Heart of Ice

Chapter 18

The sickness came upon her so swiftly that she barely had time to realise how unwell she felt before she slipped into a feverish sleep that was more like unconsciousness.

She had been feeling a deep ache in all her bones when she went to bed the previous night but, exhausted by her role in the first spells of nursing duty under the new roster system, had ascribed the discomfort to fatigue. Rising in the morning, it had taken her longer than usual to perform the tasks that daily repetition over the years had made all but automatic; for one frightening moment, she had forgotten how to pin her veil.

She managed to get through Prime and, later, Tierce, although she was almost sure she had briefly slept during the latter and added to her prayers a hurried request that nobody had noticed her lapse. The idea of eating revolted her; she did not even feel up to going near the refectory in case some odour of food should waft out, at which she was quite sure she would have vomited.

Then it was time to return to the Vale infirmary for the next spell of duty. Her head ached violently, with a sharp-edged pain behind the eyes that seemed to be sawing off the top of her skull. She felt hot, had begun to sweat and then was suddenly cold, shivering as the clammy dampness held her like an icy shroud. Her skin felt tender to the touch; even the pressure of her garments hurt.

They were discussing the importance of making sure that recovering patients ate, even if, as often happened, this meant that whoever was nursing the patient had to sit beside them and spoon the thin but nourishing soup into their mouths.

Soup. Mouth.

Her own mouth filled with water and, making a dash for the door, she ran along the outer wall of the ward and, rounding a corner, threw up on to the frosty grass. When she had finished — her body convulsed into several acutely painful, dry retches after her stomach had emptied itself — she felt so weak that her legs would not hold her up. Her back against the wall of the Vale infirmary, she slumped down to the ground.

Where, she was not sure how long afterwards, they found her.

She was in bed at the very end of the long ward where she was meant to be caring for others. Somebody had removed her habit and she wore just her high-necked undergown. Her head was bare — she put up a shaky hand to feel her short hair — and she seemed to be lying on a thick lump of folded linen. . Yes. She had seen that done for others. It was in order that, when the flux of the bowels began, the soiled linen could be removed and replaced without disturbing the patient and remaking the whole bed.

I have the sickness, then, she thought.

Tears filled her eyes and she felt their course down her hot face.

So much that I wanted still to do with my life. So many things not yet said that need to be said. So many. .

Her mind slipped away. Losing the thought, she lapsed into unconsciousness.

In the forest, Joanna woke from a compelling dream. The details were already fading as she struggled up from the depths of sleep but she was left with a most vivid impression that somebody had been talking to her, taking her to task: a voice had sounded inside her head, telling her something — no, reminding her of something of which she was already aware — and, if she concentrated hard, she felt she could almost hear it again.

Because of your actions two men died and your spirit carries the burden. The adjustment involves recompense. . in order to balance what has happened to you, you must save the lives of two people who are dying.

She closed her eyes and instantly the bright day at Nime’s fountain appeared in her mind. She allowed herself the luxury of staying with the vision for a few precious, strengthening moments, then she opened her eyes and banished it back to the deep recesses of her mind.

She got down from the sleeping platform — it was early yet and Meggie was still fast asleep — and quietly crossed the floor of her hut and opened the door. It was cold and still outside. March weather, she thought absently. Hard and frosty, with new life beginning but too deep down, as yet, for most eyes to see the signs.

She strolled around the carefully tended clearing in front of the hut. Her mind was bursting, teeming with possibilities; she stilled her thoughts as she had been trained to do and, standing quite still under the oak tree that marked the northern boundary of her patch of earth, closed her eyes and listened.

After some time — she had no idea how long she had stood there, although the rising sun was making long shadows in the clearing by the time they had finished with her — she returned to herself.

It was strange, she mused as, back in the hut, she set about making up the fire and preparing food and drink for Meggie’s and her breakfast. Strange because she had thought, when they told her she was to be a healer and then straight away taught her how disorder in the mind produces sickness in the body, that she was to continue to learn the sort of healing that was done at Folle-Pensee. Indeed, since she had been back in the Great Forest she had gone on thinking deeply about everything she had been told; if — or, she had thought, probably when — the call came, she wanted to be sure she was ready.

But now she had to face up to the possibility that she had been sent back here to the Hawkenlye Forest for a very different reason. She could no longer see it as mere accident that her return coincided with a major outbreak of a fatal disease. Neither could she ignore — much as she wanted to — that it was not only herself but Meggie too who carried the powerful blood of an ancient line of healers in her veins.

They — she and her daughter — could do so much good.

And that was without this jewel of Josse’s that they’d told her about. .

‘What should we do, little Meggie?’ she asked her daughter, busy stuffing a quarter of an apple into her mouth. Meggie chewed on the apple for a moment, then gave Joanna a dazzling smile and said, ‘Bink.’

‘Drink, please,’ Joanna corrected automatically, blowing on the contents of Meggie’s cup in case it was still too hot.

I know what we must do, Joanna thought, watching her precious child finish her drink, burp and then scratch her bottom. They have taught me, they have told me who I am and explained that Meggie has our people’s great power in her ancestry on both sides. But, when Lora and Tiphaine came to ask for my help, I refused it.

Yet again she went over her justification. The night’s potent dream seemed to have changed her in some way; she could no longer fool herself that the refusal had stemmed primarily out of fear for Meggie’s safety, for there would be no danger of infection if the child went no nearer than the forest fringes to do whatever it was they wanted her to.

And as for the other reason — could she bear to see Josse again? Could he bear to see her? Perhaps she could explain Meggie away as the child of another forest woman, temporarily in her care?

No. Unless Josse had suddenly lost the use of his eyes, that would never work.

The tumult of her thoughts had risen to a crescendo. Through them a voice spoke, a familiar, beloved voice which now occupied the very centre of Joanna and all that she was. Even as she sensed him enter her mind, already she was clutching at the claw that he had given her. He said, quietly but with utter authority, Do what you must do, for all other considerations are subordinate to that.

After that, there was no need to think about it any more.

Josse had been frustrated the evening before in his desire to discuss with the Abbess the whole matter of Sabin de Retz and the mysterious, lethal secret that threatened both the young woman’s life and that of her grandfather. Returning to Hawkenlye from Tonbridge, Josse had sought her out in her little room, only to be told that she was taking a turn at nursing down in the Vale. His informant — it was Sister Basilia — noticed his frown.

‘She’ll be all right,’ she said bracingly. ‘And, having got so many volunteers, she’s not going to leave it to everyone else and not join in the nursing duties herself, is she?’

‘No, I suppose not.’ Of course she wasn’t; she knew as well as he did that it was always a sound decision to lead by example. But, sound or not, the fact remained that she had put herself in the danger zone.

‘She’ll be back up here later,’ Sister Basilia said as she hurried away. Everyone, he thought glumly, was in a hurry these days. ‘You’ll be able to see her then!’

He had waited, but she did not return. He gave up soon after Compline; he must have missed her, he guessed, and no doubt, not knowing he wanted to talk to her, she had gone early to bed.

Ah, well. He would just have to restrain his impatience until morning.

But the morning made its own demands on him. Returning to the Vale for water duties, he discovered that Brother Augustus had taken a bad fall inside the shrine, slipping on the steep stone steps that led down to the spring in its rocky basin. Gus had not broken any bones, Sister Caliste had announced after examining him, but he was already coming out in an enormous bruise that extended from the small of his back, right across his left buttock and down as far as the back of his left knee. He was very sore and stiff, shaking from the shock and the pain.

Relieved of water-carrying, Gus was sent to Sister Tiphaine to learn how to put together the ingredients for her convalescents’ remedy. Standing at her workbench finely chopping dried leaves and plant stems was about all he was good for that day.

Meanwhile Brother Erse, the carpenter, had set about building a wooden handrail to run the length of the shrine steps. The constant carriage of water up them had made them sopping wet and the stone was as slippery as ice. Seeing him struggling with a large piece of timber, Josse offered his help. For the rest of the morning the two worked together within the shrine and by the time the community was summoned to Sext, the new rail was almost finished.

The Abbess would be in the Vale infirmary after the office; Josse was aware that her hours of duty were from Sext to Vespers. Well, he would keep an eye out for her and if he failed to get a chance to speak to her, he would be waiting outside the Vale infirmary when she finished her duties in the evening.

With a sigh he went back to smoothing down the new handrail.

Sister Tiphaine was deeply worried and her heart was heavy. She was privy to a confidence and she knew that one did not break faith lightly. But her co-conspirator was out of her reach and it was up to her to make the decision.

She stayed on in the Abbey church after Sext, praying for guidance. Then she left the church and slipped round to her little hut, but she had forgotten about Brother Augustus, diligently chopping dried herbs and managing to give her a cheery grin despite the considerable pain he must be suffering; Tiphaine had seen the bruises, having rubbed in the first application of salve for the poor lad.

She needed a place where she could be alone, for she had to speak to the other, older powers that she still held in almost the same awe as the new God; leaving Gus to his chopping, she hurried away down the path, out through the front gate and up the faint track that led to the forest.

She did not go far. She did not need to, for even from eight or ten paces away she felt the force of the forest reach out to her. She stopped, stood quite still and silently voiced her problem.

In time, the answer came.

It was the same one that she thought she had heard in the Abbey church. Her mind quite made up, she hastened back to the Abbey, crossed it and left by the rear gate. In the Vale, she quickly located Sister Caliste and, with a peremptory tug at her sleeve, took her outside to where they could speak privately.

Sister Caliste’s bleak expression and red-rimmed eyes mirrored the anxiety and misery that Tiphaine felt; indeed, that everyone felt who knew.

‘Any change?’ Tiphaine asked gruffly. Sister Caliste shook her head. ‘Sister, there is something we could do. Must do, in fact; it may be the only hope.’

‘What is it?’ Sister Caliste asked wearily. ‘We have tried everything, Tiphaine; we may just have to accept that there are some of them whom we just cannot save.’

‘We must not give up yet!’ Tiphaine said urgently. ‘Listen.’

Briefly she told Sister Caliste about Joanna. And about Meggie; Sister Caliste’s eyes widened at the mention of Joanna’s daughter, and Tiphaine, who believed the child’s paternity to be a well-guarded secret known among the Abbey community to only herself and the Abbess, could imagine Caliste’s surprise. But there was no time for that now. She hurried on to explain about the Eye of Jerusalem and the prophetic words of the strange man who had said there would come a female of Josse’s line whose hand would wield the stone with the greatest force of all time.

Caliste looked shocked. ‘You are saying that this little girl is Sir Josse’s child?’ she whispered.

‘Aye. Did you not guess as much just now when first I spoke of her?’

‘No, oh, no.’ Caliste smiled. ‘My response then was amazement, for I was not aware that the ancient line to which Joanna belongs has been extended to a new generation. But Josse!’ She shook her head.

‘He has no idea,’ Tiphaine said.

‘Oh, have no fear — I shall not tell him.’

Tiphaine was watching the younger nun with a considering expression. ‘You know about Joanna’s heritage, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘But then you’re a child of the forest people yourself, young Caliste. Sometimes I forget, seeing you in your habit and with your nun’s serenity apparent in your every move and expression, where you came from.’

Caliste smiled again. ‘So do I. But my roots are still out there.’ She lifted her eyes to look at the dark mass of the great forest up on top of the rise behind the Abbey.

‘We must make a fresh approach to her,’ Tiphaine said, following Caliste’s line of sight. ‘I know where she is. Will you come with me?’

‘Back into the forest?’ Caliste turned to her, wariness in her eyes. ‘I don’t know. It would feel very strange to experience the tug of my own past.’

‘It may tug but you will be more than capable of dealing with it,’ Tiphaine told her firmly. ‘Now, make up your mind, Caliste; if you’re not prepared to take the risk, I’ll go on my own.’

‘I’ll go with you,’ Caliste announced. ‘Come on!’

The two nuns took a discreet path around the outside of the Abbey walls, branching off to slip across the open ground and creep in under the trees. Caliste felt the power, just as Tiphaine did; she had been born to the Forest People, her birth the product of the most solemn ceremony by which the continuity of the pure bloodline of one of the central families was ensured. But Caliste had been a twin; her sister, identical to her in every way, had been born first and Caliste had been left on the doorstep of the poor but loving family who had brought her up. Caliste had been one of Hawkenlye Abbey’s youngest nuns and not for a moment had she ever regretted her decision to enter the community.

Now she was back where she began. .

Tiphaine reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Don’t be afraid.’

‘I’m not — well, I am, but it’s more that I feel I’m being watched. Scrutinised, in fact.’

Tiphaine chuckled. ‘That’s because you are, child.’

The herbalist led the way, unerringly following the right path. They had covered about half the distance to their destination when quite suddenly, with absolutely no warning of their approach, two silent figures appeared before them, one standing a little behind the other.

Both Tiphaine and Caliste recognised the foremost figure and, as one, they dropped to their knees before her. The Domina reached out her hands, first to Tiphaine — ‘Welcome; it is good to see you again’ — and then, a tender expression flooding the ageless face, to Caliste. She raised the young woman to her feet and then took her in her arms, whispering in her ear, ‘And welcome, too, to you, beloved granddaughter.’

Caliste, memories rising irrepressibly, found that she was weeping.

Then Lora — for she it was who attended the Domina — stepped forward and gently reminded her honoured elder that their purpose was urgent. The Domina released Caliste, turned and, with Lora at her side, led the small procession on to Joanna’s clearing.

A strange sensation was waxing in Tiphaine. She was well aware of the strength of Joanna’s earlier refusal to give her help — she had witnessed it, after all — but somehow that did not seem to count any more. Fight as she might to suppress the feeling, she could not; and the sensation was optimism.

The Domina entered the clearing before Joanna’s hut, Lora a pace to the rear and the two Hawkenlye nuns behind her. Caliste, Tiphaine observed, was very pale; this return to her birthplace and her own people must, Tiphaine realised, be traumatic. She moved closer to the girl and Caliste, sensing her presence and probably also her compassionate concern, turned and gave her a very sweet smile. ‘Don’t worry; I am all right,’ she whispered.

‘Good girl,’ Tiphaine whispered back.

They came to a stop behind the two forest women. Then the Domina called out, in a voice that was pitched low but somehow, like the call of a bird, carried pure and clear, ‘Beith, come out.’

Beith. Birch, Tiphaine thought. That must be Joanna’s name within the tribe. The deep honour of being included in one of the forest people’s mysteries — their secret identity known only to a precious few — affected her profoundly and she bowed her head.

But then there came a succession of small sounds as Joanna opened her door and stepped out. Eyes blinking open, Tiphaine stared at her.

She looked quite different; in no way was she the everyday Joanna whom Tiphaine knew and had last seen. She wore a hooded red tunic, heavily embroidered with rich gold, and over it a widely flaring cloak made of some sort of speckled wool. It was fastened with a golden pin like running horse. Her long dark hair was braided, the plaits hanging down over her shoulders and reaching well below her breasts. The leather sandals on her feet were beautifully made and their clasps were of gold. A leather satchel hung from her shoulder and in her hand she held a rod of wood — it would be hawthorn, Tiphaine thought — in whose tip had been inserted a brownish crystal.

She stood quite still now, staring out at them with dark, unfathomable eyes. She has indeed come into her power, Tiphaine thought humbly, and, almost without her own volition, she gave a deep and respectful bow.

Then there was the sound of a child’s laughter; Meggie had come out after her mother and was expressing her delight at seeing Lora, whom she knew and loved. The sweet sound broke whatever spell was on the clearing and Tiphaine let out a sigh of relief.

‘Beith, we come as four women from two different worlds with the same request,’ the Domina said. But before she could go on, Joanna spoke.

She went on her knees before the Domina, the wide skirts of her cloak flowing gracefully around her, and, head down, she said, ‘Forgive me, but I know what you would ask of me. I have already decided that I must do what you want.’

The Domina paused, then said, ‘Another has spoken to you.’

‘Yes,’ Joanna agreed. She raised her eyes and an unreadable exchange of glances flashed between her and the Domina.

‘It is well,’ the Domina breathed. ‘Beith, you know now what is required of you and of your own free will you have accepted the task. This is so?’

‘It is,’ Joanna said firmly.

The Domina held out her hand and helped Joanna to her feet. ‘Then,’ she said, casting her eyes around the small group, ‘let us be on our way.’

They stopped when they reached the outer fringes of the forest. Hawkenlye Abbey lay before them; Joanna would not take Meggie any closer.

Tiphaine and Caliste hastened away, Caliste running down the slope and along the path that ran outside the walls, racing to fetch a vessel of the holy spring water; Tiphaine to fetch the Eye of Jerusalem from its hiding place in the Abbess’s room. While they were gone, Lora sat down on a fallen branch and kept Meggie entertained; the Domina stood still and silent as a statue.

Joanna, her mind turned inward as she summoned all her reserves of concentration and power for the task ahead, stared out over the Abbey to the Vale in the distance. She felt for the bear’s claw on its silver chain beneath her tunic and, extracting it through the neck of the garment, held it tight in her right hand.

The waiting continued.

Tiphaine returned first. She looked up at the Domina, who gave a nod, and then she held out to Joanna the wrapped object that she held in her hand.

Joanna took it, slowly unfolding the soft leather until the object was laid bare. She lifted the stone up by the chain from which it hung and the Eye of Jerusalem blinked in the soft grey daylight.

She felt the power surging inside it and the shock of it almost made her drop it. She took her eyes off the huge sapphire for an instant and looked at the Domina, who gave a brief nod. Then she returned her mind to the stone, giving herself up to it while it continued with the painful and quite lengthy task of revealing to Joanna just what it was and what it could do.

She had been in the trance state. When she came out of it, it was to find herself sitting on the grass leaning against an oak tree, the Eye of Jerusalem in her lap and Meggie standing anxiously beside her. Caliste had returned; she had brought two stone jugs full of water.

‘Now, Beith, do what you must do,’ commanded the Domina.

This was the moment that Joanna had dreaded. Now that she had held the Eye and felt its incredible power, she was even more reluctant to let Meggie touch the precious thing. The Domina, of course, picked up her fear.

‘The child will be what she is born to be, as I have told you before,’ she intoned. ‘You cannot prevent this, Beith. Give her the Eye and show her what to do.’

Joanna got up and then knelt down beside Meggie, the jars of water before them. She picked up the stone by its chain and said, trying to keep her voice level and to speak in her normal tones, ‘Hold the lovely stone, Meggie. Look! See how the blue jewel flashes as it catches the light?’

But Meggie was no ordinary child, to be beguiled by a pretty plaything. Something in her blood recognised an object of power and at first she was afraid and drew back. Joanna said no more but merely knelt there slowly swinging the stone to and fro. And, in the end, curiosity overcame fear and Meggie took the chain from her mother’s hand and held aloft the Eye of Jerusalem.

There was magic in the air. Tiphaine sensed it; Caliste, who had thought to have put all that behind her when she entered Hawkenlye, felt it too and shivered in dread. Lora squared her shoulders, almost as if she felt the forces swirling around as a physical assault.

The Domina stood unmoving, watching.

Joanna gently touched Meggie’s wrist, careful to avoid the Eye or its chain, and guided the child’s hand until it was right over the first jar of water. ‘Dip the stone into the water, Meggie,’ she said softly.

There was a brief hesitation — the mere blink of an eye — and then Meggie obeyed.

Tiphaine watched.

At first nothing happened.

Then a very faint wisp of steam, or perhaps smoke, rose up from the still surface of the water. The liquid went cloudy and, before Tiphaine’s bewitched eyes, pictures seemed to come and go within the milky swirls. Then the water cleared again.

Meggie still held the Eye submerged in the water. Just as Tiphaine was starting to think that it was over, that whatever magic the jewel had worked was now complete, something else happened.

The water began to shine.

As if a minuscule fragment of a bright star had fallen into it — or perhaps was reflected in it — for the space of a few heartbeats the water emitted a brilliant light. It faded, quite slowly, but when it had gone the water had changed; it was purer, clearer and brighter.

It will work, Tiphaine thought jubilantly. Whatever power is in the stone, whichever god has put it there for mankind’s use, it has had the right effect.

The others were quietly rejoicing, too; nobody spoke, but then they did not need to. Joanna, a smile of pure relief on her face, was encouraging Meggie to dip the Eye into the second jug and, as the same miracle happened, Meggie began to laugh. Lora and the Domina stood a little apart; their eyes were fixed on Meggie and Lora made a quiet remark to the Domina, who suddenly smiled.

Caliste looked as if she were in a dream.

Tiphaine went over to her and gave her a hug; it was not something that nuns habitually did to one another but so unusual and strange were the circumstances that Caliste did not seem to notice. She returned the hug and Tiphaine discovered that the girl was trembling.

‘It’s all right, child,’ Tiphaine murmured. ‘It’s done. Now you and I will take the water down to the Vale infirmary and we shall see what we shall see when we try it out on those most in need of it.’

Caliste raised her eyes to stare at Tiphaine. ‘It will work, won’t it?’

‘Oh, yes, it’ll work.’ Tiphaine gave her a last, bracing squeeze, then turned to bow to the Domina. And to Joanna, still sitting on the ground and looking dazed.

‘May we return with more water?’ Tiphaine asked her humbly.

‘Of course,’ Joanna replied. ‘We shall be here.’

Tiphaine nodded. Then she and Caliste each picked up a jug and hurried off, as fast as they could without risking spilling any water, back to the Vale infirmary.

As they strode along, Tiphaine was trying to work out how she would phrase her announcement; how she would tell senior nuns such as Sister Emanuel and, indeed, Sister Euphemia, who was expected back on duty later in the day, that somehow she had come upon a special type of sacred water that might just do the trick.

That might, when all else had failed, bring the dying back from the brink. The dying who now included, and had done since that morning, the Abbess Helewise.