“I put it back in your pouch while you slept. It still does not work for me.” He shrugged and grimaced which made her smile.

She untied the strings and pulled it out. In the daylight, she could look at it without squinting. It rested in her palm, the intricate carvings a little ticklish against her skin.

If my father is living, show me the way to him, she thought. Writing appeared on the lower half of the orb. She knew the answer, even though she could not understand the writing. My mother? she thought, wondering if she should even hope. The reply was the same. The spindles did not move.

“I am not surprised,” Colvin said, his expression thoughtful.

“Why?” Lia asked, disappointed. She had never known her parents, so she did not know whether to assume they were dead or not. She hugged her knees, staring at the writing. Maderos had said the writing was Pry-rian.

His voice was soft, his expression consoling. “If they were alive, they would never have abandoned you. The night I gave you the Gifting, I felt it very strongly. When I touched your head, I sensed that your parents were nearby. I sensed their feelings for you. Through the Medium even the dead are near. They loved you fiercely, Lia. You were not abandoned by them.”

Tears stung her eyes and a sudden swell in her throat, as she tried to swallow. “That is kind of you to say.”

“And I have been unkind to you since I first awoke in the kitchen. It was a struggle learning to trust you. Worse, I have not slept soundly until last night. For the first time in a fortnight, I really slept and rested.” He shook his head, chuckling, and stood. Extending his hand to her, he helped her up as well. His hand was cold from the morning chill.

“Where is your hunter?” he asked, looking around. “I thought he would have found us before now.”

Lia’s stomach lurched, as if Colvin had kicked her.

* * *

With the orb’s help, they found the body discarded in a gulch. It was in an unburned portion of the thicket, with three arrow shafts protruding from his chest. Lia knelt by him, staring in disbelief. It was too awful to be real. The stiff, pallid body was not Jon Hunter. No, he was full of life, energy, exuberance. Not this thing – this cracked shell. Then she cried, great wracking sobs. Colvin knelt next to her, his bloodied face sharing her grief. He put his arm around her.

She loved Jon Hunter. He was part of her earliest memories, especially those of Pasqua’s kitchen. He was one of the Aldermaston’s most trusted servants, trusted enough to be sent into the Bearden Muir to save them. It was not fair. It was not right. Her grief had a sharp edge to it, cutting deeply – so deeply.

She looked at Colvin in desperation. “You are a maston. Bring him back to life!”

Colvin was dumbstruck. “Lia, please.”

She squeezed her hands together as hard as she could. “I know you can do it. It begins with a thought, just like you said. I know the Medium can bring him back.” She frantically pulled the ring out of her dress. “I know it can happen. All those ossuaries were empty. They were empty, Colvin! The Medium can bring him back. He taught you the Gifting. Gift his life back. Please!”

He looked stricken. “Lia, the Medium is strong enough to revive the dead. I do not doubt that. It is written of in the tomes, but there is rarely an Aldermaston once in a century strong enough in the Medium to do it. Do you understand me? It requires an Aldermaston, I tell you. Not a maston. Not me.”

“If you believed…”

He shook his head abruptly. “It is not that, Lia. If the Medium constrained me, I could turn rivers into sand. I know I could. But right now, it whispers in my heart that I should not even attempt it. You cannot force the Medium.”

Lia knew he was right, but that did not make the taste any less bitter. The Medium had its own will. She covered her mouth as another round of sobs forced their way to her lips. Jon Hunter was someone who had mattered in her life. She enjoyed teasing him, matching wits with him, trying to outsmart him. But he was gone. His beard and hair, always so disheveled, his clothes mud-spattered and wrinkled. Perhaps it was fitting that he died in the middle of the Bearden Muir.

What would the Aldermaston say? She dreaded having to tell him, that because of her, Jon was dead. How would he react? Would his temper burst into flames or would he be all coldness and regret? He had sent Jon to bring her back. Kneeling by the body, she fidgeted with the end of his leather belt. The Aldermaston would be furious, she decided. He might even banish her from the Abbey permanently.

She did not want to leave the body in the Bearden Muir, but they lacked the means of transporting it. Instead, she chose to bring something of his back to Muirwood. He was a wretched too, yet she wanted others to remember him as she always would.