Chapter 21
Myranda lay, propped up against the tree, her mind anything but at rest. The events of her life rushed by again and again, accompanied by whispered thoughts and regrets. The flood of images and voices was disorienting and indistinct. All of the voices were distant, slurred, mumbled. All of the images were vague and fleeting. There was a feeling of tumbling, of falling, as though her mind's breaking point had been reached, the dam had given way, and all that she was had begun rushing out.
Suddenly, a single, sharp, clear voice cut through the rest.
"Open your eyes, Myranda," the voice said.
In an instant, the other voices were silent, the images gone, dispelled by the man's voice. She did as she was asked. The pain in her shoulder was gone, the cold was gone, the fatigue was gone. The grove of trees seemed subdued, bathed in a weak, pale blue light. Everything was still; not the slightest flutter of wind stirred the leaves of the one tree that still bore them. Around her, she saw her companions--Ivy beside her, Lain in front of her, and Ether's fiery form in front of him. All were unmoving, even the tendrils of flame were motionless, frozen. She stood. There was a man before her. She knew him. He had sparse white hair, plain black clothes, and his eyes were closed.
"You . . . you are the priest," she said.
"That is how you knew me, yes," he said.
"Am I . . . dead?" she asked.
"You aren't alive, but neither are you dead. In a sense, you have been pulled aside," he said.
"Why? How? Why are you here?" she asked.
"All valid questions. Part of why I am here is to answer them," he said. "There are important things happening, Myranda. A crossroads has been reached, and the next few steps are of the direst importance. I cannot tell you which steps to make, nor what is to come, but I can tell you what you need to know to make these next steps wisely."
"I don't understand. Why now? Why me? Why you?" she asked.
"Sit," he said, indicating a log to his left. She did, and he joined her.
"Let me begin by saying that I am not simply a holy man stirred to anger by your pacifistic tendencies. That was merely a role I deemed likely to lead you in the correct direction. My true name--or, at least, the one by which I am most frequently known--is Oriech," he said.
"If you aren't a priest, then what are you?" she asked.
"A difficult question to answer. I suppose the simplest description of my place in this world is the hand of fate. For the most part, the course of history is left to its own devices. On occasion, there is an imperative, something that must be done to ensure the course stays true. I am charged with assuring such events," he said.
"You mean the prophecy," she said.
He sighed.
"To a certain degree, it can be viewed that way, yes," he reluctantly agreed.
"But that doesn't make any sense. You didn't help me. You didn't lead me! You forced me back out into the cold when I first met you," she said.
"And I told you to go to Bydell, where you met Lain. It isn't much, I know, but it had to occur at that time, in that way, or other more important things could not have been possible. I have done the same for each of the Chosen. Lain knew me as an old man named Ben. Others knew me by other names. Had I done my job better, this meeting might not have been necessary, but as it stands, things are not precisely as they should have been. There are things you believe that are not so, and things you need to know which you do not. Now is the time to rectify that," he said.
"So you can answer all of my questions," she said.
"No, not all. I am here merely to inform you of that which you already know, and which you would have known had the path not shifted," he said.
"Why? Why now?" she asked.
"The point of no return has been reached. The names of the Chosen have been written in stone. The Great Convergence has occurred," he said.
"What? No! How can that be? We have only found three," she said.
"I count four," he said.
"Lain, Ether, and Ivy," she said.
"And you," he added.
The words made Myranda's heart leap into her throat.
"It can't be! I can't be Chosen!" she said frantically.
"You are pure of soul--" he began.
"But I am not divine of birth. My mother and father were human. They were mortal," she remarked.
"You needn't be born of a god to be divine of birth. Your existence in this world must simply be the work of the direct will of the divine," he clarified.
"Then how? How am I the work of the divine?" she asked.
"I am not certain you truly wish to know that answer. It is not as . . . inspiring as one might hope," he warned.
"Tell me," she demanded.
He sighed again.
"The gods are many things. They are mighty, they are wise, and, above all, they are anxious for change. As such, they take great interest in the lives of mortals. One day, your mother and father became of particular interest to two of them. You see, the two gods question were in disagreement over whether love was a thing of the body or a thing of the mind. A wager had been made about it, and when it became clear that despite the duties of a soldier keeping them apart, your parents remained in love, rather than lose the wager, the more unscrupulous of the divine ones . . . tipped the scales in his favor. I cannot be specific and remain discreet, but suffice to say the physical aspect of the emotion in question was made firmly obvious upon your father's next visit. Nine months later, you were born."
"I was born because one of the powers that be cheated on a wager?" she said in disbelief.
"In a manner of speaking," he said apologetically. "It was for that reason that the possibility of your taking the place of a fallen Chosen was never given any consideration until recently. The divine circumstances of your birth were concealed even from the other gods, lest the treachery be known."
Myranda shook the absurd thought from her mind.
"I was not born with the mark," she said, holding up her scarred left palm.
In place of the thin white curve and point that had been left by the sting of the sword all those months ago, there was a black, distinct mark. A birthmark.
"The mark is not an aspect of the body. It is an aspect of the soul. It becomes visible at the moment of the quickening, the moment that you are selected. For most of the Chosen, that moment is their birth. In your case, it was the moment you touched the hilt of the sword.
"You see, the swordsman you found that day was to be one of the Chosen. His name was Rasa. When he was struck down, his spirit lingered within the sword. When you touched it, your soul was bared to him. Your worth was made clear to him. He chose you to take his place. And so the quickening occurred. For others, it might have occurred differently. Perhaps silently, perhaps with a drastic change of mind and body," he explained.
"But . . . even if I am Chosen, that still only makes four. The five of us need to be together in the same place, don't we?" she asked.
"That is one of the many misapprehensions you have been laboring under. There is more to the Great Convergence than five specific beings being within an arbitrary radius of each other at the same moment in time. More than anything, it is a moment of decision. Yes, you have met the final Chosen One, but just because that being is not present does not mean the decision couldn't be made. What you do correctly comprehend is the consequence of the Great Convergence. From this point forward, there can be no substitutions. If there is a fatality or a betrayal, there shall arise no one to take their place. It is of crucial importance that the integrity of the team be maintained. Every day another path to victory is closed forever. All five of you have a role to fulfill," he said.
"Who is the final Chosen One?" she asked.
"I cannot tell you," he said.
"Why not?" Myranda objected.
"Listen. This is a test of the worth of your people and of your world. The Chosen did not have to exist. Another foolish belief you have is that the Chosen were put here t
o guarantee success. That is simply not so. You were created to make success a possibility. You represent the bare minimum that is needed to fend off this threat," he said.
"Why would the gods test us against each other? What can possibly be proved by letting us fight one another? By making it harder for us to end this war?" she demanded.
"Therein lies your most dangerous misguided belief. The war is not the reason the Chosen were created. The war is merely a symptom of the disease. I ask you again to think of the actions of Ether. Her concern rests solely upon the destruction of the D'karon. That is the true purpose of the Chosen. That is why you were brought together.
"You are being tested against the D'karon. They are products of other gods. They are not of this world. They are not of this plane of existence. The war is a weapon in their arsenal, a brilliant tactic. They have kept us fighting against ourselves, doing their work for them. The gods could not care less about a war between men, or any other of their creations. It is merely sibling rivalry. With the D'karon, it is another thing altogether.
"You and all of the people of our world become pieces on a game board. Existence is a privilege. I exist only to keep the playing field level. I am forbidden from holding your hand through this. If we cannot defend this world through our own merit, we have no right to it," he explained.
Myranda struggled to accept what she had been told. Ending the war had been the most important thing to her. It had seemed like the most important thing in the world. Now that she knew the truth, the meaning it had carried before seemed insignificant. It was impossible to comprehend it all at once.
"I am sorry this had to be placed on your shoulders. This burden was not meant for you, but I want you to know that you have risen to the challenge better than any of us could have hoped," he said.
She shook her head slowly.
"How can you say that? I have been near death so often. I have been captured again and again. I couldn't even save the life of Myn! How can I be one of the Chosen?" she cried.
"Know this. The spark of the divine is in you. Your every act is an extension of divine will. Remember that. It is nearly time for you to turn back to your task. If you have any more questions, I shall answer those that I can. Remember, I am not permitted to answer any question that may distract you from your task," he offered.
"What happened to the others? The other Chosen?" she asked.
"Lain and Ether are as they were created, and you know what happened to Rasa. The others wound up in the hands of the D'karon. Their fate is best left unspoken," he said.
"There are so many parts to the prophecy . . . I have even heard that five must enter the final battle . . . but only four will leave. Is that true? Is one of the Chosen doomed to die if we are to succeed?" she asked.
"The prophecy . . . let me tell you something about prophecy, Myranda. We do not have a plan for each and every person. You shape your own lives. I and those like me do not seek to preserve a path we have selected for you. You have selected your own path. All we do is ensure that the way forward is clear. When a prophet looks ahead or questions the spirits and speaks of a tragedy you must avert, or a mistake you must avoid, you must remember that it was your decisions that led you to that point. To trust him is to distrust yourself, to second guess yourself before you've even had a chance to guess. Live your life now. The future will come regardless," he said.
"You didn't answer my question," she said.
"The future is not for you to know," he said.
"Then what of the past. My father . . . how did he die, when did he die?" she asked.
"I can tell you of the past. I can tell you the present. I cannot tell you that. No decision you make from this day forward is without consequence. Today you made a choice that wove a new thread," he said.
The very moment the words left his mouth, the stillness around her seemed to waver, a breath of cold could be felt, and a twinge of the pain of her shoulder reappeared.
"I have overstepped my bounds. Return to your task, Myranda. Tend to your friends," he said.
His wording was awkward, seemingly purposely so. She turned his words over in her head. Was he trying to keep something from her, or trying to tell her something? She found herself, against her will, returning to her place beside the others. The cold came pouring back, the searing pain. The color streamed back to her world. Ether's fiery form began to wave and flicker again. The same faint gold color that had been painting the skies to the west when her eyes closed now adorned the east. She had slept the whole of the long night through.
She closed her eyes again and focused on her ruined shoulder. The bones began to move and shift, snapping back into place with an all-too-familiar jolt of pain. Before long, it was usable again. She placed her hand on the ground to help herself up, the fingers touching something hard among the crystals of snow. It was the pendant that she had pulled from Myn. She tied it around her own neck before climbing to her feet.
Her motion caused Ether to step from her place among the smoldering coals and shift back to her human form.
"You, human. Heal Lain," came her command.
Myranda nodded and turned to the warrior's entranced form. The fact that he was still in this state was a testament to the severity of his injuries. Before she set herself to the task, however, his eyes opened.
"See to Ivy first," he said.
Myranda did as she was told. She searched the sleeping form for injury. Muscles were strained. Sections of her clothes were scorched and brittle. She had been though something severe, but there was nothing serious that needed attention.
"What happened to her?" Myranda asked.
"She illustrated just precisely what a danger she is to our cause," Ether fumed.
"She isn't in any danger. She was the same after she faced the wizard outside of the fort. Was she afraid? Did she run?" Myranda asked.
"She let her anger rob her of what little control she had. She abused the power afforded to her by her status as one of the Chosen and tried to destroy me," Ether said.
"I have never seen a more destructive force," Lain said.
Myranda looked to Lain. His injuries were many, and serious, but not beyond the healer's skills. Before long, all of the wounds were sealed completely and free of scars. Even the long, black burn along his arm was eliminated. When she was through, she finished healing her own wounds. With her task aside, she had nothing left to keep her mind from what she had learned. She shifted her staff to her right hand and took a deep breath. Slowly, she turned her hand over. The black mark stood out against her chilled white skin as clear as day.
"Ether. I have something important to tell you," Myranda said.
"I sincerely doubt that," Ether said.
"This is serious, Ether . . . the Convergence has occurred," Myranda said.
"Such things are no place for humor, human," Ether remarked sternly.
"During the night I was visited by someone who called himself Oriech--" Myranda began.
"Silence. You have no right to speak that name. So significant a figure would not waste a moment of his precious time on one such as you," Ether reprimanded.
"You know of him?" Myranda asked.
"Of course. Oriech is he who speaks and acts for the divine. The keeper of the purpose," Ether said, almost reverently.
"He spoke to me. He told me that the Great Convergence had occurred," Myranda assured her.
"Why would he tell you, a common mortal, rather than Lain or I?" she asked.
"I have been Chosen. Look at my hand," she said, offering up her palm.
"I have seen your disfigurement. It is an affront to antiquity that it may remain on your flesh," she replied.
"No, look!" Myranda urged.
Ether shifted her gaze to the palm. Her eyes narrowed.
"Impossible. You are neither clever nor powerful enough to conjure such a mark falsely. Doing so would surely destroy you. It must be so. You . . . of all creatures on this face of this world, you have been Chosen
. A simple human. We shall have to carry you as a weight about our necks. The fates must care little for the welfare of their world to place the burden of its protection upon your worthless shoulders," she muttered, adding after a moment. "You have been given a place by my side, that much is certain, but I am by no means convinced that the Convergence has yet occurred. Were it so, then that beast, Ivy, a monster who would sooner destroy me and herself in the process than hear the truth spoken, would be fated to fight by my side as well. For all of our sakes, I must believe that you are mistaken. Else, all is lost . . ."
Lain silently hoisted Ivy to his shoulders and began to head south once again.
"Lain, there is more. This war, it is more than you think," she said.
He continued silently.
"You can't just take Ivy south. She is Chosen, they will never stop looking for her," Myranda urged.
"Lain, while it is true that we must be rid of this burden before the final Chosen appears and she is cemented into the group by the Great Convergence, it would be best to be keenly aware of this beast's location. If for no other reason than to have her as a last resort," Ether reluctantly admitted.
"I do not care about the Convergence. I do not care about the Chosen. I will have the head of any who seek hers," he said.
"You must not turn from your purpose," Ether reminded him.
"I had only one purpose. To buy back the lives of those who had them stolen. Now I have another: to see that this creature dies the natural death that the rest of my people were denied, and perhaps . . . just perhaps . . . to see her find another and preserve our kind for one generation more. I care nothing for the rest of the world. I have lived for more years than any mortal has any right to, and in all of those years I have seen nothing worth dying for, and nothing worth living for. This place and all those in it can shrivel and die. It has nothing for me," he said.
"You believe that concoction on your shoulders to be one of your kind?" Ether scoffed.
Lain remained silent.
"What else could she be?" Myranda asked.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 72