Gift of the Winter King and Other Stories Page 5

  Andrew blinked at the letters on the screen. No matter how busy Leo was, he never let it keep him from his e-chats with Andrew. Andrew scrolled back through the old messages, wondering if he’d said something that annoyed Leo, or if there was some hint—

  The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith will take into account not only the good of your friend Jasper, but the good of all the faithful . . . .The Holy Father can overrule the CDF, but he won’t—we both know that.

  Andrew sat up straight in his chair. Of course. Anyone involved with the CDF’s deliberations on any subject was strictly barred from discussing it. Leo was a theologian—he had probably been brought in for his analysis of the situation, or maybe just because he knew Andrew. That meant the CDF was already discussing the situation. Maybe it would all be resolved soon, one way or another.

  The phone rang. It was Lisa, voice only.

  “Oh my God,” she was saying, over and over. “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it.”

  “Lisa,” he said. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  “—the farm.”

  “I’m on my way,” he said, hanging up and heading for the door.

  It was humid and very dark outside. He had his windows rolled down, and he smelled what had happened even before he saw the flashing lights at the end of Lisa’s driveway. Fire. Lisa stood, along with the dogs, beside the barn. The house was charred to the foundations; a single upright beam still stood, a pillar of blackened timber. Along with the smoke, he could smell the gasoline that had been used to set the fire.

  “No one was hurt,” Lisa said, her voice toneless. “We were all at the vet hospital, because of Teddy.”

  The dogs huddled together, staring at the dying flames. There was an arson investigator on the scene; he wanted to talk to Lisa, so Andrew helped Jessie hustle the rest of the dogs into the barn, and sat down to comfort the puppies. They vied for the opportunity to sit in his lap; the ones with human-like hands wanted to exchange high-fives with him, like Jasper had told them he did with the human children on Sundays. Jasper sat close by, holding one of the puppies. “Tell us a story,” the puppy in Jasper’s lap said.

  For a moment, the only stories that Andrew could think of involved early Christian martyrs. Then he remembered that his copy of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe was in his briefcase, in his car. He fetched it, along with his emergency flashlight, and sat down on the floor of the barn to read it to the puppies.

  The barn was hot and humid; the air was still. The floor was concrete, and covered in swallow droppings. The puppies curled around each other in a heap at Andrew’s feet, in the circle of light made by the flashlight. One by one, the puppies fell asleep. As the last puppy stopped struggling to keep her eyes open, Andrew looked around. Jessie had fallen asleep hours ago. Lisa had come in at some point, and gone to sleep with her head resting on the haunch of the Newfoundland. Andrew had reached the point in the story where Aslan slipped away to allow himself to be sacrificed, in exchange for the life of the misguided Edmund. Now Andrew fell silent, wondering if anyone was still awake and listening. At the edge of the circle, someone’s eyes glittered—Jasper.

  “You know the rest of the story,” Andrew said.

  Jasper nodded. After a little while she said, “There is something I have always wondered about that book.”

  “Ask me. I’ll try to answer,” Andrew said.

  “What exactly is Turkish delight?”

  Andrew laughed a little. “It’s a sort of candy. After I first read the book, I asked my parents for some. I figured it must be awfully good, for Edmund to sell his soul for it. Actually, it’s kind of sticky, and too sweet—I didn’t much care for it even when I was a kid.”

  Jasper came forward into the circle of light. “People have sold their souls for less,” she said.

  “True enough.” Andrew watched as Jasper settled down protectively beside the puppies. “Jasper, I have a question for you,” he said.

  “Ask away.”

  “Why do you want to be baptized?”

  Jasper was silent for a long time. “I know that Lisa supported the idea because she thought it would bring attention to the movement to free enhanced animals,” she said. “I’m not as committed to the cause as Lisa is, though. If that were all I cared about, I’d have given up after that first Sunday.” Jasper propped herself up on one elbow, and her tail thumped twice. “I want to be baptized because it is a prerequisite to taking communion.”

  There was a pause.

  “I suppose you want to know why communion matters so much to me,” Jasper said.

  “It had crossed my mind,” Andrew said.

  “I believe in God,” Jasper said. “At first, I believed because I was so relieved at the idea that I might have a Creator who truly loved me, unlike the humans who manipulated dog DNA and designed me before my birth. But then I came to value the love of God in itself.” Her voice was deep and a little hoarse. “When I first became interested in religion, I assumed I’d never be allowed into the church. I read some books by religious people who kind of struck out and found God by themselves. But I’m not a saint—and I could barely understand what they wrote. To come to God, I would need an easier way. And in the Catholic Church, God gives Himself to us as food. Could any way be simpler?”

  “Probably not,” Andrew said.

  “So,” Jasper said. “That’s why.”

  There was a long pause. Andrew was mentally composing his next letter to Leo. Some say that God made humans, but humans made the enhanced dogs, and that therefore they don’t have immortal souls. But, consider. Jasper has the intellect to understand what God is; she has the desire to know God; she wants to obey God’s will as best as she knows how. Would a merciful God deny Jasper His presence? Then Jasper spoke, breaking into his reverie. “Father, can I ask you a question?”

  “Ask,” he said.

  “Do you think that the church will let me be baptized?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. Jasper raised her head to peer at him questioningly. “It doesn’t matter because I’m not going to wait for a yes or a no. I’m baptizing you tomorrow morning.”

  ***

  THEY DROVE OVER to St. Mary’s at dawn—Lisa, Andrew, Jasper, and all the other dogs, since Lisa was afraid to leave anyone alone. To receive baptism, Jasper needed a sponsor who was an active Catholic; fortunately, with Lisa’s return to the church, she could sponsor Jasper.

  Lisa parked outside the church, and Andrew hustled everyone inside as quickly as he could, then locked the door behind them. The puppies wandered around, gaping at the stained glass windows. Andrew vested as quickly as he could, then strode down the aisle to join Jasper and Lisa just inside the door.

  The rite of Baptism started with an exorcism: Andrew breathed gently into Jasper’s face. He could smell Jasper’s breath, as he inhaled; he had expected her to smell fusty, like Caramel, but her breath was no more sour than any human’s. It occurred to him that she probably brushed her teeth.

  Andrew led Jasper through the prayers required of an adult convert; he placed salt on her tongue, and signed her with the cross on brow, ears, eyes, nostrils, mouth, breast, and back. The holy oil made her fur slick. Jasper was too big to pick up and hold over the baptistry, so she stood beside it, and Lisa held her hand as Andrew poured water over her head three times. “Jasper, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” When the rite was done, Andrew gave Jasper a hug. “Welcome to the church,” he said.

  Public weekday Mass would be held later that morning; Jasper would receive communion then. Lisa was still afraid to leave the other dogs alone, but the puppies definitely couldn’t be trusted to behave in church, so Andrew arranged for the puppies to stay at the Rectory. The puppies wanted breakfast, so he poured out bowls full of dry Raisin Bran—it was the only thing he had in quantity. The puppies ended up playing with the raisins, rather than eating them, but they seemed reasonably satisfied with their br
eakfast.

  Andrew brought Jasper and Lisa back over to the church with him a half hour before Mass. They sat down in the front row, this time—Andrew wanted Jasper to receive communion before anyone else knew what was going on. He went back to vest again, then lurked where he could keep an eye on things. His palms were sweating; he wiped them on his alb.

  When Andrew came out, he was relieved to see that only a handful of people were there. One of them was Carolyn, the woman who has thought it was so inappropriate to bring a dog to church. Well, it didn’t matter. He started the Mass.

  Andrew realized as he started the Consecration of the Eucharist that his voice was shaking. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady his breathing. God, I trust in You, he thought, and felt better, but his voice continued to shake. His heart was pounding so hard that he could hear it in his ears. He raised the chalice, chanting the prayer of consecration.

  When it was time for the parishioners to approach and receive communion, Jasper rose and started towards him as quickly as she could. There was a crash from the back of the church, the sound of a falling kneeler. “No! What are you doing?” Carolyn shouted. She stood in the aisle. The other parishioners froze where they stood, staring at Jasper.

  “This is desecration,” Carolyn said. “This is desecration of the Eucharist! Jesus said, ‘It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.’”

  Jasper kept her eyes fixed on Father Andrew. Andrew met Carolyn’s eyes, hearing his own voice echo in the church. “Jesus did say that,” he said. “And the Canaanite woman said, ‘Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.’ And Jesus praised her faith, and healed her daughter. For you see, Carolyn, in that story, we—the gentiles—were the dogs. The ‘children’ Jesus spoke of were the Jews. Christ came for all of us. Anyone who seeks. Anyone who knocks. Jasper is seeking Him, Carolyn. I hope that someday you will, too.” He looked back at Jasper and raised the wafer. “The Body of Christ,” he said.

  Carolyn started forward; her voice went up to a shriek of rage. “If you do this, Father, there is no turning back. You will be on their side. Theirs. Do you understand me?”

  “Then that’s the side I need to be on,” Andrew said. “Whatever the cost.”

  “Thanks be to God,” Jasper whispered.

  “No,” Carolyn shouted.

  Andrew placed the wafer in Jasper’s mouth. Jasper crossed herself, and moved aside, bowing her head, waiting.

  Andrew raised another wafer. “The Body of Christ,” he said. Something wet splashed his vestments, and he realized that he was crying.

  Carolyn turned on her heel and left the church. One by one, the others followed, except for Lisa.

  Lisa moved to stand before him. “Thanks be to God,” she said, and he placed the wafer into her outstretched hand.

  The door of the church slammed shut. As Andrew turned back towards the altar, he looked up at the crucifix. “It was the right thing,” he whispered, more to himself than to God. But he didn’t doubt anymore. It was the right thing to do.

  GIFT OF THE WINTER KING

  THIS STARTED OUT a very different story.

  I wrote a draft, was dissatisfied but not sure how to fix it, and handed it out to the Wyrdsmiths, hoping I would get some useful feedback. When we met again two weeks later, I got some lukewarm comments . . . .and then it was Harry LeBlanc’s turn. He started out with, “I want you to know, I really like you as a person,” and then he (verbally) ripped the story to shreds. He hated it. He was offended by it. And when he was done, I knew exactly (even though Harry hadn’t articulated it precisely) where I’d gone wrong. I took it home, rewrote it completely from scratch, and sold it to Realms of Fantasy. It was my first pro sale.

  ***

  ON A CLEAR fall day fifty winters ago, Brother Zavier came to bring the Truth to the Children of the Winter King. Luya and I saw him first; we were by the riverbank, slicing apples to dry them for the winter when he stepped out of the brush, blinking like a mouse in the sunlight. Brother Zavier was a little man, with brown woven robes that covered him from his neck to his feet. Luya was laughing, with her back to him—then she tossed her hair, and as she looked over her shoulder, their eyes met.

  My first impulse when I saw him was to run. I jumped to my feet, but Luya grabbed my wrist. “Let me go,” I said. “Luya! Let me—”

  “Shut it, Madri,” Luya said. She stared at him with fascination. He seemed even smaller with Luya standing up; she was taller than he was. “Who are you?” she said.

  “My name is Zavier,” he said.

  “Let me go,” I said again.

  Luya shook my arm roughly, but didn’t release it. “What is your clan?” she said to Zavier.

  “I have no clan,” he said. “I am God’s monk, from the Ericines. The Order of Saint Eric.”

  Zavier spoke the trade-tongue, but I didn’t recognize half the words he used.

  “Are you a trader?” Luya asked him.

  “I have not come to trade,” Zavier said. “I have come to give.”

  I looked at his meager belongings skeptically. What was he going to give us, his sandals? Luya’s lips pulled into a sneer. “What have you brought for us, then, Outsider?” she asked.

  “God’s name,” Zavier said.

  Luya ducked to grab her knife, releasing my arm, and I leapt out of her reach. “I’m getting Merik,” I said.

  Luya wasn’t listening to me. “Go back to where you came from, Outsider,” she said to Zavier, brandishing her knife. “We don’t need what you’ve come to give us.”

  Zavier paled and closed his eyes briefly. “Is this how you treat all your visitors?” he asked.

  “Hey, Luya,” Merik shouted from upriver.

  “Merik!” I called. “We have a visitor!”

  Luya swung her head around to glare at me, but sheathed her knife and turned towards our father as he joined us. “Luya threatened him,” I said, not caring that I was tale-bearing. Luya always acted as though she were clan-leader, even though we were only thirteen, not even adults yet.

  “We don’t threaten traders,” Merik said, half to Luya, half to Zavier, as if to reassure him.

  “He’s no trader,” Luya said. She hunched her shoulders, annoyed at me and Merik both. “He said so himself.”

  Merik looked Zavier up and down. “If you aren’t a trader, why have you come?” he asked Zavier.

  “I’ve come to bring you to God,” Zavier said. “To the Father and His only Son Jesus Christ.”

  We regarded him uncertainly, except for Luya, who hated him already. Zavier looked around at all the faces, including mine, and gave me a tentative smile. His sky-blue eyes were desperately earnest, and he wasn’t as old as I’d thought at first, maybe thirty. I stared back at him stupidly, and felt my cheeks and forehead growing hot. I was shy enough around boys I knew; a strange man smiling at me was much worse. Zavier saw my shyness and hesitated, biting his lip. Then he started over. “I’ve come to share stories.”

  “We have our own stories,” Luya said.

  “What would you know about his stories?” I whispered.

  Merik still seemed undecided.

  “I am here on God’s command,” Zavier said, and I could hear the weariness in his voice. “I have traveled for months, for thousands of miles, because of God’s word. I don’t want to be here. I’d leave now if I could.”

  Merik continued to study Zavier, and I knew he was thinking how small Zavier was, how weak, how foolish—and thus how great the power must be that had brought him here. Finally, Merik clasped Zavier’s shoulder. “It may be that you were meant to come here and tell us your stories,” he said. His voice was gentle, as if he were humoring a child. “You may stay as our guest until the Equinox.” Merik glared at Luya. “You will be treated courteously.”

  Luya stepped forward. “Let me welcome you, then,” she said. She smiled at him; it was not a kind smile. “I’ll find you somewhere to sleep.” She
took his arm, slipping her fingers under up his sleeve, under the rough brown wool of his robe. I heard a slight gasp from Zavier, and his eyes widened with alarm, but he didn’t dare pull away from her.

  My clan, the Shong, lived in caves along the cliffs of the river. Zavier picked his way nervously along the path up to the caves. Luya glanced at him twice, with a look of scorn for his clumsiness, but he smiled back at her eagerly, wanting to be liked. She led Zavier to our cave and found him a place to sleep right by my bed. In the dimness of the cave Luya couldn’t see my embarrassment, but she knew I was blushing even if she couldn’t see my face. “Madri, why don’t you show him around?” she asked, and I wondered if the taunt in her voice was as clear to him as it was to me.

  Alone with Zavier, I took a half-burned stick from the fire and traced out a spot on the stone floor, near the cave mouth. “This is yours,” I said to Zavier, pointing at the space I’d drawn. I took some furs and blankets from the other beds and heaped them into a bed for Zavier. When I was done, I drew another line to show Zavier where he shouldn’t go.

  “You can’t step over that line,” I said. “You’re an outsider—it would profane our house.”

  Zavier averted his eyes. “All right,” he said.

  I felt apologetic, even though it wasn’t my fault. “I can’t step over that line—” I said, and pointed to the back of the cave, where a chalice of melted snow would rest until winter. Zavier looked, and I realized that of course he didn’t know what I was pointing at, but I went on anyway. “Until first Winter’s night, I am not truly a Child of the Winter King, but only a child of the clan. There are places I can’t go either.”

  Luya poked her head in the cave. “Are you two staying in there for the rest of the afternoon?” she said. “There’s light left yet, and work to be done.”

  Zavier set down his little bundle on the furs I’d piled for him. “I’ll help,” he said.