The Oathbound Wizard

CHAPTER 7 Servant, Go Where I Send Thee

The night darkened around the camp fire, and the wind tore at its flames. Matt shivered as he sprinkled the white powder, closing the twenty-foot circle he'd drawn in the dust.

"And just what good is that going to do, I'd like to know?" Narlh humphed.

"A lot, if anything magical tries to get at us tonight." Matt stood up, dusting off his hands. "Or anything not-so-magical, for that matter."

"What's the powder? Lime? Chalk?"

"Talcum," Matt said, embarrassed "It's the only verse I could think of offhand."

"How's it go?"

"I'd like to tell you, but I hate singing commercials. Besides, I don't want another bottle of the stuff right now."

Narlh frowned. "Doesn't seem like much, to keep out a sorcerer."

"Remind me to tell you how to keep elephants away."

"What's an elephant?"

Matt started to answer, then thought better of it. "A mythical beast." He glanced up at the moon, then turned back to inscribing the pair of concentric circles, hurrying now.

"Whatcha scared of?" Narlh demanded. "Something I oughta know about?"

"I should think you would already. The closer we come to midnight, the greater the danger from sorcery."

"Oh, yeah?" Narlh lifted his head, glaring. "So that's why the bum could always sneak up on me! Why didn'tcha tell me this before?"

"Because I only met you today."

"Oh." Narlh frowned, looking away. "Yeah, there is that. Right now, though, I don't see anything to worry about." He lay down, his front legs walking around in a circle as he did, ending curled up with his head on his toes.

"Nothing dangerous because of claws and teeth out there?"

"Naw, and nothing dangerous because of sharp, pointy sticks and big ideas, neither. In fact, not a soul in sight."

Matt nodded. "It's the things without souls that worry me—and the ones who have sold them."

Narlh lifted his head, eyes narrowed, growling low in his throat. "They bother me, too." He eyed the double ring that now surrounded their camp fire, about twenty feet out. "So that's all you have to do to keep sorcerers away? Just sprinkle a powder?"

No, I have to chant a verse, too." Matt paced around the inside of the circle slowly, intoning,

Again, Matt could feel the magical forces thickening about him—and thickening, and thickening. It felt as if he were wading through molasses—but he kept at it, until the final rhyme.

"Sounds pretty," Narlh acknowledged.

"That was a spell, not a concert," Matt growled, not wanting to admit he'd adapted it from Coleridge. But he was feeling stretched taut—he should have seen something by now.

Suddenly, fire erupted all around them, between the two chalk lines.

Narlh stared, transfixed.

Matt relaxed with a smile of satisfaction and tried not to worry about what would happen if he needed a spell to act instantly. Whatever was wrong with magic here in Ibile, it slowed down the response time horribly.

How could he counteract that?

Narlh interrupted his musing, turning to Matt with new respect, almost awe, in his eyes. "You don't do anything by half measures, do you?"

"On the contrary," Matt said. "I try to keep a sense of balance."

"If this is your idea of the middle, I'd hate to see you really let yourself go!"

"It's an interesting idea," Matt admitted. He wondered if he'd have the courage to do it—or the foolishness.

He turned to Narlh, pushing the topic aside. "Glad to see you're all tucked in."

"Why? Should I stay up and pace?"

"Not at all—I meant it. I'll take first watch."

"First watch?" The dracogriff frowned. "What's that?"

"Just what it says—staying awake and watching for enemies," Matt explained. "I'll wake you when the moon is at its highest—then you can guard me."

Narlh nodded slowly. "Smart. Very smart."

"Inspired," Matt said witheringly. "Evolution took care of the ones who didn't think of it. Shall I sing a lullaby?"

"Oh, no, that's all right," Narlh said quickly. He put his head back on his paws and closed his eyes.

"Already heard me sing," Matt muttered. Still, everything was under as much control as he could manage; he sat down cross-legged by the fire, keeping his back straight and looking over the flames toward the darkness. He patrolled with his eyes, letting his gaze move slowly over the clearing from left to right, then turning to look back over each shoulder, then front again. The trees were the things to worry about there was no telling what might come from them. Or how; he memorized the position of each bush and rock, in case an enemy might try to sneak up under camouflage. He didn't really expect to see anything—the only enemies who wouldn't be frightened by his wall of flame were the ones who would be attracted by its magic; and they were more apt to appear in a burst of thunder than to sneak up. No way to see them ahead of time, of course—but at least he could be awake to do something about it.

He settled into the vigil, letting himself sink into a reverie, his eyes still watchful for anything unusual, keeping their patrolling pattern, while a part of his mind mulled over the day's events and problems.

Alisande came first to mind, of course. Now that there was a moment of stillness, he was surprised how much he missed her—her laughter...the glint of her eye...the occasional, very restrained, flirtation...her sudden bursts of anger, quickly controlled...her iron-hard resolve when she was crossed...her insistence on propriety...her avoidance of a wedding...

He took a deep breath, realizing he was growing angry again. Too much of a distraction; he was supposed to be on guard. Oddly, though, even his pique couldn't quite cover up the hollowness within him when he thought of her. Even if he had to be caught and shipped back to her, he decided, he did want to get back.

How could he arrange to get caught? Without being executed shortly afterward, that is.

Light flared.

A huge ball of light, too bright and too clear to be flame, so vivid that the blaze of his camp fire seemed to pale beside it.

Matt was on his feet, a dozen verses rushing through his mind, hoping that he'd be able to see what kind of creature this was who had invaded his circle in time to choose a spell and cast it. The bright, clear light made it unlikely to be a sorcerer, but what else was there in Ibile?

Then the core of the flare seemed to coalesce, and a form became discernible within it—something humanoid, with a suggestion of huge wings, and a face that shone so brightly that its features couldn't be seen. Matt raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sight, but a voice echoed inside his head: "Wherefore mockest thou the Lord, vowing aye and doing nay?"

Matt stared, taken aback. Then, slowly, he lowered his hand and said, "I beg your pardon?"

"Even now, thou didst seek a means to evade thy vow." The light-form's tones deepened, with the beginnings of anger.

"Hey, now, wait a minute!" Matt held up a hand—and was surprised to see the little hairs on the back standing straight up. Now that he thought of it, his whole scalp was prickling. Whatever this being was, it packed a lot of voltage. "I think you were taking me too literally!"

"Literally!" The form's voice was a whiplash. "Aye, to the letter! Dost thou care naught for the words thou dost use?"

"Of course not! I was an English major..."

"Then thou art bound by them—to the word, if not the letter, and most assuredly to the spirit!"

"No! I didn't mean..."

"Thou hadst warning. Did not our Lord tell thee to say "yes' when thou didst mean `yes,' and `no' when thou didst mean 'no'?"

"Not that I remember, no. In fact, I'm not aware of ever having had a chat with Him..."

"Hast thou never prayed?" the light thundered. "Then didst thou converse with thy God! Hast thou never bided in silence long enough to feel the impulse toward good within thee? Then didst thou hear His answer! And when thou hast read the Gospel, thou hast heard His word!"

With a sinking heart, Matt remembered hearing the passage about prayer being read at Mass one Sunday. Stalling, he said, "Hold on a minute! You might be a devil, sent to tempt me to my doom! How do I know you come from God?"

"Canst thou truly doubt it?" The anger was approaching righteous wrath—and, in truth, Matt felt a growing certainty inside him. But the form of light went on. "Canst thou doubt that I am an emissary from the God of Abraham and Isaac, and His Son Jesus Christ?"

At the mention of the Holy Name, Matt's fear stilled. He was, after all, on the same side as the form of light; he needn't fear it. "He said we would know one another in the breaking of bread."

The center of the form of light grew out, separated into two hands holding a glowing loaf. They broke the bread in half and held out one piece. "Take, then, and eat—if thou dost think thyself worthy."

Matt paused in midgrab. "There was some talk about my actions, wasn't there?",

"Thy words, say rather."

"All right, my words." Matt eyed the glowing form narrowly. "Are you an angel, then?"

"I am."

Somehow, Matt couldn't doubt it. "Your pardon—and God's. My intention did not accord with my words."

The form was still; a high-pitched humming emanated from it for a moment. Then it said, "It is true—thou didst grow to manhood on an impious world, whose folk have long forgot the Third Commandment."

"Forgotten it, yes. Even people who claim to be religious use the word god as an expletive."

" 'Tis even as thou sayest." There was as much sadness as anger now in the angel's tone. "Yet surely thou, who wast trained to know the power of words and hast seen such power made clear in Merovence these three years past, should have known the impiety of that foul usage!"

"Yes." Matt's heart grew heavy. "Yes, I should have. But I was very upset, you see, and in my anger I spoke foolishly, without thinking."

The angel stood in silence; Matt heard only the humming which, he suspected, came from physical causes—molecules impacting an electromagnetic field about it?

The thought made him suddenly aware of a feeling that had been growing all along—a feeling of having been steered, manipulated. He narrowed his eyes. "Is not the Lord a little quick about taking my vow literally? Does He not consider my intentions in it? I sinned, in taking His name in vain—but would He not forgive, and release me from my geas?"

"He will forgive any human sin, as thou knowest! Yet what audacity hast thou, to ask Him to release thee!"

"I know." Matt bowed his head. "But the fact of the matter is that I didn't mean what I said—and when I realized what I was taking on, I definitely wanted to be free of it! Will the Lord really compel me to so suicidal a course?"

"What matters the life, 'gainst the soul's eternity?"

Matt's anger flared. "Easy for you to say—you've never had a body!" The surge passed, and Matt lowered his eyes again. "Sorry. But it's not so easy to face death and torture when you're corporeal. I thought the Lord only wanted willing volunteers."

" 'Tis even so." The angel's voice was grim. "Thou art forgiven thy sin—and He will not compel thee. Turn, and return to thy place."

Matt sagged with relief. "Blessed be the name of the Lord!"

"Yet bethink thee," the angel said sternly, "thou didst swear—and this task thou hast sworn to do is greatly needed—not by God, but by thy fellow mortals. Dost thou not love Him?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Then love also them! For hath He not said, `So long as thou hast done this for these, my little ones, thou has done it for Me'?"

"Well, yes, I do seem to remember the passage, but..."

"Dost thou not wish to serve the Lord thy God?"

"But it's impossible!"

"All is possible, to God."

"But I'm not God! Not even a close relative! Besides, whenever I say the Lord's Prayer, I ask Him to lead me not into temptation! Isn't there greater danger in Ibile for my soul than there is for my body?"

"There is great peril, aye, for in Ibile a magic-worker may become a sorcerer and gain great worldly power indeed! Yet thy soul was in greater peril when thou didst take the Name of God in vain! Aye, thou art hereby forgiven, since thou didst come from a world far removed in time from this and had not gained full awareness of truth—as thou shouldst have had! For the God of thy universe is the God of this, and thou hadst the Scriptures and the Law! No more didst thou need! Thou hadst but to cleave to them, and thou wouldst have kept thy soul free from sin! Oh, beware, Wizard! For the next such sin will put thee into the hands of the enemy! And if thou dost pass from the state of Grace, he shall use thine own powers of magic to tempt thee and damn thee!"

Matt stood, frozen, feeling the horror that the angel felt. Then, very softly, he said, "How can I, then, have the audacity to confront the powers of Satan in a land whose rulers, and many of whose people, are dedicated to him?"

"Through the power of God, Wizard! For be assured, He will not forsake thee! He will be thy staff, he will fill thee with all strength thou dost need! So long as thou art within the state of Grace, thou hast but to call on Him, and He will give thee all the fortitude thou couldst wish, to defend thee against temptation! God will not allow that thou be tried beyond thy strength!"

"That is very reassuring." It really was; Matt began to feel a bit of courage returning. "But say, angel—how shall I stand against the power of sorcery? Can the Lord give me...No, of course He can, what's the matter with me? But will He? Will He give me the power to defeat a sorcerous king? And all the hierarchy of sorcery at his command? For surely, only a saint could channel so much of God's power!"

"Hast thou no wish to be a saint?"

"Well, of course. I mean, I do intend to be one, someday—but I had just naturally assumed it was going to take a long time in Purgatory, and..."

"No saint can intervene in the affairs of that benighted land of Ibile;" the angel said sternly. "God will not send one of Heaven's host bodily against mortal humans, no matter how great their evil. He will not so strongly upset the balance here on earth; His saints work through the agency of human beings who open themselves to God and all His blessed ones."

"Well, I mean, I try..."

"That sufficeth—if thou dost try with all thy might to be good."

"But I've got such a temper! Such lust! Such confounded, overweening pride! I mean, here I was, about to take on all the evil of Ibile, just so I could become a king, and..." Matt ran down. "That wasn't exactly the most worthy of motives, was it?"

"Thou hast given thyself answer. Yet be assured, thou art perfectible. God does not ask that you never fail—He asks only that you persevere."

"But that's what I've been doing! All my life! Trying to be good, even if I did develop doubts about what good was, and virtue and sin..."

He ran down again. The angel only stood there, humming.

After a while, Matt said, "I did find some answers."

"Not all."

"No—though I've just found one more." Matt frowned. "Of course, I should have realized. I know the power of symbols over the human soul; I should have realized that, the Name of God was one of the most potent symbols that exists."

"Say, rather, the most powerful."

"The single one?" Matt lifted his head, then realized what that surge of questioning within him meant. "I still haven't learned, have I?"

"Nay. Ask thy self what the name of God comprises, and what that name doth constitute—and thou shalt be some little ways wiser."

Matt remembered the legend of the golem, and the Hindu catalog of names of God, and began to wonder again.

Then he realized that he was wondering, and broke down. "This is ridiculous! I can't possibly be a hero! I'm not sure of anything!"

"Anything?" the angel intoned.

"Well—not enough, anyway."

"It is enough. It will increase, in its testing. Wilt thou, then, do the Lord's will?"

"Look," Matt said in desperation, "I don't even have enough magical knowledge to do this job! Whenever I try to work a spell, it's like swimming through glue! When I do finally manage to finish a verse, it takes longer and longer each time before it takes effect! I just don't have the magical clout!"

"Indeed," the angel agreed. "Ibile hash been so long steeped in sin that it is now saturated with sorcery. Therefore the spells of good wizards seem weakened, for they have so much greater a weight of evil to work against."

Matt caught the concept instantly—a sort of magical inertia, varying directly with the evil confronted. "Can...No, strike that. Will God give me the extra strength I need to contend against magic like that?"

"He will give thee the strength, through the sorrowing patron of Ibile, who will ever stand ready to thine aid, if thou dost call upon him. Saint Iago is he named."

Not, Matt thought, the most auspicious of designations.

"Yet be not deceived," the angel said sternly. "If thou dost undertake this task for love of the Lord, He will give thee the strength—yet 'tis for thee to use that strength in such fashion as to banish these sorcerers of Ibile!"

"One against a thousand," Matt muttered. "Or five, or ten. I'm just not that smart."

"God will direct thee through His Grace—if thou art open to Him."

Matt thought of all the times that he had given in to anger, or the other temptations of the flesh, and shuddered. But he sensed, somehow, that if he turned back from this challenge, he would never be all that he could be. "I didn't ask for this."

"Nay," the angel said, "thou didst—not in the foolish haste of thy words alone, yet in a movement within thy spirit that led to them."

And that, Matt realized, was true. He had always been convinced of his own lack of worth—but his victory in Merovence had made him begin to think that he might be a better man than he had thought. In his cleanup campaign, each minor victory against a sorcerer had increased his longing for a bigger challenge, a stronger opponent to measure himself against...

But not this strong! "I just can't do it! Not alone!"

"Thou wilt not be alone," the angel assured him. "One already hath come to thine aid." It gestured toward Narlh's sleeping form. "There will be others—for many groan under the yoke of this sorcery."

Matt stared at the light, cowardice warring within him against courage and the need to prove himself. The moment stretched out...

Matt sagged. "I just can't do it."

The angel stood, humming, a moment longer...

Then, with a sound like a sigh, it disappeared.

Matt knelt, feeling the chill night air that somehow reached him through his guarding circle, then realized that it was a chill of the soul, a feeling of forlorn abandonment, removed from the messenger of God, from that partial contact with the Source of All...

He started to speak, then bit back the words, thought them over carefully, then swallowed, hoped he wasn't being as great a fool as he thought he was, and said, "Of course, I could try..."

The chill was gone; a warmth seemed to wrap him, and the thought sprang unbidden into his mind, that he had just reestablished contact with the valiant souls who had gone before him, whether to victory or martyrdom—and that thought made him realize that his refusal had been, in no matter how small a measure, his own cutting off of that contact.

If you wanted to belong to the club, you had to pay your dues. "Saint Iago," he breathed, "help me now, for I feel like the world's greatest coward!"

And the help was instant, the warm, consoling, comforting presence within him, reassuring, bracing, and filling the void of his fear with courage.

Staggering, Matt pushed himself to his feet, smiling up at the sky, his emotions a silent prayer of thanks, realizing that he was bound by his oath again, though he hadn't spoken it aloud—as much bound as he ever had been through foolish and hasty words.

He stood that way a moment, becoming aware of his surroundings again, noticing that the moon was near the zenith of its night's path.

Then he turned away and went to wake Narlh for his watch.