Mermaid_ A Twist on the Classic Tale - Carolyn Turgeon [17]
“It looks like another storm,” someone said, but other than that, it was quiet except for the howling of the wind, the crunching of their shoes along the rocky pathway.
As they wound their way down the hill, the village unfolded in front of them. They passed a stone apothecary, and some small shacks. Villagers stopped and crossed themselves as the line of holy women walked by. Despite herself, Margrethe could not help but thrill at being out in the world. She’d not left the convent grounds since the night she’d been rushed through on horseback, three months before.
She remembered that night. She’d been covered in thick black cloaks, clinging to the back of one of her father’s soldiers, flanked by them on either side. They’d left the castle in the dead of night. She’d had so little time to prepare, but she wasn’t allowed to bring anything, anyway, that could give her away. It had been terrifying, being that exposed—she was so used to being pampered, adorned, protected—but her father had insisted that she go into hiding. “It is the only way to keep you safe,” he’d said as she clung to him. “We must prepare to defend ourselves against the South’s attacks.” Later, as the world rushed past her and the horse under her strained against the wind, she’d felt the weight and fear that came with her position more than she ever had before.
“Mira?”
She started, looked up at the abbess, who was motioning for her to stop. The old woman’s pale eyes reflecting the washed-out landscape. The others were walking ahead while the two of them stood in front of a shack, next to the blacksmith’s. The sound of clanking metal filled the air.
“We will stop here,” the abbess said, “before we visit your father’s men. There’s a boy here who’s very ill.”
Margrethe nodded. “Of course.” She looked around. The village appeared peaceful in the daylight, and she felt inexplicably happy, being out in the world. Suddenly she realized what had been nagging at her. She hesitated, then spoke again. “I have been thinking,” she said, “and I do not believe it is necessary to tell them about the wounded man. I fear they might react strongly for no reason.”
“But your safety is of our utmost concern.”
“I do not think he is a threat to me, Mother.” She thought of the knife under her pillow and blinked the thought away. She had to have faith that he’d been brought to her for a reason. “I spoke with him—”
The abbess gave her a sharp look. “You need to stay away from him,” she said.
“Yes, Mother,” she said. “You are right.”
The abbess stared at her, her face grave. “He is from the South, my child,” she said. “Do you realize that?”
“Yes,” Margrethe whispered. “I spoke with him.”
The abbess was looking at Margrethe more carefully now as she responded. “As did I. He claims he was on a journey to explore the Northern islands. But it is clear he is, or once was, a soldier, an enemy to your father.”
“But we are not at war,” Margrethe said. “We are at peace.”
“Child, you know as well as I that this can change at any moment. It’s why you were sent here.” The two women looked at each other, and then the abbess turned away, sighing. “I have already sent word to your father’s men that we are housing a wounded man. But that is all.” She looked back to Margrethe, as if she expected her to argue. “We have sworn to protect and care for the sick and the wounded. I do not want to break that vow, or make the cloisters a battleground for men who care for power more than they do for God.”
Margrethe nodded. “Good,” she said. “I would not like to feel responsible for an innocent man’s death.” She felt relief move through her, as well as astonishment, and admiration. Also a tinge of fear—what if the man was there to kill her? The