The Book of Deacon (44 page)

"I am so sorry. I had meant to meet you," he
said, glancing at the position of the sun as he helped her to a
second seat that had not been present during her last visit. "But I
didn't think that you would have been through so soon. So, how was
your first day under the tutelage of Ayna?"

"I did what she said. I managed to get the
air moving, but I couldn't keep it up for very long. I don't know
what was wrong," she said.

"How many times did you try?" he asked.

"Twice," she said.

"You managed results after only two tries and
you are asking what is wrong?" he said in disbelief.

"Actually, I managed after only one," she
said.

"I assure you. You have nothing to worry
about," he said, fetching a volume from one of the shelves.

It had an old-looking brown cover bearing the
same rune that had been on Ayna's tree. He leafed through the book
until he found the page he sought.

"I borrowed this book from the library on the
hunch that you might feel this way. When Ayna was teaching novices,
which you technically are in her discipline, she did not have a
single student who could manage even the slightest breath of wind
for the first three weeks. You are a gifted student," he said,
closing the book and returning to his seat before another book in
which he continued writing.

"But she is so insulting. She said that I had
an empty head and--" Myranda began.

"It is just her way. I have said it before.
Just ignore it," he said. "Her greatest virtue is that she is the
finest expert in wind magic that we have. Her greatest fault is
that she knows it."

Myranda sat with a dazed look on her
face.

"Are you quite all right?" Deacon asked as he
returned to his seat.

"Just a bit dizzy," she said.

"A few minutes of meditation will take the
edge off of that," he said.

"I would rather just rest for a bit," she
said. "It is not very serious. I only need enough wit about me to
face Lain tonight."

"Very well. You have been at this long enough
to know what you need," he said, putting pen to page again at his
desk.

Myranda sat silently for a bit, listening to
the distant rumble of the falls.

"Deacon," she said.

"Yes," he replied, without looking up.

"You say that no one can leave because of the
falls," she said.

"That is indeed true," he assured her.

"But the most skilled wizards in the world
are here, aren't they? Surely someone could find a way around the
waterfall problem," she said.

"Were this any other place, I can assure you
that such would be so. However, the selfsame crystal that makes
casting so much easier for us is present in scattered clusters
throughout these mountains and all along the cliffside," he said,
flipping a page.

"Wouldn't that make magic all the easier to
use?" she asked.

"Not as such. You can think of a well-refined
crystal as a mirror. Quite useful. A cluster of small, rough
crystals is like a broken mirror. It does nothing but distort and
confuse things. As a result, save for very small, simple spells,
any magic directed at the mountain or in the mountain falls apart
quite quickly. There are theories we have developed that could
conceivably offer a solution to the dilemma, but few are interested
enough in leaving this place to develop them much," he
explained.

"Ah . . . What are you up to?" she asked.

"Scribing, as usual," he said.

"What exactly?" she asked.

"The analysis of an efficient method of
illusionary motion synchronization and appearance duplication," he
said without looking up.

"Pardon?" she said, bewildered.

"Oh, I am sorry. I am required to phrase
things in that way when I record them. What it is, is . . . well,
let me show you," he said.

Deacon stood and took his crystal in
hand.

"Now, for the duration of this demonstration,
you will be able to recognize me as the one with the crystal. Ahem
. . . most wizards have at least a basic understanding of illusion.
They use a method that gives this result," he said.

Beside him a second Deacon appeared,
indistinguishable from the first. It began to speak.

"As you can see, this produces an admirable
result. It can look like, sound like, or
be
whatever I desire," the copy
said. As it mentioned the different possibilities of appearance,
sound, and form, the illusion shifted quickly through a series of
examples. Suddenly, it faded away.

"Such illusions are difficult to create,
though," he said, recreating the first, followed by another and
another.

The three spoke simultaneously. As they did,
they moved about, pacing in well-choreographed circles around
Myranda.

"The trouble is making more than one is
difficult. Keeping the illusion intact is more so. For long term or
large scale pursuits, this method will not do," they said, slowly
fading away until only the voice of original remained.

"I propose we use a new method," the real
Deacon said. "In my new method, similar copies are made that are
based on the original. These copies synchronize their movements and
appearance. As a result, no more effort is used for the tenth as
was used for the first."

As he spoke, one duplicate after another
began to appear. Soon the room was crowded with them, all precisely
mimicking the true Deacon, who had quickly been lost among the
crowd.

"Now minor changes in appearance or movement
can be added to each without much more effort," the crowd said.
Immediately, each of the copies took on a slight change in
appearance. Some walked more slowly, others more quickly. Voices
changed. And then they all vanished. All but one.

"That is what I meant," Deacon said.

"That was remarkable," she said.

"Thank you. Illusions are one of the most
refined aspects of my art," he said.

"Can you make an illusion of anyone?" she
asked.

"Anyone I have seen or can imagine. It
actually makes it possible, with the addition of some strategic
invisibility, to create instant disguises. Observe," he said.

He proceeded to transform before her eyes
into a myriad of different people. Some she did not recognize,
others she had seen in Entwell. She even noticed herself appear
briefly. Lain, too, made an appearance before he ended the
effect.

"It is such practices that gave gray magic a
poor standing in the mystic community," he said.

"I don't understand," she said.

"It is used to create disguises. Therefore it
is used for dishonesty. Dishonesty and treachery are among the
worst crimes a wizard can commit," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"For the same reasons anyone else might be
looked down upon for lying. Of course, there is a second stigma for
a wizard who lies. The spirits who we so often call upon to aid in
our conjuring judge us by the purity of our soul. Dishonesty twists
a soul, rendering us distasteful to all but similarly twisted
spirits. These spirits tend to take a far greater and far darker
toll in exchange for their aid. Hence the gnarled appearance of the
darker wizards and witches we hear of in children's stories," he
said.

"I see," she said. "Couldn't you solve the
problem of your art seeming to be a lie by making it the truth?
Couldn't actually make the things appear?"

"In theory, yes, but that would not solve our
problem at all. We can change things from one form or substance to
another with enough effort, but to summon objects is strictly
forbidden," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"It is fundamental to the rules that govern
this place. All areas may be studied, but some may not be
practiced. Chief among them are time travel and summoning or
manifesting. Time travel has consequences that no one can fully
comprehend, and is thus too dangerous to consider, and summoning .
. . well. When you summon, you may accidentally or purposely draw
something from another world. That is unacceptable. Things of this
world belong here; things from elsewhere do not," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"They simply do not. It has never been made
clearer than that, but it has been drilled into us from the first
day of our training. I don't question it," he said.

"No one warned me," she said.

"You haven't received any gray training. For
it to become an issue for you, you would have to stumble upon the
appropriate spell by mistake," he said, his mind suddenly shifting
directions. "Say . . . how is that dragon of yours?" he said.

"Come to think of it, I haven't seen her all
day," Myranda said. "I suppose she could be with Lain. Or Solomon.
She does look forward to hunting with him."

"Well, not that she isn't a joy to be with,
but I cannot say that I have missed her little reminders of when I
get too close. I wish that she would learn to speak so that there
could be a less painful alternative. She doesn't even give me a
warning in her own language," he said. "The only time that she
seemed to tolerate me at all was when I helped you after Solomon's
test, and she was more than a bit reluctant even then."

"I keep telling her not to do it. It is as
though she thinks it's a game," Myranda apologized.

"She is young and overprotective," he said
dismissively.

"Why did you ask about her?" Myranda
asked.

"You mean to tell me that you do not hear
that?" he said.

Myranda listened closely. Outside there was a
commotion. The voices of several excited villagers could be heard,
as well as an odd crashing noise. She rushed out of the door. The
eyes of the villagers were trained on a rooftop. Myranda looked to
it just in time to see Myn finish scampering to the top.

"Myn! What are you doing!?" she called
out.

The dragon looked excitedly to her and
unfurled her wings. She leapt from the roof and flapped wildly,
taking a less-than-graceful lurching trip through the air. Despite
the rather abortive attempt at flight, the little creature did
manage to pick up a remarkable amount of speed. Her aim was
impressively accurate as well, as she covered just enough ground to
collide with Myranda, knocking them both to the ground.

"Well, you have certainly been busy," Myranda
managed after sitting up and looking the little creature in the
eyes.

Solomon came trotting over to them, growling
some throaty message to Myn.

"That is the furthest she has managed to
travel," he explained.

"When did this start?" Myranda asked,
climbing to her feet as Myn sprinted back to the building and
clawed her way to the roof.

"This morning, after watching you and Ayna at
work, she came to me, curious. I showed her how to start on the
path to flight," Solomon answered helpfully in Northern.

Myn took to the sky again, flailing through
the air and slamming into Myranda. This time the girl was ready and
caught the dragon in her arms. The force of the landing still
caused her to stumble backward. Myranda realized for the first time
how much Myn had grown since the day they first met. The creature
was as heavy as a child! She let her down and watched her run to
another building, this one even further away.

"How long is this going to keep up?" Myranda
asked Solomon as she braced for a third test flight.

"She needs to develop the muscles. To do
that, she will need to practice. If she remains as enthusiastic as
she is now, I cannot foresee her requiring much more than a week to
fly for at least a few minutes at a time," he said.

Myranda caught her friend and released her
again.

"Take a few more steps back. Make her work.
It will speed her progress," he said.

Myranda stepped back. Sure enough, Myn fought
harder and made it into her arms. The game continued for some time.
Though it was a bit rough, Myranda found it quite enjoyable. The
sun had drooped in the sky before Myn couldn't manage the distance
from the roof to her friend, a distance that had grown to nearly a
hundred paces. The poor little thing was exhausted. Solomon praised
both dragon and girl for working together so well before retiring
to his hut. Deacon, who had left to continue his scribing after
watching for a time, had returned when he found that the sequence
of flaps and crashes had ended.

"I trust you had some fun," he said.

"Did you see her? She practically made it
halfway across the village!" Myranda said excitedly, scratching the
weary creature.

"Perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, but it was
impressive nonetheless," he said.

"She's growing up. I know I should be happy,
but inside I'm not," she said.

"Why?" he asked.

"I don't want to lose my little dragon. She's
enough of a handful at this size. Can you imagine when she is
grown?" Myranda said.

"Yes, well, you've got years before that
becomes a problem," he said. "As I understand it, they grow quickly
at first, but it slows after the first year. Besides, I think
you've got something else to worry about right now."

"What?" she asked.

"Look at the sky," he said.

The sun was nearing the horizon.

"Lain! I have to get to training!" she
said.

"I'm afraid so," he said.

Myranda rushed off to her hut, with Myn
trudging as quickly as she could to keep up. She retrieved the
quarterstaff and hurried to where Lain was waiting.

"Myn is learning to fly. I lost track of
time," Myranda explained as the tired dragon collapsed beside
her.

"I know. It is a difficult spectacle to miss.
Never mind the quarterstaff--take this," he said, tossing her a
shorter, stouter rod.

"What is this?" she asked.

"That is roughly what you will be given when
you have finished your wizard training, minus the crystal. It is
the weapon that you are most likely to make use of in the future.
It is also the second weapon I have decided to teach you," he
said.