“Gramarye?” Rod’s eyebrows shot up. “So you came in the same way we did?”
“Yes, and it wasn’t very easy, I don’t mind telling you! Here I’ve been outbound from Terra for most of a month, just to meet you—and when I get to Gramarye, I find you’ve just left! Not very hospitable of you, sir.”
“Uh, yeah, well, I’m sorry, but your reservation got mislaid. Pardon my curiosity, but I wouldn’t think the Vatican would even have heard about me, let alone have been interested in me!”
“We hadn’t, until the Pope opened a letter that’s been waiting in the vaults for a thousand years or so.”
“A thousand years?” Rod did some quick subtraction.
“Who knew about me in 2000 AD?” Then it hit him. “Oh. No. Not McAran.”
“Ah, I see you’ve met! Yes, it was from a Dr. Angus McAran. He informed the Pope that Rod Gallowglass, of Gramarye—and he gave the coordinates—was potentially the most powerful wizard ever born.”
Gwen gasped.
The kids stared.
Rod squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a quick shake. “Oh, no, not again! That skinny old b…” He remembered the children and took a deep breath. “ ‘Fraid it’s a wild goose chase, Father. I’ve never shown the faintest trace of any magical ability.”
“He did say ‘potential,’ ” Father Uwell reminded, “and I find this sudden telepathic blockage of yours quite interesting—oh, yes, I do believe telepathy works, especially since I’ve visited Gramarye.”
Rod smiled. “Met some of our witches, huh?”
Father Al winced. “Just one—and an elf. I’d really rather call your ‘witches’ espers, if you don’t mind. ‘Witch’ is a supernatural term, and there’s nothing metaphysical about psionic powers. Oh, and by the way, I saw your youngest.”
“Gregory!” Gwen’s gaze riveted on the priest. “How doth he, good Father?”
“Quite well, I assure you madame,” Father Al said kindly. “Two old elf-wives are watching over him, and the witch-girl who brought me to your house is helping them now. And Puck himself is guarding the door.”
Rod smiled, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Well, with him there, no enemy could even get close to the door.”
“Doth he fret?” Gwen said anxiously.
“Not visibly.” Father Al frowned. “In fact, he’s very quiet. But the witch-girl read his thoughts, and told me that his mind searches for you ceaselessly—even when he’s asleep. Well did you name him—‘Gregory,’ the watcher, the sentinel.”
But Gwen wasn’t listening any more; her eyes had lost focus as her mind probed. Suddenly she gasped. “I do feel his touch!”
“Across time?” Rod cried. Then he frowned. “Wait a minute—McAran had a technique like that, where the mind travelled through time to a host-body. But how could a baby learn it?”
“He’s too young to know about time,” Father Al suggested. “Perhaps, to him, all moments are the same.”
“There are words!” Gwen cried, eyes huge.
“Words?!!? But the kid doesn’t know how to talk!”
“Nay… ‘tis Fess.” Gwen’s brows knit. “Do not ask me the manner of it.”
Rod slammed a fist into his palm. “Transmitting on my thought-frequency—and Gregory’s my baby, so his frequency resonates with mine! He’s picking up Fess’s thoughts, and Gregory’s telepathic waves are acting as a carrier wave for Fess! What’s he saying, Gwen?”
She frowned. “ ‘Tis too faint to make much of… There is something said of a machine, and of Brom O’Berin and Dr. McAran… And something of the Abbot and the King, also. I think… ‘tis that the Abbot unaccountably turned back, returning to Their Majesties full wroth. He thought he had been duped… their bargain was broken… the Abbot doth storm away, back to his monastery… Tuan hath sent out the summons to his barons, to send him levies of knights and men, and doth gird himself for war…” Her voice broke. “Husband—they may come to battle, and our babe lies there defenseless!”
“Not defenseless, not with Puck guarding his door,” Rod reassured her quickly. “And you can be sure, if Puck’s there, Brom O’Berin’s getting hourly reports. If there’s any threat to the kid, he’ll whisk him away to Elfland so quickly that Gregory won’t even know he’s been moved!”
“Dost thou truly think he will?” Tears filled Gwen’s eyes.
“Of course! After all, he’s the kid’s gr… godfather! Believe me, you can trust him. But cut the talking, dear—reassure the poor baby, while the contact lasts.”
“Aye…” Gwen’s gaze seemed to turn inward; she sat alone, hands in her lap, mind reaching out to enfold her baby’s.
Father Al coughed politely. “Ah, may I inquire—who is ‘Brom O’Berin?’ ”
“The King of the Elves,” Rod said absently, then quickly, “Uh, that’s semi-classified information! Do you still honor the Seal of the Confessional, Father?”
“We do, though we don’t use that term any more.” Father Al smiled, amused. “And what you’ve just let slip is protected by it. Would it reassure you if I called you, ‘my son?’ ”
“No, that’s not necessary.” Rod smiled, warming even more to the priest. “Brom’s also the Royal Privy Counselor, you see—so there is a need for secrecy.”
“Hm.” Father Al frowned. “Then should your children hear it?”
“The kids?” Rod glanced at the grassy bank; the children lay tumbled on it, asleep. “It has been a long day, hasn’t it? No, I don’t think they heard, Father.”
“So I see.” Father Al smiled fondly.
Rod cocked his head to one side, watching him. “Little sentimental, aren’t you? I mean, considering they’re supposed to be little warlocks and a little witch.”
Father Al stared at him, startled. “Come now, sir! These children’s souls are perfectly normal, from all that I can see! There’s nothing supernatural about psionic powers!”
“Sure about that?” Rod eyed him sideways. “Well, it’s your field, not mine. Uh—you are a specialist, aren’t you?”
Father Al nodded. “A cultural anthropologist, really, but I specialize in the study of magic.”
“Why?”
Father Al blinked. “How’s that again?”
“Why would the Church of Rome be interested in magic?”
The priest grinned broadly. “Why, to prove it doesn’t exist, for one thing—and that takes some meticulous work on occasion, believe me; there’ve been some extremely clever hoaxes. And, of course, the rare actual esper can very easily be mistaken for a sorcerer. Beyond that—well, the whole concept of magic has a strange domination over men’s souls, in many cultures; and the soul is our concern.”
“Meaning that if any real magic ever does show up, you want to know how to fight it.”
“If it’s demonic, yes. For example, exorcism has a long history. But the Church didn’t really begin to become interested in magic until the 25th Century, when provable espers began to become visible. They weren’t Satanists, nor possessed by evil spirits; that didn’t take long to establish. On the other hand, they weren’t saints either—that was even more obvious. Good people, most of them, but no better than the average, such as myself.”
“So,” Rod said, “you had to decide there was a ‘magic’ force that had nothing to do with the supernatural.”
Father Uwell nodded. “Then we were off the hook, for the time being. But some of the Cathodeans began to wonder how the Church should react if it ever ran into some sort of real magic that was neither witchcraft nor miracle.”
Rod frowned. “Just what’d you have in mind? I mean, if esper powers don’t fit that description, what does?”
“Oh, you know—fairy-tale magic. Waving your hands in the air, and chanting an incantation, and making something happen by a ritual process, not by the power of your mind.”