by Colt, K. J.
As time went on. the strain of keeping the wind at speed became nearly unbearable, but one by one the other poles shed their contents. Finally only one remained, but try as she might she could not shake the ball free.
“Oh, come now. Just one more,” Ayna said, a thin veneer of encouragement poorly masking her smug satisfaction.
Myranda redoubled her efforts, but the ball would not budge. Had she less of a task occupying her mind, she might have noticed Deacon shaking his head in disgust and casting a glare at Ayna, but all of this was filtered out in her attempts to focus her mind more powerfully. Her trainer wore a grin that widened with each unsuccessful gust. The fury within her grew and eroded her concentration. The gales began to waver, and finally she let the trance lapse entirely.
“Well, well. Our prodigy is not all-powerful after all. You have your rest, and perhaps tomorrow you can take another baby step,” Ayna gloated.
“No!” Myranda proclaimed, raising her staff and trying to conjure another breeze.
“Listen to me, little girl. You have failed. Leave now before I have you removed,” Ayna warned.
Myranda ignored the fairy’s protests and brought about a weak breeze. She tried to strengthen it, but the anger filling her mind left no room for concentration. Ayna flitted directly in front of her disobedient pupil and continued to threaten, but Myranda heard none of it. Her fury grew and grew, like a river straining against a dam. This awful creature that took such joy in her failure would be taught a lesson. Her hands began to shake.
Finally the dam broke and the anger flooded her mind. A powerful burst of wind erupted, seemingly from nowhere, shaking her from her focused state of mind. The profound dizziness struck with equal speed. She had dropped her staff when the wind had startled her and had nothing to steady herself. Deacon was beside her in time to keep her on her feet.
“Are you all right? You shouldn’t have done that. You really shouldn’t have,” he said.
“I did that?” Myranda said with disbelief.
Her eyes finally came into focus to see what looked to be the site of a disaster. All of the poles were shaking violently. Those nearest to the one she had been focusing on were snapped off at the base and were only just now falling to the ground yards away. The one she had targeted was missing entirely, along with a generous portion of the earth it had been anchored in. Some distance away it could be found, embedded in Ayna’s tree. Ayna herself was fluttering, stunned, in front of a slight impression in the same tree where she had collided with it. She was plastered with the dirt kicked up by the wind and slowly turning to the tree to survey the damage.
“You had better move. Quickly,” Deacon whispered to her as he led her away.
The fairy lifted a hand without turning. A fierce wind rushed up around Myranda, forcing Deacon away and lifting her from the ground. When she had flitted to the ground beside the flailing girl, she snapped her fingers. The wind cut off, and Myranda fell forcefully to the ground.
“That is all. You are through! I do not want to see you again for a year,” she said.
“Now, Ayna, you cannot do that,” Deacon said, trying to reason with her.
“You know the rules as well as I. That girl used a spell fueled by anger. Such an offense is punishable by whatever means I see fit. You should be glad I do not choose to kill her,” Ayna said.
“But the rules also call for leniency for a first offense,” Deacon countered.
“Leniency! I do not care if that thing has never made a single misstep in her life! She allowed the darker emotions to empower a spell, and did so while she was disobeying me, using said spell specifically to assault me!” Ayna raged.
“I did not--“ Myranda attempted, but the fairy made a fist and she felt the air withdraw from her lungs.
“You prompted it. She was not assaulting you, she was attempting to pass a test that you had sabotaged,” he said.
“How dare you accuse me of sabotaging the test!” Ayna said, aghast.
“The pole is sticking out of the side of your tree and the ball is still attached,” he said.
“I didn’t deny sabotaging the test, but you have no right to accuse me of it,” she said.
Myranda’s vision was fading as what little air she had left was giving out. As her thrashing slowed, Ayna took notice and opened her fist. The fresh air rushed back into her lungs and brought her back around. When she had caught her breath enough to climb to her feet, she did so.
“What have I done to you to deserve--“ Myranda attempted again, only to receive the same treatment.
“For someone renowned for her skill in learning, you certainly are slow to learn when to keep your mouth shut,” Ayna said as the girl fell helplessly to the ground.
“You are the one at fault as much as her, because you know better,” Deacon said.
“Fine. Get the flute and the . . . elegy, I suppose. But I am through with her until she is ready for her exam. She is your student now. See that she drills every day,” Ayna said, flitting off to her tree and releasing her grip.
Deacon helped Myranda to her feet again and the two made their way to the meal hut. As they ate, and Myranda’s mind cleared, they spoke.
“What just happened?” she asked.
“Ayna coaxed you into breaking one of our cardinal rules,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “It was probably her plan from the start. Once she found out just how fast you were learning, her concern likely drifted to maintaining her own grip on the record for air mastery.”
“What rule did I break?” she asked.
“You allowed anger to affect your casting of a spell,” he said.
“Is that why it was so powerful? I don’t understand. Why did it happen, and if I released so much energy so quickly, why am I not exhausted?” she asked.
“Well, magic is an expression of the soul’s power. High emotion stirs the soul and boosts the power. Anger in particular has a way of amplifying the effect of any forceful spell beyond the point of controllability. That fact, coupled with the fact that one grows reliant on such methods if used too often, makes it one of the worst offenses one can commit while training. Long term uses can twist the soul far more than dishonesty and treachery,” he said. “As for the reason that you are not exhausted? It will catch up with you, probably while you are asleep. Too much energy too quickly sometimes takes a few hours to take a toll, particularly on a first-time user. More experienced users feel it sooner.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Magic still holds a few mysteries, even from us,” he said.
“Wait. I saw all of the Masters literally destroy the Elder’s hut. Weren’t they breaking this rule?”
“They were angry while casting the spell. The anger was not affecting the strength of the spell. If it was, there wouldn’t be much of a village left,” he said.
“Oh. Well, what do I do now?” she asked.
“There are very few fundamentals to be taught in air magic. Two, really. You already know how to conjure wind, and the display you put on today proves you can direct it with a fair amount of accuracy. The rest is practice,” he said.
“So, now I just practice until I feel ready to take some final test,” she said.
“Indeed. You will be getting a flute and a tune to learn, as well. It doesn’t take a prodigy to figure out what you will be doing with them for the final test,” he said.
“I suppose I will be doing a hands-free performance,” she said.
“Right you are,” he said.
The pair finished and left the hut. Myn came trotting up and wedged herself between Myranda and Deacon.
“And where were you? I was attacked and you were nowhere to be found!” Myranda said, jokingly.
The dragon shot a vicious look at Deacon and pounced him to the ground.
“No, no! Not him. He didn’t attack me!” Myranda said, pulling the creature off of her friend.
“Well, it would seem that she has gained a fairly firm understanding of t
he language,” Deacon said, accepting a helping hand from Myranda.
The creature gave Myranda a questioning stare. She clearly was awaiting the identity of the real attacker.
“Well, I am not going to tell you who really did it because I don’t want you to get me in any more trouble,” Myranda said.
“And thank you so much for assuming I was the guilty one. I have got to find some way to get on your good side,” Deacon said. “I am going to start bringing you gifts.”
“Well, I don’t face Lain again until sundown, with nothing to do until then,” Myranda said.
“I wouldn’t recommend doing anything mystic. Something too strenuous could certainly bring that angry expenditure back more quickly,” Deacon warned.
Little did Myranda know, Myn had made the decision for her. She sprinted off to nearest building and scampered to the rooftop. By the time Myranda noticed she had gone, she was already in the air. Myranda scarcely had the time to brace herself for impact before the beast collided with her.
An afternoon of doing so left her fairly bruised, and bleeding here and there from where Myn had gotten a bit careless with her claws. It was nonetheless an entertaining time, and a few moments of a healing spell wiped away the consequences, save a bit of fatigue of both mind and body.
Lain was waiting, as always, when she approached him.
“I am sorry, Lain. I had a rather rough time of it today. I may not be at my best,” she said.
“All the better. I can think of few times that I have been fully rested when I have been expected to defend myself,” he said, tossing her the staff. “Now, prepare yourself.”
It was her worst showing since she began. His blows were on target constantly. On the off-chance that she managed to block a shot, the force of it threw her off balance. Several times, she lost her footing and nearly fell into a handful of blows. Thankfully, Lain’s reflexes were swift enough for the two of them, and he pulled the weapon away in time. By the time Lain felt she had done enough, Myranda was on the edge of unconsciousness. The outburst she’d had earlier had most certainly made its cost known.
“I sincerely hope that you improve your off-peak performance, or you will fall swiftly in a real battle,” he said.
“I will work on it,” she managed as she trudged off, Myn keeping a watchful eye on the teetering girl.
She made it back to her hut and fairly collapsed on the bed. With no sunrise appointment with an unpleasant teacher, her sleep was doubly deep. No nightmare came, only the dark, dreamless sleep of pure exhaustion.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
MYRANDA WAS AWAKENED BY MYN, rather than the other way ‘round, several hours later than she was accustomed to rising. Deacon hunted her down during breakfast and provided her with the flute and music that Ayna had called for. It was a simple reed flute, and the tune seemed easy enough. After spending a bit of time practicing, she felt sure she would be able to master it before long.
Myn was still eager to make her practice flights, and seemed to feel that without a teacher to steal away her valuable time, Myranda would be free to act as a landing pad for the whole of the day. The girl tried to enlist Deacon in distracting the dragon so that she could spend some time at work on her wind magic with little success. He brought a few fresh fish and the rarest of rare, a piece of red meat that he would not relinquish the origin of. The dragon snubbed them, choosing to eat them only when Myranda offered them. None were enticing enough to eat out of his hands.
A compromise was struck when Myranda aided the dragon in practicing her soaring by providing a constant breeze to fill her wings. Without a tyrannical teacher pushing her to her limit, the girl was able to cut her training off while she still had the clarity of mind to give Lain a real challenge. She found that predicting his attacks early enough to deflect them required nearly the presence of mind that magic did.
The next few days passed in much the same way, and were the most pleasant in recent memory. She found that her skill with wind was growing at about the same speed as Myn’s flight prowess. At the end of the first week, the dragon could stay aloft for over an hour, and Myranda felt only the slightest strain in helping her do so. Deacon had not yet found the item that would win Myn over, and was running out of ideas.
The least improvement came in her time with Lain. Over the course of her time with him, she had managed to earn only a single question, a question so hard-won, she could not bring herself to ask it. With only two questions, she would only be able to whet her thirst for knowledge.
While Myranda was having trouble convincing Myn to allow her to practice her flute-playing one day, Deacon arrived with a dusty bag.
“What have you got there?” Myranda asked.
“I have tried everything at my disposal that a dragon might like and Myn still ignores or attacks me. Things have become somewhat desperate. Thus, I’ve ventured into the garden and selected one of each vegetable. Not much to appeal to a carnivore, but it is my last chance,” he said.
While Myn was reluctant to treat Deacon with anything less than suspicion, she did get a bit curious each day when he brought around the latest round of gifts to reject. One by one, he offered carrots and celery and onions. Not surprisingly, the dragon sniffed once or twice and swatted them away. However, when Deacon pulled a large potato from the bag, she sniffed with a bit more interest, and finally took it from his hand, eating eagerly.
“Potatoes?” the pair said confusedly.
When the beast looked up and rooted around in the bag for another, he knew he had found his way into her heart.
“Very well, then, only I give her potatoes. She already likes you, I’m the one that needs help,” he said to Myranda before turning to address the creature directly. “And as for you. For every day you don’t hit me, I’ll give you one of those. Agreed?”
Myn seemed to be in reluctant agreement as she licked her lips a few times and sniffed and licked at his hands in a far gentler way than he was accustomed to. The pleasant moment was cut short by a voice that they had been mercifully free from for the past two weeks.
“How lovely, the animals are getting along,” Ayna said.
“Well, what brings you this far from your safe haven?” Deacon asked.
“I have been hearing the elegy wafting through the air with steadily decreasing inaccuracy. It sounds to me that the time of the final test is near,” she said with a smile.
“As I recall, you were eager to postpone that date by no less than a year. Why the sudden change of heart?” Deacon asked.
“I am entitled to test my pupil when I have brought her to the proper level of knowledge,” she said.
“Are you certain I am ready?” Myranda said.
“Reasonably. If not now, then in a few days. Certainly before the week is out,” she said.
“Oh, I see. She will be ready before four weeks are up. That is the amount of time that she took to complete Solomon’s training,” Deacon said.
“What a coincidence! Well, the performance of a student speaks well of the teacher, doesn’t it? It would be a shame to see that dragon’s name alongside hers in the history books without mine above it,” Ayna said.
“So you are willing to treat her with the respect she deserves when you have something to gain from it,” Deacon said.
“If you wish to view it that way, you may. Oh, and, Myranda, my dear, be well-rested when you come to take the test. I expect to break more than one record with your help,” Ayna said, slipping away.
“What do you suppose that means?” Myranda said.
“Well, the air test is largely up to the discretion of the teacher--more so than most, traditionally. It also tends to be the easiest. I have a feeling that Ayna’s intention is to end that tendency, thus forcing you into a record-setting performance that she can claim responsibility for. It is her first real Master exam; she can always claim that it was her intention to make the more difficult test the standard for all of her students,” Deacon said.
“
Wonderful,” Myranda said flatly.
“You have certainly been bringing about the most inexplicable events since your arrival. However unpleasant it may be for you, it is at least refreshing for the rest of us,” Deacon offered.
“At least there is that,” she said, with a heavy sigh.
After a bit more practice to assure that she was prepared to play the tune, at least, Myranda decided that if this test were to have a similar effect on her as the last, she had best put forth a considerable effort to earn a few more questions of Lain. It would be her last opportunity for a number of days.
Deacon hurried off to secure as many potatoes as he could while Myranda and Myn headed to the designated place for training. Upon her arrival, Lain offered his usual pointers and critiques of her previous performance in lieu of greeting.
“You continue to focus entirely on my weapon while defending. You must be aware of the whole of my body. My feet may be the furthest thing from a threat to you, but they tend to be the greatest indicator of where my next attack will fall,” he said, tossing her weapon to her.
“I may not be able to meet you for a few days. I will be having my examination in wind magic tomorrow,” she said.
“Very well,” he said. “Prepare yourself.”
Myranda paused. He had begun each of the sessions since they began with that simple phrase. Each day, she disregarded it as a simple warning that battle was about to begin. Perhaps it was the impending test that Ayna had sprung upon her, but when the words reached her ears this time, they seemed to take on a different meaning. After all, Lain had recently revealed himself to be a man of few words. It was unlike him to speak a phrase so frequently for nothing. Perhaps she should prepare herself as she would for one of her mystic sessions. Each day, she found more and more parallels between battle and magic; it stood to reason that this was but another. She took a moment to gather her mind. When she was focused, she opened her eyes and took her stance.