Harndall closed his eyes briefly, fighting a wave of exhaustion. It had been a long day. He had been awoken that morning with the news of Mella’s disappearance and had spent the majority of the day frantically searching for her with the other men. They had finally found her in a corner of the ruined church, soaked through from the night’s rain. He had tried to ask her what had happened, but of course she had not spoken, her reply nonsense mumbled from between chattering teeth.

He could not help but feel a paternal duty to the young woman, who seemed to trust him so completely. She would not let any of the other men help her and it had been him that had wrapped her in his cloak and held her arm as they walked home. It concerned him greatly that as the days went by she was becoming more unreachable, as though she was sitting in a boat that was slowly but surely being carried out to sea. He was only a small figure, waving on the shoreline trying desperately to get her attention.

He heard the door of the ship’s chapel click open and turned to see who was coming to pray at this late hour. He was startled to see it was the Countess, as he had assumed she was still ill. In the candlelight her beautiful pale face was made a mockery by the dark bruises covering it. He had to fight a wave of passionate anger that surged up in him that a man could destroy a creature such as this. It troubled him greatly to feel such things and he quickly surpressed them.

“I am not disturbing you am I Father”, she asked tentatively, her soft spoken voice wavering slightly.

“Of course not my child, this is the Lord’s own place, despite it’s rough appearance and he welcomes all to it”, he reassured her gently, “In fact it would be nice to have a companion in prayer on such a disturbed night as this”.

He spoke of the storm that was now raging outside, the wind howling as thunder rumbled through the thick air. The ship was rocking wildly, fighting to be free from the confines of the ropes that held it fast.

Harndall could not help but notice his palms growing clammy as he looked at her, and his heart pounding nervously in his chest. What was it about her that made him feel so disquieted. Perhaps it was the knowledge of the terrible things that had been done to her, that meant he did not know quite how to approach her. How could he convince her that God still loved her. It was callousness to say that it was part of his plan even though he knew it to be the truth. He could not presume to understand why.

“May… may I sit with you a while Father”, he was surprised by the trembling in her voice. He did not know why but he had always seen her as a strong woman, no matter what people may have said.

“Of course you may, and you needn’t ask… this is a place for all and there is plenty of room on this pew that is not taken up by my wide expanse”.

He had hoped she might laugh at this small joke, usually he found that his sense of humour helped people in their time of need. She only sat however and looked straight ahead at the offering candles burning before her, her face a shade of gold in their light, marred by the creeping expanses of black.

Harndall instinctively knew when one of his parish needed to talk. There was a sort of need that radiated from some people, and he could sense it as easily as he could see himself in the mirror each morning. Valeriya needed desperately to confide in someone, it was up to him to show her that she could.

“My child”, he began, “I can see that something is troubling you. You know that you can share it with me without it being repeated. Only God and I are listening”.

“God”, she laughed harshly, a surprisingly grating sound in the soft darkness of the chapel, “Sometimes I wonder if he is even there at all”.

Harndall could not help but be shocked by this statement, but he understood that it was his duty to guide her gently back into the loving arms of their God. For the first time since he was ordained he did not know how.

He was disturbed to find that not only where his palms sweating, but they were now trembling so uncontrollably, he was finding it hard to hide from the Countess.

“He is there”, Harndall said so softly he was almost whispering, his face reverently turned upwards “Can you not feel him all around you in this place”.

Valeriya tilted her chin upwards, the change of light on her face making the dark shadows even more pronounced.

“Then why has he abandoned me”, she choked back a sob, closing her eyes as though greatly weary.

“I do not deserve his love after what I have done anyway”, a shudder passed through her body, and she sighed deeply.

“Confess to me your Ladyship”, suddenly it was easier to say the words.

“It is my fault that my child died… I did not want Radomir to have a child from me and so I provoked him and now it is gone”.

Her whole body trembled with the effort to fortify the barricade that held her emotions in and kept them hidden from prying eyes. But it was not enough and suddenly the wall was shattered like a broken mirror and the tears came pouring out of her in great gasping sobs.

“I did not want that baby”, she choked out as she weeped uncontrollably, ” I thought I did not. But I was wrong. And now it is gone and it is my fault. I did not protect it… I hated it so passionately… but it was mine too and now it is too late and I have lost it forever”.

She brought her hands feebly to her face in an attempt to stem the tears, but nothing could stop the tide now that it was relentlessly washing over her.

“Today is the day I was born, twenty years ago… but my baby will never be born, never know its evil mother who did not want it so much that she made its father kill it”. Her teeth were chattering as the tears poured down her face, magnifying the cuts on her lips, pooling in the dark circles surrounding her eyes.

Harndall did not know what to say, nor what to do. Without thinking his arm was around her shaking shoulders, as he mumbled careless words of comfort in her ear. He did not think this woman was evil, only worn down and finally broken by the repeated beatings of a man who did not deserve her.

He heard the door click open behind him and hurriedly removed his arm from its gentle resting place on the Countess’ shoulders, standing up in almost the same movement.

He could feel a harsh gaze boring into the back of his head before he had turned around.

He walked quickly to the door to greet Steen who was staring at the forlorn figure of the Countess.

“Goodman Cade”, he said in a tightly controlled voice. It had not been what it had looked like after all, “Is there something I can do for you on this treacherous night”.

He immediately regretted his choice of words, but did not quite know why. Steen did not appear to notice though and seemed inordinately distracted.

“Yes father… you’ll be needed at once… they are saying Sir Arwaduhn is nigh death and will not last this dark night and he is being in dire need of a priest”.

“Of course… that is terrible news. I will come at once”.

He hurried out of the room, the pale figure sitting in the pew at the front of the room not forgotten. He tried to clear his clouded mind. He had matter of great importance to attend to just now.

Cade, Moraghdu, The Church