Wood Nymph and the Cranky Saint- Wizard of Yurt - 2 (18 page)

I looked down at the cup in my hand and realized I must have drunk a number of glasses of the nymph’s icy water. In spite of the disconcerting effect of watching myself forget, talking to her was so pleasant that I would have been wiling to continue indefinitely.

As each new topic arose, it was crystal clear; I thought with admiration that the nymph was not only charming, but witty and highly informed about the practice of magic. With each topic, as we laughed and traded quips, I thought I could not possibly forget this conversation. But as we turned to a new subject, even while that subject became briliantly clear, I realized that the former was fading from my mind.

The only part of the day’s conversation I was able to reconstruct afterwards was her attempt to explain the lives of birds to us. She whistled until finches and thrush flew from al over the grove to land on the branches nearby. They chirped to her and she to them in apparent perfect understanding. Although they al seemed to have nothing magical about them, their colors were more briliant, their eyes brighter, their songs sweeter, than any birds I had ever seen.

“We’d better leave soon if we’re going to the duchess’ castle,” I managed to say at last. I had only intended to stay in the nymph’s tree for an hour or two and we must have been here far longer. Even suggesting we leave required a major effort of wil.

I glanced upward to try to guess the time from the sky and was startled to see it was already dark. And then I realized it was raining, a light steady rain that tapped on the leaves around us but touched us not at al. I had the vague recolection that it had been raining for some time.

‘You may leave if you wish,” came the wood nymph’s warm voice from the shadows, “or, if you like, you can spend the night here with me.” I knew, even without seeing her, that she was not addressing herself to me, or even to both of us. She was speaking to Evrard.

He knew it, too. “I would very much like to stay, Lady. Daimbert, what wil you do?”

“Evrard, I—”

“I am free,” he said meaningfuly, “and that means I am free to choose.”

I knew better than to stay where I was not wanted. “Il go back to the apprentice hermits,’ I said. “They can practice their hospitality some more.” Wrapping a protective spel against rain around me, I floated down from the tree, landing lightly next to Evrard’s heavy footprint. Long ago, I had put a spel of light on my belt buckle. Because the buckle was made in the shape of the moon and stars, I had thought it appropriate to do so, but I had always been disappointed that it had never glowed very brightly. It would not have sufficed the night before to light the path for two mounted men but, when I turned it on now, it glowed softly, giving just enough light that I was able to grope through the grove amidst little swirls of mist, fly over the waterfal, and continue down the valey toward the stone huts.

Our mares were where we had left them, standing contentedly head to tail in the warm rain. I continued past them to the hut where Evrard and I had passed theprevious night.

The light from my buckle showed a blanketed lump in the corner. It thrashed suddenly as I came in and the leader of the apprentices sat up, looking at me with startled eyes.

“I’m very sorry to disturb you,” I said contritely, “but would it be possible to ask you for hospitality again tonight?” Without answering, he jumped up, seized his blankets, and ran out into the night. I went to the doorway and was fairly sure I saw him enter another one of the huts. I would not have wanted him sleeping in the rain on my account.

I unfolded the saddle blankets we had left in the corner with our saddles. Tonight I had both mine and Evrard’s, and the damp air made me glad I did. My stomach growled, but I did my best to ignore it. I felt surprisingly weary, as though I had run a great distance today, instead of sleeping late and then spending many delightful hours talking with the nymph. The steady drum of rain on the slate roof over my head luled me quickly to sleep.

I awoke near dawn, unsure what had wakened me, but suddenly and abruptly fuly conscious. The sound of rain had ceased. I breathed very quietly through my mouth, not daring to open my eyes or even move, but convinced that someone—or something—was in the hut with me.

Whatever it was, it seemed to be trying to be as silent as I. Very slowly, I opened my eyes, just far enough so that I could see through the lashes. The predawn light was stil dim. Next to my face were two homy bare feet. The toes appeared unusualy large.

Against my wil, my heart pounded violently and my eyes flew open. Saint Eusebius, I thought, had appeared

to me.

My eyes moved upward, to a long ropy beard and then to a face where sharp eyes looked back at me from beneath heavy white eyebrows. I realized after one dreadful second that this was not a vision of the saint. He smiled kindly. It was the old hermit.

He sat down companionably next to me. “I am sorry if I wakened you, my son,” he said. “But I wanted, if possible, to speak with you before my apprentices arose.”

I sat up slowly, pushing back the blankets. “What do you want to discuss?”

“I wanted to provide reassurance, to you and to your friend, the Royal Chaplain. That young man takes his spiritual responsibilities so seriously that I fear he may forget the words of Christ, ‘My yoke is easy and my burden light.’”

I let this assessment of Joachim pass without comment. “Wel, I’m hoping to reassure him myself,” I said. “He and the bishop were worried that the wood nymph might be an inappropriate influence here at tne Holy Grove but, when I talked to her yesterday, it was clear that she herself takes spiritual issues seriously.” As I spoke I realized, almost guiltily, that it was much easier talking to the hermit alone than it would have been with Evrard there.

The hermit smiled gently. “My daughter, the wood nymph, certainly does not distract me from my devotions, if that is what the chaplain has feared. I wish he had mentioned his concerns and then I could have eased his mind.”

“I don’t think I need any spiritual reassurance myself,” I said, “but I did want to ask you something. What has the Cranky, I mean, what has Saint Eusebius said to you? He appeared to the chaplain in a vision and told him he wanted to leave this grove. Apparently he was fairly firm on that point.”

“As I told you before,” said the hermit, looking at me with bright eyes, “he wil not want to leave the shrine where he worshipped when in the flesh, and where his relics have always been.” I hated to doubt the word of such an obviously holy hermit, but I knew he was prevaricating—either that or I would have to doubt the veracity of Joachim’s vision.

“You mean,” I said, lowering my eyebrows at him and trying to give an air of wizardly wisdom, “that your conversations with the wood nymph have persuaded you that the saint’s cranky temper comes and goes. You are personaly confident he wil no longer be irritated with life in the valey if the entrepreneurs are removed from the top of the cliff.”

“Those poor souls do seem somewhat confused,” said the hermit, which I took as a confirmation of my guess. “Do you know,” he added, cocking his head to one side, “they came to visit me yesterday?”

“They did?’ This was a surprise.

“They came in disguise, of course, because they

were embarrassed at the spiritual inappropriateness of what they are doing. They hoped to find out, without actualy asking, what was my opinion of their business and, even more importantly, if Saint Eusebius might be thinking of leaving the grove. From the point of view of their enterprise, I realize, the departure of the saint’s relics would be disastrous.”

“In disguise? But ... of course. I saw them, too.” I should have realized that the three men in gray robes were not realy weary, footsore pilgrims. I had even seen their riding boots. “What did they say?”

“Very little. They offered me loaves of bread, as true pilgrims normaly do, and they knelt in prayer at the shrine, although they seemed uncomfortable doing so. They took some water from the river in little bottles. But I know that Saint Eusebius wil judge the spiritual impulse of their inner hearts, which made them ashamed of making money from the things of God.”

“And what did you tel them about Saint Eusebius?”

“I merely told them that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.” The hermit was fairly astute, but I had a different explanation for why three disguised entrepreneurs should have come to the shrine. If they had been hired to upset the Cranky Saint by the priests of the distant church who wanted the saint’s relics, then they wanted to find out how wel their plan was working.

But I recaled that, when Evrard and I had seen the half-constructed scaffolding, I had concluded they realy must hope to make money from pilgrims coming to see the Holy Toe. This was rapidly becoming too confusing for me this early in the morning.

“You say that you do not need spiritual comfort yourself, my son,” continued the hermit, his eyes resting on my face. “But I think that you do. Come back to the grove with me now. I was going to break my fast with some of the bread those poor souls left with me and I would be happy to share it with you.”

I hesitated for a second, knowing that Joachim would be surprised if I did not go, knowing that Evrard would rol his eyes at me if I did, and wondering uneasily what my teachers at the school might say. But then I stood up. I could certainly have breakfast with an old hermit. Besides, I was hungry.

Early morning was just reaching the valey. We picked our way up the path beside the waterfal and went into the center of the grove, where the hermit’s hut backed up to the shrine of the Holy Toe. The inside of the nut had the same dirt floor and rough wals as the huts of the apprentice hermits; if anything, it was a little smaler.

He gave me a slice of black bread and took a crust for himself. Having had nothing to eat the day before but the nymph’s berries, I devoured it ravenously, washing it down with spring water that tasted exactly the same as the nymph s water.

“You seem hungry, my son,’ said the hermit with a smal smile, and I realized with embarrassment that he had only taken a few smal bites of his bread while I was polishing off mine.

“I thank you, Father,” I said meekly. He wasn’t my father any more than Joachim was, but I felt I had to show respect.

He put down the rest of his crust uneaten. “If you have finished satisfying your physical needs then, perhaps, I can help your spiritual needs.” I was stil hungry, but it would have been rude to ask for more, especialy since I doubted he always had enough himself.

He took me by the shoulders and turned me gently toward him. His touch was cool and very light. His bright eyes reminded me oddly of the deep pool in the center of the grove. “You are very confused, my son.”

I started to deny it, then changed my mind.

“Surely your friend, the chaplain, has told you that God is the answer to confusion.”

Actualy, Joachim had never said this to me. Oh, wel, I thought. Since I had eaten the hermit’s bread, I would now have to listen to him.

But his next remark surprised me. “Have you ever thought of the origin of your magic?”

“Magic’s a natural power, part of the same forces that shaped the earth,” I said promptly. That every wizard knew.

The hermit smiled as though at a clever pupil. “And you know that the earth was formed by God. In performing magic, wizards touch the hem of His garment and take part, even if only in a very smal way, in His power of creation.”

This they had not taught us at the school. “You have an awesome responsibility, my son. It would indeed be too heavy a burden for mortal man to bear, were it not for God’s mercy.” I started to deny I had any awesome responsibility, then stopped. As I had told the old wizard, with an audacity that amazed me as I recaled it, I was Royal Wizard and responsible for any magical events in the kingdom.

‘ But God does not forget the sons and daughters of His creation, even when they forget Him.”

I looked into the old hermit’s bottomless eyes until I felt I was sinking into them. I felt almost as if in a trance, my breathing deep and regular and my heartbeat slow, though my mind felt unnaturaly clear. I could leave confusion behind, I thought, if I gave up my own self-wil and dedicated myself to powers far more important than myself, the kingdom, or even wizardry. For a moment I wondered if the hermit would be wiling to accept me as an apprentice.

But then I remembered I had something important to tel him. I fought back to myself like someone swimming up from deep under water. I broke eye contact with nim and mentaly shook my head. Being trained in wizardry had always made me susceptible to powerful outside influences.

I was a wizard and the world needed wizardry as much as it needed priests and hermits. Here, I thought, the old hermit would agree with me.

“Did you know that three priests are on their way here,” I asked, “to see if Saint Eusebius would be wiling to have his relics leave with them? They come from some distant city—I forget its name—but it’s where the saint was originaly made a priest.”

“On their way? When wil they arrive?”

“The pigeon message from the bishop said they would reach the royal castle of Yurt—” I paused to calculate and was surprised at the answer I reached. “They should have reached there yesterday.”

“Then I may see them today or tomorrow,” said the hermit peacefuly. “I am sorry they wil have had such a long trip without result. But I must not say that. They wil certainly find it spiritualy refreshing to worship at the shrine. No priest from the church where the saint received his youthful training has been to the grove since I have been hermit.” I was not nearly as sanguine about the priests’ arrival. But if Joachim was with them, I would at least have the opportunity to reassure him about the nymph.

Both of us stood up and I gave the hermit the formal bow as I thanked him for breakfast. But I walked quickly away from the hermitage without the slightest intention 01 going around to the other side and bending my knee before the Holy Toe.

The sun was stil hidden behind the eastern valey wal, but the sky was bright overhead and birds were singing as though last evening’s rain was only a distant memory. This was a lovely place and the past day had been extremely enjoyable but, if my predecessor s magic had gone renegade, then I had neglected for far too long my responsibility as a wizard to do something about it.