by Joseph Lallo
"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 myself 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 affect. 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 learned 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 that 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, 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 saddle bag. 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 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 ey
elids.
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 saddle bag 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. Alright. 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, turning 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 saddle bag that contained the provisions Lain had secured. She ate and offered to feed some to Lain as he guided the horse, but he declined. She even offered some 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 been 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? At least something lighter," Ivy asked.
"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.
Lain kept a careful eye on her at all times, mindful of any falter. Prior to his involvement in this, he seldom traveled with others. When Myranda became his constant companion, willing or unwilling, he had been forced to slow himself to accommodate her. He had never become accustomed to traveling with one who was so near a match of his abilities. Even when the fatigue began to show in her eyes, she did not slow. Even as the snow caked on her white fur and stung at her eyes, she kept pace. She was a testament to a dying race.
Before long the slope eased and the smell of burning firewood signaled their arrival on the outskirts of the town. The darkness and blowing snow concealed it from their sight, and more importantly, concealed them from the prying eyes of any of the residents. Thus concealed, the time had come to decide what was next. They each dropped their loads and crouched on the ground. Lain silently thought while Ivy sat, the tattered remains of her cloak pulled tightly about her.
"Why did we stop here?" she asked, shivering. "I smell a fire over there, and I don't smell any of the teachers. Maybe the people there would share their fire."
"The people will share nothing with us. Listen closely. Do not allow them to see you. Our kind is hated by the humans. They will do you harm as readily as any of the D'karon," Lain whispered.
"But why?" Ivy asked, quickly adopting a whisper as well.
"It is the way they have been taught. It is the way it has always been. It is the way they all are," he replied.
"Myranda doesn't hate us," she said.
"Myranda was different," he said. "Don't expect to find another like her for as long as you live."
"Myranda was blinded by duty, compassion, and naivety. She was that rare human who had true potential, but she lacked
the objectiveness to make the most of it. I am almost tempted to mourn her passing, if such an act were not utterly without purpose," Ether added.
Ivy shot an angry look at the source of the voice. Pulling open the bag from where she dropped it, she tipped it, spilling the contents.
"Oops," she said flatly.
The disembodied voice of Ether began to object, but Ivy interrupted as though she didn't notice.
"Then why did we come here?" Ivy whispered.
"There is a man here who may have the skill to repair my sword," Lain said.
"Is he human?" Ivy asked.
"He is," Lain replied.
"So he is going to hate you, then. How are you going to get him to help you?" she asked.
Lain was silent. He had yet to determine an answer. Amid the whistling of the constant wind, the pile of stones that had been rolled from the bag moved of their own accord, clattering and gathering together into a mass. Suddenly they shifted from solid stone to water, splashing to the snow below and seeping in, melting a good deal of it. Eventually the pool seemed to leap up, twisting itself into Ether's human shape before giving way to flesh and cloth. The whole of the event had a labored feel to it, as though she would have been better served by a few more hours of recuperation before attempting it. Ether cast a vaguely threatening look at Ivy, prompting her to flinch and raise her hands in defense from a presumed act of retribution.
"Give the weapon to me. I shall see that it is repaired," Ether said.
Lain considered the offer. Ether was not in the habit of being helpful. This was clearly an attempt to curry favor away from Ivy. The offer would have been a reasonable option, were Ether as capable of blending as well socially as she did physically, but such was not the case. Reluctantly, he retrieved the two pieces of the weapon. This would not be without its usefulness.
