By Dana Chamblee Carpenter
Set opposed to the ancient reign of the Golden and Iron King, Bohemian Gospel is the amazing story of a daring and strange woman on a quest to discover her prior and outline her destiny.
Thirteenth-century Bohemia is a deadly position for a woman, specifically one as ordinary as Mouse, born with unnatural senses and an uncanny mind. a few name her a witch. Others name her an angel. Even Mouse doesn’t be aware of who—or what—she is. yet she skill to determine. whilst younger King Ottakar indicates up on the Abbey wounded through a traitor's arrow, Mouse breaks church legislations to avoid wasting him after which concurs to accompany him again to Prague as his own healer. stuck within the undertow of courtroom politics on the citadel, Ottakar and Mouse locate themselves attracted to one another as they paintings to discover the probability opposed to him and to resolve the secret of her previous. but if Mouse's strange presents supply upward push to a violence and energy that shock everyone—especially herself—she is compelled to invite herself: Will she be ready for the long run that awaits her?
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Additional info for Bohemian Gospel
Mouse might not be able to see her own soul, but she would not give away the hope of it. She shook her head, trembling and waiting—for what, she didn’t know. The child-thing folded itself down to the ground, bouncing a little as it sat, legs crisscrossed. It leaned its forehead against the wooden gate, peering at Mouse through the slats. She couldn’t understand why it did not come for her. They sat there like that for hours. Mouse pinched herself when her eyes grew heavy, pinched until her arms were covered in bruises.
God. Names of the people she loved, of the people who loved her—four in all the world. It was then she started her game, trying to make herself a name: Anna, Ludmila, Marie. But none of those names belonged to her; none of them fit. So, with a sigh, she had written MOUSE—a nickname given to her by her wet nurse, Adele, when she was just a baby. Quiet like a mouse. Small like a mouse. Helpless like a mouse, she had thought, looking down on the word written in ash. It had made her feel sorry for herself, and she’d sucked in a breath and blew until MOUSE disappeared as the ash scattered across the hearth.
When she was ten, Mouse had slipped into the sacristy and taken a wafer and a cup of altar wine and gone to the woods alone while the others went to Mass. She settled under a linden tree and uncorked a jar of holy water she had taken from the infirmary. “‘I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost,’” she’d said as she touched her forehead and chest and shoulders with one hand and poured the holy water over her head with the other, just like she’d seen Mother Kazi do to dying babies.