Is This Apocalypse Necessary

by C. Dale Brittain

  Something she had just said was nagging at me, but I was too interested in her relationship with the Cranky Saint to wonder about it now. "So how did Saint Eusebius react to you running away?"

  Hadwidis grew abruptly less animated, and her shoulders slumped. "I think he was pleased," she said in a quiet voice, no longer meeting my eyes. "I tried to be a good nun, but he wasn't happy with me whatever I did. Now, the last couple of nights, whenever I try to get a little sleep lying under a bush, I've had the strangest dreams. They aren't like any dream I've ever had. I think—" and I had to strain to hear her "—I think they're visions."

  "Visions!" This sounded far worse to me than unexplained breezes or strange tappings. I put out a hand to feel Naurag's solid, reassuring flank. The night seemed suddenly very dark, and the faint glow of the city of Caelrhon, behind its walls a mile away, looked unreachably distant.

  "It was terrible, Wizard," she continued, almost in a mumble, "yet it's also the most intensely spiritual experience I've ever had. I know I shouldn't be telling you this—they taught us in the nunnery that wizards have no use for religion, and I certainly know enough to distrust one wizard. But it's been going on for two days now, and I don't know if the saint will appear to me again if I try to get some sleep, and I've got to talk to somebody?

  I made an encouraging sound, suddenly realizing what it was she had said that might be important. But I forgot it again the next moment.

  "He seems friendly enough now that I'm no longer Sister Eusebius—maybe he even appreciates it that I have some gumption. But he's given me a mission. He's told me to look for someone named Daimbert."

  * * * *

  "Daimbert!" To the best of my knowledge, there was no one else in the kingdom of Yurt with that name but me. The advantage of belonging to an institution that had no use for organized religion was that normally saints didn't pay any attention to us either, but it looked like all that had just changed. "Did he tell you why?" My voice came out thin and squeaky.

  Hadwidis didn't seem to notice. "He said that I could help this person," she mumbled. "But I don't know how. This is awful, Wizard. It's not like worrying if the abbess is going to catch me yawning in the middle of a psalm or something. The saint has looked right into my heart and believed I could do something important, and yet I've already sinned by breaking my sacred vows, and now I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint him terribly."

  "You're supposed to help this person named Daimbert," I repeated slowly. I didn't have the slightest idea what she could do for me either. Maybe the Cranky Saint had decided my situation was so hopeless that even a spiritually-confused runaway nun was better off than I was.

  "Saint Eusebius may have put the idea to run away in my mind originally," she said in despair, "just so I could find this Daimbert. I think—though I can't be sure—that I know someone or something that would assist him. But how am I supposed to look for someone I don't even know? I haven't even met any men in years, much less ones named Daimbert. I've been praying for guidance, but— I just don't know what to do, Wizard!"

  I made a rapid decision. If the saint wanted this girl to find me, I'd better not do anything to thwart him. "Saint Eusebius is helping you even more than you realize, Hadwidis," I said gently. "I'm Daimbert."

  Her initial reaction was not relief but shock. She scuttled around to the far side of the fire, looking at me with wide eyes. "Somehow," she said in a small voice, "having my prayers answered this abruptly is almost as terrifying as having a vision."

  An irreverent voice in the back of my mind counseled me to be properly appreciative of this first, and doubtless last, instance of being the answer to a maiden's prayer, but I ignored it. "Well, my prayers have been answered as well, if you know something that would help me."

  "But what?" she said in confusion. "I can't imagine that the saint wants me to teach you the liturgy, or how to sew a habit, or which months of the year the novices are allowed an extra blanket on their beds. You wizards probably have important magical problems to solve, but all I've known for years is the nunnery!"

  I didn't have any better ideas. "Well," I said encouragingly, "if the saint meant for me to find you, so you'd have something to eat, and for you to find me, to tell me something as soon as you remember what it is, then he should be happy now. Maybe you'll think of it in the morning." Whenever Antonia had been frightened or worried, I'd always tried to project calm reassurance.

  We soon settled down on opposite sides of Naurag, his warm wings over us, as there seemed to be little we could do tonight. Hadwidis, concerned about visions or not, went to sleep immediately, to judge from her steady breathing. But I lay awake a long time, wondering where Theodora was and what had been happening in Yurt while I was gone, such that Saint Eusebius could possibly imagine a young woman would help me.

  IV

  First thing in the morning I sent Hadwidis into Caelrhon with some of my money to buy food. I didn't want to risk recognition by going myself. "If they realize you're a girl and not a boy," I told her, "it shouldn't be a problem. But don't sign up to work at the tavern just yet. Oh, and also don't tell anybody you're with a wizard named Daimbert." Then I spent the whole time she was gone worrying that I should be taking her back to the nunnery, though it was clearly the last place either she or the Cranky Saint wanted her to be, and wondering how I was supposed to thwart Elerius if I was carting a runaway nun around everywhere with me.

  She came back whistling, carrying a bag with cheese, bread, meat pies, a dozen melons, and my change. "That was fun," she said. "I haven't been in a town in years, and even then the servants usually bought everything for me. Nobody seemed to realize I was a nun, but as I was coming back I started thinking. Suppose the abbess organizes a search party to find me? After all, she's not going to want to tell my mother I've disappeared."

  "Or your father," I said absently, wondering if there was some way I could get her to Theodora. Theodora would take care of her—but Theodora didn't seem to be in town.

  Hadwidis gave a little sigh. "No, my father's dead. He died last year. And, do you know, Wizard," glaring in my direction, "the abbess wouldn't even let me go to his funeral! She said I had 'left mother and father' in becoming a bride of Christ. Though maybe it's just as well, because if I'd been there—"

  I patted her arm in sympathy. "Would you excuse me for a few hours?" I said carefully. "I have to go somewhere. You can eat both meat pies if you're hungry while I'm gone."

  Her reaction surprised me. Tears started into her eyes— not as blue as Antonia's eyes, but blue nonetheless. "Wizard, you aren't— You aren't just going to leave me, are you?"

  "No, no," I said hastily, resisting the impulse to give her a reassuring hug. She was too big for that—especially as I'd known her only half a day. "I have no intention of leaving you. If I'd wanted to, I could have slipped off while you were in town, but I don't want to. In fact, I hope you will stay here with Naurag. I've never left him alone since I tamed him, and I don't want him following me—or even starting back toward the land of magic on his own."

  She wrapped her arms around Naurag's neck, while he looked inquiringly toward the bag of melons. "Promise me," she said, her voice unsteady. "Promise you'll be back. After meeting you I couldn't stand to be left alone again. Swear you won't try to leave me!"

  There was nothing for it. "I promise I'll be back," I said solemnly. "I swear on magic itself that I'm not abandoning you here." But how many more promises was she going to extract from me, I wondered, and how was I supposed to stop Elerius while taking care of her? I didn't want to take her into danger any more than I would have wanted to take Antonia.

  But she immediately became cheerful again. I shifted her and Naurag into a densely-thicketed grove of trees, so that the purple flying beast would not attract attention. She had already started eating a meat pie by the time I left, and called good-bye through a mouthful.

  * * * *

  I flew the forty miles to the royal castle of Yurt wondering about the
military exercises that King Lucas of Caelrhon seemed to have begun. He and King Paul had never been intimate friends, but they had gotten along perfectly well for years, so I assumed he couldn't be planning to invade Yurt. But who would he invade—or whose invasion did he want to oppose? Since the end of the Black Wars we wizards had been fairly effective in keeping our kings from going to war with each other.

  One more thing to try to sort out. But I forgot about Caelrhon as I approached the castle that I had thought I might never see again. Before reaching it I paused in the air to wrap myself in invisibility. At least for now, the castle must not see me.

  Usually blue and white pennants snapped from the towers. But today all the towers were flying black. The royal flag was the only spot of color among them. And while I did not see any tents of bivouacked soldiers by the castle, a large throng milled around in the courtyard—many more people, I thought, than usually lived there. Could Paul be marrying the princess after all, and have invited all the neighboring dignitaries to the wedding?

  Not with black pennants. Somebody had died.

  Still invisible, I dropped quickly into a shadowed corner of the courtyard. My body, even if invisible, would still block the sun's light, and I didn't dare let anyone discover me. But who could have died? My heart constricted as I tried to scan the courtyard, ascertaining who was still alive.

  King Paul for one, dressed formally in black and talking quietly to someone I couldn't quite make out through the crowd. The queen mother and her consort. The queen's aunt, the elderly but lively Lady Maria. Gwennie, apparently answering questions from some priests I did not recognize. A great many knights and ladies, most but not all from the castle. The kingdom's two counts and its duchess, the latter with her husband and twin daughters. But I spotted no one from the royal court of Caelrhon, not King Lucas, not Princess Margareta.

  The slightest hint of magic warned me, and I had all my mental defenses up as I turned to see—Elerius.

  Elerius? What was he doing in Yurt? He stood twenty yards away, not looking in my direction. Another wizard was with him, someone in a tall red hat to whom he seemed to be listening intently. The latter shifted, and I recognized Zahlfast.

  My brain churned wildly, trying unsuccessfully to come up with an explanation for why all these different people should be here. Was Elerius going to make an announcement, about his new position as absolute ruler of the world, from the kingdom of Yurt as some kind of final insult to the wizard he thought dead?

  And abruptly I realized. This was my funeral.

  * * * *

  Immediately I felt much better. Once or twice, while listening to our chaplain drone on about the merits of someone no longer with us, I had thought that the person who would have appreciated the praise the most was the person least able to hear it: the deceased himself. But now I was going to be able to hear for myself all the words of approval and gratitude usually reserved until someone was dead; I wouldn't even care if they weren't all sincere.

  Gwennie made an announcement, and those in the courtyard started moving toward the stairs leading to the chapel. I shifted to avoid some priests who were talking about the election of a new bishop in the City at long last—it sounded as though Elerius's candidate had been chosen. But I didn't have time to worry about the Church's affairs. As the crowd shifted I could see at last to whom Paul had been speaking. It was Theodora, standing with Antonia's hand in hers.

  I took a breath of profound relief. No wonder I hadn't been able to find them in Caelrhon last night; they had been here, preparing for my funeral. Theodora too, I thought, would appreciate all the nice things said about me, though I wished someone other than the portly and rather self-righteous royal chaplain would be saying them.

  But as I looked at her face, pale but composed, I had to fight the impulse to burst back into visibility and take her in my arms. I knew her well enough to realize that she was trying to control enormous sorrow. Could saving the world from Elerius possibly be worth causing this kind of suffering to the woman I loved?

  Then I noticed Elerius again, his hazel eyes fixed thoughtfully on Antonia, and grimly stayed invisible.

  My daughter was fidgeting, unhappy but more stubborn than grieving. She seemed to be turning something over in her pocket with the hand that her mother was not holding. "I still don't think he's dead," she said to King Paul, before Theodora gave her a sharp tug to lead her up to the chapel.

  Denial was not the best way to deal with loss, but in this case she was right, I thought with an inward smile.

  I let all the others go up the stairs first, then slipped up silently behind them. Everyone squeezed together on the pews, including the two wizards. Between the old Master's funeral and mine, this made two visits to a church in a month for men who probably hadn't been inside one for years.

  Standing at the altar was not our portly chaplain but the bishop himself, formal in the scarlet robes Theodora had embroidered for him. Better and better, I thought, but was surprised to see how much grief was in Joachim's face as well. Candles were ranked on the altar, but none burned, and the chapel was dim in spite of its high stained-glass windows.

  I wondered briefly if I ought to reappear now just to save everyone all the embarrassment of going through this unnecessarily, but I stayed invisible, leaning against the door jamb. Very soon I was going to have to take off for the East, or in whichever direction my so-far stubborn brain eventually came up with, and unless I was very lucky this funeral would indeed be necessary—just premature.

  "We are gathered here," Joachim said when the general rustling had died down, "to remember the life and commemorate the death of Daimbert, Yurt's Royal Wizard. But he was much more than the wizard here, though he filled that function well for over thirty years. He was a teacher, a husband, a father, and a friend."

  I looked quickly toward Zahlfast, who sat looking sober and unsurprised. Elerius must have filled him in on my family situation when they were invited to my funeral. Any disapproval Zahlfast might have felt had been erased by my supposed death.

  "It is with heavy hearts," Joachim continued, "that we commend Daimbert's soul to God. His strength and his abilities were always great, but he also gave them a moral dimension that meant he never sought power for its own sake. And his abilities were heightened by his friendship—his reaching out to others. He made friends, real friends, more easily than most, and those friends were as great a source of strength to him as his spells. Wizards, he often told me, live much longer than ordinary people. So I never expected that I should one day be here, officiating at the memorial service of the man I loved most in all this world."

  The bishop stopped as though not trusting his voice to continue. There was a faint sniffling from several spots on the benches, but otherwise the room was silent. I felt both guilty to be putting them all through this and enormously gratified.

  "When an old man dies," Joachim continued after a minute, "we grieve for ourselves, because of how much we miss him. When a man dies in his prime, we grieve also for all he might have done on this earth, which must now remain forever undone. But none of us can predict the day of death—ours or another's. Nor can we speak with assurance of the status of anyone's soul, for that is known only to God. But in this case we can have little doubt that Daimbert, approved by mortals and by saints alike, has gone to a better place. He has left us behind in the world of flesh, where power such as that he wielded so gracefully can too easily lead to greed and ambition, to sin and false desires."

  Actually I hadn't gone anywhere, but I was interested to notice Elerius and Zahlfast shifting uneasily. From them my eyes slid to the gilded statue of Saint Eusebius, Yurt's patron saint, beside the altar. He was depicted here as in the days before a marauding dragon ate every part of him but his toe: dressed as a hermit and leaning on his staff. I still didn't like it that the saint had sent Hadwidis looking for me, especially as I wasn't totally convinced that that meant he approved of me, as the bishop seemed to think all saints must.r />
  Joachim opened the Bible and read, his voice low and somber. "Man is born to trouble as the sparks to fly upwards... As for man, his days are as grass. As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more... He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down; he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not." He lowered the book and looked out across the congregation—directly at me, but his eyes were unseeing. "So the Prophet, in his despair, spoke of humanity unredeemed."

  The sniffling on the benches had grown louder. It was not from Theodora, sitting in the front next to the king, for her pale cheeks were dry. Nor was it Antonia, her chin wrinkled in what looked more like anger than grief. My principal mourner appeared to be the Lady Maria.

  Joachim flipped forward in his Bible. "But that was before the coming of Christ," he said, and he read again, his voice stronger now. "I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live... O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? ... I create new heavens and a new earth: and the former shall not be remembered... For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face... And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death."

  He turned slowly then and lit the candles on the altar. Their light flickered and glinted on the crucifix and the gilded statue of the Cranky Saint.