cough and a sob together. The Cider Orchard. The fish pond. She could even see the laundry and, staring hard, she could see people walking the grounds.
“You weep, child?” he asked her gently. “Why?”
“I did think I would miss it so,” Lia whispered, tears blurring the image.