The Book of Deacon Anthology

by Joseph R. Lallo

  The men turned to him, but he was staring at the body of his fallen comrade and nothing else. The arrows of his quiver were missing. A clattering of wood drew his attention to his left. The fletched ends of the arrows, separated at their centers by jagged breaks, were just settling to the ground. Before he could spot what his men had, he heard a sound like an arrow in flight, but without the twang of a bowstring. One of the pursuing men lurched and fell from his steed. Then another.

  "RETREAT!" the commander ordered, far too late.

  The last of his men fell back, the frayed end of a broken arrow protruding from a joint in his armor. Then, as suddenly as it had come for his men, a sharp pain brought the darkness upon him.

  #

  His work done, Lain drew in another pained breath. He was a monster. He knew that. Anyone who would hope to survive a life like this had to be one. That was why Ivy must be spared it. As his many wounds painfully reminded him of their presence, he set about raiding the supplies of the soldiers. The arrows had been easy to break. Too easy. He quickly discovered that all of the equipment and weapons were of similarly lacking quality. Briefly, he considered taking one of the swords to replace his own, but until his hand healed, he would need a very light weapon. Each of the men carried a dagger. He selected three of them, and transferred any other useful resources he could scavenge into the saddlebags of the most able-looking steed.

  Taking a deep breath, Lain lifted Ivy to his shoulders and threw her across the horse. He made ready to mount the beast and be off, but a thought came to mind. His eyes turned to the pile of rubble that had been Ether. He wanted very much to be rid of her, but her power, however misused, was unmistakable. That power could be useful.

  More importantly, if she was still alive and he left her, she would most certainly try to find him when she recovered. If that happened, there would be a string of soldiers following her. Better to keep her where she would be able to do the least damage. He scooped up some of the largest pieces of rubble, one of which still bore the faintly glowing mark of the Chosen. Most of the rest of the remnants were indistinguishable from the dirt and stones of the field.

  He mounted the horse and headed to the east. With the patrol for that area dead, it was the destination least likely to offer any resistance in the immediate future. In less than a day he would reach the foot of the mountains. From there he would head to Verneste. There was a weaponsmith there. He might be able to reforge Desmeres's blade. Lain would rather have found one of the storehouses to reequip, but he could not afford to encounter anyone before shelter could be found for Ivy long enough for him to recover. He set off.

  #

  Deacon glanced behind him nervously as he approached the crystal arena. Already the sound of angry cries and hurried footsteps revealed that his actions had been discovered. It was now or never. He stepped inside. The rosy light of dawn vanished as a magnificently starry sky opened overhead inside the arena. The stars bore little resemblance to what he was accustomed to. Azriel had a habit of conjuring up the sky that had been her nightly view in her homeland, rather than in this place.

  Azriel was the eldest wizard in Entwell. In truth, she was its founder. For hundreds of years, she had made her home in a section of the hidden city that was composed entirely of the very gems that wizards used to aid their casting. It made spells effortless, and spared her the ravages of time. The centuries had brought her unparalleled knowledge in mystic arts, and her role as the final test for any who wished to be called a master of the mystic arts made her not just a figure of respect, but of fear among the spellcasters of Entwell.

  In the distance, she reclined, gazing at the sky lazily, a book of spells open and resting in her lap. She had striking white hair, a tall, slender frame, and a black robe decorated with white flames that moved and flickered as though they truly burned.

  "Deacon," she said without looking. "Making trouble, are you?"

  "I . . . yes. But--please. The others will be here shortly. I request just a few moments from them while I explain," he said.

  She raised her head, intrigued. With an absentminded wave of her hand, all of the scenery slipped away, leaving only the two of them in a black void.

  "They shall not find us until I will it so. Tell me. What has motivated you to abandon our ways?" she said.

  "Myranda," he stated.

  "You will forgive me if I am not surprised," she said with a grin.

  "I have been watching her. Ever since she left this place," he said.

  "No small task." Azriel nodded. "But hardly an explanation."

  "She is Chosen! It is proven. I believe she has spoken with Oriech himself. And I have been studying the words of Hollow. The ones that I shamefully coaxed out of him in the absence of the others. I believe they speak of me. I believe I must help her," he said.

  "And how do you plan to do so?" she asked.

  He pulled a bundle of pages from his bag and shakily handed them to her. She spread her fingers and they arranged themselves before her as if on a desk. As she read, her expression became more serious.

  "You tread on dangerous ground, Deacon," she said.

  She continued reading.

  "Creative. Insightful. But incomplete. You propose some truly novel methods. Artful solutions to age-old problems, but it will not be enough. There are numerous assumptions of conditions that may never exist. This is impractical. It will not work," she said.

  He pulled out a final page. The words were hastily sketched, runes scratched out and rewritten. She looked it over, glancing again at the first pages. A look of contemplation came to her face.

  "You realize that this is not definitive. Even given a flawless application of the methods described, you merely make success a relative likelihood, not a certainty. You should continue your work. This has merit. It is brilliant, even revolutionary, but irresponsible. Given time, a tremendous breakthrough could result," she said.

  "I can't. I have violated the terms of my punishment to come this far. I will certainly not be given the right to continue for years," he said.

  "Then wait. A contribution of this magnitude is quite worth the wait. When you reveal what you have done here, you will have your name spoken in the same breath of some of our most revered visionaries," she said.

  "I don't have the time. The last images I saw of Myranda painted a very grim picture. I believe it may already be too late. But I must try. I can't do it alone. With the benefit of the arena, I may be able to find her regardless of her state of mind, and I may be able to cast the many parts of this spell, but I cannot do both. You are the only one, aside from me, with the knowledge of gray magic necessary to aid me," he pleaded.

  For a moment, Azriel was silent. She thought. When she spoke, her voice had a solemn tone.

  "If you do this, regardless of the outcome, it will be the last spell you cast in Entwell. Casting a spell in this form, untested, upon yourself, shows a disregard for our principles that cannot be forgiven. You will never again be permitted to practice the mystic arts. Remember your mentor," she warned. "Gilliam lost his life to an untested spell, and one far less dangerous than this."

  "I am willing to accept those consequences," he said without hesitation.

  "Very well, then. Let us waste no time," she said, the air tingling as she drew together the first of the procedures described.

  #

  Lain rode on. The column of smoke from the ruined fort was visible, even at this distance, and he was only just reaching the forest at the foot of the mountains. Much care had been sacrificed for the sake of speed. Fortunately, he had remained unseen. Though the weapons of the soldiers were of the poorest quality, the same could not be said of the horses provided to them. A horse was far more likely to survive a battle than its rider these days, and as such, generations of war had done little to weaken them. Wide hooves caught the snow well, and powerful lungs drew the frigid air with no ill effect. Even so, the steed was heavily burdened and badly fatigued. Lain slowed to a walk when the
trees were dense enough to make their discovery unlikely.

  There was not a single part of his body that didn't scream out for relief. He could not remember when he had last eaten. The gashes across his chest still seeped blood and burned increasingly. They would not heal well. Many bones were broken, many more nearly so. It was a condition he'd had to learn to endure before Myranda had come into his life. He would learn to endure it again now that she was dead. Her skills would be missed. She would be missed. His mind lingered on her briefly, but he shook the thoughts away. Distraction was something he could ill afford. Not now.

  He could not smell it, hear it, or see it, but something was wrong. It was a feeling he had come to trust. He was being watched.

  Time and distance did not diminish the sensation. A tingling in his spine. A dull flutter in the back of his mind. He was certain now. Slowly, he brought his horse to a halt. He needed silence. Eyes closed, he drew in the air. He could smell animals nearby, a spectrum of smells, but nothing threatening. Slowly, the feeling faded. The concern it caused only grew. Whoever it was who followed was near enough to know of the discovery, and skilled enough to remain hidden. There were precious few beings he knew to be capable of such a feat, and only one seemed likely.

  Now was not the time to call him out. For now he must continue.

  Shortly after he began riding, his ears twitched at a distant crack of thunder. In the south, that might have signaled a coming storm. Not here. Not this far north. He put it out of his mind. Whatever strange forces were at work, they were far behind him or not yet of his concern. The terrain was rocky now. A light but steady snowfall was beginning, whipped into a painful blast now and again by the constant wind from the mountain. He heard sound from inside his saddlebag. A whisper.

  "Lain?" came Ether's wavering voice.

  There was a strange quality to the voice, as though it came not from a mouth, but from thin air. Lain grunted a reply.

  "The beast. Did she survive our encounter?" she asked.

  "She did," he replied.

  "And I assume you are carting her worthless hide along with us," she said.

  Lain offered no reply.

  "I suspected as much," Ether said. "I have ruminated on the subject of your obsession with her. It is my observation that mortals, in their quest to perpetuate their species, are driven to find and protect each other. Love is the name of this affliction. Even those unburdened by mortality seem to fall prey to this phenomenon. It is necessary for their mental wellbeing. I am quite certain that you, to a mild degree, have allowed yourself to be infected with this disease of the mind. Its target is Ivy.

  "In the world of mortals, this quality may be seen as admirable, but it is a danger to our cause. You wish to be rid of her, and that is good, but your insistence on delivering her safely to the south is a delay at best and a threat at worst. She is a liability every moment that she is allowed to live, and while we cannot kill her ourselves, it is in our best interests, and in the best interests of this world, that we leave her to die."

  "If you suggest such a thing just once more, do not expect to see another sunrise," Lain warned.

  "It is as I suspected. Very well. While I believe that in time you might be cured of this affliction, time is not among our assets. We must, then, indulge your illness in a more helpful manner. If you must love someone, I shall permit you to substitute myself. You may thus find an outlet for your affections without endangering the purpose for which you were created," she said.

  "You suggest that I love you rather than Ivy," he replied.

  "Indeed. You have my permission. You may begin at once, if you wish," she said.

  Before Lain could react, a soft, weak laughter began to sound. It was Ivy. She began to stir.

  "You--" Giggle. "--you love him. You say all of this about emotions being bad, and you love him," Ivy slurred, trying to open her heavy eyelids.

  Lain halted the horse just in time for her to slide from the animal's back to the ground, tumbling to her seat. She continued chuckling softly.

  "Ouch. That's why you don't like me. He likes me better than you," she said, finally wrestling her eyes open.

  She looked around briefly, a puzzled look on her face.

  "Where is she? Is she the horse?" Ivy asked, struggling to her feet and immediately stumbling into the steed to catch her balance.

  "As though I would take the form of a beast of burden and carry you," Ether objected.

  "What the!" Ivy exclaimed, moving unsteadily to the saddlebag from whence the voice had come.

  When she beheld the contents, she began laughing uncontrollably. As she did, a pale yellow glow surrounded her. Lain felt a warm sensation in his twisted hand and gashed chest. He pulled aside some of the tattered cloth to see the wounds slowly closing. When her laughter stopped, so did the healing.

  "She's a pile of rocks!" she sighed, wiping a tear from her eye.

  "You did this to me!" Ether objected.

  "I did?" she said, snorting with contained laughter. "I'm . . . very . . . sorry. HAHAHA!"

  Again, Lain could feel his wounds healing. He didn't know what the D'karon had done to her, but apparently it was not limited to fear and anger. On the rare instance that a more positive emotion was felt intensely enough, it had beneficial effects. By the time the latest outburst subsided, Lain's chest was little more than sore, and his hand could move again.

  "Silence! Silence!" Ether commanded. "How dare you take joy in the betrayal of your fellow Chosen!"

  "I'm sorry. It's just that you are always talking about how you don't have emotions, and how you are better than us, and now you are helpless and in love!" she snickered.

  "Blast the human for letting herself die. At least she could get you under control!" Ether cried out.

  Instantly, anger roared up in Lain. How foolish could she be? Did she want to coax a more dangerous state of mind from Ivy? The creature stopped snickering, but did not seem angry.

  "Myranda's not dead," Ivy stated. She looked around, confused again. "Where is she?"

  "I've already told you," Ether replied.

  "No, she isn't dead. She was just here, I was just talking to her . . . where did she go?" Ivy asked again.

  "Stupid animal, you were dreaming," Ether said.

  "No! I barely ever dream, and when I do, it is always about music. Lain, where is she?" Ivy asked.

  "She was left behind, at the fort," Lain said solemnly.

  "You mean she went back to the fort, right? Because she was just here. Shouldn't we wait for her to catch up? How far is it?" Ivy asked.

  "We have to move on," Lain said.

  "Oh. All right. I'm sure she'll find us soon," Ivy said, climbing onto the horse's back behind Lain, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder.

  "So, how did I do that to her?" she asked as they continued on. "I don't remember it, so I must have been transformed. Was I angry or scared?"

  "Angry," Lain said.

  "You were bending to the will of--" Ether began.

  "Ether, do not say another word," Lain quietly ordered. "Ivy, we need to be silent."

  "Whatever you say," Ivy eagerly agreed. She turned to whisper mockingly to Ether, "You got yelled at."

  As they traveled further into the mountains, the horse's footing faltered more and more frequently. Soon they would have to leave it behind. As they rode, Ivy rummaged through the saddlebag that contained the provisions Lain had secured. She ate and offered to feed Lain as he guided the horse, but he declined. She even offered some food to Ether, who remained furiously silent. It was the first wise thing she had done in some time.

  Lain did not know how or why Ivy had come to believe that Myranda had survived, but he had to travel as far as he could while the delusion persisted. While she was happy, this journey was infinitely simpler.

  In order to avoid being seen, they had been traveling up the slope of the mountain in as direct a route as possible, avoiding roads entirely. The horse had b
een navigating ably, but now they had reached the point that would be more climbing than walking. Lain stowed the tip of his sword that had served as a splint and flexed his painful but functional hand. After transferring as much of the useful equipment as possible to their backs, the issue of Ether needed to be addressed.

  "Naturally I shall have to be carried until I have recovered sufficiently to assume a more mobile form," she stated.

  "Well, why are you still rocks anyway? Is it that hard to turn into something else?" Ivy asked. "At least try something lighter."

  "The merciless assault you unleashed upon me, coupled with the abundance of strength squandered to quell said assault and the consequences my mark levied upon me, has taken a considerable toll. I would prefer to remain as I am until my flame form can less riskily be assumed," Ether explained with exaggerated calmness.

  "Well, when I first met you, you were a squirrel. Why not do that again? Then you would be easier to carry, and you would be cute!" Ivy suggested.

  "I have no interest in doing anything that would bring you ease or enjoyment," Ether said.

  "Fine," Ivy huffed. "But this makes us even."

  "Hardly," Ether replied.

  Lain cut the bag free, Ivy slung it as comfortably as she could over her shoulders, and the group began to climb. At first, the going was slow, but Ivy learned quickly and soon the grace she had shown in the past began to appear here as well. Before long, they were scaling the face as quickly as one might a ladder. Alas, the long night quickly fell upon them, bringing with it the painfully frigid temperatures and heavier snowfall that Lain had hoped to beat. Climbing had been treacherous before. It was far more so now. Regardless, Ivy and Lain continued.

  Ivy's fingers were numb, but she continued without a word. This was all part of the test to her. Another way to prove to Lain that she didn't need to be hidden away from them. Another way to earn her right to stay with him--and with Myranda. Why did Ether think she was dead? She remembered her in the fort. Fire all around her. Lain said they had left her there, but that couldn't be. That was no dream. It was too real. She was there. She said not to worry, that she would follow. She wouldn't lie.