“Saying ‘Abracadabra’ and waving a magic wand, huh? All right, I’ll bite—how should the Church react?”
Father Uwell shrugged. “How should I know? We’ve only been discussing it for five hundred years.”
Rod eyed him sideways. “I should think that’d be time enough to arrive at a few tentative conclusions.”
“Oh yes, hundreds of them! That’s the problem, you see—we have a notion about how we should respond if we ever do encounter a case of real magic—but so far, we haven’t.”
“O-o-oh.” Rod nodded. “No one to test your theories on, huh?”
“Exactly so. Of course, we’ve looked for a real magician; we’ve investigated hundreds of cases. But most of them proved to be espers who didn’t know what they were; and there were a few cases of demonic possession, of course. The rest were hoaxes. So if we ever do find a real ‘wizard,’ we think we’ll know how to react, but…”
“How?”
Father Uwell shrugged. “The way we should’ve reacted to the introduction of science, and eventually did—that it’s something neither good nor evil, but does raise a deal of questions we have to try to answer.”
Rod tilted his head back, lips forming the syllable quite a while before he said it. “Oh. So if a real wizard should happen to come waltzing along, you want to be there from the very beginning, so you can figure out what questions he’s raising.”
“And bat them to the theologians, to find answers for.” Father Uwell nodded. “And there is the danger that a neophyte wizard might start meddling with the supernatural, without realizing what he’s doing. If that did happen, someone should be there to steer him back into safe territory.”
“And if he doesn’t steer?”
“Persuade him, of course.”
“And if he doesn’t stop?”
Father Uwell shrugged. “Batten down the hatches and get braced for the worst—and try to figure out how he does what he does, so that if he lets loose some really evil power, we can counter it.”
Rod stood very still.
Then he nodded, slowly. “So. It does behoove the Church to study magic.”
“And we have. We’ve worked out a great deal, theoretically—but who’s to say if any of it’s really valid?”
Rod shook his head. “Not me, Father. Sorry, but if you’re looking for a wizard, you haven’t found him… I’ve never worked a trick in my life, that didn’t have a gadget behind it. I did bump into McAran once, coming through a time machine—but I wasn’t a wizard then, either. And he knew it!”
The priest thrust his head forward. “A time machine. He could’ve used it to take a look at your personal future.”
Rod stood stock-still for a moment.
Then he shook his head vigorously. “No. Oh, no. No. There’s no way I could turn into a wizard—is there?”
“Well, there is the question of your suddenly becoming telepathically invisible—but that’s more a matter of psi phenomena than of magic. Still, it indicates you may have some powers you don’t know about. Has something improbable ever happened, when you wanted it to happen, for no visible reason?”
Rod frowned, shaking his head. “Never, Father. Can’t think of a single.”
“Mine husband,” Gwen reminded, “the bells…”
Rod looked up, startled. Then he turned back to the priest, slowly. “That’s right. Just a little while ago, I wanted church bells to ring, very badly—wished it with all my might, actually—I was trying to break through to Gwen, hoping she’d read my mind and start ringing them telekinetically.”
“And they rang,” Gwen said softly, eyes wide, “though I did not do it.”
“Nor the kids either,” Rod said grimly. “You don’t suppose…?”
“Oh, I do—but it’s only a supposition. One incident isn’t quite enough to construct a theory. Excuse me—you did say your wife is telekinetic?”
“Among other things.” Rod nodded. “And our little girl, too. The boys teleport. That’s the usual sex-linked breakdown on Gramarye, for espers. But Magnus is telekinetic, too, which breaks the rules—and he’s got some powers we’re not sure about at all.”
“It runs in the family, then.”
“Runs? It never even slows down to a trot!”
“Yes, I see.” Father Uwell frowned. “I’d heard about this all, of course, but… Doesn’t it strike you as strange that your children should breed true, in esper powers, when only one of their parents is an esper?”
Rod stared. Gwen’s eyes lit.
“I’d assumed it was a dominant trait,” Rod said slowly.
“Which it well might be, of course. But how do you explain your son’s additional powers?”
“I don’t.” Rod threw up his hands. “I’ve been trying for eight years and I still can’t. How’s ‘mutation’ sound to you?”
“About the same way ‘coincidence’ does—possible, but also improbable, and therefore suspect.”
“So.” Rod steadied his gaze on the chubby, gently-smiling face. “You think he might’ve inherited it from both sides.”
Father Uwell spread his hands. “What can I say? It’s possible—but three bytes of data are scarcely a full meal.”
“About what I expected.” Rod nodded. “So. Keep on observing, and hope for the best, eh?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Oh, not at all! Me, mind? Just because we’re hiking through unknown territory, where there might be an enemy on every side? Just because we’ve got supernatural beasties with long, sharp teeth coming out of roadside pools? No, I don’t mind at all, Father—but you should. I mean, it’s not exactly going to be a church picnic, if you’ll pardon the phrase.”
“Certainly,” the priest said, smiling. “And as to the danger—well, we’ll have to take it as it comes, eh?”
“Sure will.” Rod couldn’t help smiling; there was something very likeable about this brown-robe. Not to mention reassuring; it never hurt to have another adult male in the party, even if he wasn’t exactly a warrior. “But there might be a way to limit that. You just came in from Gramarye, you say.”
Father Uwell nodded.
“Is the door still open?”
The priest blinked. “Why, as far as I know, it was never shut.”
“What!!?!”
Father Uwell nodded. “I understand there’s been quite a loss of game in the area, and several peasants are complaining about missing livestock. No other people have ‘fallen in,’ though. There’s a great black horse on patrol there, and he won’t let anyone near.”
“Fess!” Rod slapped his thigh. “He’s still standing there, waiting for us to come out!”
“Trying to figure out how to get you out, I think. At least, that’s the only reason he let me past.”
Rod frowned. “You don’t mean he talked to you.”
“No, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had. I came to your house, and, not finding you home, I set out to the woods nearby, with Puck for a guide. As I went toward the pond, your horse galloped up to block me. I dodged to the side, but he dodged with me. I ducked under his belly, but he sat on me. I tried to vault over him, and he swivelled around so that I jumped off exactly where I’d jumped on. I finally decided I was dealing with an unusual specimen.”
Rod nodded. “You should only know how unusual.”
“I have some idea; when I struck him, he clanged. So I tried to reason with him.
“He eventually escorted me to the point at which you’d disappeared. I walked ahead—and found myself surrounded by silver leaves! I whirled about, and found myself facing a great white-trunked tree with a big ‘X’ carved on it. I tried to step back into it, but I thumped roundly against the bark and sat back on my cassock. I fancy I must have looked rather ridiculous.”
“So did I,” Rod said grimly. “Don’t worry about it, Father. So. The gate’s still open, but it only works one-way, eh?”