The Book of Deacon (48 page)

"It is the only food available," she
said.

"To you, perhaps," Ayna said. "Those with
more evolved palates have alternatives."

"What do you eat?" Myranda asked.

"Nectar. It is the only proper food that
nature has ever provided," Ayna said.

"Have you ever tried anything else?" Myranda
asked.

"I cannot eat anything else," she answered.
"Quickly--finish. I am eager for you to begin."

Myranda obeyed and made her way to the tree,
which still bore a pair of scars from her last trip there. A reed
flute, identical to the one she'd been practicing on, was attached
to a pole beneath it.

"Now, the tasks you are to complete are
rather simple. First, you will hold a single note on this flute for
twenty-four hours, then you will--" she began.

"A whole day!" Myranda exclaimed.

"To state it another way, yes. And please do
not interrupt me again. Following the endurance test, you will play
the elegy flawlessly, from beginning to end, while standing no less
than ten paces from the instrument," she continued.

"The most that a Master test has ever
required before was three hours," Deacon offered.

"Congratulations, your knowledge of our
history remains unchallenged. I frankly have never been fond of the
fact that the test has been so . . . insubstantial in the past.
This is far more fitting, I feel," she said.

"I have trouble remaining
awake
for more than a day,"
Myranda said.

"Well, with a spell to occupy you, you should
have no trouble at all avoiding sleep. Now, no more dawdling.
Begin," Ayna ordered.

It was clear that she was serious. Myranda
set her mind to the task. Fortunately, it took very little effort
to conjure a breeze strong enough to produce a note. Unfortunately,
Ayna would not be satisfied until the note was loud enough for all
to hear. Her effort had to be more than tripled before the fairy
stopped badgering her to bolster her efforts. The sound was enough
to gather a crowd. The strain was not terrible, but it was
noticeable.

She looked over the crowd, which continued to
grow as her test approached the end of the first hour. Ayna seemed
to delight in informing each newcomer of the circumstances of the
test.

Time passed slowly. The sun crept across the
sky. It was nearly impossible to know how long she had been at it.
Deacon knew this, and was kind enough to keep a running tally for
her in the form of marks etched into the ground. His visits seemed
to get further and further apart as the day progressed. By the time
the daylight of the short day had waned, she had to devote all of
her mind to maintaining the note. Most of her crowd retired for the
night, including Ayna. The only ones that remained were Deacon, who
spent the time between hourly updates writing in his book, and Myn,
who stood faithfully beside her.

The night was a dark one, and cold. At some
point a blanket found its way about her shoulders. It must have
been Deacon, but she lacked the awareness to know when it had been
placed there. She locked her eyes on the horizon. When the sun
finally peeked over, she knew that she would be through. Her eyes
closed without her noticing a handful of times as she slipped into
some bizarre state between sleep and concentration. She wrestled
them open each time to the same dark sky.

Around the fifteenth hour, the most curious
thing began to happen. The spell she was casting seemed to have
worked its way into the back of her mind. It was as though her
consciousness had split. One part was devoted to the spell, the
other was free.

"Deacon?" she managed to speak.

"Yes?" he answered. His voice was a bit
slurred, as though he had begun to doze.

"I feel strange. I . . . I don't feel that I
am the one casting the spell any longer," she said.

"Ah, yes. Your mind is becoming accustomed to
casting as a whole. It is becoming second nature to you. This is a
huge step toward becoming a successful wizard. Before long, the
spells you use most will become reflexive in nature. Defense,
healing, they will be cast in some small way on their own when
needed. This skill cannot be taught; it must come with experience.
What can I say? You continue to amaze," he said.

While casting the spell now seemed to take
much less conscious effort, it took no less of a toll on her
strength. By the time the sky had begun to redden, she was having
trouble sitting up. Her mind lacked the will to control her
muscles. Myn allowed Myranda to lean on her to stay upright. The
hours ticked by until, finally, Ayna awoke and fluttered down.

"Well, not much longer. How is my student?"
she asked.

Myranda found that she hadn't the will to
blink her eyes, let alone answer. Even after the fire test she had
not been so weary. At least then it was a lot of power over a
relatively short time. This was more akin to a marathon to a
sprint, and she was left with her reserves utterly drained.

"You should know better than to expect her to
answer that," Deacon said, fighting to keep his own eyes open as he
etched the twenty-third mark on the ground.

The minutes passed and the crowd reformed.
The tone of the note was wavering slightly as the sands of Deacon's
hourglass trickled down. As the last minute of the endurance test
began, Ayna offered some advice.

"You will need to play through the elegy
once. I would not lift the spell that you are casting, lest the
sudden release of focus set your mind to rest. Instead, use the
stream you've been conjuring to play the tune. And . . . begin,"
She said.

Myranda pulled the notes of the song to mind
and plodded her way through them. It was not a spirited
performance, by any means, but neither was it incorrect. The last
note rang out, prompting a deafening roar from the crowd. The
approval reached Myranda's tattered consciousness in the form of a
distant whisper.

Deacon was left again with the task of
bringing her to her bed, though this time with little objection
from Myn, once the customary bribe of a potato was offered. Ayna
deliberated over the performance, criticizing the tempo of the tune
and taking full credit for the success of her pupil. As the
assembled crowd lavished praise upon the fairy, Myranda was lowered
to her bed and left in peace.

#

The black carriage lurched to a stop and
General Teloran pushed the door open. By rights, this should have
been her first destination, but she'd left it until last. The elf
paced up the path to the church. Inside, a service was just ending,
and the sparse congregation was rising to depart. When they had
climbed aboard their meager transportation and left for their
homes, Trigorah stepped inside, leaving the other Elites to guard
the door.

"Father?" Trigorah called out.

"Enter, my child," came his voice from his
chamber.

The general stepped inside.

"If my memory serves, I am again being
honored by a visit from one of our esteemed generals," the priest
said.

"I must ask you to come with me, Father,"
Trigorah stated.

"Much as I would like to aid you with
whatever it is you seek, I am afraid my duties here forbid my
absence," the priest assured her.

"It is not a request," Trigorah replied
coldly.

"Not a request? Have I committed some crime?"
the priest asked.

"Please, come with me," Trigorah pleaded.

She could feel something inside of her
rebelling, and did all that she could to silence it.

"What have I done?" he demanded.

"You spoke with the girl, and she had the
sword. I am ordered to detain all who may have touched it,"
Trigorah stated.

It was the first time she'd explained
herself. It was the first time she'd felt compelled to. Until now,
she'd been able to separate herself from her task. Now, even while
his unseeing eyes were hidden, Trigorah swore she could feel his
gaze searing her.

"I refuse to believe that our just and noble
army would arrest an innocent man merely for having met some woman.
I cast her out! She was a sympathizer, nothing more! My faith in
our people and our war remains firm!" objected the holy man. "What
could that horrid girl have said or done to warrant this! What
could I have possibly done!?"

"I am a general. It is your duty as a subject
of the Northern Alliance to do as I tell you," the general reminded
him.

"It is in my nature to trust in the word of
my fellow man, but there is no way that a general would do such a
thing. Prove it to me. Generals carry a seal, do they not? Let me
feel it!" he demanded.

Before she could stop herself, Trigorah found
that she was undoing the fastening on her left arm, to reveal the
symbol of service. Normally, she would have refused, but there was
something about his words. They were spoken with such conviction,
such strength. This was a man who knew what he believed to be true.
There was no doubt. His faith was unshakable. The force of it
permeated his every word. It was something that she had to respect.
Finally she was able to reveal the gold band against her skin.

"The band awarded to me on the day of my
selection as a general. The symbol of my rank, and of my loyalty to
the Alliance," she said, guiding his hand to it.

"Yes . . . yes, I see . . . That is how it is
done," he said, his voice distant. "Then you are a general after
all. And you believe that it is right to take me away with
you?"

"I believe it is necessary," she replied.

"That is not what I asked," he said.

"It doesn't matter what is right. What must
be done must be done," she said, drawing her blade with a slow,
deliberate motion to prolong its ring.

"So it must . . ." he said rising and heading
toward the door. As he walked, he spoke, quietly. "That girl . . .
that blasted girl . . . I hope it is worth it . . ."

#

Nearly four full days passed before Myranda's
eyes opened again. Deacon visited her at meal times to help her eat
until she found the strength to do so on her own. With each visit,
he offered another profuse apology for Ayna's disregard for her
well-being. To Myranda's surprise, though, Deacon was not the only
visitor during her recovery. When she heard the familiar tapping of
a dragon's claws on the stone floor, she assumed it was just Myn
after a visit to Solomon or Lain.

"You bring me great pride, Myranda," came the
voice of her old instructor.

"Solomon?" Myranda said as she tried to sit
up in bed.

"Lay down. I come to offer congratulations,"
he said.

"I am sorry to hear that Ayna will now be
ahead of you in the book of records," she offered.

"I have no concern for records. I am pleased
that I was able to aid you for a time. I see great things in your
future," he said.

"Thank you," she said.

"One more thing before I leave you to rest.
You are raising a fine dragon. Myn is as bright as any I have met,"
he said.

"I am glad. Be sure to tell her that,"
Myranda said.

"I have. At length. Rest well, Myranda. The
worst of your training is behind you now," Solomon said, rising to
leave.

"Wait!" Myranda called out.

"Yes?" he answered, sitting once again.

"I hope you won't mind me asking, but I have
been wondering since I met you. I . . . I hope you won't be
insulted, but . . ." she fumbled.

"You wish to know about my size," he
guessed.

"Well, yes," she said.

"There is a city on the west coast. I neither
know the name, nor care to know it. Many, many centuries ago,
humans there began breeding dragons for their own use. Some for
size, some for strength. I was bred to be small," he answered.

"Why?" she asked.

"It is not my place to understand the
motivations of your kind," he said. "Now rest."

The dragon padded out. It was another week
before Myranda found the strength to walk under her own power. She
likely could have benefited from another day or two of rest, but
the long stay in her hut was beginning to drive her mad. Deacon
caught sight of her hobbling and leaning heavily on her staff and
quickly scolded her. Myn kept him at bay until he fished into a
pocket of his cloak and produced the standard treat. She chomped
away happily as he spoke.

"Don't push yourself! You are remarkable, but
not indestructible," he said.

"I had to get out of there. I was beginning
to selna porthen," she said.

"Selna porthen. You were losing your mind to
inactivity? That is a rather unique phrase. Your language skills
are improving," Deacon said.

"I can't help it. No one else speaks my
language here. If I can't learn to communicate with someone else, I
may as well lock myself in my hut," she said.

"I didn't realize it was so painful to have
conversations with me. If you need some time alone I can oblige,"
he said, looking genuinely saddened by the comment.

"No, it isn't that. I just like the idea of
learning new languages, having new people to talk to," she
said.

"Well, let's hear what you've learned,"
Deacon said.

The pair walked through the village. Now and
again, Deacon would point out a person and ask Myranda to translate
what he or she had just said. Myn found the activity to be less
than exciting and trotted off in Lain's direction. Myranda was
doing rather well at Deacon's random tests, until an odd commotion
was caused by a man running through the courtyard screaming what
appeared to be nonsense. Deacon seemed particularly affected by the
repeated cry.

"This is momentous! This way, quickly! Where
is that book of mine!? Here, ah!" he stammered.

"I must need a bit more practice," she
said.

"Why?" he asked, fairly pulling her
along.

"It sounded like 'Hollow is twitching,'" she
said.