"No. You must come to know me, and to love me."
She spread her hands slightly. "You promised never to summon me again, after this night."
"And I shall not! You must come only if you choose."
"If The Sorcerer chooses."
"No! It must be free. It shall be free."
"I do not understand you."
Parry got up and fetched a sheet of paper, one of the valuable supplies his father provided him with. He took a stick of charcoal and began to mark it, gazing intently at her. "I have been trained also in the art of persuasion," he said. "This is my test: to persuade you. If I prove unable to do so, then I will fail, and my father will be disappointed. I must not fail, for there is no other woman as right for me as you. I must have you with me as I step out into the world as a sorcerer."
"I have no truck with magic!" she exclaimed with some asperity. "It is the work of the devil!"
"No. Black magic is the work of the devil. White magic is the work of the Church. It is white magic I am learning. It is beneficial to man and good for the soul."
She shrugged. "I wish you would let me go. I fear what sorcery you may work on me."
"Give me one more hour," he said earnestly. "If I cannot persuade you in that time, then I will know it is not to be."
"You talk so foolishly! I am not to be persuaded! I am here to be—" She hesitated, then forced herself to finish. "Taken."
"Persuaded," he said firmly. "Just as I was given a far better life by the intervention of the Lord God, so may you also be. I can offer you good food, better than what you have just eaten. Good clothing, better than what you wear now. The warmth of the fire, every night. The respect, even the awe, of the villagers—"
"Why torment me like this?" she protested. "I know none of it can be true!"
He set aside his charcoal and turned the paper to her. "What do you see?"
Her eyes rounded with surprise. "You drew this?"
"You saw me doing it. Who is it?"
"The Madonna!" she exclaimed. "You can draw! But you had no model!"
"I had a model."
"But you were looking at me—" She faltered. "It cannot be! She is so lovely!"
"It is you, Jolie—as you can be. When properly fed and dressed. When your beauty manifests to others as it does to me now."
"No!" she said, bemused and flattered.
"It is what you will be, if you come to me. If you love me, and let me love you. It is the potential I see in you, that I know will appear if it is allowed."
She stared at the sketch, fascinated. "You believe this?"
"I know this. Yet this is only the lesser half of it. Even as the soul is more than the flesh, your mind is more than your body. You can be brilliant!"
"I cannot even read," she said. "Or figure."
"I can teach you these. I know you can learn. I believe you have the desire. Will you not allow me to try?"
Her gaze became canny. "So I will return to you every night for your pleasure? You would fool me with impossible promises, so that this night will be not the end, but only the beginning?"
"Only the beginning," he agreed. "But not of delusion. All that I have told you is true—or will be true, if you accept it. Please, I beg of you—give me this chance!"
"You beg of me? You have no need to beg, only to command. You know that."
"A command is made to an unwilling person, without love," he said. "A plea is made to a person one respects."
"Peasants are not respected!" she exclaimed.
"Jolie, I will offer you a job, so it is legitimate. To be my servant. I will pay you a fair wage. I will give you a coin tonight, that you can take home and show as evidence. Then will you return?"
"But you said you don't want my body, you want my love. A servant doesn't love."
"It is only a pretext. I will not treat you as a servant. I will treat you as an apprentice."
"An apprentice! To be a sorcerer?"
"And to be my wife."
"Blessed Mary!" she breathed, staring at him almost in shock.
"What more can I promise you?" he asked. "I want your love. I want you to know me and to love me. I will do anything you ask."
She sighed. "I know my place. I am a poor, ignorant peasant girl. I know that none of this is to be believed. I wish you would just do what you mean to do and let me go, so that I need not fear evil anymore, because it will be behind me. You have no cause to mix up my mind."
Parry saw her slipping away despite his best effort. He could not let it happen. He realized he would have to do what he had sought to avoid. He would have to enchant her.
"What do you fear of me?" he asked.
"I cannot tell you that! The uttering of it might make it come true."
"Do you fear that I will ravish you and cast you out despoiled, so that your father will beat you for being of lesser value on the marriage market?"
She nodded, agreeing without uttering.
"Do you not wonder why I have not done it long since, instead of talking with you?"
"I have been asking you that!"
"Can you not accept that what I am telling you is true?"
"I cannot."
"Then let me show you the nature of my power."
She tried to shrink back against the hearthstones. "I believe it already!"
"Look at me, Jolie. Gaze into my eyes and do not flinch."
She nerved herself for the inevitable and obeyed.
Parry invoked the magic of mesmerism. He accessed her mind through her eyes and made it responsive to his verbal commands. She would now obey any reasonable directive, and any unreasonable directive if it were suitably couched to seem reasonable. Almost anything could be done with a mesmerized person, if the sorcerer was sufficiently skilled.
"Listen to me," he said. "Believe what I say. Do not question it."
She nodded, her eyes fixed on his.
"I am about to teach you to fly," he said. "Follow my instructions, and you will fly. Are you ready to fly?"
She hesitated, obviously wishing to question this, but constrained by his injunction against that. She nodded, ill at ease despite the power of the spell.
"Spread your arms," he said. She did so. Now the holes in her dress were revealed; she had held her arms close to her body before, hiding the condition of the dress. Stitching had made up much of the damage, but it was not enough; he could see a portion of her right breast through the stitching. The breast was small, because she was young and because she was ill nourished; still, it threatened to distract him from this demonstration, so he forced his gaze away from it.
"You are now poised for flight," he said. "When you flap your arms you will rise into the air. Be careful, because the space is limited here; you do not want to bang into the roof. Do it slowly, and remain in control."
Still she looked doubtful.
"Flap your arms," he said.
She lifted and dropped her arms, imitating the motion of the wings of a bird, awkwardly.
"You are now rising from the floor," he said. "Look down. What do you see?"
She remained on the floor, moving her arms. But her face as she looked down changed. Sheer wonder showed. "I—I am hovering in the air!" she exclaimed.
"I have taught you to fly," he said. "But you are as yet clumsy. It takes practice to do it well. When you can do it well, we can fly outside. Now come down, carefully."
She changed her motions, then her knees bent and she almost lost her balance. She recovered, and stood normally, her bosom heaving. "I am down!"
"The lesson is over," he said. "Do not attempt to fly again tonight. Fix this experience in your memory. When I snap my fingers you will be free of my power."
He waited a moment, then snapped his fingers.
Her attitude changed. She looked warily at him. "You enchanted me!" she exclaimed.
"I enchanted you," he agreed.
"But I flew!"
"You did, and you did not. It is a matter of perspective. I made you seem to
fly, but later I can make you fly in reality. This is an aspect of my power."
She looked about the room. "It was so real! But I didn't really fly?"
"You had a vision of flying. It would not have been safe for you really to fly at this time. You aren't dressed for it."
She glanced down at herself, and quickly pulled in her arms, covering the flaws in her dress. "Why did you do this to me?"
"To show you the kind of power I have, taught me by my father, the Sorcerer. I appeal now to your logic: if I can make you believe you are flying, do you understand I could make you believe that you must undress and do whatever I ask of you?"
She considered. "Yes," she whispered, awed.
"Can you now believe that what I am telling you is true? That I value your person, and want your love, not your enchantment?"
"Almost," she whispered.
"That I will teach you these things I know, that you may join me in the practice of this kind of magic, for the good of the village?"
"Almost."
He saw that it wasn't enough. If she had this doubt immediately after the experience, that doubt would grow when she went home. His effort of persuasion had not been sufficient.
He had only one more thing to try. It seemed the weakest of his devices, but it was all that remained. If it failed, then he would have to admit defeat.
"I will sing to you," he said. "Then you may go, your father's debt acquitted. But here—I promised you a coin, in token of the employment I offer you. In token of all I ask of you. Take it, and return to me if you will." He fetched the tiny copper coin from his pocket and gave it to her.
"You are letting me go, without—?"
"After my song." Then he breathed deeply, twice, and sang. He composed the words extemporaneously, and the melody; it was a thing he had always had a talent for. That was part of what the Sorcerer had discovered in him. There was a sonance and meter in the language he used—French—but those hardly mattered; the sentiment would manifest in any language. Yet the words were only the lesser aspect of it, a convenience of the moment, tuned to this passing purpose.
The song filled the house, for it was buttressed by the sorcery he had mastered best: the ethereal accompaniment. It was as if the finest musicians of the realm sat behind him, playing their instruments in perfect accord, buttressing and amplifying his voice, making of it a sound no natural human throat could issue. The power of that orchestra infused the building, making the floor vibrate and the low fire quiver in resonance. There was, literally, magic in it.
"Jolie! I sing of the beauty I see in you, Of the glory in you, waiting to be evoked, Of the joy I would have of you, If only you could love me. If only you could love me."
"Jolie! I sing of your elegance to come, Of the envy of those who once knew you, Who will take you for an Abbess, If only I may love you. If only I may love you."
The girl stood as if transfixed, listening. Her tresses seemed to waver with the sound, and faint washes of color crossed her eyes. She was indeed beautiful, and intelligent; only the poverty of her situation had masked her qualities. With food and care and confidence she would be a woman to reckon with. Parry had not deceived her in that; she deceived herself. He did want her love, for he knew her to be a treasure. Her name meant "Pretty," and that she was, in many senses. His comprehension of this infused his song with passion; he loved her already.
He finished. He said nothing; he walked to the door and lifted the bar, and stood aside, waiting for her to leave.
Dazed, she clutched her dress about her and walked out.
She hesitated just outside, afraid of the night, shivering with its chill. Parry took a cloak from a hook and carried it to her, and set it on her shoulders.
Still she stood. He realized that she was concerned for the creatures of the darkness. The village dogs knew her and would not attack, but they were not out now, which meant that wild animals could encroach. The village was some distance from Parry's house. It could be dangerous for a woman to walk alone.
He took down a cloak for himself, and fetched a stout staff. Then he joined Jolie. Without a word he set out for the village.
She followed, grateful for the protection. He slowed, encouraging her to catch up. Then they walked together, silently. The distance had seemed formidable; now it seemed short. No animals encroached.
When they came to her house, he stopped. She paused, glancing at him, then removed her cloak; it was not hers to keep. Gravely, he accepted it. Then he turned and walked away.
Would she come to him again? She had been moved by his song; he knew that. But how long would the effect last? She was free now; she had paid her father's debt.
Parry slept irregularly. He had put himself across as an urbane young man of considerable power, and he was that, but this was his first attempt to accomplish a major thing by himself. It was his rite of passage as a sorcerer—and it was something he truly wanted. Jolie was the best possible woman for him in the region; with her he knew he could achieve happiness. There would be a great deal of work to develop her, of course, but there would also be much pleasure in the doing of it. He did not know what he would do if she did not come to him. He had at the moment no other ambition than to bring her to his house and keep her.
He woke before dawn, and dressed and ate and performed necessary tasks, his mind elsewhere.
The day passed with routine chores. One villager had chickens who ranged too far; neighbors had complained and threatened to kill them for their own pots, but the hens were undisciplined and could not be restrained. The man had paid the Sorcerer for a solution to the problem, and the Sorcerer had given the task to Parry for practice. If he bungled it, the Sorcerer would make it right, but Parry intended to handle the matter competently himself.
He pored over his text on law, and in due course found it: a procedure covering exactly this situation. It was not known locally, but had been used in other countries, and it had the force of common law. It was this: the owner of the hens had to stand at the ridge of the roof of his house, and pass his right arm under his left, and reach up and grab his own hair. Then he was to take a sickle by its point, in his left hand, whose motion was at this stage restricted. He would fling the sickle as far as he could, and its landing would define the distance his hens could go with impunity.
It happened that this particular peasant was athletic and coordinated; he would, with a little practice, be able to fling the sickle quite far. That should give his hens enough room to range. The Sorcerer would advise the client of this, privately; then, in a few days, present the procedure. It would be done in public, so that all the villagers would see how the man vindicated his chickens. Once again, the Sorcerer would earn his fee. The Lord of the Manor, seeing the matter settled amicably, would not interfere; he might even come to watch the sickle-throwing himself.
Parry was well satisfied. But as evening approached he became nervous. Would Jolie come? He thought she would, but also he doubted. He had done the best he could to convince her; if it wasn't enough...
The day waned, but the girl did not show. Parry's gloom deepened. He had tried so hard to persuade her! What could he have done differently? He had a whole life to live with her, if only she chose it.
He lit a fire on the hearth. The air was turning chill, but that was not what motivated him. It was that he had the fire going when she had come before, and she had sat beside it. Almost he could visualize her there! But he stopped that vision; a sorcerer had no business succumbing to the illusions he foisted on others. A sorcerer had to deal in reality, whatever it was, wherever he found it, being always undeceived. Magic, science, law and illusion were merely tools to be understood and applied. Reality was his truest master.
Even the reality of a woman who chose not to come.
But he had pinned so much on this! He knew she was right for him; he knew he could offer her a better life man any peasant of the village could. But did she know?
The fire blazed up, and smoked, and gradually
settled into place as the draft became established. The average peasant cottage had no internal fire; it would have been dangerous for the thatched roof. But Parry had been raised in comparative luxury—a luxury he had hoped to share with Jolie!
He stiffened, listening. Was that a knock? He doubted it, for the sound had been so faint as to be coincidence, but he hurried to the door anyway and threw it open.
Jolie stood there. "Did you mean it?" she asked timorously.
Parry opened his arms to her, realizing even as he did it that he might be making a mistake. He had asked for her love, but promised her only a job.
She stepped into his embrace. Her action, like his, was answer enough.
Chapter 2 - CRUSADE
There was not much more to it, that night. They embraced, then separated, aware that such intimacy was premature. She had only come to inform him that her father had acceded to her employment by the Sorcerer's son, and wanted to know the rate of pay. She would come in the morning for work.
"Yes, of course," Parry agreed. He was so relieved that she had come that he had no concern for the details. He guided her to the fire, and brought her bread and milk.
"I should do that," she said.
"Tomorrow you shall," he said, smiling.
"My father thinks I am to be your mistress," she confided. "He wants an extra coin for that."
"He shall have it!" Parry agreed before he thought.
She averted her gaze. "Then it is true?"
"Only if you wish it. I told you before—"
"You desire me?"
"Yes."
"But will not force me?"
"Yes."
"And if I do not wish it?"
Parry spread his hands. "I want only what you wish to give."
She shook her head. "I do not understand you, Parry."
He tried to explain. "I could pay a village girl, and she would do whatever I asked, because of the money. But she would not love me, only my money. I want your love, and that I cannot buy."
"I wish I could believe."
"I wish I could make you believe."
She glanced sidelong at him. "I thought you would give me a reason."
For Love of Evil Page 2