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I thought the man looked vaguely familiar. He, however, instantly recognized me and dropped to one knee. The bell he’d been ringing fell from his hand, landing in the muddy street with a dull clang. Passersby turned, stared, and then quickly turned away. It was unwise to pay too much attention to other people’s business in the slums.
“Forgive me, Saint Lilium. Forgive a poor sinner,” he called, his head down, hands pressed together in a prayerful attitude.
This was a pain. True penitence for one’s misdeeds should be anonymous, so I preferred not to be recognized. Nor did I feel like a saint. As for forgiving others’ sins, there was hardly anyone less worthy. The weight of my deeds weighed heavily upon me. But I had to deal with this situation quickly before rumors started and everyone in Foirdmaa knew I was here.
I bent down, raising the man to his feet. “Please, I don’t deserve your admiration.”
“No… Your…” I gasped. I thought I recognized the man. Was it possible? He was a slight, beardless man. One would have mistaken him for a woman, except he’d cut his hair short and wore the woolen tunic and baggy pants favored by men of this region.
My mind went back to the last time I was in Foirdmaa. It had been two winters before the revolution, and snow lay heavy on the ground…
The sun, dimmed by lowering clouds, was setting as I came out of the warmth of my inn, leaving the holiday reveler behind. Large, fluffy snowflakes were falling. It might have been picturesque if it hadn’t been so gloomy and cold. I wouldn’t have gone out at all except I was needed. A plague had stricken the northern kingdom, and the local priestess couldn’t keep up. Many had even taken ill. Poverty and a lack of fresh produce during the winter hadn’t helped. Tonight I was on my way to see a troop of actors who’d taken ill.
Holy holiday or not, I had work to do.
“Matches, Miss. Would you like to buy some matches?”
A girl, huddled in a small alcove, attempting to escape the wind, held out a box of matches to me. Her ragged cloak couldn’t have been enough to keep her warm. If I could have spared her mine, I would have, but if I got ill, many people would suffer or even die.
Instead, I pulled a few coins from my pocket. “Here, I’ll take a box.” I’d handed over far more than the matches were worth, but neither of us said anything. It went without saying it wasn’t about the matches.
“Thank you, miss. May the Goddess bless you.”
“Stupid whelp,” I said. The words escaped my mouth involuntarily. I never knew where they came from, or why I said them. It was just one of the curses I suffered from. Ashamed, I rushed off.
Two hours later, I hurried back, eager to reach my inn. The temperature had plummeted with the setting sun, and my breath now froze mid-air. I thought at first the girl was gone, then I saw a heap in the snow. Around her was a litter of burnt matches. I assumed she had used them, desperately attempting to stay warm.
“Filthy trash,” I muttered as I bent to see if she was alive. Removing a glove, I touched her icy cheek. Snow lay unmelted on it; that was a bad sign.
“Serves her right,” the words spilled from my frozen lips. Ignoring them, I put a finger under her nose and felt a faint feathering of air. It was only a slight flicker meaning I might be in time.
Her body was light in my arms when I picked her up. Under her thin clothes, I could feel nothing but bones. It was no wonder the child had succumbed to the cold.
“Why do you bother, you worthless bitch? Leave her; she’s better dead.” My voice was full of venom. Not even I could escape the castigation of my foul utterances. I was used to it, though, and ignored the words as I hurried into the inn.
“I’ll want food and mulled ale delivered to my room,” I barked to the innkeeper as I hurried by, ignoring the disapproving looks of the inhabitants of the smoky common room. “Warm water and a brazier too,” I added, ascending the stairs to my small room.
The innkeeper might disapprove of me bringing in a frozen waif, but he promptly arrived with my desires, and the room was soon warm and full of the smell of drying wool, fresh bread, and an aromatic mutton stew.
I bathed the girl with warm water, and the color slowly returned to her face. Once she could sit, I hushed her apologies and thanks. Instead, I forced her to eat the thick stew and drink some warm ale. The effects of the experience, along with the ale, soon put her to sleep under the pile of blankets and cloaks I heaped on her.
Regardless of all my efforts, her breathing was ragged, and her skin was still chill to the touch, so I climbed into bed and cuddled her, ignoring the voice saying, “Dirty degenerate, worthless, perverted filth.”
At first, the woman shivered in my arms, but gradually warmth returned to her. She was older than she’d first appeared, a young woman, not a child. Starvation had stunted her growth. Despite her poverty, she was clean, and her hair was cared for. I couldn’t help noticing the faint fragrance of her skin, and I fell to musing. This was the first time I’d ever lain with another woman. Under other circumstances, it might have aroused me. But those were not the circumstances. Still, I pondered my feelings. Thankfully, the voice was still for the moment, and I drifted off to sleep, still cradling the woman.
The sounds of laughter downstairs and the smell of oatmeal and rashers woke me in the morning. The woman was gone, as were my purse and cloak. Words spilled forth blaming in the foulest terms, but inside I hoped what the woman had taken enough to allow her to survive. My only regret was that I would have to beg for help at the local temple.
Now, years later, I was back in Fiordmaa. The person from before, the match girl, was at my feet asking for forgiveness. “You saved me that night, even though you despised me. Your words cut like a knife. I thought you must see what a pervert I was. A woman who refused to live as the Goddess intended.”
“No, that’s not it,” I said. I’d never thought like that, and, since Yu Bauer had begun living as a woman, I had a better understanding of these things.
“I know, I know. I misunderstood. You were disgusted that I was living a lie. If the Goddess placed the desire to live as a man within me, I should do so instead of hiding. When I heard about you, that you were the Lesbian Saint, it became clear. If you wouldn’t live a lie, then neither should I.”
“How can I ever forgive myself for stealing from a saint, one that saved my life?” he continued.
He was under a delusion about me. I had been clueless about his nature, and any comments I’d made were under the influence of my alter ego. I would still be living a lie except for a miracle. However, he seemed to draw deep meaning from the story, and if I could be his Rae Taylor miracle, I would count it as a blessing.
Since I was going to let one untruth stand, why not another? “I was going to give you the cloak and money, anyway,” I said. “Don’t you remember my telling you that before we went to sleep?”
He didn’t look convinced. So I said, “The Goddess’ hands guided you on that holy night. She smiled on us both in allowing me to give you a divine gift.
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Note: Dedicated to RS Author, sponsor of #EngenderedWriting on the Fedi. They may or may not have contributed to the impetus for this story. Or possibly it was Inori-sensei or even St. Lilly Lilium.
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Story by Nara Moore
Twitter/X:@nara_moore
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WordPress: Josei Yuri and Paranormal Romance