Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

But, being honest with himself, Marco could not be at all certain that Paulines sufficiently insulated by wealth and position from their sweating peasants would not have said the same thing, had the monster prowled the back alleys of Milan instead of the canals of Venice.

So, on long afternoons before darkness fell, Marco sat on a bench in the darkest corner against the wall at the rear of the church and looked at the crude statue of Saint Raphaella, and wondered what he should do. He didn't want to ask for a sign?who was he that a saint should give him a sign? He blushed to think that he had asked one of Saint Peter?Saint Peter!?those months ago in the swamp.

He'd come here again after another day of making triplicate copies of tedious documents, knowing that his friend was studying for an examination and Caesare was out on some mysterious business or other. The church had been darkening steadily for the past several moments, and he would have to go soon?

With a start, he realized that Brother Mascoli was in the church?was coming towards him?

Was coming at him.

Jesu! Has the man eyes like a cat?

"Marco, I need you," the priest said, as Marco started to get up, to get away, before the man could confront him. Mascoli grabbed him by the arm before Marco could protest, or even think of anything to say. "Don't argue with me, boy. I need you. They need you, and they asked for you by name."

"Who did?" Marco squeaked.

"You'll see," Brother Mascoli said, and dragged him up to the altar, around to his own quarters, and out a tiny back door.

It was, as it transpired, a water-door, which let onto a mere thread of a canal. Handy for poor canal-folk to bring in their sick and injured by night? Handy, too for smuggling?

In this case, handy for something else entirely, for something that was the last thing Marco would have expected. He stared down at the three faces in the water. Three pale green faces, looking up at him and the priest, their fishy eyes reflecting the light from a torch set up in a sconce on the wall, their emerald-green hair like water-weeds streaming and waving in the water around them. And it reflected upon a fourth face, so pale there was hardly any green to it, eyes closed, webbed fingers clasped over a hideous wound in its?her?stomach.

Marco turned on Brother Mascoli. "Those are undines!" he said accusingly.

"And this?if you will notice?is enclosed within the church walls," he replied, waving at what Marco had taken to be a canal. It wasn't. Now that the priest had drawn his attention to it, he saw that it was part of the church proper, beneath the roof, a crucifix mounted on the back with another Presence-Light beneath it on a shelf that served for an altar. A sort of watery chapel, apparently.

"Technically, since I bless this place three times daily, this is Holy Water," Brother Mascoli continued. "They may not be human, but they've passed the test of faith. And they asked for you by name. I can't heal her, but they think you can."

"Me?" Marco's voice went up another octave.

"You," said a sibilant voice from below. "We have seen you with our brother, among the reeds. You have the light and the power. We cannot reach him in time?you must heal our sister!"

He couldn't help himself; he knelt down on the water-stair and looked at the terrible gash that crossed the undine's torso from left nipple to the top of her right hip, and a spasm of sympathetic pain closed around his throat. How could anyone heal that? How could the poor thing still be alive?

The wounded undine's eyes opened, and he was caught in her gaze. She moaned pitifully, and held out webbed fingers to him. "Please," came the faintest of whispers.

Blessed Maria? It was more than a spasm of sympathy now; he swallowed down actual tears.

"But?" he directed, not a protest, but a plea of his own to Brother Mascoli. "I don't know how?"

"They're magic creatures, Marco. You probably couldn't heal a human slashed like that, but they're as much spirit as flesh?" Brother Mascoli began, then shook his head. "Just do what I do." He looked down at one of the uninjured undines. "Little sister, you're going to have to help. I may need you to act as a catalyst; the boy's never done magic as far as he knows."

One of the undines separated herself from the injured one, leaving the other two to support their sister in the water. "I am ready," she said, undulating over to Marco, and sliding up onto the water-step beside his feet. He couldn't help noticing when she spoke that she had long, sharp claws on those graceful green hands?and a mouth full of sharklike teeth. Looking at those teeth…

Marco almost shuddered. The "our brother" the undine had referred to could only be Chiano. He'd always known old Chiano had a special relationship with the undines in the Jesolo. The marsh locos had always been afraid of Chiano. Marco had thought it was only because of some vague fear of Chiano's magic, but now?looking at those teeth?he suspected that at least marsh locos had learned the hard way not to fool around with a friend of the undines.

Brother Mascoli turned Marco to face the opening of the water-chapel that led to the canal, "Holy Angel Gabriel?"

He nudged Marco who realized suddenly that this was a prayer, and he was expected to follow. "Holy Angel Gabriel," he repeated obediently, echoed by the undine at his feet.

Jesu?it's a prayer?I'd better put some feeling into it. All it took was a single glance at the poor creature at his feet to do that.

"You who brought the word of God?to the Blessed Virgin Mary?who guard the waters?and those who dwell therein?we beseech and pray thee?to guard our circle?and guide our work."

He'd been concentrating on putting his heart into the words and he hadn't really thought about what the prayer might do?and it came as a shock when the area of the opening suddenly filled with a flare of green light so bright it made the torch pale. It certainly made Marco start back with surprise, but Brother Mascoli only grunted with what sounded like satisfaction and turned Marco to the right to face the blank wall of the chapel, and began another prayer. "Holy Angel Michael?you who guard the world with a flaming sword?and all the creatures born of fire?we beseech and pray thee?"

This time when the flash of red light came, Marco was, more or less, ready for it. He turned on his own this time, beginning to get the idea. The angel was Raphael this time?"who guard the air and those who dwell therein"?and the flash was of blue light along the wall with the crucifix mounted on it. And last of all, they faced the wall behind them and invoked the Angel Uriel, the keeper of the creatures of the earth, and were greeted with a flash of pure golden light practically at their noses.

Brother Mascoli once again turned Marco to face the altar. "In nomine Patri, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus, fiat lux!" he intoned, with Marco only a fraction of a second behind him, and a blinding white light enveloped the entire water-chapel for a moment, to die down to a faint curtain of light between them and the outside world.

And if Marco doubted that?there was the evidence of his own ears. There was no sound coming from out there?nothing of the echoes of voices and the splash of water, of the bumping of boats against the mooring and the slap of feet on the walkways. Nothing.

Brother Mascoli gave another grunt of satisfaction. "All right, Marco, the rest is simple. Kneel down beside our little sister there?"

Too caught up now to even think of protesting, Marco knelt on the step beside the undine at his feet. She placed her hands in the water, just over the injured one's, once again clasped desperately over her wound.

"Just put your hands over hers?" the priest directed.

Marco shivered at the order?shivered once again at the touch of the cool flesh under his, cooler than a human's could ever be, and?scaled? Yes, those were scales under his fingers.