The Wood Nymph & the Cranky Saint

by C. Dale Brittain

  I had sometimes wondered at Dominic’s calm acceptance of the birth of his young cousin. After all, the royal nephew had probably spent most of his life, until the baby was born, assuming he would someday be king himself. I wondered if he planned to revolutionize the running of the castle while the king was away and rather hoped he didn’t, for if so I might be the first to go.

  Less than two weeks after the king and queen first announced they were going they were gone, riding off in the cool of the early morning, accompanied by a fanfare of trumpets. The whole party rode white horses with bells on their harnesses.

  Everyone had come out to say good-bye, and for several minutes as the riders mounted there was a great deal of laughing and calling final messages and instructions. The baby prince, riding in a pack on his nurse’s back, frowned at us all. Dominic alone stood stolid and dignified, as though already feeling the weight of his responsibilities and wanting to be sure we all knew it.

  The king reined in his horse just as they all started down the hill. “Be sure to cut the roses every day,” he told the constable. “As I already told you, it’s better to cut them in the bud than to have the blossoms all fade on the bushes.”

  “Yes, you already told me, sire,” said the constable respectfully, but with a hint of an indulgent smile.

  “All right, all right,” said the king, and did smile before hurrying to catch up to the rest.

  They reached the edge of the woods below the castle’s hill and disappeared from sight with a final ringing of harness bells. The morning suddenly seemed extremely quiet and extremely empty.

  “Well, it looks like you’re in charge of the castle now, Prince Dominic,” I said to break the silence. “At least until the royal family comes back.”

  The regent was juggling something heavy in his hand which I recognized as the royal seal of Yurt. “But it’s not my castle, and they’re not my wife and child,” he growled, turned on his heel, and stamped in across the drawbridge.

  The staff and the knights and ladies who were staying behind drifted back inside, but I didn’t feel like going in yet. The day had gone flat, and it would be at least three more days before we could expect a telephone call, telling us that the royal party had arrived safely at the castle of the queen’s parents.

  My biggest wizardly accomplishment since coming to Yurt had been the installation of magic telephones. They were not like the magic telephones common down in the great City, but then very little of my magic seemed to be like anyone else’s. This was largely due to the fact that I often had to improvise to compensate for all the courses at the wizards’ school where I had not paid proper attention —and in this case I had managed to avoid courses in the technical division completely—but I preferred to think it demonstrated my unique flair and creativity.

  In the meantime I didn’t want to mope for three days, waiting for the telephone to ring, imagining the royal family attacked by bandits or dragons without their wizard there to protect them.

  “Joachim,” I said to the chaplain, who was also still looking off across the green fields of Yurt, “let’s go sit in the king’s garden for a moment.”

  He gave a start, as though he had forgotten my presence, but answered calmly. “All right, Daimbert.”

  We were the only people in the castle who used each other’s names, being Father and Wizard to everyone else. We didn’t always understand each other, and I had long since despaired of giving him a proper sense of humor, but we had managed to become friends, at least most of the time, though traditionally priests and wizards do not get along at all. For that matter, wizards don’t usually get along with other wizards.

  We sat on the bench by the king’s yellow roses. The king had been up at dawn, pruning everything one last time before he left, so the only blooms on the bushes were the buds that were just opening.

  “Do you know what’s bothering Dominic?” I asked. “I’d expected he’d be delighted to have a chance to act as king of Yurt.”

  “I think that’s his problem precisely,” said the chaplain. “He loves the little prince—everyone must love him—but Dominic had been heir apparent to the kingdom his entire life, and now he isn’t. Being named temporary regent must emphasize for him that the future he’d always thought he was preparing for will never come to pass.”

  If Dominic was undergoing some sort of emotional crisis, I just hoped he didn’t bother me with it. “Well, at least it’s not us,” I said cheerfully. “What shall we do first while the king is gone? How about if I try to discover a spell to raise up armed men from dragons’ teeth?”

  Joachim stretched his long legs out in front of him and glanced at me from deep-set eyes. “I’m afraid we have no dragons’ teeth,” he said, perfectly serious. “But I have a task of my own. I received a message from the bishop yesterday, asking me to investigate the situation at a hermitage at the far eastern end of the kingdom.”

  This sounded deadly dull to me. One advantage of being a wizard rather than a priest was that the wizards’ school wasn’t always giving us the responsibility of carrying out uninteresting tasks.

  But something about this message had bothered Joachim. There was a faint note of concern in his voice that no one who did not know him as well as I did would have noticed. “What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t understand why the bishop asked me,” he said, turning his huge dark eyes fully on me. Even after two years, the effect was still intimidating. “Why didn’t he just send one of the priests from the cathedral?”

  “Maybe because the hermitage is here in the kingdom of Yurt,” I suggested, puzzled why this was important. “You’re Royal Chaplain, but the cathedral is located in the next kingdom.”

  Joachim shook his head. “That shouldn’t make any difference. Both kingdoms are in the bishop’s diocese.”

  “Maybe the bishop thinks you’d do the best job.”

  He frowned at this. “The bishop should realize I have no special merits.”

  I expected the bishop thought the exact opposite but didn’t say so. I was still wondering why being asked to do something which sounded simple and dull should bother Joachim so much, when the constable appeared, walking briskly down the grassy path between the roses.

  “I thought I’d find you here, Wizard,” he said. “A message just came in on the pigeons for you. It’s from the count.”

  I took the tiny cylinder from him, all that carrier pigeons could handle. Since the royal castle still had the only telephone in Yurt, the rest of the kingdom had to communicate with us via pigeons. I unrolled the little piece of paper. Yurt had two counts and a duchess; this message was from the older of the two counts. The message was, by necessity, brief.

  “Have strange magical creature here. Don’t think it represents immediate danger, but wish you would look at it, soon as possible.”

  I read it again. It made no more sense the second time.

  “Look at this,” I said, handing Joachim the piece of paper. “What do you think he means? If they ‘have’ a magical creature, does that mean that they’ve captured it? Or does he mean that some nixie is flitting around the castle at night? Any magical creature poses potential danger, yet he claims this one doesn’t—or at least not immediately. But if it’s not dangerous, why was he concerned enough to write me?”

  Joachim shook his head, with no better idea than I.

  “The count’s castle is over at the eastern end of the kingdom,” I said, “so it must be quite near your hermitage. If we go together we can investigate both at the same time. All right, then,” turning to the constable without giving Joachim a chance to object. “Send the count a message to expect us. We’ll leave for his castle as soon as I tell the regent we’re going.”

  If nothing else, this certainly solved the problem of what to do while waiting to hear from the king and queen.

  III

  We sat under a beech tree, eating bread and cheese. Our horses, their saddles off, grazed before us. If I had been going alone, it w
ould have been faster to fly, but flying is hard mental and physical work, and I still wasn’t as good at it as a qualified wizard really ought to be. Besides, I was glad of Joachim’s company.

  “You had been starting to tell me about this hermitage,” I said, brushing crumbs from my lap and leaning back against the tree trunk, which rose smooth and white above us.

  “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 all 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’ll 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’ll 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 has sent me to the hermitage on a matter concerning the saint’s relics kept there.” This sounded dull again. But apparently it was not dull 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 really 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 rolled my eyes at me. So far, I had never managed to make Joachim roll his eyes, but I still had hopes.

  “I’ll 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 roll 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 all 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 filled 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. “All 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 jolly-looking. “But it’s much bigger than a rabbit—closer to the size of a fox, or even a small 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 fall 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 tell 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-apologetically. “I’ll make the sound for you.” He raised his 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.

  “Well,” said the count slowly, “it hasn’t actually 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 call 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 usually 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 horned 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’ll go together. While you talk to the hermit, I’ll search for this magical horned rabbit there. A wood nymph’s grove might even attract it. At the same time the duchess and her hunters can be looking for its trail down here. Between all 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 rangy bay Joachim had been riding had the correct saddle, but its bridle had bells, whereas my old white mare had no bells.

  Joachim did not actually 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 bells,” 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 well below the mare’s belly, 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 tall 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 pulled 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 barn, 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.