Wood Nymph and the Cranky Saint- Wizard of Yurt - 2 (3 page)

“Yes, but I’m beginning to wonder if I am wrong to bring a wizard into the affairs of the church without consulting the bishop,” Joachim said slowly.

I was glad I wasn’t a priest. There seemed to be al sorts of things over which one could have moral dilemmas, none of which would have bothered me in the slightest.

“But perhaps it’s best that I have,” he continued after a moment, “for the hermitage has a magical creature of its own. The hermitage is built in a grove at the source of a little river. There has always been a wood nymph living there.”

I sat up straight. “How very exciting! I had no idea we had a wood nymph in Yurt. I’ve never seen one before—I’l definitely have to visit this grove. So how do she and the hermit get along? Is that what you’re going to investigate? I wonder if it’s the nymph who is annoying the count?”

He looked at me and looked away, seeming to find the idea of a wood nymph much less exciting than I did.

“The old wizard, my predecessor, must know about the nymph,” I continued. “I’l ask him when we get home again. There’s a lot of the old magic of wood and earth that he knows but which they don’t teach at the school.”

“My investigations have nothing to do with the nymph directly,” said Joachim. “But with you along, it may be easier to deal with her if she appears—I’ve never seen a nymph myself. The bishop nas sent me to the hermitage on a matter concerning the saint’s relics kept there.” This sounded dul again. But apparently it was not dul to the chaplain. “Why would the bishop send me on such an important commission?” he burst out.

I lay back again with my legs crossed, looking into the leaves above us. Very high up, hidden from view,

a bird was singing gloriously. “You’ve been Royal Chaplain of Yurt,” I said, “what is it, five years now? And I know you were at the cathedral for a year or two after leaving the seminary before becoming chaplain. The bishop has had plenty of time to see your abilities. Maybe he trusts your judgment more than that of the priests in his cathedral chapter.”

“If he’s giving me this kind of responsibility,” said Joachim gloomily, “I’m afraid he may even be thinking of making me a member of the cathedral chapter.” I sat up abruptly. This gloom I could understand. “But if he did, you’d have to leave Yurt! How could you bear to leave the king and queen and the little prince?” His huge dark eyes were turned toward me, but did not seem to see me. “That’s not the real issue. The issue is that I know I am not worthy of such an honor.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “I don’t understand. Why would it be such an honor to be a cathedral priest? I thought you had been one already.” Joachim looked at me soberly. “You realy don’t know how the church works, do you?”

“Not me! We wizards prefer to have as little to do as possible with the details of organized religion.” If I had been the chaplain, I would have roled my eyes at me. So far, I had never managed to make Joachim rol his eyes, but I stil had hopes.

“I’l explain it to you again,’ he said patiently. “I went from the seminary where I was trained, two kingdoms away from here, to the cathedral of Caelrhon, the cathedral that also serves Yurt. The bishop who headed my seminary knew the bishop here and recommended me to him. Young priests are always sent away from the dioceses where they are trained.”

“I already knew that,” I said promptly.

“But I was never a member of the cathedral chapter, just one of the many young priests attached to the

church. Only the most senior and spiritual priests of the diocese are chosen to join the chapter.”

“But the bishop of Caelrhon appointed you Royal Chaplain,” I objected. “Isn’t that more of an honor than being a priest in his cathedral chapter?” His eyes became intense and distant again, no chance now of getting him to rol them. “To serve the cathedral is a much greater honor and a much greater responsibility. As chaplain, I am only responsible for the souls of the royal court, but the bishop and his cathedral chapter must mediate between God and al the people of the twin kingdoms of Yurt and Caelrhon. I fear I do not have a heart and mind pure enough to take on such a burden.”

I wanted to ask who did, in that case, but he went on without giving me a chance.

“And at the same time as I think this, I am filed with doubt, whether it is only my pride that even makes me imagine the bishop has such a plan. If I were truly humble, I would take the duties God sends me without worrying either about a possible promotion or my ability to carry out those duties.”

“So leaving Yurt wouldn’t bother you,” I said, highly irritated. To me, having Joachim leave the kingdom permanently would be almost as bad as having the royal family leave. Apparently he saw it differently.

“Al that bothers you is some moral dilemma.”

Now his eyes did focus on me again. “I shouldn’t have tried to explain it to you,” he said stiffly. “I should have realized a wizard wouldn’t appreciate moral concerns.” The bird had stopped singing. We resaddled our horses and rode on toward the count’s castle.

“It runs like a rabbit,” the count told us as we ate dinner. So far, I thought, this did not sound like a particularly frightening magical creature. The count was a little younger than the king, but not by much. He had the same wispy white hair, but otherwise was

built very differently, being round and joly-looking. “But it’s much bigger than a rabbit—closer to the size of a fox, or even a smal hound.”

“So you’ve seen it?” I asked, setting down my fork.

“I saw it yesterday, just once,” the count said, “but my men have seen it several times in the last two days. It has, how can I describe this, an unfinished appearance. It moves awkwardly, almost as though it was about to fal apart. But the strangest thing about it,” he paused and I felt a cold finger touch the back of my neck, “is that instead of rabbits’ ears, it has horns.”

“Horns?”

“That’s right. Long, straight horns. Almost like a young sheep.”

I caught Joachim’s eye across the table. He frowned as though wondering if this could be something diabolical.

“And don’t forget to tel him about the strange sound it makes,” said the countess.

“What kind of sound?”

The count hesitated. “A strange sound. Not like you’d expect a rabbit to make, even a horned rabbit. It sounded almost more like an owl.” He turned slightly pink, then smiled half-apologeticaly. “I’l make the sound for you.” He raised nis hands to his mouth and gave a long, low hoot. An awkward cross between a rabbit, a sheep, and an owl should have seemed funny, but somehow it didn’t.

“What has it done so far?’ I asked.

“Wel,” said the count slowly, “it hasn’t actualy done anything. A little girl said she saw it late yesterday afternoon, heading east, up toward the high plateau. If she was right, we may not see it again. But I don’t like it. It’s not right for strange unnatural creatures to roam around the land of men.”

“Don’t cal it unnatural,” I said absently. “Magic is a perfectly natural force. But I do agree with you on the key point,” I continued more forcibly. “I don’t like it either. Great horned rabbits don’t belong here. I’ve never heard of one before, and if I had, I would have expected it to be thousands of miles north of here, up in the land of dragons and wild magic.

Modern wizardry usualy tries to keep such creatures there.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” said the count, again apologetic, ‘but since I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to come right away—”

“Yes? I prompted when he hesitated.

“At the same time as I sent you a message, I also sent one to the duchess. I thought perhaps she could help us hunt the homed rabbit. The duchess, whose castle was about five miles from the old count’s, was a noted huntress. “She sent a message back that she would be here tomorrow. I’d hoped she and her huntsmen could find its trail and track it up onto the plateau, or wherever it’s gone.” Joachim had said nothing so far, but he suddenly put in, with a look toward me, “I’m going to the high plateau tomorrow myself.”

“Good,” I said. “We’l go together. While you talk to the hermit, I’l search for this magical horned rabbit there. A wood nymph’s grove might even attract it. At the same time, the duchess ana her hunters can be looking for its trail down here. Between al of us, we should catch it.”

IV

In the early morning, the high plateau was half hidden by mist, but the sun rising behind it gave the rows of trees against the sky a halo of light. When the count’s stable boy led our horses into the courtyard, I saw at once that he had switched the harnesses. The bay Joachim had been riding had the correct

ran

saddle, but its bridle had bels, whereas my old white mare had no bels.

Joachim did not actualy become angry; he never

did. “I’m a priest and a representative of the cathedral,” he said. “I can’t go visit a hermit while riding a horse with bels,” and he proceeded to lengthen the stirrups on my mare.

“Wait a minute, Father, I can change the bridles,” said the mortified stable boy.

“It’s not your fault,” the chaplain said quietly. “I have no time to wait, but think no more of it.’ His long legs reaching wel below the mare’s bely, he rode out through the gates while I scrambled up on the bay, hastily tugged up the stirrups, and hurried to

catch him.

We rode in silence, through a woods where dark pines stood tal on either hand, then slowly up and out of the pines as the road ascended toward the plateau. Our horses were breathing hard when we emerged at the top.

Joachim puled the mare over to the side to rest and sat stroking her mane. Here the wind blew across pastures thick with wild flowers. A mile away, I could see a group of brown and white cows and a stone bam, but otherwise we seemed to have the plateau to ourselves. In the bright sun and air, it did not seem the place for a great horned rabbit.

It also did not seem a place to be quarreling with the chaplain. “We’l want to rest the horses for a few minutes anyway,” I said. “Why don’t we change the harnesses now?”

He turned his dark eyes on me, then unexpectedly smiled, a genuine smile that worked its way up from his mouth to his cheekbones and eyebrows. You’re right,” he said. “I’m being both sily and stubborn.” He swung down off the mare. “I wanted to arrive early at the hermitage, but fifteen minutes isn’t going to make any difference. Let’s give the horses a rest, and I can tel you what we’re likely to find.” Whether the chaplain felt he needed a wizard’s protection against the horned rabbit or he was worried about the wood nymph, I was pleased he might stil want the company of someone who didn’t appreciate moral issues.

But he hesitated for a moment before beginning. “As you may know,” he said at last, “there is a deep limestone valey cut into this plateau. The hermitage is located in a grove at the upper end, where the valey’s river is born. I visited it once when I first came to Yurt, before you became Royal Wizard. The hermitage is also a shrine, sacred to the memory of Saint Eusebius.” He paused for a long look at me. “Did you ever hear of Saint Eusebius of Yurt?”

I shook my head. Wizards don’t learn very much about saints.

“I know you,” he said slowly, “so I feel I should warn you. There’s a special relic of the saint at the shrine, and the hermit wil not appreciate it if you laugh at the relic.”

‘ But why should I laugh at a relic?” I protested.

“Because,” he answered, almost reluctantly, “because it’s the saint’s big toe.” He had turned away, but for a moment, I half imagined he might find this funny himself.

“The saint’s big toe? But what happened to the rest of the saint?”

“Eusebius was eaten by a dragon,” said Joachim, looking at me as soberly as if it had never occurred to him that a saint’s toe could be amusing.

“When was this?” I was amazed that I had never heard the story.

“It must be,” he hesitated as though calculating, “a good fifteen hundred years ago, long before the kingdom of Yurt or the rest of the western kingdoms even existed, back in the latter days of the Empire.” That explained why I had never heard of Saint Eusebius; I had never been strong on history, especialy ancient history.

The morning sun shone on our heads, and what looked like a hawk soared high above. It was hard to believe in either saints or dragons—or, for that matter, in great horned rabbits—on a lovely June day like this.

“Saint Eusebius himself was living in the grove, then,” Joachim continued. “He lived alone, spending his days in devotion and contemplation. But when a dragon appeared up on the plateau and started eating the people’s flocks, he felt he had to do something.’

“He should have caled on a wizard,” I provided. “I know there were wizards, even back then.”

Other than giving me a quick look, he paid no attention to my interruption. “Saint Eusebius took his crucifix and went to face the dragon, to command it in the name of Christ to leave the area.”

“But, Joachim, you know that wouldn’t work. It might work with a demon, but dragons aren’t inherently evil, just magic.” It was harder this time for him to ignore my interruption, but he managed. “Inspired by the devil, the dragon began to eat the holy man. But a desperate group of peasants had banded together, armed with spears and meat hooks. When the dragon tried to swalow the saint, it miraculously began to gag and choke on him. While the dragon was thus occupied, the peasants burst out of hiding and attacked it. One of them got in a lucky stroke with a meat hook and pierced the dragon’s throat at the one spot where it was vulnerable.’

He paused as though the horror of it were almost too much. “But they were too late to save Saint Eusebius. Al that remained of him was his left big toe.” I felt rather proud that I did not even smile. “And so they preserved the relic at the hermitage where he had lived,” I said, “and subsequent generations of hermits have succeeded Eusebius there ever since. Is that it? But what do you have to investigate now?”

“Saint Eusebius was always a rather, wel, difficult—if holy—man, even while he was alive. Now, fifteen hundred years after his death, some say he’s a difficult saint.”

“What do you mean, difficult?”

“WeD,” said Joachim after an almost imperceptible pause, “here’s an example. A lady, a very lovely and vain one, went to his shrine to pray for help in overcoming her faults. The saint began with her vanity, by putting a giant wart on her nose.”