by Joseph Lallo
"For as long as this place has existed, it has been used as the test to see for certain if one of the Chosen is among us, and it would be a crime if you were not included in the ceremony," Deacon said.
"And I need to be a Master of the elements by then, if I am to be a part . . ." she recalled.
"Indeed. You will need to finish your training with me and have your overall exam by the end of next week. We will indeed need to hurry. Oh, curse it all. I finally get student with a personality and I have to push her through faster than any other. Someone up there is toying with me," Calypso said. "No matter, though. Myranda, you ought to get a bit more rest than usual tonight. We will need to push you harder tomorrow. Enjoy. Deacon, would you remain for a bit? I need to discuss something with you."
Myranda headed off while Deacon lingered.
"What was it you needed to discuss?" he asked.
"In a moment," Calypso said, waiting until Myranda was well out of earshot. When their privacy was assured, she continued. "You like her. As more than a colleague."
"Well, I . . ." he began.
"It is an observation, not a question. She likes you as well. I know that you aren't going to confess your feelings so easily, so let me just give you a word of advice. If you feel that you wish things to move forward between the two of you, invite her with you to watch the opening of the cave when the falls relent. There is something about that place. It is where your parents met. It is where many parents met," she said. "Now go. Think about it."
#
The training continued the next day. The feeling was far more serious now. The days that followed were filled to the brim with education. The gray magic expertise that Deacon offered sped her progress markedly, so much so that there was a bit of time at the end of each day to slip in some pure gray magic, particularly illusions. By the time the end of the following week had drawn near, Myranda was deemed ready for the final exam.
A large bowl with a hole in it was placed on a stand, just as Solomon had done in his test. However, this one was far larger, and the hole was smaller. She was charged with filling it with water by conjuring it from the air. The task would have been a simple one if not for the drain. Now she would not only have to not only conjure up enough water to fill it, but she would have to do it quickly enough to do so before it poured away.
Myranda set her mind to work, reaching out and drawing in all of the moisture she could muster. It came in a tiny trickle into the bowl, and flowed out just as quickly. She would need to do much better. Her mind fanned out, reaching in all directions to try to find more water. The trickle increased, but not nearly enough. There must be enough water somewhere. She was not permitted to draw it from the lake or the sea; it had to be from the air. Finally, her mind happened upon what appeared to be a monumental mass of water suspended on its own. She began to draw it forth, but it must have been very far away, because she couldn't hear the trickle increase. She opened her eyes to see all in attendance looking up.
"You didn't warn her about that, did you?" Deacon said.
"Neither did you. This is going to be entertaining," Calypso said with a grin.
Myranda wanted to crane her head and see what had attracted their attention, but the strain of concentrating was growing greater, as though she were pulling an ocean, yet nothing came. Then, in a tumult so sudden it nearly tore her from her focused state, the water came all at once. It was like a torrent coming down--not only where she intended, but everywhere else. Myranda guided as much of the water as she could manage into the bowl, not daring to open her eyes until she was finished, fearful of what she might see.
"Enough! Well done! On to dexterity," Calypso said joyfully.
The girl opened her eyes to see that, despite the fact that she was no longer drawing it forth, water was falling like a savage rain. She had reached forth and drawn down the very clouds, and what she had begun would have to continue until the storm had run its course. The people watching her scattered for shelter. Myn, who was just getting over the shock of being doused so suddenly, returned to Myranda's side. Now, all who remained to watch her were Calypso, quite at home in the rain, Deacon, drenched but unwilling to miss the spectacle, and Myn, faithful as always.
"Just draw up a bit of the water. Heaven knows there is enough of it about. I want an ice sculpture of . . . oh, how about little Myn there. I want every detail. Shape it and freeze it. Begin immediately," Calypso instructed.
Myranda obeyed. She drew up the water from the soaked ground until it seemed like a rippling mound. Her energies filtered through it, forcing it to change its shape to match that of the little dragon. The basic form was simple, but as the details came to be formed, Myranda could feel the strain of stretching her mind in so many directions at once. Nostrils, scales, teeth--each had to be crafted and held. It was difficult to tell how quickly the time had passed, but finally she found herself staring at a near-perfect replica of her dragon, sitting on its haunches, mouth open a bit and tongue protruding slightly.
Myranda applied the reverse of one of the spells that Solomon had taught. A wave passed through the water, leaving all behind it solid ice.
"Excellent. Wonderful job! Deacon, tell me, do you remember that foolish spell Gilliam used?" Calypso asked.
"Of course," he said.
"Well, cast it on this work of art. It needs to be saved in a form a bit more enduring than ice," she said.
Deacon raised his crystal and closed his eyes. The spell must have been a mighty one, because even in her drowsy, weakened state, Myranda could feel the power of it flowing. A less distinct wave of light began to pass over the surface of the ice statue. It rippled slowly along like a dozen grasping fingers creeping up. Behind it, the ice was turned to stone. When it reached the nose of the statue, his work was done. It was solid rock, saved for posterity. Deacon gave a sigh of relief as he finished.
"Well done, both of you. It has been a pleasure working with you, Myranda. Don't think that just because I am no longer your teacher that you can just stop visiting me. Deacon, you get her to Azriel. I have got to get this lovely thing down below," Calypso said.
"What? Azriel? Isn't she the founder?" Myranda asked, still dazed from the effort.
"Yes, you need to be declared a Full Master," he said, walking her in the direction of the crystal arena. All the while, the rain she had caused was hammering down.
"But I have been. Calypso said it," she said.
"No, no. You have been declared a Master of four separate disciplines. Now you must prove just how capable you are in their practical use. Then you will be a Full Master," he said.
"I don't understand. There are that many different levels of Master?" she said.
"Oh yes. We have nine main levels of mastery in magic alone. There is Novice, Journeyman, Master, Full Master, Highest Master, Grand Master, Archmage, and Elder. Aside from that we have Battlemages, Specialists, Seers . . ." he said.
"What? I have been through four full disciplines and I am not even half of the way up the hierarchy?" she said in disbelief.
"Well, with any luck, after today you will be halfway," he said.
"But I can barely think. How am I going to pass another test?" she asked.
"Don't worry about that. In fact, you had better give me that staff. You are likely to break it," he said as he led her onward.
They approached the crystal arena. When she had first seen it, Myranda had been struck by the beauty of the place. Now, with rain pouring down from a darkened sky, it was the size that seized her mind. The spires around the perimeter looked like the teeth of some horrible creature. Myn scampered up beside them, familiar and quite fond of the place that now seemed so ominous. They stopped at the base of one of the carved columns. There, Deacon laid the staff on the ground.
"Now, before we enter, I cannot stress this strongly enough. You absolutely must take this seriously. The danger will be real. She will try to trick you. Her purpose here is to test your mind. She will not relent. I have seen t
he strongest men and women I have ever known enter this place to face her and leave changed. My own experiences were mild, and I must say they still have a place in my nightmares. This is likely to be the most trying experience you've ever had," he said.
"What will she do?" Myranda asked.
"I don't know. She seldom repeats a specific test. Are you prepared?" he asked.
"How can I be?" she asked.
"Then let us begin," he said.
The three stepped across the border. It was the difference between night and day. Once inside, her head was as crisp and clear as it had ever been, the sun was shining, the clouds were gone, and instead of the cold, hard crystal that she knew to be beneath her, she found downy, soft grass. It was uncannily similar to her image of what the south must be like. Ahead there was a wholesome-looking thatched cottage.
As they approached, a woman appeared before them. She seemed to materialize, like a cloud of smoke that wafted together rather than away. Draped about her graceful form was a black cloak with white, flame-like patterns rising from the hem that flickered and twisted as though they truly burned. She stood a few inches taller than Myranda, older, but the picture of elegance. Her hair was a glorious white and hung well past her shoulders.
The dragon showed her usual suspicion, becoming defensive at the woman's arrival, but upon recognizing her as the mealtime host, she relented.
"Welcome. I have been waiting for our prodigy. By the grace of your own skills, I have not had to wait long. And, Deacon, I understand that you have been this young girl's steward. Splendid, please come inside," she said in a voice that radiated civility.
She led them inside where a trio of overstuffed chairs surrounded a table set with the most sumptuous feast that Myranda had ever seen. All manner of meats, cheese, and bread covered it from end to end. The four sat--Azriel at the head of the table, Deacon and Myranda at each side, and Myn upon the floor beside Myranda. The chair was impossibly comfortable, and the food was something out of a fantasy. The wine was nectar. The meat fairly melted as soon as it touched her tongue. The atmosphere was so warm and inviting, Myranda couldn't feel more at ease.
The same could not be said of Deacon. He sat rigidly in place, eating slowly and sparingly, as though he did so only because of what might happen if he did not. The fear rolled off of him as palpably as the grace flowed from Azriel. When they were through, their host spoke again.
"Now, I have been blessed with the honor of treating your little Myn to her meals. She is as fine a beast as I have ever seen. Treat her well and she will serve you well. Of that much I am sure. As for you, Deacon, am I to take your presence as an indication that Myranda has had a dose of gray magic as well?" she asked.
"Just a touch, your grace. A spell or two," he answered quickly, hesitating to even look Azriel in the eye.
"Well, every little bit helps. Gray magic is a favorite of mine. It is possible that I shall have something of a challenge from this one. I relish the thought. I also understand that Hollow had a word with her. Quite the unique occurrence," she said.
"We believe that she may have a connection to the Chosen. She even has a semblance of the mark," Deacon offered timidly.
"Might I see it?" Azriel asked.
"Show her. Show her the mark," Deacon whispered insistently.
As Myranda revealed the palm of her left hand, she couldn't understand how this motherly woman could be making Deacon so uneasy.
"Yes, yes. It is not a birthmark, but no ordinary person could bear such a mark, if it truly is that of the Chosen," Azriel said.
"That is why it is very important that we get her to the ceremony just as quickly as we can," Deacon said.
"Well, that is hardly any concern of mine. I shall test her as I would any other. She will decide if she is ready," Azriel said, the tiniest hint of annoyance in her voice.
One would have thought that she had lashed out at Deacon, so quickly did he retract himself.
"Oh, your grace, I meant nothing by it. I am certain that you will be fair, and that Myranda will succeed," Deacon said, brushing sweat from his brow and releasing a shaky sigh.
"Perhaps, though, it is best that we do not dally. Now, now. What test is best for a prodigy? I believe that I will administer the escape test. That seems appropriate," she said.
Myranda nodded, curious as to what the test entailed. Deacon shook as if struck when he heard the words.
"W-what duration . . . if it is not too forward of me to ask?" Deacon nervously inquired.
"I believe, for this occasion, ten minutes seems long enough," she said.
"Oh, well, that doesn't sound so--" Myranda began.
"Ten minutes! You must reconsider. She has only just finished her water training today!" he objected, his fear for Myranda overcoming his fear for himself.
"I have spoken. I will not be dissuaded," she said.
Suddenly, Deacon vanished, wafting away just as Azriel had appeared. Myn was similarly swept away, leaving Myranda alone with her examiner.
"What have you done with them?" she asked, slightly taken aback by the action.
"They are still about. Myn is with him, but she cannot see any of this. She and I have a fine relationship, and I would hate to spoil it by upsetting her. Deacon is somewhere where he can watch without becoming a nuisance to either of us. Ah, that boy. His concern for you is rather charming, and perhaps not out of place, but so irritating. Nevertheless, we've a task at hand. First, allow me to expand the field of play," she answered.
Without any outward semblance of effort, the sorceress began to reconfigure their surroundings. The walls pushed away and turned from warm, inviting wood to cold stone. The table lengthened, and as it did, new food sprouted up to occupy it. The doorway gaped massively and chains sprang forth to connect to the door, which fell away with an earthshaking crash to bridge a moat that had formed outside. The fire from the hearth shot to the center of the room and scattered, lighting a dozen or so torches dotting the walls, as well as countless candles and a massive chandelier that dropped down from the now-towering ceiling.
In the space of a few moments, she had come to be standing in the great banquet hall of some ancient castle.
"There. I would say that this is a far more fitting venue. Now for the rules of the game. This hourglass will run through after five minutes," she said.
An hourglass appeared, floating above the center of the table.
"After that, it will be turned over, such that it may run back. Now, while the sand is in motion, I will endeavor to capture you, and you will endeavor to escape me. You will be designated a failure if you remain captured long enough for me to mark you down in a red book of failure with this pen," the wizard said.
A case of books materialized behind her. Out from it slid the last in a very long line of red-covered books. The bottom shelf was the only one not fully occupied by the books of failure, as two white books occupied it, and one conspicuous black-covered one.
"Now, if you pass, you will be marked down in the white book. The trial ends when the last grain of sand has returned from whence it came, or when your name has been marked down," she explained. "Have you any questions?"
"How can I expect to resist you? Look how powerful you are. I have only begun my training," she said.
"You have reached a level of mastery in the elemental arts. That is quite enough. As for power? In this place, you are as powerful as I. So long as you know how to cast a spell, you shall do so without effort and without delay. You are being tested only on your knowledge and ingenuity. Now--begin," she said.
"But I--" she began.
Her words were cut off by a bizarre sensation as the room, and all that filled it, seemed to grow to many times its size. A second odd feeling came as she was drawn into the air by some invisible force and dropped down into a red liquid. It stung her eyes, and when she surfaced and looked about, her view of the massive room was wavy and distorted. She had been shrunk and dropped into a wine bottle! The cork work
ed itself into the opening as Azriel walked the short distance to the pedestal, having already willed the pen into her hand.
Myranda cast her strength into the air around her. Instantly it swirled into action, bursting the cork from the bottle with such force that the bottle tipped. After sloshing violently about, Myranda squeezed from the mouth of the bottle. She had to find somewhere to hide long enough to figure out how to undo the spell. Deacon had yet to teach it.
She ran further among the place settings of the table, crouching behind a folded napkin. Her mind swiftly analyzed her body, quickly happening upon an odd twist of magic that seemed to be wrapped about her. She made ready to levy her own strength against it when a shadow appeared.
Looking to the source, she saw, towering over her, the form of a cat. It was pure black with white flames flickering in its dark eyes. Myranda tried to run, but the cat swatted her painfully to the ground and held her there. In a flash, the cat was turned to stone, pinning her to the ground. Azriel appeared beside the table and headed in the direction of the book again. Myranda finished her work against the shrinking spell, restoring her size quickly enough to hurl the statue away and clear a good portion of the table she was laying on.
"Really, now. Must you make such a mess?" Azriel complained as she turned to watch Myranda sprint out of the banquet hall and down one of the adjoining halls.
Myranda found herself in a long hallway, lined with doors on either side. The doors began to slam, working their way toward her. The girl dove into a doorway containing an ascending staircase before the door could close and climbed it. There was another hall at the top, and she quickly entered the nearest room. It appeared to be a bedroom with a narrow window and posh furnishings. Azriel couldn't have made it out of the dining hall yet. With any luck she still thought that Myranda had been trapped in the first hallway.
"No such luck, I am afraid," came a second voice in her head.
The door slammed shut and locked. Myranda struggled against it, but the heavy wooden door would not budge. It would be a fool's errand to search for a key. Thinking quickly, her mind turned to one of Deacon's spells. Outside of this place, she found the manipulation the spell to be a clumsy and imprecise procedure, but here things might be different. She cast her mind into the lock, manipulating the individual elements directly. Within a few moments, with a satisfying click, the door popped open.
