Chapter 16
Far from mountains where Myranda huddled for warmth, the shapeshifter dropped down to the ground and slowly shifted to her human form. Spending time in the form of wind was taxing, and she felt as though if she maintained the form for much longer she would be spent. Lain was near, she was certain of that. He had slipped into one of the human settlements, so it was just as well that she entered as one of them. She scanned around her.
In this form, her senses were as frustratingly limited as any other human’s. Virtually no light was to be had, save the weak glow from windows, rendering the only moderately effective means of observing the world that humans had at their disposal, vision, even less adequate than usual. Wind whistled away her hearing, and all touch told her was how laughably fragile these things were. They were actually endangered by the cold. She shook her head, rid herself of the annoying sense, and began to alter one of the other senses into something that could reveal Lain to her. Unfortunately, without some sample of a creature to work off of, she was having limited success.
Her mind, though, remained sharp, so long as she maintained a form that wasn't much more complex than the one she now occupied. She quieted her thoughts and felt for the essence that had allowed her to follow Lain this far. She felt him tantalizingly nearby, but something still closer drew her attention.
It was a spirit--black, twisted, and parasitic. It was one of them, a D'karon, trying valiantly to escape notice. It failed. She turned her eyes to the source of the corrosive essence. Surrounded by four of the empty cloak creations was a scrawny, mild-looking human male with an out of place look of intelligence and confidence on his face. In his hand was a halberd identical to the one wielded by the remarkably powerful wizard she had faced when she first revealed herself. He smiled at her. As she surveyed her opponent, he surveyed her. She would have little trouble with this one. There was barely a trace of the energy that was present in the last halberd-bearer.
"Attention, people of the fair city of Fleer. I represent the great General Epidime. What is to transpire is of interest only to the Alliance Army. Enter your homes and remain there until morning. Any individual who disobeys will be guilty of treason!" the young man announced.
At the sound of the last word, the handful of residents who remained on the streets scurried quickly inside. When all doors were shut, the man spoke again.
"I do so hate prying eyes while I work, and this promises to be a delightfully informative experience. That body you are using is quite familiar. I do believe those fingers clutched this staff quite recently. I must be sure to inform our men that she is no longer to be obeyed," he said.
"You will not live to speak those words," she said, shifting to her stone form.
"I am confident the message will be delivered. I see you have chosen the stone form rather than fire. Surely this has something to do with the staggering decrease in your strength since the last time you clashed with this weapon. Tell me, are you tired?" he asked.
She flashed into motion. With improbable reflexes, the weapon was raised to block, and with equally unlikely strength, the blow was deflected.
"Oh, yes, you are quite tired," he said.
The cloaks floated backward into the shadows as the shapeshifter unleashed a barrage of increasingly powerful blows. Each was blocked, though the last brought what was certainly the crackle of bone from the man's right wrist. The man dropped the hand to his side and spun the halberd to speed with only the left. The shapeshifter raised her hand, meeting the blade with her palm. With an ear-splitting clang, the metal came to a stop. Her other hand gripped the shaft and tore it easily from the fingers of the man.
As soon as the metal left his skin, the look of confidence and intellect was replaced with one of horror and pain. He cried out and cradled the shattered right hand.
"What . . . a-a-a-ah! What is this? What are you? What is going on?" cried the man in a meek, almost whiny shell of his former voice.
"You allowed yourself to be subverted by a D'karon. You are tainted. You must be punished," the shapeshifter hissed, throwing down the weapon and delivering a bone-shattering backhand to the sniveling thing in front of her.
The man dropped lifelessly to the ground, his head turned sickeningly to the side. She turned to walk away, but stopped, her eyes drifting down to the halberd. The gem in the blade was still glowing faintly. She lifted her foot to grind it into the ground, but before she could bring her heel down, the weapon slid swiftly toward its former wielder. The right hand of the beaten man raised. The fingers crackled open and clutched the shaft of the weapon. The scrawny man lurched to his feet in a single motion, as though an outside force had drawn him up by the shoulders.
The shapeshifter turned to the risen warrior. He twisted his head back into place and smiled.
"Humans have the inexcusable habit of deserting their vessel far before it has lost its usefulness. I am wiser than that. You, too, show wisdom. You were not afraid to do what had to be done. That is an admirable trait. A lesser warrior would have pitied the usurped victim," he said.
"Weakness in the face of the enemy must not be tolerated," she said, approaching him again.
"I agree. You and I see eye to eye on a number of important issues. Have you considered switching allegiances?" he asked.
She began to swipe at him in vicious attacks with her stone claws. He deftly deflected each, backing away as he did. The strikes were clashing so powerfully that the stone of her hands was beginning to fracture and break away. Finally, the entirety of her left hand crumbled and she retreated to regroup. Her opponent did not relent. Swinging the long weapon and gaining momentum as he did, the man struck again and again with the blade of the halberd. Cracks began to widen on the shapeshifter's form.
Finally, the man thrust the spiked tip of the weapon into her chest. The force easily split the stone and buried the blade, complete with the crystal it bore, halfway into the Chosen One's body. A pulse from the crystal shattered the weakened creature, and she was reduced to a pile of rubble on the ground.
"I wonder . . . can it be so easy? Somehow I doubt it," the arrogant man considered aloud.
One by one, the pieces of the shifter darkened to black and ignited. Before long, hundreds of fist-sized flames had flickered to life. The fire rose into the air, swirling and reforming until the fiery form floated above her opponent, brilliant eyes blazing with fury. The crystal at the end of the staff took on a brilliant glow. As the Chosen swept in for attack after attack, the gem was swung with precision. Some manner of magic struck the insubstantial, flickering form as though it were solid.
Finally, the shifter hung momentarily still in the air before dividing into a half-dozen intense balls of flame and surrounding the enemy.
"Well, now, aren't we clever," the man admitted.
The fireballs closed in for attack, but an instant before the first made contact, he drove his halberd into the ground and summoned a mystic shield. The fire clashed again and again with the shield--to no avail. This was more power than he should have had. He, too, had been concealing his true strength. Finally they withdrew, merging again. For a moment, she floated, considering her options. Slowly, she noticed a draw on her already waning strength. She turned to see that, behind her, the four cloaks had manifested charcoal-black hands and were drawing off flame in long filaments, attracting it like iron filings to a magnet. Each of the four leeched away strength and gathered it into growing fireballs of their own.
The shapeshifter tore through the air after them. Just the slightest touch would ignite them. Had she more strength, she would be launching long tongues of flame after them, but she had barely enough to maintain her form. After dispatching only one of the cloth abominations, she knew that she couldn't afford to squander any more strength in her fire form. She dropped back to the ground and shifted to stone once more.
"Stone again? Show me something new!" her opponent mockingly demanded.
The three remaining cloaks now let their stole
n fire fly. The first splashed across her stone form. Swiftly, she shifted to flame again, reclaiming the remaining two before returning to stone. The cloaks closed in, striking their phantom limbs against her rocky body. She dropped to one knee as lines were scored into her by the unnatural substance that composed the claws. In a burst of motion, she lashed out, managing to grasp two of them and tear them to ribbons amid unholy, disembodied screeches. The third pulled to a safe distance.
The shifter raised her steely gaze and locked eyes with her opponent, still protected by his shield.
"It is just as well you refuse to join our ranks. You would hardly be of any use to us," he taunted.
The stone eyes narrowed in anger. She thrust her hands into the icy, cobbled street. A rumble began to shake the town. Suddenly, the ground beneath the man erupted with a spire of stone. He was sent hurtling into the air. Quickly, she took to the air after him in the form of wind. With a mighty effort, she managed to separate him from his weapon and hurl it into the distance. She then forced him, with all of the speed she could muster, to the ground far below. She lingered for a few moments until she was satisfied that this time the broken man would not arise.
She then cast her eyes to the east. She had nothing left. She would be helpless in very short order. With no options left, she streaked through the sky. There was no time to find Lain. Until she could recover, she would have to make do with someone else.
#
Sleep had been fitful, made possible only due to sheer exhaustion. Now it was impossible. Something, something incredibly powerful, had shaken the mountain during the night. The sound, like a crack of thunder, pulled her from sleep. A series of low rumbles continued to reverberate throughout the mountainside and valley. Each grumbling roar grew nearer. This sound chilled Myranda more than the call of any beast. It was the sound of an avalanche, the mountain shrugging off its blanket of snow and ice. If the rumble reached her, she would be buried without hope of escape. She slid out into the open and strained her eyes as white snow gave way to black night without so much as a glimmer of anything else. The only thing that penetrated the whistling wall of white and black was the thunderous roar. It was close enough to make the ground tremble. Tiny cascades of powdery snow began to form. There was no sense running. All she could do was hope.
Gradually, the roar subsided, moving down the mountainside. Myranda took a deep, relieved breath of the icy air.
Her ears, so recently turned to the terrifying rumble, now turned to something else. The wind seemed different. For most of the night, it had been waxing and waning, but it had always surrounded her. Now the shriek of high wind seemed to be overwhelmingly from the west. She turned to the darkness, raising her staff and conjuring a light in the gem. It barely cut an arm's length further into the dense night.
Suddenly, a chaotic, swirling form burst from the darkness, knocking Myranda to the ground. It was the shapeshifter, but something was wrong. She seemed looser, less defined. The slivers of light that served as eyes had a look of desperation. Fear. The windy form dropped to the ground, the whirling wind tightening as it did when she changed form, but just as quickly it loosened again.
"I do not have enough . . . I need something simple. Something small!" she cried.
Her eyes shot to Myranda's hands. She grasped them, pulling free one of her gloves. There was another burst of wind as the bulk of her form whisked away. What remained dropped to the ground, tightening and intensifying. Snow swirled into the mix. After a few moments, the snow settled, revealing a curious sight. Beside the glove was a squirrel, presumably a duplicate of the one that gave its fur to line the gloves. The tiny creature looked up with as much dignity as such a small face could muster, and spoke.
"Congratulations, human. I have deemed you worthy to be assigned a purpose," she said. She spoke with the same clear, powerful voice that she always did. The sound could not have been more out of place.
"What are you doing here? What happened? MYN, NO!" she cried.
Her companion was moments from snapping up the little creature. She froze when Myranda spoke up. The newest form of the shapeshifter turned slowly to the dragon, mouth still agape. She looked fearlessly into the cavernous maw.
"I would prefer that you dispose of the beast, but in the current state of things, it may be of some use. Keep it in line and it may live," she said.
"What happened?" she asked the creature, stooping to pick it up.
"That is none of your concern. Suffice it to say that even my strength is not boundless. The greater portion of it has been stripped away by a number of confrontations and I shall require an amount of time to recover. Until that time, you shall escort me, giving your life, if you must, to keep me from harm," she said.
"I will do my best," she said, extending her hand.
Rather than allow herself to be picked up, the proud creature leapt to her arm and scurried to her shoulder.
"Your best is certain to be woefully inadequate. That is why you shall take me to Lain. He, and only he, is capable of providing protection, should it be truly required," she explained.
"You couldn't find Lain?" Myranda said.
"More pressing matters arose. Enough questions. You will find him. Forgo sleep, forgo meals. Until I am delivered to Lain, you shall not allow the pathetic weaknesses that plague your race to delay us. Is that understood?" the creature asked.
"I can't find Lain. I have something more important to find," she said.
"Human, you have been given your orders. Follow them," the creature said.
"I may have found another Chosen. Lain can take care of himself, and I can protect you. This needs to be done," she said.
"You will find nothing of use," the shifter said.
"You will never find anything if you don't look," she said. "And I intend to. If you do not wish to go with me, then you are welcome to continue your search for Lain alone."
The tiny creature on her shoulder gave a frustrated sigh.
"It was an act of the purest optimism to imagine that I might have coaxed a small-minded mortal into acting in a rational and intelligent manner. No matter. I will recover just as quickly on an ill-advised, dead-end trek as on an intelligent one," she proclaimed. "Pursue your foolishness. In a day or two, when I am myself again, I shall leave you to your pointless errands."
With that, the creature moved to the interior of Myranda's hood, curling about the back of her neck for maximum warmth, with her head facing casually forward.
"Proceed," she ordered.
Myranda had not intended to continue until morning, but now she couldn't bear to wait a moment longer. She was sure that she would find another Chosen, and now the infuriating shapeshifter would be present to see it. She marched forward in angry silence, Myn dutifully in tow. The wind and cold were especially biting at night, and with nothing but the light from her staff, the progress was slow. It became slower still when she reached the near edge of the stretch of mountain ravaged by avalanche. The ground was uneven and broken, great pieces of rock-hard snow jutting at odd angles, as though the surface of the mountain had been shattered.
After a few hours, the lack of sleep and general exhaustion began to take its toll, and Myranda was having trouble keeping her mind sharp. In the past, she would have begun talking aloud to herself or Myn. Now she had a companion, albeit a bothersome one, who might offer a reply. She should have known better. She should have known that any conversation with the shapeshifter would end just as the last had--with angry silence--but the desire to hear something other than the relentless wind clouded her judgment.
"Do you have a name?" she asked.
"I do not need a name. Names are reserved for the faceless masses, like yourself, who are not unique enough to be differentiated by merit alone," she answered.
For a moment, Myranda marveled at the creature's ability to concentrate so much condescension into so few words.
"If you haven't got a name, then how would you prefer that I refer to you?" Myranda
asked through clenched teeth.
"I would prefer that you did not refer to me at all," came her predictable reply.
"Well, I must refer to you occasionally. Why don't I give you a name?" she asked.
"Because names are labels, and labels are intended to describe. I do not maintain a single form long enough for any name to remain appropriate for long. Perfection is the only term that can consistently be applied to me, and even that falls short, as perfection is static and I am ever-changing," she said.
"Call it a limitation if you must, but I have difficulty conversing with a being without a name. Will you at least allow me to choose a name that I shall call you?" she asked.
"It is clear that you will not rest until I have allowed you to demean me thusly. Since your thoughts and actions do not matter in the slightest, I suppose I will permit you to assign me a title. Anything to aid your addled brain," she relented.
"You are a woman, correct?" Myranda asked.
"I typically assume a female form," she corrected.
"Well, then, I shall call you Samantha," she said.
"Absolutely not," she said.
". . . I thought it didn't matter," Myranda grumbled.
"I will not be associated with so common a name. Choose something more fitting," the shifter replied.
"Then . . . Alexia," Myranda offered, feeling that the attitudes offered by her own alter-ego and the shapeshifter were quite in line.
"No," the shifter said.
". . . Gwendolyn," Myranda attempted.
"No," she replied.
"Well, what do you want?" Myranda asked.
"Something that reflects my nature. I am fluid, I am eternal, I am ethereal . . ." she began.
"Then why don't I call you Ether?" Myranda asked.
"Ether . . . Ether," the creature repeated, as if to test the sound. "Well, it is hardly unique, but it will suffice."
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 64
