Dragon Queen
Posted by Editor Alexandra Wolfe | Filed under Fiction
THE NIGHT HOURS WERE the hardest for Sister Catherine. She sat in a wooden chair near the front door, now locked and barred. It was only last month when the Prioress called her into the den and assigned her the task of the night watch. Sister Catherine knew this meant she was trusted. It meant she had finally moved into the senior ranks, despite being only twenty, the youngest of all the matrons. If she did her duty without infraction the inner mysteries of the convent would be shared with her. Most especially, she wished to see the corpse of Saint Peter, a Russian monk who died in 1206. The same year she’d arrived, and was said to have seen the Christ. It was lucky to look upon him, she was told. Rumors abounded that the convent was still in operation by selling off his sacred fingers, one by one; a truth Sister Catherine hoped to learn first hand.
Just after midnight, Sister Catherine began a thorough walkthrough of the stone corridors. She usually started in the west wing, by the chapel, and then took the spiral steps to the outlook, an open terrace that offered a view of the Okhotsk Sea. And on a clear day one or two of the fifty-six islands known as the Kurils. From there she went into the dorms, and then back down again towards the wash rooms, the bath, the kitchen, the prayers rooms, the enclosed gardens, the tool sheds, ending at the shrine of Our Lady of Grace, before returning to her post at the front gate.
She was to look for any misdeeds. She had a list of offenses to use as a guide that ranged from the Lesser Ills, like remaining awake or eating in one’s room, to the Greater Ills, which usually came with sever punishment. Passion and desire topped the Great Ill list. Passion and desire were the Devil’s tools to bring a nun to Hell
Sister Catherine needed to be vigilant with both ears and eyes, if she was to find someone committing an Ill. It usually occurred in the dorms, her least favorite area during the walkthrough. If she’d found a man smuggled into a nun’s bed, or if she heard the suppressed excitement of two nuns fornicating she’d have to report it. Sister Catherine had seen other sisters report it, and while the Prioress was pleased to have someone stamping out the Ills, the rest of the convent saw it as a betrayal. If this were to happen, Sister Catherine knew she’d come to know an even deeper isolation, and wondered if she could bear it.
She started the first leg of the dorms and found little movement. Sister Catherine had been instructed to lay an ear upon each door, all the way down the hall. Each door was closed, but unlocked. Locking or barricading one’s door was forbidden, and it was in her jurisdiction to test the door and enter any room, should she suspect wrongdoing.
During these times, Sister Catherine tried to think about the women inside the rooms, to find a redeeming quality, rather than a premeditated judgment. She considered moments from earlier that day when she saw them at work or singing, or even laughing. More often, her mind went to something askew, a secret meeting of two nuns she might’ve witnessed, now that her skill of observation had sharpened. It was at those rooms that she lingered longer, listened harder, and returned to, out of turn, to ensure unpredictability.
Through the second wing she found one sister humming in the dark. She quietly entered the room and helped the nun to bed, reiterating the rule of sleep and adherence of structure. Further along, she observed light from underneath a door. Inside she found a sister knitting by candlelight. Once again, Sister Catherine helped the nun to bed, reminding her that besides weakening her eyesight, she was disobeying the rules. She extinguished the candle, and left it, though she was in her rights to confiscate it.
Pleased she had almost reached the end without incident, Sister Catherine checked the last three doors. On the last door, her stomach tightened. Had she heard whispers? Whispers held the implication of two sisters together in the room. She placed her hand on the doorknob and waited. She was still. Several minutes passed. And then it began, the muffled, restrained sounds of passion.
Sister Catherine cupped a hand to her mouth, dismayed, and backed away. What should she do? She needed to be sure. What if she made an accusation and she was wrong. She put her ear to the door and listened again. She heard rapid breathing and stifled groans. Two distinct voices. The room belonged to Sister Lybianka, a Russian girl of fifteen, who had not completed her first year at the convent. But who was she with? Who had she coerced with her serpent tongue and young ways?
A flurry of decisions passed through Sister Catherine’s crowded mind. She didn’t want to enter the room. She didn’t want to see what they were doing, to confirm or disconfirm, to rebuke or consent. But she was bound by duty. The Prioress told her she might be tempted or weakened, maybe even persuaded to turn the other way. To allow the beast to live among us is to seal a pact, one damning your soul to an eternal fire. The Prioress’s message turned in her head, striking like the chapel bell, louder and louder, until it finally gave her the courage to open the door.
As the handle turned in her hand, her senses became aware of a deeper noise elsewhere. Distantly, she could hear knocking. She identified the sharp, repetitive sound as the iron doorknocker on the main gate. But who was knocking at this hour?
The nun’s voices stilled inside the room, as the door squealed ajar. Sister Catherine stepped to the side, concealing the light, and avoided looking in altogether. The knocking continued. She was responsible for standing watch at the gate. If she was found absent, it could be perceived that she was shirking her duties. She couldn’t risk waking the nuns with the incessant banging. Her action was clear; she dashed down the stairs, stopping only for a moment as she heard the two nuns whispering, their footsteps in the hall and then the hollow sound of two separate doors closing. They had escaped punishment for now, Sister Catherine thought. She could always report her suspicions, though even an accusation of this degree would result in severe punishment. The last two nuns partaking in passion, Sister Catherine remembered, were publicly whipped. Later they both hanged themselves on separate occasions.
Her attention returned to the front gate. The knocking had stopped when she arrived. No one else was present. No one had awoken. She calmed her breath, pleased nothing would come of her neglect. She sat in the chair and opened her prayer book. Her eyes trailed over the words, but her mind was elsewhere, circling on her dilemma to report the two nuns or not. She tried to push the episode out of her mind completely, focusing harder on the words, when she heard scratching coming from the other side of the door.
The main gate was a thick, wooden door, one Sister Catherine remembered reading about in the convent histories, as it was inherited from a Zen Buddhist monastery that had been destroyed in 1180 by Russian marauders. She often tried to identify the Japanese caricatures etched into the wood, while she sat there waiting for morning to arrive.
The scratching noise warranted a look. There were precautions to take when opening the front gate at night. She was supposed to first ring a second nun, so in the event of an attack, she could go for help, or awaken the others. Sister Catherine had trouble remembering the other rules, and was only too happy to have a distraction. She was hoping it was a kitten, something she longed for since she was a child living in a peasant village in Russia. A kitten, though forbidden, would drive out her loneliness.
After releasing the several locks, she slid the gate open. To her surprise, at first, nothing was there. She brought the candle light nearer. Lying idle on the ground was a bloodied hand. The hand was small, frail. Sister Catherine stepped outside to have a better look. Hunched against the wall, like a sack of dirty robes, was a Japanese woman, whose hair was black like pitch, and quite opposite her own flaxen hair, she thought. The woman’s face was covered in bruises and blood, some dried and clinging to her raw scalp. Elsewhere her body looked as if it had been clawed. Bloody gashes, her torn robe, her muddied feet, Sister Catherine tried to take it all in.
“Help me, please.” The woman spoke in patois to Sister Catherine, a mixture of Russian-Japanese. With much effort and strain, Sister Catherine managed to drag the woman’s body inside, leaving a trail of blood behind. She wasn’t sure what to do first, but knew she needed to lock the gate. There was blood everywhere. It was not uncommon for local women to take refuge at the convent, but in all her ten years, she’d never seen someone so brutally attacked. Was there a penalty for taking in someone in her condition? She didn’t have time to find out. The woman cried out for her in agony, and as if a string had pulled her, she dropped to her knees and gripped the outstretched hand, assuring the woman she would help.
Sister Catherine remembered the knife in the drawer by the side of the gate, used sometimes to cut the string on delivered packages. She took it and began cutting strands from her undergarment and tied off the woman’s most heinous gashes to stop the flow of blood.
The cool air from outside, kept her from boiling over in fear. Sister Catherine wiped the sweat from her brow after dashing to get a bucket of water from the well in the garden. It took several to clear away the puddle of blood beside the gate, and even more to remove the stains from the stonewall. She quickly used her already bloodied garments to clean the floor, frantically scrubbing. When she thought she had cleaned away all evidence of red, she emptied the befouled water outside and locked the door.
The woman was still lying on the floor, quietly. At first, Sister Catherine thought she had died, having taken so long to clean, but the woman’s chest moved slightly. Her one good eye, a blue one, opened to her.
From one of the guest bedrooms, Sister Catherine took a wool blanket and rolled the woman on top of it. She cleaned the last of the red streaks from the floor, and then pulled her, blanket and all, toward the baths.
In her mind she calculated how long it would take to draw hot water, how long to bathe and tend to her cuts. Would a doctor be needed? A doctor meant someone from the outside, one who would have allegiances elsewhere and could easily, for a handsome fee, turn the woman back to her oppressor. It had happened before. In Sister Catherine’s second year, a woman betrothed to a wealthy man ran away after being beaten, took refuge at the convent, only to be returned to her husband-to-be and was put to death. No, she thought, a doctor will be a last resort. She had taken care of the convent goat when it got tangled in the jagged, iron fence. The Prioress ordered the animal to be put down, but Sister Catherine convinced her it was more valuable to them alive. She had sewed the belly up, the only one brave enough for the task.
Kneeling on the floor she began to sew the woman’s gashes, while waiting for the water to boil to draw a bath. When she thought it caused the woman too much agony, Sister Catherine fetched the sacred wine from the chapel forcing the woman to drink, in order to dull the pain. She worked quickly, accidentally pricking her own fingers from time to time.
When the woman no longer bled, Sister Catherine stripped the woman’s clothes, burning them in the fire that heated the water. And lifted her, with much effort, into the wooden tub. She couldn’t help but notice the red dragon tattoo on the woman’s back. Tattoos were considered a desecration of the flesh. Sister Catherine would need to keep it hidden from the sight of the Prioress.
Each time Sister Catherine filled the tub with water, it turned red and unclean, forcing her to start over. She thought her efforts futile and nearly quit several times, but she knew if she called the Prioress before she made the woman more ‘sightly’ there was a risk she would be turned out. Sister Catherine understood there were all sorts of reasons to cast a woman out. Trouble was the key factor. If someone wanted her bad enough, the convent walls wouldn’t stop them. And if the law was against her, there was even less to keep her protected.
The first tendrils of light bled in through the window. Sister Catherine was soaked and soiled. She was fatigued, but knew there was more work to do. With haste she pulled the woman from the tub, dried and dressed her. She sat her upright in a chair by the fire while she discarded her own clothes, and cleared all evidence of the night. One drop of blood left behind would tell all, she thought, as she went over the floor and tub a second and third time.
The woman was still very weak, but Sister Catherine begged her to walk. Slowly, she carried her to one of the guest beds, tucked her in, just as the morning bells were ringing. She did it. She had managed to finish without anyone being the wiser to the woman’s original condition.
As the sun poured through the window, footsteps were heard in the hall, along with hushed voices. Sister Catherine glanced at her appearance once more. She would have to account for the missing robes, pay for them even, but there were more pressing issues at hand. She still needed to tell the Prioress the woman was here. What then?
She sat on the stool beside the bed. Her body felt numb, tired. She closed her eyes, knowing she could drift off to sleep so easily. A gentle touch upon her skin jarred her. She looked down to see the woman’s one blue eye glancing up at her.
“You don’t need to pray for me,” the woman whispered. “I will live, as will my baby. You have assured this.”
Sister Catherine glanced to the slight bump, the pregnant pouch, she’d overlooked during bathing. Two lives were at stake, she thought. In the hall, someone called for her, most likely the nun on day watch.
“Sleep,” she comforted, pulling up the blanket. “I will be back shortly.”
The Prioress expected a full report of the night’s event each morning in the garden where she took her tea. Sister Catherine found her resting on a bench, sorting flowers into a bouquet, one she would dry and would later set out near the shrine. Sister Catherine bowed but remained kneeling until the Prioress released her and bid her to sit with her on the bench, and asked for her report.
“There is little to tell.” Sister Catherine blushed slightly, knowing she was withholding the truth. She tried to look away, but the Prioress caught sight of her face and questioned her further. She mustered, “A woman has taken refuge in the convent.”
“What woman?” The Prioress didn’t stop her work.
“A Japanese woman. I’m not sure if she is from the islands or the mainland. I only know she’s hurt and needs our help.”
“I will decide who we will help and who we won’t.”
Sister Catherine bowed her head. She had made a mistake and needed to correct it. She had learned from her predecessor that there was a particular way to address the Prioress. Always, she had to be made to feel she was in control.
The Prioress continued. “Another mouth to feed could be a burden with the end of summer so near, the crops being stunted as they are.”
Sister Catherine knew that once the Prioress made a decision, it was final. She needed to distract her, to keep her from sending the woman away. For Sister Catherine, it was as much their duty to serve the Almighty, as it was to serve others. The woman, in Sister Catherine’s eyes, was an opportunity to do the Christ’s work.
“The night held an indiscretion, Prioress.” Sister Catharine blushed further, her head dizzy with fatigued. She wondered herself where she was going with this.
“Oh, more pressing than a refugee?”
“The woman will surely recover and move on, permitted your gracious acceptance that she remain among us.” Sister Catherine hardly stopped for air. “But this other matter may not go away, unless it’s brought to the attention of someone with your caliber of correction, your heavenly wisdom.”
“Out with it, Sister Catherine,” said the Prioress. “I warned you about protecting your sisters. It was in the Christ’s singularity that the Almighty delivered him from the heathen.”
“I cannot say that I’m qualified to make this judgment, and since I saw nothing, I will leave it for you to interpret.” Sister Catherine proceeded to make mention of her suspicions of Sister Lybianka acting on desire, and thereby partaking in the Greatest Ill. The Prioress questioned Sister Catherine about specifics, for which she denied knowing anything more than she’d already related.
“I’ve suspected her for some time,” said the Prioress. “I suspected her of colluding with your predecessor. My suspicions were correct about you.” She smiled. “I knew you would do your duty.”
Sister Catherine stood with the Prioress; her head bowed reverently.
“You have done well. I’m very pleased.”
Sister Catherine stiffened when the Prioress placed a finger under her chin, and lifted her face upward. The Prioress had a way of making the nuns believe she could she into their soul, to see if they were lying. The long gaze was just that, a perusal of Sister Catherine’s soul. She assumed the Prioress found nothing, as she let her chin drop and began to depart.
“About the woman,” Sister Catherine spoke up.
“Yes,” the Prioress paused in her step, picking at a dead leaf in her bouquet. “She may stay. She will be your responsibility. Make sure she obeys our laws. If she strays, you will bear the brunt. Don’t let her be an excuse for your failure, not after you have proved yourself so well today.”
“Yes, Prioress.”
The morning meal was quieter than usual, especially when Sister Lybianka and Sister Elizabeth were escorted to the den of the Prioress. Whispers spread with assumptions as to the offense; something Sister Catherine learned was common knowledge. Soon all eyes fell upon her, the last one on night watch. ‘It could’ve only been her’, she overheard a nun talking. The conversation at her table stopped, and one by one the nuns picked up their dishes and left her. Outcast. It happened faster than she had imagined. She tried to make herself feel better by rationalizing her isolation was worth the life of the Japanese woman, or so she hoped.
In her room, Sister Catherine crawled under the blankets and fell fast into sleep. Her mind swirled with images of the night, of the woman and the dragon tattoo. It wasn’t long when her door was flung open and a nun yelled, “Get up, get up now, and come to the courtyard.”
Sister Catherine had no intentions of going. She could tell by the shadow on her wall that only a few hours had passed. She was still tired, and hid her head. But two nuns pulled her from the bed, roughly, dropping her to the floor, demanding that she come to the courtyard. When Sister Catherine still refused, they dragged her.
A crowd gathered at the edge of the garden where both Sister Lybianka and Sister Elizabeth were tied to the chastisement pole, a place reserved for the most sever punishments. Sister Catherine had missed the decree and statement delivered by the Prioress, arriving in time to see their cloaks stripped off their backs. A tall nun, with the build of a man, held the whip. Her face, like an executioner, was masked. Sister Lybianka was whipped eight times before passing out, and Sister Elizabeth twelve. Each time the whip struck their flesh, Sister Catherine grew faint. She had caused this day upon them.
When it was over, she silently disappeared into the convent, crying. She had nowhere to hide where she wouldn’t be found. Each corridor held an angry nun’s rebuke. Finally, she took refuge with the woman in the guest room. She wished she could’ve locked the door, but there was no lock, nor anything to barricade the door.
She fell asleep on the stool and awoke to the woman’s touch against her hand. The woman asked for water, which she fetched promptly. Night had rolled around again and soon she would need to take up her post outside. She busied herself with bringing the woman a meal. Afterwards, she read to her from her prayer book, until she sensed the woman was fast asleep. Before leaving, Sister Catherine checked her wounds and was pleased to find they were healing properly.
The next couple days were the same for Sister Catherine. No one spoke to her but the Prioress. To the nuns of the convent, she was as good as dead. The Prioress told her not to give into the desire for acceptance. For Sister Catherine, she longed to find a way back to the way her life was before, undisturbed, predictable. Upon finding no secret path back, she made her way toward the new.
Each night, in the quietude and dark, Sister Catherine made her usual rounds through the convent. Alone and neglected, she soon sought the company of the woman whom she learned was named Taira. Beside her bed, Sister Catherine brought her back to health with nourishment, both of the stomach and of the mind. She relished reading to Taira and looked forward to the questions she would ask afterwards. Every night before leaving, Taira would take Sister Catherine’s hand and place it on her belly. “How much has she grown today?” Taira would ask.
“She has grown much,” Sister Catherine would answer.
On the eighth day after Taira’s arrival, Sister Catherine was called to the den of the Prioress after her morning rest. The Prioress was writing in her ledger, which she put aside giving her full attention to Sister Catherine.
“A reliable source has told me you’re spending all of your time with our Japanese visitor.”
Sister Catherine rose from her chair ready to deliver a rebuttal, but the Prioress stopped her with a raised hand.
“I know that it was only brought to me because there’s still opposition to your perceived disloyalty toward your fellow sisters. Still, your actions could be misconstrued. We need to ensure that a special friendship isn’t manifesting. I’ve decided Sister Elizabeth will share the duty of care giving with you. The two of your may begin incorporating her into our daily activities, if she is able. She is able?”
The question took Sister Catherine off guard. “Yes, she is healing well.”
“Who is she, then? Where is she from, and why did she come here seeking refuge?”
“Refuge was my word, Prioress.” Sister Catherine bowed her head. “I’m not sure of the answers to your questions.”
“Then find out.” The Prioress had more to say, but hesitated in sharing it with Sister Catherine. “The story I’m told is that she’s an escaped prisoner from a merchant vessel bound for Japan. If this is true, someone will come—pirates, Sister Catherine. And when that happens, I won’t hesitate to turn her over to keep the convent from ruin.”
“Of course, Prioress. I will get the facts at once.” Sister Catherine was excused from the den, without further debate regarding Sister Elizabeth’s shared duties. Wasn’t she providing adequate care on her own? Taira’s wounds were drying up, nothing had greened, and her appetite was blossoming. I’ll need to be wary of Sister Elizabeth, she thought. She’ll be quick to revenge, for what I’ve done to her.
Already Sister Catherine found Sister Elizabeth taking Taira to the baths. Sister Elizabeth was older by a few years, she guessed, but had only been at the convent half the time. Together, they helped Taira undress and get into the tub. Sister Catherine watched Sister Elizabeth’s eyes drop to the red dragon tattoo; then their eyes locked. She assumed what Sister Elizabeth was thinking, ‘here is one of the Great Ills, but you have not reported it’. Sister Elizabeth excused herself, leaving Taira and Sister Catherine alone.
“She does not approve of my dragon?” spoke Taira, whimsically. “It’s not my fault it’s there. I was born with it.”
“Born with it?” Sister Catherine questioned. “What does it mean?”
“It means ‘born of the dragon’.”
“I don’t understand.” Sister Catherine soaped a cloth and washed her back. “Explain to me.”
“Your people don’t know of my peoples legends?” Taira shook her head. “Too bad.”
“Tell me. Teach me.” Sister Catherine prodded. She was pleased to have a distraction, as her hands shook with worry. She believed any moment the Prioress would come and rebuke her for not reporting the tattoo.
“My people are descendants of the Great Dragon Queen,” Taira began. “She was the first and last of her kind. A red menace, powerful, brave. She was not human. Not like you’re thinking. No, she was the first. She was dragon. She breathed fire. She saw future and past. She ruled with balance. To each of her descendants she gave a gift. To the first daughter she granted the gift of sight, to the second the gift of armored skin, to the third the gift of flight, to the fourth the gift of fire. I’m the fourth daughter of the Dragon Queen.”
Sister Catherine wanted her to continue. Taira turned to her, taking hold of her wrist, gripping tightly. “To each of her daughters the Great Dragon Queen sent three acolytes to ensure her safety. To each were given a lover, a protector, and a midwife.” Taira pulled Sister Catherine closer to her, gazing at her, much like the Prioress did when she tried to see into her soul. “I have been wondering this whole time which one you are, the lover, the protector, or the midwife.”
Sister Catherine felt Taira’s grip slacken. “Perhaps I’m none of them.”
“No, there is a bond between us.” Taira waited. “I know you can feel it. It’s what gave you the strength to do all that you have for me.”
Sister Catherine had dropped the cloth rag and waited, as Taira fished it from the hot water. “If you’re here long enough,” Sister Catherine began, “surely I may help deliver your baby, but I’m no midwife.”
“I have a midwife waiting for me on the mainland,” said Taira. “She prepares a home for me and my baby, and will deliver the next heir as her mother had done before her.”
Sister Catherine waited, believing for a moment she heard footsteps in the hallway approaching. Nervous, without thinking, she continued to play along. “Surely, then I’m your protector, since through the grace of the Christ, I’ve interceded to keep you from being cast out of the convent.” Though for how long, she wondered.
“Yes, yes,” began Taira, “I’ve considered this. But I have a samurai that watches over me. He was the one who rescued me from the ship bound for my homeland. A death ship that would’ve delivered me back to the brother of my deceased husband, a warlord bent on enslaving the Dragon Queen.”
Sister Catherine turned away, blushing. “Your husband, was he not your lover?” Sister Catherine offered Taira a towel and helped her dress.
“My husband forced himself upon me, then sold me. For this, I gave him fire. I burned him alive, and destroyed his kingdom. Now his brother seeks revenge. But he’ll not have it. Not now. I’m stronger than ever.” Taira cupped Sister Catherine’s face in her hand causing Sister Catherine to stand still. “Finally, I have before me what I have longed the most for. Come with me. When the moon is full my samurai will return for me. Say you will come with me.”
The door swung open, unexpectedly. Sister Catherine was certain it was going to be the Prioress, but instead it was Sister Elizabeth returning. Instinctively, Sister Catherine stepped away from Taira believing their closeness would be misconstrued or even exaggerated by the right person, to the Prioress. Sister Elizabeth placed a jar of brown cream in front of her, indicating that it would suffice in covering up Taira’s tattoo. Before Sister Catherine could thank her, she had left.
Several days of rain brought a gloomy atmosphere to the convent, along with a wagon of Japanese pirates seeking a woman bearing a dragon tattoo. Sister Catherine was in her room praying for her soul to be upright in the eyes of the Almighty and, although she believed her Savior knew all, she kept secret her new feelings for Taira, ones she couldn’t quite articulate. In fact, she resolved that until she admitted them, she was not in any danger. Her last thought was interrupted by Sister Lybianka who barged in unannounced, and handed over a handwritten note.
Without hesitation, Sister Catherine dashed from the room and made her way to the kitchen, as the note requested. There she found Sister Elizabeth waiting for her.
“I overheard the Prioress speaking to the pirates.” Sister Elizabeth’s voice quavered. “They’re looking for Taira.”
“I must go to her.”
“No.” She stopped Sister Catherine. “I thought it best to send her away. She’s not far. That’s why I called for you here. Her walk is still impeded. She’ll not get too far.” Sister Elizabeth led Sister Catherine through the pantry and unlocked a secret door. “Follow the stone path to the crypt. Beyond that a door will lead you outside to a small lake. Stay away until the pirates are gone.”
Before Sister Catherine could thank her, Sister Elizabeth closed the door behind her. With a lit candle, she followed the cobbled path. She sensed the incline, imagining she was far beneath the convent. She entered a dusky alcove with an open casket. To her surprise, she stood over the decomposed body of St. Peter. His face was cavernous and his regal clothes were dusty and aged. Carefully, she cast the light over his hands. Eight fingers were missing.
“Sister Catherine,” a voice called for her. Turning, she found an open door. The gray sky blinded her momentarily. Beside a tranquil lake, Taira waited for her. Sister Catherine embraced Taira, pleased to see her safe.
“They’ve come for me,” began Taira. “I fear my time has run out. I cannot hide here much longer without causing harm to you or to your sisters. I have only to wait for the full moon to rise, and my samurai will come.
“When they don’t find you at the convent, they will leave.” Sister Catherine smiled. “You’ll see.”
“You have a greater faith than me.”
Sister Catherine noticed a flat, balled up canvas sack in the grass. It started to move on its own. Frightened, she backed away. Taira seeing it was only a bag, investigated. She untied the rope and revealed two kittens, one orange and one white.
“They are half-starved.”
“Who would do such a thing?” Sister Catherine took one in her hand, forgetting all sense of danger, delighting in the gentleness of its fur.
“Someone who doesn’t know what wonderful creatures these are,” said Taira, sitting on the damp grasses. “One for you and one for Sister Elizabeth.”
At the sound of Sister Elizabeth’s name, Sister Catherine turned red and a strange feeling overcame her. “Why not one for each of us?”
Taira placed both kittens in Sister Catherine’s lap. “You’re jealous of Sister Elizabeth, especially the time she has taken from you.”
Embarrassed, Sister Catherine turned away.
“You have no reason to be.” Taira reached for the sister’s hand. “You’re the one I yearn for. Didn’t you know?”
Sister Catherine shook her head. She started to cry. Taira touched her tears as they ran down her cheeks. Sister Catherine pulled away leaving Taira, and brought the kittens to the lake to drink. “They were destined to drown, were they not? We’ve given them half a chance to live.”
“That’s more than some people are given.”
Her back was facing Taira. Avoidance. The word played over in her head, and before she could think, or tighten her lips to keep from talking, she said, “If you knew how hard it was to keep away from you. I try. I truly want to be good. I find excuses to be near you, or close to where I know you’ll be, even if it is Sister Elizabeth who’s tending to you. I can’t keep away. But I must. Even now. I shouldn’t be here.” She broke into a sob.
Taira sat beside her at the edge of the water. The ends of both their robes soiled. The kittens tumbled into their laps, vying for attention. “Are you so miserable when you’re with me?” Taira laced her hands around Sister Catherine’s.
“It hurts in here when I’m with you.” She pointed to the center of her chest. “And even greater when we’ve parted.”
Taira leaned to kiss her but Sister Catherine pulled away. “No. I can’t. It’s one of the Greatest Ills. I’ll be condemned.”
“Ah, yes, the great pollution of the soul. I see.” Taira folded her hands, prayer-like in front of her. “The only vice I see is the denial of the Great Love.”
“I’m subservient to love only the Christ.”
“You’re bound to love only he, while he loved many? Such a strange faith.”
“It’s getting late.” Sister Catherine retreated to the door. “Surely, the pirates have gone.”
“And if not,” Taira began, “I’ll go with them. I don’t want to cause anyone any more pain.”
They walked back to the convent slowly, neither speaking a word to the other. They passed St. Peter without so much as a glance at his benevolence. Once inside the pantry, Sister Catherine waited, allowing Taira to go out first. Her heart pounded, wanting to say something but she couldn’t articulate the constant churning in her heart into words. Soon, she followed, watching the swinging door come to a full stop before entering the corridor. Pushing open the door, she was greeted by Sister Elizabeth, whose eyes showed great fear. Sister Catherine caught a glimpse of Taira, through the door. Two pirates, escorted by the Prioress, were taking her away.
“No,” she cried out, struggling against Sister Elizabeth’s strong grip. “You tricked me!”
“Never.” Sister Elizabeth wrapped her arms tighter. “You can’t go out there. She’ll know. The Prioress will know.” Sister Elizabeth pressed Sister Catherine up against the wall and held her as she fought to get free.
“What will she know?”
“The Prioress will see that you love her.”
The words jolted Sister Catherine. She held her breath. She felt a heartbeat in her ears and a touch of faint.
“I know you love her,” Sister Elizabeth continued. “I can see it every time you look at her.”
“They’ll take her away,” Sister Catherine mustered.
“No. They’re looking for a woman with a dragon tattoo. They won’t find it and she’ll be free of suspicion. It’s the best way. I should’ve realized it sooner.”
Sister Catherine took Sister Elizabeth’s hand for support. “How do you know what I myself refuse to admit?”
“It’s the same as what I feel for Sister Lybianka.”
“I’m sorry for what I did to you.”
“No matter. I’m all the stronger for it.” Sister Elizabeth offered Sister Catherine a drink of water. “I’ve done what’s necessary to protect Sister Lybianka. I’ve told her I don’t love her, and though it hurts right now, she’s young and will heal.”
“And what about you?” For the first time Sister Catherine was seeing Sister Elizabeth, her redeeming qualities overflowing.
“I’ll leave this place soon enough. Either I’ll force the Prioress’s hand to cast me out, or I’ll find other means.”
Sister Catherine assumed this to mean she’d take her own life, and grabbed hold of her, pleading for her to reconsider.
The door swung open. A nun indicated to Sister Elizabeth that Taira was safe, and alone in her room.
“I must go to her,” said Sister Catherine.
“And I to the Prioress to find out when the pirates are leaving.”
The visitor’s room door was partly open. On the bed with a shredded robe was Taira. Her naked back revealed, though the dragon stayed hidden. Weary with worry, and strangled by her emotions, Sister Catherine slipped onto the bed and wrapped her arms around Taira. Soon, their breathing fell into a rhythm and they fell into slumber.
Sister Catherine awoke to screaming. Just beyond the door terrified nuns ran from capture. Several pirates with swords drawn were stopping nuns at will and ripping their robes, searching for the one with the dragon tattoo.
“Stay here,” Sister Catherine said and stepped into the hallway. She rushed to the den of the Prioress to warn her. Help could be sent for. An evacuation could be started. But the Prioress wasn’t there. Sister Catherine retreated to the main gate. The Prioress stood beside a nun shackled at the wrists. Sister Catherine was just in time to see the Prioress hand over the shackled nun to the pirate in exchange for a handful of silver coins.
When the nun turned Sister Catherine saw the slit in the robe, the naked back, and the fiery red dragon. She screamed, catching the Prioress’s attention. The pirates dragged the nun outside through the front gate. Sister Catherine tried to follow but the Prioress had ordered the gates closed. The last thing Sister Catherine saw was the frail body of her beloved tossed into a metal cage on the pirate’s wagon.
“It’s best this way, Sister Catherine,” said the Prioress. “If we didn’t cooperate, they would’ve pillaged the convent. One woman is not worth the lives of many.”
Sister Catherine wanted to say that the Christ’s one life was given for the lives of all, but refrained as Sister Lybianka pulled her away.
She was led to the kitchen. Sister Catherine noticed the sister’s tear-stained face, and wondered the cause since her robes were still intact, unlike many of the other sisters. Sister Lybianka handed Sister Catherine a handwritten note and said, “She’s gone.”
“Who’s gone?”
“Sister Elizabeth.” Sister Lybianka’s face turned red with tears. “She told me she would find a way to leave, but I didn’t believe her. She came to me, asking me to paint a red dragon on her back. I didn’t know what I was doing. I thought she’d forgiven me for getting us into to trouble. But alas, she’s left me.” Sister Lybianka flopped into the chair, lifeless, sobbing. “They’ll kill her. I can feel it. They’ll kill her.”
Sister Catherine read the note signed by Sister Elizabeth. She is waiting for you by the lake. One small message held so much weight. She wouldn’t believe the truth of its words until she saw Taira, untouched and safe. “I must go,” she said, and let go of her reserve by tearing open the secret hatch not caring who saw, or if they would ask why.
She hurried along the path. Finally, she flung open the last door. Standing at the water’s edge was Taira. A slight breeze pushed her long tresses over her shoulders. The thought of losing her had filled the chasm between them and in one long stride, Sister Catherine met Taira, cupping her hands to her face and kissing her deeply. All of her longing and desire swelled, as her body filled with fire. At their feet the kittens danced.
“Come with me,” said Taira. “The moon will be full tomorrow and we’ll have safe passage to the mainland.” She pointed. “We can take this path away from here, and wait till then.”
“I hadn’t thought past this moment, and I can’t think of anything more than knowing you’re safe.”
“It’s not over yet.” Taira raised her head in respect. “Sister Elizabeth gave her life for me.”
Sister Catherine nodded. “I’m shamed for believing she was anything less than a friend.”
Unbeknownst to Sister Catherine she’d been followed. The Prioress and several strapping nuns jumped at her command. “Seize them!”
“Run,” said Sister Catherine, as she blocked the nuns from taking Taira. “Go now or all will be in vain.” As Sister Catherine was subdued and her hands restrained, she watched Taira disappear into the brush.
“She won’t get far,” said the Prioress. “I’ve sent a messenger after the pirates explaining they have the wrong girl. They’ll be back soon enough.”
Back at the convent, Sister Catherine was locked in her room. She tried to get out, but found someone had jammed the handle. When morning came, soup and bread was brought to her. She tried to persuade the attending nun to let her out, but the door was closed fast upon her.
At night, through her window, she watched the movement of the full moon across the blue-black sky. She imagined Taira rendezvousing with her protector and traveling across land and sea, until she arrived at the home prepared by her midwife. She paused to consider if she was ever truly Taira’s lover, the one promised by the Great Dragon Queen.
The door to her room was pushed open. Two nuns dragged her out into the garden. Only the Prioress and a few other nuns, including Sister Lybianka, sat in attendance, as Sister Catherine was tied to the chastisement pole and stripped.
“Twenty lashes, and not one less,” said the Prioress. “I don’t care if she faints. Twenty lashes, and tomorrow the same.”
Sister Catherine wondered if the Christ, when he had found himself in a similar position, had lamented the road he’d taken to get there. Had she found a different path to follow Sister Catherine knew, then and there, she wouldn’t have taken it.
The count was on six when she no longer felt the blood dripping, though the sting and the cut grew more intense. As the Prioress called seven, Sister Catherine saw a great flash of light, as if the stars and the moon had dropped from the heavens and exploded into liquid light across the garden.
Fire swept from the shed to the crops, to the benches, like a gust of wind. As the flames rose, Sister Catherine noticed the whip had stopped. Someone had untied her hands. She fell into the embrace of two arms. She fought to stay coherent. Two other arms grabbed her. Beside her, helping her across the blaze was Sister Elizabeth and Sister Lybianka. The last thing she saw before passing through the gates was the small frame of Taira casting out flames, like a dragon, from her open mouth, and the Prioress going up in the inferno.
Somewhere on the western mainland of Russia, Catherine walked hand and hand with her lover. In front of them was a small girl child, naked; a small dragon tattoo covering her back. Two cats—one orange and one white—follow them as the sun eclipsed the dawn of a new day.
THE END
© HUNTER LIGOURE
Author Profile:
Hunter Liguore holds a BA in History and is finishing her MFA in Creative Writing. She enjoys mixing and bending genres, rather than limiting herself to one. Her work has appeared in diverse publications, including, “Katie Ireland,” in Miranda Literary Magazine, “Re-enacting Anne Boleyn,” in Renaissance Magazine, “The Wizard of Peillon,” forthcoming in Mirror Dance, and “The Lair of King Crow,” which will be serialized in February at Yesteryear Fiction. If you would like to follow her journey around the world in thirty stories and thirty genres, visit: http://www.theworldinthirtystories.com.
Tags: historical, japan, nuns, romance, russian
Kissed By Venus is a web site for the discussion and promotion of lesbian literature. We publish lesbian fiction, articles, book reviews, and interviews.
January 29th, 2010 at 3:50 pm
This Dragon Queen story was amazing. It grabbed me in right away and packed a twist in the end. Hunter’s blog, http://www.theworldinthirtystories.com is also a fine read. Nice to see talented writers dissect their work.
I’m a fan!!!
-Lee
January 29th, 2010 at 8:36 pm
Hunter Liguore has truly penned an exquisite tale. I was engrossed from beginning to the end. Reading her work was such a pleasure. I am looking forward to reading much, much more!!!
January 29th, 2010 at 9:43 pm
THAT was absolutely AMAZING!! I LOVED it!!
February 15th, 2010 at 11:35 pm
Captivated me from the first sentence! The more I read, the more I wanted to read. I couldn’t wait to see how it was going to end; yet when it did, I wanted more!!!! Thanks to my friends for guiding me to this site!
February 24th, 2010 at 8:50 am
Thanks for a great story! It was a real page-turner, figuratively speaking. I, too couldn’t wait to see how it ended. I’m glad for a peacful ending!