by Joseph Lallo
"I will be sure to teach you that one. It tends to be rather handy," she said, leaping up and splashing down gracefully in the water.
Myn shook off the water and looked scornfully at the lake.
"Don't be too hard on her, Myn. She is just lonely. It makes people do strange things. I can vouch for that," Myranda said as she headed to the dining hall.
Deacon had apparently retired to continue his scribing, as he was not about. She enjoyed a meal, and headed to Lain. In keeping with the recent trend, he seemed to be fighting faster and harder than any day before. It was a struggle to keep up with him, and as his attacks landed more and more frequently, Myranda slowly began to treat their encounters as real battles. She found herself fighting not to learn, but to win.
There was a feeling. It wasn't fear, or anger, or hate. It was something deeper. It stirred her to swing harder and move faster. She felt it more strongly every time she landed a hit, and found herself longing for more when the training was done. At the end of the day, she retired to her bed, hardly aware of any blows she had taken. By morning, there would be no sign of a bruise, as that which Deacon had spoken of was beginning to happen. Her mind began to work at a healing spell instinctively after an attack, and continued to work in some small way even while she slept.
#
Trigorah stood in the throne room, her eyes scanning tapestries and portraits. Her elfish lineage had afforded her a very long life. She turned her eyes to the portrait of King Erdrick II. It was under his rule that she had begun her military career. He had blessed the creation of the Elites. He had even been the one to promote her to the level of general. He had been a great man. Trigorah had seen his son grow, and was present at the coronation. That was many years ago.
There were footsteps behind her. Trigorah turned, and swiftly dropped to one knee, head bowed.
"Your Imperial and Royal Majesty," she uttered.
"Rise, and dispense with the titles," the king replied wearily.
General Teloran stood. There was a time when it would have been unthinkable to be surprised by the appearance of a king. He should have been preceded by fanfare, by a royal procession. In the beginning, he was. Alas, as the years passed and the war marched on, the king had become less and less a leader. It was as though he shared the plight of his land. The decades of war had steadily drained them both of life and spirit. Now he was a withered husk of a man. When not attending to the affairs his people, King Erdrick III paced the halls of his nearly empty castle. His eyes had a faded, distant quality. The eyes of a man who had done things that could not be undone.
"Awaiting General Bagu, no doubt?" the king asked as he settled down into the throne.
"I am," the general replied.
The king nodded.
"He has this conflict firmly in hand, it would appear," he said.
"Not as firmly as he might, but surely you are aware," Trigorah answered.
"Bagu has not seen fit to involve me in his actions in some time. Even my seal and signature, which he had so meticulously seen applied to each order and dispatch, has not been requested in months," he explained. "It was my hope that perhaps his--"
The door to Bagu's chamber opened and his voice issued forth.
"General Teloran, step inside, please," Bagu requested.
"General, the king was speaking," Trigorah stated.
"Your Majesty, the matter is of great importance," said Bagu.
"Go. The war comes first. Always, the war comes first," the king said.
Trigorah reluctantly stepped through the door and closed it behind her. Bagu was seated at his desk. His normally calm and collected expression was tempered with the tiniest hint of impatience and concern.
"I must object to your behavior in the presence of the king," said Trigorah. She was in no position to issue a reprimand, but nonetheless her tone carried a sting.
"Noted. What news have you of the girl?" he demanded.
"She has not left the cave of the beast, but I am confident that she is still alive," Trigorah explained.
"What possible source can you have for such confidence?" Bagu asked.
"She has shown herself to be resourceful, intelligent, and resilient. Furthermore, the assassin is with her. If he wishes her to be alive, she shall be alive," Trigorah explained.
"Epidime has been unable to detect her. He has been known to track targets to their graves and beyond," Bagu reminded her.
"Epidime is skilled, there can be no arguing that. However, he is not infallible. With all due respect to him as a fellow general, he is blind of his own shortcomings," she replied.
"And the sword?" he asked.
"The Red Shadow would not have been so foolish as to bring it with him. He knows we seek him, as well as the girl and the sword. The scoundrel is wise enough not to place all of our targets such that they may be gathered in a single stroke," she reasoned. "No, he would have concealed it. That said, if he does not wish it found, it will not be found."
General Bagu steepled his fingers once more and pressed them to his lips.
"You found the assassin's go-between once. You shall find him again. When you do, you will secure the sword and bring it to me," he decreed. "I sincerely doubt that this Myranda still lives, but see to it that your men are vigilant. Important times are at hand and we cannot afford to be caught by surprise."
"General, if I may make a suggestion . . ." Trigorah attempted.
"You may not. You have your orders. If you wish ever to be returned to battlefront command, I suggest you follow them," he hissed.
"As you wish," she replied.
General Trigorah bit her tongue and pulled open the door of the office. As she marched through the throne room, she looked to the king one last time. The old man's gaze, a knowing look of defeat, caught hers briefly. Trigorah looked away. She had a task at hand. However difficult, however misguided, she had a job to do. It was her duty to succeed. And succeed she would.
#
The next day, Myranda awoke to her normal routine. Deacon, while having breakfast with her, was thrilled to hear that Calypso intended to involve him in the training. He raved for a time about what gray magics he could teach that would mesh perfectly with water magics. His enthusiasm was contagious, and by the time the two had set off for the lake, she was more excited about learning the things he had spoken of than the things Calypso had in mind.
Myn, however, felt differently. She was no fool, and when it became clear that they were headed back to that wretched lake, she leapt in front of them, spreading her wings to block their way.
"What is this all about?" Deacon asked.
"Ever since we had to make it through that waterfall, she hates the water. She is trying to protect me from it," Myranda said.
"Oh. Well, that is quite noble, if perhaps a bit misguided. You really have nothing to worry about. It can't hurt you if you don't let it," Deacon said, directing the final comments at the dragon.
"I think that is what she is trying to do. She won't let the water hurt me," Myranda said.
"Ah, yes. Well, let us just go visit Lain, then," Deacon offered with a strange tone and a wink.
The two walked toward Lain's hut. Myn followed for a few steps, but paused.
"Come on! Let's visit him. I promise, we won't even fight," Myranda said.
Myn looked questioningly at Myranda. The dragon then turned back to the spot at which they had been standing. She sniffed curiously.
"This way!" Deacon urged.
Myn lashed at the empty space with her tail. After the whip crack of it striking something, the veil of invisibility, as well as the pair of illusions, dropped away. Deacon was hopping painfully on one leg and Myranda was laughing.
"Clever little thing, aren't you. Practically any other animal would have followed the illusions. I suppose that I had best look into both covering our scent and producing a false one. I ought to thank you for illustrating a weakness in my methods," Deacon said.
With a bit of ef
fort, the trio managed to make it to the lake again. Myranda tried her best to convince Myn the water was safe.
"Permit me to demonstrate," Deacon said.
He waded out into the lake until he was waist-deep. Myn watched cautiously.
"There, you see? Nothing has happened!" he said.
"Myn, watch me. I promise you that nothing bad will happen. And when I am in the water and you can see that it is safe, you can come in, too. Then you will know that there is nothing to be afraid of, we won't have this problem anymore," Myranda said.
Myn, with the utmost of reluctance, stepped aside to let Myranda wade in beside Deacon. She stood, chilled a bit, but unharmed. When a few more moments passed with no ill effects, Myn began to edge closer to the water. She touched the surface and leapt back at the sudden cool feeling. After building courage again, she ventured back to the water's edge and dipped in a single foot. It had no sooner broken the surface than Myranda and Deacon suddenly jerked beneath the surface.
Myn sprang backward. When her friends didn't reappear, she panicked, finally taking to the air and gliding across the top of the water. She could see the two humans streaking along the bottom of the lake, being dragged by the mermaid from the day before. When the center of the lake had been reached the water creature touched her pendant and the pair of humans dropped to the lake floor.
"Why did you do that!?" Myranda scolded.
"Well, you were just standing in the water. There is only so much daylight, we've got to use every drop of it," Calypso said.
"But Myn was just starting to trust me that the water was safe. You may as well be a sea monster, pulling us under like that. I promised her that nothing would happen!" Myranda said.
"I think she knows nothing is wrong. Look," Calypso said, pointing up to the surface.
Myranda looked up. Through the rippling surface they could see Myn skimming just above, looking down longingly.
"Oh, drat. My potatoes," Deacon said, realizing too late that the pair he had brought along as anticipated rewards for good behavior floated to the surface.
Myn skillfully snatched them.
"You didn't earn those!" he cried after her.
"She'll get tired and land eventually. Now, before we get too deep into our studies, I think that we three are long overdue for a chat. Learning magic is a fine way to spend a day, but a good conversation is food for the soul. I find that after a spirited exchange, I am far more prepared to do my casting, and I think you will feel the same. So, where to begin? Have you any questions for me?" Calypso asked.
"Well, I had been wondering . . ." Myranda said, looking worriedly at Myn as she made another pass.
"Yes, what is it?" Calypso asked.
"How exactly did you get here? I know that the rest of you were either born here, or entered through the cave. You couldn't have," Myranda said.
"Oh, couldn't I? You are no doubt aware that the cave is mostly filled with water for the vast majority of the year. While it is draining, some of the water finds its way to the mouth of the cave in the form of a stream. Most filters through a honeycomb of tunnels and caverns that are full of water year 'round. At least one such cave connects with the ocean on the landward side of a very treacherous rock formation that runs nearly the entire coast.
"I was busy exploring said cave and I found my way up into the then-flooded main section. It didn't stay flooded long enough for me to find my way out again. As the water drained away, I was forced further and further along until I slipped into that smooth little bowl the waterfall has carved out. To my surprise, I was helped to this lovely little lake and here I have lived, quite happily, ever since. I can't say I don't miss the other merfolk, but I wouldn't trade all that I have learned and seen here for anything," she said.
"Really? Remarkable," Myranda said.
"Oh, but I always do the talking. I can hear my own voice anytime. Let's hear about you!" Calypso said.
Myranda proceeded to retell the story of her life for what seemed like the hundredth time since her arrival. Deacon continually reached for his book to find his notes on the subject. Even in the water, he kept it by his side, casting a half-dozen spells to protect it from any damage it might take for the time being. When the tale worked its way to her arrival, Deacon did more telling than she, so excited was he. It was just as well. Myranda could never manage to tell of her own accomplishments without feeling she was boasting. Deacon concluded with a very detailed account of the Hollow incident.
"Hollow. Quite a creepy fellow. Come here, Myranda. Let us see this mark of yours," the mermaid said.
Myranda showed the thin white scar that had begun this bizarre journey of hers.
"Ah. Yes. It is just as I had imagined it. Simple, elegant. The work of the spirits--or the gods. Tell me, Deacon, do we know yet what it means that this girl has the mark, but was not born with it?" she asked.
"There were a number of phrases we've been able to translate from Hollow's latest speech that seem to allude to it," Deacon said, flipping to a seemingly random page in the book. "Yes, right here. ‘A mark both fresh and faded belongs to the carpenter'; 'A label of white adorns that which will see each.' Things of that nature."
"I see; well, that certainly answers that." Calypso snorted. "Honestly. The spirits could be a bit more straightforward in their messages. If they truly wanted us to know what they were saying, they would say it more clearly. Well, regardless of what that mark means, we had best be sure you become what you are capable of. Let us begin the lesson," Calypso decided.
The routine that formed that day would prove to make the next two weeks the most pleasant since Myranda's arrival. Aside from having to practically plead with Myn for permission to enter the water each day, and the inevitable pranks that Calypso would play, she had a glorious time. In the early lessons, Deacon and Calypso were equally involved in teaching her--though, as the days progressed, Calypso allowed Deacon to do as he pleased, preferring to watch and offer comments where needed.
Each lesson would end at the water's edge, where Deacon would really shine. He taught her to levitate the water by filling it with her energy as she might slip her hand into a glove. As the time went on, she found that she could will the elevated water into simple shapes. Each day, of course, ended with her sessions with Lain, which continued to grow more challenging and frustrating with each fruitless battle, but even the sparring matches were not wholly unpleasant. They at least proved to her that she could hold her own with a gifted warrior--who, by this time, could not have been holding much back.
The end of the second week marked the beginning of the lessons that would have to be done entirely on the land, as she would be doing the reverse of what she'd done before. Instead of drawing air from the water, she would be drawing water from air. Myranda was having great trouble with it. Calypso sat on the shore, instructing Myranda and allowing Deacon to be her hands.
"I don't see why you don't give yourself a pair of legs for the time being. That is what you had done for all of your other students," Deacon said.
"Yes, but I feel this is easier. No, no. Myranda, that is not quite right. You need to hold the staff lower; the energy will flow more smoothly. Deacon, show her," Calypso said.
"She is right; it needs to be a bit lower, and your other hand a bit higher. You have to leave room for the ball of water to form. Later, you can twist the magic any way you wish, but right now you should be focusing on the spell, not the energy it takes to cast it," Deacon said.
"I can tell her. I asked you to show her," the mermaid said.
Deacon stood beside Myranda and guided her hands. He was fairly shaking as he touched her, taking his hands away quickly when her hands had reached the correct position.
"There, I, uh . . . that is approximately where they, uh, ought to be," he said, stumbling over his words and seeming slightly out of breath.
It was the first time since she'd met him that he had been anything but eloquent. A blush came to his cheeks. Myranda realized that she
was blushing a bit, too. Calypso noticed it and grinned. The girl tried the spell again, but found that she couldn't manage it. She was having trouble concentrating. The grin on the mermaid's face turned to a smile. She beckoned for Deacon. When he waded over to her, she whispered something into his ear.
"But why?" Deacon responded.
"Well, you agree, don't you?" she asked.
"Of course I agree, but I cannot imagine that she wouldn't already know," he said.
"Well, don't you think it would be best to be sure?" she asked.
"I suppose," he said, turning to Myranda. "Myranda, you are, um, very lovely."
Myranda could feel the warm blush fill her face.
"Thank you," she said.
"Oh, there is no need to thank me. I am merely speaking the truth. I frankly do not see why Calypso thought it needed to be said," he said.
The mermaid laughed.
"You know a great deal about a great many things, Deacon, but you still have a few things to learn. That is enough for today. There is plenty of time to get it right," she said.
"Oh, no! I had forgotten until this morning. We may not have the time we thought," Deacon said.
"Why wouldn't we?" Calypso asked.
"The full moon came on the first day of this month," he said.
"Did it!? I hadn't been paying attention. How exciting!" she said.
"What do you mean? What is this all about?" Myranda asked.
"There will be another moon before the month is out! A blue moon!" Calypso said.
Deacon answered Myranda's questioning look.
"I've spoken of it before. I must have. It is a night when mystic energies run higher than any other. Acts of magic impossible on any other day can be done when the moon reaches its peak on that night. It is a tradition that on such a night we attempt to summon a being described in detail by the prophecy. This being is born of the elements themselves, and it is most assuredly one of the Chosen, and represents the sole exception of our rule banning summoning. However, it will not arise unless the mystic power used to conjure it is influenced by the strength of another Chosen.