Read Online Wood Nymph and the Cranky Saint- Wizard of Yurt - 2 by C. Dale Brittain, Brittain - Free Book Online
Authors: C. Dale Brittain, Brittain
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much of the situation Joachim wanted generaly known, talked a little more about the horned rabbits, and did not mention at al the strange footprint or the spel I had sensed.
I would have expected that the duchess would be most interested in the horned rabbits, especialy since she had come here at the count’s request to hunt them, but instead she started talking about the shrine.
“That’s where the toe of Saint Eusebius, the Cranky Saint, is kept, isn’t it?” she said. “He’s not a saint to trifle with! Who was that man,” turning to the count, “your great-grandfather?”
“Great-great-grandfather,” he said as though embarrassed.
“Anyway,” continued Diana, “our present count’s ancestor was a noted rapscalion and sinner.” It was hard to imagine anyone related to the white-haired count as a rapscalion. “But when he was dying, he started worrying about his soul at last, and he asked to be buried in the Holy Grove, near the shrine. But the Cranky Saint didn’t want someone with so many sins on his soul buried that close. So he rerouted the river so it flowed between the grave and his shrine!”
Everyone but Joachim laughed. The count nodded sheepishly. “That’s right. That count’s son, my own great-grandfather, was so embarrassed he had him dug up and reburied in our castle cemetery. The next day, the river was back in its normal bed.’
I wondered briefly if the Cranky Saint himself might have made the horned rabbits, but realized that someone with that sort of supernatural power would need no spels. If Evrard hadn’t made the rabbits, there
might be stil another wizard wandering around Yurt. I wasn’t going to let that go on in my kingdom. Or, as I had thought earlier, the retired Royal Wizard had lost al his good sense and summoned the powers of evil.
I was awakened from an uneasy sleep by a voice in the room with me. “Dear God.”
Abruptly awake, I lay stil for a moment in the darkness, trying to remember where I was. There was rapid, shalow breathing from the far side of the room.
Then I remembered that we were stil in the Gount’s castle, not home in the royal castle, which was why my bed felt so unfamiliar. I sat up and lit a candle. “Joachim? Are you al right?” He pushed himself up on one elbow and looked toward me. The flickering light and shadow from the candle flame made his eye sockets black and empty. But then he turned his head slightly and his eyes came back. “I had a dream.”
“I was dreaming, too,” I said. “A nightmare about the great horned rabbits. But you’re awake now and it’s not real.” He flopped back down without speaking. I reached for the candle to extinguish it, but my hand froze as he spoke. “It was real.
He was silent so long that I thought he would say nothing more, but I wasn’t at al sure I wanted to hear it anyway. I felt suddenly that there were not enough blankets on the narrow beds in the count’s second-best guest chamber.
“It wasn’t a dream,” he said at last. “It was a vision. Saint Eusebius appeared to me.”
My immediate reaction was highly interested curiosity. I had never had a vision in my life. I wondered how Joachim had known it was the saint and if he had had the sense to ask what the saint knew about the entrepreneurs on the top of the cliff. I thought of asking if the entire saint nad appeared to him or just
the toe, but decided against it. From the strain in Joachim’s voice, seeing a saint had been a deeply disturbing experience. “What did he say?” I contented myself with asking.
There was another long pause. “He doesn’t want to stay at the hermitage,’ said Joachim at last. He sounded distant, almost as if he were no longer in the room with me, although I could see his back in the candlelight. “He was very clear on that point. But he wouldn’t tel me where he wanted to go instead.”
He roled abruptly around to face me. “It was horrible, Daimbert! Ive never been addressed like that.
I would have expected that the duchess would be most interested in the horned rabbits, especialy since she had come here at the count’s request to hunt them, but instead she started talking about the shrine.
“That’s where the toe of Saint Eusebius, the Cranky Saint, is kept, isn’t it?” she said. “He’s not a saint to trifle with! Who was that man,” turning to the count, “your great-grandfather?”
“Great-great-grandfather,” he said as though embarrassed.
“Anyway,” continued Diana, “our present count’s ancestor was a noted rapscalion and sinner.” It was hard to imagine anyone related to the white-haired count as a rapscalion. “But when he was dying, he started worrying about his soul at last, and he asked to be buried in the Holy Grove, near the shrine. But the Cranky Saint didn’t want someone with so many sins on his soul buried that close. So he rerouted the river so it flowed between the grave and his shrine!”
Everyone but Joachim laughed. The count nodded sheepishly. “That’s right. That count’s son, my own great-grandfather, was so embarrassed he had him dug up and reburied in our castle cemetery. The next day, the river was back in its normal bed.’
I wondered briefly if the Cranky Saint himself might have made the horned rabbits, but realized that someone with that sort of supernatural power would need no spels. If Evrard hadn’t made the rabbits, there
might be stil another wizard wandering around Yurt. I wasn’t going to let that go on in my kingdom. Or, as I had thought earlier, the retired Royal Wizard had lost al his good sense and summoned the powers of evil.
I was awakened from an uneasy sleep by a voice in the room with me. “Dear God.”
Abruptly awake, I lay stil for a moment in the darkness, trying to remember where I was. There was rapid, shalow breathing from the far side of the room.
Then I remembered that we were stil in the Gount’s castle, not home in the royal castle, which was why my bed felt so unfamiliar. I sat up and lit a candle. “Joachim? Are you al right?” He pushed himself up on one elbow and looked toward me. The flickering light and shadow from the candle flame made his eye sockets black and empty. But then he turned his head slightly and his eyes came back. “I had a dream.”
“I was dreaming, too,” I said. “A nightmare about the great horned rabbits. But you’re awake now and it’s not real.” He flopped back down without speaking. I reached for the candle to extinguish it, but my hand froze as he spoke. “It was real.
He was silent so long that I thought he would say nothing more, but I wasn’t at al sure I wanted to hear it anyway. I felt suddenly that there were not enough blankets on the narrow beds in the count’s second-best guest chamber.
“It wasn’t a dream,” he said at last. “It was a vision. Saint Eusebius appeared to me.”
My immediate reaction was highly interested curiosity. I had never had a vision in my life. I wondered how Joachim had known it was the saint and if he had had the sense to ask what the saint knew about the entrepreneurs on the top of the cliff. I thought of asking if the entire saint nad appeared to him or just
the toe, but decided against it. From the strain in Joachim’s voice, seeing a saint had been a deeply disturbing experience. “What did he say?” I contented myself with asking.
There was another long pause. “He doesn’t want to stay at the hermitage,’ said Joachim at last. He sounded distant, almost as if he were no longer in the room with me, although I could see his back in the candlelight. “He was very clear on that point. But he wouldn’t tel me where he wanted to go instead.”
He roled abruptly around to face me. “It was horrible, Daimbert! Ive never been addressed like that.
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