Pagan Fire, page 4
Maere’s eyes moved frantically over her companion. Seelie’s face was growing paler and paler as the blood continued to flow bright red. How was she going to make it stop? And why wouldn’t Seelie say who had attacked her? Oh God, no, she thought, as her entire being filled with horror. “It was the priest, wasn’t it?”
“I had no idea,” Seelie murmured. “No idea at all.” Her eyes fluttered, then closed. “He was so handsome.”
“Handsome? That’s all you can say?” Maere raged, her voice low. She waved her hand. “He’s all but killed you, girl, and you can only talk about how handsome he is?”
“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have tempted him.” Seelie let out a ragged sigh. “He told me I was an evil woman to lure him away from the monastery and I should be punished. I should have left when I had the chance. Before—” Seelie began to sob.
“Oh, Seelie. Is that what he told you?” Maere asked, incredulous. “You’re not evil, girl.” Maere’s whole body shook and she looked up, fighting to control the anger roiling inside of her. She wanted to run out into the night and find him. She wanted to show the others what he’d done to her friend. She wanted to see him punished for the deed. Maere swallowed back the bitter taste for vengeance that threatened to shatter her composure. She must tend to her friend right now. There’d be time enough later to deal with the man.
“Maere?”
“Aye?”
“I can’t feel my body.” Seelie coughed, hard. Bright red blood trickled down her lips, staining them the color of summer berries. “It’s so cold.” As the words tumbled out of her mouth, Seelie’s head rolled to one side. Her eyes lost their focus and went blank.
“Seelie?” Maere gently shook her. “Seelie?”
Seelie’s eyes remained blank.
“Dear Lord, no,” Maere whispered. She leaned back on her heels and, in that moment – as rage and anger like she’d never known washed over her – something broke loose inside of her. She clutched her stomach as something crackled fiery hot inside her belly. She jerked when it traveled down the length of her legs, up her spine, and out to her hands. It reached her brain and flashed brightly inside her skull, blinding her for an instant. The top of her head tingled and hurt and her hands burned.
Instinctively, Maere reached for Seelie and clasped her friend to her breast. She placed one hand over the young woman’s eyes, another on her friend’s belly. The space around them glowed green, then white. A strong breeze that seemed to come from the very center of the room whipped the bed linens. The candle fell over and burned itself out. Bursts of light shot out of Maere’s fingertips and into Seelie’s body. The jolt lifted them both from the floor. Another burst. Another jolt. A loud sucking sound filled the small cell. Seelie’s mouth fell open and the light entered her, leaving the room dark.
Seelie stirred and slowly raised a hand to her head. “M – Maere?” she whispered.
Maere jumped, startled out of the light trance she’d fallen into. She studied Seelie’s face. The bruises had vanished. She looked at the floor. The blood was gone. Seelie’s torn habit was the only evidence of the ordeal. Maere’s hand flew to her mouth. Sweet Jesus! What had happened here? What had she done?
Before Maere could even begin to think, a loud knock sounded at her door. She quickly grabbed a blanket from the bed and tossed it over Seelie. The door to the cell flew open. Abbess Magrethe, followed by several other sisters, pushed their way in. “We heard a terrible noise and saw a bright light coming from under the door.” She looked around the small room. “What’s been going on in here?”
“If I only knew, dear Mother,” Maere murmured. Her face felt so hot and feverish. “I swear I would be most happy to tell you.”
The abbess stared at the younger woman. “I beg your pardon?”
“What I meant to say was—” Maere glanced around the room. “Seelie here, she tripped and fell when we were studying. She knocked herself out and is just now coming to.” She took in the candle on its side. What was becoming of her? The lies were beginning to flow so easily. “The light you saw must have been from the candle when she knocked it over.” Maere stood and pulled her friend to her feet, careful to keep the blanket tight about her, lest they see the damaged clothing. Maere gave her over to the care of Sister Jane, who helped the novitiate out of the room. The other sisters followed. Except Magrethe.
She circled Maere, considering her. With a practiced eye, she again looked around the cell. “True, the candle is lying on its side.” She righted it and relit the wick with the candle she was carrying. She touched the spilled beeswax and it stuck to her finger. She turned to face Maere. “I’m going to ask you a simple question. I expect an honest and direct answer.
Maere bobbed her head. “Of course, Mother.”
“Have you been practicing magic?”
Maere’s eyes widened. She stumbled back a step as her knees threatened to buckle. “N – no. Never. Why would you ask me such a thing?”
Magrethe sat on the edge of the narrow cot and patted the spot next to her. “Sit by me.” Maere complied. “The signs are here, girl. I’ve seen it before, the lure of the devil. His empty promises catch the eye of a young novitiate. She seeks to strike a bargain for power and the devil is all too happy to assist.” Magrethe shrugged her thin shoulders and shook her head. “Often, it’s nothing more than idle curiosity.” She glanced at her charge. “Given your heritage, I simply had to inquire.”
“My heritage?” Maere asked. “What of my heritage? What haven’t you told me, Mother? Is there something about my mother and father you’re not telling me? Something about myself I should know? Is it because I am Keltoi?”
“Too many questions for this late hour.” Magrethe’s blue eyes darted back and forth. “Besides, there’s no need to delve into the past, girl.”
“But I truly want to know,” Maere said softly. “Perhaps if you told me everything you know, it’d help me to remember.”
“You’ve been told of the Vikings who murdered your mother and father. And you know your kin were of the Keltoi tribe Dumnonii, that they practiced the old religion.” Magrethe stood. “We’ve discussed their heathen ways, and that your fine Uncle Eugis brought you here to us so you could be raised a Christian.”
Maere started to speak, but the abbess raised a hand, her mouth set. “I will not discuss it further. As I said, none of it is important any more. You know what you must. What matters is that you’ve grown into a fine God-fearing woman. Now, I’ll ask you again to tell me. What really happened here tonight?”
Maere swallowed the ache in her throat, forcing down the other questions she wanted to ask. It would do no good to push the abbess any further. Despite her diminutive size, she was a strong stubborn woman who rarely, if ever, budged after making up her mind. “I’ve already told you, Mother.” She fidgeted with the sleeve of her gown, then focused her eyes on the dark silhouette of the tree line beyond her window. “Seelie fell.”
“Well, then.” Magrethe slowly let her breath out. “It’s late. I won’t bother you about it anymore tonight.” She turned to leave the room.
When she reached the door, Maere called out to her. “Mother? The things you said last night about the devil and my dreams have been on my mind.” The image of Seelie’s still form covered in blood arose in her mind. She blinked against it, and looked at the abbess. The surge of power that had shot through her body was still vibrating within her. “I think it might be best if I did enter into a fast and meditation. Perhaps the good Virgin can help me to understand if this is, indeed, devil’s work.”
“I’m most happy to hear you say that,” Magrethe said with a smile. “Fasting and meditation are the gateway to truth.” She folded her hands in front of her.
“I think the best way to accomplish this is to enter an anchorite position for a short time.” She offered a quick look at the abbess.
Magrethe took a step forward. “Now, Maere, have you thought long and hard about this? Locking yourself away in a stone hovel is an extremely hard cross to bear, especially for one as young as yourself. Are you prepared to take such a drastic step?”
As she considered Magrethe’s words, Maere thought about everything she’d seen lately. Her mind filled with the image of a dark man with glowing eyes, rising from the mist. He disappeared and was replaced with the sight of Seelie, first bloody and dead, then suddenly brought back to life with a touch of her hand. And there was the fire she always dreamed of, as tall as a man, hungry and devouring everything in its wake. She shook off the visions. God knew what she needed most now was time to think and pray, time to sort out what was happening to her.
“I’ll only stay for a month. Certainly an answer can be found by then.” A cold chill ran up her spine. “And the Lord will surely protect me in my hour of need.” She was filled with a sudden foreboding. She looked at the abbess again, tears forming in her eyes. “Won’t He?”
Magrethe smiled and nodded. “Of course He will.” She turned and quietly closed the door behind her.
Maere walked to the window and, with only a quick look outside, snapped the shutters closed. With a click, the iron latch fell into place. She sat on her flat straw mattress and stared into the candle flame. Her attention was drawn to the place the stub had fallen earlier. Maere reached out and ran her fingertip over the now-hardened beeswax. A raised figure had been left there – the likeness of a raven in flight.
Maere drew her shawl closer, wrapped it tightly under her chin, and blew out the candle. Consumed by the darkness, she shuddered. The creature was flying straight toward her.
Chapter Five
Following the morning meal, the residents of the abbey gathered behind the large sisterhouse, close to the wide stone wall protecting the grounds. Here, nine hermitess dwellings stood. The homes were small, constructed of large flat rocks laid at right angles to each other to form the sides. The roofs, made of timber and thatch, were so low it was impossible for any but the shortest woman to stand upright once inside.
Aged women, who upon their husband’s deaths, had chosen to enter into a life of prayer and contemplation, now occupied seven of the anchorages. Most had been there for several years and had never once left the small hovels. Not for bad weather, nor to meet with visiting relatives. Not even for illness, no matter how life-threatening. They bathed and saw to their personal needs without leaving the anchorage. Every day, one of the sisters tended their needs, bringing water and food.
In exchange for the opportunity to pray ceaselessly and offer consultation to pilgrims, the anchoresses had each bequeathed to the convent all their worldly goods. It was a special honor to have these holy women stay with the sisters. The greatness of an abbey was partly measured by the number of anchorites it attracted.
Maere stood quietly outside the small building which was to be her home for the next month. One-by-one the sisters and novitiates, their arms laden with simple gifts and necessities, gathered to bid a temporary farewell to their friend. Though some might still speak with her on a limited basis, touching or eye contact was strictly forbidden during the time she would be ensconced here.
Sister Joan presented a thick woolen blanket she’d woven from the convent’s supply of shearling. “I know it’s spring, but the nights will still be chilly afore you join us again,” she said. Maere smiled and the elderly nun patted her on the cheek. “Good luck to you,” Joan whispered. “I’ll be praying for your soul.”
Other sisters followed with presents of dried apples, herbs, and more blankets. Maere humbly accepted their offerings. She glanced up as the line drew to an end. Seelie stood a few feet away in a patch of wildflowers. Her blonde hair was neatly braided and shining nearly white in the morning sun. Her cheeks were pink and glowing. Seelie rushed to her friend’s side as the last sister walked away.
“Are you feeling well today?” Maere asked as she took the other woman’s hands into her own. She studied Seelie’s face. There was absolutely no sign of the battered and abused young woman she’d seen only last night. Had she dreamed everything? Did her friend’s injuries exist only in her imagination?
“Aye. Very well indeed.”
“Do you remember what happened?” Maere asked, her voice low. Could Seelie’s mind have forgotten the horror as easily as her body had?
Seelie nodded, her expression serious. “Enough to know I won’t be behaving the same way again. I don’t know what you did, girl, but I feel as if the face of God has looked on me and put my soul to rest.” She smiled, lighting up her entire face. “It’s a miracle, it is. I feel as if the cares of the world are gone from my mind.”
Maere hugged her tightly. When she released her, they both had tears in their eyes. “I don’t have any idea what happened last night in my room, but I can’t say I’m sorry it did.” She gestured toward the anchorage. “My hope is I’ll discover the meaning of what transpired while I’m in there.”
Seelie nodded. She bent down and scooped up a handful of yellow flowers and handed them to Maere. “I’ll keep you in my prayers. And don’t fret. Just as you promised to protect me, I’ll protect you. No one will ever know.”
“Thank you,” Maere said, relief washing over her. “If anyone found out, I’d be beaten for certain. And who knows what else the sisters and monks would do.” She turned to face the small building and took a deep breath. It was time she entered and began her period of meditation. She dropped to her hands and knees as the entry was low and could only be accessed by crawling on one’s elbows. Maere pushed the gifts into the opening, gave the world behind her one last look, then crawled into the passage.
Once inside, she stood, and hit her head on the ceiling. With a grimace, Maere leaned slightly forward and rubbed the sore spot. She wasn’t as tall as some, yet the anchorage was too short for her to stand straight.
Still rubbing her head, Maere looked about. The room was completely bare except for an uncomfortable-looking straw mattress covered in homespun, a spindly wood chair, and the items she’d brought with her. To her left, a narrow window was carved into the thick plaster-coated and whitewashed wall. A black wool curtain, embroidered with a white cross on both sides, hung loosely over it.
As she was looking about, someone passed by, casting her shadow through a small hole in the fabric. Maere jumped. She hadn’t expected anyone to come so soon. She waited near the window for the person to begin talking, as it was improper for the anchorite to start a conversation. It was the duty of the one seeking advice to initiate the contact.
“Maere? It’s Abbess Magrethe.”
“Yes, Mother?”
“I wanted to tell you to have faith. I’m most certain the Lord will guide you in this endeavor.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Maere said. “I will not lose heart.” She watched as the shadow moved away without replying, then went to the task of arranging her belongings.
The room was barely large enough for the meager items that served as furnishings, let alone for what she’d brought with her. Maere lightly tested the seat of the chair with her fingers and a spider climbed out of the middle of the woven rushes. It moved slowly, as if it had woken from a long nap. She cautiously touched the seat again and the spider sprang to life. Its long legs darted in front of it as it rounded the back of the chair, disappearing from sight.
Maere frowned. “Well, Sir Spider, I suppose I’ll be looking before sitting from now on.” She bent to retrieve the rough woven sack carrying her belongings and dumped the contents onto the mattress. From the bag, she gently removed the tiny wooden cross she’d made shortly after arriving at the convent. She ran her fingertips over the dark wood, the knife marks of her carving still evident. Abbess Magrethe had suggested she make it as an exercise to focus her mind. Busy hands, happy heart, she repeated again and again.
But Maere’s heart had been anything but happy. Eight winters old, her mind was a blank, save for a few flashes. Fire. Dying cows. Shouting, though she could attach no face to the sound. The simple act of making the cross served to rescue a little girl from a sadness so immense it threatened to drown her.
Maere had tried over and over since then to make peace with the fact that she might never know the cause of that deep sadness. Even now, it still welled up within her from time to time. During those rare moments when her mind wasn’t occupied with prayer or her hands with chores, it would creep in from the edges of her memory. As water followed the moon, so did melancholy follow an idle moment.
She took a deep breath, forcing a small smile. Gently, she hung the cross on a peg driven into the stone over the mattress. She tilted it first this way, then that, adjusting the object until it hung just right.
On the peg next to it, Maere looped the necklace she’d somehow managed to keep all these years. Magrethe tried to take it from her that first day, whispering something about pagan relics and the ungodly ways of the Dumnonii. Maere always wondered if she was one of these people. She heard enough whispers amongst the sisters to believe she must be. But, like the night before, the Abbess was loathe to answer detailed questions.
Despite Magrethe’s efforts, Maere was able to keep possession of the only reminder of her life before entering St. Columba’s. She had no idea what the circular citrine stone looped on a leather thong meant. The only tangible link to her past, she often wondered if it was a gift from her family. Or perhaps it was something she’d made herself as a child? She sighed. All Maere knew for certain was it gave her comfort when she was distressed and helped her to remember she once had a mother and a father.
Maere sighed again as she sat on the edge of the mattress. Hugging her knees tightly against her chest, she glanced around the room before stretching out. “Saint Jude Thaddeus, dear patron of lost causes, is there any hope left for me?” she wondered aloud, as she drifted off to sleep.
* * * *
Maere awoke long after the sun had set. She stood and walked to the window. Dare she? She wondered for only a moment before venturing a peek outside. A sliver of the waxing moon appeared high in the night sky, surrounded by a smattering of stars. It was late and the sisters would be in bed, fast asleep, waiting for the bell to ring time for prayers.
