‘So Joanna is there adding her contribution,’ Josse said, returning to things closer to his understanding, ‘and when she has done so, she will come back.’ The Domina did not reply. ‘She’ll be back?’ Josse spoke louder and turned the words into a question.
Still the Domina did not at first reply. Then, chillingly, she said, ‘Something of her will return. As for Joanna herself, perhaps.’
Fear clutched Josse’s heart in a cold grip. ‘What do you mean?’ he whispered. ‘She must come back — her life is here. Her child is here.’ I am here, he might have added.
The Domina stared at him and he thought he saw sympathy in her deep eyes. ‘You love her, Josse, even though you do not begin to comprehend what she is. She in her turn loves you, although at present the task before her is so great that there is room in her heart and her mind for little else.’
‘But-’
She raised an imperious hand and stilled the protest. ‘This is what she was born for,’ she said. ‘Her birth was predicted, for her mother saw the future with unusual clarity and did what was necessary to protect the Great Spirit who inspires we who follow the old ways. Her mother gave up her bodily existence to ensure Joanna’s survival. Joanna herself may have to make the same sacrifice.’
‘Give up her bodily existence?’ he echoed in a horrified whisper. ‘What does that mean? She’ll die, like Mag Hobson did?’
The Domina sighed. ‘It is hard to explain, for you do not see very far into our world,’ she murmured. ‘Joanna’s mother — the woman you knew as Mag Hobson — is dead to the physical world, it is true, yet the elders of my people experience her in a different realm. It is this realm to which Joanna may progress if-’ She stopped. Then, in a whisper, ‘If it proves necessary.’
In that terrible moment Josse could only think of losing her. His mouth suddenly dry, he said, ‘Will I see her again? Will I be able to enter this different realm of yours?’
Compassion flooded the Domina’s old face. She said gently, ‘You may, Josse. You may.’
‘And Meggie?’
‘Oh, don’t worry about her.’ The Domina glanced across at Meggie in her birch tree and her expression softened. ‘Meggie is extraordinary. She can see and speak to her mother whenever she wishes to. Listen.’
Josse did so and presently he heard the sound of Meggie’s light voice deep in conversation with an invisible companion. ‘That’s…? She’s talking to Joanna?’
‘Yes, I expect so,’ agreed the Domina.
Josse edged closer to Meggie and listened. ‘… and Josse’s house is really lovely because I have my own bed in my own room and, although I like our little hut in the forest too, I like being with Josse and I love the baby — he’s so sweet — and sometimes I…’
Josse had heard enough. Reeling, he turned back to the Domina.
But she had gone.
It was not easy to bring himself under control after such a succession of shocks, but Josse knew that for Meggie’s sake he must act normally and not show his dreadful fear. Swinging her down from her birch tree, he said brightly, ‘Come on, little one, the Domina’s gone now and it’s time to go back to the abbey.’
Meggie took his hand and they set off down the track. ‘She’s gone to find the others,’ Meggie said. ‘They’re all a bit worried because of what’s happening in the big new building and they need to reassure each other that it’ll be all right.’
God’s boots, Josse thought. Only six years old and she has the understanding of an adult. They walked along, Meggie now chattering happily about squirrels’ dreys and deer tracks, and Josse marvelled all over again at this extraordinary daughter of his. They always said she’d be one of their Great Ones, he thought. What he had learned in that brief time in the clearing indicated they were right.
They emerged from the forest just above the abbey, behind the spot where, had they known, Martin the mason wanted to build the new chapel. Suddenly Meggie gave a surprised cry and, pulling her hand from Josse’s, ran off to stand at the base of an oak tree. She was jumping up and down, trying to reach its lowest branch. ‘Josse, help me!’ she called, turning to look at him. ‘I can’t get up by myself.’
He hurried over to her. It was a huge tree and he was not at all sure that it would be safe for her to climb. She was fearless and would go right to the top if nobody stopped her. ‘It’s a very big tree, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Why not try a smaller one?’
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, becoming frustrated. ‘I don’t want to go high — only up to there.’ She pointed.
He followed the line of her finger and, resting at the place where a branch about two men’s height from the ground left the trunk, he saw a small bundle. ‘I’ll get it,’ he said.
‘I saw it first!’ Meggie protested.
‘I’ll get it,’ he repeated more firmly.
Meggie stuck out her lower lip. He swung up to the lowest branch, hauled himself up and put his foot on the branch above. Standing up and stretching, he got his fingers round the object. For a startled, disbelieving moment, he almost thought it sent a shock wave through him. Don’t be fanciful, he ordered himself. The object was wrapped in soft cloth. It felt hard and it was about the length of his forearm and the width of his two fists. Clutching it, he climbed carefully down again.
He kneeled and placed the object on the ground in front of him. Meggie was right beside him; he could feel her warm breath on his neck. ‘What is it, Daddy?’ she asked excitedly.
Daddy. His heart gave a great lurch.
The moment had taken on huge dimensions. Before him was a strange object that even his limited powers knew was so far out of the everyday and the ordinary that it was all but incredible, and his beloved daughter had for the very first time called him by the name to which he had always been entitled.
Slowly, reverently, he unfolded the cloth. He and Meggie, both shocked into awed silence, sat back and stared. It was a statue of a woman seated on a low, simple throne. She wore a mysterious headdress like a pair of horns, or perhaps the crescent moon on its side. Her eyes were closed, and her blissful, beautiful face wore an expression that was at the same time serene and powerful.
‘She is the Virgin Mary,’ Josse whispered, but something told him he was wrong.
‘No she’s not,’ Meggie whispered back. She put out her grubby little hand and gently touched the figure’s belly. Then she picked it up and put it in Josse’s hands.
Just then he realized what had troubled him. Meggie was right; this woman was not the Virgin. For one thing, unlike every representation of the mother of God that he had ever seen, this woman was heavily pregnant. In addition, whatever smooth, shining wood she was made from was also like nothing he had seen before.
It was black.
He had been holding his breath and now, noticing that his discomfort was rapidly growing, he let it out and tried to breathe in.
He couldn’t.
He tried again, but it was as if he were under a sudden enchantment. His ribs felt as if they were encased in steel and, panicking, he turned wide, horrified eyes on to his child. Perceiving his distress, she smiled and calmly took the black figure from him. Immediately air whooshed into his lungs and he gulped and gasped, his eyes watering. Then the dreadful thought struck him: dear God, if it — she — can do that to me, a strong man, what will she do to a little girl? He lunged towards Meggie, ready to strike the black figure from her hand, but Meggie, muttering softly under her breath and with a happy smile on her face, was nursing the statue as if it were nothing more dangerous than a doll.