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toward the outside wall, but her legs were shaking so badly that she could not rise again when she genuflected.
    Once she was down on her knees, Fenice prayed instinctively. She was too distraught to formulate any specific plea for help or guidance, but because Fenice truly believed in the goodness of God and the mercy of Mary, the very ambience of the church calmed her. The pounding of Fenice’s heart and the trembling of her body diminished. She felt safe, enfolded in the protection of her religion.
    The stone floor of the church was hard and icy, and Fenice was accustomed to kneeling on a cushion. Thus the pain in her knees roused her. Once she was on her feet, her false sense of security disappeared. The church might protect her from the spirits of the damned, but it would betray her to her wardens. If she remained in the church, the nuns would find her when they came to pray at matins. They would take her prisoner again, and this time she would truly be a prisoner for what she had done, then Lady Emilie would succeed in robbing her father of his lands.
    Despite her memory of recent terror, Fenice moved down the nave and into the porch. The door that led out into the world was closed, but she knew it would not be locked. The house of God must be open to His people. Fenice laid her hand on the door pull. A cold shudder of fear shook her body, but she did not hesitate. Opening the door just a bit, she slid through, terrified by the darkness before her.
    The empty mud road was silvered by moonlight, its dry grass verges much the same color as the hard mud. Beyond the verge, the light failed. Some trees had shed their leaves, but others had not, and black shifting shadows, clicks, taps, and soft sighings marked the woods. Fenice gasped and tore her eyes away. As fast as she could in the too-large sandals, she hurried down the steps of the porch and out into the road. She would only look ahead, where there were no shadows. She would not look back, for behind her were conspirators who would rob her father. Clutching her crucifix and praying, Fenice stumbled down the road.
    Entry into the village where the menservants of the convent and their wives and children lived very nearly broke Fenice’s spirit. There was not much wind, but its sound changed as it passed through the thatched eaves, and it seemed to come from the black spaces between the huts. There were other noises too, faint voices that mingled with the thin moaning of the wind.
    Fenice began to tremble again, and her steps slowed, but the village was so tiny that even her lagging pace had carried her past most of the huts before her growing fear brought her to a standstill. She was shaking so hard that she would have sunk to the ground, but suddenly a horrifying shriek rang out behind her, followed by a loud thud. Sheer terror lifted Fenice and flung her out of the village. She did not even know she was running, and she did not get very far.
    Not fifty feet along the road, Fenice tripped on her ill-fitting sandals and stumbled sideways. The ground slid away from under her. Silent because her throat was frozen shut, she tumbled down into the ditch beside the road. There she huddled, sobbing for breath, while terrible cries and crashes in the village gained volume, then diminished and died away. The silence in the ditch became profound. But no harpy’s claws tore at her, no devil’s flaming whip cut through cloth arid flesh to score her soul.
    Slowly, Fenice sat up and peered fearfully back toward the village. Her eyes widened, and her hands flew up to cover her lips. Light showed from every chink in every hut. Fenice’s shoulders began to shake, but with laughter. What a fool I am , she thought, now recognizing the source of the soul-chilling shriek and thud. Some poor soul, coming out of a hut, had seen her dark-cowled form in the bright moonlight on the road. Now she understood that she had frightened that innocent, who had screamed, run inside the hut, and