by Joseph Lallo
Each lesson would end at the water's edge, where Deacon would really shine. He taught her to levitate the water by filling it with her energy as she might slip her hand into a glove. As the time went on, she found that she could will the elevated water into simple shapes. Each day, of course, ended with her sessions with Lain, which continued to grow more challenging and frustrating with each fruitless battle, but even the sparring matches were not wholly unpleasant. They at least proved to her that she could hold her own with a gifted warrior--who, by this time, could not have been holding much back.
The end of the second week marked the beginning of the lessons that would have to be done entirely on the land, as she would be doing the reverse of what she'd done before. Instead of drawing air from the water, she would be drawing water from air. Myranda was having great trouble with it. Calypso sat on the shore, instructing Myranda and allowing Deacon to be her hands.
"I don't see why you don't give yourself a pair of legs for the time being. That is what you had done for all of your other students," Deacon said.
"Yes, but I feel this is easier. No, no. Myranda, that is not quite right. You need to hold the staff lower; the energy will flow more smoothly. Deacon, show her," Calypso said.
"She is right; it needs to be a bit lower, and your other hand a bit higher. You have to leave room for the ball of water to form. Later, you can twist the magic any way you wish, but right now you should be focusing on the spell, not the energy it takes to cast it," Deacon said.
"I can tell her. I asked you to show her," the mermaid said.
Deacon stood beside Myranda and guided her hands. He was fairly shaking as he touched her, taking his hands away quickly when her hands had reached the correct position.
"There, I, uh . . . that is approximately where they, uh, ought to be," he said, stumbling over his words and seeming slightly out of breath.
It was the first time since she'd met him that he had been anything but eloquent. A blush came to his cheeks. Myranda realized that she was blushing a bit, too. Calypso noticed it and grinned. The girl tried the spell again, but found that she couldn't manage it. She was having trouble concentrating. The grin on the mermaid's face turned to a smile. She beckoned for Deacon. When he waded over to her, she whispered something into his ear.
"But why?" Deacon responded.
"Well, you agree, don't you?" she asked.
"Of course I agree, but I cannot imagine that she wouldn't already know," he said.
"Well, don't you think it would be best to be sure?" she asked.
"I suppose," he said, turning to Myranda. "Myranda, you are, um, very lovely."
Myranda could feel the warm blush fill her face.
"Thank you," she said.
"Oh, there is no need to thank me. I am merely speaking the truth. I frankly do not see why Calypso thought it needed to be said," he said.
The mermaid laughed.
"You know a great deal about a great many things, Deacon, but you still have a few things to learn. That is enough for today. There is plenty of time to get it right," she said.
"Oh, no! I had forgotten until this morning. We may not have the time we thought," Deacon said.
"Why wouldn't we?" Calypso asked.
"The full moon came on the first day of this month," he said.
"Did it!? I hadn't been paying attention. How exciting!" she said.
"What do you mean? What is this all about?" Myranda asked.
"There will be another moon before the month is out! A blue moon!" Calypso said.
Deacon answered Myranda's questioning look.
"I've spoken of it before. I must have. It is a night when mystic energies run higher than any other. Acts of magic impossible on any other day can be done when the moon reaches its peak on that night. It is a tradition that on such a night we attempt to summon a being described in detail by the prophecy. This being is born of the elements themselves, and it is most assuredly one of the Chosen, and represents the sole exception of our rule banning summoning. However, it will not arise unless the mystic power used to conjure it is influenced by the strength of another Chosen.
"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 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 reac
hed 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.
Chapter 33
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 the 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. S
he 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.
