The Island House by Posie Graeme-evans Read Free Book Online Page A

also.”
    Cuillin caught Gunnhilde’s glance over the child’s head. “Praise be, Sister, for this at least.” They’d both seen what happened to most of the Abbey’s novice nuns.
    Signy felt something wet drop on the back of her neck. Tears. She clung on more tightly.
    They were close to the Abbey when Gunnhilde stopped. Slowly she absorbed the extent of the blasphemy and the horror. She crossed herself, as did Cuillin. “The end of the world. You were right, Brother—you told us the traveling star was a warning.”
    Cuillin’s anguish was very great. “Why would God punish His servants in this way, Sister?”
    Gunnhilde hitched Signy higher on her hip. She was exhausted, but there was far, far too much to do to acknowledge weakness. “Perhaps, in His mercy, God will tell us. Then we can make reparation for our sins.” The nun walked toward the ruined buildings carrying the child as if she’d been a mother all her life.
    Brother Cuillin caught up. “I forgot to say, there’s another one. A heathen boy—he came with the raiders, I think. He looks like them, rather than her.” He eyed the filthy child dispassionately. Black hair, black eyes, brown skin. The boy was blond, a superior type compared to the tiny native people. “I think he is dying, however. Perhaps we should put him out of his pain; it might be a kindness.”
    Gunnhilde stopped. She faced Cuillin, eyes snapping. “If God has given us these children, it is for a purpose, Brother. They will be treated as Christ. It is our privilege to receive them and to bring them to Him.” She clutched Signy tightly and cradled the child’s head to her chest, muttering, “The idea. The very idea!”
    Signy did not know or care what the adults were fighting about; all she knew was that the old lady would protect her. That was enough.
     

    It was many days before Gunnhilde was sure the boy would live.
    He’d been caught in the Abbey as it burned. One of the roof beams had fallen, breaking both his legs, and he’d been trapped beneath it. Someone must have seen what happened, for the burning timber had been pulled away and the boy dragged outside. Dumped behind a pile of rubble, he’d lain unconscious for all that night and the day afterward until found by Cuillin. By that time, shock from burns and blood loss was compounded by infection.
    Now the boy was lying on a heap of straw under the one piece of roof still left on the nuns’ dormitory. Flushed and moaning, barely conscious, his eyes glittered beneath bruised lids. Signy, edging closer, recoiled from the stench of his wounds and the sight of his damaged face. Nausea made her forget hunger.
    “You must help me, girl. We have little time if he is to be saved.”
    With sign language, Gunnhilde showed the Pagan girl how to drip water into the boy’s mouth from an unbroken beaker. Then she hurried away to find medicinal plants in what was left of the Infirmarian’s garden. First she must make poultices for his burns and then consider what to do about his other injuries.
    Clutching the beaker, Signy sat back. She tried not to look at the boy, since flies covered his face in a black, heaving mass. When he attempted to move his head, they rose in a fizzing swarm and then settled back. In weakness and pain, the boy called out, “Grimor!” as slow tears bled from closed eyes.
    Signy dropped her head to her knees, dizzy and weak. I will not vomit!
    “Grimor. Grimor!” The boy was increasingly agitated.
    Signy leaned forward. Perhaps he was calling to his Gods. She tried to coax the boy to drink, and he did not have the strength to push her hand away. His eyes opened wide and blank, and the two children stared at each other until his gaze clouded. He muttered something and sighed.
    “Water.” Signy knew he could not understand, but he frowned as if he had. He did not want her help. Did she care? If he really was a raider, he deserved to die in as much agony as Laenna had; she should be glad that he