Warlock and Son

by Christopher Stasheff

  "I expect you'll be glad of ours, anyway." Rod slid a few coppers across the table. The girl stared at them, wide-eyed, then picked one up for closer inspection. Her lips curved in a smile. "True money! So rarely have I seen it!"

  "Then thou couldst mistake it," Magnus pointed out. "It could be lead, painted over. Bite, and if it shows not the mark of thy teeth, 'tis hard, and therefore like to be real."

  The girl turned her smile upon him, her eyelids lowering. "And canst thou teach me what is real in the world, and what is not?"

  Their gazes connected, and Magnus felt a thrill shoot through him, feeling her challenge and attraction both. Opportunity was calling-but opportunity for what? He smiled slowly, very much aware of the lush curves hidden by the rough, loose tunic, the full lips, the inviting eyes-but also marginally aware that his own defenses had risen, that he had become wary of demands in reserve, of the potential attempt to use him. He bore that in mind as he returned her smile, and found that he could think of things other than the girl herself. He tilted his head to the side, and answered, "I would think thou hast teachers enough. Didst thou not speak of school?"

  "Aye," she said, "yet I have little wish to learn what the nuns teach. Thy matters, though, might entrance me."

  Rod glanced from one to the other, very much aware of the girl's appeal for his son, and wondering already what her motive was. Somehow, he doubted that she was interested in the Gentle Giant for himself alone.

  "I am hight Hester," the girl said. "And thou?"

  "I am hight Magnus," the young man said with a slow smile, as though he was relishing the encounter.

  And in truth, he was. Wary of the girl's motives though he might be, the sensations her interest aroused in him were quite enjoyable. The early stages of this game were very pleasurable, and he intended to appreciate every moment of it. Time enough to withdraw when the game became-deeper, and the stakes needed to be put on the table. "Thou art not yet too fully grown for school?" Magnus asked.

  The girl made a moue. "I have only some six months and a few days I must attend. Surely a dozen years of schooling more than suffice for any woman! Nay, to answer thy question, gentleman, I would say that I am grown enough, and more-but the bishop and his nuns would not agree."

  "And their word holds sway?"

  "Of course." The girl stared in unfeigned surprise. "Do they not ever?"

  Magnus exchanged a glance with Rod, and said, "I have never met a bishop before-nor am I like to now, I warrant."

  "Oh, he doth wish to speak with all newly come to our village!"

  "I doubt me an we'll tarry long enough to be newly come," Magnus answered. He gave her a roguish smile, though, and added, "Still there might be benefit in dallying a while."

  "Hester!" the innkeeper snapped, hurrying out of the kitchen. "Wherefore standest thou there in converse? Thou shalt be late for school!" He thrust a slate and a cloth bag at her.

  "Oh, aye, Papa;" the girl said, with a sigh. She took the bag and slate, and turned back to Magnus. "I must away, good gentleman." Again, the innocent's attempt at a sultry smile. "Shall I see thee when I am freed?"

  "Hester!" the innkeeper barked, instantly angry; but she turned a saucy smile on him. "Ought I not seek to interest him in our congregation, Papa?"

  That toned the innkeeper down to a glower. "In our congregation, aye . . ."

  "And I am minded to see more of thy town and thy ways." Magnus stood, facing Hester. "May I accompany thee to the school, maiden?"

  "Why, I should be delighted, sir," she chirped, and the two of them set off side by side.

  The innkeeper stared after them, appalled, but at a loss-by the rules of their society, he couldn't object-at least not without stronger reason for suspicion.

  Rod let him off the hook. "Don't worry, I'll be right behind them." He pushed his chair back from the table. "Thanks for the breakfast, innkeeper-it was quite filling." He gestured toward the pennies. "I hope that'll cover it."

  The innkeeper stared at the money. "Oh, aye, sir! 'Tis too much!"

  "Then I'll come back for lunch." Rod strode toward the door. "Sorry to be abrupt, but I'm going to have to hurry to keep up with them." And he set off after his son, as he'd been doing for most of the last ten years.

  "Thy father would have to follow us," Hester said, nettled. "Can they not let us live as we would?"

  "Why, he can, and hath done so aforetime," Magnus said, "yet I believe he, too, doth wish to see this school of thine. 'Tis rare, seest thou."

  "Rare?" Hester looked up with a quick frown. "Why, how so?"

  "Outside this forest, few of the commonfolk have schools of any sort," Magnus explained.

  "Ah, fortunate are they!" Hester sighed. "Would I had grown in such a village."' And, for no discernible reason, she gave Magnus a smile that would have melted ice.

  "Why?" Magnus asked, with keen interest-not altogether intellectual. "Hath not knowledge made thy life richer?"

  "Oh, I must say that it hath," Hester sighed, "for the nuns do tell us the Word doth enrich our souls, and increase our chances of Heaven."

  "Oddly phrased." Magnus frowned. "Yet it doth, at least, tell me why thou hast a school. Thou dost wish Heaven, dost thou not?"

  "Oh, aye," Hester said, with another sigh, "though only for its succor from the fires and torments of Hell, which the good sisters have told us of."

  Magnus cocked his head to the side. "Thou dost not wish eternal bliss?"

  "The bliss I wish is here and now-or could be." She stared directly into his eyes, hers seeming to become huge. "The Heaven in the sky is so dull a place, from all they say-only taking ease on clouds, and playing of harps and singing of hymns. The Heaven I wish is very much of this world."

  Magnus forced himself not to flinch from her gaze, though he felt as much repelled as attracted. "The Heaven thou dost speak of on Earth is Heaven as I understand it to be hereafter-yet enduring forever, not for minutes only."

  She started, shocked, and turned away. "Thou dost blaspheme!"

  "Nay; for the bliss of the saints is even greater than that of the sinner in his fleshly preoccupation."

  Hester eyed him warily. "The good sisters tell us 'tis a bliss of the soul only."

  "I doubt it not," Magnus returned, "yet I tell thee of mine own knowledge, that the ecstasy of the flesh alone is a great anticipation and ascension into a moment's thrill that is far less than its expectation. 'Tis therefore that lechers forever pursue new conquests-they are ever in search of that which can only be gained by those in love. I cannot speak of the fullest ecstasy that is accorded true lovers, but from what I hear of it, it surpasseth mere lust as the ocean surpasseth the lake."

  Hester stared up at him, shaken but fascinated. "Thou art a sinner!"

  "That I am, to my sorrow-earthly sorrow of the here and now, not of the afterworld alone. There is great virtue in virtue, even that of chastity, though mayhap not as thy teachers tell thee."

  "What thou hast said is not of their teaching."

  "Gramercy for that. Yet in having any sort of school, thou art fortunate."

  "I would trade such fortune gladly, for the chance to be free!" the girl said passionately.

  Magnus was instantly on his guard-here was the ulterior motive. "Free? Why, what wouldst thou gain thereby?"

  "Why, freedom!" She stared at him, open-mouthed. "Freedom to do as I pleased, without parents and teachers forever telling me what I must and must not do! Freedom to dance, to sing songs other than hymns, to taste of the delights of this world." She looked very directly into his eyes as she said it.

  Magnus felt her gaze down into the pit of his stomach, but he tried to ignore it. "We all yearn for such freedom," he agreed. "It doth come with age."

  "Nay-it doth come with marriage. And then art thou fettered to a husband's commands."

  "Or a wife's." Magnus remembered the henpecked husbands. "In that, I am naive, Hester. I yet dream of a union in which husband and wife are so firmly delighted in one another t
hat they act in concert, and take so much pleasure in one another's company that the bondage of never doing what one wishes, but ever tempering thine own desires by another's whims, seems of little moment."

  "I, too, dream of that." Again, the eyes turned huge, the lips parted. "Hast thou seen such?"

  "Aye, though it did not last," Magnus admitted. "As they aged, the one of them chafed the other."

  "Age will make some difficult and contrary," Hester agreed. "I have seen such."

  "And those of great anger grow to be of shorter and shorter temper," Magnus said with a sigh. "Yet still bide they, joined to one another, in hopes that the friction will cease."

  "Before the love doth." Hester turned away, troubled. "Is there no freedom, then?"

  "None that can be won once, and never striven for again-as I have heard, at the least. Freedom must ever be won over and over again."

  "As must love?" Hester whispered.

  Magnus nodded. "From all I have seen and heard, a wedding is not the magic charm we think it. A priest's blessing, and an exchange of rings, will not make a wild boy instantly into a prudent husband, nor transform a flirtatious lass at once into a demure and loyal wife. And, assuredly, a wedding will not make two folk who are unsuited to fall in love."

  Hester winced, and Magnus wondered what she'd had in mind. "Yet still," he said, "I think there is freedom, though husband and wife must ever earn it by serving in bondage to one another." He frowned at his own words. "Do I make sense?"

  "Nay."

  "Praise Heaven; I feared I was too much like a pontiff. Nay, when all is said and done, I'll take the lesser, but more certain, freedoms."

  Hester looked up, puzzled. "What are those?"

  "Freedom of the mind is foremost among them. At the least, thou hast the world of books open to thee-if thou hast the good fortune to come by volumes."

  "The world of books? How should we have such a world?"

  "Why, by having learned to read and write."

  "I have learned no such thing! What hath schooling to do with reading?"

  It was Magnus's turn to stare, shaken. What kind of school was it that didn't teach people to read and write? He was about to find out; they had come to the church. Hester murmured, "I thank thee for thy company," and hurried ahead, to arrive at the clustering of children and youths ahead of them. Magnus smiled; apparently he was already suspect in the community. Was that only by virtue of being a stranger? _

  The school was a small wooden building beside the church. Today, however, it was not going to be used, due to fair weather; two black-robed women came out of the cloister, took up stations before the group of youngsters, and clapped their hands. Instantly, the children quieted and assembled into straight lines. The nuns nodded, then knelt with ponderous ostentation. The children followed suit, and the nuns began the Our Father. Magnus frowned; the words had changed a bit from the ones he knew-due, no doubt, to having been passed down from generation to generation by word of mouth. "Thy kingdom has come" did rather change the emphasis-and that last sentence, "Make us obedient to the priests whom Thou hast appointed to guide us," definitely wasn't in the Catholic version he knew-nor the Protestant, for that matter; and from the grating tone in which the nuns recited it, it didn't sound as though they were all that happy about it, either. But recite it they did, and finished the "Amen," and began the "Hail Mary." Again, it was not the prayer as Magnus knew it. He certainly hadn't thought of Christ as taking orders from Mary-at least not after He grew up. He decided to look up the wedding in Cana in his Bible at home.

  "Thomas and Hester," said the eldest nun, "bring out the slate."

  Thomas looked up with a quick smile, but Hester kept her face carefully neutral. Together they went into the school. Thomas was instantly trying to chat with Hester, in a low tone; she answered in monosyllables. The nuns couldn't have helped but notice, but they turned a blind eye.

  "Today we shall speak of the Holy Trinity," the younger nun said, stepping to center, "of God our Father, and Jesus His Son-and of the Spirit of God, which doth enkindle our hearts with love. Therefore, if we live in God, we must love one another, never speaking in anger, or striking one another, or seeking another's shame or hurt." As she spoke, her face became radiant, her eyes rising toward Heaven.

  Then she whirled about, whipping a birch rod from her voluminous robe and slamming it down across a young man's knuckles. A single cry escaped his lips from sheer surprise, before he bit it back.

  "And thou, Neil Aginson!" the nun shouted. "Dost think I have not seen that look of hate thou didst direct, but now, at Thomas's back? Nay, glower not at me, but smile, or I'll smite thee sorely."

  The young man stared back up at her, eyes narrowing. The elder nun came up behind the younger. "Think of thy father, Neil Aginson. Think of the tithe he doth owe the Church, that may be doubled. Come, let love fill thine heart, and smile."

  The youth's face reddened, but he managed to draw up the corners of his mouth in a rictus.

  "Think on love, and do better," said the younger nun, eyeing him with cold hostility. "But that will do."

  She turned away, just as a sharp crack sounded from inside the school. Both nuns turned, eyeing the door narrowly. Then Thomas came stumbling out, bearing one end of a portable blackboard, a red mark flaming on his cheek. Hester came marching after, holding the other end of the blackboard, head high and shoulders back-but without the hint of a smile.

  The nuns eyed the two of them, and the elder barked, "Hester! Be not so proud! Remember that humility is a virtue that doth become us all!"

  Hester dropped her eyes. "As thou sayest, sister." She turned away to her seat on the grass.

  The younger nun whirled to whack at Neil again. "Purge the hatred from thy soul, Neil Aginson! Aye, well I know what thou wouldst fain do-and I tell thee, unless thou canst school thine heart to love, and purge this hatred from it, thou shalt fry in Satan's skillet for eternity!"

  Neil dropped his gaze and slumped his shoulders-but it looked to be only pretense.

  "Beware of lust," said the older nun. "Beware the temptations of the flesh. I know thine heart; I have seen how thou dost regard Hester."

  Now Hester's cheeks flamed. She sat at her desk, head bowed, every line of her body rigid with embarrassment. "Purge thyself of impure thoughts!" the old nun orated, one hand held high in admonition-or threat. "Cleanse thine heart of every trace of concupiscence, lest the fires of desire condemn thee to the fire of the furnace in which God doth burn all impurities from mortal souls-burn, aye, for eternity!"

  Magnus noticed that the term "eternity" was already beginning to have less meaning for him. He also wondered why neither nun had said anything to Thomas about lust--or did they think that Hester had slapped him for his conversation?

  "Ten Hail Mary's!" The old nun's arm came down like a whip, finger pointing at Neil.

  Every muscle stiff in protest, Neil bowed his head and began to move his lips. The nun eyed him coldly, but turned away.

  She drew two large circles on the board, and turned back to the class. "What are these?"

  A nervous giggle ran through the class.

  "Be still!" The nun glared at them, face red and swollen on the instant, eyes staring in indignation. "What wouldst thou profane! Art thou all damned, even so young? Harold! What have I drawn?"

  "Why ... why, two circles, sister," an eight-year-old stammered.

  "Thou liest, thou rogue!" WHACK! The ruler came down on the desk-but the boy yanked his fingers out of the way at the last second. The nun howled. "Thou wouldst, wouldst thou? Seek to avoid the punishment divinely meted out to thee? Nay, thou canst not turn away from God's chastisement, and if thou dost try, it shall be meted out to thee tenfold! Thomas, hold his hands!"

  The youth leaped to obey with alacrity, a smile quivering at the corners of his lips, but contained, though his eyes betrayed his pleasure. The nun cracked the rod across the boy's hands ten times, impervious to his tears, then turned away. "Now, for one wh
o did listen yesterday. Avila!"

  "Wh-Why . . ." the girl stammered, "thou didst not speak of circles yesterday, sister."

  WHACK! This time it was a slap across the cheek. "Did I not speak of God, Avila? Is not God a whole unit, sufficient unto himself? And is not a circle a whole, unto itself?" She whirled away, to point at the larger circle. "This is God!"

  There was a smothered snort of laughter somewhere in the class, but the watching elder nun could see only blank, serious gazes. Several shoulders had shaken, though.

  The younger nun tried again. "Why did God create us?"

  "Wh-Why," the youngster stammered, "th-that he might have toys to play with."

  "What! Dost thou think God to be a child? Nay, nay! Small time for play hath He-and would never think to profane the heavens with laughter or shouts of glee! The Devil is in thee; Rory! To confession with thee, and a long penance, too, whilst the others dine! Nay, God made us to love and to serve him, that he might have summat to love-for if thou dost not love Him, he will cast thee deep into the fiery furnace! Theobald!"

  A ten-year-old snapped his gaze around to her. "Wh-what, sister?"

  "Thou didst whisper to Harl!"

  "Nay, sister! I-1 but glanced at him!"

  "And he glanced at thee, and thou didst set up a whole dialogue of grimaces and leers! 'Tis as bad as whispering, or worse, since thou dost seek to make others laugh and ignore the Word of God! Thou shalt stay when all others have gone, and scrub the boards of the schoolhouse floor!" She turned back to the blackboard, visibly striving to calm herself. "Now-let us discuss the ways of charity." She took the rod and pointed to the larger circle. "Let this stand for God the Father." She drew rays coming out of the larger circle, making it look like the sun. "And this is the Holy Ghost, which is the emanation of God's feelings toward us."

  She whirled around. "Theobald! Why dost thou frown?" The boy's look of puzzlement was instantly replaced by one of fright. "Why ... Why, sister-is not the Holy Ghost a separate being from God?"

  "Nay, silly fool! How could God's Spirit be separate from God? The Holy Ghost is to God as my love for thee is to me!" The boy couldn't quite prevent the skeptical look that crossed his features, but you could tell he was trying, so the nun ignored it and turned back to the blackboard.