LIADAN I

  The view from the partially built abbey was breathtaking. It faced east towards Saxonland and was perched atop a gentle rise. A river flowed past the grounds, along the peninsula and out to sea. The Cistern of the Vow was still largely under construction, so a temporary wooden structure served as the nunnery while the laborious aspects of the mason work were carefully planned and executed by Jotman masons. Sister Liadan was new to the faith and locally born, but took to her oath and duties with fanatical intensity.

  Several years ago, the church of the Broken Man was introduced to her town, Gallowye, by a kind Jotman priest who had lived among the Gaídel people. However, it was Abbess Segnat who made Liadan a believer. The abbess’ sermon captivated the people of Gallowye, especially the young girls, with stories of the sacrifice that the Holy Mother had made for all of womankind.

  Liadan spent several hours a day deep in prayer, hoping to understand the pain of the Holy Mother Miriam. The monotony of daily chores allowed the young nun to escape frequently into these visions. When sweeping the floors of the wooden convent, she felt as if she was the one who held the lash above Miriam’s back and would weep. When laundering habits in the river, she would walk out into fast flowing waters, surrendering herself to the tug of the current and feeling deep in her heart Miriam’s acceptance of destiny. After serving food in the refectory, first to the Reverend Mother, then to the senior sisters, and finally to the newest members of the convent. Liadan savored every morsel, knowing it to be the Final Supper.

  Many of the other girls were drawn to the abbey as a means to escape their impoverished upbringing and some were forced to join when their parents could not find them a suitable marriage. Liadan was different; she felt a calling from the first time she laid eyes on Abbess Segnat leading a procession through town. The Abbess’ pristine white habit juxtaposed dramatically with the colorful vestments of the townsfolk, but the pendant on her neck of a broken “X”, separated into two “V”s, is what drew Liadan’s attention. The symbol was beautifully crafted in gold and the young girl broke down and wept, feeling the sorrow of a mother who had outlived her only child. Lost in this moment, she did not notice the abbess approach. When the cold and boney hand grasped her shoulder, Liadan felt as if she was awakened from a dream. “Poor Miriam,” she whispered and Abbess Segnat’s eyes went wide with shock.

  A few days later, Liadan was shown her room in the dorter of the abbey and before supper, the magic of the scriptorium. The illuminated manuscripts were a treasure the child could scarcely fathom. Saints and miracles long lost to time, reborn on the page in vivid detail. Liadan would do anything to be part of this world, anything to prove her faith.

  While the other girls were taken through the steps of aspirancy and given lessons by the Sister of Vocations, the Abbess declared Liadan a postulant the moment she stepped foot on the grounds of the convent. Typically neophytes spent nearly half a year under the tutelage of the nuns, learning the rigors and responsibilities of life in the abbey, but there were whispers that Liadan would become a novitiate well before then. This alienated the girl from her peers and left her like a leaf in the wind, powerless against forces she could not control. The nuns were not generous to this new upstart, they spared her the carrot and favored the rod.

  ———

  “Devils have escaped from Hell!” Liadan and the other girls were hanging on every word of Sister Marguerite’s news. “Our brave knights slew one of the abominations and captured another.” Gossip had spread about a woods witch disrupting the construction of a fantastic sounding castle, but devils escaping from the underworld had the entire nunnery abuzz with chatter.

  The communal morning mass had been longer and more in-depth than usual: focusing on prayers for the Broken Man’s holy warriors and blessings of protection from Mother Miriam. “We will soon be so privileged as to host some of our order’s most valiant knights and I trust that each of you will be on your best behavior.” Sunlight glinted off of the gold embroidery of Sister Marguerite’s white habit as she addressed the girls gathered in the open air courtyard of the abbey. “We have indulged your curiosity for long enough, run along now and finish your chores,” she chided gently. “As usual, you will attend lessons at third bell.” Marguerite was younger than many of the other senior sisters, less severe and the only prominent nun who was of Gaídel birth. Abbess Segnat and the rest of the other sisters who had already fulfilled their vows were Jotman and had arrived from Saxonland to the East.

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  As Liadan swept the wooden floor of the convent, she reflected on her childhood in the nearby town of Gallawye. Her people largely worshipped the old gods and she grew up as no exception. In that context a woods witch was often viewed as a protector or healer, able to function as a conduit for nature spirits and provide herbal remedies or salves.

  There were stories of wicked individuals who abused their powers, but largely these magically attuned women or men lived in solitude and unless provoked, left others in peace. Liadan was distressed to hear the rumors of the witch’s attack, but like the rest of the abbey, was more fascinated with the reports of devils clawing their way out of the earth. In the scriptorium, Abbess Segnat had been kind enough to show her illustrations of the fall of the Betrayer and the images were suitably horrifying.

  Liadan could scarcely imagine confronting a near unstoppable force of evil like the Betrayer and quietly chanted a prayer to the Duke’s warriors, thanking them for their bravery. Lost in thought, she swept the floor haphazardly and ended up striking someone else’s foot.

  As Liadan slowly raised her eyes from the floor, she saw Sister Fleurie glaring at her with arms crossed. Before the young girl could offer an apology, the elderly nun slapped her across the face with a gaunt hand. “The others may be under your spell, but I see you for the pagan bitch you are!” Sister Fleurie snarled as she brought her arm back for a second strike.

  Liadan’s left cheek stung painfully, so she turned the other side of her face towards the nun and prayed for the Holy Mother’s mercy with closed eyes. The ensuing blow rang like a thunderclap and Liadan could hear bones shattering. She felt no pain and assumed that she was in shock.

  As she tenderly reached towards her right cheek to explore the damage, she was baffled to find Sister Fleurie crumpled at her feet: the senior sister was whimpering and clutching her mangled right hand. Nearby a fellow pledge named Orlaith had been scrubbing the floor. The girl stood with her mouth open in disbelief and dropped the soapy bucket she held in one hand. As the wooden pail clattered to the floor, spilling its contents, the third bell rang.

  ———

  “She’s a witch!” Sister Fleurie accused while weakly gesturing with her bandaged right hand, “The Holy Mother demands that we burn her at the stake.”

  Fourth bell had come and gone and no one had offered Liadan anything to eat for lunch. All of the senior nuns were sequestered in the misericord to question the young girl over her attack on Sister Fluerie. Liadan could hear the occasional muffled sound from outside the chamber and assumed the rest of the convent was attempting to eavesdrop on the proceedings.

  Abbess Segnat had remained silent the entire time, her attention was focused solely on Liadan. Orlaith, the only other to witness the incident, was brought in to testify. Unfortunately the poor girl was trembling so much that she fainted immediately after recounting her memory of the incident. Orlaith said that she had heard Sister Fleurie chastising Liadan, followed by a deafening noise, and a blinding flash of light.

  “You heard the girl,” Sister Fleurie’s voice rose in a shrill crescendo. “She hexed me with her pagan magic! She does not belong at the bosom of the Holy Mother, she will corrupt all that we hold dear!” The nun cried out in pain theatrically, grimacing as she held her injured hand. Many of the other nuns murmured sympathetically.

  “ENOUGH!” All the heads in the chamber snapped to attention as Abbess Segnat stood and regally strode towards Liadan, who was kneeling in penanceat the center of the chamber. “Child, do you accept the Mother’s judgement?” The Abbess had seen many years, yet her eyes were sharp and her voice was powerful.

  Liadan's shoulders sagged and she nodded in assent.

  “Then stand, for we are not witnesses to devilry, we have been blessed by a miracle.” The weight of the statement hung in the air, causing the stuffiness of the closed chamber to become unbearable.

  There was a sudden pounding on the heavy wooden door leading into the chamber, startling all present. Sister Marguerite walked over to the door, unlatched it and opened it partway, obscuring the intruder as she stood in the doorway. After a brief, but lively exchange, she stepped aside and revealed a disheveled knight. He appeared wounded, blood stained his outer garments and the chainmail he wore was bent and twisted near his shoulder.

  “I apologize for the interruption sisters and Abbess,” the man was short of breath and spoke in a broken cadence, gasping for air between nearly every word. “I barely escaped with my life, we were beset by naked barbarians from the west.”

  Murmurs rippled through the assembled nuns like wind through a field of grain.

  “The bloody savages razed our camp. I escaped only because I was on patrol outside the perimeter.” With a heavy metal clunk, he sank to one knee, catching himself on the floor with both hands. “They-they must have pursued me… As I rode up the hill towards the abbey, I saw smoke rising from the town of Gallawye.”

  While the room burst into a furor, Liadan closed her eyes and prayed for her family.