The Book of Deacon (58 page)

Ayna suddenly lost consciousness, the force
of the magic in the air hurling her through the glowing wall. A
moment later, Calypso dropped, her legs shifting back to the
emerald tail. She was quickly carried away by apprentices brave
enough to enter the ring of magic. Deacon was next, dropping to the
ground. Cresh dropped to his knees, consciousness leaving him more
slowly.

Myranda, too, reached her breaking point.
Unable to pull her mind to this task or any other, she crumbled to
the ground, just barely able to keep her eyes open to take in the
spectacle. Solomon, Lain, and the Elder remained. The dragon fought
valiantly, but the energy was far too much. He dropped down. As the
swirling mass of magic and elements seemed to concentrate, the
Elder lowered herself slowly to her seat. She seemed to know that
her strength would not last a moment longer, as when she finished
sitting, her eyes closed and her head bobbed limply to the side in
deep sleep.

Only Lain remained, yet the magic continued
to focus. Whatever it was that they had been working to create, it
had mind enough of its own to sustain itself. An ember of light
formed at the base of the altar and slowly circled upward. When it
reached the bottom of the mystic elements, it seemed to ignite a
thin band of the material into white hot flames. The fire worked
its way up the mass. What was left behind was a pair of tapering
columns of wind swirling so forcefully and tightly that they were
clearly distinct from the air around them. The fire continued its
path, revealing a roughly female form composed of the very
wind.

When the white hot flames flickered out, twin
almonds of golden light opened on what would have been the face of
the form. These "eyes" swept coldly over the small portion of the
courtyard within the wall of light. Quickly they came to rest on
the figure of Lain--from Myranda's point of view, merely a
silhouette against the wall. The windy creature lowered to the
ground.

The instant that its feet touched the earth,
a second wave of white flames swept quickly up the form, leaving
behind a sandy gray statue that walked purposefully toward Lain. He
had dropped to one knee, a hand on the ground to steady himself.
The being that they had fought so hard to bring into existence
lowered a hand and cradled the chin of the weary creature, tilting
his head up to gaze briefly into his eyes. With a slight nod, the
being took its hand away and turned to look about one last time.
Through Myranda's rapidly fading vision, she could just make out
the very same mark that Myranda bore on her hand and Lain bore on
his chest inscribed on the forehead of this new being. It returned
her gaze for a moment, then was swept over by a final band of white
flames, leaving behind a brilliantly glowing version of the same
form that seemed to be composed of the fire itself.

In an instant, the fiery form streaked upward
into the sky and out of sight. The world darkened as Myranda's
tenuous grip on consciousness finally slipped away. The darkness of
unwanted sleep came.

#

Scattered across the Northern Alliance, minds
became alert. It had been a night of high magic. Full moons often
were. Blue moons more so. Those with even the most rudimentary
mystic training had, unknowingly, felt the summoning ceremony in
Entwell as a dull pressure in the back of their minds. Its result,
though, was not so easily missed. A smoldering ember of intense
magic streaked a searing line across the minds of every wizard,
witch, seer, and shaman the world over. It burned brightly, but
briefly, like a shooting star in the mind's eye. Most dismissed it.
Others took note of it. Some, though, were deeply affected.

In his office in Northern Capital, General
Bagu sat forward in his chair. He held his eyes tightly shut and
trained his mind on the fading glint of power. Hungrily, even
desperately, he focused on the distant power. It had a
quality--some texture or color--that he knew all too well. Years of
searching had sensitized him to it.

One of the long-sought Chosen was awake.
While the detection was fresh in his mind he tore a book from its
shelf and threw it open to a well-worn page. Five brief
descriptions were there, only one of which did not have extensive
notes beside it. The shadow of a smile flickered across his face.
The moment of truth would soon be at hand.

#

Myranda's eyes wrestled open and she gazed
weakly about. She was in a room with other beds. Most were vacant,
but a few still had occupants. The blurriness of fatigue and sleep
obscured her vision too much to tell who it was that surrounded
her, but her ears worked well enough. Distantly, she could hear the
ever-present voice of Deacon arguing weakly with someone.

"Yes, I know I must rest . . . I really feel
that I could speed my recovery if I had something to occupy my
mind, or my hands . . . It would be more soothing than taxing . .
." Deacon said, continuing to argue in as polite a way as was
possible.

"Deacon?" Myranda called in barely a
whisper.

Her friend was too busy attempting to
persuade one of the white wizards to allow him his book to hear.
There was someone, though, who heard very clearly. With an
unexpected pounce, Myn was on top of her. She must have been lying
beside the bed. The dragon dragged her rough tongue all over
Myranda's face, but the weary girl was too weak to object. The
commotion did not go unnoticed. A trio of white-robed healers
converged on Myn and grabbed her. She was far too intent on letting
Myranda know how she felt to pay any attention to them. When she
had been carried far enough that her tongue could no longer find
its mark, she struggled free and leapt atop Myranda again.

"Never mind. Leave her be," Myranda said
weakly.

The commotion was enough to attract the
attention of Deacon.

"I don't even need to see the book. I could
just hold it. Wait, is that Myn? Is Myranda awake?" Deacon
asked.

When he was informed that she was, he
requested to be taken to the bed to her right for the remainder of
his convalescence. The attending clerics relented. The moment he
was properly placed and tucked in, he turned to Myranda. The
healers left him, heading purposefully out of the room.

"It has been five days. They are off to get
you some food. You may not know it yet, but you are starving. They
say you lasted right to the end. Tell me, did you see it?" Deacon
asked.

"The . . . thing?" Myranda said, unsure of
what to call it.

"Yes, yes! Fire, water, earth, air! In the
shape of . . . was it a man or a woman?" he asked insistently.

"It was certainly a woman," Myranda said.

"Really. I would have expected a man. No
matter. It came! You saw it! You are certain of that, yes?" he
said, leaning toward her so suddenly that in his weakened and dizzy
condition, he nearly toppled from the bed.

"Don't think I will ever forget it," she
said.

"Tell me, was there anyone else awake?" he
asked.

"Lain," she said.

"And the creature. Did she approach him?" he
asked.

"It did," she recalled.

Deacon leaned back against the pillow, dazed
more by the news than his condition.

"Then it is proved. He is one of the Chosen.
Lain is one of the five!" he said.

Myranda took in the information as best she
could in her weakened condition.

"I must speak with him. I cannot believe I
have not spoken with him already. He spent all of those years here,
and it was only when he returned that the truth could be known . .
." he rambled.

As he spoke, a tall, white-robed gentleman
approached. He had been watching sternly from one of the corners of
the room. His hair was as white as his robe, though his face was
clean-shaven. He was followed by a younger man and woman, each with
arm loads of potions, crystals, and medical tools.

"Deacon . . ." he said. His voice had a
practiced steadiness about it. It was the voice of a man who had
learned patience.

"Vedesto! Did you hear? You have, right here
in one of your beds, one of the five!" Deacon said, sitting up.

"Yes. I also have an overexcited gray wizard
who will not allow himself, or anyone else, to rest," Vedesto
said.

"How can anyone rest? This is the most
monumentally important thing that has ever--" Deacon began.

"I do not care if all five of the Chosen have
selected this very building for the great convergence. My sole
concern is restoring these brave young wizards and warriors to
health, and I cannot do that with you raving and screaming. And
what is this I hear about you bothering my people about your book?"
he asked.

"Yes! Yes! The book!" he practically
yelled.

"Deacon," Vedesto said with forced
gentility.

"Oh, Vedesto, you know as well as I that
people as psychologically weakened--" Deacon continued, ignoring
the objection.

"Deacon," Vedesto said again, the anger
beginning to show in his face.

"--as we are tremendously likely to forget
what we have seen and done recently. I simply must have my book to
record--" he continued.

"
Deacon!"
Vedesto shouted, pushing the babbling young
wizard to the bed again. "Stop talking, stop pestering my
apprentices, stop pestering Myranda, and do not pester the
malthrope. If I hear your voice again for the rest of the day, no
one will hear it again for the rest of the week. I will put you to
sleep until every last one of these patients is out of bed.
Understood!?"

Deacon nodded.

"Excellent," he said, returning to the calm,
patient demeanor he'd shown before. "Now, Myranda, show me your
hand, if you would."

Myranda opened the hand with the mark,
assuming it to be the one he wanted to see. Vedesto put his hand
out to the side without looking. One of his subordinates handed him
a hazy gray crystal. He placed it in Myranda's open hand. A dim
light flickered within it. He nodded thoughtfully and removed the
crystal, holding it out in front of the other apprentice. It was
swiftly replaced with one of the many bottles that each was weighed
down with. After glancing at the contents, he shook his head and
held his hand back out. The bottle was replaced with another one.
This he was satisfied with. He opened the bottle.

"Open your mouth and put out your tongue," he
said.

Myranda obeyed, only to have a drop of the
most intensely foul-tasting liquid she had ever encountered placed
on her tongue. It was very much like the flavor of the tea Deacon
had once brought her, but far worse. As she swallowed the stuff, it
seemed to get warmer. By the time it reached her stomach, she could
feel the heat throughout her body. The warmth seemed to boil away
the fog in her mind.

"There. Until that wears off, you should feel
like yourself. That should give you enough time to get some food
inside of you without having to worry about choking to death. Once
you've eaten, I want you to go back to sleep. Another day and you
ought to be able to walk out of here unaided," Vedesto said,
turning to Deacon. "You, on the other hand, will require at least
two more days, because you couldn't simply rest like a good
patient."

Food was given to Myranda, which she ate
eagerly. Deacon sat, sulking but quiet, while she ate. Myranda
glanced around her with her temporarily clear vision.

In one of the corners, furthest from the
door, Lain lay asleep in a bed. It was only the second time she had
seen the creature in any form of rest, and once again it was
through no choice of his own. She couldn't help but look at him in
a new light. It was certain now. This was a divinely anointed
being. He could be the savior of all of the people of the
continent, plucking them from the jaws of the war once and for all.
Myranda would never have imagined someone like him as a Chosen a
few years ago, yet now that she knew the skills he had, she
wondered if there was another in the world better suited.

Shortly after she finished her meal, the
warmth that kept her mind clear faded and she, quite against her
will, drifted again into sleep. This slumber was not so deep.
Simple dreams came in the form of brief glimpses of what was to be.
She saw Lain, the bizarre creature she had helped to create, and
three hazy forms standing before a grateful city, accepting the
praise due to them for ending the war and bringing the soldiers
home. The scene repeated itself in varied forms through the night.
By the time her eyes opened again, she was convinced that such a
sight must come to pass, no matter what. With the end of the war
now a very real possibility, she simply must make sure it
occurred.

True to the white wizard's word, Myranda felt
strong enough to stand. Myn was nowhere to be seen, and Lain's bed
was empty. Deacon was still asleep, and when Myranda asked Vedesto
where Lain had gone to, he seemed quite dismayed that the bed was
empty. It should not have been a surprise that Lain had let himself
out of the chief healer's care.

After the news had spread that he was a
Chosen, though, there was little doubt that he would be easy to
find. All that she would have to do was look in the center of the
largest group of people around. Or perhaps not. Upon being
officially discharged from Vedesto's care, Myranda found that the
people outside, many still mildly under the effects of the
ceremony, were unaware Lain had slipped out. She headed quickly to
his place on the Warrior's Side. There, inside his simple hut, she
found him sitting with his back against the wall. Myn was curled up
on his crossed legs.

"I am surprised you are not inundated by
well-wishers and admirers," Myranda said.

"I value my privacy. The people here respect
boundaries when you set them," he said.

"You know you can't ignore it now. You are
one of the Chosen. It is not a theory. You and I have seen proof,"
she said.