Colvin’s hand gently capped the top of her head. It was gentle – yet firm. There was softness in the way the weight of his hand and fingers pressed down against her hair, bending the kinks, before resting on her scalp. His touch sent new shivers through her.

“Lia Cook…”

It was the first time he had spoken her name. In her ears, there was screaming, raging, cursing, but not from Colvin. It came from inside her. It was as if she opened another set of eyes, eyes that allowed her to look down on herself as a separate person. Colvin was in front of her, but there was a blinding hail of light coming from behind him. Smoke-shapes screamed and fled, loping away with a mist that receded from the hillock like water draining from a cracked keg. There was something still in her chest – something that had lodged there since her dream. It slid out and it was like breathing for the first time. Behind her, she could see Almaguer’s glowing eyes as he backed away from her, his face twisting with agony.

Then she felt it. Each breath she inhaled brought a sob of recognition. The feeling was back again. Not the terrifying feeling, not the horror and shame and loathing, but the feeling of Muirwood. All her life she had felt it. The subtle feeling of safety, of belonging, of being home. She felt it again, even though the abbey was leagues away. She understood now. It was the power of the Medium. All her life, she had lived amidst it – breathed it with the very air yet had never really recognized it before. The same power that defended the abbey was with her, brought to her through Colvin’s warm hand.

She had not heard another word he had said, but it was over and he lifted his hand from her head. Deep inside, she did not want him to snatch it back. She wanted to feel that sense of haven forever. Opening her eyes, she saw him kneel in front of her. His eyes were full of tears.

“They are gone,” she whispered. “The fog and the smoke-shapes. Almaguer. They are gone. I am not afraid any more.”

“I know,” he whispered back, barely able to speak. “The Myriad Ones were all around you. I…I did not know. But they are gone now. They are all gone.”

It started to rain.

* * *

The Cruciger orb led them northwest through the tangled paths of the Bearden Muir. The day was every bit as drab, colorless and uncomfortable as the previous day – but it was no longer soulless. She was still thirsty, but that was no longer a torment. Jon had brought food to share, gathered from the kitchen and assembled in a linen napkin by Pasqua herself. Pasqua, who was worried sick about her. Pasqua who had insisted on following Jon to the porter gates to hunt for Lia herself, only to be called back by the Aldermaston and threatened with dire consequences if she defied him. Sowe, who Jon said was hidden inside the manor by the Aldermaston while the sherrif’s men shouted insults from the gates. He told her how the villagers had finally warned the sheriff’s men with the threat of a riot to make them leave.

“Bring Lia back to Muirwood,” the Aldermaston had said. “Whatever happens in Winterrowd, she must come back. Bring her home, Jon. Bring her home.”

There was no way to describe how that made her feel. That she, a wretched, was worthy of rescue. That the Aldermaston would not only defend her, but continue to defy the sheriff because of her choice to steal the Cruciger orb and her choice to aid Colvin. All her life, she had never felt much in the way of affection for the old man. It was an alien feeling.

The need for fresh water was paramount in the Bearden Muir, so Lia asked the orb for a safe path to Winterrowd that would put them in the course of fresh water. The spindles had pointed the way clearly and she waited with anticipation for the chance to slake her thirst again.

When it came, before dusk, it startled them all.

The orb led them into a thicket between stark hills. It was thickly wooded with black, mossy oaks, overgrown and filled with stagnant pools with floating clouds of gnats and choruses of frogs. Insects sang and hummed, filling the air with their confusion. Carefully, the orb led them into the midst of the thicket, choked with skeletal trees and brush that clawed at their heads, swatted at their arms, and seemed almost impassable at times, until they reached a boulder in the center. The ground was dry around the stone, and they circled it from both sides. It whispered with power. Sure enough, it was a Leering, with the carved side facing east towards the sun, the western side shaggy with moss and speckled with lichen. There were no other boulders nearby. It seemed out of place, imposing, permanent – lonely. It was as if the thicket had grown up around it.

Colvin and Jon stared at the carving of its face, their eyes widening in unison. They looked at each other and then at her.