by Colt, K. J.
“It was four of those that I killed that day, because they had come to collect you for themselves. They had been sent out with the same orders as I. Had they brought the payment, I would have let them have you and the sword, but they were empty-handed and they had to die.”
“Wait, wait? Nearmen? You mean that there are creatures in the army that look human but aren’t?” she said.
Lain began to open his mouth.
“That wasn’t for you. I will not have you wasting one of my questions by answering that. Two more . . .” she scolded.
“Very well,” he said.
Myranda looked at Myn, who had finally begun to relax after the anxious battle.
“Tell me about her. She likes you, me, and no one else. Solomon tells me he is sure that you were present at her birth. What happened that day?” Myranda asked.
Lain sighed.
“When I saw the cloaks recapture you so soon after I released you, I realized I had underestimated the number of other agents that the Alliance Army had dispatched after you. If you were to remain my prize I would have to keep you on a shorter leash. I made certain that, once you left the Undermine headquarters, I did not let you out of my sight. It turned out to be a very good thing that I did, because you chose as shelter a dragon’s den. Even your nose could have told you that.
“I followed inside, and as fate would have it, a large male had been on the way. You panicked, so I knocked you unconscious, pulled you aside. If you had only kept your head and slipped out after the male had passed, you would have been safe. The dragons had no interest in you. After the female warded off the male, I remained near. The last remaining egg hatched, the creature inspected us, and deemed the two of us family,” he said.
Myranda’s head reeled. There was so much she had learned, and yet there was so much more to ask. What were those cloaks that had captured her? He had spoken of them so matter-of-factly, they must be as common as the nearmen that she had only just learned of. And exactly what was Lain? She didn’t know much about malthropes, but she knew that they didn’t live much longer than humans, and yet he had been active for over seventy years. There was only one question left . . .
“I will save my last question until next time. And I intend to earn more,” Myranda decided.
“As you wish. I must warn you though--thus far, I have been limiting myself. It will not be so simple next time,” he said.
“And I must warn you, Lain, I will not let this pass. You are Chosen, and I will see to it that you do your duty. I swear to it. From this day forward I am dedicating myself to the task,” she hissed. “You will take your place in destiny.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MYRANDA MARCHED OFF TO HER hut to retrieve her casting staff and begin her first day of training under Ayna, the wind mage. Her place of study was a breezy grove not far from where Solomon spent his time. She looked about, but could not locate the little sprite that had been taunting her so regularly.
“Hello?” Myranda called anxiously.
Myn sniffed at the air and seemed to indicate a particular tree. Myranda approached the tree and looked up into it. It had an odd rune carefully carved into it.
“Ayna?” she repeated.
The tiny, gossamer-winged creature fluttered down from the tree to eye-level with Myranda. She resembled a tiny, exquisitely beautiful woman in a shimmery, powder blue dress. Looking at her, it seemed as though she should be the sweetest, dearest creature alive, but the illusion was destroyed when she opened her mouth.
“In this world, we have a thing we call ‘the sun.’ It is a great ball of light, and when it is overhead we call it ‘daytime.’ ‘Daytime’ is when civilized creatures do their business!” she reprimanded in the most condescending manner possible.
The wind of the grove seemed to wax and wane with the fairy’s anger. It was quite gusty at the moment.
“I am sorry,” Myranda said.
“You certainly are. I want you here at dawn tomorrow. Just because you are showing an unusual amount of prowess for someone of your stunted species does not give you the right to disrupt my way of life,” she said.
“Ayna, enough!” came Deacon’s voice from behind.
“Oh, good heavens, another one. Do you things travel in packs?” Ayna raved.
“You know that she just got through with Solomon, and he likes to work at night,” Deacon said.
“That may be so, but I could hardly be confused for that beast. Now, if you two are through irritating me, I would like to get a bit more sleep before I begin passing on real wisdom,” Ayna said, whisking off before any more could be said.
“What can I say? Ayna excels at first impressions,” Deacon said.
“So I see. She is quite the little tyrant, isn’t she,” Myranda whispered.
“Yes, and with remarkably acute hearing,” Deacon said with a pained look on his face.
“That is true,” Ayna said, suddenly directly behind Myranda again. “I must say, I am surprised to hear such an infuriating statement come out of your mouth. Not for the stunning ignorance behind it. That much is to be expected. I frankly am surprised that you are able to form a complete sentence, particularly after your suicidal performance of Solomon’s test.”
“Oh, Ayna, excuse me, I--“ Myranda began.
“There is no excuse for you, and do not call me Ayna. I am Highest Master Ayna until I give you permission to call me otherwise. Now leave before you stick your foot further into your mouth,” she said.
Myranda walked slowly away, Deacon beside her.
“Tell me when we are far enough,” she mouthed silently.
They were nearly halfway to the meal hut before Deacon gave her the sign.
“What a monster!” she said.
“Don’t mind her. She assumes that you assume that she is inferior, so she constantly affirms the opposite,” he said.
“I wasn’t talking about Ayna,” Myranda said.
“Oh?” Deacon replied. “I’d heard that you and Lain had a rather eventful session today. What did you learn?” he asked.
“That my home kingdom’s army, which is composed at least partially of inhuman creatures of some sort, hired him, an assassin, to capture me for touching the sword and surviving,” she said.
“Well . . . that was . . . informative,” he said.
“What am I going to do now? I only awoke recently, and now I have to show up at dawn fully rested? I would never be able to sleep with all of this swirling about in my head even if I was tired,” she said.
“Well, I suppose you could cast a sleep spell on yourself,” he said.
“The only sleep I know is healing sleep,” she said.
“Oh, no. Never use a spell for a purpose other than it was explicitly intended. You said that you were a student of white wizardry. How is it that you do not know sleep?” he asked.
“I was taught with the explicit intention of being a field healer for a rebel group. I do not think that sleep had placed highly on their list of requirements,” she said.
“Well that is folly. In the repertoire of a pure white wizard, sleep is among the only spells that may be used to defend one’s self. It is also one of the simplest spells. Though, to be fair, it is far wiser to have it cast upon you rather than to cast it upon yourself, unless you have also learned how to delay the effects of a spell until it has been fully cast. Delay falls within my realm, by the way,” Deacon said.
“I would appreciate it if you would just put me to sleep,” she said.
Deacon agreed and the pair, as always joined by Myn, went to her hut.
“Before you do this . . . is there any way that you can . . . prevent a dream from happening?” she asked.
“I am not certain. Why?” he wondered.
“I have not been having very pleasant dreams. In fact I have come to dread them,” she said.
“How so?” he asked.
She quickly recounted the dreams of the dark field, the dreams of Lain’s treachery, and the dar
kness that spoke with her voice. All the while Deacon nodded with concern.
“I see. The dreams of Lain are understandable, but the others . . . they seem to have an almost prophetic quality to them. Were I you I would not wish to silence them. In times to come they could provide much-needed clues about . . . well . . . times to come,” he said.
“Well, if you really believe that, I suppose I can suffer through them,” she said.
“Oh, indeed I do,” he said. “And from now on, while we take our morning meal together, I would greatly appreciate it if you would tell me any dreams you may have.”
“As you wish,” she said.
Deacon held out his crystal and, with a few words, sent Myranda into a deep, pleasant sleep.
Perhaps as a favor, or perhaps as a coincidence, her dream that night was unusually muted. It was a clash of blurred images and muffled sounds, indistinct and incomprehensible. By the time she awoke the following morning, only one image had clearly revealed itself, but it alone was enough to leave her disturbed upon waking. It had been of a man, sitting solitary on a worn chair. His beard was long, with gray strands beginning to weave through it. The light that filtered over him was striped with shadows. His clothes were little more than rags. Everything about him radiated misery--save one powerful feature. His eyes, locked on some point in the distance, had a look of unbreakable resolve.
The man was her father. Having nearly escaped her dreams unscathed, the image was doubly shocking.
She took a moment to recover before grabbing her staff and heading out to Ayna’s training ground. Myn trotted happily along beside her and watched intently as the fairy fluttered about impatiently. Apparently, despite the fact that Myranda had skipped breakfast in order to assure she would arrive before the sun had even fully slipped over the horizon, this was still not quite early enough.
“Well, I am pleased to see that you are no longer nocturnal,” Ayna taunted. “I do hope you brought what little mind you have to spare, because I expect a lot out of you.”
“I hope I can meet your expectations,” Myranda said.
“Yes, well, you completed Solomon’s little test, which is usually the last one, so at least you have the strength to do what is required of you. Regardless, enough dillydally. Listen carefully. Elemental magics differ greatly in technique, so you will be as good as starting over to learn my ways,” she warned.
Myranda opened her mouth to give a response, but was swiftly admonished for it.
“When I want you to speak, I will order you to do so. Now, would you like to learn this through concentration, or incantation? Speak,” she said.
“Concentration,” Myranda said flatly.
“Oh, you mean you have forsaken your precious ‘magic words’? Surely you would rather chant them again and again like a sing-along. Oh, what fun it would be,” Ayna said with mock enthusiasm.
“Do not patronize me,” Myranda said sternly.
“Oh, my! Patronize! That is a big word, isn’t it? What else have you got rattling about in that head of yours? Not much, I imagine. But I digress. Close your eyes and focus,” she said.
“I don’t need to--“ Myranda began.
“I will tell you what you need to do. Close your eyes and focus!” she demanded.
Myranda did so.
“Clear your mind of all but my voice. Nothing else exists,” she said.
Normally she would have been able to enter the appropriate state of mind nearly instantly, but her infuriating new trainer had clogged her mind with anger that had to be coaxed away. Even so, it still was not long before she was ready. As though Ayna could feel her serenity, she began to speak.
“That is adequate. Now listen closely. I want you to focus on your skin. Feel the wind. Feel how it passes over you. Raise your hand,” she instructed.
Myranda did so.
“Notice how, at your merest thought, your hand moves. Notice, too, how the air moves about it. Focus wholly on the air as it swirls and whirls. Always moving. There is an energy in it, just as there is an energy in fire. Sense the energy,” she said. “Keep the flowing wind at the front of your mind. Remember how you moved your hand. You simply willed it forward. Exert that same will again, but let it slowly slip from your body. Let it flow forth into the shifting air. Mix your strength with that of the breeze. It is little more than an extension of your body. Another limb. Add more energy. Give the air more strength.”
The hypnotic tone of Ayna’s voice slipped easily into Myranda’s mind. Whereas just days ago she had passed a test infinitely more grueling than this, she found herself straining slightly. It was not like learning again from the beginning, but it was measurably more taxing to her than fire had become. Already she could feel the fatigue. What’s more, the trance she was in was not nearly as sound.
In the closing days of her fire training, she could conjure and control a flame with her eyes open and mostly aware. Now even the minor distractions of having to listen with her ears and feel with her skin were threatening to break her focus. The steadily increasing breeze was, at least, more appreciable than the minor warmth that had evidenced her fire skill in the first days. That, too, was revealed to be a curse. As the wind increased, she became both more excited about her success and more distracted by the sensation of it dancing over her skin. The stiff breeze she had managed began to waver until finally the hard fought battle with concentration was lost and the world came flooding back into her mind.
“Oh, come now. You must have discipline. You nearly had it,” Ayna said with a swiftly vanishing look of admiration.
“I . . . I did it,” Myranda said.
“Well, in the same sense that tripping over your own feet can be called taking a step forward. Still, it would seem that vacant head of yours is quite susceptible to concentration. It stands to reason, though. You never need to clear your mind,” Ayna jabbed.
Myranda stood silent. Solomon very seldom gave any critique, good or bad. As a result, what little words of encouragement he did give were truly meaningful. Ayna, it would seem, felt almost obligated to qualify any compliment by hiding it in an insult.
“Don’t just stand there slack-jawed. You have got a long way to go,” Ayna said.
Myranda complied. This time her anger slowed the trance even further. Over the course of nearly an hour, she cast enough of her will into the air around her to match her previous achievement.
“That will do; now, open your eyes and I will show you where to direct it,” Ayna instructed.
Myranda slowly opened her eyes, but she had not attained firm enough a grasp of this new magic to permit her mind to withstand this distraction. The wind instantly subsided. The strain of flexing this new mystic muscle suddenly became apparent, as an intense dizziness took the place of focus. She stumbled forward, failing to catch herself on with her staff and dropping to the ground.
“Endurance, girl, endurance. What good does it do to take your first steps so quickly if you stop before you get anywhere?” Ayna said with frustration.
“I am sorry. Let me . . . try again,” Myranda said, struggling to her feet.
“No, go. It is obvious we will not get any further today. Just be sure to be better prepared next time. Make sure you rest. I will not be so patient tomorrow,” Ayna warned.
As Myranda shuffled wearily away, Ayna fluttered back to her tree, twittering in her native language. Myranda had only found a handful of people in this place who shared the language, and she had learned little of it in the month she had resided here. She did know enough, though, to know that her tone was one of quiet awe. Regardless of what Ayna may have said, she was amazed.
It was still quite early in the day, but the effort had left her with the odd, deep weariness she had come to know so well. She longed for sleep, but knew that it simply would not come until her body became tired as well. After a long overdue breakfast, she made her way to Deacon’s hut. The door was open and she could see that he was at work scribing this spell or that from his volumino
us knowledge. When he noticed her in the doorway, a smile came to his face and he welcomed her inside.
“I am so sorry. I had meant to meet you,” he said, glancing at the position of the sun as he helped her to a second seat that had not been present during her last visit. “But I didn’t think that you would have been through so soon. So, how was your first day under the tutelage of Ayna?”
“I did what she said. I managed to get the air moving, but I couldn’t keep it up for very long. I don’t know what was wrong,” she said.
“How many times did you try?” he asked.
“Twice,” she said.
“You managed results after only two tries and you are asking what is wrong?” he said in disbelief.
“Actually, I managed after only one,” she said.
“I assure you. You have nothing to worry about,” he said, fetching a volume from one of the shelves.
It had an old-looking brown cover bearing the same rune that had been on Ayna’s tree. He leafed through the book until he found the page he sought.
“I borrowed this book from the library on the hunch that you might feel this way. When Ayna was teaching novices, which you technically are in her discipline, she did not have a single student who could manage even the slightest breath of wind for the first three weeks. You are a gifted student,” he said, closing the book and returning to his seat before another book in which he continued writing.
“But she is so insulting. She said that I had an empty head and--“ Myranda began.
“It is just her way. I have said it before. Just ignore it,” he said. “Her greatest virtue is that she is the finest expert in wind magic that we have. Her greatest fault is that she knows it.”
Myranda sat with a dazed look on her face.
“Are you quite all right?” Deacon asked as he returned to his seat.
“Just a bit dizzy,” she said.
“A few minutes of meditation will take the edge off of that,” he said.
