by Ken Hood
"Then I should fall into the same trap again."
The narrow gray shoulders shrugged. "Not necessarily. Life is a series of choices, of chance happenings, of little events producing large results. Small hooks catch big fish. A seed blows in the wind and a tree grows. Things may not work out exactly as they did the first time."
"The ghoul in the orange grove! The first time I tripped over Hamish and..." Toby rephrased a question into a statement. "You think I died, that the creature killed me!"
"It would seem so. The hob would not die unless the sword went through your heart. It mourns its friend Tobias. It finds its house growing cold, if you will forgive a cruel expression. It jumps him back a few days and lets him try again."
"But—"
"But why do you come back damaged so often? Why do you remember anything at all of the lost days?" The friar smiled his little smile. "Those are good questions, my son, so I shall ask them for you. Alas, I don't have good answers, but I suspect that the hob is going crazy. It is an immortal trying to cope with mortality.
"For us what's done is done. For the hob, what's done can be tried again. It certainly seems logical that neither it nor you should retain any memory of what hasn't happened yet and may never happen." He sighed. "This could give a man a headache. Do you understand this, Pepita?"
"No, Brother," said the child solemnly.
"Well, you are not alone."
"Déjà vu!" Toby said. "That feeling that you've been here before!"
Brother Bernat beamed. "You often have that feeling?"
"Quite often. I remember it very strongly in Brittany once and a couple of times in Navarre. And at other places, less marked."
"So! So perhaps the hob has been at this for years and you did not know. But now... Now, perhaps, it is going mad, so its powers are not working properly. Or other demons are interfering with it, somewhere in your future. Either way, you are coming back damaged and remembering some of what happened. Not all of it, I'm sure. You just retain fragments, of course."
Here was the bad news. "You mean I could have been—I mean I will remain—longer in the hands of the Inquisition?"
"And in the baron's clutches, too. I don't think you recall the end of the story in any of those cases."
They walked on for a while in silence. At last Toby put it into words. "And when you said these happenings were dangerous, what you meant was that one day the hob may mess things up completely. Is that possible? Could it tie the two of us into a circle, a never-ending loop in time?"
"I am certainly concerned about that possibility."
And so was Toby Longdirk. There could be no worse fate in the universe than being tortured by the Inquisition throughout all eternity.
"The dangers facing you are uncountable, my son. The Inquisition is the most immediate, of course. I shall be most surprised if your vision turns out to be false and the inquisitors are not watching for you at Tortosa. Assuming you can pass them safely and survive all the other perils of this road as well, then Baron Oreste waits in Barcelona. If he tries to strip the hob from you, he will almost certainly take parts of your mind with it. If he doesn't, then in time the hob will inevitably go completely insane, which means you will. If you were not the man you are, that would have happened long since. Tobias, I do not envy you your future!"
"There they are!" Pepita said, pointing a straw-thin finger. The pilgrims were in sight in the distance, going slowly across a wide pasture.
"So they are," said Brother Bernat, "and we have not yet finished our business." He turned aside from the track and strode over to a thicket where many of the trees still bore bright green leaves. There, as if he had planned it, he went straight to a mossy stump in the leafy gloom and seated himself like a king on a throne. The air was cool and deliciously fragrant. "Oleanders," he explained, waving a slender hand at the foliage.
Pepita promptly discovered a trail of ants and dropped on all fours to study it. Toby sank down crosslegged on the ground before the old man, resting his throbbing arms on his knees. For a moment neither spoke.
The friar glanced at the child, who had now tracked the ants to their nest at the base of a tree and was lying there with her nose almost inside it.
"Tobias," he said softly, "you can tell me the rest now."
"Father, I told you everything!" Pause. "Everything I believed was relevant." But not Mezquiriz! He had not mentioned Mezquiriz. Must he bare even that secret sorrow? He had never told anyone. Even Hamish did not know the awful truth.
"There is more, Tobias, unless I am sadly misinformed about the human race. You are a man of considerable will, but do you tell me you have never once succumbed to the temptations of the flesh? I have watched the effect you have on our companions. You draw women's eyes like flies to honey."
"That is the hob's doing! Yes, I did let it learn about... about what men and women do, Brother. It wants to experience that again, and it lures women to me."
The old man laughed. "Does it? I think you underestimate yourself. But tell me what happened. I shall not condemn you for being human."
Toby bent his head so he need not see that gaunt old face with its knowing smile. He clenched his fists until his bruised wrists throbbed. "Just once, Brother. Only once! I did not know what would happen." He waited to hear the forgiveness he wanted, but nothing came. "It was at Mezquiriz, a tiny place in Navarre, near Roncevalles. It was not a casual thing, Brother. We could not dream of marriage, but we were very much in love, both of us."
"Knowing you, I am sure you were. You would not deceive a girl for momentary pleasure. You did not know, but did you not suspect?"
Toby looked up angrily. "How could I?" The penetrating dark eyes seared him. He looked away quickly.
Yes, he must have suspected, even then, for he had fled from similar situations in the past. His doubts had been more than the normal anxiety of a young man about to embark on his first lovemaking. He remembered the words spoken outside the cottage, when the ice-bound night was a soaring choir of stars and snow glimmered on the peaks. He remembered Jeanne in his arms, her sweet fragrance, the taste of her kisses on his mouth. He remembered his terrified excuses: I am nothing but a hunted fugitive, a deserter. I have no land, no friends with influence, no money.
Her whispered reply: Life is short and love is shorter. If you care for me, do not deprive me of the happiness I ask.
I love you too much to love you.
If I knew you were leaving forever at dawn, I should still want this.
"We were members of a band of smugglers, Brother. Hamish and I needed to escape from Nevil's domains, and that was the only way. We joined them. Jeanne was one of them. I loved her. By all the spirits, I loved her!"
He stared at the dead leaves under the old man's feet. Tears ran into his stubble, but he did not wipe them away. "One night we... we exchanged solemn promises of love. And then... we went to her room."
Even as they lay together on the tiny bed with starlight peeking through cracks in the shutter, even in the frantic, clumsy fumbling with each other's garments—even then he had tried to talk her out of it. She had kissed his words away. And now he could not find words. He sat in silence with the tears flowing.
"She died, my son?"
Yes! Yes! Will you make me say it? He nodded, not looking up. "Not only her, Brother. Houses collapsed or burst into flames. Hamish barely escaped. They thought it was an artillery barrage."
Brother Bernat sighed. "It does not surprise me. Passion such as that would have been far beyond the hob's imagining. So you have avoided women ever since?"
Now Toby did look up, glaring furiously. "What do you think I am?"
The friar smiled as if he accepted the rebuke. "A most unfortunate young man who deserves better of life than the curse he bears. But answer my question. Look me in the eyes and tell me the truth."
"I have never as much as kissed another woman. Not even when they ask me outright!"
"Good!" the friar said. "Then there is ho
pe that I may be able to help you." He looked around to see where Pepita had gone, but she was out of earshot, stalking a squirrel. "And even if you did suspect that there might be trouble that night in Mezquiriz, no one could condemn you for what happened. You carry more remorse than you need. Tobias, I am truly sorry, believe me. I can teach you how to tame the hob, within limits. I can show you how to make it behave itself, so you will not go crazy and it will not thrash around damaging other people as it has done in the past. Do you want this?"
"Very much, Brother. More, I think, than anything in the world."
"There is a price to pay, though. Two prices. One is that you will no longer be able to count on the hob to defend you. Basically, I will show you how to lull it to sleep, and a sleeping watchdog does not bark."
"I would rather die than go crazy. If I do go crazy, then I will run wild like a demon, won't I? Killing, destroying?"
Brother Bernat nodded. "It is probable. The other price is that I cannot give you back what you lost that night in Mezquiriz. I know of no way to make the hob proof against ecstasy. You will remain condemned to a life of celibacy."
Toby rubbed his eyes with a knuckle. He realized that he felt bitter, which was absurd, for none of his troubles were the old friar's fault. "I am twenty-one. How old will I be when that stops worrying me?"
"About a hundred."
"I see." No, the smile was not mockery, it was sympathy. He returned it as well as he could. "Half a life is better than none. I shall be very grateful for whatever assistance you can give me, Brother. It is wonderful news that you can help me at all!" It was also very surprising. Where did such a technique come from? What was it used for? He had promised not to ask questions.
Brother Bernat studied him solemnly for a moment. "It will not be easy. You are old to start learning. Fortunately, you are a very brave young man. Nerves like granite, I said, didn't I? All you have to do is slow down your heartbeat."
Toby stared at him blankly until the old man chuckled.
"Pepita can do it! Shall I call her over to demonstrate?"
"Why should Pepita...?" Now he knew why he was not to ask questions. Brother Bernat himself must know the same trick and for the same reason, whatever that might be. "No, Brother, I believe you."
"The slower the beat, the quieter the hob, like a hibernating hedgehog. It lives in your heart, remember, so when you get excited and the house gets noisy, then the hob is alarmed. You probably have a naturally slow beat, which has helped preserve you from it. The secret is calmness, serenity of mind, and you do not lose your head. Most people would have been howling maniacs this morning after what you had been through, but you recovered almost immediately."
"I am flattered that you thought so," Toby said grimly. Somewhere deep inside he was still screaming. How many days until he was back on the rope? How many nights until he could sleep without dreaming of it?
The friar's fond little smile returned. "You underestimate yourself, Tobias. It is part of your charm, if you will forgive me for insulting a virile young man by telling him he has charm. You do, though. It is emotion in you that speeds your heart and rouses the hob." He waited as if inviting comment.
"Suppose I want to run, or work hard?"
"Exercise does not matter, only emotion. I don't know why."
"Gunfire rouses it, Brother. Or thunder. Or loud music."
"Do they? Those things might annoy an elemental, but your hob should be used to them by now. Are you sure it is not you who is alarmed? If you are frightened that the hob may be frightened, then it may be your fear that rouses it. Fear, anger—those you will have to learn to control even better than you control them now, which is much better than most men do. You understand now why the passions of love must be avoided. I shall teach you the methods and leave you to practice them. You will have to devote every spare minute to it."
"Will this get me past the Inquisition?"
Brother Bernat shook his head. "I think the poster will be their real reason for detaining you. Even if I am wrong, they will detect the hob in you. Pepita did. I confess that I did, also. You may never be skilled enough to hide it completely, and you certainly cannot hope to learn the knack in a couple of days. To become even reasonably proficient will take you months."
"Then I had better begin, just in case I live that long."
"Very well. First, you must learn how to breathe. Can you breathe without moving your shoulders, only your abdomen?"
Apparently he was serious.
"I have been doing so all morning! Like this?"
"It would help if you were to remove your upper garments again," Brother Bernat said apologetically. "I shall perform another healing on you after this, which should remove the rest of your pain. You are still in pain?"
"A little," Toby admitted, easing out of his jerkin.
"More than a little, I suspect." The friar waited until the shirt came off. "Stand. Now show me. Here." He poked a finger at Toby's solar plexus. "Out. In. Out. In. Good. Now, can you do the reverse—breathe in just using the upper part of your chest?"
At the moment that hurt, of course, but it would have been difficult at any time.
"Very good! Now, start a very long breath, very slowly, beginning down here at the base of your lungs and filling them all the way to the top. Good. Hold that. Now let it out from the top down..." He chuckled as he watched Toby's contortions. "Wait a moment. Now do it again. Good! Very good indeed! Let me give you the timing. Too fast and you will make yourself giddy."
In a few moments the old man nodded, looking pleased. "That is the first part. You may sit down again." He stood up. "Sit on this, and I shall work on your shoulders. Make yourself as comfortable as you can." He began to soothe more of the fire from Toby's injuries with his mysterious gramarye.
All gramarye was evil by definition, because it was wrested from demons by torture—so Toby had always believed. But this wondrous healing could never be evil. His definitions would have to be revised.
"The second part," the friar said, "is to clear your mind, and that is best done by thinking of some very peaceful scene you know well. Something from your childhood may be best. What shall it be?"
Toby pondered, calling up memories of the glen. "There is a little lake called Lochan na Bi. I remember watching a swan swimming on it." White plumage, dark peaty water, the hills with rain drifting down them. Reflections.
"Very good, let it be that. Some find it helpful to have a mantra also, a phrase to repeat in your mind. 'Lochan na Bi' itself would do very well, it has a gentle sound. So think of the swan and say, 'Lochan na Bi,' to yourself."
Swan. Lochan na Bi. Swan. Lochan na Bi. Swan. Lochan na Bi.
"That's all?"
Brother Bernat laughed. "That is the beginning. Repeat it about a million times! Yes, that is all. If you can breathe as I showed you, very slowly, see the swan, repeat the mantra—this is called dejamiento, Tobias. Done properly, it produces a very deep serenity. Your heart will stay at a slow, steady beat, and the hob will remain serene also. Eventually you could hope to deceive even the Inquisition."
It seemed too simple, far too simple. "If they tie weights to my feet and haul me up again?"
The friar shrugged. "I have known men who remained serene when the tormentors got to the red-hot pincers. You will not achieve that level of control for many years and perhaps never."
"I shall try, Brother."
Try he did. Tricky! The breathing alone seemed to take all his attention, leaving none for mental pictures. Swan... Lochan na Bi... He was also distracted by the cool touch of the friar's hands. After a few moments, he peered around at the old man and saw in his face the same weariness that it had shown before. Healing was obviously a strain.
"I thank you, Brother. Should we not go and join the others now?"
"As you wish." Brother Bernat sank down on the stump as Toby relinquished it to take up his clothes. "How far is it to Tortosa?"
Pulling on his shirt, Toby said, "How should
I know? I've never..." He stared in dismay at the gentle smile. "But I have, haven't I?"
The friar nodded. "Yes, my son, you have been here before. This is at least the fourth time you have walked this road. For all we know, it may be the twelfth time, or the twentieth. It may not be the last."
CHAPTER SIX
Setting off along the trail again, they saw Francisca in the distance, coming on her pony, and they waved. She responded but did not turn back, so she must have something to tell them. It was a reminder that privacy was about to be lost, that Toby had better think up an explanation for his peculiar behavior, and that there were still mysteries lurking on the edges.
"May I ask you a question now, Brother?"
"No, because I have more to tell you, so I have not finished." The old man chuckled at his expression. "You see? Even we Franciscans can be devious! But we give fair value. What have you there, child?" He examined Pepita's collection of leaves and began lecturing her on herbs.
Only gramarye could have healed Toby's injuries. The kindly old man was certainly not an incarnate, so he must be an adept and have a bottled demon concealed somewhere about his person. But if Toby could carry the soul of the true king of England around with him in a locket, a friar could transport a demon. Granted that the initial process of capturing and enslaving an elemental was vicious, the resulting demon was still immortal. If it and its conjuration later fell into innocent hands and were applied to benevolent purposes, that was a worthy practice surely. It would have to be a secret one, though, because hexing was not merely illegal but so detested that suspects were frequently torn apart by a mob before the authorities could even arrest them. He could see no connection between what Brother Bernat was doing and Senora Collel's confused mutterings about alumbradismo. Nor could he see where Pepita might fit in—Pepita, whose strange rapport for horses extended even to mice.
The Inquisition disapproved of hexers almost as much as it disapproved of the possessed. Should it learn of Brother Bernat's actions, it would confiscate his demon and impose a severe penance on him, although few of the customary penalties could be applied to a ninety-year old mendicant preacher. Forfeiture of all his worldly goods would be impossible, because he had none. Flogging or a term in the galleys would kill him. But he would certainly lose Pepita, whom he obviously loved dearly, so he had as much cause to fear the Inquisition as Toby did. He was not the only one. Gracia was another, whether or not she was achieving anything with her voices and her bottles, and the don himself might be judged possessed if he babbled about his imaginary army.