The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (21 page)

The path is changing. Go where it leads.

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The fiery form drifted in the sky, silently
surveying the damage. Patches of ground hidden beneath snow for
decades now smoked and steamed. Puddles of what had moments before
been ice now boiled. The dragoyle, though much the worse for the
experience, still lived. The woman, holding the halberd high, had
also survived, as did three cloaks that were near enough to share
the protection of the weapon. Seeing that her job was not finished,
the mysterious fiery savior shot through the air at the woman. With
a few deft twirls of the powerful halberd, the enemy struck the
charging form with the blade gem. The Chosen was deflected and sent
hurtling backward. The brightness of the flames dimmed
significantly and seemed to disperse briefly before pulling back
together. She floated, her brightness wavering, before finally it
faded to nothing and her form dropped to the ground. Where there
had been fire, now the form was a continuous, crystal clear mass of
water. It was shaped perfectly into the same form as the fire had
been. Where her feet touched the boiling pools it joined them.

"Myranda is better bait than I anticipated.
Another Chosen has shown itself. Quickly, capture her too!" the
woman ordered, her voice a barely audible wheeze. It was clear that
the death that she had been cheating was preparing to claim
her.

The cloaks obeyed, drifting hauntingly over
the smoldering ground toward the fluid form. The watery woman
dropped down into the pool below her, appearing to be nothing more
than another puddle. They drifted near to it, remaining a cautious
distance away. Not cautious enough. Tendrils of water surged up and
saturated the cloth creatures. The wind, in a short severe burst,
froze the cloaks solid. The watery form rose again, arms crossed
and a faint look of satisfaction on her face. Her almost smug
display was cut short as the foot of the now recovered dragoyle
smashed down over her from behind. The water splashed everywhere,
and for a moment it seemed that with that simple maneuver, the
bizarre being was defeated. On closer inspection, the water soaked
with exaggerated speed into the ground. A shudder nearby grew
swiftly, culminating in a rift that opened. A sandy, stony version
of the same being climbed out. The fingers were less human,
narrowing down their length into cruel claws now. A powerful blow
from the deceivingly heavy limb was quite enough to get the
creature's attention. A dozen or so more followed with a speed far
swifter than a creature composed of stone ought to be capable. Old
scars widened, cracks opened, and thick black blood flowed. The
relentless rain of blows finally reduced the weakened beast to a
lifeless mound of battered rubble.

The stone form shifted its cool, penetrating
gaze to the woman in the only snowy portion of the field that
remained. Graceful steps sunk a few inches into the baked earth as
the living statue moved toward the woman. She had dropped to her
knees, one hand holding weakly to the halberd, likely the only
thing keeping her from crumpling entirely to the ground. The
glazed-over eyes of the woman turned to the ground. She spoke, weak
whispers between constant wheezes.

"Stupid (wheeze) worthless (wheeze)
creatures. (wheeze) I must (wheeze) have a long (wheeze)
conversation with (wheeze) Demont," she managed before dropping to
the ground and into a long overdue stillness.

The stone form reached for the halberd,
embedded in the ground as it had been before. The face twisted into
a scowl, and she smashed the weapon with a mighty backhand. It flew
an impressive distance, crashing down beyond the edge of the
charred region and disappearing beneath the thick layer of ice
crusted snow. Behind the fort wall, Desmeres helped Myranda to her
feet. With the aid of his shoulder and her staff, she was able to
walk. Lain held his sword at the ready, not yet willing to trust
whatever it was that had helped them.

"There may be something to this prophesy
after all," Desmeres admitted quietly as the trio approached the
unearthly being.

The living statue turned to face them and,
for a moment, there was silence. The surface of the creature's body
was smooth as marble and seamless. It, as before, bore the general
appearance of a woman, the features dulled. The face lacked a
mouth, and only a soft rise marked where the nose should have been.
The mark that graced the sword, Lain’s chest, and Myranda’s scarred
hand stood clearly embossed in the center of the forehead. In the
place of eyes were pristine, lidded white globes that had a faint
glow. Its gaze was locked solidly on Lain, unblinking and
unstraying. The shimmering eyes narrowed, the shine grew. Lain
suddenly stepped back and drew his weapon.

"What is wrong?" Myranda asked, concerned by
the showing of hostility.

Lain did not answer. Instead he stepped
forward, making it clear that he was quite willing to use the
weapon he held. The glow in the eyes of the being faded, and it
slowly raised the stone talons that had made short work of the
massive dragoyle just moments ago. Lain tensed, ready to defend or
attack at any moment. In a smooth, deliberate motion, the being ran
a talon along the blade. With a long, crisp ring of the blade, the
stone creature collected a few drops of the fallen woman's blood.
Almost immediately, a change seemed to happen. The blood vanished
through previously absent cracks in the fingers. The cracks spread
and connected, causing flakes of the stony surface to fall away.
Beneath, pink and vibrant, was what appeared to be . . . flesh. The
change continued, flaking away up the arm revealing healthy skin
behind. Soon the reaction quickened, cracking away large patches of
the surface. Here and there the flakes seemed to hang in the air
before connecting with one another and taking on the texture of the
cloth the woman was wearing. Before long a full garment hung in the
air. It draped itself around the shoulders of the now nearly human
figure before them. The hood pulled into place, hiding the face
just as the final plume of stone flakes drifted into nothingness.
The hands of the being, now a perfect replica of the fallen foe,
rose to the hood and pulled it back. Everything, right down to the
full head of long brown hair, was just as it had been on the woman.
Had the body not still been on the ground in front of them, they
would have believed the enemy had somehow torn herself back from
the beyond yet again.

"You have done well, Chosen One," the being
said. "I am impressed with your ability to blend with the lower
creatures."

The being approached Lain. He held the sword
tightly, tip leveled at the throat of the woman, keeping her at
bay.

"What
are
you?" Desmeres managed
through a rare look of wonder.

The being did not acknowledge him, her gaze
locked on Lain.

"Answer!" Lain ordered, moving the sword to
within a hair's width of her throat. The woman was unaffected.

"I am not in the habit of dignifying the
questions of mortals with response. I will answer
you
, if
you wish," she said.

"Do it!" Lain growled.

"I am like you. I am a guardian of this
world. I am Chosen," she said.

"Why are you here?" Lain demanded.

"To join you in battle against the enemy,"
the woman said.

"I neither want nor need help," he said.

"Nor do I, but it is decreed by the powers
that govern all of existence that it must be," she said.

Lain drew in a long breath of air.

"The soldiers that survived your escape are
coming back," Lain said, scanning the surroundings for the best
route of escape.

"That show she put on likely has every
soldier from here to the horizon on the way," Desmeres said.

Lain spoke to Desmeres in a bizarre language
Myranda had heard spoken in Entwell. He responded with a nod.

"We need to leave, now," Lain said.

"Agreed," Desmeres said, Myranda offering a
weak agreement.

"You aren't actually
afraid
of these
animals, are you?" the woman asked, a hint of disdain in her
voice.

"I do not want to deal with them. Not now,"
Lain said.

"Mmm. Yes. Then let us go," the woman
said.

"You will not be joining us," Lain said,
moving swiftly to the west.

Myn trotted to Myranda's side as Desmeres
helped the weary girl to follow.

"I must. It is destiny," she said.

"Lain, you must allow her join us. She is
Chosen," Myranda agreed.

"These creatures use this word . . . Lain . .
. " the woman said.

"It is his name," Myranda said.

"Inform your mortals that they are not to
speak to me," she said. "I cannot approve of their continued
presence. The very fact that you have allowed them to label you as
they label themselves speaks volumes of the fact that you have
spent too much time among them. You are Chosen, you mustn't allow
yourself to be lowered to their level."

Lain was silent. Myranda's reverence for this
mighty being was quickly slipping away. It, like most elements of
the prophesy she'd encountered, was not as she had imagined. Far
from the noble, benevolent, caring being she had expected, the
woman before her had managed in the space of only a few sentences
to firmly define herself as a rigidly superior, tactless creature.
Everything she said had a cold, sterile feel to it. In a way her
attitude was similar to the one Myranda had assumed as a Tesselor,
but her tone made it far worse. At least Myranda's words had the
sting of sarcasm. This woman spoke frankly, as though there was no
doubt that anything she spoke was anything less than absolute
fact.

"What is wrong with you? We are the people of
this world! It is your duty to protect us, not lord over us,"
Myranda said, her irritation briefly pushing her weariness
aside.

"Tell your human that-" the woman began.

"Tell her yourself and be gone," Lain
growled.

He increased his westward pace to a speed
difficult for the ailing Myranda to match, even with the help of
Desmeres. The woman released an irritated sigh and turned, for the
first time since that day in Entwell, to Myranda. She then
proceeded, with infinite calm, to shatter any lingering hope
Myranda might have had that she was the hero she'd hoped for.

"My duty is to the world, not the
inhabitants. I am to protect you insomuch as you are a product of
nature. Past that, I see little distinction between yourself and
the charred ground you stand on, and were you to suddenly be
changed from one to the other, I would hardly consider it a change
at all. I have watched over this world since the dawn of time and
have found the brief fraction of history that you and your ilk have
inhabited it of no more consequence or interest than the eons that
preceded it. Your society has proven itself to be shortsighted,
dim, and quite likely to bring itself to a prompt end without any
enduring influence in the grand scheme of things whatsoever. I
consider it an enormous concession that I have even bothered to
learn this sequence of squeaks and grunts that you call a language.
I would not be speaking at all but for the fact that the one you
call Lain seems unwilling to communicate by spirit. He is the only
being besides myself worthy of any distinction at all," she stated
before turning back to Lain.

With the infuriating being by his side, Lain
wore a far more stern expression than usual. It became clear that
she had no intention of heeding his order to leave.

"I haven't the time to deal with you at the
moment. Keep out of sight. If we are pulled into another battle
because of you, I will see to it that you do not survive it," Lain
grumbled as they reached the trees at the edge of the clearing.

"I assure you, no weak-minded beasts that
seek you and I shall discover us and survive to spread the
knowledge," the creature said.

They trudged on. Lain had a determination in
his stride that carried he and the seemingly indefatigable woman
far ahead of the others. Now among the trees, they didn't have to
rely upon distance alone to hide them from prying eyes. This fact,
coupled with the hundreds of different trails made by the other
prisoners, made discovery of the growing group exceedingly
unlikely. This was fortunate, because the chill air of the
hardening night was beginning to take its toll. Myn had taken to
puffing flame once a minute or so to keep warm, and before long
Myranda was shivering uncontrollably. She was walking now simply
out of reflex, shuffling in a daze, eyes closed. After her staff
slipped out of her hand for the third time, Desmeres decreed that
the time had come to stop until morning. He lowered Myranda to the
ground and began to gather dry boughs from beneath the trees. He
had already begun to spark flint against steel to start the fire
before she realized what was going on.

"You can't start a fire . . . pine . . . too
much smoke," she objected weakly.

"I am in no mood to spend the next few hours
finding a more appropriate fuel, and we
need
this fire. It
would be awfully anticlimactic if you froze to death tonight," he
said, mustering a weak grin.

The cold, frost crusted wood was not being
cooperative. Myranda, moments before succumbing to exhaustion,
whispered a barely audible request to Myn and a burst of flame from
her lips lit the stubborn wood quite nicely. Shortly after, Lain
and the woman approached. He cast a stern look at Desmeres, but
relented upon seeing the collapsed Myranda with Myn curled on top
of her. The woman looked upon the sight with the same sterile stare
she'd worn since her arrival. Lain sat cross-legged by the rather
meager fire and closed his eyes.

"I was under the impression that our
intention was to avoid detection," the woman remarked.

"I am afraid that the fire is a necessary
risk. We mortals are quite fragile after all," Desmeres said with
excessive pleasantness.