She smiled and set him down. "We'll fetch a blanket."

She entered the hut. Parry heard m.u.f.fled talk as the girl explained things to her family. Then she emerged with a tattered quilt, and held it out for him.

Parry shifted to human form. The chill clasped his naked body immediately, but Jolie wrapped the quilt about him and opened the door.

The peasant girl's parents stood there: an old man and an old woman huddled in bedraggled furs like her own.

The girl spoke to them in their own language. They nodded. They accepted Parry as a stranger their daughter had befriended, who could pay for his keep for this night. How his nakedness was accounted for he did not know.

"Do the heat magic," Jolie murmured.

Oh. Yes. Parry drew on his talent and cast a spell that caused the walls and floor to radiate heat.

Jolie or the girl-he suspected that they switched control in and out as necessary-held her hand near a wall, showing how it was warming. The old folk did the same, and exclaimed with surprise and pleasure; this was magic they liked!

They had a supper of gruel and water; indeed, the Mongols had not left much in this region for sustenance. But Parry enhanced it with a spell of seasoning, and they all enjoyed it. There was not much conversation, because he did not speak their language; he had to sign to Jolie, who translated for him. He gathered that she had told them that the visitor was under a vow of silence. Again he appreciated her finesse.

He discovered that he was experiencing a deep satisfaction. He realized why: this was like mortal life, with normal folk. He was for the moment no longer a monk, and Jolie was no longer dead. Indeed, the very features of the peasant girl, who now doffed her heavy outer furs to reveal more of those attributes that belonged only to youth, seemed to resemble those of Jolie.

After the meal there was nothing to do but retire, as the gloom was thickening and candles were obviously too precious to waste for there light. Parry stepped outside to attend to a call of nature, then returned to lie down in a vacant corner. The old folk had a rack of their own, and the girl settled on a bed of straw near them.

But when the darkness was total, the girl came silently to him, tugging at the wrapped quilt. Was something wrong?

"No, Parry," Jolie said, manifesting momentarily in her spirit form. "I have come to be with you, as in the old days."

He opened his mouth to protest, but the girl put a finger on his lips. She did not want him disturbing her parents.

But you can't use her body this way! he protested mentally. And I-I am a friar!

She got his quilt open and crawled next to him. Her body was hot and emphatically female.

Jolie! What are you doing!

But it was clear what she was doing. She had not loved him physically for thirty years; she intended to do it now. She had evidently made some arrangement with the peasant girl, who perhaps was not averse. Chast.i.ty was a virtue few peasants could afford; Jolie herself had been unusual in that respect, perhaps because he had caught her young enough, before the full bloom of her womanhood.

Parry wrestled with his conscience and his long training, but the battle was so uneven as to be token. He had known all along that he could never withstand Jolie in life, and now for a night she was alive. He clasped her and kissed her with the ardor of three stifled decades, and plunged into the rapture of the body. She responded with total eagerness. So potent was their penned desire for each other that it refused to abate after a single bout, or a second, and a fair portion of the night was expended before they were able to sleep.

But by morning she was back in her own corner, and he remained in his. If the parents had any knowledge of the night's activity, they kept their own counsel. They probably understood as much as they cared to.

He shared another meal with them, improving it magically, then performed some magic in return for their hospitality. In addition to the ability of the girl to locate good firewood under snow, he gave her the power to identify the best bargain of several proffered at the market. That, too, was mainly an extension of her natural abilities, with very little actual magic; but it would enable her to profit significantly by avoiding bad deals or outright cheats. It would help her family through the winter, and more than recoup the value of the food shared with him.

But the use of her body during the night-how could he repay that? What deal had Jolie made for that? Suppose she should conceive by him? In the night he had not seen fit to question the matter, but now by day he was having serious second thoughts.

The girl spoke to her parents, then took his arm. Parry was now garbed in s.h.a.ggy furs borrowed from the man; they were uncomfortable and riddled with lice, but served adequately. He needed to return them, but could not until he changed form.

They left the house. Jolie wasted no time coming to the point. "She has an illness I told her you could cure," she said. "It is apt to make her barren, but you can abolish it and restore her fertility."

"But to do that, I would require sustained contact with her for a full day and night," Parry protested. "You know that, Jolie! Healing magic of that type cannot be hastily accomplished."

"Yes. We must remain for another day," she said. "I have started the process, and you have given her of your substance. Remain long enough to keep it active, and she is well repaid."

"But I must return to the monastery!"

"You are too fatigued still to fly."

She was right. He was as yet only partially restored. He could not yet undertake that journey, lest he fall and die on the way.

Jolie released the girl, who tried out her talent for finding wood. She fashioned an ice ball and stared into it, then moved purposefully through the trees while Parry followed. In moments she had found an excellent cache of sticks, exclaiming with pleasure. It worked!

Parry helped her carry the wood back to the hut. This would keep them warm another day, and there was more where that came from. Then they went to the nearest market, a league's trudge down the riversh.o.r.e. The girl had only the coin the Mongol rider had given her, but she was determined to spend it wisely. She turned down the first preferred deal, and the second, finally accepting one for bread, and carried her prize away. The proprietor shook his head, evidently feeling bested. This gift, too, was working. That night she came to him again in the darkness, sharing the quilt. He did not argue; it was obvious that the girl was satisfied with the deal she had made, and did not mind this part of it. She had evidently had some experience before. Perhaps she was accustomed to rougher handling, and appreciated his gentleness and obvious delight, despite the knowledge that it was really Jolie he was embracing. But he did concentrate on the curing of her malady, which was not difficult to treat at this stage, and by morning he knew she was free of it. He had, indeed, rendered a suitable return service.

Next day his strength had recovered, and he knew he could fly back to France. He bid silent farewell to the family and stepped outside. He changed to the duck form, and the girl collected the clothes. She smiled as he spread his wings, evidently in response to Jolie's leave-taking; then Parry was up and away, and Jolie hovering with him.

Now the realization he had suppressed for two days burst upon him: he had violated his oath of celibacy! Technically, celibacy meant the state of being unmarried, but in practice it meant abstinence from carnal relations. For two days he had become married again, and made love to his wife. He had forfeited his right to be a friar. "I shall have to leave the Order," he thought to Jolie. "I am undone!"

Jolie was unpenitent. "I have always loved you, Parry. Now that I know how easy it is to love you physically, I want to do it again. Leave the Order, and be with me! I will find a young girl to-"

"But I must remain to fight evil!"

"You have foiled Lucifer's dire plan. Now at last you can relax."

"But the Order has become my life!"

"It never was my life, Parry! I supported you because I love you, but now that your work is done-"

"My work is not done! Lucifer must be constantly fought!"

"But there are other ways to fight him, are there not?"

"Not as effective as this! Oh, why did I give in to the wiles of the flesh!"

She gazed at him, then turned away as she faded.

"Jolie!" he cried, stricken. "Come back! I didn't mean-"

But she was gone. He had hurt her feelings, and she would not return until she chose.

It took him longer to return than it had to make the outbound flight. He tired faster, and had to land often to rest and forage. But it gave him time to ponder, and when he finally reached the monastery he knew what he had to do.

He had to confess his sin before the head friar and beg absolution.

But at first, when he was back, he just had to recuperate from his arduous excursion. He rested and ate and slept for several days.

Jolie returned. "I am sorry," she said. "I see now that I was wrong. I should not have tempted you into sin."

That made him argue the other side of it. "You are my wife!" he protested. "Nothing you could lead me to could be wrong!"

"No, you are correct. The situation changed when I died, and I had no right to return to the flesh after all these years, knowing that-"

"You borrowed a living body so that you could enable me to complete my mission! Without you I could not have done it! There can be no fault in you for that!"

"But after it was done, and the messenger went on, I had no right to-"

"You knew I was exhausted to the point of collapse, and would die in the snow if not given warmth and food and rest. You acted to save me, not to hurt me!"

"But during the night, possessed of a living young body, I should not have come to you."

With that he had to agree. "You should not have, Jolie. But there was no way you could have tempted me, had I not been willing, even eager. The sin was mine!"

"It was ours," she said.

"Ours," he agreed.

"Yet such is my depravity, I cannot hate what we did. I love you so much, Parry, and want to be with you-"

"You are with me always, Jolie."

"I'm the flesh," she finished.

"And I want you-in the flesh." Now it was out. Not only had he sinned, he knew he would do it again if given the opportunity.

"What will happen now?"

"I must leave the Order," he said. "I thought I could make confession and beg absolution, but now I know I cannot do that, for the sin remains with me. I can no longer be a Dominican friar."

"But the good work you are doing-the foiling of Lucifer's mischief-who will do that if you do not?"

Parry put his head in his hands. "No one, I fear! No other friar has made the same study of evil that I have! How ironic that I should fall prey to evil myself!"

"The evil of loving me."

"No!" But there was truth in it. He was a friar; he had no business loving a woman. "Jolie, you are my conscience. What would you have me do?"

"I am not your conscience!" she flared. "I am your wife who has led you into sin!"

"What would you have me do?" he repeated grimly.

She paced the air, distraught. "There is sin in what I did with you, and would do again. But there is evil in letting Lucifer plot without hindrance. I think the sin must be tolerated for the sake of the good you can do in your present office."

They hashed it over, but could come to no better conclusion than that. The great good ends justified the means of keeping silent about one small sin.

So Parry made no report, knowing that he had compromised his honor as a Dominican friar. He knew the doctrine of ends and means was fallacious, but hoped that in this case it was justified.

Indeed, as the weeks and months pa.s.sed, it seemed so, for the Mongol juggernaut halted, and finally reversed. The message of the Great Khan's death had gotten through, and Europe was saved from Lucifer's scourge.

But neither his doubt nor his renewed pa.s.sion for Jolie's living flesh faded. Parry knew he could not remain in this hypocritical existence. He had to find some means to resolve his savage internal conflict.

But what means?

Chapter 7.

LILAH.

In the spring of 1242 Parry was taking a walk out around the monastery grounds. He sought, as always, to reconcile the evil he found in himself with the good work he was doing. He had continued to deal with heretics, garnering their conversions when others had failed. Why was he unable to resolve the sin on his own conscience?

"Because you do not wish to, Parry."

He jumped. There beside him was the figure of an attractive young woman. He had not seen her at all; indeed, there should be none here, not even a nun. He stared at her.

She smiled back. She wore the long flowing hair, bound back by no more than a fillet, and the single long dress of the ordinary unmarried girl. But she was hardly ordinary! Her hair had the l.u.s.ter of gold, and her eyes seemed golden too, glowing like tiny disks of the sun, and the contours of her body thrust against the silken cloth of her garment, making of it a statuesque configuration. She reminded him somewhat of Jolie, as she had been in the day of her mortal beauty. But this woman was more than that, physically; she was like Venus clothed.

He fought past his amazement. "There can be no woman here!" he exclaimed.

"Really?" she asked, her lips quirking with amus.e.m.e.nt. "What of your ghostly lover?"

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I am Lilah, sent to corrupt you."

He had expected some sort of evasion; this brought him up short again. "You are a-a sending of Lucifer?"

"That is true, Parry."

Could it be? Certainly that would explain her sudden appearance, and the way she knew his private name, never voiced in the monastery. Still- "Lucifer works by deception," he said. "If you are from him, you should not tell me so!"

"Lucifer is the Father of Lies," she agreed. "But the truest lies have the semblance of truth. We underlings are not permitted to lie freely; that is the province of the Master. Thus I will always speak the truth to you, though you may not always wish to hear it."

"I don't believe you!"

"You will, in time."

"A problem, Brother?"

Parry turned guiltily. Another friar was approaching. How would he explain the woman?

But the other gave no sign of seeing the woman. "I saw you pause and gesture as if disturbed. Indigestion?"

"I thought I saw something," Parry said lamely.

"You are equivocating," Lilah remarked. "You do not think you see something; you do see a demoness, here where we are not supposed to be able to intrude."

She had him dead to rights.