The Hallowed Isle Book Three by Diana L. Paxson Page B

to be seen.
    Just before dawn, Guendivar’s mother awakened her. The girl rose quickly and dressed in the white gown they gave her—she had been fasting since noon the day before before, and the sooner this was over the sooner she could get some food. Stumbling with sleepiness, she followed her mother and the two nuns, one of them young and one an old woman, who led the way with lanterns out of the guesthouse and up the hill.
    Her interest quickened when she saw they were approaching the hazel hedge. There was a gate set amid the branches. The young woman lifted the iron latch and motioned for them to go in.
    On the other side was a garden. Already a few birds were singing, though the sky was still dim and grey. She could hear the tinkle of falling water, and as the light grew, she saw that it was flowing down through a stone channel into a large pool.
    â€œThe spring is farther up the hill,” the young nun said in a low voice. Her name, she remembered, was Julia. “Winter and summer the pure water flows from the holy well. Even in years of drought it has never failed.”
    Petronilla glanced at the sky, then turned to her daughter. “It is almost time. Take off the gown and step into the pool.”
    â€œI was baptized when I was a babe,” muttered Guendivar as she obeyed, “Was not that not purification enough?”
    â€œThis is to cleanse you from childhood’s sins. You will emerge, a woman, transformed by the blood of your body and the water of the spirit.” Her mother took the gown and folded it across her arm.
    Of the spirit, or the spirits? wondered Guendivar, remembering the spring on the hillside. It gave her the courage to set her foot on the steps that entered the dark water.
    In that first shocked moment, she could not tell if the water was holy, only that it was freezingly cold. She stifled a yelp and stood shaking, the water lapping the joining of her thighs.
    â€œIn the name of the Blessed Virgin, may you be cleansed and purified of all sin and stain . . .” murmured Sister Julia, dipping up water in a wooden bowl and pouring it over Guendivar’s shoulders.
    â€œIn the name of Maria Theotokos, may you be cleansed and purified—” Now it was her mother’s turn.
    â€œIn the name of the Lady of Sorrows . . .” The old nun poured water over her head and stepped away.
    In the name of all the gods, let me out of here before I freeze! thought Guendivar, edging back towards the steps. But her mother stopped her with a word. When Guendivar could escape her mother’s eye, she ran free, but she had never yet dared to defy her directly. Shivering, the girl stood where she was.
    The sky brightened to a luminous pink like the inside of a shell. Light lay like a mist above the water. Guendivar took a quick breath, and realized that her shivering had ceased and her skin was tingling.
    â€œSpirit of the holy spring,” her lips moved silently, “give me your blessing . . .” She scooped up water in her hand and drank, surprised at its iron tang. Then, before she could lose courage, she took a quick breath and submerged herself in the pool.
    For a long moment she stayed there, her amber hair raying out across the surface, and each hair on her body lifted by its own bubble of air. The water she had swallowed sent a shock through every vein. The tingling of her skin intensified, as if the water were penetrating all the way to her bones. Then, just as it reached the edge of pain, it became light. The force of it brought Guendivar upright, arms uplifted, turning to face the rising sun.
    She heard a sharp gasp of indrawn breath from one of the women. The sun was rising red above the slope of the hill. Rosy light glistened on her wet skin, glittered from the surface of the pool. For a moment she gazed, then the light brightened to gold and she could look no more.
    â€œReceive the blessing of the Son of God—” her