For Love of Evil (3 page)

"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.

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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."

He was puzzled. "What reason?"

"That you wished to catch a unicom."

He laughed. "And for that I would need a virgin! I should have thought of that!"

"Is it true?"

"That you can catch a unicom only with a virgin? Yes, in a manner. It is possible without, but the animal is killed in the process."

"I meant, that this is why you want me?"

He spread his hands. "No. I could have gotten an ugly or stupid virgin for that. You are neither."

"But you could make me feel safer with you if you tell me that it is for the unicorn."

"It is an assurance I cannot give you."

"Then why do I feel reassured?"

"Because you realize I am telling you the truth, and that is more important than a facile rationale for your presence."

She considered. "Am I really neither?"

"Neither what?" he asked, unable to follow her thread.

"Ugly or stupid."

"Oh! Yes."

"You could take me now, and I would not protest."

"Do you love me?"

"I fear you."

"I will wait for your love."

"But I fear you less than I did."

"That is good." He liked the fact that she spoke her mind directly. Some in the village evidently took that for social ignorance, but he took it for innocence. "I must go home now. But I will return in the morning."

"I will walk you home."

"No. It is not fully dark yet, and I must conquer my fear."

"Then let me give you a spell to ward away bad animals." She considered again. "Yes, that would help." He gave her a pouch that exuded a foul odor. "Open this at need. Hang it outside your cottage, or it will drive out your family."

She tittered. "Bad animals!"

He nodded. "The smell is versatile."

She departed, and he clenched his hands together in an expression of sheer joy. He would win her!

Jolie came the next morning, and the morning thereafter. He prevailed on her to wash herself; she was distrustful of this peculiar requirement, but acceded and became clean in the new dresses he provided. Her hair became lustrous, and her skin as smooth as milk. But when she went home each evening, she donned her old garment and smudged her face with dirt, so as not to cause suspicion.

She was, as he had judged, a bright girl, and Parry used mesmeric techniques to teach her more rapidly and fully, just as the Sorcerer had used them on him. There was an enormous amount to learn, for sorcery was mainly a matter of knowledge and experience in the correct lores; true magic could be mastered only by those with special talent and dedication. Few folk had the cleverness or the patience to do it well; most who claimed to be adept were to some degree charlatans, buttressing their minimal magic with illusion. She learned to read, and to fight, and the arts, so that she could study on her own or defend herself from molestation or play prettily on the little harp he gave her. Her flesh quickly filled out, because of the good feeding, and she became the woman of his picture: not the Madonna, but as beautiful.

This progress did not pass unnoticed in the village, despite her effort to conceal it. Rags and dirt could hide only so much. The peasant boys oriented on her, and Parry had to give her a spell to repel them. But he knew this would not be effective for long, for she was nubile and the other girls her age were getting married.

Jolie's emotional progress was as dramatic as her physical and intellectual progress. One day she accompanied him with her harp as he sang, and drew on the magic she was learning to make of it far more than a single instrument. He had always had a fine voice, but with her it was better than ever. The music was truly beautiful.