Heart of Ice (35 page)

     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-Pensée. 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.