Genevieve the Crusader

Untitled Part 1

Genevieve the Crusader

"Let there be rain," shouted Genevieve, her long, sinewy arms stretched above her scrawny body.

She was unusually tall for a woman, and her body was too slim for curves. In the castle where she lived, her brother had nicknamed her Scarecrow. She didn't mind, provided he left her alone to roam the woods. Louis, her brother, liked to tease her, making jokes about her abnormal height and thinness. He also disliked the fact that she disappeared into the woods each morning and only went back to the castle late in the afternoon. Fortunately on this day Louis was not able to pester Genevieve. He had departed for the crusade six months earlier and his sister was free to explore the woods, since her father was not concerned about her continual absences.

As if obeying Genevieve's command, the wind blew through the trees, taking stems and leaves with it. The waters of the Loire River rippled in response to the force of the wind. Grey clouds, heavy with water, loomed over the woods. There was a menacing look to them. Finally a flash of lightening triggered the storm, and rain fell in thick droplets, pattering on the canopy of trees.

Genevieve danced around an ancient oak tree, the rain trickling down her long auburn hair and soaking her elaborate dress. She didn't seem to mind. She was exultant.

"Look, Mere Michelle! Look!" she shouted at a wooden hut not far from the oak tree. An elderly lady, as lanky as Genevieve, looked up from the window. She admired the scene in silence, nodding her approval.

"You have passed with flying colours," she croaked. Now you are a real sorceress. Making rain is by far the hardest spell." She gestured for the girl to come inside the hut. "Come now. You will get sick in that wet dress."

Genevieve obeyed, and as soon as she entered the hut, she took off her dress and left it over a clothes rack before the fireplace to dry. Only in her shift, her bones protruding, she danced through the small hut. The elderly lady followed her with her eyes, the ghost of a smile on her toothless mouth. Then she went to a bubbling cauldron and resumed stirring it, just as she was doing before the rain had started to fall.

"I cannot thank you enough, Mere Michelle," said Genevieve, sitting down on a small table by the cauldron and accepting a bowl of soup from the gnarled hands of the old woman.

Mere Michelle waved a dismissive hand. "Bah. My part in this was minimal. I just guided you onto the right path. But the power has always been within you, my girl. You just had to learn how to use it wisely."

Genevieve smiled broadly. Under the dim light that crept in from the window, her grey eyes looked like they glittered, so proud she was of her accomplishment. "Now Louis will have to tread carefully. I won't accept any more bullying. Wait until he comes back from Galilee..."

"Never use your power for petty reasons!" warned Mere Michelle, pointing a scolding finger at the girl. "You will incur in the wrath of the goddess. Only use it to help others, or to protect yourself."

"I shall do as you say," muttered Genevieve in a subdued voice. Thinking it was enough water for one day, she clapped her hands, and the rain immediately stopped falling. Mere Michelle went to the window to examine the clouds, just to make sure Genevieve hadn't forgotten to turn off the rain completely. The sky was clear. The girl's work had been thorough.

"Look, Genevieve! I can see a group of soldiers approaching the castle," she croaked.

Genevieve hurried to the window. A group of ten horsemen and perhaps forty men-at-arms on foot were making their way up the hill to the Chateau D'Armagnac, Genevieve's home.