Daughter of Magic

troubles your soul.”

Celia gave me a quick glance as though for moral support, looked next at the crucifix on the wall as though hoping it would provide the support I clearly would not, gulped twice, and began. “Holy Father, I want to be a priest.”

This was the same surprise to Joachim it was to me. Fortunately Celia kept her eyes on her folded hands. “When did you make this decision, my daughter?” the bishop asked kindly.

“I’ve always known it,” she murmured bitterly, as though already hearing rejection in what sounded to me only like friendly interest. “Or, at least I’ve known it for several years. I was meant to serve God. I want to devote my life to bringing the absolute light of good and love to those around me. My parents expect me to get married and become a duchess, but I cannot.”

“It would be hard for you to be a priest,” said Joachim thoughtfully. “Since the time of Moses and Aaron, the priesthood has been entirely male. There has certainly always been a place in the Church for pious widows and virgins, though they can usually best serve God as cloistered nuns.”

Celia was no widow, but she was most likely a virgin-though that was not really for me to know.

“There is,” the bishop continued, “as I am sure you know, a nunnery in the kingdom of Yurt well known for its rigor and purity.”

“I am not going to be a nun,” said Celia, quietly and distinctly. “I intend to bring God’s message to laymen and women, especially women. They’ll listen to me when they would never listen to some male priest.”

Joachim looked toward me, eyebrows raised, over her lowered head. I shrugged my shoulders with no idea what to say to her-especially since I thought she had a point.

“You’re the bishop,” Celia went on when he did not answer at once, determined to get in everything she had come to say. “You’re the supreme religious leader in the area. You can accept whomever you want into the seminary without having to answer to anyone.”

“It is true that I have no direct superior,” said Joachim, “but that does not mean that I answer to no one. Above all, of course, I answer to God and to the church structure He has ordained, then to my own conscience, and then to all the other bishops in this region of the western kingdoms.”

“And in none of this-”

“In none of this,” said the bishop, “do I see women priests.”

He spoke quietly, gently, but with a firmness that would have kept even me from disagreeing. Celia blinked hard, but no tear escaped her eye. She was, after all, the duchess’s daughter.

“Then I guess I’ll go see if I can hire a horse to return to Yurt,” she said expressionlessly. “Thanks for the ride, Wizard.”

But Joachim put a hand on her arm as she started to rise. “Do not leave spiritually dissatisfied. I need to speak now with the wizard, but you and I can talk more later. You were planning on staying in Caelrhon this evening anyway, weren’t you, Daimbert?” He knew all about me and Theodora, the only person besides the queen of Yurt who did. “If you would like to stay tonight in the cathedral guest house, I am sure it can be arranged,” he added to Celia. “A way should certainly be found for someone who feels herself called by God.”

She nodded without looking up and let herself be led away by an acolyte.

“A true daughter of the duchess,” I commented when the door closed. Duchess Diana of Yurt had always done exactly what she liked and had never been comfortable herself with the life of the noble lady. She seemed to have passed on several key personality traits to her daughters.

IV

“Now, Joachim,” I said, “tell me about this problem you’re having. Somebody is working miracles, you say?”

He turned quickly from frowning at the door where Celia had just gone. “Yes,” he said, shifting his attention to me. “And if they are truly miraculous, the man may be a saint. But somehow, something about him does not seem true.”

I sat down opposite him. “How long has he been here?”

“Only about two weeks,” said the bishop as though in careful consideration. “Some say he arrived with the Romneys, though no one has seen him with them.” The Romneys wandered from place to place throughout the western kingdoms; I had noticed their caravans and horses outside the city walls as we flew in. “But already he-”

“Give me an example,” I prompted when he paused.

“What they are already calling his first miracle,” said the bishop, drawing back so that his eyes were shadowed, “was saving the life of a little dog.”

“A dog?”

“It belonged to a boy who lives down in the artisans’ quarter, near the river-that is where this man seems to make his headquarters.”

That was where Theodora and Antonia lived. Faint unease prickled the hairs on the back of my neck.

“It had slipped its leash and run right under the wheel of a cart. The carter was very sorry, of course, but there was nothing he could have done. The boy picked up the dog’s body-some say its ribs were crushed, some that it was already dead. But as the boy, sobbing, was carrying his dog home, this man stopped him, very kindly. He took the dog from him, cradled it in his own arms a minute-scores of people claim to have been eyewitnesses-and returned it to the boy alive, unharmed and barking.”

I shook my head hard. “That’s not magic. Magic’s never had any control over the earth’s natural cycle of life and death. We can prolong life but not restore it when it’s gone.”

“Yes,” said the bishop quietly. “For that you need the supernatural, the power of the saints-or of a demon.”

I took a breath and released it slowly. This had suddenly become much more serious. I had imagined someone who had picked up a few scraps of the Hidden Language somewhere, trying to make a living by producing rather pathetic illusions and passing them off on the credulous as miracles. But this person had better be working real miracles. The other possibility was black magic, which meant he had sold his soul to the devil.

“Listen, Joachim,” I said. “There are a couple of very good demonology experts at the wizards’ school. I’ll telephone them-one will certainly want to come if this man is working with a demon. And that way-”

“No,” said the bishop, low and firm. “I told you, this man may be a saint. I don’t want him accused of black magic if he is, certainly not by one of the masters of your school, someone with no respect either for religion or the Church. That is why I sent for you.” I had never had a whole lot of respect for the Church either, but I declined to mention this now. “I must find out where he draws his power, but I would not want him falsely accused-even martyred. The truly holy man,” and he paused for a second, looking past me out the window, “must always seem profoundly strange to those caught up in the petty affairs of the world.”

I considered for a moment, tapping my fingers on the bishop’s desk and making myself stop when I realized what I was doing. I had the spells, of course, to detect the supernatural, but those spells would not by themselves indicate if a supernatural power was demonic or divine. “You must have made inquiries,” I said. “What else have you found out?”

“I did more than make inquiries. I went down to the artisans’ quarter to see him.”

“And did you meet him? How old a man is he?”

“It was hard to tell his age,” said the bishop, his dark eyes distant. “He was tall and gaunt, with a face that looked as though he did not know how to smile.”

I didn’t like this at all. I had once met a demon taking human form, and this is just what he had looked like.

“That is,” the bishop continued, “until he did smile and his whole face was transformed by joy and beauty.”

Not a demon, then, I said as persuasively as I could to the cold sensation at the pit of my stomach. A demon