Free The Wretched of Muirwood by Jeff Wheeler

You get used to it as well, but do not climb at night. It is dangerous unless the moon is out.” She started to leave, but he stopped her.
    “I will not forget that you did this,” he told her. He shut his eyes. “For a moment, I thought they saw us. They would have killed me.”
    “The fog was a blessing. No one knows these grounds better than a wretched. If you lack a place to hide, go to the bottom of the hill. There are a heap of empty ossuaries down there. Big stone ossuaries. Are you surprised I know that word?”
    He winced. “Not any more.”
    “We used to hide in them and Sowe and I would find each other.”
    “You hid amongst the bones?” His face looked sick with revulsion. He shuddered.
    “No, you fool. The dead had already revived. They were empty of bones, except for grave linens.” She fished in her bodice for the ring. “And these.”
    He stared at her. “I did not know they buried the dead with gold rings in his Hundred. And you…you took one?”
    “If the dead left it behind, they obviously no longer needed it.” She scooped it back into her dress, winked at him with a warning not to fall off the hillside and hurried out of the makeshift cave and scrambled up the rock steps to the top. She was winded when she finished the climb.
    Sowe was nearly frantic. “You were gone too long!”
    “Stop acting like you are six. Back to the kitchen.” They started walking quickly, holding hands so that Sowe could keep up.
    “What if the soldiers are there?” Sowe whispered.
    “Do not say anything. I will answer them.”
    “What if they ask me a question?”
    “Pretend you are frightened of them.”
    “I am frightened of them!”
    “Then it will not be difficult for you to show it, will it? If Pasqua asks where we went, I am going to say we went to sneak a look at the soldiers. Watch out for that branch.” They both ducked.
    Walking the rest of the way through the orchard in silence, they gripped each others hands as the mist swirled around them. It was fading now that the sun was up, and they could make out the looming silhouette of the abbey kitchen ahead past the screen of oaks. Lia’s heart raced.
    As they crossed the grass to the rear of the kitchen, two shapes emerged from the wall, stepping into their sight. Both held drawn swords.
    “In the name of Almaguer, sheriff of Mendenhall, I bid you stand fast! Are you the missing kitchen help?”
    “Yes,” Lia said, her hand throbbing in pain from Sowe’s clenching fingers.
    The soldiers approached and grabbed each girl around the arm. “Then his lordship, the noble sheriff, desires to speak with you both. You will come with us!”
     
     

 
     
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    “There was an Aldermaston long ago, over an Abbey that I will not mention, who allowed a wretched the privilege of reading and engraving. He was a talented young man and strong with the Medium. The learners of the Abbey disdained him due to jealousy and his lack of rank. The Aldermaston encouraged his progress however, convinced that his abilities would bring the Abbey great renown. But the wretched desired one thing above all else. By learning to read, he hoped to discover the identity of his forbearers. Instead of studying the words of the ancient mastons before him, he pored through the Abbey records, seeking the identity of his parentage. The clues were sufficient in the Abbey history, and he determined the identity of his mother, who had been a helper in the Abbey and a wretched herself. Abandoning his studies, he sought her at a neighboring village and forced her to reveal the identity of his father, who, he discovered, was a learner at the Abbey but never became a maston. He confronted the man who gave him his life, and he robbed him of his as vengeance. To this day, Aldermastons keep learners and helpers apart, and they refuse, completely and totally and rightfully, to allow wretcheds of any circumstance the privileges.”
     
    - Cuthbert Renowden of Billerbeck Abbey
     
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