Our Great Abbess

Prologue

Though tourists and travelers were few in this lonely mountain region, the abbey held tours daily, Sundays excepted.

" … And now, if everyone will kindly step this way, we arrive at the altar, which dates back to the Convent’s original construction. You will notice, carved into the wood—by a crude, unsteady hand—various holy verses. Most of the original pieces in the chapel were defaced by an old prioress during the convent’s first century, one whose mind was disturbed and broken by a difficult spot in our early history—an obscure episode that led to the near complete destruction of our order. Fortunately for us, this reverend mother was replaced before everything was lost or destroyed, and our renowned ‘Great Abbess’ ascended to rescue the monastery, restoring it to how it is found today.

"Most of the verses cut into the wood were chants from our regular morning offices. The central verse, however, which is much larger and set off with a border around it, is from an ancient Latin prayer by a medieval monk:

"Hora Novissima, tempra pessima

Sunt: vigilemus.

Ecce minaciter imminet arbiter

Ille supremus,—

Imminet, imminet, ut mala terminet,

Aequa coronet,

Recta remuneret, anxia liberet,

Aethera donet …"

"Which translates loosely as:

"The world has filled with evil

The times are waxing late

Be sober and keep vigil,

The Judge is at the gate—

The Judge who comes in mercy,

The Judge who comes in might,

He comes to end the evil,

He comes to crown the right …

"The prioress’ fascination with this unusual passage is revealed in that each large letter was hacked into the wood with an estimated hundred strokes. And we’ve detected within the deep, jagged cuts remnants of her blood—or what we assume is her blood. The prayer’s significance and meaning to the prioress that she’d mark it out so emphatically—and so gruesomely—is not fully understood. For us, perhaps it captures the ultimate degree of her madness’ desperation, despair, and indelicate morbidity during that dark time ..."

I

Tabitha

Chapter 1

As seasons passed without a single visitor from the outside world, the Convent, a tall and impressive structure secluded deep in the forests of the Pyrenee mountain range, began feeling its isolation. Its many young nuns grew bored and restless, and began a selfish longing for some new contact to break the monotony—or a renewed correspondence, at least, with their families, from whom they’d been long estranged. The Convent’s four Governing Mothers had more immediate and actual worries, of course. They fretted over the supplies that had dwindled in all their stocks to the rawest shreds. And those four women wrung their hands still more for the building itself. Powerful storms had already scrambled or, in spots, entirely displaced the roof’s shingles. Their walls, deteriorating as if diseased, displayed the irritations of a prolonged neglect. It was enough of a concern that, a couple months ago, when the winter relented and the ice began to clear—enough to permit journeying—two ambassadors were dispatched. Their names were Sisters Gretchen and Astrid, and their purpose was to summon the friars of a brother Abbey some leagues away. However, with the months advanced to the present, the brothers had neither come, nor the messengers returned.

So it all looked much worse for them than ever before. The monastery’s supplies were at depletion while spring thickened the forest around them. Fallen trees and sprouting vines choked the old pathways. Empty spaces in the forest seemed suddenly full with menacing animals. Though their days were spent in prayer, in moments of reflection the ladies of the Convent felt a despairing loneliness, and beside it, a fear that they might be without escape routes—a terror that they would soon be entirely trapped. Unless someone should intercede on their behalf, like a set of green teeth into an azure candy the surrounding nature would succeed in its quiet ambition of cracking apart and consuming the whole of the Convent, including, of course, those precious lives inside. Prayers to God at night bent on earnest requests for assistance, to save this house from its inevitable dissolution. And as days passed, those fervent prayers gained louder voice so that they even began to echo through the halls in moments between the pursuit of their good works.

Yet the sound of horses in the valley—the first of its kind in what seemed years, announcing strangers on the road to the Convent—produced, instead of relief, a great and almost unbearable apprehension. The nuns’ joy of rescue was mitigated by the fear that their prayers had actually been heard by God, and that He’d decided to answer them—answer them in some unforeseeable, some wicked, and some punishing way—which lately seemed to be a wrenching hallmark of their Almighty.

A bell rang in the high tower. Its echoing peals couldn’t mask the rising sound of the echoing hooves at a gallop. Nuns lined the Convent’s upper gallery, standing on their toes, anxiously hoping for a first sight of their visitors.

Any moment now, someone exclaimed, and we will see who is here to save us!

Demons, uttered a hoarse and nervous whisper from behind Mother Tabitha. Demons! it said again.

Mother Tabitha turned as Sister Mother Avery backed away from the windows, her face drained of blood and eyes blind with terror. The haunted old woman fell backward into a closet, her frail arms reaching out to Tabitha, motioning with a cupped hand like an animal.

Tabitha went to her.

Sister Avery, why are you shaking? You are frightened?

Call the girls away from the windows before it is too late. The monsters of Hell speed for us.

What is this, Sister Avery? Speak to me.

The dream, she whispered. The dream.

What dream?

"The dream. Sister Avery reached for Tabitha’s robes. Her eyes rounded. Ever since the new moon rose on its christening night—doused, if you recall, in a hellish hue never before seen—this dream has roamed from one girl to the next. Stalking. A nightmare."

But a dream, Sister Mother—

Black men of the devil invade our home, Tabitha. They strip us of our habits. They run pins in through our feet and out our Skulls, and they cut long lines in our skin, so our fat will spread evenly as we roast on their fire.

Do not trust in it—

With their forks they prick our cooking meat, and laugh at our pitiful screams. Even as the flames ruin our features, blinding our eyes and melting our hair into wooden glops, they play wicked pranks with us, showing us their anuses and making obscene signs. They cast spells over our bodies, so we remain conscious of our torment during their unholy meal of our flesh. When we are properly charred, they cut us from our bones, and cube our limbs, that they might mix us together, and chew one woman and another together on a single spoon. We feel each gnashing demonic molar reducing us to paste, as our tears and blood mix with their spittle, becoming the foul odorous drool which overruns their green lips …

The old woman’s mouth quivered as she stared blankly into the hellish nightmare she’d described.

Tabitha rubbed her shoulder. Sister Avery, calm yourself. We are quite secure from nightmares and daydreams in this waking world. Please be sensible—

Oh, yes, Tabitha, to heaven would I banish this devilish vision as the foolishness of children, only I fell victim to the dream just last night. What timing in it: The final night before the end of this accursed moon! Does this not signify, then? Delivering its final promise! And, Tabitha, it seemed so real! So very real!

It may have seemed so. But reason—

Reason! Reason, ha, ha! Mark you, then, Sister Mother, the worst of its wicked truth—Mark it!—the dream began with the innocent beat of horse’s hooves in the forest. Like now! Like now! And those of us that went to meet the sound joyously were the first to be plucked from the windows by the demons’ long spears, and paraded high in the air, gore spilling from their surprised mouths.

But you must be reasonable. It is pure fantasy.

We all had the same dream, Tabitha. Everyone. All the same. Such an event is impossible. This is not fancy but ghosts whispering sympathetic warnings to us. That is what it is. We cannot ignore it. And you must not. Even your cool reason cannot pierce this omen! Please, you must get the girls away from the windows at once. Or we shall all be doomed.

Tabitha said in an even tone: You spoke of this nightmare among yourselves, didn’t you? First one of the girls had the dream, am I correct, on the first night of this moon?

Sister Rosa!

Yes, Sister Rosa: Prone to vivid imaginations. And she related its amusing contents on the following morning to a friend, did she not? Then this friend, to all our surprise, encountered the horror in her sleep next, did she not? And it proceeded this way, this dream, from mouth to ear, every morning creeping into another sleepy head—a new head soon to find the dream itself in the coming night, and perhaps expand upon it. Isn’t that the way it happened, Sister Avery? Not a single omen, but passed around like a good story among the girls?

Sister Avery looked away. Thinking. But it was so real! Not an ordinary dream. The demons … their laughter …

We are rescued from certain death. These are good Samaritans delivered to us by our Lord for our desperate prayers. This is the moment we’ve anticipated, Dear Mother. We have begged on our knees for it—

Begged for? No, no. This suspense? This moment of torment?

—And with these white, jibbering lips you now speak of suspense and torment. I am amazed.

"It is a wonder, how you can talk this way—without having laid eyes on what comes to meet us. Don’t you understand? We know not what approaches. To be so strong and sure and confident, Tabitha. Anything could step out of our woods, armed with bible and bread, or with teeth and horns and weaponry. With benevolent prayers for our safety, or blood mindedness. All the same. All the same. They have no shape. All we hear is their awful racket. I cannot watch. How are you not frightened?"

Would you have this noise silenced, then? This possibility ended, so you might be relieved of your irrational fear? I prefer the noise, certainly. It carries the security that we haven’t been forgotten. It delivers the promise of a hope for our tomorrow. Sister, sister, please, for the others, turn your fears away, and listen with a clean and believing ear. Trust in God’s protection of our order, which he promised our Saint and our Saint promised to our founding Abbess. This Abbey shall live forever. This is promised to us. Can you not believe in it?

But still, Tabitha, the noise … what promise is there? Not the arrival of God’s associates, I assure you. Do we not understand that Angels hover on wings? And haven’t all witnesses sworn that under their robes the Saints have no feet? Divine beings, you see, do not trod about. They do not require sandals. Equally, they should have little need for horses. So then, who is out there on the road clomping around has no immediate attachments with heaven, and this encounter can still go either way!

Tabitha said: And still I have trust. In the face of premonitions, and without knowing who is there outside, I have trust that our prayers have been answered. I have that trust.

I note it, Tabitha, and am impressed by it.

And if you don’t have faith, can’t you pretend for the sake of our daughters? In this instance it is important we show them our strength and not our weakness. This Convent must stand together united always as a mirror image of our great Saint. Stand and rejoice, Sister! Join me. Come to the window with us all. Let God see your look of appreciation for his gift. Let it be unanimous, that he be satisfied and not offended.

It won’t happen. I will not join you, Mother Tabitha. I confess, I cannot. Have it your way, though, and go to the windows. Show your bravery. But I will not. Consider that I warned you of this calamity about to fall.

And if it does not fall as you predict?

I will grant you my full allegiance. If this belief in our order’s divine protection proves its worth within the hour, I am your servant. But I will not stray from this closet until then. For my part, my weakness bids me only to see darkness ahead for us all. I can feel it like a cave about us, swallowing us. The devil may be toying with my senses, but in my frail condition, my senses are all that I have to guide me.

A voice from the tower yelled: Here they are!

Sister Mother Avery shrieked after: The Demons, they have arrived!

Two men on horses emerged from the woods.

Good day, good day, called one man from atop a light horse. He steered his brown steed in circles outside the closed gate. The second man, with a flat face and yellow complexion, was stripped down to nothing—and more outrageous, he rode on his horse’s back balanced on his feet, knees bent, in a very awkward position that gave the impression he would tumble off. He stared rudely up at the nuns, glancing from one face, and then, giving his neck a violent turn, glared at the next.

Your brother friars, the first one exclaimed again. Your brother friars are on their way, good Sisters! They come! They come! We bring their heartfelt greetings, and will tell them you are all in good health! Good day! Good day to you all!

When are they due? someone shouted.

Very soon, Sister! The man’s smile was wide and bright. He threw a hand in the air, pointing off in a general direction. They camp not more than a day’s journey from here! Your two houses shall be reunited on the morrow!

Nuns pressed the windows for a last sight of the riders, as if to follow them. The two strangers disappeared back into the forest.

Tabitha took Sister Mother Avery from the closet and said, without a show of superiority: I am proven right. Do you agree?

Sister Mother Avery bent over at the waist, tipping her head low to the ground. In faith to this Convent—always Tabitha, always—you are the strongest among us. Where, in the face of my own fears, my spine was shaken apart like a column of sand, yours stood as polished marble. I am embarrassed and I am disgraced by my behavior.

So I have your confidence? Will you now trust in me when I ask for your trust?

You have my allegiance, Sister Avery said, clasping hands with Tabitha. And my vote. You have it as I promised it—for all that a shameful child’s promise may be worth …

Good.

Chapter 2

Men flying banners of the Baron emerged from the forest. They took Sister Lillian by surprise as she carried sticks to the Abbey gate. The Baron himself rode up soon after, followed by many of his court. He stared down at Lillian.

Where is your Reverend Mother? asked the Baron.

You’re early, Brother, she said.

I am?

You were expected tomorrow.

I was expected?

Lillian stared up at the Baron. Are you not with the friars?

No! he said. Go fetch your Reverend Mother out. Tell her the Baron is here at the gate waiting for her.

You are not the Abbot?

I should imagine if I was the Abbott, or simply among that bevy of monks, you’d see me in finer material than these riding leathers, eh? With silks, and rings, and gaudy bonnets, suited for a carnival. Several of the Baron’s court snickered at the appearance of their liege’s gold wit. However, little Sister, I said who I am, now—

We were expecting our Brother Abbot, and some of his flock, tomorrow.

Will you do as I ask? Or is there a custom I am forgetting? I wish to speak to the Abbess of this convent.

But we don’t have one, sir, said Lillian.

No? The Baron looked beyond the Convent’s wall, into the windows. Faces were appearing here and there. A bell began to ring. You have no Abbess? Who is in charge here?

I don’t know. But I will find Mother Tabitha. She will speak with you.

Lillian dropped her load of twigs and ran inside.

The Baron laughed briefly.

That one looked pretty, he said. Very pretty.

No intelligence, said a man at the Baron’s side. This man had a square head, like a block. He was nearly forty years old, with wrinkles driven into his face as if by hatchet, and his sandy gray-in-blond hair was thinning all around. But still his eyes had tiny sparkles of light. It gave him an air of youth, and intelligence—or, at least, youthful intelligence: betraying a mind that was still keen and hungry. Look into the windows, my lord. They are all peering out at us, like birds along a branch. So many of them.

And you told me they would all be dead, said the Baron. Didn’t you? How wrong you were.

I am right most of the time, this man replied.

Tabitha strode out of the gate. She recognized the banners and soldiers and courtiers and bowed down for the Baron.

Baron, she said.

I wish to speak with the Abbess. Are you the one?

I am one of the governing mothers, my lord. If you will wait, my Sister Mothers will be summoned from morning services—

No, I won’t wait, Sister. You will do.

Tabitha, Mother Judith called from the upper gallery windows. At her side were Sister Mother Avery, and Sister Mother Caron. Tabitha, who is there?

The Baron remarked to his aide regarding Judith, Gads, what a crustacean!

Tabitha called back over her shoulder: Here is the Baron, Mother Judith.

Judith beamed. Ah! Good sir! I see you now! I recognize your crest, sir, but you are not Baron Rudolph.

Baron Rudolph, my father, is dead, replied the Baron with a declaratory shout. Or nearly so. A matter of time, or perhaps he is already gone and the messenger has not yet reached us. I wear on my finger the seal of the Baron. I own these lands. I am Lord Jack. Uh-hmm, Baron Jack, I suppose. So you see … He lifted his hand for all to see the royal signet. Finding myself an inheritor, and having discovered my father’s records worthless and his accounting ancient, I am touring the territories, assessing his lands and holdings. To Tabitha he said: Now, what has happened to the Abbess?

Our Domina, Tabitha began, Our Reverend Mother Oxtierna, has fallen ill. She is alive yet, but unable to meet anyone at this time.

At the mention of illness some of the men brought up thick cloths to cover their faces. Some of them bowed their heads.

The Baron looked undisturbed. He asked: Is it the Sickness, Mother?

What, my lord? Tabitha was surprised by the question. Sickness? Which one?

"The sickness. What do you mean, which one? How many could I be speaking of?"

Tabitha seemed lost for a moment.

Judith, leaning out past the railing, called out again, taking everyone’s attention: What is he saying, Tabitha? Ah! Sir! Sir, up here! Would you be willing to lend us some of your men, and perhaps a portion of your provisions, in charity to our church? We will say prayers on your behalf.

The Baron bridled at this. "Certainly not, old woman! What indeed would I spare you? And you dare to name it? These are spare times, certainly, and at this moment I require everything I possess."

Judith put her hand to her chest, shocked. What? Does he accost me in his manner, sisters? Tell me. I think so …

It is age, said Tabitha to the Baron. Mother Oxtierna is infirm and in ill-health, but it is natural causes, sir. Nothing more.

Oh? he said.

Judith called again: Baron Jack, son of Rudolph. As our once kindest patron, your father was a dear believer in our order. We worked together on many, so many occasions. And how many benedictions have been sung in his name? Will you now not honor him, and help us, as he would have come to our mercy in this our dire moment? We are down to rations, sir, and they won’t last long. Our patrons have disappeared from our cause, as well as our once loyal workers—they’ve long ago abandoned us. We are by ourselves.

Abandoned? asked the Baron, with a look of astonishment. Such a word. Such a word! He sent the look around from Tabitha, to the Mothers up in the window, to all the gawking nuns at the gate. His expression changed again. Ladies, do you not know what has happened? Are you truly ignorant of the event that has fallen on the world?

Judith answered: But, Baron, we haven’t had news from the village in a considerable time.

Ho, ho. And I should expect not, Mother, as they are all very dead. The lot. As most villages are in this territory: Plagued, devastated.

Plagued? asked Tabitha.

Plague? yelled Judith. Oh, Christ!

The Baron regarded Tabitha. But how can you be unaware? None of your order has been affected by it?

None. None, sir.

Then you have been blessed in some way. Climb a mountain in any direction and the stink of bodies from below will smother you. In half a month’s journey, Mother, the number of my loyal farmers can be counted on the hands and feet. The rest have fallen under the spell of the Sickness, and can’t be bothered into doing anything more than lying about, stiff as rolled carpets.

How horrible, said Tabitha.

If all humanity was a body, explained the Baron, this leprosy has left us with an eye, or a hand. At best a leg. That is all. The rest of the carcass is black and ripe and useless. Civilization rots, ladies.

Judith cried: Woe! There is no one to work the fields. Then we are truly in danger!

Well there’s more than plague to gnaw your worry on, the Baron continued, seeming amused. A good much worse is coming. Bands of foreign peasants have abandoned their fields, and formed into robbing hordes that hide and lurk through the woods. Several groups have razed whole cities under their might. That’s how powerful in number they’ve become. And they let the roads lead them to their next conquest. One road leads here, does it not? Eh? And you remember how Baron Onux has feuded with my father in the past, and made comments to the King how much he coveted our territories, particularly the mountain regions, which he imagines would be a shield against his enemies. Well, this crisis has caused our King to isolate himself in his remote Island castle. I have word that in his absence from the throne, Baron Onux is busy gathering an army of mercenaries to wage a war on us. You know Onux’s position with the religious orders. If he were to march through this pass and happen to your monastery, he would burn the lot of you as laybricking laggards.

Judith swooned into Mother Avery’s arms: Then the end is here for us!

Mother Avery petted Judith’s face, hissing, Fie! Fie! Don’t forget God’s promise to us.

The Baron concluded, with a smile of pure mischief: And so I am done here. You are merely a stopping point of this expedition. I will now instruct my man, Bruce, to strike on his tablet that you are among the dying. And presently we shall be off. Good luck to you. Horse, forward!

Judith struggled out of Avery’s arms, gaining her feet again.

How? she shouted after him. Go you so callously, sir? Would you then deny aid to the church? Fear you not for your soul from such an act of cowardice?

Ho, ho! What a tone to take. And by what fulcrum would you seek to leverage me, raging nun? Our world is turned upside down. Your holy brand of extortion holds sway on this person no longer. For solace, I’ve been reduced in thought by fathoms, until scraping at the very base philosophies to get by, which, here on this reversed earth, are now set well above you. And, though raised on a loftier plane, against your shrill voice, I muster little pity. So if you would seek to move me, I suggest you think more worldly—come down to my region, that is—and perhaps reason to dip into your vast treasures. A coin or two would do much more towards persuasion than harping.

The Baron’s men were coldly silent.

But there is no treasury here, Baron said Tabitha.

What did you say, Mother?

There is no treasury.

He leaned down and asked: Are you from this territory?

I’ve lived here most of my life.

However, you came from abroad. All of them, too? Your girls? Is that not so?

Mostly.

The way I understand it, the family pays the Abbey to enter their daughter.

There are many, many expenses, my lord. The cost to maintain this building alone is—

Not yet, Mother, said the Baron. I don’t want your excuses yet. Answer my question: The family pays the church to enter their daughter, do they not?

That is the way it is done.

And there are so many daughters here. How many? Count these angelic faces. Twenty? Thirty? You must have their family donations hidden somewhere …

That isn’t so.

No?

Again, sir, the expenses. And some of the girls we take from the local territories, where a family can’t afford the full tuition. It is sometimes charity when we accept a novitiate. We take whatever they can give. We had a treasury once. But it’s run out long ago, buying back favors and labor.

Yes, yes. And what of your taxes, or your tithes, or whatever you call them? I know how this Abbey has squeezed its people. Their howls could be heard every time our tax collectors were sent forth, that because of this church they weren’t left with a grain to eat or a set of beads to pray on, much less pay us—

That was a different time. Long ago.

Long ago? Not so long ago, Madam.

We are penniless.

The Baron was led on a tour of the Convent. Mother Tabitha steered him through it all, keeping him away from secret places—without letting on—or areas that might threaten the privacy of her daughters. He was shown the courtyard, the chapel, the hospital, the refectory, the dining hall, the several grand but empty galleries, and, finally, the great tower. Baron Jack nodded all the while, rubbing his chin and running silent calculations (which irritated Tabitha). She spoke louder to disrupt his private train of thought, but his eyebrows just seemed to clamp down harder over his eyes, to ward off the noise and retain his private dialogue. As the tour neared its conclusion, the Baron muttered something Tabitha couldn’t hear. He scratched his chin, narrowed his eyes, and in the end he shook his black head to and fro. But it was all for his own private conversation with himself, and not meant for her to notice.

Tabitha honored this and said: Are you satisfied, Baron? I’ve hidden nothing from you. We are truly penniless, as I’ve said.

Everyone has gone penniless, it seems, lamented the Baron. How will I ever pay for this trip, Bruce? How will I raise a war chest to fight off the bloodthirsty Onux? And how will I find a way to help these innocent women who cry out for my assistance?

It will be difficult, said Bruce.

Tabitha said: I am completely in earnest, Baron.

Please, Ma’am, he said, holding up a hand to stop her. "I believe you. You brought me through your house, on your honor leaving nothing hidden. Showing me barren halls and dusty rooms, where once, one would imagine, hung golden chandeliers, and tapestries of silk—now suddenly evaporated. Of everyone I’ve met, I must believe you. Someone of your faith couldn’t lie to me. Even if you wanted to, even if motivated, you are rendered incapable. Isn’t that so? It is just that, now I begin to fear for my future. Yes. I have found myself King of Paupers. So then what can I do for you? I am left without options. I recommend we part ways, still friends, a government and a religion, presiding over a vanishing people, resorting to our individual methods of securing power. My family’s might will serve me. Your good works will preserve you. God willing one of us will prevail."

"What is it you do here, Good Mother?" asked Bruce.

Why … we sing.

And what else?

Nothing else.

But in Valencia, said the Baron, a certain association of monks manufacture a beautiful blue glass which can be used to fit windows, or be blown into bottles of all sizes and shapes. Also, a nunnery there knits exquisite and detailed tapestries and linens, which find admirers from as far off as Asia. If you produced such things along those lines, I could locate willing buyers, which may replenish your empty coffers. You have no specialties of the kind here?

We chant from the hymnals three times a day, said Tabitha. Each office being a five hour length, beginning at Prime, or Matins, breaking at noontime for meal, and sundown for meal. In the ninety years of our monastery’s existence we have not broken with these rites—not once—nor have we sought any other. That is what we do. It is in this austere life we stay close to God.

Then you have my sympathies, Mother. This praying is out of date.

I think not, Tabitha said, offended. It is certainly what our Order is founded on. Saint Agnes dedicated her life to chanting. She sacrificed all worldly concern—eschewing the luxury and power of her birthright—in order to sing out God’s word and remain pure. It has value, Baron. It has merit. Why, it is a divine means to spread light over the land, and combat the Devil and his reach on this plain.

The Baron said with satisfaction: And so you see what I mean.

No, I do not.

Well, it isn’t realistic, anymore, is it? All this religious merriment and supplication have done little to provoke God’s sympathy for our cause. Rather, I would almost suspect from our current circumstances that he is applying his contempt at our having squandered so much time and resources in his name. His Wrath is upon us. With your own outlook, having spent a greater part of your life dedicated to religious tenet, I am sure you would disagree. But however we look at the situation, your Convent’s practices haven’t paid off. In light of all this death, multiplied daily, surely you must agree.

I must not. The Holy word preserves us. Verily, by a solemn assurance from God given to our Saint, then passed down to our founding Abbess, we will continue to practice our services unbroken until His Son returns. Could He then disagree with us?

Well, then you have His promise. Where is the need to beg from passing Barons who haven’t similar boasts? Should I be left in your circumstances, however—even with such a wonderful device to motivate my lesser charges as this magnificent ‘promise’—I would say it is time to get practical. You will need farmers to work your empty fields, and some physical protection. How will you afford this? I doubt even soft heads these days will be fed by promises of salvation.

So even with our word proven true, that we have no method to pay you, you will turn your back and leave us?

Leave you, Mother. Yes, I will. Why? Because you are lying to me. This church has accumulated too much wealth to have lost it all. I refuse to believe—

But you have seen the monastery, in full.

I have seen in full only what you’ve shown me. And you’ve only shown me your common areas. Or am I to be led to believe that you have no bedchambers, or privies, or dungeons? So then where would the money regularly be, strewn in the chapel? Kept in the cupboard? If I could convince my men to throw off their superstitions, I would hunt out your little nest, wherever it might be. I would knock down every door, dig the Abbey out by the foundation, and take the money from you. Just to humiliate you—

Tabitha stiffened: On my manners, and to prove a point, I allowed you into this Convent. You must remember this land is owned by God, its sole administrator our Abbess, and refrain from any notion that we are subject to the whims of the Barony or the Crown. Your appetite and authority to assess and pillage your father’s holdings terminates at our door.

Ha, ha! the Baron began with a burning look. This is not God’s land! No! Whatever the Creator, your beloved Saint, and your founding Abbess got up to on their own, it had little to do with marking out property lines. According to the treasurers you are renting this plot, and its thousand acres of farmland outside the valley. That you haven’t paid your share in decades is owed to my father’s irrational superstition against collecting from you. But my great-grandfather was not inclined to shiver at ill-luck, or such other foolish kow-towing to your highnesses, and that is how I hold the original parchment— the Baron patted a flat case hanging from his belt —signed by your founding Abbess, Burnette, in her own hand, guaranteeing an annual rent to my family. Which puts your order in arrears of payment by a dazzling sum. And so, I have more than a right to plunder this establishment to the ground—

Is this true? asked Tabitha, her cheeks flushing. Is it? So then, the reason for your appearance here comes out. Well, then, how can I argue? Why were you not candid with me from the start? Don’t send for the pickmen yet. I’ll gladly save you time and effort, so that you will be on your way. Come and follow.

Mother Tabitha brought the Baron into a corridor that led far, far back into the monastery. They traveled its length, and when they reached a door at its end, she pulled three metal rings—in a distinct order—that were set in the wood, and the door swung open. Cool air hovered in the opening. Tabitha conducted the Baron into the new hall now. It ran forward a considerable distance, and seemed to angle down into the ground. There were no torches, or candles, and the light from the window at the top of the hallway extended only so far. When they came to the end of this hall, they were in a gray gloom.

Tabitha pointed to a door, and then handed the Baron a key. He rolled the key in his hand, feeling its ornate design.

The key was once made of gold and silver, said Tabitha. That item was sold three years ago. But this iron copy will serve its purpose. Past the door is our treasury. My only hesitation in showing it was the oath I had taken to this monastery never to reveal its location. But I hesitate no more. What threat could there be in its revelation? I would rather you know it, and save our privacy from needless prying, and relieve us also from your loathsome presence. Unlock the door, Baron, and open it. On my life you may take whatever you find there. You claim it is yours, and so now it is.

The Baron did not hesitate, but promptly found the keyhole and opened the door. The room it opened into was still darker, but a small set of stairs could be seen. He took two steps down and heard the air echoing from the walls. It was a manmade cavern.

Empty, he said, pitiably. Empty.

The Baron stepped down further, grasping at the darkness with his hands.

Oh, you worthless, worthless … he was muttering. How shall I raise an army? There is nothing of value for me. Nothing!

You are disappointed? Three times our destitution was revealed to you. Were your expectations of payment so seductive you could not modify them for the truth?

There were no expectations coming here, the Baron said. I am familiar with the church’s reluctance in parting with its property. I know how quickly you people fall upon your silken knees and cry poor. That ruse is ancient. And what did I find when I came here? The ruse. And in its full glory. And how should I have answered it? By ordering my men—religious as most of them are—to sack the place? No, in coming here, nothing was expected. There was only a hope. I haven’t abandoned that one phantasm left in this world, it seems. And I would have hoped to coax the money from you without argument, by playing the benefactor in rescuing your order from overwhelming troubles and danger—

Then you were lying to us about them—?

Oh, no, the dangers are all very real.

The Baron laughed once, coolly. He walked up the steps to join Tabitha at the door.

And if you wouldn’t except my offer, he said, your payment would have been an issue taken up in time. When I had the time to spare, to wrestle it from your iron grip. In time … In time … In time nothing. I am standing in an empty room.

Disgusted, the Baron stalked up the hallway.

So you will not help us?

I see no sense in it. Where’s the profit? There are nunneries that bake, and mead, and bauble, and heal, and produce Saints like an obnoxious Roman fountain! But instead I have you. You profitless dopes. You deserve to be killed, every one of you.

You would threaten us because we have no money?

It would seem impossible to threaten you, given your closeness to divine protection. But if only I could, I would annihilate you, to punish your stupidity. However, Mother, I don’t threaten you in the least. I would never actually lift a sword against the devout, no matter how chuckle-headed, it is against my spirit. I am simply promising to leave you well alone, you valueless swine.

Your assessment. A pity, Baron, that you cannot see our true importance.

Yes, this is my assessment … the Baron said quickly. He stopped, though, soon after, and scratched his chin. He turned to Tabitha. There was a flashing in his black eyes. Let me have one. Yes. These women of your order are well known, Mother, even to the Himalayas I would imagine. Their beauty is legendary. Let me have one of them.

For what purpose?

I am certain I know men, and I know what things are worth. She needn’t be your most precious. No. Give me the ugliest, because she would still be fair enough. The legend itself will capture a good market price.

To sell and prostitute, Baron? Tabitha frowned.

To purchase allies in marriage.

We’ve taken vows of chastity. It would be an incomprehensible thing. And even if I were inclined to such an offer, I have no authority to make a decision. The mothers—

I have no time for committees. Make the decision.

I cannot.

Yes, you can.

Mother Oxtierna is still the Prioress of this Order.

No need to be humble, Sister. You’ve spoken up. It is the two of us in this closed conversation. Consider yourself, Tabitha, crowned with a halo, or whatever it is. I dub thee Prioress of this Order. But let us proceed immediately to our business. Make the decision. Grant me yes, so I can hope to raise an army. Please, Mother.

Tabitha turned away from the Baron, thinking. She thought for a long moment. Then she made her decision.

She said: You will have none of my women.

How quick they become yours, the Baron frowned. "I will now proceed to the Prioress Oxtierna, to put the question to her. It is her decision, after all, and not yours. She must at least be more reasonable."

The Domina—whether it is I, Oxtierna, or any other—would never, even under a direct threat to her life, give up a daughter for such a foul purpose—But do not turn your back on me, Baron. You appointed me. Face the consequences.

I appointed you, and as well I may remove you, he said, putting his hand on the hilt of his knife. His lips became wet, and his eyes grew hot at an idea he did not want to give up. Tell me there is just one among you that would listen to reason and I will work my way to her.

Try, Baron. Each of us has promised oaths to this order. We’ve all taken sacraments in the name of our Saint. Each one—each and every one of us—is a part of our St. Agnes, and possessed by her tenacious spirit. Cut me down, throw Oxtierna from the gallery, drown Judith in the well, another Abbess will rise as Agnes again, and defend this Convent to the end.

"The end is what it will be! That is precisely what it will be! You’ve named it! The Baron took his hand from his dagger. Unless … Unless, if you do me this favor, this one favor—and all I am asking you for is one of your kind—I will help you. I will supply you with peasants to work the fields, I will lend you laborers to patch up the body of this complex, and I will allow you an armed guard to protect your order against what may come. Make sense, Mother."

Our brother friars are expected soon, Baron. What would they think if I gave in to an infamous request such as yours? No, I must decline your offer. Our brothers will help us soon enough. Whatever may come, they will protect our order against it.

Ah, yes, the monks! Baron Jack smiled with a sudden awkward cheer. Of course the monks! They will be of great service to you, if they should have survived the marauders working the highways. He sneered now. Oh, think nothing of that, miss. Worry not. Of course they will come, all intact and full of hymnals and choir papers. And you can sing, and sing, and sing your problems away, as if in a lullaby. Clutch of melodic fools. Cloistered theatre troupe! See what good that will do you against butchery!

The Baron stomped away, looking for a door that would lead out.

I ask you to leave, Baron, yelled Mother Tabitha.

I am leaving!

I will have no more of your insults inside our walls.

The Baron turned on her, but his voice became buttery and supplicating. You should do something that serves the community, Mother. I’ve already found that for you. Come, dearest, throw away your dreams of purity, as dreams seldom pay, and opportunities usually do. What I asked you for: There is a demand, and a value. It won’t just serve my purpose—you must see this—but aids your own order as well. It will raise a defense for this land, of which your church has always been a part. But if you don’t fear Baron Onux, or even the criminal hordes, well … then there is still starvation and the natural elements to expect. I can protect you against them all.

And I refuse the price of your service. I refuse.

I will return in a month, he said, becoming irritable again, with the same generous offer, Domina.

And Tabitha said: You will have the same answer—now and always.

Then I’ll return next year, he laughed, to collect the bones. You can’t survive this way, you know. And I will sell your bones as relics. I sense there is a profit still to be had here. Yes there is. And I will find it. Good morrow, Domina.

Baron Jack bowed at her offered hand and kissed the ring there, which his appraising eye noted had been emptied of its valuable gems. He stifled a sorry groan.

Imagine my surprise, Baron Jack said to Bruce, as the Baron’s train rode away from the Convent, "when I heard there was an Abbey in my land. That it was founded by a revered Saint, its building meticulously drawn and constructed by the finest and most modern architects of the day, and opulently furnished by its administrators. And to add to its charm, it was a deposit of rich little daughters from wealthy and powerful families. Noble fathers from all around, concerned with the future of their beautiful, fair, and innocent children, paid the handsomest prices to enter them. Handfuls upon handfuls of the most delicate creatures to grace this world, minds freed from the common debauchery of their servants, and stuck away from the ruinous services of rogue adventurers, were stocked inside. What a splendid brocade, I thought, of unblemished hearts, to wind around such a precious hollow. My, my, a cashbox encrusted with virgins! How much I had hoped they weren’t dead. You assured me they would be, and that this box would be easily picked of its dropped and unhandled fortunes. But I dared hope at least a few would still be around for us to see, thinking I could bargain it out of them anyway. I should have hoped they were dead. Foolish squandering wretches. The earth would have done right by me if it had shaken them off before they’d spent it all … By god, and on what could they have spent it all? Charity to the owls? Diamonds for every bear? A pound of gold in every tree nook? Poor, she claims! Poor! And it is true! Baron Onux, who verily eats his bishops and their followers every new moon, has twenty lucrative monasteries operating under his glare. Who’s ever heard of a poor church, Bruce? If I weren’t of a sanguine humor, you would hear cries of self-pity: ‘Only in my life! Only it could happen to me!’ Lucky, though, I am not that sort."

But they live, my lord, Bruce challenged. They are untouched by the sickness. There is something in that to consider.

There is nothing to consider. I wish I’d never seen the place—that I never would have listened to you and come. Look at it. The whole forest is green; the valley is blooming ardent in the season’s sun. But nestled away here, this monastery, this monstrous edifice, holds onto wintertime. It’s all cold air and evening shadows. Little wonder the sickness has passed it by. The wretched thing suffers enough. Short walls open to scaling. Timber struts waiting to burn. Vulnerable to intrusion by even the most careless thief. Inviting in its grand architecture to roaming barbarians. No comfort of safety. No relief from nature. Doom close as tomorrow. What nightmares they must have in there. Well, I came, my friend, and I saw it for what it is: the perfect haunt of knee-locked Saints and decaying celibates. Now I want to never see it again. Let us go home.

The Baron is unhappy, Bruce whispered slyly to his own servant.

Chapter 3

It is as Mother Avery predicted, Tabitha thought. Black demons have come, but reduced into a single mortal form: The Baron. They thirst for our flesh, but in a manner altered by perversion. Terrible, terrible! Why did I not listen to Avery? She is older and wiser than me, and I should have trusted her senses. However, I must remain fixed in my resolve. There was some truth in what I told her; we must stand together as a symbol of strength and unity, as one woman, as the embodiment of our St. Agnes. Outsiders should never perceive our weaknesses, no matter how our legs wish to bend. And so I must not let my Sister Mothers know the truth of our circumstances with the Baron. Some may not have the strength to hold against him.

But even as the Baron and his court were barely out the gate, the Mothers of the Convent surrounded Tabitha

What did he say? they asked. Is he going to help us?

No, she told them. The price of his service is too high.

Price? asked Mother Caron. What could he ask? We have nothing.

Tabitha angered and, forgetting her recent vow, told them exactly what he’d asked for, and it immediately became a scandal. Factions broke through the Convent.

You could think of no one to give the Baron? shouted Mother Caron, accompanied by several allied nuns. There are plenty undeserving of our protection. Casting them out would be a blessing, and into his hands it would be to our profit.

Speaking softly, Tabitha challenged: Name one who is unworthy. One who deserves this unholy fate.

Caron could not think of anyone immediately appropriate to be sentenced.

We could have drawn lots, Mother Judith cut in, also attended by nuns that backed her own views. Or we could have asked for volunteers. Many Sister Daughters would be willing to make the sacrifice. Ask among them and you will find her. However we must act quickly. Is it not too late to recall the Baron? Let us do so.

What sacrifice would we have this child make, Judith? asked Tabitha. In our selfishness, would we really hope to force a daughter into breaking her own vows, so we ourselves could enjoy safety while she suffers? And have we not told them upon initiation that the oaths they swear are unalterable? Is it not our sworn duty, as Mothers of the monastery, to enforce these rules, regulations, and compliances? How do we justify this change, then? What merit would we invoke for our novitiates, to explain our new modifications to founding laws and principles which feed a crime so monstrous and reprehensible?

Mother Judith’s head dropped. She put a hand over her mouth and hid her eyes. Where are my senses? she cried. Have I truly let fear gain the better of my judgment? Oh, St. Agnes forgive me! Forgive me!

Mother Judith slumped to the floor, sobbing.

Quit this indulgence, Sister, said Tabitha. Stand and listen to me. Listen to me, all of you. What you would dare hand to another and call a noble sacrifice, I now hand back to you. The Baron can ride away into Hell. We will not follow. And if Hell can rise up to our gate and surround us, then it will. But we will not meet it halfway. We will remain fast to our devotions, pure in our souls, and endure hardship as we must, even to the edge of the abyss—but never cause this order to be stained! Such outrage would be catastrophic. If you think not a care for the tarnish it would cause to the image of the church as a whole, contributing to its ruin in laymen’s hearts, think—you low, low creatures, you base cowards that slink from discomfort—think on the punishing flame and eternal torment that rewards all God’s traitors—because it is yours to come.

Mother Judith reached a hand up toward Tabitha, to be forgiven. Tabitha slapped it away. Those nuns that had a view into the entryway witnessed the confrontation and wondered what had been said. They watched as Tabitha left her three Sister Mothers (flanked by their favored daughters) cast down on the courtyard tiles. Judith was eventually helped to her feet, as she petted her face with the side of a sleeve. Then they all looked about, the three remaining Governing Mothers, and wondered what should be done.

How dare she? said Mother Judith. She has humiliated me in front of everyone.

She is strong, said Mother Avery with admiration.

Another humiliation; five years my younger, but as wise and resolute as if she were lived twice my age! I must immediately to the chapel and pray for forgiveness. I can only hope now for a life in cold purgatory after the shame I’ve created.

And she is smart, continued Mother Avery. Tabitha held off the Baron single-handed. Is that not so?

Yes, she did.

Was it not also that same quick mind—Tabitha’s—who uncovered Mother Oxtierna’s fateful errors?

Judith conceded: We would have been lost long ago, if Oxtierna had not been stopped. And it is true, Tabitha is to credit for her arrest.

Avery motioned inwards: Sister Judith, Sister Caron, come close. I think if not God, then Nature has determined Tabitha’s level.

What do you mean? asked Caron.

Believe in Tabitha’s words, Sister Mothers. We need unity. It is only in this way that we shall survive against our coming trials.

Yes? said Judith.

Avery held up a gnarled finger. "A single unit should be formed. And a single unit