The Burning Stone
“Where did it come from?” Theophanu asked. “Why does it haunt this place?”
“It has always been here. That is why I forbade your party to explore the crown.”
“You said it was a consecrated place, forbidden to any who are not sisters in this convent,” objected Adelheid. “You did not say it was haunted by such a creature!”
“Now you see why it is forbidden. We do not tell everything we know. Nor do we need to.”
Even a queen could look abashed. Adelheid did so now. “I beg your pardon, Mother. I’m sure you know better than we do in such matters.”
“Like the knowledge of the Aoi,” murmured Rosvita, but Mother Obligatia had keen ears and now swung her walking stick off her thighs and rapped it once, sharply, on the floor. The sound rang with echoes in the cavern, and men jumped, startled. A murmur, a ripple of nervous chuckles, spread and settled.
“With old secrets it is better to be cautious. I would rather you not have known, because an ancient secret is like a great stone. Resting on the shore undisturbed it remains silent. Uprooted and cast into a still pond it creates strong ripples that alter the very fabric of the water and may even overset or wash away the net of life that flourished there.”
“I give you my word, Mother Obligatia,” said Adelheid. “You have shown us much generosity. I will never reveal your secret.”
“If any of Ironhead’s soldiers escaped after their attack last night, they will have a tale to tell. So be it.” She settled her stick over her thighs as if to indicate that the matter was closed. “Captain Fulk. Have a dozen of your men escort our visitor here. Be sure to blindfold him. What he does not know he cannot reveal to Lord John.”
Theophanu shifted in her chair. Fortunatus coughed softly.
“Perhaps a song,” said Adelheid in a voice that the darkness made startlingly bright, like a sudden shaft of light that makes the eyes sting.
Tentatively at first and then more forcefully as the sound filled the echoing space, the soldiers began to sing: “To the Lady and to the Lord both light and dark are one.”
“I have been reading your History, Sister Rosvita,” said Mother Obligatia as the soldiers continued with a quiet tune composed of more secular sentiments: a lost love, a long journey.
“Then it is well you are writing their history, since no one in Darre will do so. I came here from the North.”
“You have surprised me, Mother. I hear no trace of the North in your speech.”
“I was raised from an infant at a convent in Varre, but when I was fourteen I was taken from there to St. Radegundis’ convent in Salia. Indeed, I came to her convent not six months after St. Radegundis passed out of this world and into the Chamber of Light.”
“That is incredible. Surely you have looked at the Vita, then?”