Warlock and Son by Christopher Stasheff

notice his vestments?
    The mitre was so exaggerated, it looked like a caricature-and he wasn't wearing a cassock or a chasuble."
    "Aye; he wore a robe, such as a nobleman might wear about him. What matters that?"
    "A real bishop would be pretty much of a stickler for tradition. And, as we've already noted, Gramarye has never had a bishop-just the monks from the monastery, who expanded to fill the spiritual gap." Magnus frowned, mulling it over. "What dost thou say?"
    "I'm saying that what we're looking at here is a great little example of do-it-yourself religion, a cult that was set up by some cynic to give him personal power. Sure, he based it on the Catholic Church, that being the only one he knew-but he made the changes that would guarantee his power, and improvised what he couldn't remember."
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    "Thou dost perceive this bishop as ruling this village?"
    "Yes, which is in itself rather ironic-he calls himself a bishop, but his jurisdiction is scarcely the size of a parish. What we're looking at, son, is a very tight little theocracy." He looked up at Magnus. "Care to come with me and find out? Or are you afraid of disturbing your preconceptions?" Magnus gave him a very cold look. "I shall come, if thou wilt give me thy word not to seek to unseat a government that the people have chosen."
    "Agreed--provided they still do choose it. After all, you may be right-this nasty little government could just be accurately representing a bunch of nasty little people." They came out of the forest to hear a choir singing. They were very obviously amateurs. Rod looked up at the church on the hilltop.
    "I mislike thine expression," Magnus said. "Thou hast a wicked idea."
    "Oh, not wicked. I mean, I'm a good Catholic, aren't I?" Magnus started to answer, but Rod cut him off quickly. "All right, forget about the adjective. But I've seen enough Masses to know what they're supposed to be likeespecially since you grew old enough to go to church. I was just kind of wondering if it's the same liturgy."
    "Is not the Mass the same everywhere?"
    "Basically the same, with local variations-but you always recognize the basics."
    "And thou dost wonder if thou wilt? Or dost thou wish to be sure the bishop doth notice thee?-as he will of a weekaday morn when so few come to hear."
    "What, you suspect me of having an ulterior motive? I'm surprised at you, son-you should be sure of it. Shall we go?" They rode up the hill, tied their horses to the graveyard fence, and went in to find Mass in progress. Rod halted, and stared in amazement-the church was packed. It wasn't all that small, either.
    "They truly believe," Magnus murmured in his ear. "Or don't dare stay away," Rod muttered back. They stepped aside into the shadows at the rear. The bishop went on with the service, seeming not to have seen them, which he might not have-in fine old medieval style, the church had no pews, and everyone was standing.
    Right away, they knew it wasn't a real Mass-or at least not the one they knew. For openers, the crucifix was at the side of the altar, not in the center, and there was something subtly wrong about it. Its customary place was taken up by a rather rough statue of a man wearing a costume identical to the one the bishop wore, like a poor memory of the real episcopal regalia. The Kyrie had turned into a communal chant of "Lord, forgive our disobedience"; the Gloria was mostly about man's unworthiness, not God's goodness; and the Confiteor went on interminably.
    "Who will confess their sins?" the bishop cried, and when no one answered, he signaled to a couple of burly peasants. They strode into the crowd, seized a young man, and threw him down on his knees in front of the altar. "Confess!" the bishop thundered, pointing at the young man as though he were hurling a lightning bolt. "Confess thy lustful desires for Julia!"
    A girl not far from the front turned beet-red with