Acella remained silent, but she nodded, to show she would listen. Already, Rosvita saw in her expression the first bitter acceptance of the unfortunate truth.

“If one raid can come, so can another. I ask myself, how can the Ashioi raid in so many places so far apart in place and so close together in time? We ourselves suffered an attack in Avaria, and the one last night. We hear reports from these Lions of raids to the north and west. Everywhere, it seems. Although it took our party weeks—months!—to journey over the Brinne Pass out of the south.”

Acella looked at the book, and Rosvita opened it to display the closely written pages of the star catalog.

“The Ashioi are using sorcery. They are walking the crowns. Some among them can weave the crowns. We cannot take the chance that they do not know of this library. We must protect it at all costs. You will pack up your books and take provisions and any animals and seed corn and cuttings from your best trees. All else, abandon. If we are fortunate, you may lead your sisters back here one day.”

“We must burn the books, as it is written in our charter.”

“I cannot allow it.” She did not say, but she knew it was understood: I have a cohort of Lions to carry out my will.

“Do not be tempted by sorcery! That one, called Liathano—she cannot understand what we have studied for generations here at St. Valeria. Tempestari can change the weather, call in winds, or a storm, but this passes briefly. They can bring no great change.”

“A spell woven thousands of years ago brought a cataclysm to us all. There must be a way to counteract its effects.”

“Beware of tampering with what you do not understand, for if this tale is true of a spell woven long ago that brought about this cataclysm, then who knows what meddling will bring! This is why the church condemned these arts. They are too dangerous. No person can control them, not truly. So Mother Rothgard taught.”

“I believe you,” Rosvita said, “but we must not turn aside onto the path of deliberate ignorance if there is any possibility that we might save ourselves by walking a more treacherous road.”

For a long time Sister Acella said nothing, but the subtle play of feeling on her face spoke as in words.

“It must be done,” repeated Rosvita, “and the entire library given into the hands of Mother Scholastica at Quedlinhame, if you will not have it given to the custody of the king’s schola.”

“We dare not trust the king,” said Acella, “who, if the rumor we hear is true, beds the very woman whose hands are black with sorcery.”

She walked out, passing Hanna, who walked in.

Hanna looked at Acella’s tense back, at Rosvita’s expression, and whistled softly. “Did she protest?”

“She did. Never mind it, Hanna. What news?”

“Aronvald says that we can leave in the morning. All will be ready. There are a pair of wagons in one of the sheds that can be repaired easily.” She paused, and Rosvita listened with her to the telltale sound of hammers pounding.

She still had a hand on the book. “Frater Bernard traveled in the east, and there he found strange things,” she murmured.

“I beg your pardon, Sister?”

“Nay, nothing. If you will, Hanna, find Fortunatus and ask him to oversee the packing of the library. Him alone, none other. Let Heriburg and Ruoda aid him.”

“You think Sister Acella will try to hide books from you?”

“Impossible to know. There must be a record in the library of every codex and scroll that is here. Ask him to find that, and match each book as it is packed away. Nothing can be left behind or forgotten.”

“Yes, Sister.” She hesitated.

“Is there something you wished to say, Hanna?”

“It’s just—what did you think of Liath’s plan, Sister? That she wanted to learn the arts of the weather workers, in order to banish the clouds and cold weather. Do you think the church would allow it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you condemn her for thinking so?”

“For thinking like a mathematici, which she is?”

“I suppose.”

“Well, it is difficult to know if the ends justify the means in a case such as this one, after we have seen the terrible cataclysm wrought by sorcery. Had the ancient ones not troubled the orderly working of the universe with their spell, we would not suffer now. You must understand, Hanna, that I am skeptical at this notion that sorcery can save us when it is sorcery that harmed us in the first place.”

“You saved us with sorcery, when you wove the crown and we escaped Lord Hugh.”