Birgitta the Nun

Book 1, Part 1 - Birgitta the Nun

There was a knock on the heavy doors of the monastery. Birgitta pretended not to hear. A second round of knocks made her jerk somewhat, still, she wouldn't let the noise bother her. There came a pause. Then, a third round of knocks let the doors have it. This time it persisted. It persisted till the knocking was a knocking no more, but a vicious banging.

She thew her hands up, heaving herself out of her comfortable chair. She considered answering doors anything but part of her duties, and a sour face met the stranger waiting outside.

"What do you want?" she greeted the visitor as she threw the doors open.

"Oh—dear nun, sister, abbess," a pleading voice said among the shadows. "I've come a long way."

All Birgitta could see through the dusk was an enormous hat and a long walking stick. She shot her head out, almost up in the traveller's face. "Well-well, what have we here? I can smell occultism."

"Dear nun," the traveller hastened, "what you have before you is a simple wizard, a companion in need of shelter."

Birgitta retrieved her head. "There's nothing simple about wizards." She took a step back, bringing the doors with her.

The wizard hurried out of the shadows. "I've been walking for days, and my legs are giving way. Can you find it in your heart to open your doors for me, a comrade in need?"

"A comrade you say—" Birgitta studied the visitor. "Are you one of those red figures, trying to stir trouble? Where's your banner—?"

"What? No. Wizards are none for politics. We don't have those distinctions. A comrade is a comrade, a companion, a friend."

"I'm a nun, I don't need friends."

The wizard waved her staff in the air. "Fine, I won't bother anyone, just please let me stay the night. Your simplest room will do."

"Just the one night, eh?" Birgitta let go of the doors.

"Well, maybe two or three—" The wizard said, diving for the unbarred entrance. She pushed her way inside, as if already feeling at home. "You won't notice me. I'll be stealthy as a cat."

Birgitta snatched at the door handle. Too late. The hat and the stick whisked inside the monastery.

"Stealthy as a what?" a small voice said, coming from below.

"What's that—come again?" The wizard looked around, but could see no one responsible for the question. She lifted her skirts and tip-toed away from the entrance. Careful, not to tread on anything foreign, she examined her path. Her trails revealed a cat, sitting in the middle of the floor. It stared at her.

"Stealthy as a what?" the curious feline repeated.

The question made the wizard spin round, at least two turns, with a fantastic whipping of her skirts. A couple of strides, and she crouched in front of the cat. "The cat has a voice— I can smell magic."

Birgitta shrugged. "It's just a talking cat—no magic."

"I don't believe it—are there more of them?"

"No. I'm special," the cat replied, pretty little voice, and began grooming herself.

Birgitta rolled her eyes.

The extraordinary animal now displayed to the wizard, happened to be a small but very brave little creature. Her fur was black and shiny, her eyes yellow and cunning, and her smooth tail extended an extra inch to give her excellent balance.

The wizard gaped and pointed to the cat, so as Birgitta wouldn't miss the wonder of it speaking. "In all my life, I haven't seen anything like it—or heard, that is. Could it be some new kind of spell—do you often receive magicians?" She circled the cat. "My-oh-my, it looks just like any ordinary cat. Though, it's extremely black of course, raven. Hmm, perhaps someone is trapped in there. A human—or a wicked nun?"

"She happens to be very intelligent, that's all—" Birgitta took the wizard by the arm and led her away from the hallway, bringing her back to the salon. She put a log on the fire and continued, "If you listen carefully, you can still hear the cat-dialect in her. She hasn't managed to fully polish it off, despite training with a speech therapist and other logopedic efforts."

"Humph." The wizard stroked her chin.

"However," Birgitta commenced, "I'm sure you're not here to discuss the feline activity of the monastery. Please, don't push focus away from your own high self." She took a close look at the wizard. She was not young, neither did she look it. Her tall and thin frame bent in a small arc at the top, heavy, gray hair falling in a mess around her shoulders. The rim of her pointy hat was torn, and the colors of her robe somewhat too bright. Yet, despite the colorful outfit, when she bowed, she looked like a beggar. Everything about her indicated some significant sum of heavy years. She looked uncomfortable, the cloistered surroundings clashing with her whole person. Even the staff - a long, modest-looking, wooden piece of cane - looked out of place among the stern, stone walls.

"So," the magician swung her gray hair, "where are your sisters?"

"I'm the only nun in the family."

"No—I meant, sisters. Where are your fellow nuns?"

Birgitta ignored the question. "I will have to leave you here for a while. Do feel at home without touching anything. I am going to consult my colleagues, regarding your staying or leaving."

"But— you can't kick a poor wizard out on the streets—it's getting dark."

"You'll be fine. And you—" Birgitta turned to the cat. "You'll leave this Madame alone. She's tired and won't understand your questions anyway."

"Meow," the cheeky little cat replied and whisked out of the salon.

Birgitta followed suit and alone in the salon remained the wizard. She shrugged, Not really sad to be rid of the uncomfortable company. And so, left to her own thinking, she jumped onto a sofa, taking on the heat of the generous fire.