The Book of Deacon (43 page)

Myranda marched off to her hut to retrieve
her casting staff and begin her first day of training under Ayna,
the wind mage. Her place of study was a breezy grove not far from
where Solomon spent his time. She looked about, but could not
locate the little sprite that had been taunting her so
regularly.

"Hello?" Myranda called anxiously.

Myn sniffed at the air and seemed to indicate
a particular tree. Myranda approached the tree and looked up into
it. It had an odd rune carefully carved into it.

"Ayna?" she repeated.

The tiny, gossamer-winged creature fluttered
down from the tree to eye-level with Myranda. She resembled a tiny,
exquisitely beautiful woman in a shimmery, powder blue dress.
Looking at her, it seemed as though she should be the sweetest,
dearest creature alive, but the illusion was destroyed when she
opened her mouth.

"In this world, we have a thing we call 'the
sun.' It is a great ball of light, and when it is overhead we call
it 'daytime.' 'Daytime' is when civilized creatures do their
business!" she reprimanded in the most condescending manner
possible.

The wind of the grove seemed to wax and wane
with the fairy's anger. It was quite gusty at the moment.

"I am sorry," Myranda said.

"You certainly are. I want you here at dawn
tomorrow. Just because you are showing an unusual amount of prowess
for someone of your stunted species does not give you the right to
disrupt my way of life," she said.

"Ayna, enough!" came Deacon's voice from
behind.

"Oh, good heavens, another one. Do you things
travel in packs?" Ayna raved.

"You know that she just got through with
Solomon, and he likes to work at night," Deacon said.

"That may be so, but I could hardly be
confused for that beast. Now, if you two are through irritating me,
I would like to get a bit more sleep before I begin passing on real
wisdom," Ayna said, whisking off before any more could be said.

"What can I say? Ayna excels at first
impressions," Deacon said.

"So I see. She is quite the little tyrant,
isn't she," Myranda whispered.

"Yes, and with remarkably acute hearing,"
Deacon said with a pained look on his face.

"That is true," Ayna said, suddenly directly
behind Myranda again. "I must say, I am surprised to hear such an
infuriating statement come out of your mouth. Not for the stunning
ignorance behind it. That much is to be expected. I frankly am
surprised that you are able to form a complete sentence,
particularly after your suicidal performance of Solomon's
test."

"Oh, Ayna, excuse me, I--" Myranda began.

"There is no excuse for you, and do
not
call me
Ayna. I am Highest Master Ayna until I give you permission to call
me otherwise. Now leave before you stick your foot further into
your mouth," she said.

Myranda walked slowly away, Deacon beside
her.

"Tell me when we are far enough," she mouthed
silently.

They were nearly halfway to the meal hut
before Deacon gave her the sign.

"What a monster!" she said.

"Don't mind her.
She
assumes that
you
assume that
she
is inferior, so she
constantly affirms the opposite," he said.

"I wasn't talking about Ayna," Myranda
said.

"Oh?" Deacon replied. "I'd heard that you and
Lain had a rather eventful session today. What did you learn?" he
asked.

"That my home kingdom's army, which is
composed at least partially of inhuman creatures of some sort,
hired him, an assassin, to capture me for touching the sword and
surviving," she said.

"Well . . . that was . . . informative," he
said.

"What am I going to do now? I only awoke
recently, and now I have to show up at dawn fully rested? I would
never be able to sleep with all of this swirling about in my head
even if I was tired," she said.

"Well, I suppose you could cast a sleep spell
on yourself," he said.

"The only sleep I know is healing sleep," she
said.

"Oh, no. Never use a spell for a purpose
other than it was explicitly intended. You said that you were a
student of white wizardry. How is it that you do not know sleep?"
he asked.

"I was taught with the explicit intention of
being a field healer for a rebel group. I do not think that sleep
had placed highly on their list of requirements," she said.

"Well that is folly. In the repertoire of a
pure white wizard, sleep is among the only spells that may be used
to defend one's self. It is also one of the simplest spells.
Though, to be fair, it is far wiser to have it cast upon you rather
than to cast it upon yourself, unless you have also learned how to
delay the effects of a spell until it has been fully cast. Delay
falls within my realm, by the way," Deacon said.

"I would appreciate it if you would just put
me to sleep," she said.

Deacon agreed and the pair, as always joined
by Myn, went to her hut.

"Before you do this . . . is there any way
that you can . . . prevent a dream from happening?" she asked.

"I am not certain. Why?" he wondered.

"I have not been having very pleasant dreams.
In fact I have come to dread them," she said.

"How so?" he asked.

She quickly recounted the dreams of the dark
field, the dreams of Lain's treachery, and the darkness that spoke
with her voice. All the while Deacon nodded with concern.

"I see. The dreams of Lain are
understandable, but the others . . . they seem to have an almost
prophetic quality to them. Were I you I would not wish to silence
them. In times to come they could provide much-needed clues about .
. . well . . . times to come," he said.

"Well, if you really believe that, I suppose
I can suffer through them," she said.

"Oh, indeed I do," he said. "And from now on,
while we take our morning meal together, I would greatly appreciate
it if you would tell me any dreams you may have."

"As you wish," she said.

Deacon held out his crystal and, with a few
words, sent Myranda into a deep, pleasant sleep.

#

Perhaps as a favor, or perhaps as a
coincidence, her dream that night was unusually muted. It was a
clash of blurred images and muffled sounds, indistinct and
incomprehensible. By the time she awoke the following morning, only
one image had clearly revealed itself, but it alone was enough to
leave her disturbed upon waking. It had been of a man, sitting
solitary on a worn chair. His beard was long, with gray strands
beginning to weave through it. The light that filtered over him was
striped with shadows. His clothes were little more than rags.
Everything about him radiated misery--save one powerful feature.
His eyes, locked on some point in the distance, had a look of
unbreakable resolve.

The man was her father. Having nearly escaped
her dreams unscathed, the image was doubly shocking.

She took a moment to recover before grabbing
her staff and heading out to Ayna's training ground. Myn trotted
happily along beside her and watched intently as the fairy
fluttered about impatiently. Apparently, despite the fact that
Myranda had skipped breakfast in order to assure she would arrive
before the sun had even fully slipped over the horizon, this was
still not quite early enough.

"Well, I am pleased to see that you are no
longer nocturnal," Ayna taunted. "I do hope you brought what little
mind you have to spare, because I expect a lot out of you."

"I hope I can meet your expectations,"
Myranda said.

"Yes, well, you completed Solomon's little
test, which is usually the last one, so at least you have the
strength to do what is required of you. Regardless, enough
dillydally. Listen carefully. Elemental magics differ greatly in
technique, so you will be as good as starting over to learn my
ways," she warned.

Myranda opened her mouth to give a response,
but was swiftly admonished for it.

"When I want you to speak, I will order you
to do so. Now, would you like to learn this through concentration,
or incantation? Speak," she said.

"Concentration," Myranda said flatly.

"Oh, you mean you have forsaken your precious
'magic words'? Surely you would rather chant them again and again
like a sing-along. Oh, what fun it would be," Ayna said with mock
enthusiasm.

"Do not patronize me," Myranda said
sternly.

"Oh, my! Patronize! That is a big word, isn't
it? What else have you got rattling about in that head of yours?
Not much, I imagine. But I digress. Close your eyes and focus," she
said.

"I don't need to--" Myranda began.

"
I
will tell you what you
need
to do.
Close
your
eyes
and
focus!"
she demanded.

Myranda did so.

"Clear your mind of all but my voice. Nothing
else exists," she said.

Normally she would have been able to enter
the appropriate state of mind nearly instantly, but her infuriating
new trainer had clogged her mind with anger that had to be coaxed
away. Even so, it still was not long before she was ready. As
though Ayna could feel her serenity, she began to speak.

"That is adequate. Now listen closely. I want
you to focus on your skin. Feel the wind. Feel how it passes over
you. Raise your hand," she instructed.

Myranda did so.

"Notice how, at your merest thought, your
hand moves. Notice, too, how the air moves about it. Focus wholly
on the air as it swirls and whirls. Always moving. There is an
energy in it, just as there is an energy in fire. Sense the
energy," she said. "Keep the flowing wind at the front of your
mind. Remember how you moved your hand. You simply willed it
forward. Exert that same will again, but let it slowly slip from
your body. Let it flow forth into the shifting air. Mix your
strength with that of the breeze. It is little more than an
extension of your body. Another limb. Add more energy. Give the air
more strength."

The hypnotic tone of Ayna's voice slipped
easily into Myranda's mind. Whereas just days ago she had passed a
test infinitely more grueling than this, she found herself
straining slightly. It was not like learning again from the
beginning, but it was measurably more taxing to her than fire had
become. Already she could feel the fatigue. What's more, the trance
she was in was not nearly as sound.

In the closing days of her fire training, she
could conjure and control a flame with her eyes open and mostly
aware. Now even the minor distractions of having to listen with her
ears and feel with her skin were threatening to break her focus.
The steadily increasing breeze was, at least, more appreciable than
the minor warmth that had evidenced her fire skill in the first
days. That, too, was revealed to be a curse. As the wind increased,
she became both more excited about her success and more distracted
by the sensation of it dancing over her skin. The stiff breeze she
had managed began to waver until finally the hard fought battle
with concentration was lost and the world came flooding back into
her mind.

"Oh, come now. You must have discipline. You
nearly had it," Ayna said with a swiftly vanishing look of
admiration.

"I . . . I did it," Myranda said.

"Well, in the same sense that tripping over
your own feet can be called taking a step forward. Still, it would
seem that vacant head of yours is quite susceptible to
concentration. It stands to reason, though. You never need to clear
your mind," Ayna jabbed.

Myranda stood silent. Solomon very seldom
gave any critique, good or bad. As a result, what little words of
encouragement he did give were truly meaningful. Ayna, it would
seem, felt almost obligated to qualify any compliment by hiding it
in an insult.

"Don't just stand there slack-jawed. You have
got a long way to go," Ayna said.

Myranda complied. This time her anger slowed
the trance even further. Over the course of nearly an hour, she
cast enough of her will into the air around her to match her
previous achievement.

"That will do; now, open your eyes and I will
show you where to direct it," Ayna instructed.

Myranda slowly opened her eyes, but she had
not attained firm enough a grasp of this new magic to permit her
mind to withstand this distraction. The wind instantly subsided.
The strain of flexing this new mystic muscle suddenly became
apparent, as an intense dizziness took the place of focus. She
stumbled forward, failing to catch herself on with her staff and
dropping to the ground.

"Endurance, girl, endurance. What good does
it do to take your first steps so quickly if you stop before you
get anywhere?" Ayna said with frustration.

"I am sorry. Let me . . . try again," Myranda
said, struggling to her feet.

"No, go. It is obvious we will not get any
further today. Just be sure to be better prepared next time. Make
sure you rest. I will not be so patient tomorrow," Ayna warned.

As Myranda shuffled wearily away, Ayna
fluttered back to her tree, twittering in her native language.
Myranda had only found a handful of people in this place who shared
the language, and she had learned little of it in the month she had
resided here. She did know enough, though, to know that her tone
was one of quiet awe. Regardless of what Ayna may have said, she
was amazed.

It was still quite early in the day, but the
effort had left her with the odd, deep weariness she had come to
know so well. She longed for sleep, but knew that it simply would
not come until her body became tired as well. After a long overdue
breakfast, she made her way to Deacon's hut. The door was open and
she could see that he was at work scribing this spell or that from
his voluminous knowledge. When he noticed her in the doorway, a
smile came to his face and he welcomed her inside.