"You will never learn to fight properly if you are pulling your attacks. I want you to fight as you had before, or I will never answer another question," he said.
A terrible guilt filled Myranda.
"Let me see your hand," she said.
"No need," he said.
"Just let me see. It is swelling already," she said.
A whisper of a thought was enough to heal the minor damage he'd done. While she was at it, she healed the blow she had taken.
"Unlike you, I can't stand idle while someone suffers," she said.
"Sometimes standing idle is the best course of action," he said before retiring to his hut.
Myranda gritted her teeth in anger as she walked away. Myn canted sideways behind her, trying her best to keep an eye on both of them. Past sundown, it would seem that the throng of admirers had better things to do, as she was not assaulted by them as she headed back to Deacon's hut. Myn barged in as before, and rushed over to him to start sniffing at his tunic's pocket.
"Stop. I said one per day. You've had yours," he said, protecting his pocket from her search long enough for her to give up and retreat to Myranda for a scratch on the head.
Deacon could see that something was on Myranda's mind.
"I suppose that things didn't go well today," he said.
Myranda fumed for a moment before she could answer.
"Deacon. Lain . . . he could have done something about the massacre," she said.
"What massacre? Ah! The one you told me about, at Kenvard. He could have prevented it? How?" he asked.
"He found the person who leaked the information! He knew it was going to happen!" she said.
"What did he do with the information?" he asked.
"Nothing!" she said.
"Well, that was decent of him," Deacon said.
"Decent of him!? I cannot think of something worse he could have done!" she cried.
"He could have sold it to a higher bidder, or delivered it himself to receive the payment intended for the man he killed," Deacon said.
Myranda paused for a moment. Each was admittedly far worse than doing nothing at all.
"But still--he could have warned them!" she said.
"Well, I suppose you are right," he agreed. Almost immediately, a confused look struck his face as a thought came to mind. The same thought struck Myranda as well.
"Why would he need to?" she realized. "If the intelligence never got delivered, the Tressons couldn't have known about the weakness . . ."
"Indeed. One wonders how the massacre could have happened at all. That is, if Lain's word can be trusted," Deacon said.
"I don't think Lain cares enough about what I think to lie to me anymore. And after how I have acted, I don't blame him," Myranda said.
After having a late meal, Myranda retired.
#
The days to follow began a new routine for her. She awoke, had breakfast, and played with Myn for an hour or so. The little dragon was now quite the flier. Once airborne, she could stay aloft seemingly indefinitely, and before long, she was able to take off from the ground rather than a rooftop. Once the flight was over, either through the fatigue or choice of Myn, Myranda would stop by Deacon's to look for any tips before venturing to Cresh's hut.
Once there, she would learn the next step in a long string of earth magics. Despite the language barrier, Cresh was a very good teacher, managing to coach her through refining the size and direction of her tremors, identifying the qualities unique to each type of earth, and even coaxing plants to grow faster, larger, and stronger. This last topic was the most difficult, and required nearly three weeks to complete. In this time, Myranda found that she had come to understand his odd language well enough to not rely so heavily on the gestures.
Her time with Lain was the most trying. Over a week of battle was needed to finally convince Myn that Lain and Myranda were not fighting out of anger again. This, however, was not completely true. Myranda's apology for her behavior prompted no response at all from Lain. He fought in almost complete silence each day. She managed a pair of well-placed counter attacks, several days apart, but they differed from her other achievements. She stumbled upon them less in a moment of epiphany, and more through some new instinct that she was developing. They were almost mechanical in nature. Lain's only words on the topic were to remark that such was as it should be.
Further trying was the fact that, with each passing day, sparring with Lain was becoming more difficult. A bit more speed and a bit more accuracy found their way into his maneuvers every time they fought. He was keeping his skill level just beyond hers. Before long, the clear openings for her to attack vanished, and the split-second openings for counterattack were shaved thinner and thinner.
Five weeks after starting her work with Cresh, the dwarf indicated that it would be a fine time to offer her the final test. There had been no warning that the end was near until now. At least, none that she'd managed to understand. He produced an apple from his pocket, proclaiming it to be, apparently, the last fresh one to be had in the village. Myranda wondered where the others had gone, and how many there had been, considering in all of her time in Entwell she'd seen neither an apple nor an apple tree. The latter fact, it would appear, would soon be remedied.
Cresh took a bite of the fruit, dug his fingers into its core, and retrieved a seed. The dwarf launched into a speech that was apparently very amusing, as he punctuated it with stifled laughter. A quick tremor churned up the earth beside his hut enough to yield to the seed when he dropped it. After pushing it into the soil, he requested that Myranda replace the lost apple, as well as supply the pantries of the whole village. Her success would hinge upon how the apples tasted. He expected to be sinking his teeth into one by sundown.
"Sundown!?" she objected, hoping that perhaps she had misunderstood him.
The dwarf replied with the beginnings of yet another long-winded exposition on one subject or another, but the vigorous nodding that preceded it was all the answer she needed. Had Myranda known that the test would be on this day, she would have arrived earlier. The sun was only a few hours from the horizon. She set to work immediately. The method was one she had practiced time and time again. She would mingle her energies with those of the seed, coaxing it to sprout. Once the growth had begun, she would provide for its every need from her own strength. Until now, she had only done so with weeds, and in some occasions, flowers. The tree required far more nurturing than any of the previous plants.
Halfway through the first hour, the sapling of the tree had emerged from the ground, and leaves were beginning to form. This test was unlike the others. Whereas the fire and wind were enormously taxing to keep fed for the appropriate amount of time, they required only one type of energy. The tree's needs were many and varied, requiring her to call upon nearly all of what she knew of earth magic to meet them. The elements in the soil had to be drawn into the still-growing roots at many hundreds of times the speed that nature would have allowed. Similarly, Myranda's spirit took the place of the sun as the source of energy for the leaves to feed on. Only water was provided by Cresh, as water was not the point of this test.
Another half-hour saw a tree as tall as she.
The task of growing the tree, while growing in intensity, decreased in complexity as the end grew near. Though dizzied by the energy she'd spent, Myranda was able to push enough of the spell to the back of her mind to be able to appreciate the completion of her handiwork. It was a sight to behold as new cracks in the bark appeared. The leaves shriveled and dropped away onto a growing mound beneath the tree. Almost immediately, the greenish brown leaf-buds reappeared, followed in turn by the brilliant white apple blossoms. A breath of wind that she conjured pollinated the flowers and the resultant fruits plumped before her eyes. She cut off the flow of energy just as the last of them reddened.
Through the virtue of her magic, she had brought this tree through two dozen seasons in the space of an afternoon.
The sun had, by r
ights, set a few minutes prior, but as the sky was till rosy with its light, Cresh decided that the time requirement had been met. He reached for an apple, but found the lowest of them just be out of reach. He raised the crystal-tipped root he used as a staff. The tree lowered its branch as though it had a mind of its own, and shook an apple free into his hand. The dwarf sniffed the fruit thoughtfully before taking a bite, considering the flavor as a connoisseur might sample a fine wine. Finally, he declared the endurance test to be complete.
Myranda heaved a sigh of relief, as she had far more strength and clarity left now than she had entering into any of the other tests of dexterity.
Myranda was led inside of his hut, and the door was shut behind her. A table was in the middle of the room, and a chair had been grown before it. Atop it was set a bowl filled with gray sand. A pair of empty bowls was set beside it. Cresh spread a pinch of the sand on the palm of his hand to reveal that there were actually fine grains of black and white mixed thoroughly enough for the bowl's contents to seem uniformly gray. He then produced a blindfold, which he secured over her eyes. She was to separate the black and white into the separate bowls without the use of the eyes or her hands. With that, Cresh retired to another room.
She reached out with her weakened mind. The differences in the energies of different types of earth were difficult to detect in the clearest of mind. Despite her many impairments, the black grains were soon clearly unique enough in her mind's eye to separate. The spell to manipulate earth was one she had learned well, but with so much of her concentration devoted to keeping the two types distinct, when the time came to move them, they seemed as heavy as lead weights. Moving them more than a few at a time seemed impossible, but she pressed on. By the time the last white grain found its way to its own bowl, she felt as though she'd moved a mountain.
Cresh pulled the blindfold from the weary girl's head and patted her on the back, chuckling. She opened her eyes to the light of a torch and smiled weakly at the reason for his laughter. While she had succeeded in separating the sand, she had been less precise where the sand landed. Rather than in the respective bowls, she had managed to scatter the sand anywhere but. The only clear spot was the bowl that the sand had formerly occupied. Fortunately Cresh was satisfied. He handed her an apple and helped her to her feet and out the door.
The hour was late. None of the admirers and well-wishers were awake--save Deacon, who had remained despite being required to wait outside of the hut. He helped her to her hut and set her on her bed.
"Well, this is a refreshing change. You finished a test and did not need to be carried home," he said.
"A personal best," she said, lying down. Myn hopped atop her immediately.
"Sleep well. When you recover, you shall begin work on the final elemental magic," he said.
Myranda likely hadn't been awake long enough to hear the end of the sentence.
Chapter 31
Myranda awoke after a black, dreamless sleep, and stumbled forth groggily. Myn led her to Deacon--who, in turn, led her to the food hall. As they ate, and she shook off the last of the sleep, they spoke.
"How many days has it been this time?" Myranda asked.
"Only a single night has passed. Another personal best for you. Here, have one," he said, placing another of her apples before her.
"Ah, yes. The fruits of my efforts. I still have the one that he gave me last night," she said, taking a bite. The flavor was familiar, but different. It had a hint of something that made it unlike any apple that she had ever tasted. Her face betrayed her thoughts.
"Curious? The apple tastes different because you grew it. When a person prompts a plant into being, the result is a fruit slightly different from any grown before. You leave your mark. What's more, any apple tree grown from a seed from this one will bear fruit with the same quality. You have given birth to a new breed," he said.
"I like it," she said, munching happily.
"Are you quite rested? Calypso has already been told of your completion and is eagerly awaiting you," Deacon said.
"I feel well enough to do a bit today. Calypso . . . I haven't met her yet," she said.
"No, I don't believe you have. Well, we shall remedy that soon enough," he said.
After the meal, Myranda fetched her staff and was taken directly to her next trainer. At least, she was told so. When she reached her destination, she found it to be the small lake near the edge of the village toward the sea. Myn sniffed at the water and immediately retreated. She seemed terrified of the stuff, and adamant that Myranda not go near it. Apparently, the circumstances of their arrival in this place had taken their toll on the poor creature.
"Calypso!" Deacon called out.
They waited a few moments before he called again.
"I know that I learned my fire magic from a dragon. Does this mean I will be learning my water magic from a fish?" Myranda asked.
"Well . . . I suppose that would be half correct," he said, picking up a small stone and skipping it across the surface.
The ripples spread across the top of the lake. Among them was a small, more stable ripple that ran steadily toward them. It grew stronger as it approached. Through the water, something distorted could be seen beneath the ripple. When it had made it to the water's edge, the disturbance finally emerged. It was a fantastically beautiful woman. She was wearing a shimmering bodice and had long golden hair. Around her neck hung a pendant that contained her gem. Whereas most had been as near to clear as possible, hers was a deep blue. Just visible beneath the water was an exquisite emerald tail, like that of a fish, that was the precise color of her eyes. She was a mermaid. Her voice had such a pristine clarity that she seemed to be singing every word.
"Deacon! Always a pleasure! And this must be Myranda! I have heard some very impressive things about you, my dear. These next few weeks will be a treat!" she said.
"I am quite sure that you two will have a fine time together--but remember that Myranda is still unaccustomed to the whimsical attitudes of wizards. Please treat her gently," Deacon requested.
"Deacon, I am shocked that you would think that I would treat my guests with anything less than complete and utter civility. Now come on, we've so much to do!" Calypso exclaimed.
With that, she grasped Myranda's hand and pulled her into the water. Before either she or Myn could object, the helpless girl was dragged swiftly to the bottom of the lake, near the center.
"There. That is so much better. Out of that hot sun and harsh breeze," Calypso said, turning to her guest.
Myranda was floundering and struggling to keep her breath. The trip to the bottom had been so sudden she hadn't even the time to take a deep breath.
"Oh. Silly me," Calypso said, touching her fingers to the amulet.
Myranda dropped to the lake bed and took a long, wracking breath. Her panic turned to confusion as the cool water filled her lungs and she no longer longed for air. She stood and tentatively took a second "breath," if such a word could still be applied. Her clothes and hair billowed about her as the slight currents swept past her, while she felt as steady on the pebble-covered ground as if she were on dry land.
Now that she was able to relax, Myranda looked at her surroundings. The light danced on the ground in the most beautiful way. The slight blue tint of the water seemed to highlight the green of the algae on the rocks. In the distance, what must be Calypso's quarters stood majestically, a hut just like the others, though a bit larger. It seemed frightfully out of place at the bottom of a lake.
"What did you do to me?" Myranda asked.
"Oh, that little spell? I merely swapped the roles of water and air for you. It is rather simple; every mermaid and merman knows it. If we didn't, we would hardly get any surface visitors at all, and those we did would be holding their breath. Not that I mind, of course. If you want to hold your breath, that is your business, but it really cuts into conversation," she said.
Calypso spoke with a speed that was almost disorienting, yet with perfect dic
tion and tremendous expression. Cresh had spoken volumes at a time, but the few words she had understood made the conversations at least manageable, albeit one-sided. The mermaid grinned at the bewildered look on Myranda's face.
"I apologize in advance to for my tendency to ramble. You see, I am the one and only water-dweller in the whole of this wonderful little village. As a result, I am seldom blessed with visitors, and when anyone does come down here, it is always strictly business. I suppose that is why you have come here as well, but what I have heard of you tells me that you are very personable. I mean that, of course, in the sense that you have a fine personality, rather than the meaning that you are attractive.
"Which is not to say that you are not attractive. Quite the opposite. I merely intend to imply that attractiveness is not the quality that I was looking forward to. Deacon told me. He is a dear, and he thinks the world of you. Always raving about you, your mind, your skill. I've never seen the boy more excited. It does him good, though. I do hope you feel the same about him," she said.
"Oh, I do. I only wish that I could learn a bit of what he has to teach. It seems interesting, but we haven't had the time," Myranda said, after her mind had managed to catch up to the question. The brief silence seemed unusually long in light of the torrent of words Calypso produced.
"What he has to teach? Oh, yes, you mean his magic. I'm sorry, dear, but I wasn't concerned about what you thought of him as a magician. Although you are, of course, correct. Quite staggering, the knowledge he has. And there is so much of it in the spells that we elemental wizards use. I tell you, it is a wonder that he isn't more respected than we. But, then, that is politics for you. No one had ever expected there to be a Master who specialized in gray, and so there is no place for one in the old ways. Antiquated, I say, but still we cling to them. Oh, there I go wandering again. The subject was Deacon. Yes, I was rather more concerned about what you thought of him as a person," she said.
"He is a fine person. He is most certainly my very best friend," Myranda replied.
"Excellent! It does my heart good to meet someone with a bit of life left in her. I honestly cannot say that I have heard the word 'friend' used here since my arrival. It is always 'colleague' or 'associate.' Lifeless words.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 38
