Tracing the Shadow by Sarah Ash

child. “I don’t suppose she has a name…”
    “She called herself Klervie.”
    The Abbess tutted. “What kind of a name is that? Perhaps you would like to choose another name for her, Captain? One more suitable for a little acolyte of our dear Saint Azilia?” She could not help smiling coyly back at him, unable to restrain herself.
    “She has blue eyes of a most remarkable color,” said the captain distantly.
    “Not unlike yours, dear Captain…”
    “I think ‘Celestine’ would make an excellent name for her.”
    “Then I shall write that name down on our orphanage roll. Celestine. A heavenly name.”
    “And I shall return to see how she is progressing.”
    “Oh yes, Captain, please do,” said the Abbess, smiling even more warmly. “Please call whenever you wish.”
    Captain de Lanvaux knelt beside the child and gently placed his hand on her fair head. “Till we meet again, little Celestine.”
             
    Klervie could hear angels singing. Their clear, high voices spiraled around her like threads of silver light.
    She opened her eyes. She could still hear the angels…although now they sounded much farther away.
    “Am I dead?”
    “Good gracious me, no.” A woman’s face appeared above hers, wrinkled and red-cheeked like a cherry. “In fact, you’re very much alive.” The woman leaned over her and felt her forehead. “The fever’s left you at last.”
    “But I can hear angels singing…”
    “That?” The woman straightened up, listening. Then she laughed. “That’s the Novices’ choir practicing their scales. Sister Noyale would be most amused to hear them called angels.”
    “Novices?” echoed Klervie sleepily, not understanding.
    “We have two choirs here. The Novices are the older girls, aged twelve to sixteen. The younger ones are called the Skylarks.”
    “Where’s Maman?” Klervie asked, then remembered. The distant singing seemed to recede even farther as she recalled staring in shock at the empty bed, the concierge’s heartless words ringing in her ears.
Your mother’s dead, child. Dead and buried.
Tears welled in her eyes, tears of loss and rage at the unjustness of it all. Why had Maman abandoned her? She tried to hold the tears in until her shoulders shook with the effort.
    “Whatever’s the matter,
ma petite
?” said the woman. Klervie heard kindness and exasperation mingled in her voice. How could she explain? She turned her face away. “Were you dreaming of your mother? Don’t grieve for her anymore; you’re part of a new family now, one with many sisters, young and old, like me. My name’s Kinnie, Sister Kinnie.”
    Klervie gazed at her through her tears, uncomprehending.
    “You’re so lucky to have such a good-hearted benefactor. Captain de Lanvaux brought you to us. Otherwise you would have starved on the streets, little one. Now you’re under good Saint Azilia’s protection. So dry your eyes.” Klervie took the handkerchief that Sister Kinnie gave her and mopped her face. “You’re still weak after the fever. We’ll have to build up your strength, Celestine.”
    “Celestine?” echoed Klervie. She looked around to see who Sister Kinnie was speaking to.
    “Every child who enters our convent is given a new name. Your benefactor named you Celestine. You will soon forget your old name.”
             
    In the dusky moonlight, the picture engraved on the front of the book wavered, and in silvery, sinuous lines began to rise from the cover until a tall, slender female form hovered over Klervie, its hands clasped together as though in prayer, its luminous eyes gazing down on her.
    “Who are you?” quavered Klervie who was now called Celestine. “Are you a h—holy saint?” She stumbled over the words she had heard the good sisters use.
    “
I am the one your father bound to protect you.
”
    “Papa?”
    “
I am bound to this book, Klervie. I cannot break free. I can only help you through the book.
”
    “You mustn’t call me