Alys Clare - Heart of Ice

‘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.