I awoke near dawn, unsure what had wakened me but suddenly and abruptly fully 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 still dim. Next to my face were two horny bare feet. The toes appeared unusually large.
Against my will, 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, both 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. “Well, 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 the 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 will 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 personally confident he will no longer be irritated with life in the valley 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 yester day?”
“They did?” This was a surprise.
“They came in disguise, of course, because they were embarrassed at the spiritual inappropriateness of what they doing. They hoped to find out, without actually 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 saints’ relics would be disastrous.”
“In disguise? But- Of course. I saw them too.” I should have realized myself that the three men in gray robes were not really 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 normally 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 will judge the spiritual impulse of their inner hearts, which made them ashamed of making money from the things of God.”
“And what did you tell 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 well their plan was working.
But I recalled that, when Evrard and I had seen the half-constructed scaffolding, I had concluded they really 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 roll 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 valley. We picked our way up the path beside the waterfall 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 hut had the same dirt floor and rough walls as the huts of the apprentice hermits; if anything, it was a little smaller.
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 small smile, and I realized with embarrassment that he had only taken a few small 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 still hungry, but it would have been rude to ask for more, especially 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.”
Actually Joachim had never said this to me. Oh, well, 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 small 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 recalled 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 unnaturally clear. I could leave confusion behind, I thought, if I gave up my own self-will 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 willing to accept me as an apprentice.
But then I remembered I had something important to tell him. I fought back to myself like someone swimming up from deep under water I broke eye contact with him and mentally 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 willing to have his relics leave with them? They come from some distant city-I forget its name-but it’s where the saint was originally made a priest.”
“On their way? When will 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 peacefully. “I am sorry they will have had such a long trip without result. But I must not say that. They will certainly find it spiritually 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 of going around to the other side and bending my knee before the Holy Toe.
The sun was still hidden behind the eastern valley wall, 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.
I wondered if it was too early to disturb Evrard. I turned back toward the part of the grove where the wood nymph had her tree. This time I found the tree immediately. “Evrard!” I called softly.
A tousled red head emerged from the leaves far above me. “Good morning!” he called, as cheerful as I had ever seen him.
“I think we’ve done everything here we came to do.”
“I certainly have!” said Evrard, with a grin I was glad the hermit had not seen.
“We need to get back to the royal castle of Yurt. First we should stop by the duchess’s castle, even though I doubt they’d be there after two days, so-”
“Who’s that?” called Evrard, interrupting me. “Is it more pilgrims?” High in the tree, he could see more clearly than I, but in a moment I too picked up the flicker of rapid movement among distant beeches. Someone was coming down the steep road into the valley.
I quickly began to put together a far-seeing spell, wondering if it was the priests come for the relics of the Cranky Saint. Then I stumbled on the words of the spell as I felt an icy and completely irrational conviction that I would see a man-like creature, not alive and not dead.
At last I had the spell functioning passably and was able to see that it was a single rider. By now the horse had reached the valley floor and was heading toward us. With a start, I recognized the duchess.