Chapter 18 Gods And Chess
Gods And Chess
“Icannot let ye do this,” Sister Rosemary stated flatly. “I cannot. I will not. Have ye lost yer mind, woman?”
The Abbess stood at the window, staring at nothing in particular. This window didn’t look down onto the carnage going on around them. They could all still hear the battle, though. Swords clashed, voices cried out, and horses screamed in abject terror.
Men and women screamed in terror, too, but somehow it was the horses the Abbess thought about. The soldiers had all chosen to go to battle, but nobody had asked the horses what they wanted.
This window, however, looked onto the peaceful kitchen gardens at the back of the convent. Beyond the gardens, the ground sloped up to meet the tree line, which in turn faded away into a huge forest, the edge of a strip of woodland that bisected the Highlands. It was one of her favorite views.
“Do ye know, Rosemary, I never even think of my own name now?” the Abbess said aloud.
“I had a name, once. And a clan. A true name. I cannot quite remember when I put it aside to become the Abbess of St. Deborah’s, but here I am.
It was a sacrifice I made to become who I am now.
I saw a long time ago that the clans needed guidance, and the Highlands needed saving from the monsters.
I had no idea what to do about it, of course.
Then God sent me a girl. Four of them. No, five, all in a row.
Astrid, Senga, Kyla, Freya, and Una. The five of them have changed our destinies, and it feels as though my life’s work was simply to prepare myself to meet them. ”
There was a short silence, then Sister Rosemary came stamping around, squeezing between the Abbess and the window so that she forced the older woman to look at her.
The Abbess did look, blinking down at her short, round-faced friend.
Sister Rosemary glared balefully up at her, propping her fists up on her hips.
“I will not let ye go out there,” Sister Rosemary stated. “It’s a death sentence.”
There was more silence, and this time the Abbess clearly heard the rhythmic boom-boom-boom of the Dickson battering ram crashing down on the heavy wooden doors of the convent.
It was a clever ploy, she had to admit. The battle seemed to be turning against the Dicksons. If his allies had stuck to his side, then perhaps things would have been different, but one by one, the clans whose loyalty he’d bought or threatened faded away. Only Murray was left now, by all accounts.
Yes, Laird Dickson was losing this last fight. After the battle was over, the man’s grip on the Highlands would loosen at last. A new world could dawn if only they were prepared to receive it.
But as a last-ditch effort, the laird had taken some of his personal guard and launched an attack on the convent. Only a few guards had been posted around the convent, and they were quickly and quietly taken care of.
The Abbess prayed that Sister Abigail and Senga were safe. She’d moved from window to window, keeping an eye on them both, but now she was forced to turn her gaze inward.
“We’ll stay here,” Sister Rosemary said desperately. “Those doors will hold.”
“Not for much longer. And what happens when they break down, and Laird Dickson and his bloodthirsty hounds come pouring in? They’ll know they haven’t got much time, so they will focus on slitting each and every one of our throats before they are caught. The end will come soon.”
Not for me, though, she thought, careful not to say it aloud. He wants to make me suffer.
The pounding on the door halted, just for a moment. A bellowed cry echoed through the halls, the same cry that had been bawled out at five-minute intervals since the attack began.
“Give us the Abbess of St. Deborah’s!” boomed a strong male voice. “Give her up, and the rest of ye shall live. Shelter that woman, and ye will all die.”
There was a moment of silence, and then the banging started again. The Abbess swore that she could hear the old timbers cracking and splintering. Still, they held. But for how long?
She was braced for suffering, but what about the rest? The nuns called her mother. They were her children. They relied on her. This was her problem to solve.
Abruptly, the Abbess turned away from the window and strode through the room. Sister Rosemary scuttled after her, her voice pitching high with worry.
“Mother? Mother! Where are ye going?”
“To address the others,” the Abbess responded shortly. She followed a short set of stairs down into the Great Hall.
Most of the nuns were gathered there. A good many of them had gone to the chapel to pray, but there was still work to be done in the infirmary.
Some of the injured locals remained, the sick and the dying, and they huddled in their beds, wide-eyed, wrestling with a new fear.
The nuns clustered together, whispering and crying.
Some were praying, having sunk down onto empty pallet beds and closed their eyes and lifted their hands.
Kyla sat on one of those beds. She was hunched over, both hands cradling her stomach. She was staring into space, hollow-eyed and grayish. She glanced up as the Abbess approached and swallowed hard.
“What if he sent them for me? For my baby?” she whispered. “My father will want this baby. It’s a threat to him. He will—”
“Enough,” the Abbess responded crisply. “Laird Dickson will not lay eyes on ye again, lass, if I have anything to say about it.”
Kyla swallowed thickly. “The door will not hold for long.”
“It will hold for long enough.”
Kyla sat up a little straighter, brightening. “Ye have a plan?” she asked hopefully.
The Abbess gave a tight smile. “Aye, I have a plan. Now, I need ye to stay here to keep things running smoothly in the infirmary. Keep the others in good spirits, aye? Tell them a few jokes. Ye are good at jokes.”
Kyla nodded, looking a little brighter now that she had purpose. “Aye. I can do that.”
The Abbess laid a hand on Kyla’s head, smiling fondly.
“Ye are a good lass, Kyla. And ye will make a fine mother.”
She left before Kyla had the chance to reply, striding out into the Front Hall, where the great door stood.
A dozen or so nuns were gathered there. Some were praying, some were whispering, and some simply stood and stared. About half a dozen nuns had arranged themselves before the door, hands pressed on the wood as if they could hold it closed.
“What are ye doing, lasses?” the Abbess called out, making them flinch. “If that battering ram comes through the door, ye will be crushed.”
“Better to die now than later,” one woman called. A hush fell over the room at this. Sister Rosemary glowered at her.
They fell silent, one by one, all looking at the Abbess. They were waiting, she realized, for her to say something. To say anything. She breathed out slowly, folding her hands in front of her waist.
“I’m sure ye all know,” she said carefully, “that I must go out there.”
A clamor broke out, as she’d expected, and she waited patiently for it to die down. The Abbess stretched out her hands, shushing them, and gradually silence fell again.
“I must go out, or else they’ll breach the door,” she repeated patiently. “Look at those cracks. If they get in here, we’ll all be dead. Laird Dickson would not be able to restrain his men’s bloodlust even if he wanted to. I will go out, and I will try to stall for him.”
“He’ll kill ye,” Sister Rosemary remarked flatly. “He’ll slit yer throat the moment he sets eyes on ye.”
The Abbess sniffed. “I think I have a wee bit more time than that. Now, I have made my decision, and I’ll waste no more time. All of ye, take my blessing. I love each of ye, and it has been the great privilege of my life, and the greatest honor I will ever carry, to serve ye all as yer Abbess.”
There was a muffled sob from somewhere in the back of the room. The Abbess didn’t wait to see who it was. If she waited for too long, she would lose her nerve. And she was nervous. Of course she was.
The echoing booms of the battering ram stopped, and the familiar voice shouted out his refrain once more.
“Give us the Abbess of St. Deborah’s! Give her up, and the rest of ye—”
“Oh, pipe down!” the Abbess shouted, approaching the wooden door. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”
There was a surprised choking sound on the other side of the door. She guessed that he was standing directly in front of it to make his words sound louder.
“What?” the man managed.
“I am coming out,” the Abbess snapped. “Pull yer men and yer battering ram back from the door. I am coming out.”
There was a moment of silence, then the sound of shuffling. The Abbess nodded at one of the nuns, who pulled back a hidden peephole set into the door.
“They’ve done it, Mother,” she whispered.
“Keep an eye on them,” she instructed.
There was a small door set in the side of the larger one, barely as tall as a person and very narrow. She had no intention of unlocking the main door itself, so she quickly set about unbarring that small door. Pausing, the Abbess glanced over her shoulder.
Sister Rosemary stood there, her face white with grief.
“Let me come with ye,” Sister Rosemary whispered.
The Abbess laid her hands on her shoulder.
“I would not have ye share my fate for all the wealth of the world,” she whispered. “Stay here. Act as Abbess in my stead. And when I am gone, for heaven’s sake, bar the door.”
She didn’t wait for Sister Rosemary to answer. Instead, the Abbess ducked through the low doorway before she could give herself a chance to think twice and stepped out into the weak sunlight.
The door slammed shut behind her, and she heard the thunk-click of bolts sliding back into place. The Abbess blinked, her eyes trying to adjust to the bright sunlight. A collection of men in Dickson tartan stared at her, open-mouthed.
One man took a tentative step forward.
“Ye came out,” he mumbled, and at once she recognized the voice of the man who’d been shouting. “Ye really came out.”