Here is a brief excerpt. The narrator is my 17 year old heroine who fled an order of Brocar's Handmaidens where her "fits" were deemed possession by the Dark Lady. She fears torment and castigation if she's found and sent back. Tabeth, a village herbalist, saved her life when she was found lying half in a flooded ditch with a deep wound on her temple.
What an adventure to
trudge beside Tabeth along the snowy road to Wullston at first light. When I heard the
rattle of tambors, the tooting recorder, and the vielle's descant, I almost danced. Across the bridge I paused at the mass of people in the village square. I hadn't faced crowds in years. Tabeth drew me in and introduced me to her friends and neighbors. As we exchanged the joy of the season, I felt less strange. Soon I was sipping mulled ale, sampling slivers of goose and ham, and stuffing myself on Holy Night fruited breads, tiny loaves with a bit of nutmeg, and honey seed cakes. I even let myself smile when the country lads crowded
around and asked me to dance. I'd forgotten the joy of stamping and
twirling, sliding on frozen ground, laughing with one lad
after another. So long since I'd been carefree.
Too soon the sun
dipped to the horizon. The air grew cold, and folk gathered in front of the
Sanctuary. My heart beat fast when I saw the basket of broken twigs by the
door. Brocar's Holy Fire would
conquer the Dark Lady Death and tonight I had no part to play save as witness.
Old
Frater Evan limped out of the Sanctuary, bearing a dead branch as long as his
arm. His hands trembled as he held it aloft. "The old year is dead. The
Dark Lady is dead." He drew a small brass box from his sash, opened it,
and lit the branch from the last coal of the old year. "Brocar's Fire
returns! The new year is born!"
The people began to sing the new year's hymn. One by one, they shuffled
forward, took a twig from the basket, lighted it from the priest's branch, and
carried it into the Sanctuary to place in a sacred bowl. I ought to do
penance for my grievous sins--abandoning my sacred duty, taking a lover. I held my twig to the priest's
fire and, like a Handmaiden, I placed the lighted end on my inner wrist.
At my gasp, Tabeth
snatched away the glowing twig. "Girl! What're ye doin'? Ye've
suffered enough. Ye've no cause to take on more."
My eyes widened and I
reached for my twig. "But my sins…"
Tabeth shook her
finger. "'An what o' the sins done to ye? Them that beat ye? The man who
abandoned ye?"
"They beat me
for terrible things and I enticed him." But
if Tabeth were right…?
Her lips tightened.
"I'll give ye back yer stick, girl, ifn ye promise not t'hurt yerself."
I nodded and she
handed it to me. It had gone out, and shamefaced, I had to light it again.
Frater Evan's eyes twinkled. "Brocar can forgive even an aspiring Handmaiden."
Of course he'd learned about that.
I cast him a pleading glance, fighting tears, as Tabeth pushed me into the
Sanctuary. Countryfolk, bulky in winter layers, pressed so close I could scarcely breathe, and the smells made me giddy--wax and tallow, smoke, burning wood, wet wool, and old sweat. The hymn ended and Frater Evan limped around
the Sanctuary, lighting the fire bowls from his branch. At the altar he held the branch to the tall wax candle. "Behold .
. . Brocar's sacred Light!" The clear flame lifted and light blossomed over
the great Wheel behind the altar. Such beauty and grace! My heart soared. The Frater raised his hands and recited the familiar prayers, welcoming
Brocar's victory over Darkness and Death, rejoicing in the light and
warmth of His fire. Light restored to life; joy to my heart.
Then silence fell
over the Sanctuary. Lady Morlan, the highest born woman, stepped to the altar
to recite the ancient prayers--in Elakanden, not the sacred tongue. "'Let the king dispense My
justice and the queen My healing grace.'"
My heart fluttered
and my breath stopped. I felt light flare around my head. This is the Holy Night, I told myself. It has no
claim on me here.
Yet in a dream I paced toward the altar. Hands touched me and fell away; people melted
into fog.
Lady Morlan prayed on. '''From
My sacred altar shall the princess announce My wisdom to all people without
fear.'''
I touched the altar--wood not marble. Low whispers in my head. No! Light flared around me, filling the
small Sanctuary. No--no--no! And the Voice was declaiming through my mouth …
