The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (38 page)

"But . . . even if I have been 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 to
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 prophesy . .
. 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 prophesy . . . let me tell you something
about prophesy, 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, 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. 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 had 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.

"I have assumed her form. She is indeed
similar to Lain. More so than mere blood relation can explain. The
few alterations that make her anything short of a twin are crude,
obvious, even clumsily made. She is a product of the heavy handed
tinkering of a moderately skillful practitioner of the dark arts. I
cannot say to what degree she has been changed. There is not enough
of her original form left to serve as a basis of comparison," she
stated as a matter of fact.

Lain stopped.

"From the looks of her, she wasn't even
complete," she said. "What disturbs me most is that she still bears
the mark. It should have destroyed her the very instant they began
to work on her."

"What else do you know about her?" Myranda
asked.

"The oldest tissue in her body is only a few
months old. Either that is the oldest change the manipulators made
. . . or that is the age of the original form. Also, Lain is most
certainly the template upon which this forgery was built. There was
a stain of blood on the floor of the room she was being kept in. It
was nearly degraded beyond recognition, but it was undeniably his,"
Ether remarked.

"You can tell that much?" Myranda said.

"Simple human. I can tell
everything
about a form from a single touch, provided it has not been so badly
tampered with as she," Ether said.

Lain's face was unchanged. There was no
indication what was going on in his mind. A brief, shining hope had
been stolen away from him. Something that had been enough to
convince him, in the space of a day, to uproot himself and postpone
the cause that had driven him for decades. Now hope was replaced by
doubt, mystery. He lowered Ivy to the ground, kneeling beside her
and looking at her sleeping face. Slowly he drew his sword. Myranda
drew a breath, unsure of what he had in mind. He bent low and
nicked her finger. A lone red drop spilled out to stain the white
fur. He then cut his own finger and watched the drop roll down. The
sword was put in its place, and Ivy was raised to his shoulders
once more. He continued southward.

"You mortals have truly poisoned his mind,"
Ether reprimanded.