The Book of Deacon (55 page)

"What? I have been through four full
disciplines and I am not even half of the way up the hierarchy?"
she said in disbelief.

"Well, with any luck, after today you will be
halfway," he said.

"But I can barely think. How am I going to
pass another test?" she asked.

"Don't worry about that. In fact, you had
better give me that staff. You are likely to break it," he said as
he led her onward.

They approached the crystal arena. When she
had first seen it, Myranda had been struck by the beauty of the
place. Now, with rain pouring down from a darkened sky, it was the
size that seized her mind. The spires around the perimeter looked
like the teeth of some horrible creature. Myn scampered up beside
them, familiar and quite fond of the place that now seemed so
ominous. They stopped at the base of one of the carved columns.
There, Deacon laid the staff on the ground.

"Now, before we enter, I cannot stress this
strongly enough. You absolutely must take this seriously. The
danger will be real. She will try to trick you. Her purpose here is
to test your mind. She will not relent. I have seen the strongest
men and women I have ever known enter this place to face her and
leave changed. My own experiences were mild, and I must say they
still have a place in my nightmares. This is likely to be the most
trying experience you've ever had," he said.

"What will she do?" Myranda asked.

"I don't know. She seldom repeats a specific
test. Are you prepared?" he asked.

"How can I be?" she asked.

"Then let us begin," he said.

The three stepped across the border. It was
the difference between night and day. Once inside, her head was as
crisp and clear as it had ever been, the sun was shining, the
clouds were gone, and instead of the cold, hard crystal that she
knew to be beneath her, she found downy, soft grass. It was
uncannily similar to her image of what the south must be like.
Ahead there was a wholesome-looking thatched cottage.

As they approached, a woman appeared before
them. She seemed to materialize, like a cloud of smoke that wafted
together rather than away. Draped about her graceful form was a
black cloak with white, flame-like patterns rising from the hem
that flickered and twisted as though they truly burned. She stood a
few inches taller than Myranda, older, but the picture of elegance.
Her hair was a glorious white and hung well past her shoulders.

The dragon showed her usual suspicion,
becoming defensive at the woman's arrival, but upon recognizing her
as the mealtime host, she relented.

"Welcome. I have been waiting for our
prodigy. By the grace of your own skills, I have not had to wait
long. And, Deacon, I understand that you have been this young
girl's steward. Splendid, please come inside," she said in a voice
that radiated civility.

She led them inside where a trio of
overstuffed chairs surrounded a table set with the most sumptuous
feast that Myranda had ever seen. All manner of meats, cheese, and
bread covered it from end to end. The four sat--Azriel at the head
of the table, Deacon and Myranda at each side, and Myn upon the
floor beside Myranda. The chair was impossibly comfortable, and the
food was something out of a fantasy. The wine was nectar. The meat
fairly melted as soon as it touched her tongue. The atmosphere was
so warm and inviting, Myranda couldn't feel more at ease.

The same could not be said of Deacon. He sat
rigidly in place, eating slowly and sparingly, as though he did so
only because of what might happen if he did not. The fear rolled
off of him as palpably as the grace flowed from Azriel. When they
were through, their host spoke again.

"Now, I have been blessed with the honor of
treating your little Myn to her meals. She is as fine a beast as I
have ever seen. Treat her well and she will serve you well. Of that
much I am sure. As for you, Deacon, am I to take your presence as
an indication that Myranda has had a dose of gray magic as well?"
she asked.

"Just a touch, your grace. A spell or two,"
he answered quickly, hesitating to even look Azriel in the eye.

"Well, every little bit helps. Gray magic is
a favorite of mine. It is possible that I shall have something of a
challenge from this one. I relish the thought. I also understand
that Hollow had a word with her. Quite the unique occurrence," she
said.

"We believe that she may have a connection to
the Chosen. She even has a semblance of the mark," Deacon offered
timidly.

"Might I see it?" Azriel asked.

"Show her. Show her the mark," Deacon
whispered insistently.

As Myranda revealed the palm of her left
hand, she couldn't understand how this motherly woman could be
making Deacon so uneasy.

"Yes, yes. It is not a birthmark, but no
ordinary person could bear such a mark, if it truly is that of the
Chosen," Azriel said.

"That is why it is very important that we get
her to the ceremony just as quickly as we can," Deacon said.

"Well, that is hardly any concern of mine. I
shall test her as I would any other. She will decide if she is
ready," Azriel said, the tiniest hint of annoyance in her
voice.

One would have thought that she had lashed
out at Deacon, so quickly did he retract himself.

"Oh, your grace, I meant nothing by it. I am
certain that you will be fair, and that Myranda will succeed,"
Deacon said, brushing sweat from his brow and releasing a shaky
sigh.

"Perhaps, though, it is best that we do not
dally. Now, now. What test is best for a prodigy? I believe that I
will administer the escape test. That seems appropriate," she
said.

Myranda nodded, curious as to what the test
entailed. Deacon shook as if struck when he heard the words.

"W-what duration . . . if it is not too
forward of me to ask?" Deacon nervously inquired.

"I believe, for this occasion, ten minutes
seems long enough," she said.

"Oh, well, that doesn't sound so--" Myranda
began.

"Ten minutes! You must reconsider. She has
only just finished her water training today!" he objected, his fear
for Myranda overcoming his fear for himself.

"I have spoken. I will not be dissuaded," she
said.

Suddenly, Deacon vanished, wafting away just
as Azriel had appeared. Myn was similarly swept away, leaving
Myranda alone with her examiner.

"What have you done with them?" she asked,
slightly taken aback by the action.

"They are still about. Myn is with him, but
she cannot see any of this. She and I have a fine relationship, and
I would hate to spoil it by upsetting her. Deacon is somewhere
where he can watch without becoming a nuisance to either of us. Ah,
that boy. His concern for you is rather charming, and perhaps not
out of place, but so irritating. Nevertheless, we've a task at
hand. First, allow me to expand the field of play," she
answered.

Without any outward semblance of effort, the
sorceress began to reconfigure their surroundings. The walls pushed
away and turned from warm, inviting wood to cold stone. The table
lengthened, and as it did, new food sprouted up to occupy it. The
doorway gaped massively and chains sprang forth to connect to the
door, which fell away with an earthshaking crash to bridge a moat
that had formed outside. The fire from the hearth shot to the
center of the room and scattered, lighting a dozen or so torches
dotting the walls, as well as countless candles and a massive
chandelier that dropped down from the now-towering ceiling.

In the space of a few moments, she had come
to be standing in the great banquet hall of some ancient
castle.

"There. I would say that this is a far more
fitting venue. Now for the rules of the game. This hourglass will
run through after five minutes," she said.

An hourglass appeared, floating above the
center of the table.

"After that, it will be turned over, such
that it may run back. Now, while the sand is in motion, I will
endeavor to capture you, and you will endeavor to escape me. You
will be designated a failure if you remain captured long enough for
me to mark you down in a red book of failure with this pen," the
wizard said.

A case of books materialized behind her. Out
from it slid the last in a very long line of red-covered books. The
bottom shelf was the only one not fully occupied by the books of
failure, as two white books occupied it, and one conspicuous
black-covered one.

"Now, if you pass, you will be marked down in
the white book. The trial ends when the last grain of sand has
returned from whence it came, or when your name has been marked
down," she explained. "Have you any questions?"

"How can I expect to resist you? Look how
powerful you are. I have only begun my training," she said.

"You have reached a level of mastery in the
elemental arts. That is quite enough. As for power? In this place,
you are as powerful as I. So long as you know how to cast a spell,
you shall do so without effort and without delay. You are being
tested only on your knowledge and ingenuity. Now--begin," she
said.

"But I--" she began.

Her words were cut off by a bizarre sensation
as the room, and all that filled it, seemed to grow to many times
its size. A second odd feeling came as she was drawn into the air
by some invisible force and dropped down into a red liquid. It
stung her eyes, and when she surfaced and looked about, her view of
the massive room was wavy and distorted. She had been shrunk and
dropped into a wine bottle! The cork worked itself into the opening
as Azriel walked the short distance to the pedestal, having already
willed the pen into her hand.

Myranda cast her strength into the air around
her. Instantly it swirled into action, bursting the cork from the
bottle with such force that the bottle tipped. After sloshing
violently about, Myranda squeezed from the mouth of the bottle. She
had to find somewhere to hide long enough to figure out how to undo
the spell. Deacon had yet to teach it.

She ran further among the place settings of
the table, crouching behind a folded napkin. Her mind swiftly
analyzed her body, quickly happening upon an odd twist of magic
that seemed to be wrapped about her. She made ready to levy her own
strength against it when a shadow appeared.

Looking to the source, she saw, towering over
her, the form of a cat. It was pure black with white flames
flickering in its dark eyes. Myranda tried to run, but the cat
swatted her painfully to the ground and held her there. In a flash,
the cat was turned to stone, pinning her to the ground. Azriel
appeared beside the table and headed in the direction of the book
again. Myranda finished her work against the shrinking spell,
restoring her size quickly enough to hurl the statue away and clear
a good portion of the table she was laying on.

"Really, now. Must you make such a mess?"
Azriel complained as she turned to watch Myranda sprint out of the
banquet hall and down one of the adjoining halls.

Myranda found herself in a long hallway,
lined with doors on either side. The doors began to slam, working
their way toward her. The girl dove into a doorway containing an
ascending staircase before the door could close and climbed it.
There was another hall at the top, and she quickly entered the
nearest room. It appeared to be a bedroom with a narrow window and
posh furnishings. Azriel couldn't have made it out of the dining
hall yet. With any luck she still thought that Myranda had been
trapped in the first hallway.

"No such luck, I am afraid," came a second
voice in her head.

The door slammed shut and locked. Myranda
struggled against it, but the heavy wooden door would not budge. It
would be a fool's errand to search for a key. Thinking quickly, her
mind turned to one of Deacon's spells. Outside of this place, she
found the manipulation the spell to be a clumsy and imprecise
procedure, but here things might be different. She cast her mind
into the lock, manipulating the individual elements directly.
Within a few moments, with a satisfying click, the door popped
open.

After a moment of relief, she tried to leave
the room. The door was opened barely halfway when it slammed shut
again, hurling her backward. Before her eyes the wooden door turned
to a heavy iron cell door, and the lock vanished entirely. Soon the
door was just a barred portion of wall. It could not be opened.
Myranda scrambled out the window onto a thin ledge. The window
sealed up behind her, as did each other one along the ledge.

"Well, now. Trapped on the ledge? That is a
capture as well," Azriel's voice echoed in her thoughts.

Again Myranda's mind raced. She combed her
thoughts for any foreign presence. Finding one, she forced it out.
That was how Azriel was reading her thoughts. Now, perhaps, the
wizard would not be so certain of her location. With one problem
solved, Myranda had to now escape the ledge. The solution was
obvious, but unpleasant. Without delay, the girl leapt into the
frigid water of the moat below. She resurfaced, gasping for air,
only to find Azriel peering off of the drawbridge with a grin.

"I may not be able to detect your mind
anymore, but a deaf man could have heard that splash," she
said.

In an instant, the water around Myranda began
to freeze. She tried to scramble up the edge of the moat, but her
foot was locked into the ice. Azriel chuckled lightly to herself as
she walked leisurely toward the pedestal to mark down her victory.
Myranda listened closely to the footsteps recede. In a flash,
enough heat was conjured to free her foot. No sooner had the girl
scrambled to freedom than the teacher stopped. Myranda acted
fast--before her return.

"You know that I will always know when you
are captured and when you are free. There is nothing you can do
about that," Azriel informed Myranda.