The Book of Deacon (36 page)

"Calm yourself. You have time. There is no
pressure. The pace is yours to set. It may seem overwhelming now,
but it will all be routine. In time, you will be quite comfortable
with it. I wish that I could sympathize with how you are feeling,
but this is the only world I have ever known. Tell me, how can I
help you?" he asked.

"I just don't know. This place . . . how can
I do what you want me to do?" she said.

"Myranda," he said, placing a hand on her
shoulder. "It will be all right, I--
oof!"

Myn gave Deacon a sharp butt in the stomach
with her head as a punishment for his physical contact, sending him
stumbling backward to the ground.

"Myn, no!" Myranda scolded.

"It is all right. It is all right," Deacon
groaned. "My mistake. Solomon was right, though. She is quite
healthy."

He struggled back to his feet and led her
back in the direction of his hut. When they had reached it, he led
her inside and had her take a seat.

"You are nervous because you do not know what
to expect. I can understand that. I, however,
do
know what to expect. I have
done it all before. Just relax and I will try to put your mind at
ease," he said as he sat upon the desk before her.

"What is Solomon like?" Myranda asked.

"Oh, Solomon is a fine teacher. I feel he is
one of the best that we have. He is very knowledgeable. Northern is
not his best language. Here and there, you may find him struggling
for words, but it simply is not feasible for him to expect you to
learn to understand one of his preferred languages. I would not
worry about him. Sol has got the patience of a saint. He is very
forceful, though," Deacon said.

"Forceful?" Myranda asked.

"Yes. He is far stronger of body and mind
than he may appear. As a result, when demonstrating something, he
may do it far more roughly or powerfully than is necessary. Solomon
teaches very seldom, so he has difficulty familiarizing himself
with the fragility of his student. You may think that he is angry
with you, but I assure you, you will not see him angry. He is
merely subjecting you to something that, from his point of view, is
quite mild," Deacon said.

"I must say, I do not find that very
comforting," she said.

"I assure you, there is no cause for concern.
He has never killed or injured anyone. I have known him all of my
life and count him among my closest friends. He is like a father to
me," he said.

"What will be expected of me?" she asked.

"I am not certain. You are technically a
beginner, so you should be expected only to perform concentration
drills. However, since you are being skipped to the expert level,
you may be given the instruction intended for the more experienced.
In that case, you would be tested for endurance, and given more
complex spells. At any rate, you can be certain that he will teach
you to conjure flame, control its size, and dictate its behavior,"
Deacon explained. "I am quite eager to see how he will handle the
process, however."

"I thought you said you have been through all
of this before!" she exclaimed.

"I have, but I had to work my way up. Usually
a student is already well-versed in a magic by the time they come
under the tutelage of the Masters. As a result, all that remains
for the Masters to do is survey the skills of the student and
administer some sort of test to see that some minimum level of
mastery has been met. Then, when the other Masters have done
likewise, the student may return to specialize his or her training.
Most of us spend only a few days with each Master," he said.

"Is fire magic difficult?" she asked.

"It is one of the more taxing disciplines.
Generally, the training is saved until a student has built up more
substantial reserves by practicing less energy-intensive magics,
like wind," he said.

"So wind magic is easier than fire?" Myranda
surmised.

"Officially, all of the elemental magics are
equal. Frankly, though, one may come to a rather respectable level
of mastery in the art of wind in half of the time it would take to
do so in the others," Deacon said, glancing nervously about. "But
do not tell Ayna I said that."

"What about her? Is she a good teacher?"
Myranda asked.

"Highest Master," he said.

"Excuse me?" Myranda said, unsure of the
reason she had been corrected.

"She will require you to refer to her as
Master at least, but almost certainly Highest Master. Never
teacher. After the years she spent climbing the ladder, she wants
to be sure no one forgets it. As for her teaching skill . . . it
has been adequate for the lower levels. At least, as long as you
behave yourself," Deacon said.

"Behave myself?" Myranda questioned.

"She is quite the opposite of Solomon.
Extraordinarily impatient and enormously temperamental. Dare I say
that her only redeeming value is her utterly comprehensive
knowledge of her chosen art? She has attained a level of intensity
and dexterity that previously existed only in theory. I have seen
her untie and retie a knot with the force of air alone. Astounding.
And the utter power! The woman can bore a hole through an arm's
length of stone with wind!" he said.

"That sort of power in the hands of someone
with a short temper is not the most comforting thought either,"
Myranda said.

"Well, the first thing you are supposed to
learn as a wizard is self-control. It is perhaps the only lesson
Ayna did not excel at. Not to worry, she hasn't caused anyone any
grievous harm in years," Deacon said.

"But she
has
hurt someone," Myranda said.

"Not exactly. She was learning some of her
more advanced lessons alongside a gentleman by the name of Henrik.
It was clear that the teacher was fonder of he than she. That
teacher, a woman by the name of Zeln, later said that she found him
to be more respectful, and that was why she favored him.
Regardless, Ayna challenged him to a duel. They are rare, but not
unheard of, and we have procedures regarding them.

"In a wind duel, the purpose is to stay
planted on the ground while you attempt to raise your opponent by
wind alone. As Ayna is a fairy and not typically a creature of the
ground, the rules were bent to instead say that the winner is the
one who lifted the opponent highest. Ayna won, but apparently
wanted there to be no doubt in anyone's mind. She lifted him until
he disappeared in the clouds, then released him. He managed to
bring himself to the ground safely, but the sheer force of the wind
that lifted him had torn his clothes off and . . . plucked away
every last hair of his body," he recalled.

Myranda chuckled.

"Excellent. Your spirits are rising," he
said.

"What about Cresh?" Myranda asked.

"He is less volatile, but no less
infuriating. Whereas Ayna will launch into a tantrum essentially on
a whim, Cresh requires a much more specific stimulus. He is
passionate in his art to the point of obsession, a trait shared by
most of the other wizards here. In his case, he fairly explodes
with fury at even a perceived attack on the relevance of his
discipline. You may even insult him personally, but if you speak
ill of his art, you had best quickly make amends," Deacon said.
"And, before you ask, that little display in the village center
earlier is about as far as he ever goes outside of idle threat, and
he has yet to hurt anyone."

"Well, that is a relief. And what about
water, the only Master I have yet to encounter?" she asked.

"Oh, yes. Calypso. No worries there. Cally is
as easygoing as you please. Lighthearted, clever, funny. You'll
love her. Her only fault may be that she can be a bit too playful
sometimes. She lives down at the lake," he said.

"She sounds nice. I wish I was taking her bit
first," Myranda said.

"They are all a treat when you get to know
them. I expect that you will be great friends," Deacon said.

"I notice that you don't seem to be on the
list of teachers," Myranda said.

"Well, as Cresh was kind enough to point out,
I am not a required portion of the curriculum. White and black
magics are, but the elementals have seen to it that they come
first, and you can reach a fairly high level of mastery on their
teachings alone. If I am to be included, it must be by your choice,
and I am quite sure your plate is full," he said.

"There may be room for a bit more," Myranda
said.

"What do you mean? You wish to learn the gray
arts?" he said, cautiously optimistic.

"Since I arrived, I have only met a handful
of people willing to speak Northern, and only you have done so
without expecting anything from me," she said.

"I don't want you to do this for me," he
said.

"Believe me, I have only the most selfish of
reasons at heart," she said with a grin.

"This is wonderful. This is exceptional! My
first student. There is so much to do! I have to prepare a lesson
plan, I have to create trials," he said, rising quickly from his
seat. "It is such a wide area, I . . . I don't know where to
begin!"

He fumbled through his bag with one hand and
felt at his ear with the other.

"Where is my book? Where is my stylus? What a
time to lose them!" he said, fairly in a tizzy.

"They are on the desk," she said, amused at
the stir she had caused.

"Yes, of course, of course, and at work, too.
Blast it, I knew I should have made two of those," he said.

"I think you are the one who needs to calm
down now," Myranda said.

"Oh, I can't! Not now, not now! This is
momentous! This is important!" he said.

The time passed quickly as Deacon raved about
what sort of things he had in store. There was something about his
sudden enthusiasm that betrayed similarities between he and she. It
was clear that he had been every bit an outsider in his own way as
she had been in the outside world. Finally finding someone willing
to share time with him seemed to be more than he could handle. The
longer they spoke, the clearer it became how deeply involved he was
with his studies. As they spoke, they laughed more and more. It was
even enough to convince Myn to lower her guard, though she made her
presence known whenever he took a step too near to Myranda.

All too soon, the sun disappeared from the
sky. It was time. Deacon led Myranda to a hut near the cliffside,
Myn in tow. Unlike the others, which were mostly wood, this hut was
entirely constructed of stone. Solomon emerged from within. As he
did, others began to appear, most notably Ayna. They formed a wide
circle around the scorched ground in front of the hut that could
only be the training ground.

"Why are these people here?" Myranda asked
Deacon.

"To observe," he answered. "As I have said
numerous times, this is a first. In Entwell, anything out of the
ordinary is of great interest to us."

"Ignore them. Sit, and concentrate," Solomon
instructed.

Myranda took a seat on the ground. Myn
mistook this for a sign that it was time to praise her, and fairly
climbed atop her. A few "words" from Solomon caused her to
grudgingly move to the side.

"What are the words?" Myranda asked.

"Words?" Solomon replied.

"I need to know the words of the spell before
I can concentrate on it," she said.

A murmur swept through the group of
observers. Deacon covered his face with his hand and shook his head
quietly. Ayna was less subtle. She laughed an obnoxious, piercing
laugh.

"Incantations! The girl only knows
incantations!" she said breathlessly.

As calm as always, Solomon explained their
reaction.

"Once a student has moved beyond the level of
beginner, incantations are rarely used," he said.

"They are the work of children and fools!"
Ayna chimed in.

"What else can I do?" she asked.

"Concentrate and I will guide you," the
dragon said.

Myranda clutched the locket about her neck.
It had mercifully not been lost during her plunge into the icy
water. She had only just closed her eyes when Solomon's powerful
voice asked her to stop.

"Let me see that," he said.

He had not changed his tone at all, but for
some reason the merest request from this creature was like a firm
demand from any other. He approached and put two of his finger-like
claws behind the crystal, inspecting it closely. Suddenly, he
pulled it away. The motion was smooth and steady, but was more than
enough to snap the chain that had held it so firmly. Myranda put
her hand to her neck and rubbed the welt that the move had
caused.

"Terrible," the dragon stated. "Utterly
unrefined. You will work without it today. When you are through
here, have a new one made."

He tossed the gem away. Before it reached the
ground, an unnatural breeze caught it up and carried it to be
viewed by the ever critical Ayna.

"Murky as a swamp! Is this what passes for a
focus crystal out there these days?" she said, mockingly.

The dragon sat on his haunches raised one
hand-like paw. A small flame sparked into existence below it.

"Turn your mind to the flame," he said.

Myranda set her eyes on the flickering form.
Slowly, the world pulled away, and the yellow-orange shape filled
her mind. She gathered her entire consciousness about the flame,
her mind shifting and turning with the slightest motion of the
fire. Time was meaningless in such a trance; hours and seconds were
interchangeable. Suddenly, the voice of Solomon broke through.

"The fire is like a living thing. Once it is
born, it requires only food and breath to grow and multiply. It
constantly hungers. Can you feel it?" the powerful voice spoke.

Her instructor's words were far too clear and
distinct to have come from the outside world. It was as though he
had willed his voice into her mind and mingled it with her
thoughts. She poured over the fire with her mind and slowly became
aware of a constant and steady draw. The hunger he spoke of.