For Love of Evil Read online

  He changed to duck form and set off. The duck was not the most impressive of birds, but was equipped to fly steadily over a long distance, and so represented his fastest and least conspicuous mode of travel.

  He flew all day, and came to roost exhausted; he had tried to remain in condition, but he had few opportunities as a monk to fly, and he was now fifty years old. The night was freezing. His down insulated him, but foraging and roosting was no fun.

  In the morning, tired and stiff, he resumed his flight, north-west toward Novgorod. He made less progress than the prior day, because of his fatigue and the rising winds, but he fought on. He knew that the fate of Europe was at stake; this was his only chance to blunt Lucifer's malicious device.

  So he continued, struggling, Jolie floating along with him. Every so often she vanished, going to verify the progress of the Mongol rider. That man, too, was cold and tired, but he was toughened to it, and closed inevitably on the city of Novgorod.

  As Parry flew, he reflected on what he knew of Novgorod. About four hundred years before, the Vikings from Sweden had thrust up the river routes of northern Russia, establishing colonies and a trading empire throughout the region. The town of Novgorod became their headquarters, and then the town of Smolensk farther south, and finally Kiev to the south of that, on the approach to the Black Sea. Kiev became the capital of a flourishing empire with strong links to the Byzantine empire of the Mediterranean region. When Kiev broke up, the other cities formed principalities, and Novgorod developed a vast northern fur-trading empire. In recent years, under Prince Alexander Nevski, Novgorod had aggressively extended its domains—until the Mongol onslaught. In 1238, during their winter campaign against the northern principalities, the Mongols had come within twenty leagues of the city of Novgorod. But Alexander had been saved by the luck of the season: the Mongols were steppe fighters who flourished in dry country and in the frozen steppe regions, but were wary of being bogged down and trapped in the marshes by the spring thaw. So they had retreated, sparing Novgorod. Prince Alexander, however, no fool, had yielded sovereignty to the Mongols and paid tribute. Thus they had spared him their next season for campaigning, and moved instead to the west.

  Parry nodded internally. Prince Alexander had been wise indeed, for Novgorod retained its strength while the other states were being sliced to bits. Similarly the Principality of Polotsk, now taken over by the Principality of Lithuania, had been spared—but no one doubted the power of the Mongols here, and the Mongol agents were unquestioned. So this was Mongol territory, though it had not felt the Mongol sword directly. Just as much of Europe would be, if Parry's present mission did not succeed. Lucifer had planned well!

  By the time Parry reached the border of the Principality of Lithuania, he knew he was not going to make it. The document packet, light enough for a duck to carry, now was weighing him down intolerably. But Jolie hovered with him, spurring him on with words and gibes, so that he dragged himself onward. But soon even her encouragement was not enough, and he had to come to ground at the frozen-over waters of the Western Dvina River. He had not quite made it to the Republic of Novgorod. He was exhausted, and dared not change from his duck form because as a man he would be naked to the snows. Meanwhile, the Mongol rider had reached the town of Novgorod and delivered his message packet to the next rider, who was now riding southwest. Parry's chance to make the exchange in the night was gone.

  "But the messenger must pass this river!" Jolie said. "We can intercept him here!"

  "In the form of a duck?" he asked dispiritedly. He did not actually speak; he merely thought it, and she was able to hear, being hardly more than thought herself. This was another refinement of their interaction they had developed over the years.

  "You said that I would have to make the actual exchange," she reminded him. "That I would have to find a local woman and arrange to animate her body long enough to do it. Why can't I do it here?"

  "Because there is no woman," he replied. "And if there were, it still wouldn't do, because the messenger will be riding right across the river without pausing. He will be a professional, not stopping for anything until he meets his relay in Vilna. No hope to make the substitution here!"

  "Surely there is!" she persisted. "If I can find a woman, and intercept him here—"

  "He would not stop. Not even if you stood naked in the snow. These men simply do not dally; their heads would be forfeit if they did. It is discipline, perhaps more than anything else, that makes the Mongols so formidable."

  "There has to be a way," she said. "Maybe you could use magic to stop him."

  "I lack the strength to do more than mild illusion or Avination."

  "Illusion," she said, musingly. "Much can be done with that, properly applied."

  Now at last her attitude struck a spark. "The semblance of a barrier!" he thought. "If the way seems impassable—"

  "The river!" she responded. "If there seemed to be a thaw, so that he could not cross—"

  "Except by boat, which his horse could not manage—"

  "Unless a local girl knew the only safe route across the loosening ice—"

  Parry would have kissed her if he could. She had found the key!

  In a moment they had their plan. Parry marshaled his strength for a suitable effort of illusion, while Jolie ranged out to find a suitable local peasant woman for her purpose.

  Soon a figure approached, swathed in furs. Parry, foraging at the snowy bank as well as he could, tried to hide, but it hailed him in French. "Parry! It is Jolie!"

  Already! Amazed, he came out to meet her. This was a young woman, a maiden, with girlishly fair features. Even the bundled fur clothing was unable to mask completely the healthy lines of her.

  "She has agreed to let me use her body for this occasion," Jolie said. "She doesn't speak our language, but I was able to make our need plain. But we must give her something."

  Parry nodded his duck head. No one did something for nothing. "What did you promise her?" he thought warily.

  "I'm afraid it was a pretty important gift. The ability to form a ball of ice, and gaze into it, and see the best location for good firewood under the snow. That way her family will not be cold this winter."

  Parry nodded again. How cleverly Jolie had managed it! This was in fact a minor thing to do; he could readily craft it, even in his present state. But of course it would loom important to the peasant girl, whose horizons were limited. "It shall be done," he agreed. "I shall instruct her now, before the rider comes."

  So he did. If the girl thought it strange to be educated by a duck, she did not show it; evidently Jolie's presence in her mind reassured her. Parry thought his instructions to Jolie, who relayed them to the girl. Because they were concepts rather than words, the girl could understand.

  She formed a ball of ice. Actually, it was a ball of solid snow, but that was sufficient. She stared into it, and Parry showed her how, via the channel of Jolie's understanding, to see the visions in it. When she pictured the kind of wood she wanted, the spell enabled her mind to range out ethereally, much as Jolie's did, and orient on that substance. It was borderline magic, actually more of an extension of the natural power latent in every person; they were merely showing her how to exploit it. It was much easier to train her in this, because of Jolie's presence and experience; they accomplished in an hour what might have been difficult in a lifetime for a person instructed only by words.

  "But now we must prepare for the interception," Jolie said. "The rider is approaching."

  Parry crafted his prepared illusion: the air seemed to warm, the fog coalesced, and the ice of the River Dvina developed seeming cracks through which clear water welled. It looked dangerous for a horse to attempt to cross. He gave Jolie the document packet.

  The Mongol messenger arrived; Jolie had tracked him all along. He drew up at the shore and peered ahead, dismayed. He had understood that this river was completely frozen over, and here it was half liquid. He did not want to ride around it, for that would take
him many leagues out of his way and cost him time, ruining his schedule. He could go upstream to the city of Polotsk, where a ford would certainly be available, but then he would have to ride extra time to return to his route.

  Jolie, in the guise of the peasant girl, walked by, carrying an armful of wood.

  The horseman's thought processes were almost visible. A local girl who lived along the river; she would have intimate news of this inexplicable thaw. "Girl!" he called gruffly, in his own language.

  Jolie paused, as if startled; she had not, it seemed, realized that a man was near. She backed away, frightened.

  The rider guided his horse to intercept her. Terrified, she dropped her bundle of sticks and stared at him.

  "The river—you know it?" he demanded. His gesture made his meaning clear: he wanted to get across.

  She nodded affirmatively, making a gesture to signify that she lived on the other side, and was only an innocent maiden gathering wood for her family's hovel.

  "You know where to cross? Where the ice is tight?"

  Again she nodded.

  "Show me!"

  Now she hesitated, glancing here and there, signifying that the route was tortuous, hard to describe to a stranger.

  Abruptly suspicious that she meant to mislead him, perhaps getting him onto thin ice where the weight of his horse would break through and cause them both to drown, he acted with dispatch. He gestured her onto his steed, behind him. That way she would face the same danger he did, and would not betray him.

  Afraid to deny him, she approached and suffered herself to be hauled roughly up. She clung to him, afraid of this height. But she indicated the correct route.

  Sure enough, she did not betray him. She guided him through the fog without mishap; nowhere did the ice thin and break. He watched carefully throughout, perhaps not unmindful of her arms clasping his body and her pneumatic front pressed so firmly against his back. Indeed, it was almost like affection, the way she pressed so closely in to him. It would be nice to pause, to get her to embrace him face to face, to open their clothing enough to—

  But no, he was disciplined, and refused to yield to such a distraction. He only thought about it, enjoying the way her arms moved against his torso, the way her front rocked against his back as the horse moved. He was alert, but he fell into a kind of secondary reverie, thinking about what he might have done had his mission not been so pressing.

  And by the time he was safely across, the packet had been exchanged for the one in his travel pouch, he none the wiser. He set her down on the ground, gave her a small coin, and urged his horse onward. He had not after all lost his schedule. Perhaps the girl would meet him again on the return ride, when he would have more leisure.

  Parry had followed, staying hidden in the fog, and rejoined her. "That was beautiful!" he thought.

  She smiled. "My host agrees. I have explained to her how important this matter is. She doesn't like the Mongols; already their tax agents are driving the farmers to ruin. She asks whether you would like to come to her house, where it will be warm, to rest in your natural form."

  The girl must have had considerable prompting for all that! But he was so tired and cold, and aware of the forbidding distance to France; he needed restoration before he attempted that trip. Perhaps he could reward the girl's family in some additional manner for their hospitality; rested, he could perform more formidable magic. "Yes, if she offers it freely," he thought.

  "I have told her what a good man you are," Jolie said, still speaking through the body of the girl. "But not the nature of your profession."

  Because it might be awkward having a Dominican friar visit, he realized. He appreciated her discretion. By being anonymous, he could accept the family's hospitality and repay them with some additional favor, and not only would he not make it unduly awkward for them, he would be away from the notice of Lucifer. For Lucifer should be furious when the "wrong" message made it through, and Lucifer would be scouring the route for some hint as to what had happened. Better to have everyone involved anonymous!

  Jolie picked him up and carried him under her arm, walking back across the frozen river toward the peasant girl's home. Who would have believed that the duck was actually a man, and the girl actually a ghost who resided in a drop of blood on the duck's wing? Fortunately no outsider needed to believe it!

  Actually, no outsider was present. They were alone on the river as the evening closed and the chill of winter intensified. The illusion of melt had dissipated, leaving only the troubled landscape of ice. He was glad they would be getting inside; the very prospect restored his strength somewhat.

  In due course they came to the residence. It was a typical hut, fashioned of wood and thatch, largely buried under the snow. "Oh, we forgot the wood!" Jolie exclaimed.

  "Perhaps I can make a heat spell for this night," Parry said. "But first you had better get me something to wear, so that I don't shock the good peasants when I revert to my natural form."

  "Why not use illusion for clothing?"

  "Illusion isn't very warm."

  She smiled and set him down. "We'll fetch a blanket."

  She entered the hut. Parry heard muffled talk as the girl explained things to her family. Then she emerged with a tattered quilt, and held it out for him.

  Parry shifted to human form. The chill clasped his naked body immediately, but Jolie wrapped the quilt about him and opened the door.

  The peasant girl's parents stood there: an old man and an old woman huddled in bedraggled furs like her own.

  The girl spoke to them in their own language. They nodded. They accepted Parry as a stranger their daughter had befriended, who could pay for his keep for this night. How his nakedness was accounted for he did not know.

  "Do the heat magic," Jolie murmured.

  Oh. Yes. Parry drew on his talent and cast a spell that caused the walls and floor to radiate heat.

  Jolie or the girl—he suspected that they switched control in and out as necessary—held her hand near a wall, showing how it was warming. The old folk did the same, and exclaimed with surprise and pleasure; this was magic they liked!

  They had a supper of gruel and water; indeed, the Mongols had not left much in this region for sustenance. But Parry enhanced it with a spell of seasoning, and they all enjoyed it. There was not much conversation, because he did not speak their language; he had to sign to Jolie, who translated for him. He gathered that she had told them that the visitor was under a vow of silence. Again he appreciated her finesse.

  He discovered that he was experiencing a deep satisfaction. He realized why: this was like mortal life, with normal folk. He was for the moment no longer a monk, and Jolie was no longer dead. Indeed, the very features of the peasant girl, who now doffed her heavy outer furs to reveal more of those attributes that belonged only to youth, seemed to resemble those of Jolie.

  After the meal there was nothing to do but retire, as the gloom was thickening and candles were obviously too precious to waste for there light. Parry stepped outside to attend to a call of nature, then returned to lie down in a vacant corner. The old folk had a rack of their own, and the girl settled on a bed of straw near them.

  But when the darkness was total, the girl came silently to him, tugging at the wrapped quilt. Was something wrong?

  "No, Parry," Jolie said, manifesting momentarily in her spirit form. "I have come to be with you, as in the old days."

  He opened his mouth to protest, but the girl put a finger on his lips. She did not want him disturbing her parents.

  But you can't use her body this way! he protested mentally. And I—I am a friar!

  She got his quilt open and crawled next to him. Her body was hot and emphatically female.

  Jolie! What are you doing!

  But it was clear what she was doing. She had not loved him physically for thirty years; she intended to do it now. She had evidently made some arrangement with the peasant girl, who perhaps was not averse. Chastity was a virtue few peasants coul
d afford; Jolie herself had been unusual in that respect, perhaps because he had caught her young enough, before the full bloom of her womanhood.

  Parry wrestled with his conscience and his long training, but the battle was so uneven as to be token. He had known all along that he could never withstand Jolie in life, and now for a night she was alive. He clasped her and kissed her with the ardor of three stifled decades, and plunged into the rapture of the body. She responded with total eagerness. So potent was their penned desire for each other that it refused to abate after a single bout, or a second, and a fair portion of the night was expended before they were able to sleep.

  But by morning she was back in her own corner, and he remained in his. If the parents had any knowledge of the night's activity, they kept their own counsel. They probably understood as much as they cared to.

  He shared another meal with them, improving it magically, then performed some magic in return for their hospitality. In addition to the ability of the girl to locate good firewood under snow, he gave her the power to identify the best bargain of several proffered at the market. That, too, was mainly an extension of her natural abilities, with very little actual magic; but it would enable her to profit significantly by avoiding bad deals or outright cheats. It would help her family through the winter, and more than recoup the value of the food shared with him.

  But the use of her body during the night—how could he repay that? What deal had Jolie made for that? Suppose she should conceive by him? In the night he had not seen fit to question the matter, but now by day he was having serious second thoughts.

  The girl spoke to her parents, then took his arm. Parry was now garbed in shaggy furs borrowed from the man; they were uncomfortable and riddled with lice, but served adequately. He needed to return them, but could not until he changed form.

  They left the house. Jolie wasted no time coming to the point. "She has an illness I told her you could cure," she said. "It is apt to make her barren, but you can abolish it and restore her fertility."