"Aye." He turned back to me. "I have a useless gift for pondering Holy Writ, Wizard, and am therefore skilled at explaining how the words of Christ, uttered a thousand years ago and more, may guide our conduct even in this latter age. Nay, mayhap not so useless, for other priests do hark unto me and find my words of aid in speaking to their flocks."

I stared. "You're a theologian."

"I would be loath to claim the honor," he said.

"And might thereby deceive people who have to deal with you," I said. "And you specialize in applying Scripture to daily life?"

"Aye, most especially in the use of the talents God has given others, for I am so lacking in them."

"So that's why you study magic," I said slowly, and a thought throbbed in my brain. "Does that extend to explaining how it works?

"Aye, though in its essence, 'tis simplicity itself."

"Most great insights are," I said softly.

"Though the first step in that simplifying is to merely say what is magic, and what is not."

"Oh,' What is not?"

"Prayer. If we pray for God to intervene in our lives, and if He sees fit to do so, we are like to think it magical, when 'tis more properly a miracle."

I frowned. "I haven't seen many of those."

"Oh,"' He smiled. "Did you not speak of love for a maiden?"

I flushed. "That's ordinary, not miraculous! I mean, everybodywell, a lot of people fall in love. It's just hormones and sublimation, not . . ."

His gaze was very steady.

"Okay," I admitted, "so there's something there besides lust and compatible pheromones. It's still not exactly rare."

"Have you ever seen a baby born?" he asked.

That's a natural process!"

"The creation of a new soul is not-'tis an act of God."

I tensed against an eerie feeling that was stealing over me. "I thought that was the phrase for horrible storms and earthquakes."

"Do you see God only as a destroyer, then? Or do you see each lightning bolt as a miracle?"

"I thought it was supposed to be the wrath of God," I snapped.

"Nay, though it may be His instrument, as virtually anything of this world may be-and as any good Christian must hope to be."

"Now, hold on!" I held up a hand to forestall him. "Are you trying to say everything that happens is a miracle?"

"Certainly not-but by the same token, a miracle need not be rare.

It will nonetheless be a miracle, my friend," Friar Ignatius said, with that gentle smile. "I have seen hopeless illness cured, and not through the laying-on of hands, but only through prayer, and because it pleased God; I have seen melancholy lifted from a maiden's heart by the beauty of a sunrise; I have seen a man, bent on death, restored to the will to live by the song of a skylark. The grace of God can reach us all at any time, if we are open to it."

Revelation. "So that's what prayer is! just turning on the receiver, opening a channel!"

"Odd terms," Friar Ignatius said with a frown, "but that is certainly an aspect of prayer. Not the whole of it, of course, but a part."

"The part that seems to pertain to the discussion at hand." I frowned. "So how do you think magic works?"

"By symbols and intent." He rested a hand on Frisson's shoulder, and sang, "Let your heart's pain ebb, Let it pass, let it pass!

Be freed of love's web, Let it pass, let it pass!

From the Mire of Despond be raised, And your heart be filled with praise And the past cleared from your gaze, Let it pass! Let it pass!

Frisson looked up, startled, then turned to Friar Ignatiu,- with a frown. "What have you done?"

@'Only given you a song to ward your heart," the monk assured him.

Frisson held a level gaze a moment longer. "You have, and I thank you deeply. Alas, the wanton was fair! But in truth, she had thought only for her own pleasure, and none for my welfare. it is removed, now, though the memory of the passion is sweet His face darkened.

"Alack-a-day, what I fool I made of myself!"

"You had a great deal of aid," the monk assured him.

Frisson smiled, and I stared in shock, for it was a sardonic smile, such as I had never seen on his face before. "I had small need of help, Friar Ignatius, for I've made a fool of myself many, many times in the past. Ah, so many!"

"Why, then, we are brothers," the monk said with a smile.

"Are we so? Nay, I think not-for you did cleave unto God's rules, and thereby did save yourself from shame."

"As the psalm says, 'The salvation of my countenance, and my God,'

" Friar Ignatius said softly.

"For you, mayhap-but for myself, I played the fool roundly. in truth, I would be tempted to say that I could not have made a fool of myself, for God did. " "Say not so." Friar Ignatius' voice became stern. "The only true folly is turning away from God, Master Poet, and as long as you reach out to others, you have not done that."

"Even if they should spurn me? There is some sense in what you say." Frisson nodded. "But there are ways of reaching out, and there are other ways of reaching out. I think I must modify my techniques, Friar Wisdom."

"Friar Fool, say rather." The monk smiled. "For as long as we do live and breathe, we must needs be fools in some measure." He noticed my stare and turned to me. "What amazes you, Master Saul?"

I gave myself a shake and said, "Thought you claimed you couldn't work magic."

Friar Ignatius flushed and lowered his gaze. " 'Twas only a small magic, Master Wizard, such as a cotter might use."

I started to object, then caught his meaning-the "spell" had been as much suggestion as anything else, Convince Frisson that he had put Thyme behind him, and he did-for certainly, he believed in both magic and monks. Instead, I said, "Had that spell ready to hand, did yOU2,/ "I did," Friar Ignatius admitted, "though I recast a few lines as I spoke. 'Tis a sovereign for many ills, Master Saul-for all things must pass, and it behooves us to speed their passing if they are not for our good. " It made sense, but it wasn't the kind of wisdom I was used to hearing from the West. "I was beginning to think you were this universe's equivalent of a theoretical physicist," I said, "but I'm beginning to suspect you're something of a psychologist, too. Friar Ignatius frowned. "These terms are strange."

"Darn right they are. So, Friar Ignatius, just how do you think magic works?"

"As it will," he answered, "and constantly, for it sustains us all, though we know it not. 'Tis like some great, thick, unseen blanket that overlies the whole world, Master Saul, like a mist upon the plain.

I started to object to "overlies" and was about to suggest "englobes," when I remembered that to him, the world was flat. "So it's a substance, though a diffuse one?"

"Not a substance," he said, "but a kind of energy, like the thrumming you feel within you on a fair morning, when you are in good health.

I stiffened; he was describing a field force. "And this energy blanket covers the whole Earth?"

"Aye, but the energy within us can thicken and direct it, if we have the talent."

"How?" I frowned. "By thinking at it? That would make sensethought waves modulating a field force . . ."

But Friar Ignatius held up a cautioning hand. "Not thought alone, Master Saul, but all of our bodies, every bit of our being. Our own energies fill us; they are not in our minds alone, or we could never walk."

I didn't like the way this was going, but Frisson did-his gaze was fairly glued to Friar Ignatius' face.

"A man born with the gift for it," the monk said, "can make the magic thicken, gather power from it, and direct that power as he wills.

"And how does he do that?"

"By the symbols that he chooses, to clarify his thinking and involve his whole being in his intention," Friar Ignatius said.

"Then what," Frisson asked, "makes the magic black or white, good or evil?"

"The purpose for which he intends it," Friar Ignatius replied, "and his motives for doing so. If a virtuous woman wishes to heal, to help, or to protect another, then she appeals to God for His aid in her deeds, and her magic will be white."

"How about if she's using it to kill an attacker?" I said.

"A good woman would not wish to kill." Friar Ignatius turned back to me. "She would wish to protect herself and would therefore only wish to stop or withhold the attacker. Her spell might kill him, if that were the only way to stop him, but her intent would be good, and her magic from goodness."

it sounded specious, but I didn't argue-I'd heard enough about sex crimes to believe that a woman might very well kill an attacker by accident. All she'd really be thinking about, of course, would be stopping him-but if she hit a vital organ, tough luck. I'd be the first to say it, and the last to deny it. "So how can you tell if you're dealing with a wizard or a sorcerer?"

"You may know him by the symbols he uses," Friar Ignatius answered. "If he inflicts pain to gain magical powers, if he speaks of death and uses skulls and twisted blades and blood, then his magic is surely ill, and aided by evil."

"Symbols?" I frowned. "I've only seen sorcerers use words!"

"You may also see them brandish a staff or a wand," Friar Ignatius said. "It magnifies the force of a spell, even as it magnifies the force of a blow."

I had a notion it had something to do with directing the force, like an antenna, but it was not fair bringing electromagnetism into the discussion.

"But brewing spells with physical objects for symbols is lengthy and cumbersome, though the magic is extremely potent," Friar Ignatius said. "In the field, a magician will rely on words and gestures."

"But how could that do any good? How could physical symbols do any good, for that matter?"

"Because, Master Wizard, the symbol is the thing. I stared and clamped my jaws shut. In my universe, one of the cardinal principles of semantics was that the symbol was not the thing.

Well, other universes, other natural laws.

"The whole of one's being must be gathered together and directed,"

Friar Ignatius explained, "that all the energies within and around our bodies may form and fashion the magical energy to our purpose. Symbols are the tools we use to so solidify our beings-and the more powerful the symbol, the more fully are the various parts of ourselves gathered together."

"So whether we're drawing on God to help us focus our own energies is a matter of whether or not we want to," I interpreted.

'Focus'-an excellent term!" Friar Ignatius clapped his hands. "I should have thought of turning to mathematics for my concepts! I thank you, Wizard Saul."

I shivered, wondering what I had done. This "magic field" he was talking about seemed to be this universe's equivalent of electromagnetism-and I knew darn well what our own physicists and engineers had been able to do with electricity and magnetism, once they had started shaping their thinking according to mathematical principles. What would happen here, if Friar Ignatius started applying math to magic?

Amazing things, I didn't doubt-because I had a very strong suspicion that it really was possible to manipulate that magic field without drawing on either good or evil. It was an impersonal force, after all-the personal element came when you tried to draw on the power of supernatural beings to help you control it. Besides, I was still trying to think of those beings as imaginary-in which case, they served as very, very powerful symbols.

Powerful, indeed-they tapped directly into the subconscious. I thought of my hallucinatory guardian angel and shuddered. "I wouldn't be so extreme," I said easily. "After all, we're talking about an art, not a trade. So words are symbols, and poetry concentrates meaning-so the better the poetry, the more powerful the spell?"

Frisson's eyes were so wide they almost bulged.

"Aye," Friar Ignatius said, "and poetry that is sung, is more powerful still."

"Sung?" I frowned. "How does that work"' "Because there is order in melody," Friar Ignatius explained, "that adds its strength to the order of rhyme and meter; and because song is felt throughout the body, and thereby incorporates all of our energies."

My spirits sank; I bad a tin ear. But Frisson's face lit with delight.

"I have a passable voice."

"Then bend your thoughts toward God and goodness." Friar ignatius said, turning to him. "Meditate on Him, that your magic may be for the benefit of others, and the stren thening of goodness."

Frisson gazed at him, eyes glowing, and nodded. "Aye, for we go up against great evil, Friar Ignatius."

"The power of goodness must needs be greater than the power of evil," Friar Ignatius rejoined, "for it doth draw on God, the Ultimate Source. " I sat bolt upright. "You aren't trying to tell me that good will always triumph over evil!"

"it will, if all other elements are equal," Friar Ignatius said.

"No demon can stand against an angel, and white magic is much more powerful than black. But it is more difficult to be good than to be wicked, and more difficult to master white magic than black. Fasting, prayer, self-discipline, returning good for evil-these are difficult.

To give in to anger and the lust for revenge is easy."

I thought about the Taoists and Zen Buddhists, and kept thinking.

But Frisson spoke. "We must needs confront a vile sorceress and her minions, Friar Ignatius. We will need all the strength that God can lend."

"His grace is there for all," the monk murmured, "if we will but be open to it."

"I think," Frisson said, "that I must learn to pray."

For some reason, that sent shivers down my spine. I tried changing the subject. "Was this why the queen had Thyme tie you up?"

Friar Ignatius turned to me, a strange light in his eyes. "So you have guessed that, too, Master Wizard! Yes, I had wondered-though I cannot prove that. Still, 'tis quite possible that it was the queen of Allustria who drove our ship to the nymph's isle-for she could not damage me herself, as long as I remained devoted to God."

"And if anybody could break that devotion," I said, "it would have been Thyme. But why did the queen want you out of the way? Was she afraid you might convince some of her sorcerers to repent and start working toward sainthood?"

"As do we all," Friar Ignatius reminded me, "if we do not despair.