Awaken_A Rose Caldwell Tale Read online

  Awaken

  A Rose Caldwell Tale

  J M Bannon

  Claymore Ulfbehrt & Xiphos LLC

  Copyright © 2017 Claymore Ulfberht & Xiphos LLC

  Cover Created By: Covers by V

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  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either used fictitiously or products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental or a work of fiction solely for telling a good yarn. So relax and enjoy! Physics and history may be a little different in this world than your own.

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  Saints and Scoundrels of Steampunk, The Guild Chronicles, All characters, situations, worlds are part of the Non-Newtonian Universe and are Copyright Claymore Ulfberht & Xiphos LLC 2017

  Created with Vellum

  To all of Rose’s Fans

  Yes You!

  Contents

  Foreword

  Prologue

  Chapter One: Friday, the 15th of September, 1851

  Chapter Two: Saturday, the 16th of September, 1851

  Chapter Three: Thursday the 18th of September 1851

  Chapter Four: Monday the 2nd of August 1852

  Chapter Five: Friday the 17th of September 1852

  Chapter Six: Saturday the 18th of September 1852

  Chapter Seven: Monday the 20th of September 1852

  Chapter Eight: Thursday the 23th of September 1852

  Chapter Nine: Saturday the 25nd of September 1852

  Chapter Ten: Sunday the 26rd of September 1852

  Chapter Eleven: Monday the 27th of September 1852

  Chapter Twelve: Tuesday the 28th of September 1852

  Chapter Thirteen: Wednesday the 29th of September 1852

  Chapter Fifteen: Thursday the 30th of September 1852

  Chapter Sixteen: Friday the 1st of October 1852

  Chapter Seventeen: Monday, October 4, 1852

  Chapter Eighteen: Sunday, October 24, 1852

  Bonus Chapter: Monday the 8th of November, 1852

  Thank you

  Also by J M Bannon

  About the Author

  Foreword

  This book is the first in the Saints and Scoundrels of Steampunk Series. This new series is part of the Non-Newtonian Universe, that began with ‘The Untold Tales of Dolly Williamson’ and continued into the Guild Chronicles.

  The idea of this new series is to provide a forum outside of the Guild Chronicles to deliver backstory, origin, and tales that readers have asked me to write.

  There is no need to read them in a particular order as they will always be a stand alone story. However, reading all of them will give you the deepest understanding of the universe and answer all of the questions you have about these characters and their journey.

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  Now let’s get reading!

  Prologue

  March 1836 Stonebrook Mill, Chester, England

  “Mama!”

  The child’s voice was thin and reedy in the night air.

  “Mama!”

  The cry came again, plaintive, frightened. Light flared as a lamp was lit.

  “Sssssh, little one, what is it?”

  “Bad dream Mama!” “Bad men and big doggie!” “Grandmas!”

  Each statement was interspersed with sobs as the little girl was lifted onto her mother’s lap.

  “Ssssssssh, Rose, it’s just a dream, my sweet. Ssssssh.”

  The child’s sobs faded as she was rocked in the comfort of her mother’s arms

  June, 1844 Stonebrook Mill, Chester

  “Good morning Rose.”

  “Is it Mother?” the girl spoke listlessly.

  “Another dream Rose?”

  “Yes Mother.” The girl sighed. “Every June it is the same, night after night, why is that? “Why do these dreams plague me so?” the girl put her head in her hands as she sat at the oaken kitchen table.

  “What was it this time?” Asked her mother.

  “The horse Mama, it was the horse, racing across the fields, sparks flying where its feet hit the ground. Men running from it falling down being hit by the hooves!” The girl shuddered as she recalled her dream.

  “Then the women came again, three of them as usual, old and stone faced, but their eyes are warm. Who are they Mama? Why do I see them? Oh I wish it would stop!” She put her head on her arms and sobbed.

  Her mother sat down next to her, her flour dusted arms gathered the girl in.

  “It’s alright Rose, it’s alright. You’re seeing a message from God I’m sure, the light of angels.”

  She huffed a half laugh, half sob. “Oh Mother, if so they are the strangest looking angels I have ever seen or heard of! If God is talking to me I wish he would use plainer language, and not speak every night!”

  “Rose Caldwell! That’s blasphemous!” Her mother said with a laugh and a hug.

  1846 Carmelite Convent of Saint Teresa Chester, England

  “Tell me child, what makes you think that a life of contemplation and devotion is your path? Why do you wish to be a postulant?”

  Rose looked up at the woman who sat across the grated opening from her. The Mother Superior was stern faced but her eyes at the moment had warmth in them.

  They were sat in the parlor of the convent, the only space in which visitors might be allowed within the convent precincts. Rose sat in the public area barred from the other side by wood paneling, only the grating allowed visitors to see and converse with those within.

  Rose considered before answering, at sixteen she was unusual in that she didn’t just blurt out her thoughts. There was also the fact that saying she had visions or dreams of angels was most likely going to get her shown the door than acceptance into the community of Carmelite nuns.

  Unlike many of her friends and their families, her family was still stoutly Catholic, not rare, but not that common in England.

  “Mother, I cannot explain fully, I just feel in my heart that my life has a meaning and destiny in the work of God. I do not know if it is God’s will or my own desires but I feel I have much to learn from a life that is apart from but of the world.”

  “I see.” The older woman appraised the slight girl sat opposite her. She was impressed with the girl’s eloquence it spoke of education beyond that most girls of her age had received. It was also measured and balanced which was unusual for a teenage girl.

  “You can read and write?”

  “Yes Mother and do my sums, I helped my father with the counting of the mill.”

  “You understand to what you commit? If accepted you will spend three years as a novitiate before we decide if you will join our order fully. At this time we have a dispensation from His Holiness to accept novitiates to our house as we must expand our congregation here in England. However, His Holiness has said that any accepted must spend a period of seven years under simple vows only. This means that you will be able to go out and about and assist with the sick and elderly. This is something our order does not normally do, but His Holiness feels it is necessary in order that the people here accept us. At the end of that time you may decide to take full vows and enter the contemplative life fully or stay as you are. One other thing His Holiness included in his dispensation was the matter of the dowry. He has set aside the normal requirement of two hundred crowns as your dowry and set it at 10 crowns, with the rest paid by the papal bank. Do you understand all this? Do
you have the money for a dowry?”

  “I understand Mother. We are not a wealthy family, the mill is tied to the estate of the Culpeppers, but my father works hard and has saved the dowry for me.”

  “Very well child, I will consider and pray on the matter and I will talk to Father Peter and he will let you know my decision.”

  1847 Carmelite Convent of Saint Teresa Chester, England

  “You have now taken your final vows and stand before Christ as his bride. Now is the time to put aside your past and take up your new life. As a symbol of this release of the past, you will have new names in Christ.”

  The Mother Superior spoke to the three young women in front of her.

  “Novitiate Emily, hence forth you shall be known as Judith.

  “Novitiate Mary, hence forth you shall be known as Katherine.

  The Mother Superior sighed as she turned to the last girl who stood head bowed before her.

  “Novitiate Rose, hence forth you shall be known as Rose.”

  The girl looked up in surprise, why did she not have a new name? Had she failed, was she to leave the convent?

  “Do not fear child, I have prayed many times on what your new name should be. Each time I received the same answer from God. A white Rose with a single red petal it is clear that your name came from God in the first place so you shall keep it. The Bishop has agreed.”

  “Now my children, you are sisters under God and may wear his habit with humility. Your new garb is in your cells. Go with God my children.”

  She held out her hand for each of the new nuns to genuflect and kiss before departing.

  Her brow was creased and her eyes worried as she watched Rose, no Sister Rose, follow the others from the chapel.

  She did not know why but she knew in her heart that the newly accepted nun would follow a different path to her fellows.

  Chapter One: Friday, the 15th of September, 1851

  2:45 AM, The Cell of Sister Rose Carmelite Convent of Saint Teresa, Chester, England

  Rose stared into the wolf's eyes, piercing blue-grey pools surrounded by thick black pelt. The creature rested on its haunches, its sides heaved silently, its tongue lolling from its mouth, teeth bared in a grin, the only sound the harsh repeated caw of an unseen raven. An open field of emerald green turf surrounded Rose and the wolf. Within the animal’s eyes scenes flickered as if they caught the movements of her or someone else behind her in the field. She knew to not look around but rather, look deeper.

  She stared into the wolf’s eyes, feeling herself falling down into its world. Another world beyond the realm in which Rose dwelt and knew. There she was one of three; sisters, she was all yet none. She hovered between what they were as individuals, and a single unified being, greater and more terrifying.

  The sisters gazed intently into the roiling cauldron they tended. Rose was drawn hypnotically down into the roiling fluid and found herself back in the field watching through the eyes of the wolf. In the predawn light, men wearing the kilts and accoutrements of Celtic clansmen were drawn up in a loosely organized mass on the far edge of the field, perhaps two or three hundred of them. Swords, spears and a few axes were held aloft catching the first light of the sun. Across the field from the warriors was not an army but a single man. All around him the grass withered and died and each step he took the blight spread. The man smiled, stopped, and casually seemed to raise his foot before stomping down. As his foot hit the ground a fissure opened and swiftly spread towards the clansmen, widening and deepening as it did. From its depth tongues of flame licked upwards and a roiling red glow lit the scene. The fissure widened as it raced across the field of green towards the clansmen. As it reached the first ranks of men it was fifty feet wide with smoke and fire erupting from its depths. The stunned silence of the clansmen turned to cries of fear and screams as those closest were engulfed by the chasm. Fear grew in Rose as she realized she was no longer an onlooker but stood in the throng of fear crazed men desperately trying to escape.

  Rose was just another warrior struggling to flee the death that raced towards them, men falling screaming into its depth, the flames reaching for them. Pushing and shoving to escape, the body she inhabited strove to leave the field, when with heart stopping speed a terrifying apparition swooped down on the clansmen. The Banshee, clothed in ragged grey fabric, long white hair streaming behind it, soared over the fleeing men, who stopped their flight as the frightful visage of the Banshee loomed in front of them. Its mouth opened to let forth its shrill head splitting death scream. Rose felt the terror rise in her as she looked desperately for an escape path. Behind them the earth was swallowing her comrades while in front men reeled and fell to their knees as the scream drove thought from their minds. The scream grew in intensity, Rose fought silently to retain control of her mind…

  Rose woke with a start, the Banshee’s scream ringing in her head. It took her a moment to realize that the noise in her head was the soft tolling of the bell for Laud, the early morning prayer. Her nightmare had been so vivid and real her heart was pounding still. This was not her first dream or vision in which the three sisters had appeared. Their power to control the arcane apparent to her, even from an early age. Her mother told her as she held her on her knee, soothing her weeping brought on by the dreams, that she was seeing the light of angels and there was nothing to fear from them. She had not had such visions for some time, when she thought about it she had not since she took her vows a year ago.

  In the darkness of her cell, she fumbled to light the taper next to her bed. The simple bed was a slatted wooden frame supporting a slim wool filled cotton mattress. Despite being basic, it was a comfortable bed, best of all she didn’t have to share it with her younger sibling.

  The small space around her was briefly illuminated as the match she struck flared. She lit the tallow candle, the wick catching in the flame of the match. The shadows were pushed back as the candle brightened. Like all monastic cells, the small stone room was austere with just the bed, a stool that doubled as a night table where a Bible sat, a small shelf, and a crucifix above the bed. Rose had only ever lived in two places in her life, for the first sixteen years it was in the tenant farmer house attached to the grain mill on the other side of the village. Her parents still lived there with her younger sister. Her second home was here; the Carmelite convent. Rose had lived in the convent on the outskirts of Chester for the past four years. Three years as a Novitiate, followed by one year as sister under simple orders. She removed her bed clothes and placed them on the shelf next to her habit that was folded neatly on a shelf. She donned the garb and then once dressed took her candle and opened the door of her cell. She joined the other sisters in the hallway.

  The sisters formed up in two lines and made their way silently to the choir across the cloisters from the dormitory. They entered the side door and took their seats as the second round of bell ringing ceased.

  The abbess took her place before the altar and opened the recitation of the morning psalm. Rose, like the rest of her sisters repeated the Latin phrases, thus beginning another day for Sister Rose Caldwell.

  6:40 AM,The Cathedral of St. John the Baptist Chester, England

  The cathedral had been a holy site since King Aethelred founded a small sanctuary on this spot in 689. The original chapel was now but a memory. Upon the foundations of that early medieval chapel, the Bishop of Litchfield had made it a cathedral at the turn of the first millennia. The Bishop of Litchfield’s church collapsed in the 1500s. That cathedral’s rubble and ruins still littered the site. The new Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist was the tallest construction in the city; a gothic church that had fallen into disrepair and received a renovation in 1580 at great expense, utilizing the advanced construction methods of high gothic style. Naves, arched vaults, and buttresses were more ornate, wider and taller, but it was still stacking stones in an intricate puzzle that forced them to defy gravity.

  A master stonemason like Edward could see beyond the wear and tear on
the surface of the stonework to where pinch points were stressing, and the crumbling stone would eventually start a collapse after two-hundred and sixty-eight years of use.

  “You see here boy, this section of the buttress is losing stability,” said Edward.

  “Yes Pa. Replace the stone here and here. The sandstone is highly porous and has been taking in too much moisture with the seasons,” stated Eddie pointing out the problematic stones.

  “How do you know that, son?”

  “Grandpa would tell me every Sunday when we came to church.”

  The elder Edward chuckled, “My grand father used to do the same to me. I craved to go play in the ruins of the old cathedral with the other children and he would drag me around and point out all the problems and the worst of workmanship.”

  “There is so much more to see up here, Pa.”

  The two men were halfway up the scaffold. At this elevation, you could see all of Chester and over the old Roman wall and beyond into the country of undulating green hills. Looking down Edward the elder saw his employees showing up for work, “Yes, son this is yet another of the joys of our work, we can be at heights that only the birds enjoy.”

  “I was talking about seeing the stonework up close. Seeing what could only be vaguely made out from the ground,” said the younger Mason. The teen was apprenticed to his father, a master stone mason and planned to continue his father’s trade. His family had been stone masons for generations and now Mason had become the family name.