The Island House (26 page)

The Abbot was not, ordinarily, a cruel man, and in that moment he was given enough Grace to see the truth.

Standing over the terrified girl, his fingers held like claws—the only weapons he had—Bear was just an exhausted boy protecting someone he cared for, and she was only a starving child.

It was true, also, that they
had
returned the ship when they might, it seemed, so easily have sailed away forever. Had God, then, worked within them? Was this His message here?

Cuillin took a step back. He hated administration, it was his own particular cross to bear, but that, too, was the Lord’s will, and last night, to defeat worldly pride in his elevation, he had flayed his back with the scourge to such a degree that he’d hardly slept. Dizzy with exhaustion, he pressed a hand to his eyes. “Very well, Sister, I shall pray that God guides me further in this matter. But you must know that the Lord’s instructions
will
be carried forward when it pleases Him to further enlighten me.”

Gunnhilde snatched the monk’s hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear Abbot Cuillin. Compassion is the quality of Christ—you walk in His sweet shadow with your mercy.”

Cuillin waved his hand, dismissing them all. If he was to salvage any dignity from this fiasco, he must pray in solitude and ask God’s forgiveness for the weakness of his will.

Whispering, the nun chivied the pair from the chapel. “Quickly, children, we must not disturb the Abbot’s prayers.”

Signy did not really know what had happened, but her legs trembled and she was very frightened. Bear grabbed her hand. “I will not let him hurt you, Signy.” She had no time to reply as they were swept on toward the shelter.

“Now, child, you cannot wear those clothes.” Gunnhilde pointed at the blood-red tunic—in itself an appalling color—for it exposed the girl’s arms. “Our new brothers and sisters have brought clothing with them, and there must be something . . .” Bending, she riffled the contents of a coffer and pulled out a black kirtle. “Let me see if this is too big.”

“But, Sister, my mother made this.” Signy did not surrender her tunic easily, batting aside the old woman’s hands. But the nun managed to hold the black kirtle against the girl’s body. “Signy, you must stand still. The Abbot will be angry if he sees you improperly dressed.”

The child’s eyes filled. There was no escape; this was what returning to Findnar meant. She managed to say, “If I may not wear them, will you look after my clothes? Please, Sister. They are all I have of my mother.”

Gunnhilde sighed, but she understood. “Very well, I shall keep them among the habits. Do not look, boy.”

Signy removed her red tunic as slowly as she could; she glanced at Bear as he turned his back—he had given up so much because she would not leave Laenna.

But as the nun fussed, Bear dared to smile over his shoulder. It was a brave smile, one of absolution.

Signy mouthed, “Thank you.”

He nodded.

But for Signy and for Bear, the comfort they truly sought, the love of a family, a place by the fire at the heart of their clans, was missing.

And that night in separate places, huddled among the snoring members of their own sexes, both sobbed until they slept at last.

“It still seems very strange to me, Laenna, the things they believe.”

Signy rolled over, sucking a stem of grass. She was supposed to be herding the goats away from the cliff, but she’d hobbled the nannies close by, and their kids did not stray far from their mothers. It was hard to find time to talk to her sister among so many chores.

“Take the Mass.” Seven seasons had passed since her return to the island, and it was spring again. Signy knew much more about the Christians now—she no longer called them newcomers—but she was still confused by some of the things they did each day. “You know, the sisters and brothers really do think they eat His flesh and drink His blood. The Jesus. It’s supposed to be magic, because all we see is bread and ale. What I want to know is why they can’t just put honey on the altar like everyone else?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Signy knew why, because Gunnhilde had told her the story many times. And yet she still felt queasy when she thought of the way their God-person died. It seemed barbaric and odd that they liked to hear how much He had suffered.

“But you don’t have to worry about any of that.” Signy patted her sister’s headstone. “I should get the goats back. I’ll come again tomorrow, when I can sneak off.”

She stood up. She felt dizzy, and her belly griped. It was similar to the pain of eating too many hard apples, similar—but different.

Signy looked down. She’d made herself a nest in the grass beside the grave, and there was blood where she’d been sitting—not much, but enough to tell her that childhood, today, had ended.

It was a shock. She knew about the moontide, of course, everyone did, but there were always ceremonies, for in her family, and her clan, the first moontide of a girl was important.

Light-headed, Signy slumped to her knees. “Laenna, I wish you were here—we could go to the stones together. You remember, don’t you? Our mother was so proud when it was your time.”

Laenna’s first moontide had happened in the year before the disastrous raid, and all the women from their clan, and the female members of their own family, had rowed to Findnar with her to celebrate at the stones.

That gathering had caused great trouble with the Christians, for they’d been angry about the nature of the Women’s Mysteries and rudely interrupted before Laenna’s ceremony was properly finished. If the men of the clan had been there, perhaps blood would truly have been spilled rather than celebrated. It was after that incident that clan members began to visit Findnar surreptitiously.

“What should I do, Laenna?” Signy was being deferential to her older sister because she knew what must be done. At the rising of the next new moon, prayer should be offered at the stones, asking for long life and fertility. Something important needed to be sacrificed too—something red. It was the wrong season for berries, and even if she’d been able to find any, they would not have been enough. Perhaps she should take the red tunic back and offer it to Cruach, though it upset her to think of giving the work of her mother’s hands to the stones.

“And there will be no one to do the chants with me.” Loss stabbed Signy—this would have been such joyous news to give her mother, her aunts, and her female cousins.

Tears dropped down Signy’s cheeks as she doubled over her tender belly. She must remember that the pain she felt was good, that it had a purpose.

Signy raised her arms toward the sky. “I have lived nearly fourteen summers, and today I am a woman. I claim my place in the clan, a child no longer.”

She dropped her arms and sniffed. Perhaps Gunnhilde would understand—she had no one else to talk to.

The old woman looked anxious. “You are sure, Signy?”

Signy nodded patiently. “Yes, Sister. I have my first moontide.”

Gunnhilde’s eyes widened. “Hush! We do not speak of such things.” She hurried to a coffer against one wall of the nuns’ dormitory. “You will need these.” She offered Signy a bundle of rags. “You put them between your legs and then tie them around your waist—like a belt.” Embarrassed, the old woman fumbled the cloth into an approximate shape.

The girl stared at her. “Thank you, Sister, but I wanted to ask about the pain and—” She stopped. Gunnhilde had placed a hand firmly across her mouth.

“Signy, you cannot have been paying attention. I told you the story of Eve; it will answer all your questions.”

“But the pain—I don’t remember that bit.” Signy was bewildered.

Gunnhilde tried not to speak of such things, since the body was too easily the plaything of the Devil, but it was her duty as Novice Mistress to put her own feelings aside when she counseled her girls. “Let me remind you of what happened, Signy. Satan, in the guise of a serpent, tempted Eve with apples from the tree of knowledge. God had forbidden only this one thing to Adam and Eve, but Satan was very wily. He knew that our first mother as a woman was weak and foolish, and he convinced her to give in to temptation—and so she ate the apple. Then Eve persuaded Adam to eat the fruit, too, and God saw this disobedience. The pair, man and woman, were cast from the garden of Paradise together, and as punishment God decreed that women should bring forth their children in pain and suffering as penance.” Agitated, the old woman pointed at the rags in Signy’s hands. “Bleeding each month reminds us of the sin of all women. We must bear the pain in silence and subjection, for we betrayed mankind.”

Signy frowned. “But, Sister, I am not Eve, and I have betrayed no one. The moontide is a good thing—it means I will have babies.”

“Hush!” Gunnhilde glanced around the dormitory. It was empty—the other nuns would be assembling for Tierce. “I must go to the chapel.” As she spoke, the bell began. “I shall pray for you, child, and I shall ask our Lord that you gain a proper understanding, but you must not come to the church while you are bleeding, nor must you help in the kitchen. This time each month you are unclean.” The old nun signed a cross over Signy’s head and hurried away.

Signy stared after Gunnhilde—living among the Christians was so strange, sometimes. What would have happened if she and Bear had journeyed on? Would her life have been happier? Whatever he said, his family might not have accepted her. On Findnar she was a servant and generally kindly treated; with his people she might have become a slave and still been a stranger among people who believed different things—other different things, it was true, but the raiders were fierce and violent. The Christians were not fierce, just severe.

Laenna, you have to help. I’m so confused.

Bear did not sleep among the brothers anymore. His living quarters were a crude hut he’d been permitted to construct next to the new animal byre. It was there, after Compline, that he spent his evenings in solitude, banished from the company of the monks. It was presumed that Bear slept the hours away in sloth, but that presumption was wrong.

The winter after he and Signy returned to Findnar, the youth had found a whale rib on the sands of the cove. Cast up after a storm, it was almost twice as long as he was, and Bear covered it with sea wrack until he could remove it unseen.