The Ciphers of Muirwood (20 page)

He stared at her, his eyes widening with shock. “How do you know that phrase?” he whispered.

Maia realized she had blundered, that she had quoted from a tome. Maia straightened her skirts. “I have always had a prodigious memory, Captain Carew,” she answered with a thick voice. “You should remember that.”

With the threat lingering in the air, she turned and walked away from him, feeling her cheeks flush with heat. As she emerged from the orchard, she saw Collier eyeing her closely, but he said nothing to her, looking a little bored.

Jon Tayt motioned for her to join him and Argus, which she did. His voice was low as they walked. “The captain did not look very pleased with you, lass. By Cheshu, I could almost hear the scolding you gave him from here. Keep walking. The
Holk
was sighted earlier today. We must go straight to the Aldermaston’s study. Your grandmother should be there by now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Simon Fox

M
aia squeezed her grandmother and felt the embrace returned with equal vigor. Sabine smelled of salty sea and wood stain, and her hair was wild and windblown. She looked as if she had traveled a great distance.

“My dear one,” Sabine whispered, pulling away to cup Maia’s cheeks in her hands. She smiled at her with such tenderness it made the anxiety and ache of their separation even more poignant. This was Family. This was what she had craved.

“You were gone for so long,” Maia breathed. The Aldermaston and his wife smiled at them. Jon Tayt was there as well, off to the side talking to a younger man dressed in black with a felt cap that matched his clothes. The young man was stern, and he listened complacently as Jon Tayt prattled on.

“I am sorry, dear one,” Sabine said, taking Maia’s hands and squeezing them. “I have been at sea a great deal, giving directions to various Aldermastons to help them prepare for what is coming.” She sighed, wiped a few strands of hair from her eyes, and shook her head. “My son-in-law is making things rather difficult.”

“Where have you been?” Maia asked, drawing her over to some stuffed chairs in the corner of the room.

“Pry-Ree, Hautland, Dahomey. Other places as well.” She patted Maia’s hand. “I most recently visited Dahomey to seek King Gideon, only to discover that he had changed ships immediately to come to Comoros.”

“Then you have heard?” Maia asked, staring into her eyes.

“I have heard a great many things,” Sabine answered. She gestured for the others to draw near. As the young man dressed in black left the shadows, Maia saw that his velvet tunic was actually a very deep burgundy color, so dark it had appeared black. It was expensive and exquisitely styled, with ribbed sleeves that were black, and gold fringes at the sleeves and collar. Though he was a young man, he had a wispy forked beard paired with mild brown eyes that held a contemplative expression. He looked to be only a few years older than Maia.

“This is Simon Fox,” Sabine said. She rose and walked over to the young man, then bowed her head slightly to him.

“Greetings,” he said as he bowed in return, his accent distinctly Dahomeyjan. “It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

Sabine touched his sleeve and then gestured toward him with her other hand. “Simon is part of the Victus.”

Maia’s eyebrows lifted and a worried feeling bloomed in her stomach.

“He is also one of the spymasters of King Gideon of Dahomey. He was trained and mentored by Chancellor Walraven personally. There are some among the Victus who cannot condone the planned murder of the mastons in Assinica. Like Walraven, Simon risks his life to aid us with information. He has come here to speak with his master at Whitsunday, but I wanted to introduce you all to him first, so you would know where his loyalties truly lie. To the world at large, he is known as a wine and cider merchant whose Family is responsible for shipping barrels throughout the kingdoms. He has contacts within most of the noble Families, knows ship captains of every allegiance, and receives messages from all the kingdoms with surprising regularity. His most recent assignment was serving under Corriveaux in Dahomey, and he has since been reassigned, through Walraven’s influence, to the Court of Comoros to spy on Maia’s father. What he learns he will tell the Victus, King Gideon, and us.”

Maia stared at him with distrust as she rose from her seat, her mouth pursed.

Sabine took a moment to gaze at each of them. “I wanted to introduce you to Simon personally. I trust him, and his information has proved timely and invaluable. He has already assisted me in one very urgent matter. He has studied the maston ways and lore and, along with others in his situation, feels that the order of the Dochte Mandar is corrupt and is bringing harm to the people. Show them your kystrel, Simon.”

The man sighed and quickly undid the buttons on his tunic front and collar, opening the material of his shirt. He was of slight build, the tunic giving him a deceptively broader girth. The sight of the chain around his neck and the whorl-like tattoo on his skin made Maia sick inside.

“Show them,” Sabine insisted.

“As you may know, the kystrels were forged in the past,” Simon said, his voice slightly accented. “They were handed down from hetaera to slave. In the Dochte Mandar tradition they are believed to allow us to commune with the spirits of the dead. In truth, they commune with the Unborn, the Myriad Ones. This is not a kystrel, but a replica. There are missing segments of the pattern, here and here,” he said, pointing to the markings. “This was crafted to look as if it were of ancient origin, but in truth it was created by a clever metalsmith whom I hired to perform the work. The shadowstain you see on my chest . . .” He dabbed his tongue with his finger and then rubbed at the stain. Part of it came away and left a blot of ink on the young man’s finger. He held it up to them. “It is ink, not a tattoo.”

Sabine smiled and patted his arm. “Simon would like to become a maston. Most of those who live in Naess dread the maston order. But some of the young men and women in the rising generation have studied alongside mastons and read the tomes; they have seen that power should not be constrained and forced through the hetaeras’ amulets.” She squeezed his shoulder. “There are some in Naess who can hear the true whispers of the Medium, despite the near-darkness that rules so far to the north. Simon joined the Victus to help thwart it, and was led by the Medium to Walraven. At the time, he believed him to be an enemy and not our ally, but he trusted the Medium’s guidance and learned that they supported the same cause. Men like Corriveaux are part of the old order. Simon hopes, someday, that there may be an abbey built in Naess.”

As Sabine said the words, Maia felt a familiar warm feeling in her bosom, a sense of peace and contentment. She found herself smiling. She had seen the dark city full of Leering lights. She remembered the enormous cliff face that rose behind the port city, jutting from the waters like a mountain-sized Leering itself. The possibility that an abbey might exist there someday filled her with wonder and hope.

Sabine stared into Maia’s eyes and nodded. “You feel the Medium as well. That is how I came to trust Walraven. It is how I trust Simon. You see, the lad has no true kystrel. He cannot force the Medium to obey him. But it listens to him nonetheless. He can activate a Leering with his thoughts, just like we can. Even though his bloodline comes from Naess, enough Family blood flows within it to give him access to the Medium’s power. It grows slowly, patiently. The same as it has been doing with us all.” She patted his arm again and returned to Maia’s side.

“Simon, tell the others about the armada.”

Maia watched as he quickly buttoned his tunic, concealing himself once more. His expression was grave and guarded. There was a glimmer in his eyes that Maia recognized. A hunger and thirst for knowledge. She had a feeling he knew more languages than she did.

“The armada sailed from Hautland weeks ago,” he said blandly, his voice devoid of any emotion. “The common belief is that the armada was sent to invade Comoros and will sail around Pry-Ree, turn south, and strike the heart of the kingdom from the south. That is one of the reasons the king is coming to Muirwood. He cannot win a battle at sea against such a force, so he will allow the city to be sacked and ravaged. Most of his army has been drawn away from the city, leaving it undefended. But that is not the aim of the armada. While Comoros frets and waits for the invasion, the fleet sails for Assinica.”

He stroked the wisps of light brown beard. “The fleet is well equipped and stocked with provisions. It does not expect or need reinforcements. Its only goal is to crush the mastons. Our spies have informed us that the mastons sailed up navigable rivers in the land that opens to a vast lake. That is where their city and abbeys were built. It was wise, because an entire fleet cannot engage all at once. That will be helpful, but they cannot resist such an overwhelming force. Our spies indicate that they have not been training in war and are quite peaceful and prosperous. There are no castles or keeps or strongholds. The abbeys are the most impressive structures, but they are not defensible. In a word, they will be slaughtered unless the Medium intervenes.”

Sabine nodded, her eyes determined. “I do not think that it will,” she said softly. “I have felt the strong impressions from the Medium to save those people. They are peace-loving and will not rise to defend themselves, even against those who come to slaughter them. They will be massacred. The Medium compels me to save them, but I do not have enough ships. Nor do I have enough time. I have pleaded with the Medium to tell me how to save them—by attacking Naess ourselves, by treaty. All that I hear in return is that the Apse Veil must be opened. There are abbeys there, and the people can use the network between the abbeys to cross into these lands for safety. We have been trained in war. We must be their defenders.” She turned and looked at Maia. “Have you taken the maston test?”

Maia shook her head, her stomach churning with concern for the defenseless mastons. “No, Grandmother. The Aldermaston felt I was not yet ready.”

Sabine turned to the Aldermaston, who met her gaze unflinchingly. “My lady, I have sought the Medium’s will each day to bring her inside to take the rites. My own desires have continually been thwarted. I have assumed it was because you were not yet here.”

“I am here. We will go tonight. It will take time to remove all the people from Assinica. We may need to open more than one Veil to hasten the work. The spirits of the dead are restless, especially in Muirwood. I can sense them with us now. It is not just for the living that the Apse Veils must be restored. The dead brood over us with their thoughts.” She clasped her hands behind her and began pacing. “I sought out your husband in Dahomey, Maia,” she said sadly. “When he did not come, the Cruciger orb told me that I should return to Muirwood. The Medium brought him here ahead of me, it seems.” She chuckled. “Perhaps you will need
his
strength to open the Veils. Have you spoken to him yet?”

“I have,” Maia said. She lowered her eyes to hide her confused feelings. “It did not go very well. He is hurt and angry.”

Sabine frowned. “He hurried too soon. He does not even know yet.”

“What do you mean?”

She waved her hand, not giving an answer, and turned to Simon Fox. “You must make sure he learns about it quickly, Simon. You came here today under a cloak, and you shall leave through the tunnels. Jon Tayt will show you the way. You must arrive through the gates as expected when the king’s host comes.”

Maia was determined to learn this secret, but she knew it was not the time. She would ask her grandmother later.

“My lady,” the Aldermaston said. “As you remember, the king is bringing the new Aldermaston for Muirwood with him. You know him as well as I do—Ely Kranmir from Augustin. I received a message that he is to arrive imminently. What would you have me do?”

Sabine looked at him, her eyes widening. “So many snakes in the woods. How to walk without being bitten by one?”

“Is it a sin to thrash an Aldermaston, by Cheshu?” Jon Tayt said gruffly. “We could bar the gates against him.”

Sabine smiled. “Lia did that to his predecessor, I recall. The story is famous.” She began pacing again, shaking her head thoughtfully. “Mutiny at sea, treason by land. If he succeeds in naming his own man Aldermaston of Muirwood, the oldest abbey of the realm, where will his ambitions end?”

“In a grave,” Jon Tayt said with a snort, “as it always does. Even the mastons of the past had to rebel against their fallen king.”

Sabine looked at him and shook her head. “Not without a warning first. The Medium always warns before it destroys.”

“If I may?” Simon Fox said in a deferential voice.

The others looked to him. “Yes, Simon?” Sabine replied.

He stroked his wispy beard again. “There is no easy answer to this conundrum. The stakes are high and the jeopardy is real. Lady Maia, if you will excuse me not using your given name? Thank you. Lady Maia is the only person who has defied the king’s authority without being executed. Many have signed the Writ of Submission—or the
Act
of Submission . . . pardon me . . . for fear of their life, including Aldermaston Kranmir. Do you believe the king will execute his own daughter? I do not. Therefore, I suggest that as soon as he arrives, we focus the king’s attention on his daughter’s presence. She is lawfully married to my master, King Gideon. If we legitimize the marriage in the eyes of the people and have Lady Maia proclaimed Queen of Dahomey, her father will not be able to overthrow the customs on his authority alone. That is my counsel.”

Sabine looked at him, her brow furrowing. “You are asking me to trust my son-in-law with her life.”

“Yes,” Simon replied, bowing meekly. “In my opinion, the king cannot overthrow the maston order unless Maia submits and signs the act. He was anointed king. His true wife, Lady Catrin, is dead. But Maia’s royal birth means she has the same authority, the same benefit, as her father. Yes, she has been disinherited. Unlawfully. Yes, she has been a pariah. Unpardonably. But she has more right to the throne than any other person besides the king . . . and even he knows that. Think of the mastons in Assinica. Who will they look to as their rightful ruler? Him? Or her?”