Pagan Fire (8 page)

She let the parchment fall out of her hand. It made a scuffing noise as it hit the floor and rolled back onto itself. She closed her eyes and leaned back wearily. She must be losing her mind. There could simply be no other explanation. What else would explain why a man – someone she’d never met – would come and give her such a drawing? And how did he know of the two men in her dreams? Two men –obviously bent on evil – who no one else could see?

She shook her head. Of course, maybe none of it had happened. Maybe she’d imagined everything. Seelie had never been hurt or raised from the dead with a touch of her hand. There was no evil coming for her, just the lust in her heart, exposed the night before as she slept.

Maere laughed bitterly. None of it mattered, anyway, because one thing was obvious: The devil had tainted her soul and meant to claim her as his own.

Chapter Eight

The sun peeked in through a small tear in the black curtain, then disappeared. It cast a thin ray again that struck Maere straight in the eyes. She squinted and shifted to her left a little. The sun went away only to return a few moments later. It found her again, on her knees, and she moved back to her right. What was this cat and mouse game the light insisted on playing with her? And why did she feel there was an old animosity between her and the sun?

Maere pulled her attention back to her prayers. She’d been praying all night, ever since the strange man had visited the day before, ever since – well, she couldn’t bear to think of what had happened during her dreams. If only she could heal herself as easily as she had healed Seelie.

There was a thought. Perhaps she could do just that. She glanced around the anchorage. The sun seemed to have lost interest in her for the moment and was now focused on the golden citrine necklace hanging on the wall over her mattress. Perhaps there was some logic to this healing idea? Maere sat back on her heels and rubbed her hands together. She spread the idea before her again and looked at each and every word.
If only she could heal herself
. Why hadn’t the thought occurred to her before? What was it she’d done when Seelie came to her?

Maere pushed her hair off her shoulder and raised her right hand. She placed it carefully over her forehead, covering her eyes. She crossed her left arm over her breast. “Heal,” she whispered. She waited. Nothing happened. “Heal,” she said louder this time. Nothing happened. “I said ‘heal’!” She shouted so loudly she must have frightened the birds away from the tree outside her anchorage, for she could hear them take flight.

Well, that was fine. She could bring her friend back to life but couldn’t dispel her own demons. She shook her head, close to the now-familiar feeling of tears. What a mess she’d gotten herself into.

Maere pushed herself back to a kneeling position and folded her hands in front of her. It was the Moon’s Day and she’d vowed to stay praying until some guidance was offered to her. She prayed long and hard, to anyone who might be able to free the pain from her soul. She prayed to Jesus and to Mary, to Saint Joseph and even to Saint Columba himself.

“Tell me, dear Lord. Who shall I trust? Who can I turn to with the truth of what agonizes me?”

“Anchoress?” An old man’s voice, as dry and without life as the dead leaves littering the abbey grounds, startled her.

Maere jumped. She hadn’t expected an answer quite this quickly, but if it was the Lord’s will… “Yes? Who’s there?” She directed her voice toward the window.

“It is Father John. I’ve come to hear your confession today.”

Her heart filled with panic. Now faced with the possibility of revealing her innermost thoughts, she wasn’t certain she was brave enough to speak out. She took a deep breath. Oh, she was a coward for certain. “I would be most happy to wait if you’d like to see to the other anchorites first,” she offered sweetly. “After all, it’s not as if I’m going anywhere.”

The priest chuckled. “You’re the last on my rounds, dear child. Come to the window that I might give you my blessing.” He cleared his throat. “Together, we’ll seek absolution for your sins.”

For your sins. The words echoed in her brain. What would he think of her sins once he heard them? Would he be able to forgive her in the name of God? Slowly, she rose, her knees stiff, and approached the window. She straightened the brown wool tunic she wore as she walked. “I am here.”

“May Almighty God bless you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,” Father John said.

As he spoke, Maere made the sign of the cross, touching first her forehead, followed by the center of her chest, her left shoulder, then her right shoulder. She replied, “Amen,” as he finished, then added, “Forgive me my sins, oh Father, and grant me peace.”

“Go on, child,” he said. “Tell me what troubles you.”

“Should there be something troubling me?” Maere asked, her voice an octave higher than normal. Her eyes widened and she distractedly fumbled her hair into a braid.

“Everyone has troubles. And everyone has sins, from a newborn babe to an old man,” he said, patiently. “Now, will you seek to confess your misdeeds before God?”

Maere squeezed her hands against her stomach as it rolled and rumbled. How could she tell him what she’d done? How could she put it into words without dying of shame and embarrassment? “I don’t know where to start, Father.”

“The beginning is always a good place.”

“True,” she conceded with a slight smile. “If I only knew how all this began, I’d be happy to divulge it to you. As it is, all I know is that almost every night I’m visited by a man.”

“A man?! A man comes to the anchorage?” the priest all but bellowed.

“No. No, Father. It’s not like that at all. I see him in my dreams,” she explained quickly.

“Hmmm. In your dreams, you say,” Father John repeated, his voice growing calm again. “What does he do there?”

“He mostly watches from a distance, but the disturbing thing is: I know he’s coming for me. And I know he’ll be here soon.” Tears filled her eyes. “What should I do?”

“How can you know this, that a man is on his way here?” Father John’s dry voice took on a demanding urgency. “Have you been casting the stones? Are you practicing magic?”

For the second time in as many days, someone had asked her if she was performing magic. How had her life turned so completely upside down? She sighed. “It’s not magic that tells me he’s coming. It’s my gut. I feel it right there, like a cold lump of iron.” In her mind’s eye, Maere saw a strong hand reach into her and pull out the iron. The fingers molded the metal, turning it over and over in its palm. When it finally glowed fiery red, the hand pushed it back inside her. Her stomach burned just thinking about it. She pushed the picture away.

“You speak of strange things, girl. I am compelled to be tell you, I fear for your immortal soul.”

Maere bowed her head, silent.

“Do you have anything else to say before I give you your penance?”

Maere dug her fists into her eyes, took a deep breath, then let her hands drop to her side. She’d come this far already, she might as well tell everything. “I dreamed he was here again last night,” she said, her voice catching as she spoke. “I dreamed he, he—” She couldn’t go on.

“He what?”

She raised her eyes heavenward and blinked back the tears. “He bedded me.”

“I see,” Father John said. “And tell me this, did you enjoy the act?”

“Enjoy it?” Maere repeated, embarrassment giving way to incredulity. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Answer the question,” he demanded.

“I, I don’t know. When I was sleeping, I suppose I did. But when I woke up, I realized the evil which had possessed me.” She swallowed hard and her cheeks burned hot. “Why do you ask such a thing of me?”

“The measurement of the sin for this dream is by how well you enjoyed indulging in the pleasures of the flesh. If you had said it was distasteful to you, then it wouldn’t be as great a sin. Since you found it enjoyable, you’ll have to accept a higher degree of punishment,” he said, his patience obviously exhausted. “I’m sure you know, for this sin the penance is a sound beating.”

Maere hung her head and wrapped her arms around herself. To be flagellated in front of the entire community of sisters and brothers? “When?” She had fallen so low.

“We’ll assemble in the usual place, behind the chapel. I will discuss this with the abbess. Someone will come for you at sunset.”

Maere heard him take a step away from the anchorage, the loud call of a bird ringing out in the distance. “Is there no other way?” she whispered after him.

“Absolutely none.”

* * * *

Dylan lay on his back, watching the play of light amidst the pine branches in the forest near St. Columba’s Abbey. It was hard to be here, so close to Maere, but forced to wait until the right moment to recapture her.

She would be grateful, he decided, to be removed from the stricture of the convent. To be able to run free again would be her greatest joy, of that he was most certain. He smiled to himself. He would take her before Eugis had the chance.

He reached up and pulled a small cone from a branch. Dylan closed his hand tightly around it for a moment. When he opened it again, the pinecone had been transformed into a miniature replica of its mother. With his free hand, he made a little hole in the soft needles and planted the tree there. As he worked, a raven flew overhead, loudly beating its wings before landing nearby.

“Do you realize what they have planned for her tonight?”

He leaned back, resting on one elbow. His eyes met Morrigu’s, but not before sweeping the length of her naked body as it transformed to human form. “Tell me.”

“They will beat her,” she said, her voice smooth and without emotion. There was even the hint of a smile on her face. She walked to Dylan and sat down next to him. She reached her arm around his neck and pulled him near to her.

He stiffened. “How do you know? Why are they doing this?”

“I know because I heard the girl’s confession.” Morrigu licked her lips, then leaned over and ran her tongue along his cheek, tracing the silvery scar of her mark. “And it’s because of you she’ll be hurt.”

Dylan sat up, leaving the goddess where she lay. “What do you mean ‘because of me’? How could that be?”

“Now, now. Don’t play games with me, my love. I know you’ve been visiting her.” She pouted. “Do you think I didn’t see your spirit leave last night as you sent it to the anchorage?” She raised herself up on her knees and ran her hands through his long black hair. “You’ve stirred a great fear in the girl. Now, they want to beat the fear out of her.”

“That doesn’t make sense. There was nothing fearful in the dream.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“What you don’t understand are these Christians. They fear what happens between a man and a woman. It is their greatest fear. They run from the power of it.” She grimaced. “I find it distasteful and I don’t mind telling you, I long for the old days when men and women shared freely the pleasures of the flesh my brothers and sisters and I gave them.” She caressed his cheek, then ran her hands lightly over her breasts. “Come, Dylan. Worship me.”

A groan rose in his throat as Morrigu slipped her hand under his tunic and massaged him to hardness. “Not now,” he protested. “I have to see to Maere.”

Morrigu embraced him. She nibbled his ear as she answered, “Leave her to the sisters and priests for now. Nothing will happen until dusk.” She pushed him to the moss-covered ground. “You realize, Dylan, she’s almost of age? She doesn’t need to be your concern any longer.”

His eyes locked with the goddess’. “Her coming of age is
exactly
what I need to be concerned with. If Eugis should get to her first—”

Morrigu didn’t respond, only leaned in closer, her red lips hovering over his. She was strong, this goddess, and he closed his eyes in surrender to her passion. She was right. He could wait a short while longer.

Morrigu smiled. “Yes, that’s it,” she whispered against his mouth. “Let her go for a time, that you might concern yourself only with me.”

Chapter Nine

Maere sat cross-legged near the anchorage opening she’d crawled into only a few days earlier. Thin pink rays of dusky light filtered in through the narrow hole. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and watched as dust danced and twirled in the fading beams.

Her fingers absently played with the citrine disk necklace she’d slipped on a moment before. The golden gem was smooth and warm beneath her touch and her thoughts drifted to her mother and father. Still disturbed by the words of her visitor and the drawing he’d left behind, she suddenly recalled that he had known her mother’s and father’s names! How had she missed that?

Wearily, she rubbed her eyes. Given the chain of events that followed his visit, she supposed it wasn’t surprising she’d let that detail slip by her. Maere tried to conjure up the faces of Manfred and Rhea cu Llwyr. Had the stranger known them? No matter how hard she concentrated, though, no images would come from her memory. It was as if a stone wall existed in her mind, thick and impenetrable, keeping the secrets of her past hidden from view.

The rustling of leaves outside told her someone was coming. The moment she’d been agonizing over all day had finally arrived. It was time for the public admittance of her sins and the beating that would follow. Why had she said anything? She had known what she was inviting, but had spoken out just the same. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t keep her mouth closed? Surely, the abbess had told her many a time her tongue was much too loose.

Had she really been so foolish as to believe Father John would treat her any differently than he treated the other novitiates? Had she really been silly enough to think he was a messenger from God, sent to her as she prayed for guidance? Why, after all, would she expect Him to send someone to look after her and her needs, lowly maiden that she was?