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never seen. Alphonse gestured for her to kneel on the hard stone floor.
Into the room came an old man or an old woman, Britta couldn't tell. Like Wydda, the only quality left to
the figure was age. It wore a fine white wool robe and red leather shoes made with consummate skill. On
the head was a close-fitting red leather cap that outlined the ears. Alphonse came to stand before it.
"Do you know who I am?" an ancient voice almost whispered.
Britta shook her head. "Many apologies, no."
"I am the Abbess of Ely. You will address me as Mother." The voice was flat and sure. "I want to ask
you some questions." It paused. "Your answers will reveal you to me, girl, no matter that you try to hide
behind lies. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mother," she managed, as her insides turned to jelly. She had come to the abbess at last. And the
sinking feeling in her stomach told her that she would be no gladder of that fact then she was about going
to Wydda. She clasped her hands in front of her tightly. What did this woman want? Most important,
how could she make the abbess let her go?
"You claim to heal." It sounded like an indictment.
So that was it! She thought Britta claimed the power of God. And falsely, too, by her tone. "I don't claim
anything," she replied.
The abbess pursed her lips and her face crinkled into a whorl. "The facts, girl. Who have you healed and
of what? Don't lie. Alphonse has talked with many who are under your spell."
Britta could feel danger in the air. Was it better to say she had never healed? But that was a lie. And the
abbess had obviously heard something of her. Ah, but the abbess was a woman of God! She had no
doubt spent her life looking for evidence of God's presence in the world. No matter what she said, the
abbess, in her soul, would want to believe that Britta healed and that the power of healing was sent by
God. That had to be the way out of this place: to give the abbess what she craved and tell her that the
healing was a miracle. But Britta had no proof she had ever healed, and no demonstrations were possible
now that she had lain with Karn. How could she give the abbess what she wanted?
The abbess's stare bored into her. "Answer, girl."
Confusion washed over Britta. "I don't know what to say," she began.
"Tell truth, and God will forgive you."
Britta wasn't certain of that. "I don't know what the truth is, Mother."
"Do you confess some healing has occurred?"
Britta was trapped. "Yes," she stuttered. "I healed, but& not anymore." She looked for evidence that the
abbess was eager to see it as a sign from God, but she could find none.
The abbess paced the room and fingered her beads. At last she turned and smiled. Her old face cracked
into a thousand wrinkles. "Tell me about the healing itself, child. When did you first know that you could
heal?"
Britta sensed that if there was a way to freedom, it lay in telling the truth, just as the abbess suggested.
She could tell the abbess what had gone before and satisfy her need for miracles. What point was there
in keeping Britta imprisoned when the magic was now gone?
"I am not sure when it started," she began, searching the abbess's face. "I might have healed my mother,
but I was interrupted and she died." The guilt surged up, making her flush and look away. It was all she
could do to continue. "During the dry spell on the island," she whispered, "I think it was there. The herbs
could not have given Syffa a child when her hair was already gray. Karn should have died, too. I see that
now. When I felt the wrongness in his wounds, that was the healing. The first time I was sure was with
the babe with the blackened foot. He had the halo of death, yet he was healed& " She trailed off.
The abbess looked startled, then she smiled again. "And did you feel the power of God working through
you when you healed?"
How could Britta answer that? "Some power& I wasn't sure at first." The abbess would be disappointed
in that answer. "I felt the power most surely when I had the first vision."
"You had visions?" the abbess asked. Her smile seemed pasted on. "What visions were these? Of
archangels, or of the Mother of our Lord?"
"Well, no." Britta cleared her throat. "They were scenes, really. Some of them have come true, like the
fire on the island& " Again she trailed off. This was not proof of God's work.
"You must share these visions with me," the abbess said softly. "Yes, and you must demonstrate your
healing powers."
"But I can't, not anymore." Perhaps it wouldn't matter if the abbess didn't believe her about the healing.
What interest would the woman have when she realized the power was gone? Britta saw the abbess's
eyebrows rise. "I gave it up." That should end this questioning.
"Gave it up?" the abbess snapped. "What do you mean?"
Britta didn't know how to say what she had done. At least not to an abbess. But she had to answer
something. "I gave up the life of a healer and took up the life of a woman."
Comprehension dawned in the old nun's eyes. "You gave up the gift of God for fornication?" She was
incredulous, shocked.
The words pierced Britta like a knife. Her bliss with Karn seemed hollow and selfish phrased in such a
way. The vision of healing the king& she had given that up. How could she explain? The abbess's eyes [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]