So polite, the little girl.
“I’m here,” I say, forcing bravery. “I’ll do—I’ll fix whatever it is.” My voice sounds weak, brittle, little-girlish. “I’ve been trying, I really have. We’ve been reading so much, and?—”
“Silence,” he says. “Pourquoi parle-t-elle toujours?”
He isn’t talking to me. He’s talkingpastme. Maybe he doesn’t think I speak French. Maybe he just doesn’t care.
What are you going to do with me?I think.
I close my mouth, a hysterical sound catching in the back of my throat—a wail, a shriek. I dart more glances around the room. At the windows—tall, heavy, might not even open. The door—locked, and with a button, I realize, from the desk. And it doesn’t matter anyway. I couldn’t possibly fight all of them off—I couldn’t fightoneof them off.
And I don’t know what they’re doing. I don’t know what theywant.If they’re like the monks at St. Ignaty’s, then…then they’ll kill me. Some ritual, prayers, and then, what? A sword? A noose? Burned at the stake?
I don’t want to die, Idon’twant to die. And yet…
Yet I don’t feel that from them. Not exactly.
"Neuf cents ans." The prior turns, addressing the white wall behind me, his voice taking on the cadence of ritual. A sermon.
"Neuf cents ans,” he repeats. Nine hundred years. “Nous sommes des nains juchés sur les épaules de géants. Foulons le chemin de nos frères avant nous.”
My mind snags on the number. Nine hundred years. Twelfth century. Chrétien de Troyes, the Grail romances were first written. Chivalric tradition.
What happened then?I demand.Think, Gwenna. Think.
“Car qu'advint-il alors?”The prior goes on.For what happened then?His speech is formal, stately, yet rapid, and Ican barely keep up.“L’homme croyait savoir. Croyait connaître Dieu; croyait en savoir plus que Dieu. Croyait n'avoir point besoin de Dieu pour se connaître.”
For what happened then? Man thought he knew. Thought he knew God; thought he knew more than God. Thought he did not need God to know himself.
“Ne trouvait nul contentement dans la perfection et le bon ordre des choses, la hiérarchie voulue par Dieu.”
Found no contentment in perfection and the proper order of things, the hierarchy God intends.
“L’homme ne cherchait qu'à changer, à tournoyer, à dire une chose et plus tard en faire une autre. À tromper, tout en nommant cela croissance.”
Only ever sought to change, to cycle, to say one thing and later do another. Todeceive,and yet to call it growth.
The prior pauses. “Eh bien, non l’homme. La femme.”
No, not man. Woman.
More murmurs. Shuffling. The prior-at-arms takes a step towards me, and instinctively take a step back—into solid, unyielding white.
I have nowhere to go.
No. Focus.Focus.What are they going to do?
“Qu'advint-il d'abord?” he continues. What happened first? “Nous entendîmes nos petits amis ailés s'alanguir dans leurs ruches.”
I can barely keep up. We heard our little…winged friends? languish in their hives.
The bees. I shudder.
“Nous vîmes Dieu se retirer de sa terre, comme aux jours de Noé et de Lot. Nous sûmes que le fils s'élevait contre le père.”
Witnessed God withdraw from His earth like in the days of Noah and Lot, knew the son rose up against the father…
“Le bon ordre des choses—ruiné. Et tout à cause d’elle.”
