‘I am a priest, lady,’ he said. ‘I am seeking knowledge of a woman called Rowena, the wife of Druss, the slave of Collan.’
‘Why?’
‘My Abbot instructed me to find her. He believes the Source may want her protected.’
‘By you?’ Her good humour returned. ‘Boy, you can’t even protect yourself from an old witch. Were I to desire it, I could send your soul flaming into Hell.’
‘Why would you desire such a terrible thing?’
She paused for a moment. ‘It might be a whim, or a fancy. What will you give me for your life?’
‘I don’t have anything to give.’
‘Of course you do,’ she said. Her old eyes closed and he watched her spirit rise from her body. She took the form of a beautiful woman, young and shapely, with golden hair and large blue eyes. ‘Does this form please you?’
‘Of course. It is flawless. Is that how you looked when younger?’
‘No, I was always ugly. But this is how I choose for you to see me.’ She glided in close to him and stroked his face. Her touch was warm, and he felt a ripple of arousal.
‘Please do not continue,’ he said.
‘Why? Is it not pleasurable?’ Her hand touched his robes and they disappeared.
‘Yes, it is. Very. But my vows. . . do not allow for the pleasures of the flesh.’
‘Silly boy,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘We are not flesh. We are spirit.’
‘No,’ he said sternly. Instantly he transformed himself into the image of the old woman sitting at the table.
‘Clever boy,’ said the beautiful vision. ‘Yes, very clever. And virtuous too. I don’t know if I like that, but it does have the charm of being novel. Very well. I will help you.’
He felt the invisible chains holding him disappear, as did the vision. The old woman opened her eyes.
‘She was at sea, heading for Ventria when the ship came under attack. She leapt into the water, and the sharks took her.’
Vintar reeled back and cried out, ‘It’s my fault! I should have sought her sooner.’
‘Go back to your Temple, boy. My time is precious, and I have clients waiting.’
Her laughter rang out and she waved her hand dismissively. Once more he felt the pull on his spirit. It dragged him out, hurling him high into the sky over Mashrapur.
*
Vintar returned to the tiny cell at the Temple, merging once more with his body. As always he felt nauseous and dizzy and lay still for a few moments, experiencing the weight of his flesh, feeling the rough blanket beneath his skin. A great sadness fell upon him. His talents were far beyond those of normal men, yet they had brought him no pleasure. His parents had treated him with cold reverence, frightened by his uncanny skills. They had been both delighted and relieved when the Abbot came to them one autumn evening, offering to take the boy into his custody. It mattered nothing to them that the Abbot represented a Temple of the Thirty, where men with awesome talents trained and studied with one purpose only – to die in some battle, some distant war, and thus become one with the Source. The prospect of his death could not grieve his parents, for they had never treated him as a human being, flesh of their flesh, blood of their blood. They saw him as a changeling, a demonic presence. He had no friends. Who wants to be around a boy who can read minds, who can peek into the darkest corners of your soul and know all your secrets? Even in the Temple he was alone, unable to share in the simple camaraderie of others with talents the equal of his.
And now he had missed an opportunity to help a young woman, indeed to save her life.
He sat up and sighed. The old woman had been a witch, and he had felt the malevolence of her personality. Even so the vision she created had aroused him. He could not even withstand such a petty evil.
And then the thought struck him, like a blow between the eyes. Evil! Malice and deceit walked hand in hand beneath the darkness of evil. Perhaps she lied!