The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (28 page)

"Do you have a name?" she asked.

"I do not need a name. Names are reserved for
the faceless masses, like yourself, who are not unique enough to be
differentiated by merit alone," she answered.

For a moment Myranda marveled at the
creature's ability to concentrate so much condescension into so few
words.

"If you haven't got a name, then how would
you prefer that I refer to you?" Myranda asked through clenched
teeth.

"I would prefer that you did not refer to me
at all," came her predictable reply.

"Well, I must refer to you occasionally. Why
don't I give you a name?" she asked.

"Because names are labels, and labels are
intended to describe. I do not maintain a single form long enough
for any name to remain appropriate for long. Perfection is the only
term that can consistently be applied to me, and even that falls
short, as perfection is static and I am ever-changing," she
said.

"Call it a limitation if you must, but I have
difficulty conversing with a being without a name. Will you at
least allow me to choose a name that I shall call you?" she
asked.

"It is clear that you will not rest until I
have allowed you to demean me thusly. Since your thoughts and
actions do not matter in the slightest, I suppose I will permit you
to assign me a title. Anything to aid your addled brain," she
relented.

"You are a woman, correct?" Myranda
asked.

"I typically assume a female form," she
corrected.

"Well then, I shall call you Samantha," she
said.

"Absolutely not," she said.

" . . . I thought it didn't matter," Myranda
grumbled.

"I will not be associated with so common a
name. Choose something more fitting," the shifter replied.

"Then . . . Alexia," Myranda offered, feeling
that the attitudes offered by her own alter-ego and the shape
shifter were quite in line.

"No," the shifter said.

" . . . Gwendolyn," Myranda attempted.

"No," she replied.

"Well what do you want?" Myranda asked.

"Something that reflects my nature. I am
fluid, I am eternal, I am ethereal . . . " she began.

"Then why don't I call you Ether?" Myranda
asked.

"Ether . . . Ether," the creature repeated,
as if to test the sound. "Well, it is hardly unique, but it will
suffice."

Myranda smiled at the minor victory.

"Tell me, Ether, why did you have to take a
simple form to recover? Why didn't you just step into a fire as you
did before?" she asked.

"I suppose this was to be expected. I allowed
you a single concession, and now you expect me to answer your every
question," Ether said.

"You do not have to answer if you do not want
to," Myranda said with a sigh.

"No, no. I shall answer. Perhaps if I address
your ignorance you will become a more reasonable creature. It taxes
my strength to exist in the form of wind, fire, or water, and
though I can exist as stone effortlessly, it requires great effort
to move and restores strength slowly. With the whisper of energy
that I had left, were I to shift to flame, I would have passed my
breaking point and lost my form completely before I could be
exposed to a pure enough or strong enough flame to recover. Had I
turned to stone, I would have had to remain motionless for many
months in order to regain the strength to change back. By taking
the form of a small, simple creature, I can regain strength at an
acceptable rate while not becoming completely helpless," she
said.

"It doesn't require effort to be in the form
of a squirrel?" Myranda asked.

"It does, but it requires less than it
restores. Anything smaller or less complex than, say, a large
horse, will allow me to recover," she said "Anything larger is
taxing."

"Do you have to eat or sleep?" she asked.

"Only if I remain as a completely faithful
replica of a creature with such impairments for a period long
enough to incur such a price. I typically alter a form to remove
such weaknesses," she said.

"Do you know what the creature knows?" she
asked.

"No. I am privy neither to memories nor
instincts of my form," she answered. Her tone indicated that her
patience was flagging.

"If you do not have the instincts, how is it
that you know how to move and behave in a new form?" Myranda
asked.

"In the same way that one who builds a device
knows how to operate it. I am exerting my influence over untold
millions of component parts, each infinitesimal in size, to allow
myself to assume such a form. Determining how the end result should
function is comparatively no task at all," she said.

"What would happen if you lost form?" Myranda
asked.

"Now I simply will not respond to questions
to which you most certainly know the answer. You were present at
the very ceremony that revived me from such a state," she snapped.
"Honestly. How is it that you have survived so long if you do not
even recall what little you have learned?"

"I did not realize that . . . " Myranda said,
attempting to defend herself.

"Enough, focus on walking, lest you forget
how to do that as well," Ether ordered.

Any attempts to foster further conversation
with the creature were fruitless. Myranda resorted to one sided
conversations with Myn and herself to keep her weariness at bay.
The sun was just beginning to rise, shedding some level of natural
light on the mountainside. Myranda, though relieved of the task of
providing her own light, immediately wished that the darkness had
remained. In the light of morning it was clear that there was still
a long way to go before she reached her goal.

#

Desmeres sat at a poorly lit table in yet
another of the many safe houses and store houses that he and Lain
had maintained over the years. He scratched the last stroke of a
very official looking document and rolled the expensive parchment
into a scroll. Heating blue sealing wax until it dripped onto the
document, he opened a well locked box and pressed the seal hidden
within into the soft wax. When he took it away, what remained was
the official seal of the king of the Northern Alliance. For such a
seal to be applied by any hand other than his royal majesty's was a
treasonous act, punishable by public torture and execution. He laid
down the document beside a half dozen just like it, each
identically sealed. As he did, he noticed a similar document had
appeared and, though weathered, it also bore the seal of the king.
This one, unlike those beside it, was not a forgery. Knowing that
it had not been there a moment ago, he knew that only one person
could have placed it there.

"How long have you been here, Lain?" he
asked.

He stood and turned to find himself face to
face with the man he addressed. The assassin did not answer.

"Managed to escape that shape shifter, I see.
Unless, of course, you
are
the shape shifter . . . no.
Somehow I feel that she would not have been able to resist the
fanfare of a noisy forced entry," Desmeres considered.

"They are preventing me from performing my
task," Lain said, his voice fairly shaking with anger.

"Yes, Lain, that is a fact of which I am
keenly aware. I have dispatched messages to a half dozen
prospective sellers. All six returned, accompanied by a message
from the king recounting the terms of his new policy. More
disturbing than their return was the fact that they were returned
to the entrance of the storehouse we had taken Myranda to prior to
her capture by Epidime. I paid a man to find a courier to send the
messages. Neither I nor he had been anywhere near that place at the
time. We did not take the care to keep that girl in the dark, and
now
he
knows far too much about us. Right now, I am
attempting to send messages claiming special exception from the
king's ruling. If they meet a similar fate then I am afraid that we
shall have to either move to Tressor and try our luck there or pose
as emissaries of the king. That is, unless you can find a new way
to spend your gold," Desmeres said. "Which I suggest."

"He is taking back their lives. The people I
freed are being taken back," Lain said, his fury dripping from
every word.

"Yes. That is regrettable. Nothing can be
done, short of bringing the war to an end," he said.

"Then that is what must be done," he
said.

"Lain. You and I both know that if such a
thing can be done, you are the one to do it. At any other time I
would support you fully. But they are clearly trying to elicit
precisely this reaction. The most fundamental lesson learned on the
warrior's side of Entwell is to
never
give your enemy what
they want from you," Desmeres reprimanded.

Lain pulled open a chest and began equipping
himself with the weapons within.

"Lain, think about what you are doing. I am
in too deep already. Until you come back to your senses, I am
afraid you and I will have to part ways," he said.

"Then our partnership is terminated," he
said.

"So be it," he said, turning to dispose of
the six acts of treason he had just completed. "I could certainly
benefit from a few years free of assassinations and espionage. If
you survive, do see me about weapons periodically. Regardless of
the state of your mind, your hand remains one of the few worthy to
hold my creations."

He turned to find, not to his surprise, that
he was alone once more. He shook his head slightly. It is a risk
all beings face if they live long enough. The thing that you allow
to define you will eventually destroy you. The passion to free
those cursed by the life he had been burdened with had kept him
focused for all of these years. Now it would kill him. Someday
Desmeres' own passions may do the same. The thought made him smile.
He wondered what his price would be. What would he be willing to
give his life for? He pulled from his pocket the tooth he had taken
from Myranda and held it up. The price would have to be very high .
. .
Very
high.

#

The walls of the valley funneled the already
vicious wind into a frenzy of blown ice and snow. Myranda trudged
with eyes shut tight to keep the biting wind out. Ether was curled
up in the hood, safe and warm. Myn puffed flame every few moments
to ward off the cold. The only thing that kept Myranda's aching
muscles in motion was the promise of what lay on the other side of
this valley. Just a few more minutes and she would reach it. Just a
few more steps and she would be there. Finally the whistling in her
ears died away and the ground sloped downward. Her eyes opened and
her heart dropped.

Ahead lay a small, flat bottomed ice field.
In the center was a fort that would have resembled the one that
she'd been tortured in had it been complete, but it was not. It was
a husk. Walls were crumbled inward like a fallen cake. Huge bricks
littered the field around it, some at the bottom of craters. Some
disaster had happened here, some earthshaking explosion. This must
have been what had caused the avalanches. The tiny head of Ether's
current form peeked out into the cold. She didn't say anything. She
didn't have to. Her smug sense of satisfaction at the sight seemed
to radiate out from her. As Myranda approached the wrecked
structure, her hopes flickered. The lower levels were intact. She
managed to find a secure set of stairs and began to weave a route
through the rubble. As she did, Myn sniffed curiously, intrigued by
some scent within.

Soon Myn was moving so quickly, dashing
between cracks and shattered pillars, that Myranda could not keep
up. She was making her way further down into the intact floors.
With a light conjured in her staff to guide her, the grim
consequences of the cataclysm that struck this place became clear.
Great mounds of nearman armor lay scattered along the walls. The
force that had brought the former owners to an end had been enough
to twist and char the thick metal. Here and there the remains of a
human could be seen. There was barely enough left of them to be
recognized. A chill shook Myranda as the increasingly intact floors
became all too familiar. The design of this place was precisely the
same as the fort of her interrogation. Empty cells lined the walls.
Here and there a chair bore the same restraints that had held
her.

Myranda finally reached the lowest level. A
large section of the ceiling had been torn free and was lying
propped against one wall. Iron bars were embedded in the floor, but
they were peeled back like flower pedals. Myn sniffed at the edge
of the propped up ceiling. Quietly, Myranda could hear something
from the space underneath. Was it . . . weeping? Ether had heard it
too. She leapt to the ground and began to approach the sound. After
a few steps, whatever was making the sound moved suddenly. Myn
leapt back. Ether stopped.

"You. See what it is," she ordered.

Myranda crept cautiously to one side of the
propped up slab, holding out the staff. The light fell upon a sight
she would never have expected. Shivering, hugging her knees, and
sobbing was a creature not unlike Lain. She was a malthrope, an
adult, but there was something peculiar. She was covered in stark
white fur, from the tips of her fox-like ears and muzzle to her
toes. Her clothes were ragged shreds, fluffy white tail drooping
pitifully through a tear in her trousers. When she opened her teary
eyes, pink irises stared briefly at Myranda until they closed tight
again in terror.

"No . . . No . . . stay away," she managed
between sobs.

"Calm down. We aren't here to hurt you,"
Myranda tried to reassure her.

"It was the monster. The monster came again.
I . . . I . . . " the creature said before breaking down and
sobbing incoherently again.

She had the tone of a frightened child.
Myranda tried to reach out to comfort her, but the poor thing
scrambled backward to avoid the touch. She crawled quickly out from
under the slab, where Myn approached and inspected her. The little
dragon was not defensive as she usually was, but nevertheless the
sudden appearance of the dragon terrified the pale creature all the
more.