The abbess smiled and Reynevan blushed. He couldn’t help but feel that her smile was tinged with mockery, and that the abbess knew what an ass he was making of himself by saying “we” and “us,” when in actual fact he had watched the ascent of the mountains at Easter 1419 from a distance, in bewilderment and fear and without a trace of understanding. That, shocked by the Defenestration in July, he had fled before Prague in its frenzied revolt, that he had run from Bohemia, mortally horrified by the course of events. That even now, he was barely a neophyte and was behaving like one.

“Regarding changes and reforms,” continued the smiling Poor Clare, “we actually agree, you and I. But what makes us different is not just the means but also the scope and scale of activity. You want changes to the liturgy and reforms to the clergy on the basis of the principle sola Scriptura. We—for I told you there are many of us—wish to change much, much more. Look.”

Directly opposite the abbess hung a painting—the only decoration in the room—a board with a depiction of a white dove, soaring up with outstretched wings into a ray of light falling from above. The Poor Clare raised a hand and said something in a barely audible whisper. The air was suddenly imbued with the scent of rue and verbena, typical for white, Aradic magic.

The ray of light in the painting grew brighter and the dove flapped its wings, flying up and vanishing into the light. A woman appeared in its place. Tall, black-haired, with eyes like stars, attired in a patterned gown shimmering with many hues, now white, now copper, now crimson…

“And there appeared a great wonder in Heaven.” The abbess began in a quiet voice to describe the details of the painting as they grew more distinct. “A woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of twelve stars.

“The prophet says as he speaks of the Spirit: As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you. Look. Behold the Mother. Ecce femina! Ecce Columba qui tollit peccata mundi. Behold the Third Church. The true Church and in its truth the last. The Church of the Holy Spirit, whose law is love. Which will endure until the end of the world.

“Behold: Magna Mater, Panthea–Triple Goddess. The Regina–Queen, the Genetrix–Parent, the Creatrix–Creatoress, the Victrix–Victoress, Felix–Fortunate One. Divine Maiden, Virgo Caelestis. Behold the mother of nature, the ruler of the elements, astrorum Domina, eternal beginning of all things. The greatest of the goddesses, queen of shadows, master of radiant heights, of the sky, of the life-giving breath of the seas, of the silence of the underground. She, whose one, many-shaped divinity is worshipped by the entire world under manifold names and in different rituals.