LIADAN III
Liadan felt as if she was living in a fairytale. She was spending her free time with the charming Sir Marin, had private lessons with the Abbess Segnat, and the whole nunnery was preparing for the upcoming ceremony of the Knighting. Jotman warriors would be blessed by the holy spirit of the Broken Man, given boons to aid in their righteous cause. Following the mass at first bell, Liadan enjoyed her simple breakfast with the company of Sir Marin, who regaled her with tales of faraway lands and the barbaric people that inhabited them. When the second bell rang, she was loath to leave and daydreamed about him throughout her chores. She could feel Sister Fleurie’s withering gaze upon her, but the cantankerous nun no longer bothered her. By third bell, Liadan was helplessly counting down the seconds until their noon meal and Sister Marguerite’s lessons found no purchase in her preoccupied mind. As the fourth bell rang, Liadan practically dashed to the lavatorium, washed herself as quickly as possible in the trough of cold water and burst into the refectory for her meal, ignoring the admonishments and disapproving looks from the senior sisters. Her heart nearly broke when Sir Marin was nowhere to be found.
Liadan spent most of fifth bell wondering if she had embarrassed herself in front of the nobleman. Did she make a faux pas, as simple born peasants like herself were apt to do? Nothing stood out in her mind, yet her doubts and insecurities steadily accumulated like leaves under an autumn tree. She loved learning about the process to create the illuminated manuscripts that she had been privileged to see in the scriptorium, however, her mind and heart were preoccupied. When the sixth bell rang, she was forlorn. One passage from the book of the Broken Man underscored her emotions, it spoke of Aharon and his acceptance of the Lord’s love for his wife Miriam. The sacrifices he made in his heart to embrace the child begot between the Lord and Miriam as his own. Liadan felt selfish and petty for obsessing over Sir Marin, a man like him was destined for greatness; she was a simple country girl. By supper she had resigned herself to a humble life and rarely looked up from her plate. The neophytes surrounding her chatted excitedly about the upcoming ceremony, the Knighting. None of them knew the specifics, but they were all thrilled to be part of a ritual to celebrate and bless the holy knights of the Broken Man.
The seventh bell rang hollow for Liadan, she had never felt more alone and did not welcome additional time dedicated to solitude and reflection. She already felt alienated from the girls she had grown up with in the nearby town of Gallowye and missed her family dearly. Word had been brought by a brave knight that the town had been attacked by Pechtish barbarians, which troubled her greatly. She hoped her family was safe. She wished she could leave the convent for a day to ensure that the rumors were false and prayed to the Holy Mother for the opportunity. In the midst of her communion with the Lord, she was interrupted by a soft knocking on her door. The aspiring nuns were under strict orders to isolate themselves after the seventh bell rang, who would risk breaking that rule? Was it Orlaith? She frowned as she walked over and opened the door. She was shocked to see Sir Marin standing in the hallway, her heart begin to race.
Sir Marin stepped back from the door and smiled sweetly at Liadan. “I apologize for interrupting your prayers sister, the Abbess gave me leave to ask if you were interested in taking an evening stroll?” His disposition put her at ease, but she felt her face flush. What would the others think? Yet the Abbess had given Sir Marin permission, it would be rude to refuse him. She nodded to Sir Marin before returning his smile. “I will give you a moment to prepare for our promenade,” he offered diplomatically and took another step away from her door, before turning away to wait. Liadan tried to compose herself as she grabbed a thin shawl to wrap around her head and snuffed out the candle in her room.
When Liadan emerged from her cell,Sir Marin was tapping his supple leather shoes impatiently on the wooden floor of the temporary dorter, where all of the neophytes lived in, along with Liadan who was the only postulant. They would be given proper cells connected to the senior sisters’quarters once the masonry work was completed. For now that meant that Liadan saw less of Sister Fleurie and for that she was grateful. Sir Marin cut quite the dashing figure, he was wearing a beautiful coat and an even finer doublet than when she had first met him in the Abbess’s chambers. His smile broadened and his verdant green eyes twinkled. Liadan did not know quite what to make of his attentions, why was such a well appointed gentleman socializing with the likes of her? The Abbess had proclaimed that Liadan had performed a miracle, perhaps Sir Marin was especially pious.
Sir Marin offered Liadan his arm and they walked side by side down the long corridor that led towards the site of the partially constructed stone chapel. Liadan strained to hear if any of the other girls were spying from their rooms, but only heard the occasional muffled voice, deep in prayer. The abbey was largely deserted, since the entire convent had returned to their rooms for the seventh bell. The absence of familiar faces simultaneously put Liadan at ease and made her nervous. Sir Marin and Liadan walked in silence and she wondered if he expected her to start the conversation. Early spring nights tended to be cool, yet this evening was especially chill. As they ventured into the open aired courtyard, surrounded by a covered cloister, Liadan shivered involuntarily. Sir Marin showed immediate concern and removed his jacket, placing it delicately over her shoulders. “Thank you Sir Marin, you are far too considerate.” She nestled into his warm jacket, appreciating both the comfort and the delicate lingering of his scent.
“Nonsense sister, and please, there is no need for such formalities. May I call you Liadan?”” His lips pursed slightly and the strong line of his jaw clenched momentarily, before a smile once again lit up his face.
Liadan began to feel lost in the green depths of his eyes and struggled to form coherent thoughts. She was barely able to muster a nod of assent to his question.
“You have told me about some of your travels, but what brought you here to the abbey?”
“Why to meet you dear Liadan, word has spread quickly of your miracle.” He took both of her hands in his and turned so that they were fully facing. Two knights were on patrol in the courtyard and a few stray flakes of snow danced in the wind: they looked miserable. Sir Marin nodded his head toward the refectory and the warm fire that still burned within it. “Take a break from your sentry duties, reward yourselves for your diligence. I will keep watch out here.” One of the knights smiled at him, in a slightly suggestive manner Liadan thought, but both were eager to escape the chill. She was now truly alone with her escort.
“I hope your journey was not a disappointment Sir… I mean, Marin. I am only a girl from a small town on the edge of the world, certainly you must have had more engaging company back in Saxonland or Jotmandy?” She looked into the pools of his eyes searchingly.
Sir Marin took a moment to respond, his lips curled coyly, “You would be surprised how dull most lords and ladies are. You may be from these backwoods, yet you are unlike the other peasant girls and are smart enough to know that.” He squeezed her hands a bit too tightly as he chided her. “Most of them were overripe and not of marriageable stock. You my dear, are quite the different story.” His perfect chin and cheekbones had reddened slightly in the night air and she could now detect a nearly invisible scar below his right cheek. Sir Marin’s words confused her, he had spoken so generously and sweetly on other occasions. Now he was dismissive and curt of others, it was as if he was a different person.
“I think many of us had no choice, there is little opportunity in a town like Gallowye.” She tried to slip her hands out of his, but he held on firmly and his nails dug into her palms. She felt panic welling up, closing her eyes briefly to regain composure. Sir Marin’s unblinking stare only grewin intensity. “I… Would it be rude to ask you a question Marin?” His smile broadened even further as his nails applied more pressure. She winced in pain.
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“Why of course my sweet, you may ask anything of me,” He replied, his eyes twinkled once more.
“H-how… How did you get that scar on your face?” His smile dropped instantly and he stepped towards her roughly, crowding her personal space and backing her into one of the columns that supported the cloistered walkway. The wind picked up and bit at her ears.
“I will enjoy your Knighting, you stupid bitch. I will not be gentle.” His face was a dispassionate mask and his eyes danced like hellfire. As Liadan’s mouth dropped open, he brought his hand under her chin and squeezed her throat shut. “You will thank me for whatever pleasure I deign offer you and will remember our time together for the rest of your pathetic life.” His grip tightened and Liadan fought to breathe, her hands beat against his chest helplessly. From the corner of her eye, she saw movement in a window and saw the Abbess Segnat looking down at them in the courtyard. Liadan stared at her, pleading with her eyes. The Abbess met her gaze and pulled her curtain shut. Sir Marin was sneering at her now. “You and the filthy harlots you spawned with probably dreamt you were to serve some higher purpose, did you not?” His eyes were colder than the frosted courtyard. He continued, “You are nothing but offerings. Gifts for the men who fight in the Broken Man’s name. Ours to use as we please.” Sir Marin threw Liadan down onto the cobbled walkway and towered over her. “Now thank me for the privilege.” He kicked her in the chest and sent her tumbling onto her back. “Pray at my feet like I was the Broken Man himself, beg for my forgiveness!” Her knees and body throbbed as she gasped for air, shocked by his blasphemy. “Our knights must be blooded my little pet. The Holy Mother gave her gift to our Lord, do you think that you are so precious?”
Liadan’s head spun, she was as overwhelmed by the abrupt shift in Sir Marin’s disposition as she was by the truth of the Knighting. She had put her faith in the words of the Abbess and had convinced many of the girls she had grown up with to join her at the convent. They were like lambs, oblivious to the slaughter that awaited them. This was her fault. In her heart she knew that these were not the true teachings of the Broken Man, only the lies of those who hurt others to hide their own pain. Liadan felt immense compassion for Sister Fleurie and now understood the bitter woman’s sorrow: dedicating her life to a corrupted church. The anguish of the Holy Mother filled her heart with strength and she rose slowly to face Sir Marin. The wind picked up around her, yet she no longer felt the bite of the cold. “I asked you to beg. Are you struck dumb by the truth?!” Sir Marin shouted with spittle flecking from plump lips. “Get back on your knees and BEG!”
“No.” He was stunned by Liadan’s response and cocked his head back, perplexed.
“YOU WILL DO WHAT I TELL YOU!” he screamed shrilly as he brought the back of his hand viciously across her face. Liadan staggered and again found her back against the column. She felt blood on her lip, but resisted the instinct to bring her hands to her face. Instead she raised her eyes to meet his once more.
“No,” Liadan repeated. “You are a scared boy masquerading as a man, I will not fear you.” She spoke with iron in her voice and felt a powerful aura swirl around her body. Sir Marin moved towards her with eyes full of malice and was buffeted backwards. “With my faith in the Broken Man, you will not harm me,” she stated calmly as white light emanated from her body, pulsing with righteous fury. Sir Marin drew a crooked dagger from a sheath on his back: its blade was cruel and twisted, it looked like it was forged to inflict pain. His eyes were locked upon her and the grin across his face made him appear devoid of humanity. He took an aggressive step forward, Liadan did not flinch.
Sir Marin moved with a speed and precision that was hard to track with the naked eye. Midstride he broke his rhythm and lunged to Liadan’s side as a symbol flared in the brilliant light pulsing from her soul. The two separated V’s honoring the Broken Man formed in the heat of the crackling energy in front of her. Sir Marin shifted his weight and twisted past the holy ward, but the left side of his face and body caught the corner of the glowing symbol, sizzling where they made contact. Liadan was punched in her side and lost concentration due to the blow. As abruptly as it appeared, the white light vanished. It took her eyes took a long moment to adjust from the absence of the dazzling light. She felt tremendous pain in her side and began to feel dizzy and weak. Reaching blindly with her hands, she found Sir Marin’s dagger embedded all the way to its hilt.
An owl hooted in the distance and as Liadan’s eyes refocused on the courtyard, she watched Sir Marin writhe on the cobble stones, clutching his face with both hands. All along the left side of his body, his clothing was scorched, revealing patches of skin that were crisped and blackened. Grasping the ornate dagger with her hands, Liadan shuffled slowly towards the bare foundation stones of what would become the abbey’s crowning glory: a beautiful chapel. Her wound was not bleeding nearly as much as she would have expected and she had no interest in disturbing the knife buried in her flank. Her breathing was ragged and drops of blood splattered uponthe walkway as she moved in agony. As she labored down what would become the central aisle, she was granted a vision of the cathedral in all its majesty. Pews full of the faithful to her left and right, topped by a barrel vaulted ceiling that extended high above towards the heavens. An altar rose up in front of her with stained glass windows on either side, depicting the Saints and disciples of the Broken Man. Liadan could even see centuries into the future when a magnificent circular window would be installed high above the altar, light filtering through multicolored glass in a pattern that resembled the petals of a rose. She drew closer to the altar and apparitions of the Holy Mother and the Broken Man appeared on either side of the rich wood of the pulpit. They smiled down upon her with sadness in their eyes, their hearts were open with love and full of understanding.
Tears streamed down Liadan’s face, not from the pain of her wound, but from the sanctuary she felt in this holy place. She dropped to her knees and did not feel the impact of hitting the frosted ground; she insteadfelt the softness of a plush rug. She could see it now, running from the front of the altar and back towards the intricately carved wooden doors at the West end. The Holy Mother raised her gaze from Liadan and reached a hand back towards those doors. Liadan turned around painfully and saw that there was commotion in the abbey, knights were frantically scrambling about and some stood opposite the semi-translucent door at the far end of the aisle. They pounded against the massive doors, but there was no sound or voice as they yelled.
The Broken Man stepped down from the altar to approach Liadan. He smiled with all ofhis being and extended his glowing hand towards her head. The warmth she felt as he caressed her was energizing and her mind was flooded with visions. She saw serpents dressed in nun habits punishing the girls that Liadan had grown up with in Gallowye. Her innocent friends were locked in chambers with lusty men who claimed to be knights of honor. She saw horrible sights that made her tremble. The most ornate serpent, dressed in the robes of the Abbess, relished tasting the suffering in the air with her forked tongue. It slithered around the altar of the Broken Man and corruption darkened its wake. A greying man with blood-soaked gauntlets appeared and walked defiantly down the aisle of the cathedral. He unslung his massive sword and presented it in front of the altar. A red stone in the sword’s hilt glowed bright with malice. The serpent Abbess drew venom from its fangs and infused the blade of this weapon with its poison, shadows flared and burned across its edges. As blood poured from the man’s hands, he lifted the cursed weapon and held it in reverence.
When the Broken Man took his hand from Liadan’s forehead, the light forming the cathedral around her instantly vanished. The altar, the pews, and the glorious windows all dematerialized. She was cloaked in darkness. The Jotman blocked by the luminous perimeter were now unobstructed and sprinted towards her as she knelt on the cold ground. Liadan stood as the Broken Man faded away into the night, his smile turning sad and knowing. She accepted her fate. An owl hooted, much closer now. The Abbess approached the foundation of the cathedral from the hallway of the convent and glowered at Liadan, Sister Fleurie stood close to her side.
The three knights who raced towards her abruptly stopped in their tracks and drew their weapons. She followed the gaze of the warriors and saw a naked man, with what appeared to be an owl in flight on his chest, launch himself in the air from atop the foundation of the cathedral. He ignored the knights and silently barreled towards her with an unnatural swiftness, it almost appeared as if spectral deer were dancing around his legs. Liadan felt all strength drain out of her body and as she began to fall to the ground, he caught her. The man held her gingerly, carefully cradling her so as not to disturb the dagger planted deeply in her side. He was slightly shorter than she was, but in a smooth motion was able to easily bound back atop the foundation stones, which were nearly as tall as a Jotman. “I apologize for not asking to dance you first. My name Eógan,” he said haltingly and ungrammatically in the tongue of the Gaídel, “We have appointment with woods witch.” As the wind rushed past and blew against her hair wildly, Liadan felt the full burden of her exhaustion and passed out.
