The Wood Nymph, the Cranky Saint

disappeared back out into the night. In a minute they returned with some lettuces, an earthenware jug of goat’s milk, and rather stale pieces of bread.

The wood nymph’s raspberries, highly satisfying while we were eating them, now seemed to have made no impact, and we ate hungrily. The dense bread wasn’t bad if eaten with enough lettuce, and the goat’s milk was better than I had feared.

The apprentice hermits made a small fire in the middle of the room and sat against the far wall from us, tugging their scraps of clothing around them as the evening air coming through the open doorway became cooler. I wondered where they had come from originally, and, if one of them eventually replaced the hermit at the spring, what would happen to the rest.

“Have you ever seen the wood nymph?” Evrard asked conversationally, brushing crumbs from his lap.

The apprentices glanced at and nudged each other for a moment, then one spoke who I thought had not spoken before-although they all looked very similar with their rags and shaved heads. “We’ve seen her,” he said slowly. “Up in the grove. I tried to talk to her once, but it was as though she didn’t even hear me.”

Evrard and I gave each other quick, complacent glances.

“But our master, the hermit, often talks to her,” the apprentice continued. Evrard’s eyes became round with surprise, and mine may have done the same. “He told us that only wizards can attract the wood nymph’s attention, unless she decides she wants to speak with someone anyway. She likes to talk to him. I think- I think our master and the nymph talk about the saint.”

“Saint Eusebius?” I asked, managing not to refer to him as the Cranky Saint.

“The nymph knew the saint, you see,” the apprentice continued in a burst of confidence. “When Eusebius came to this valley fifteen hundred years ago- You did know that the saint was the first hermit at the Holy Grove, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” I said. “Go on.” Maybe relations between the hermits of the Holy Grove and the wood nymph had been better all these years than I thought.

“When Saint Eusebius first came to this valley, the wood nymph was already here. I think her presence may at first have-bothered him, but our master has told us that she and the saint became friends and had many long conversations on spiritual issues. She had been a pagan, of course, but he was finally able to convert her to Christianity.”

Evrard frowned at me. My first thought was to find this highly unlikely, but then it occurred to me that, since I had no clear recollection myself of what Evrard and I had discussed with the nymph a very short time ago, someone else might decide after an afternoon with her that they had conversed on spiritual issues.

“Why does the hermit want to talk to her about the saint?” I asked. I was quite sure he had said nothing of this to Joachim.

The apprentices gave each other troubled frowns. “Maybe we shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no,” I said reassuringly. “I’m sure it’s all for the best that you brought it up. My friend the royal chaplain specifically asked me to try to find out more about the wood nymph. Why does your master talk to her about the saint?”

“He told me-” started one of the other apprentices uneasily. “He told me he needs her help! Saint Eusebius sometimes, well, acts troublesome, and since she knew him when he was still alive, our master has hoped …”

He trailed off without finishing. If the old hermit felt this was an unsuitable topic to mention to the bishop’s representative, then his apprentices must have begun worrying that it could be a further reason to take their master away from them. It was rather ironic that these young men, dedicated to austere Christianity, thought it safe to express their fears to a couple of wizards, just because they knew we ourselves had no prim and fixed ideas about what was or wasn’t suitable behavior.

But in my attempt to assure them that I was Joachim’s friend, I may have started them wondering again if they should have spoken at all. “Let’s be clear and open with each other,” I said. “Neither I nor the royal chaplain thinks the old hermit should leave the grove, unless for some reason he decides to leave himself. But the chaplain is very concerned that the old hermit not be distracted from his prayer and contemplation.”

“No! No! Not at all! He’s not distracted at all! He’s a very holy hermit!” cried all the apprentice hermits together. “The wood nymph only comes to speak to him when he wants her to,” added the one I assumed was the leader.

Joachim, I thought, might have trouble explaining this to the bishop, but if true it certainly freed me from any responsibility of moving the nymph out of the grove.

“What have the hermit and the nymph decided about the Cranky Saint?” put in Evrard.

If they heard his flippant tone, they didn’t respond to it. Instead they all shook their heads. “He doesn’t tell us about their conversations. I think he believes we are not spiritually ready.” Evrard shot me what I was afraid was a smirk, but I was able to ignore him.

“Have your master and the wood nymph discussed those entrepreneurs at the top of the cliff?” I asked.

To my surprise, this question made them fall silent as our other questions had not. “We don’t really know,” said an apprentice at last.

They must be afraid, I decided, that if a chaplain had come to accuse their master of consorting with a nymph, then two wizards must be here to accuse him of trying to make a quick profit. Before I could try to reassure them again, they all stood up hastily, and their leader snatched up his blankets from the corner.

“We’ll let you have this hut to yourselves,” he said. “Thank you again for accepting our hospitality, and God bless you. Good night!” All five rushed out, leaving Evrard and me looking at each other.

“Let’s get the horse blankets,” he said. “At first when they started talking about their master having long discussions with the nymph, I was able to imagine all sorts of intriguing scenes, but I’m afraid it must in fact have been very dull and pure-if one could imagine the nymph being dull! I’m glad I never had any foolish ideas about studying to be a hermit. Can you imagine what my hair would look like as shaved red stubble?”

“Peach fuzz,” I said. “On a particularly unappetizing peach.”

There was no door to the hut, but we settled down close to the opposite wall. The small fire in the middle of the room had burned down to darkly glowing coals.

“It sounds as though making money off pilgrims as you lower them down the cliff,” Evrard said thoughtfully, “may be shocking to religious sensibilities, as well as of course extremely dangerous.”

He fell silent for several minutes, and I had thought he had fallen asleep, when he suddenly rolled over with a great rustling of his blanket. “Daimbert, how did you manage to get involved in all this in the first place? What does a wizard have to do with chaplains and bishops and hermits?”

“In the school,” I said lightly, “they teach us about the super natural power of demons, and warn us against using black magic. Doesn’t it make sense for a wizard to try the other side, to learn how to trick the supernatural power of good into helping us?”

But Evrard, for once, was not willing to be dismissed with a joke. “But how about you?” he demanded. “How did you become involved in the affairs of a Cranky Saint?”

“I sometimes wonder the same thing,” I said slowly. Although he was only a foot or so away, I could sense him more than see him. “Yurt is important to me. If there are problems in the kingdom, no matter what kind of problems, I want to see what I can do about them. You’ve only been here a couple of days, but you’ll see.”

“So you’ve dedicated yourself, heart and soul, to this little kingdom?” His voice wasn’t exactly scornful, but it was close.

I hesitated a long moment before answering. The royal court, I was sure, would find this a riveting conversation. “No,” I said at last. “Not heart and soul. The only thing I belong to heart and soul is magic itself-and maybe not even that, because if I did I’d probably be better at wizardry than I am. But freedom is useless unless it gives you the opportunity to choose, and I’ve chosen to try to help my friends in Yurt.”

“But why these people?”

“Because I love them.”

Evrard did not respond at once, and after a moment’s silence I rather hoped he would not. But then a coal settled with a hiss, sending up a brief shower of golden sparks, and with the silence between us broken Evrard, irrepressible, spoke again. “But how did you, a wizard, ever become such good friends with a chaplain?”

“Joachim saved my life.”