Wood Nymph and the Cranky Saint- Wizard of Yurt - 2 (22 page)

normal reaction to magical problems was to leave them to the wizardry they claimed not even to respect. Joachim sat staring silently at our smal fire. The air from the open doorway made the flames flicker and cast tal, oddly twisted shadows on the wal behind us. I was suddenly convinced that he was going to ask me if he should accept the bishop’s invitation to leave Yurt and join the cathedral chapter. Because I didn’t want to have to answer that question, I tried to forestal him with a completely different comment.

“Here’s something you’l be interested in. I know you and the bishop were worried that it might not be suitable to have a wood nymph in a Holy Grove. It turns out that she was a good friend of Saint Eusebius, al those years ago, and that the saint converted her to Christianity.”

Joachim gave me a long look as I pushed on. “It’s actualy rather poignant. She’s worried that she may not have a soul. She seems to want to become human, with an immortal soul, even though being human means having to die. I’m afraid she realy may not have a soul because she says her friend the saint has never appeared to her since his death.”

“You know,” said Joachim, “after two years of knowing you, I stil don’t understand your sense of humor.”

At this I laughed. It was refreshing to be able to laugh. “Of course you don’t understand why I would make a joke about something like this. Its because I’m not joking!” Joachim lifted one eyebrow at my new-found seriousness.

“Even though she wil not grow old or die as long as the world remains,” I continued, “she seems to find something curiously appealing about breaking out of the earth s endless cycle through death.”

“Of course,” said Joachim, who did not find this attitude curious at al. He seemed suddenly absorbed by the issue of the wood nymph, although I was sure that was not what was realy on his mind. “The world

is God’s creation and has enormous good and potential for good within it, but it is stil a falen world. Al of us must find it wearying in the end and long for release into the realm of spirit.’

I decided it was safest not to comment on this. I was very far from longing for release and wizards have a much longer life span than ordinary people—even though, from the wood nymph’s point of view, there probably wasn’t a lot of difference between any of us. “At any rate,” I said, “if the saint’s relics stay in Yurt, I’m sure the bishop wil understand why it won’t be necessary to make her leave. But tel me.

You said the saint would reveal his wil clearly. Do you know what he realy wants to do?”

Joachim hesitated. “Maybe I made a mistake discussing this with a wizard in the first place.”

“Too late now,” I said. “And you did say you wanted my counsel.”

The firelight glinted in the chaplain’s eye and he shifted his long frame in search of a more comfortable position. He was silent for a moment, looking at the fire rather than at me, and his face slowly went from almost smiling to completely sober.

“The saint’s intention,” he said at last, “wil, I am certain, eventualy become clear, but it is not clear yet.” He paused for a moment. “He told me he wanted to leave Yurt, but he wouldn’t say why, or where he wanted to go. The priests of the church of Saint Eusebius led my bishop to believe that he had also appeared in a vision to them, asking for his relics to be transferred to their church.”

“But when you questioned the priests closely,” I provided when Joachim again seemed to hesitate, ‘they admitted that the Cranky Saint had said he wanted to leave the grove, but hadn’t specificaly said that he wanted to go with them.”

“But if he didn’t want to go to their church, why

should he have appeared to them?” demanded Joachim.

I decided that the old hermit was right in one thing,

that the Royal Chaplain did indeed seem to take his spiritual responsibilities much too seriously. “Because he was cranky,” I suggested. “Because he knew he’d get a response out orthem. Because he was angry at the hermit for not having done something about the entrepreneurs. That reminds me. I talked to the hermit this morning and he seems convinced that Saint Eusebius would want to stay if the entrepreneurs were gone.”

“I didn’t see anyone at the booth when we came by,” said Joachim. ‘Yet it looks as though they’re actualy starring to build a windlass contraption to lower pilgrims down the cliff.” Yesterday morning three men dressed as pilgrims—part of the entrepreneurial group in disguise—climbed down by way of the toeholds and came to visit the hermit.’

“Maybe they’ve realized their error in trying to make money from the spiritual things of God,” suggested Joachim.

I found this highly unlikely. “But are the priests planning to take the Holy Toe back with them now?”

“That s certainly how they’ve interpreted the wil of the saint.”

“By the way,” I said, “Nimrod seemed surprised to see the three priests. He stil won’t say why ne came to Yurt.”

“I thought they were, instead, surprised to see him,” said Joachim. “The sight of a seven-foot-tal hunstman would startle anyone.

“I’m fairly certain now that Nimrod and Diana had known each other previously. Otherwise, I don’t think that even she would have left with him when Dominic had just proposed.” Outside the hut, the night made low rustling sounds that I told myself would not have sounded nearly as ominous by daylight. We had suddenly reached the topic of the old wizard.

“Joachim, I’m worried about the regent. He took a

group of knights down to the old wizard’s house two days ago and he certainly should have been back to the castle by last night. Yet you say he wasn’t.”

“What do you think has happened to him?”

“Maybe the old wizard put a spel on him. Or maybe the wizard’s monster escaped, and Dominic set off after it and hasn’t been able to catch it.”

“I told you I wanted your counsel,” said Joachim quietly. “Ive been trying to find a tactful way to say this because I don’t want to seem to accuse you of neglecting your responsibilities.” Maybe associating with the priests, who had even less tact than he did, was teaching him some at last. “But your predecessor’s creature has gotten loose.”

“It has?” I forced myself to say, in a voice that sounded loud and squeaky in my own ears. It was one thing to fear such a possibility, another to know it had actualy happened.

“We heard of it today as we were riding toward this valey. The first word we had was in the vilage just a few miles from the castle.” This would have been the same vilage from which the disputants had come, not long before the king left Yurt. It seemed years ago.

‘The local priest came out to meet us, terrified. Something had come to the vilage yesterday. It was seen rummaging through a chicken house. They thought, of course, it was a thief and set the dogs on it.”

Somehow, hearing this in Joachim’s quiet voice

made it worse.

“But the dogs wouldn’t attack it and fled with their tails between their legs. By now they’d realized it wasn’t just a common thief. Someone shot at it, though the priest told us that he, of course, tried to stop him. But it didn’t make any difference. The creature walked off with three arrows stuck in its back.”

Then even Nimrod might not be able to stop it.

“It kiled five chickens.’

“Five chickens,” I repeated, thinking I should be grateful it was not five children.

“They belonged to a young couple who, I gather, had just set up housekeeping. I think I recognized them. The young woman was very blond, quite distinctive-looking. I believe they were among the disputants the king swore to peace.”

King Haimeric’s judgment, I thought bleakly, had brought them back together after what had probably been a major rift, but no sooner were they married than a monster had kiled their chickens. A monster loose, I reminded myself, while the Royal Wizard of Yurt was engrossed in dreamy forgetfulness with the wood nymph.

“I guessed immediately it was the creature that you and the ducal wizard had seen,” said Joachim. “But the vilage priest thought it might have been a demon.” He gave me a sideways look. “You would have been proud of me. I told him that magic is not a supernatural force and that our best defense against a magical creature was to find a reliable wizard.’

There were three wizards in the kingdom of Yurt, at the moment, and none of them reliable. Just a few days ago, the old wizard had appeared to have his creature very thoroughly imprisoned.

“There didn’t seem to be anything we priests could do,” Joachim continued, “so we went on. As you can imagine, I was even more eager than before to find you.’

And where, al this time, was Dominic? “Did the vilagers have any indication which direction it was heading?”

“The third vilage in which it was seen is located at the base of the plateau,” said Joachim soberly. “It seems to be heading this way.” I was furious with myself. I had seen it in the wizard’s cottage, seen it and been terrified of it, but I had persuaded myself and Joachim that it was safely constrained by the old wizard’s magic. But I had not thought through what I already had good reason to know: The old wizard had lost control: of his mind, his soul, his good sense, or his magic.

It would be ironic if now, when I had at last persuaded Joachim that wizardry was not just an inferior and misapprehended version of religion, and when he and the old hermit both turned to me for aid, my magic turned out to be completely useless.

Evrard, in spite of taking Elerius’s course, was not going to be any help. If the old wizard’s monster was as good at hiding as Evrard’s stick-creature, then I would need Nimrod, but he was camped somewhere between here and the royal castle and I’d never find him in the dark. I was more than ready to swalow my pride and ask for the school’s assistance in spite of how my predecessor would react, but I was thirty miles from the nearest telephone and over five miles from the nearest pigeon loft.

I raised my eyes and found Joachim watching me soberly. “You could try praying for guidance, he suggested.

I restrained myself from saying that no saint would listen to a wizard. But his comment did give me an idea and, very briefly, hope. “Saint Eusebius,” I said. “The Cranky Saint won’t want a magical undead monster in his valey. The saint must like you or he wouldn’t have appeared to you in the first place. Maybe he’l listen if you ask for his help.”

‘ I constantly ask the saints for their help,” said Joachim.

I considered asking Evrard’s question, why the saint hadn’t just blasted the entrepreneurs—and, by extension, the wizard’s monster—with lightning if he didn’t like them, but it seemed pointless.

Besides, it was only a guess that the entrepreneurs even bothered the saint. His cryptic demand to have his relics moved elsewhere could be based on almost anything—even a personal animosity toward the apprentice hermits. I wondered for a moment that if

the saint didn’t want to go with the three priests, he might show it by alowing the monster to eat them, but even I had to dismiss this thought as irreverent.

Maybe Joachim’s prayers would keep the monster at bay until first light, when Evrard or I could fly back to the telephone at the royal castle without becoming hopelessly lost. “You told me the old wizard might have made his creature out of jealous pride,” I said. “Having made it, do you think he set it loose intentionaly? Is he trying to catch it himself or, in trying to catch it, wil I have to fight him as wel?”

“That I cannot tel you,” said Joachim. One thing I could not do tonight was sleep. I leaned my chin on my fist and tried to plan for tomorrow. If the monster did not appear in the valey tonight, then I would have to go looking for it. The fire had burned low, but the coals stil glowed deep red.

Very early, I decided! I would fly out of the valey and find Nimrod, and then he and I would track the creature from where it had last been seen. First, though, I would roust Evrard out of the wood nymph’s tree, whether he liked it or not, and send him back to the royal castle as fast as he could fly to telephone the school. Then he could start the search for Dominic from the old wizard’s house and, for that matter, search for the old wizard, too. This implied, of course, that they weren’t al lying dead there already.

I paused at this point in my deliberations, wondering if Evrard could fly that far. I knew I couldn’t have when I first came to Yurt.

Joachim, who had been silent for several minutes, abruptly stirred, then roled up in his blanket. “Let’s get some sleep.”

“I can’t. Not with a monster loose. I must not have made this completely clear, Joachim, but the monster’s escape—and, from what you said about the old wizard’s jealousy, its very existence—are my fault.

I have to find a way to stop it.”

“You stil need your sleep.”

“No,” I said obstinately. “You and I have often sat up most of the night talking and I’m always fine the

next day.”

“That is, you can stil function,” said Joachim mildly, leaning on an elbow and looking at me, “thanks to a spel that you’ve told me gives you a bad headache.” The problem was that the chaplain knew me too

wel.

“lie down and close your eyes,” said Joachim, as though he were my grandmother twenty years ago, tucking me into bed when I didn’t want to go. ‘ I’l sing you a hymn to make you sleepy.” I lay down obediently, knowing this wouldn’t work. But I tried concentrating on the sound of his voice as he sang softly. Joachim had a very pleasant baritone. After a few minutes, I couldn’t hear him any more. I opened my eyes to find that it was already morning.

Joachim had rebuilt the fire and was brewing tea. I could barely remember the last time I had had a cup. Al my concerns of the night before abruptly took their proper place in the greater scheme of life: breakfast first, monsters second. I waited quietly until the tea

was ready.

We dipped the remains of a loaf Joachim had brought with him from the royal castle into the scalding liquid. Even stale and tasting somewhat of a saddlebag, it was indubitably the product of Gwen’s baking.

“Ilihave to get Evrard away from the nymph first,”

I said.

Joachim looked at me over the rim of his cup but did not answer. He had somehow managed to appear clean, wel-shaved and wel-brushed, and even his vestments were much crisper than clothes might be expected to be after being slept in.