The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (46 page)

"You tread on dangerous ground, Deacon," she
said.

She continued reading.

"Creative. Insightful. But incomplete. You
propose some truly novel methods. Artful solutions to age old
problems, but it will not be enough. There are numerous assumptions
of conditions that may never exist. This is impractical. It will
not work," she said.

He pulled out a final page. The words were
hastily sketched, runes scratched out and rewritten. She looked it
over, glancing again at the first pages. A look of contemplation
came to her face.

"You realize that this is not definitive.
Even given a flawless application of the methods described, you
merely make success a relative likelihood, not a certainty. You
should continue your work. This has merit. It is brilliant, even
revolutionary, but irresponsible. Given time, a tremendous
breakthrough could result," she said.

"I can't. I have violated the terms of my
punishment to come this far. I will certainly not be given the
right to continue for years," he said.

"Then wait. A contribution of this magnitude
is quite worth the wait. When you reveal what you have done here,
you will have your name spoken in the same breath of some of our
most revered visionaries," she said.

"I don't have the time. The last images I saw
of Myranda painted a very grim picture. I believe it may already be
too late. But I must try. I can't do it alone. With the benefit of
the arena, I may be able to find her regardless of her state of
mind, and I may be able to cast the many parts of this spell, but I
cannot do both. You are the only one aside from myself with the
knowledge of gray magic necessary to aid me," he pleaded.

For a moment Azriel was silent. She thought.
When she spoke, her voice had a solemn tone.

"If you do this, regardless of the outcome,
it will be the last spell you cast in Entwell. Casting a spell in
this form, untested, upon yourself, shows a disregard for our
principles that cannot be forgiven. You will never again be
permitted to practice the mystic arts. Remember your mentor," she
warned. "Gilliam lost his life to an untested spell, and one far
less dangerous than this."

"I am willing to accept those consequences,"
he said without hesitation.

"Very well then. Let us waste no time," she
said, the air tingling as she drew together the first of the
procedures described.

#

Lain rode on. The column of smoke from the
ruined fort was visible, even at this distance, and he was only
just reaching the forest at the foot of the mountains. Much care
had been sacrificed for the sake of speed. Fortunately, he had
remained unseen. Though the weapons of the soldiers were of the
poorest quality, the same could not be said of the horses provided
to them. A horse was far more likely to survive a battle than its
rider these days, and as such, generations of war had done little
to weaken them. Wide hooves caught the snow well, and powerful
lungs drew the frigid air with no ill affect. Even so, the steed
was heavily burdened and badly fatigued. Lain slowed to a walk when
the trees were dense enough to make their discovery unlikely.

There was not a single part of his body that
didn't scream out for relief. He could not remember when he had
last eaten. The gashes across his chest still seeped blood and
burned increasingly. They would not heal well. Many bones were
broken, many more nearly so. It was a condition he'd had to learned
to endure before Myranda had come into his life. He would learn to
endure it again now that she was dead. Her skills would be missed.
She
would be missed. His mind lingered on her briefly, but
he shook the thoughts away. Distraction was something he could ill
afford. Not now. He could not smell it, hear it, or see it, but
something was wrong. It was a feeling he had come to trust. He was
being watched.

Time and distance did not diminish the
sensation. A tingling in his spine. A dull flutter in the back of
his mind. He was certain now. Slowly he brought his horse to a
halt. He needed silence. Eyes closed, he drew in the air. He could
smell animals nearby, a spectrum of smells, but nothing
threatening. Slowly, the feeling faded. The concern it caused only
grew. Whoever it was that followed was near enough to know of the
discovery, and skilled enough to remain hidden. There were precious
few beings he knew to be capable of such a feat, and only one
seemed likely. Now was not the time to call him out. For now he
must continue.

Shortly after he began riding, his ears
twitched at a distant crack of thunder. In the south that might
have signaled a coming storm. Not here. Not this far north. He put
it out of his mind. Whatever strange forces were at work, they were
far behind him, not yet of his concern. The terrain was rocky now.
A light but steady snowfall was beginning, whipped into a painful
blast now and again by the constant wind from the mountain. He
heard sound from inside his saddle bag. A whisper.

"Lain?" came Ether's wavering voice.

There was a strange quality to the voice, as
though it came not from a mouth, but from thin air. Lain grunted a
reply.

"The beast. Did she survive our encounter?"
she asked.

"She did," he replied.

" . . . And I assume you are carting her
worthless hide along with us," she said.

Lain offered no reply.

"I suspected as much," Ether said. "I have
ruminated on the subject of your obsession with her. It is my
observation that mortals, in their quest to perpetuate their
species, are driven to find and protect each other. Love is the
name of this affliction. Even those unburdened by mortality seem to
fall prey to this phenomenon. It is necessary for their mental
wellbeing. I am quite certain that you, to a mild degree, have
allowed yourself to be infected with this disease of the mind. Its
target is Ivy. In the world of mortals this quality may be seen as
admirable, but it is a danger to our cause. You wish to be rid of
her, and that is good, but your insistence on delivering her safely
to the south is a delay at best and a threat at worst. She is a
liability every moment that she is allowed to live, and while we
cannot kill her ourselves, it is in our best interests, and in the
best interests of this world that we leave her to die."

" . . . If you suggest such a thing just once
more, do not expect to see another sunrise," Lain warned.

"It is as I suspected. Very well. While I
believe that in time you might be cured of this affliction, time is
not among our assets. We must, then, indulge your illness in a more
helpful manner. If you must love someone, I shall permit you to
substitute myself. You may thus find outlet for your affections
without endangering the purpose for which you were created," she
said.

"You suggest that I love you rather than
Ivy," he replied.

"Indeed. You have my permission. You may
begin at once, if you wish," she said.

Before Lain could react, a soft, weak
laughter began to sound. It was Ivy. She began to stir.

"You, (giggle) you love him. You say all of
this about emotions being bad, and you love him," Ivy slurred,
trying to open her heavy eyelids.

Lain halted the horse just in time for her to
slide from the animal's back to the ground, tumbling to her seat.
She continued chuckling softly.

"Ouch. That's why you don't like me. He likes
me better than you," she said, finally wrestling her eyes open.

She looked around briefly, a puzzled look on
her face.

"Where is she? Is she the horse?" Ivy asked,
struggling to her feet and immediately stumbling into the steed to
catch her balance.

"As though I would take the form of a beast
of burden and carry
you
," Ether objected.

"What the?" Ivy exclaimed, moving unsteadily
to the saddle bag from whence the voice had come.

When she beheld the contents, she began
laughing uncontrollably. As she did, a pale yellow glow surrounded
her. Lain felt a warm sensation in his twisted hand and gashed
chest. He pulled aside some of the tattered cloth to see the wounds
slowly closing. When her laughter stopped, so did the healing.

"She's a pile of rocks!" she sighed, wiping a
tear from her eye.

"You DID this to me!" Ether objected.

"I did?" she said, snorting with contained
laughter. "I'm . . . very . . . sorry. HAHAHA!"

Again, Lain could feel his wounds healing. He
didn't know what the D'karon had done to her, but apparently it was
not limited to fear and anger. On the rare instance that a more
positive emotion was felt intensely enough, it had beneficial
effects. By the time the latest outburst subsided, Lain's chest was
little more than sore, and his hand could move again.

"Silence! Silence!" Ether commanded. "How
dare you take joy in the betrayal of your fellow chosen!"

"I'm sorry. It's just that, you are always
talking about how you don't have emotions, and how you are better
than us, and now you are helpless and in love!" she snickered.

"Blast the human for letting herself die. At
least she could get you under control!" Ether cried out.

Instantly anger roared up in Lain. How
foolish could she be? Did she
want
to coax a more dangerous
state of mind from Ivy? The creature stopped snickering, but did
not seem angry.

"Myranda's not dead," Ivy stated. She looked
around, confused again. "Where is she?"

"I've already told you," Ether replied.

"No, she isn't dead. She was just here, I was
just talking to her . . . Where did she go?" Ivy asked again.

"Stupid animal, you were dreaming," Ether
said.

"No! I barely ever dream, and when I do, it
is always about music. Lain, where is she?" Ivy asked.

"She was left behind, at the fort," Lain said
solemnly.

" . . . You mean she went
back
to the
fort, right? Because she was just here. Shouldn't we wait for her
to catch up? How far is it?" Ivy asked.

"We have to move on," Lain said.

"Oh. Alright. I'm sure she'll find us soon,"
Ivy said, climbing onto the horse's back behind Lain, wrapping her
arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder.

"So, how did I do that to her?" she asked as
they continued on. "I don''t remember it, so I must have been
transformed. Was I angry or scared?"

"Angry," Lain said.

"You were bending to the will of . . . "
Ether began.

"Ether, do not say another word," Lain
quietly ordered. "Ivy, we need to be silent."

"Whatever you say," Ivy eagerly agreed,
turning to whisper mockingly to Ether. "You got yelled at."

As they traveled further into the mountains,
the horse's footing faltered more and more frequently. Soon they
would have to leave it behind. As they rode, Ivy rummaged through
the saddle bag that contained the provisions Lain had secured. She
ate and offered to feed some to Lain as he guided the horse, but he
declined. She even offered some to Ether, who remained furiously
silent. It was the first wise thing she had done in some time. Lain
did not know how or why Ivy had come to believe that Myranda had
survived, but he had to travel as far as he could while the
delusion persisted. While she was happy, this journey was
infinitely simpler.

In order to avoid being seen, they had been
traveling up the slope of the mountain in as direct a route as
possible, avoiding roads entirely. The horse had been navigating
ably, but now they had reached the point that would be more
climbing than walking. Lain stowed the tip of his sword that had
served as a splint and flexed his painful but functional hand.
After transferring as much of the useful equipment as possible to
their backs, the issue of Ether needed to be addressed.

"Naturally I shall have to be carried until I
have recovered sufficiently to assume a more mobile form," she
stated.

"Well, why are you still rocks anyway? Is it
that hard to turn into something else? At least something lighter,"
Ivy asked.

"The merciless assault you unleashed upon me,
coupled with the abundance of strength squandered to quell said
assault and the consequences my mark levied upon me, has taken a
considerable toll. I would prefer to remain as I am until my flame
form can less riskily be assumed," Ether explained with exaggerated
calmness.

"Well, when I first met you, you were a
squirrel. Why not do that again? Then you would be easier to carry,
and you would be cute!" Ivy suggested.

"I have no interest in doing anything that
would bring you ease or enjoyment," Ether said.

"Fine," Ivy huffed. "But this makes us
even."

"Hardly," Ether replied.

Lain cut the bag free, Ivy slung it as
comfortably as she could over her shoulders, and the group began to
climb. At first the going was slow, but Ivy learned quickly and
soon the grace she had shown in the past began to appear here as
well. Before long they were scaling the face as quickly as one
might a ladder. Alas, the long night quickly fell upon them,
bringing with it the painfully frigid temperatures and heavier
snowfall that Lain had hoped to beat. Climbing had been treacherous
before. It was far more so now. Regardless, Ivy and Lain
continued.

Ivy's fingers were numb, but she continued
without a word. This was all part of the test to her. Another way
to prove to Lain that she didn't need to be hidden away from them.
Another way to earn her right to stay with him, and with Myranda.
Why did Ether think she was dead? She remembered her in the fort.
Fire all around her. Lain said they had left her there, but that
couldn't be. That was no dream. It was too real. She was there. She
said not to worry, that she would follow. She wouldn't lie.

Lain kept a careful eye on her at all times,
mindful of any falter. Prior to his involvement in this, he seldom
traveled with others. When Myranda became his constant companion,
willing or unwilling, he had been forced to slow himself to
accommodate her. He had never become accustomed to traveling with
one who was so near a match of his abilities. Even when the fatigue
began to show in her eyes, she did not slow. Even as the snow caked
on her white fur and stung at her eyes, she kept pace. She was a
testament to a dying race.