by Colt, K. J.
“Forceful?” Myranda asked.
“Yes. He is far stronger of body and mind than he may appear. As a result, when demonstrating something, he may do it far more roughly or powerfully than is necessary. Solomon teaches very seldom, so he has difficulty familiarizing himself with the fragility of his student. You may think that he is angry with you, but I assure you, you will not see him angry. He is merely subjecting you to something that, from his point of view, is quite mild,” Deacon said.
“I must say, I do not find that very comforting,” she said.
“I assure you, there is no cause for concern. He has never killed or injured anyone. I have known him all of my life and count him among my closest friends. He is like a father to me,” he said.
“What will be expected of me?” she asked.
“I am not certain. You are technically a beginner, so you should be expected only to perform concentration drills. However, since you are being skipped to the expert level, you may be given the instruction intended for the more experienced. In that case, you would be tested for endurance, and given more complex spells. At any rate, you can be certain that he will teach you to conjure flame, control its size, and dictate its behavior,” Deacon explained. “I am quite eager to see how he will handle the process, however.”
“I thought you said you have been through all of this before!” she exclaimed.
“I have, but I had to work my way up. Usually a student is already well-versed in a magic by the time they come under the tutelage of the Masters. As a result, all that remains for the Masters to do is survey the skills of the student and administer some sort of test to see that some minimum level of mastery has been met. Then, when the other Masters have done likewise, the student may return to specialize his or her training. Most of us spend only a few days with each Master,” he said.
“Is fire magic difficult?” she asked.
“It is one of the more taxing disciplines. Generally, the training is saved until a student has built up more substantial reserves by practicing less energy-intensive magics, like wind,” he said.
“So wind magic is easier than fire?” Myranda surmised.
“Officially, all of the elemental magics are equal. Frankly, though, one may come to a rather respectable level of mastery in the art of wind in half of the time it would take to do so in the others,” Deacon said, glancing nervously about. “But do not tell Ayna I said that.”
“What about her? Is she a good teacher?” Myranda asked.
“Highest Master,” he said.
“Excuse me?” Myranda said, unsure of the reason she had been corrected.
“She will require you to refer to her as Master at least, but almost certainly Highest Master. Never teacher. After the years she spent climbing the ladder, she wants to be sure no one forgets it. As for her teaching skill . . . it has been adequate for the lower levels. At least, as long as you behave yourself,” Deacon said.
“Behave myself?” Myranda questioned.
“She is quite the opposite of Solomon. Extraordinarily impatient and enormously temperamental. Dare I say that her only redeeming value is her utterly comprehensive knowledge of her chosen art? She has attained a level of intensity and dexterity that previously existed only in theory. I have seen her untie and retie a knot with the force of air alone. Astounding. And the utter power! The woman can bore a hole through an arm’s length of stone with wind!” he said.
“That sort of power in the hands of someone with a short temper is not the most comforting thought either,” Myranda said.
“Well, the first thing you are supposed to learn as a wizard is self-control. It is perhaps the only lesson Ayna did not excel at. Not to worry, she hasn’t caused anyone any grievous harm in years,” Deacon said.
“But she has hurt someone,” Myranda said.
“Not exactly. She was learning some of her more advanced lessons alongside a gentleman by the name of Henrik. It was clear that the teacher was fonder of he than she. That teacher, a woman by the name of Zeln, later said that she found him to be more respectful, and that was why she favored him. Regardless, Ayna challenged him to a duel. They are rare, but not unheard of, and we have procedures regarding them.
“In a wind duel, the purpose is to stay planted on the ground while you attempt to raise your opponent by wind alone. As Ayna is a fairy and not typically a creature of the ground, the rules were bent to instead say that the winner is the one who lifted the opponent highest. Ayna won, but apparently wanted there to be no doubt in anyone’s mind. She lifted him until he disappeared in the clouds, then released him. He managed to bring himself to the ground safely, but the sheer force of the wind that lifted him had torn his clothes off and . . . plucked away every last hair of his body,” he recalled.
Myranda chuckled.
“Excellent. Your spirits are rising,” he said.
“What about Cresh?” Myranda asked.
“He is less volatile, but no less infuriating. Whereas Ayna will launch into a tantrum essentially on a whim, Cresh requires a much more specific stimulus. He is passionate in his art to the point of obsession, a trait shared by most of the other wizards here. In his case, he fairly explodes with fury at even a perceived attack on the relevance of his discipline. You may even insult him personally, but if you speak ill of his art, you had best quickly make amends,” Deacon said. “And, before you ask, that little display in the village center earlier is about as far as he ever goes outside of idle threat, and he has yet to hurt anyone.”
“Well, that is a relief. And what about water, the only Master I have yet to encounter?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. Calypso. No worries there. Cally is as easygoing as you please. Lighthearted, clever, funny. You’ll love her. Her only fault may be that she can be a bit too playful sometimes. She lives down at the lake,” he said.
“She sounds nice. I wish I was taking her bit first,” Myranda said.
“They are all a treat when you get to know them. I expect that you will be great friends,” Deacon said.
“I notice that you don’t seem to be on the list of teachers,” Myranda said.
“Well, as Cresh was kind enough to point out, I am not a required portion of the curriculum. White and black magics are, but the elementals have seen to it that they come first, and you can reach a fairly high level of mastery on their teachings alone. If I am to be included, it must be by your choice, and I am quite sure your plate is full,” he said.
“There may be room for a bit more,” Myranda said.
“What do you mean? You wish to learn the gray arts?” he said, cautiously optimistic.
“Since I arrived, I have only met a handful of people willing to speak Northern, and only you have done so without expecting anything from me,” she said.
“I don’t want you to do this for me,” he said.
“Believe me, I have only the most selfish of reasons at heart,” she said with a grin.
“This is wonderful. This is exceptional! My first student. There is so much to do! I have to prepare a lesson plan, I have to create trials,” he said, rising quickly from his seat. “It is such a wide area, I . . . I don’t know where to begin!”
He fumbled through his bag with one hand and felt at his ear with the other.
“Where is my book? Where is my stylus? What a time to lose them!” he said, fairly in a tizzy.
“They are on the desk,” she said, amused at the stir she had caused.
“Yes, of course, of course, and at work, too. Blast it, I knew I should have made two of those,” he said.
“I think you are the one who needs to calm down now,” Myranda said.
“Oh, I can’t! Not now, not now! This is momentous! This is important!” he said. “Finally an apprentice!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE TIME PASSED QUICKLY AS Deacon raved about what sort of things he had in store. There was something about his sudden enthusiasm that betrayed similarities between he and Myranda. It was clear that
he had been every bit an outsider in his own way as she had been in the outside world. Finally finding someone willing to share time with him seemed to be more than he could handle. The longer they spoke, the clearer it became how deeply involved he was with his studies. As they spoke, they laughed more and more. It was even enough to convince Myn to lower her guard, though she made her presence known whenever he took a step too near to Myranda.
All too soon, the sun disappeared from the sky. It was time. Deacon led Myranda to a hut near the cliffside, Myn in tow. Unlike the others, which were mostly wood, this hut was entirely constructed of stone. Solomon emerged from within. As he did, others began to appear, most notably Ayna. They formed a wide circle around the scorched ground in front of the hut that could only be the training ground.
“Why are these people here?” Myranda asked Deacon.
“To observe,” he answered. “As I have said numerous times, this is a first. In Entwell, anything out of the ordinary is of great interest to us.”
“Ignore them. Sit, and concentrate,” Solomon instructed.
Myranda took a seat on the ground. Myn mistook this for a sign that it was time to praise her, and fairly climbed atop her. A few “words” from Solomon caused her to grudgingly move to the side.
“What are the words?” Myranda asked.
“Words?” Solomon replied.
“I need to know the words of the spell before I can concentrate on it,” she said.
A murmur swept through the group of observers. Deacon covered his face with his hand and shook his head quietly. Ayna was less subtle. She laughed an obnoxious, piercing laugh.
“Incantations! The girl only knows incantations!” she said breathlessly.
As calm as always, Solomon explained their reaction.
“Once a student has moved beyond the level of beginner, incantations are rarely used,” he said.
“They are the work of children and fools!” Ayna chimed in.
“What else can I do?” she asked.
“Concentrate and I will guide you,” the dragon said.
Myranda clutched the locket about her neck. It had mercifully not been lost during her plunge into the icy water. She had only just closed her eyes when Solomon’s powerful voice asked her to stop.
“Let me see that,” he said.
He had not changed his tone at all, but for some reason the merest request from this creature was like a firm demand from any other. He approached and put two of his finger-like claws behind the crystal, inspecting it closely. Suddenly, he pulled it away. The motion was smooth and steady, but was more than enough to snap the chain that had held it so firmly. Myranda put her hand to her neck and rubbed the welt that the move had caused.
“Terrible,” the dragon stated. “Utterly unrefined. You will work without it today. When you are through here, have a new one made.”
He tossed the gem away. Before it reached the ground, an unnatural breeze caught it up and carried it to be viewed by the ever critical Ayna.
“Murky as a swamp! Is this what passes for a focus crystal out there these days?” she said, mockingly.
The dragon sat on his haunches and raised one hand-like paw. A small flame sparked into existence below it.
“Turn your mind to the flame,” he said.
Myranda set her eyes on the flickering form. Slowly, the world pulled away, and the yellow-orange shape filled her mind. She gathered her entire consciousness about the flame, her mind shifting and turning with the slightest motion of the fire. Time was meaningless in such a trance; hours and seconds were interchangeable. Suddenly, the voice of Solomon broke through.
“The fire is like a living thing. Once it is born, it requires only food and breath to grow and multiply. It constantly hungers. Can you feel it?” the powerful voice spoke.
Her instructor’s words were far too clear and distinct to have come from the outside world. It was as though he had willed his voice into her mind and mingled it with her thoughts. She pored over the fire with her mind and slowly became aware of a constant and steady draw. The hunger he spoke of.
“Yes,” Myranda said, the effort of doing so nearly breaking the concentration.
“Feed it,” his voice replied.
At first, Myranda was at a loss. Feed it what? Fire needed wood or oil, something to burn. She had nothing. It mystified her that this flame could even exist, floating in mid-air. What did he mean?
“Feel the heat,” the dragon instructed.
Slowly, Myranda became aware of a dull feeling of warmth filtering into her mind from the outside.
“Now feel beyond the heat. Feel it with your mind,” he said.
Myranda probed further. After an eternity, she finally found it. The feeling came like a torrent. It was the energy of the fire. Not the temperature or the light, something deeper than that. Something fundamental. The essence of the fire. Feeling it now was like opening her eyes for the first time. It was a new sense, one she would later find was the basis for all of the magic she would be taught.
“Just as the fire has an energy, so does your spirit. Look inside yourself. Feel your energy. Control it,” he said.
Myranda turned her focus inward slightly, searching for the same sort of power that she felt in the flame. Gradually, she became aware of an energy within. It wasn’t the same feeling as the fire, but it was similar. Controlling the strange power was a challenge. If feeling the essence was like using a new sense for the first time, controlling it was like using a new limb.
Myranda did not know where to begin. Every minor attempt she made to influence it resulted in an almost random shifting and changing of the power. It was like trying to learn to wiggle her ears. She knew what she wanted to do, but she simply could not manage to do it. Repeated failed attempts were only beginning to give her a sense of the nature of her control over this energy when Solomon’s voice broke through for a final time.
“That will be all for today,” he said.
Myranda brought herself out of the trance. The first rays of dawn were painting the sky orange. Of the crowd that had been watching her, only Deacon remained. He was mid-yawn, book in hand, as always. Myn was sleeping beside her. The night of strong thought had taken its toll. She was feeling the bizarre lack of will that had always followed her practice sessions with Wolloff, but to a far greater degree. Her body was affected by the hours of sitting motionless in the cold of night as well. Both of her legs were asleep and her back was agonizingly sore.
“We will continue tonight. I expect you to be fully rested,” Solomon said. “In the meantime, I would like to take Myn to be fed, but she will follow more willingly if you join her.”
Myranda tried unsuccessfully to get to her feet, discovering in the process that her left hand was extremely tender for some reason. Deacon approached to help her, but Myn snapped into wakefulness and kept him at bay. Myranda leaned heavily on the dragon to stand. It soon became clear that the dragon would not be able to keep her standing alone, and reluctantly Deacon’s aid was accepted.
“I have never been so tired,” Myranda said.
“Well, this style of magic is a bit more taxing on the mind. Also, you were not using a crystal. Tomorrow we will give you a training one,” he said.
“Why does my hand hurt?” she asked, casting her blurred vision to her hand. It was red and irritated.
“I had warned you about that. When Solomon asked you to feel the fire, he placed your hand a bit closer than he ought to have. Your trance was strong enough to overlook the pain. That is admirable,” he said.
“In the three months that I have been at this, I have never felt so--“ Myranda began, only to be cut off by an excited Deacon.
“Three months!” he interjected.
“Yes, I had told you I had only had a bit of white magic training,” she said.
“Around here ‘a bit of training’ is two years, minimum. You have demonstrated a depth and quality of concentration vastly disproportionate to your level of training,”
he said, rummaging through his bag to retrieve his book. He hastily scribbled something down in it as he repeated his last words incredulously.
“Have I?” Myranda said. In her current state of mind, the act of forming a sentence was an incredible effort. Comprehension was impossible.
“I will meet you at the arena. Just follow Solomon,” he said as he rushed off toward his hut.
With the support of Deacon’s arm so suddenly gone, Myranda nearly tumbled to the ground. Thankfully, Myn rushed to the faltering side to shore her up.
The pair made their way unsteadily to a bizarre sight. There was an enormous circle of crystal on the ground, perhaps one hundred paces across. At three points along the edge, there were spires of the same crystal, each elegantly carved from bottom to top with various runes and symbols. The crystal was clear as water, perhaps with a tint of blue. Solomon was waiting at the edge.
In a few inaudible words of his language, he summoned Myn, who would only leave Myranda’s side when the wavering girl had taken a seat on the ground. Then the two dragons stepped onto the crystal surface and swiftly vanished. Myranda struggled to decide whether what she had seen had actually happened, or if her ailing mind was playing tricks with her eyes. She was still working at it when Deacon carefully sat beside her, holding a steaming cup in his hands.
“Drink this,” he said as he handed her the cup.
Myranda took the cup and carefully put it to her lips. The flavor was powerfully bitter, though after the long, cool night the warmth felt good going down. Almost immediately, she felt her mind clearing. It was as though a fog in her mind was being lifted. A few more sips and she felt almost herself again.
“This is incredible. What is it?” she asked him.
“A special tea made from the leaves of a plant that bears seed only during a full moon,” he said as he opened his book and flipped to a blank page.
“I feel as though I could endure another night of training,” she said.
“You may feel that way, but the tea only restores your mind, not your mana. Your spirit is still spent. To restore that, you would need the seeds of the plant, or more so its dew,” he said, carefully adding a heading to the page that prominently bore Myranda’s name.
