Free Pagan Fire by Teri Barnett

shook her head, close to the now-familiar feeling of tears. What a mess she’d gotten herself into.
    Maere pushed herself back to a kneeling position and folded her hands in front of her. It was the Moon’s Day and she’d vowed to stay praying until some guidance was offered to her. She prayed long and hard, to anyone who might be able to free the pain from her soul. She prayed to Jesus and to Mary, to Saint Joseph and even to Saint Columba himself.
    “Tell me, dear Lord. Who shall I trust? Who can I turn to with the truth of what agonizes me?”
    “Anchoress?” An old man’s voice, as dry and without life as the dead leaves littering the abbey grounds, startled her.
    Maere jumped. She hadn’t expected an answer quite this quickly, but if it was the Lord’s will… “Yes? Who’s there?” She directed her voice toward the window.
    “It is Father John. I’ve come to hear your confession today.”
    Her heart filled with panic. Now faced with the possibility of revealing her innermost thoughts, she wasn’t certain she was brave enough to speak out. She took a deep breath. Oh, she was a coward for certain. “I would be most happy to wait if you’d like to see to the other anchorites first,” she offered sweetly. “After all, it’s not as if I’m going anywhere.”
    The priest chuckled. “You’re the last on my rounds, dear child. Come to the window that I might give you my blessing.” He cleared his throat. “Together, we’ll seek absolution for your sins.”
    For your sins. The words echoed in her brain. What would he think of her sins once he heard them? Would he be able to forgive her in the name of God? Slowly, she rose, her knees stiff, and approached the window. She straightened the brown wool tunic she wore as she walked. “I am here.”
    “May Almighty God bless you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,” Father John said.
    As he spoke, Maere made the sign of the cross, touching first her forehead, followed by the center of her chest, her left shoulder, then her right shoulder. She replied, “Amen,” as he finished, then added, “Forgive me my sins, oh Father, and grant me peace.”
    “Go on, child,” he said. “Tell me what troubles you.”
    “Should there be something troubling me?” Maere asked, her voice an octave higher than normal. Her eyes widened and she distractedly fumbled her hair into a braid.
    “Everyone has troubles. And everyone has sins, from a newborn babe to an old man,” he said, patiently. “Now, will you seek to confess your misdeeds before God?”
    Maere squeezed her hands against her stomach as it rolled and rumbled. How could she tell him what she’d done? How could she put it into words without dying of shame and embarrassment? “I don’t know where to start, Father.”
    “The beginning is always a good place.”
    “True,” she conceded with a slight smile. “If I only knew how all this began, I’d be happy to divulge it to you. As it is, all I know is that almost every night I’m visited by a man.”
    “A man?! A man comes to the anchorage?” the priest all but bellowed.
    “No. No, Father. It’s not like that at all. I see him in my dreams,” she explained quickly.
    “Hmmm. In your dreams, you say,” Father John repeated, his voice growing calm again. “What does he do there?”
    “He mostly watches from a distance, but the disturbing thing is: I know he’s coming for me. And I know he’ll be here soon.” Tears filled her eyes. “What should I do?”
    “How can you know this, that a man is on his way here?” Father John’s dry voice took on a demanding urgency. “Have you been casting the stones? Are you practicing magic?”
    For the second time in as many days, someone had asked her if she was performing magic. How had her life turned so completely upside down? She sighed. “It’s not magic that tells me he’s coming. It’s my gut. I feel it right there, like a cold lump of iron.” In her mind’s eye, Maere