C. Brittain - Daughter of Magic

It would mean going in the air cart rather than flying myself, which would have been faster, but I couldn’t very well refuse. Hildegarde could certainly watch over my daughter by herself-though I wondered if she might indeed have made her into a warrior by the time I came back. In ten minutes Celia and I were rising above the towers of the royal castle, and the air cart began the steady flapping of wings that would take us to Caelrhon.

I studied her as we flew. She sat in the skin of a purple flying beast, whipping along a quarter mile above the ground, the wind tugging her midnight hair free of its pins, with no more apparent wonder at the experience than if she had been taking a horse to the cathedral city. She wore a simple dark dress that accented her slimness and her ivory skin, and I thought that it didn’t seem right that someone so young and pretty should be so glum. Her eyes were focused inward, as though concentrating on something she needed to do or say.

When she spoke it was clear that whatever speech she was preparing was not intended for me. Instead she said, “I gather you and the bishop have always been friends, Wizard?”

“Most of the time for twenty-five years,” I agreed. “Institutionalized magic and institutionalized religion normally have no use for each other, but Joachim and I have managed to be friends in spite of each thinking that the other one is seriously misguided on certain important points.”

But Celia was not interested in the millennia-old tensions between wizardry and the church. “All I really need is an introduction,” she said, “a chance, maybe only for a quarter hour, to talk to him directly. I’ve tried reaching him before but have always been put off by one priest or another, who just tell me I’m being silly and shouldn’t bother His Holiness.”

“And are you being silly?” I asked lightly, trying to take some of the sharp intensity from her face.

She did not smile. “It’s not silly to know what you want-what you were meant to do. The only trouble is with others who think they can plan your life better than you can for yourself.”

I nodded, not sure what I was agreeing to but thinking of Paul.

Celia and I were shown after only a short wait into the bishop’s study. A shaft of late afternoon sunlight lay across the floor. Joachim stepped out of the shadows to meet us, tall and sober in his formal scarlet vestments. He lifted an eyebrow, mildly surprised to see a young woman with me.

I introduced her. “Forgive me, Celia, for not recognizing you at once,” said the bishop politely. “I am always happy to see any of my spiritual sons and daughters, but I fear I have not spoken with you properly since you were quite a bit younger.”

She knelt, overcome, to kiss his episcopal ring, something I myself had always been able to justify not doing. “Please, Holy Father,” she said in a low voice, “don’t send me away before hearing me. Don’t leave, Wizard!” as I stepped toward the door, as though frightened of being left alone with the bishop. “I know you have business of your own here, and this-this should only take a minute.”

Joachim blessed her, his hand resting lightly on her hair. “Rise, my daughter. Sit beside me and tell me what troubles your soul.”

Celia gave me a quick glance as though for moral support, looked next at the crucifix on the wall as though hoping it would provide the support I clearly would not, gulped twice, and began. “Holy Father, I want to be a priest.”

This was the same surprise to Joachim it was to me. Fortunately Celia kept her eyes on her folded hands. “When did you make this decision, my daughter?” the bishop asked kindly.

“I’ve always known it,” she murmured bitterly, as though already hearing rejection in what sounded to me only like friendly interest. “Or, at least I’ve known it for several years. I was meant to serve God. I want to devote my life to bringing the absolute light of good and love to those around me. My parents expect me to get married and become a duchess, but I cannot.”

“It would be hard for you to be a priest,” said Joachim thoughtfully. “Since the time of Moses and Aaron, the priesthood has been entirely male. There has certainly always been a place in the Church for pious widows and virgins, though they can usually best serve God as cloistered nuns.”

Celia was no widow, but she was most likely a virgin-though that was not really for me to know.

“There is,” the bishop continued, “as I am sure you know, a nunnery in the kingdom of Yurt well known for its rigor and purity.”

“I am not going to be a nun,” said Celia, quietly and distinctly. “I intend to bring God’s message to laymen and women, especially women. They’ll listen to me when they would never listen to some male priest.”

Joachim looked toward me, eyebrows raised, over her lowered head. I shrugged my shoulders with no idea what to say to her-especially since I thought she had a point.

“You’re the bishop,” Celia went on when he did not answer at once, determined to get in everything she had come to say. “You’re the supreme religious leader in the area. You can accept whomever you want into the seminary without having to answer to anyone.”

“It is true that I have no direct superior,” said Joachim, “but that does not mean that I answer to no one. Above all, of course, I answer to God and to the church structure He has ordained, then to my own conscience, and then to all the other bishops in this region of the western kingdoms.”

“And in none of this-”

“In none of this,” said the bishop, “do I see women priests.”

He spoke quietly, gently, but with a firmness that would have kept even me from disagreeing. Celia blinked hard, but no tear escaped her eye. She was, after all, the duchess’s daughter.

“Then I guess I’ll go see if I can hire a horse to return to Yurt,” she said expressionlessly. “Thanks for the ride, Wizard.”

But Joachim put a hand on her arm as she started to rise. “Do not leave spiritually dissatisfied. I need to speak now with the wizard, but you and I can talk more later. You were planning on staying in Caelrhon this evening anyway, weren’t you, Daimbert?” He knew all about me and Theodora, the only person besides the queen of Yurt who did. “If you would like to stay tonight in the cathedral guest house, I am sure it can be arranged,” he added to Celia. “A way should certainly be found for someone who feels herself called by God.”

She nodded without looking up and let herself be led away by an acolyte.

“A true daughter of the duchess,” I commented when the door closed. Duchess Diana of Yurt had always done exactly what she liked and had never been comfortable herself with the life of the noble lady. She seemed to have passed on several key personality traits to her daughters.

“Now, Joachim,” I said, “tell me about this problem you’re having. Somebody is working miracles, you say?”

He turned quickly from frowning at the door where Celia had just gone. “Yes,” he said, shifting his attention to me. “And if they are truly miraculous, the man may be a saint. But somehow, something about him does not seem true.”

I sat down opposite him. “How long has he been here?”

“Only about two weeks,” said the bishop as though in careful consideration. “Some say he arrived with the Romneys, though no one has seen him with them.” The Romneys wandered from place to place throughout the western kingdoms; I had noticed their caravans and horses outside the city walls as we flew in. “But already he-”

“Give me an example,” I prompted when he paused.

“What they are already calling his first miracle,” said the bishop, drawing back so that his eyes were shadowed, “was saving the life of a little dog.”