by Joseph Lallo
Myranda landed amid the rubble and scrambled to her feet. The bulk of the pieces had dropped atop Azriel herself, as well as the pedestal. There was a powerful aura emanating from beneath the pile. If the fury of one was ever strong enough to be felt by another, then this surely was it. Myranda sprinted away, terrified of what may happen next. After a few moments, Azriel exploded from beneath the pile. The sky turned blood-red, glowing with a light that permeated all beneath it.
"No one--no one--attacks me. You little witch. This is no longer just a game," her voice thundered as she floated high above the tree tops.
With a thrust of her hand the trees were spread with such force that some were torn from their roots. Myranda was knocked to the ground by the force of the energy. The ground beneath her began to rumble. A vast rift split the ground, large enough to swallow trees whole. Myranda clung to the edge, but was suddenly wrenched into the air. She fought hard against the force that held her, but it had a grip on her that she could not break. The ground below her began to glow almost white hot.
"What are you going to do?" Myranda cried.
As an answer, the molten ground swirled up around her. The heat was unimaginable as she found herself concealed in a void of the swirling ball of liquid stone. As it cooled, it became clear, and she saw Azriel with a look of satisfaction on her face. Myranda was lowered to the still-scalding hot floor of her glass prison.
"Now. To mark my success," she said.
The pen came to her hand and she turned to the book. Dipping the tip of the quill in the ink, she pressed it to paper, or at least tried to. With a waver, the pen passed right through the book. Azriel clenched her fist and whisked the illusion away.
"Where is it!" she demanded.
Myranda answered only with a cold, silent stare. Azriel turned and held out her palm toward the castle in the distance. The entire contents of the bookshelf, as well as the hourglass, streaked across the ground to meet her. A wave of the same hand flung all of the books open at once. The pages fluttered, each revealing itself to be completely filled. She turned viciously to Myranda. The girl removed the red-covered book from her tunic and grinned. Azriel wrenched it from her hands, clinking it against the wall of her transparent cell.
Myranda snatched it back and protected it with all of the strength of mind she could muster, which in this place was more than considerable.
"Release it, girl. There is precious little air in there, and it grows more precious by the moment. It will not last you until the time runs out. I will make sure of that," Azriel said.
"You cannot win. If you break this to have the book, I will be free and you will not be able to sign it. If you don't, I will last the time limit. If I meditate, I will hardly have to breathe at all," Myranda fairly taunted.
Azriel gritted her teeth. The world around them was crumbling in the wake of her anger. Myranda clutched the book and turned away. The mystic pull on the book relinquished just long enough for a small opening to appear in the side of the capsule. Myranda turned to the blast of cool air, holding the book in front of her. Azriel tore it from her hands and whipped it open. Myranda grabbed it and struggled to pull it back, but Azriel had it in her hands now. Myranda pulled and pulled with her mind, and the book constantly threatened to slip from the teacher's grasp, but she managed to produce the pen and, in a very unsteady scrawl, mark down Myranda's name.
With the deed done, the sky resumed its azure hue, the faults in the ground sealed over, and the capsule containing Myranda vanished. She lowered gently to the ground. The delightful little cottage that served as the start to the trying ordeal seemed to form again around them. A moment later, while she was still dazed from the sudden and complete change, Myranda's friends reappeared. Deacon rushed to her, having seen all that had happened. Myn scampered over, happy to see Myranda again, but stopped suddenly to survey her friend.
Myranda looked ragged and worn out. She was drenched with sweat. Vast patches of her clothes were scorched. Myn glanced first at Deacon, then at Azriel, eager to find someone to blame. The decision did not take long, as she gave Deacon a quick series of lashes with her tail as punishment.
"Ouch. I was beside you the entire time! I couldn't have done this," he said, reaching down to help Myranda up.
"She should be very proud of herself. It was a tremendous showing. I dare say she figured a spell or two out for herself while she was being tested. The mark of potential to be sure," Azriel remarked, once again fully composed and matriarchal. She was busy arranging the red and white books again, a look of mild confusion on her face. She was having trouble fitting them on the appropriate shelves.
"You certainly outperformed me on my first failure. I required no less than three attempts to complete it," Deacon reassured her. "I shudder to think what would have become of me had I put up half of the resistance you did. I was a bit worried toward the end."
When Myranda stood, a book slipped from her tunic and dropped to the ground. The rogue book, a red-covered one, drew the attention of all present. Azriel knelt to retrieve it, placing it on the table beside the one in which she had just marked Myranda's name. They were identical. The teacher silently waved her hand over the first book. The red color faded to white.
"Clever, clever girl," she said quietly.
Deacon's jaw hung agape as Azriel flipped to the last occupied page of the newly-white book, where Myranda's name could be clearly seen.
"Well then. I would not say that it was the most straightforward method, but a technicality is nonetheless a victory in this case. It would appear you have passed after all. I wonder--when did you steal the two books?" Azriel asked.
"While you were dispelling my illusions one by one," Myranda said, lowering herself shakily to a chair.
"And you stumbled into the bookcase to cover your tracks. Brilliant!" Deacon said.
"You certainly fought valiantly to keep hold of that book, despite the fact that it was the one you had wanted me to sign all along," Azriel said.
"I thought you might suspect something if I didn't. Not to mention I was not certain it would work, and I was afraid of how you might have reacted had you discovered what I'd done," Myranda said.
"You could have been killed for the sake of a ruse!" Deacon said.
"Well, I don't think she would have killed me," Myranda said with a weak smile.
"I most certainly would have. What do you suppose the black book is for? It contains the names of those whose ambition overcame their resourcefulness. Lucky for you, I was able to wrestle the book from your grip before I wrestled the breath from your lungs," Azriel said. It was unnerving how nonchalantly she was able to seem when speaking about her willingness to kill.
Myranda swallowed hard as the realization of her situation swept over her.
"Well, I would so love to chat with you, but I simply must improve my spells. I still cannot believe you managed to keep me out of your head. That is a rather rare feat. Off with you. Go do some well-deserved bragging," Azriel said.
Myranda and Deacon quickly obeyed. Suddenly, Deacon's fear of her seemed entirely justified. They kept a rather brisk pace, with Myn trotting behind, until they came to a seemingly arbitrary spot in the field surrounding the cottage.
"Wait here, would you?" Deacon said.
"Why here?" Myranda asked.
"We have reached the edge of the arena. I must retrieve your staff," he said.
He leaned forward, the very air in front of him seeming to ruffle like a curtain as he vanished, first to the shoulders, then to the waist. When he stood again, his upper body reappearing, he held the staff. He was also dripping wet.
"There. You will need this if you hope to make it back to your hut," he said.
"Why? I feel quite well. A bit shaken, but aside from my poor heart, I don't believe I am any the worse for wear. I feel better now than when I entered," she said.
"Yes, and you will lose that benefit when you leave," he said, handing her the st
aff. "Now, watch your step."
Myranda took a few steps forward. As soon as her head left the boundary of the arena, she felt as though all of her strength had been sapped from her. She leaned heavily on the staff for support. It sunk partway into the muddy ground. The downpour she had inadvertently caused was still raging. In some places the water was ankle-deep. When she had taken a moment to adjust to the state of mental drain she once again found herself in, she spoke.
"Why hasn't someone stopped this rain?" Myranda asked.
"There is your answer," Deacon said, pointing to an odd sight at the edge of the lake in the distance.
"What is it? My eyes won't focus," she said.
"Ayna is arguing with Calypso. This happens every time a storm must be stopped. Storms are all wind and water, so it falls to either Ayna or Calypso to manage them as our resident experts, but Ayna will not let Calypso do so. While Calypso does not care about the storm, one of her favorite things in life is torturing Ayna, so she categorically refuses to allow Ayna to do so either. More than once, the argument has outlasted the storm. Forget about that, though. Let us get you to bed. Tomorrow night is the blue moon and you must be at your best," he said.
The words barely filtered into Myranda's head. She stumbled and sloshed her way to her hut, closed the door, changed into dry clothes, and collapsed. Myn took her usual perch atop her, and the pair drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 34
Myranda did not so much as stir until midday, when Deacon reluctantly woke her and informed her that the ceremony would be starting soon. When she left her hut, there was a feeling of anticipation permeating the village. People rushed to and fro. Deacon led her to the courtyard where the Elder's hut had been. It was now conspicuously missing, and in its place, there was a rectangular marble altar.
In any other place, she would question how an entire structure could have vanished overnight and be replaced with something else, but here she merely admired the altar. At each side of it, there stood a smaller one bearing a bowl. People had begun to join hands around the ring that Myranda and Deacon had retreated to when she first came here. On the edge of this ring, nearest to the mountains, was a tall post topped with a hoop. Below it was the chair of the Elder.
"We will begin shortly and continue until the last of us drops, so I had best give you your instructions. We will join hands around the central altars. When we begin, the elemental Masters will provide a mystically pure sample of their respective element. We will then focus all of the strength that we can muster into your neighbors. In this way, all of the energy that the Masters need will be available. Once the ring as a whole has reached a state of focus, we shall begin to chant 'Earth, fire, wind, water.' Whatever language you wish. With a blue moon in the sky, the spirits will hear," he said.
"How will we know when it is working?" she asked.
"You will know. Now, until the moon rises, it is very important that the ring not be broken. If you feel that you cannot go on, join the hands of your neighbors before you pass out. Once the moon is at its height, though, you need not worry. Let us begin," he said.
Myranda was led to her place on the circle. The Elder was at the north end of the circle. Calypso was present, once again displaying a pair of legs. She and Ayna, Solomon, and Cresh were spaced regularly about the circumference. Deacon was at the south end. Myranda found herself on the western side, and soon she discovered that Lain was situated directly across from her in the distance. All of those who formed the circle were at least at the level of mastery that she had reached, leaving apprentices and other low-level students scurrying about, attempting to prepare the ceremony. Azriel was absent, either unwilling or unable to leave the arena, so the task fell to her to occupy Myn for as long as necessary. After what she had been through, the thought made Myranda more than a bit uneasy.
There was little time to think of that, though. She joined hands with those beside her, a pair of warriors she had spoken with several times in the days following her encounter with Hollow. Cresh approached the central altar and poured a sample of rich brown earth into one of the bowls. Ayna followed and conjured a burst of wind that swirled against the bowl, somehow persisting and rotating within it. Solomon cast a tongue of flame into another bowl and it burned brilliantly without fuel. The final bowl was filled with water drawn from the air itself by Calypso.
Soon the magic began to flow. It was the most curious feeling. She focused and spread out her strength, only to feel more than she'd contributed flowing through her. For a long time, she felt no stress or fatigue at all. The same could not be said of the warriors. Before the sun had set, half of them had reached their limits. By nightfall, she was holding hands with Solomon and Cresh, and the circle was slightly more than half of its original size.
As the moon began to peek over the horizon, the chanting began. It was curious to hear all of the different voices and languages chanting in bursts of sound. The power flowing through them was noticeably increased, and it grew stronger with each passing minute as the moon climbed higher in the sky.
The last of the warriors--with the exception of Lain--and the first of the wizards began to fall, and Myranda could feel the strength draining from her. The magic had grown so intense that it was visible, racing about the circle as a pale blue filament of energy. Holding hands was no longer needed, and the elemental Masters separated to focus more intently on their tasks.
As the moon climbed even higher, the purpose for the hoop at the end of the pole became clear. The shadow cast by the supernaturally bright moonlight was approaching the altar. When the moon reached its peak, the altar would be entirely within the circular shadow. A pair of the younger wizards collapsed and were dragged away by apprentices. Myranda struggled to maintain her concentration. The task at hand was an odd one. She had to keep the power she was immersed in moving, despite the fact it was more than she could handle if it was still. It was oddly like juggling.
The big moment was only a few minutes away. Of the dozens that had started, only eight were left. The Elder stood firm, with the four elemental Masters showing signs of fatigue. Both the white and black magic Masters had just fallen, and Deacon looked ready to break. Lain, somehow, was as steady as ever. Myranda could feel herself wavering. Then the moon made its last shift. Time seemed to slow as the thin filament of energy swelled to a thick band, then practically a wall that blocked out the outside world.
Each elemental wizard struggled forward. A portion of the energy was pulled away and forced into the pure essences at the altar. First, the wind swirled savagely, moving slowly over to the earth. Instantly, the earth was caught up in the breeze. The water came next, whirling up into the powerful mix. Finally, it approached the fire. Rather than the wet mixture hissing into steam or extinguishing the fire, the flames seemed to mix with it as smoothly as the other elements had. What was before them was a spinning mass of all of the elements, here red as fire, there brown as earth. Here thin as wind, there thick as water. The unique mass swirled atop the central altar, basking in the most direct rays of the blue moon.
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 Lai
n 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.
